Chapter Text
“I already told you! I know nothing!”
“Come on, Carl we both know that’s not true, now we can do it my way, or--her way.” Nightwing said, looking at Bluejay, whom cracked her knuckles, attempting to look intimidating like they practiced. “Trust me,” Nightwing said. “My way is, way less painful.”
“Not really your style, Nightwing.” Carl spat, pulling again the restraints around his wrists and ankles. The warehouse was empty besides them, hidden on the fourth or fifth floor of the dusty warehouse. Carl turned his head. “What’s with the kid?”
“Its not. That’s---what do you mean?” Nightwing said, pausing, glancing at Bluejay, whom was bouncing a little behind him. “Bluejay? What’s going on?”
Bluejay whom was bouncing around in place, looking at the floor. “I gotta go to the bathroom!” she mumbled.
“What? Now?” Nightwing said. “Why didn’t you go before we left?”
“I didn’t have to go then!” Bluejay said, bouncing around even more. “Its bad, I really really really gotta go!”
Nightwing sighed, looking at his daughter then back at Carl. "Okay...just, um…lets-- lets finish the interrogation. Kay?"
She nodded.
Nightwing pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a breath. The cold, damp room of the warehouse, the tied-up thug in the metal chair. The flickering lightbulb —it was all undercut by the most potent force in the universe: a 10 year old’s bladder.
"Okay," he said, his voice a mask of strained patience. "Just...hold on. We're almost done here." He turned back to Carl. "The shipment," Nightwing growled, "Where is it going?"
Bluejay let out a high-pitched whine, hopping from one foot to the other, her hands pressed between her knees, she couldn’t meet his eyes. “I am so sorry, its really bad! I’ll…I’ll be quiet. Just ignore me.”
“Its okay, just breathe…slow breathes.” Nightwing said, patting her back. Carl snorted. "You bring this kid to interrogations? That's messed up, man."
"You're messed up!" Bluejay snapped, poking Nightwing’s side, mumbling so only he could hear. “Dad…please?”
Nightwing nodded, pointing a finger at Carl. "Don't move. I will be right back." he said, scooped Bluejay up. "Alright, alright. Bathroom break. Let's find a...somewhat hygienic bush."
“Bush! I can't go in a bush!" Bluejay said. "I'm a girl, its weird!"
Nightwing sighed. "Okay, okay...bathroom um...." Nightwing looked around, the warehouse wasn’t exactly screaming hygienic bathroom. He saw Carl’s jacket on the crate, his phone peeking out of the pocket. "Plan B," he muttered, snagging the phone, using Carl’s face to unlock it.
"Hey! That's mine!" Carl protested.
"It's the convenience fee for not leaving you in a dumpster," Nightwing said, not looking up, opened a maps app, hiking Bluejay up a little, whom was now in meditation mode, focusing all her energy into not wetting her pants. "Okay... there's a 24-hour convenience store two blocks west. It's...marginally cleaner than this place. And they have a bathroom for customers."
"Are we customers?" Bluejay whispered.
"We will be." Nightwing said. "Think about the shipment while we're gone, Carl. And if you try to shout for help...You'll have to explain to your boss why you led Nightwing and Bluejay right to his warehouse and lost your phone.” he said waving the phone around, tucking it into his utility belt, turning to Bluejay. "Two blocks. Can you hold on for two blocks, superhero?"
“Gonna have to!” Bluejay said.
Five minutes later:
Nightwing stood by the magazine rack, a cold bottle of water in hand, staring blankly at the news headlines. The fluorescent lights of the convenience store hummed overhead. From the back, he heard a long, relieved sigh, followed by the sound of a toilet flushing.
The elderly clerk at the register gave him a knowing, look over his glasses. "Rough night?"
"You have no idea," Nightwing chuckled, placing the water, a small packet of chips, and a pack of gum on the counter. He paid in cash, the bills a little crumpled from his utility belt. "Last time I give her two juice boxes on patrol with no breaks. My fault."
The elderly clerk nodded sagely. "The little ones. Their tanks are small but their enthusiasm is big."
Bluejay sighed, opening the bathroom door, closing it, handing the clerk the key. “Thank you.” she said, turning to Nightwing. “I feel so much better now. Should we head back?”
“Good. Nah, I say, let him stew a bit,” Nightwing said ruffling her hair. “Here, have a snack, and take a sip, small sip.” Nightwing added giving her some water. Bluejay took it, taking a small sip. Nightwing handing her the pack of chips, opening his own packet, leaning against the counters.
"Thank you," Bluejay said, crunching a chip. "Though i realized something," she said, “We grabbed his guy outside The West End Apartments, the place he supposedly lives."
"Yeah?" Nightwing asked, crunching his own chips. The clerk fiddling with the register to make it close properly.
"So the guy lives in the West End,” Bluejay said. “But when you turned on the GPS to find the convenient store, the last address was his apartment, accessed this morning. The apartment in West End as been in his name for like...two years. That's a long time, and he's from Haven and its not like the West End is a high traffic area, so...why does he need GPS for his own home?" Bluejay asked, munching on another chip.
Nightwing froze, the water bottle halfway to his lips. He slowly lowered it. "You're right," he said. "That doesn't make sense. You only need GPS for a place you don't know, or..."
"...or a place you're pretending to know," Bluejay finished, her words slightly muffled by chip.
"The West End apartment isn't his home," Nightwing said, a grin spreading beneath his mask. "It's a front. A drop point. Or a stash house. And he hasn't been there long enough to memorize the route." he said, handing her his chip bag. Bluejay eating his chips, watching him. "That's the lead. That's the real target."
He pulled Carl’s phone again, quickly reopening the maps app. "Let's see his other recent destinations..."
The clerk cleared his throat. "You two gonna buy anything else? Or?”
"Sorry, emergency," Nightwing said, scrolling through Carl’s phone's history. "Bingo. Three repeat trips in the last week to an industrial lot by the docks. Not his 'home,' not his boss's known warehouses. Somewhere new."
“Maybe Carl is dipping his fingers into two pots. Working for two bosses. Carl’s boss isnt gonna like that…either one of them.” Bliuejay said. Nightwing smirked. “No. He will not.”
Bluejay beamed, wiping salty fingers on her cape. "So, he's not the wrong guy?" she said, tossing their empty chip packets in the bin. Nightwing tucking the water bottle into his utility belt.
"Oh, he's the exactly right guy," Nightwing said, pocketing the phone. "He just gave us the wrong address. On purpose. Which means he knows more than he's saying, and he was trying to send us on a wild goose chase while the real shipment moves possibly soon, maybe even tonight." He took her hand. "We should go back, talk to our guide."
5 minutes later:
"So! Carl! Can I call you, Carl?" Bluejay asked, bouncing on the back of Carl’s chair. "I mean we were soooo nice to you and then go ahead and lie to us? Kinda rude. Don’t you think?”
Back in the warehouse, it looked even more miserable, Carl still zip-tied to the chair. Nightwing leaned against a crate. Bluejay jumping up on the crate next to him swinging her legs. Carl’s eyes darted between her and Nightwing. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"You needed GPS to get to your own apartment this morning," Nightwing said. "People who live somewhere for two years don't do that. Unless they don't really live there. The West End is a mail drop. A decoy. One I’m guessing your boss doesn’t know about. So…you’re working for…two dealers aren't you? One doesn’t know about the other I’m guessing. Pretty rough situation you go yourself in, Carl? Don’t you think, Bluejay?"
“Very rough.” Bluejay said nodding. "It means Carl is more important than we originally thought. “You were really careful to have a fake home. Which means you're more important than 'just a driver.' Which means you know exactly where the real shipment is. But, the question is, who’s shipment for? Boss number one? Or boss number two?
"It's not— I'm not—"
"The docks, Carl," Nightwing pushed off the crate, looming over him. "Lot 14. You've been there three times this week. You want to tell us what's going down there, or do you want my partner here to keep asking you questions?"
“You think a kid is gonna scare me!? Me?” Carl scoffed. “I aint telling you creepy birds jack!”
“Alright, I warned you.” Nightwing said patting Carl’s back. “Bluejay! All yours! Be gentle.”
“Of course, I’m always gentle.” Bluejay said, skipping to Carl, “Enjoy the trip!”
“Huh?”
She kicked him off the roof, though the open end of the wall, sending Carl falling back. The rope she had discreetly wrapped around his the chair leg, making him bob up and down. Nightwing sighed. “I said gentle.”
“That is totally gentle.” Bluejay said.
Nightwing pinched the bridge of his nose. Carl was screaming; sharp and terror-stricken, sliced through the warehouse district in Blüdhaven, as he bounced up and down, the thud of his larger body, knocking lightly against the side of the building.
“See? He’s not even screaming anymore. Just… heavy breathing. And maybe a little sobbing.” Bluejay said, leaning casually over the ledge to peer down. Nightwing doing the same.
Below them, Carl twisted around in the dark, the warehouse builds and a few broken streetlight illuminating his face. The rope, secured to a massive metal building vent, groaned under his weight.
Nightwing sighed. “You know what I meant by ‘gentle’,” Nightwing said, though a hint of amusement colored his sigh. “Change your mind yet, Carl?” he called down. “The offer’s still on the table. My way: a warm cell, three square meals a day. Her way…well, you’re experiencing her way. And I think the next step involves untying that fancy knot she was practicing. And she will do it.”
“You’re insane! Both of you!” Carl’ yelled back, hints of panic unable to be hidden.
Bluejay leaned over, the ledge on her tippy toes to see him. “Oh, this isn’t insane. I could always just start swinging you. Or see if you can touch that window cleaner’s rig on the next building. It will be fun, right?”
“Alright, alright! Pull me up!” Carl yelled, his resolve shattering. “I’ll talk! Just pull me up! And don’t let this freak kid touch me!”
“Promise?” Nightwing asked, tone sickly sweet.
“YES!”
Nightwing sighed. “Alrightly, going up!” he said, easily pulling Carl up back onto the roof. Nightwing untying him, dusting him off; the man staggering into the roof, his face pale and slick with sweat.
Bluejay leaned over the edge.
“Come on, come on-Agh!” she screamed. Rain hitting her. She heard his bones snap back, louder than the thunder against the storm. His body slammed onto the pavement, a cracking thud. Blood pooled beneath him. Dead. He was dead. She didn’t save him. She killed him.
For a split second, she saw Talon’s body on the ground. She took a deep breath, the image vanishing as fast as it had arrived.
Nightwing was talking to Carl. The shipment. Shipment. Focus, Mary. The shipment.
“The shipment. Where is it?”
Carl gasped, taking heaving breathes. “Dockside warehouse, bay fourteen. It’s due to move at four am on Thursday. They're loading it into a container disguised as refrigeration units.” Carl coughed. “It’s for my second boss. Russels. Good money…he paid me double to rat on my first boss.”
“Thank you Carl.” Nightwing said, patting his back. Bluejay nodded, “Yeah, thank you, sorry about…tossing you off a building thing.” she added, handing him a lollipop from her utility belt. “Here for the nerves, have a nice night now. Try not to commit any more crimes on your way to the patrol car.”
Carl took the lollipop, running down the steps taking three at a time. Nightwing sighed. “We’re having a talk about ‘proportional response’ later.”
Bluejay nodded. “Don’t worry, I’m not planning on tossing anyone off any building anytime soon.” she said quickly. “Going to check it out?”
“No use checking an empty dock, Thursday.” Nightwing said. “We check then. For now,” he said, checking the time. “Lets head back, get in a few hours. I have work in the morning. Well, later morning.”
“Ugh.” Bluejay grumbled, pulling out her grapple. “Do you have to?”
“Well, we need this thing call money,” Nightwing said gently steering her, to jump of first, before he followed. Both taking off over the city. They flew past the dull warehouse buildings, shooting their grapples onto familiar footholds that Nightwing had taught her about; into residential before finally getting to the city.
Dawn was breaking, shops opening. Some bakeries setting out stands, scents of bread, and petrol mingling together as the early rises and the nightshift workers moved up and down the city.
Blüdhaven was far sunnier than Gotham, which was always in a perpetual state of cloudy skies with some flashes of sun that poked out. Blüdhaven's morning sun was strong yellow rays, that hit glowing billboard, and posters, murals, an abundance of colour that stretched to every inch of the city.
The ran across some buildings, landing on some massive city streetlights, flew past skyscrapers, the glass reflecting or inverting their reflections, before they landed on a apartment building. It was fairly tall, and thin, with a penthouse on the top. They snuck in via the back into their home. Nightwing throwing off his domino mask, sighing as he flopped onto the couch.
Dick Grayson.
First Robin. Nightwing. Also her Dad.
“Mar-bear, can you draw the curtains? And block out the sun…forever?”
Bluejay snorted, pulling off her own mask. She tossed it next to his, before shedding her hooded blue cape, and then her utility belt, leaving just her main black Kevlar lined spandex suit; the thin blue lining that come from her sneakers to her neck, shining a little in the morning sun.
The light hit the streak of blue on her chest, the same emblem her father wore on her. She drew the curtains, yawning, a great jaw cracking yawn. She kicked off her sneakers, moving to flop on the couch, her father effectively taken all the space. She flopped right on him, Dick making a dramatic ‘oof sound’. Dick chuckled, easily tucking her next to him. Mary was small, compact and light for the ripe old age of ten, barely ten according to him anyway.
“Comfy, Mary?” Dick asked.
Mary nodded. “Comfy…” she said already falling asleep.
Dick sighed. “Good.” he said falling asleep too.
He hadn't even closed his eyes when his alarm went off.
“Noooo!” Mary groaned. “Turn it off. It’s evil!”
Dick chuckled, getting up, picking up his phone. “Ugh, I gotta go in. It’s Lopez, there’s a homicide on Fifth.” he said, looking down at Mary whom was still in her suit and gear. “Come on bug, shower and bed.” he said. “Don’t sleep here, you’ll hurt your neck.”
Mary groaned, hugging a couch cushion. Dick sighed, scooping her up carrying her to her room, he set her down on the bed, pulling out pj's and such. “Shower. Then bed, trust me.”
Mary sighed, getting up waddling to the shower. Dick set her stuff on the bed, moving to his own room, pulling out clothes, turning on the coffee maker for a strong pot of coffee. He showered and changed in record time, poking his head into Mary’s room, chuckling when he saw she’s somehow falling asleep mid-way of putting her pj top on. He fixed it, guiding her to bed, tucking her in, kissing her forehead. “Sleep well.”
He drank his coffee, checking the fridge, which was making its weird noises and was noticeably warmer than more fridges but did the job for now. Leftovers there if Mary was hungry? Check. Hot drink he made and put in the fridge for her to warm? Check. He picked up, the Nightwing and Bluejay uniforms from the floor, his phone buzzing. Lopez was calling him.
“Grayson.” Dick said, his phone to his ear, via his shoulder, as he stuffed the uniforms away haphazardly.
“Detective Grayson, where are you!? I’ve been waiting!”
“Yeah, I know, I know, just…had to--daughter--I’ll be there, just five minutes!”
“Make it two, or Lieutenant Svoboda gonna flip. Late. To a crime scene. I know you were on like a gap year or something but come on, Grayson. You’re making me look bad here!”
“Sorry! Sorry, I’m out the door, now!” Dick said, rushing out, closing the door, running to the elevator. He sighed. “I need to get a sitter or something.” he mumbled. He didn’t like leaving Mary at home alone, even though he knew she’s most likely sleep until he got back. “At least school’s starting soon. Ms Henderson from 32B should be...there soon...ish.”
~
“Finally! What did you do walk?” Lopez asked.
Dick sighed, slamming his car door closed, running up to her. “I wish. What do we got?”
“Victim male, late 40s, looks like a worker of some kind. Docks if I were to guess.” Lopez said, tucking her brown hair behind an ear. She was a older detective assigned to him, the ‘newbie’ again. “Body’s kinda gunky, corner still needs to examine, but I’d say he was chucked into the docks and washed up here.” Lopez said. “Saw something he wasn’t suppose to, got thrown. But from the angle…maybe he jumped?” Lopez said sipping her coffee. “Seen it enough times to know the signs. No ID, clean clothes, no note.”
“Yeah, think your right about that.” Dick said, remembering Carl’s information just a few hours ago. Dockside warehouse, bay fourteen. It’s due to move at four am on Thursday.
“Witnesses?” Dick asked.
“Nope. Dog walker discovered a the body this morning. Pretty shaken up.” Lopez nodded towards a uniformed officer talking to a man in running gear and a big Mastiff dog.
“Okay, lets get this scene tagged up!” Lopez called, walking to the roof. “Wanna check the roof?”
“Roof, good idea.” Dick said sipping his coffee. “Think he jumped?”
“Could be, fairly common suicide spot the docks. You look dead on your feet. Late night?” Lopez said as they walked.
“Yeah.” Dick said
“Clubbing?” Lopez teased.
Dick snorted. “I don’t do that anymore. I didn’t do much of that before, but…I don’t do that anymore. No just, busy helping settle my daughter here. It’s a big move, and still…getting used to everything.” he said sipping the coffee. Lopez ahhed. “I forgot, you have a daughter now. Weird to think.” she mused. “How old is she again?”
“Ten.” Dick said.
“Ohh…fourth or fifth grade?” Lopez asked.
Dick paused. “Um, fifth, I think. She’s just turned ten, feels like but she’ll be eleven soon. I think…”
“Oh nice. What school?” Lopez asked.
“BlüdhavenPrep.” Dick said, “First day in a week or so.”
“Nervous?”
“Oh, I dunno, she’s kinda excited.”
“I’m taking about you, Grayson.” Lopez said, smirking.
“That obvious?” Dick said sheepishly.
Lopez snorted. “Yeah, I mean. You’re very…overprotective. I’m not saying it’s a bad thing, I’m just saying, that’s who you are, it’s like every first parent with a baby, you know? They bump the baby’s head for the first time and they rush them to the ER. It’s adorable.”
“I’m not that bad.” Dick mumbled.
“Oh? Really?” Lopez said, walking lifting the police tap for him. “You check your home security like every fifteen minutes.”
“I don’t have a sitter, yet. Mrs Henderson, my neighbour checks in on her.” Dick mumbled. “And I don’t…she needs…someone I can trust, that she can trust. And--”
“You are a new parent, one who missed bumping baby’s head the first time,” Lopez said gently.
“Yeah.” Dick sighed, shuffling on his feet, pulling out his phone, checking the home security, nothing, Mary was still sleeping. Lopez smiled. “Don’t worry, you didn’t miss much, baby phase is just puking and sleeping and diapers.” she said waving it off. “How long as she been with you again?”
“Um, well Mary came to me when she was around nine, then she turned ten and eleven is approached. It will be, a year in a few weeks. But, it’s the first time I’ve got her on my own now. Before it was all-”
“Rich guy stuff, butlers and a thousand siblings and the glamorous life of Bruce Wayne’s ward.” Lopez half sang.
“Pretty much.” Dick said
Lopez snorted. “Welcome to single parenthood, Dick Grayson, I do not evny you.”
The roof door, as predicted, was unlocked. The morning sky was a sheet of low, gray wool, the city sounds muffled. He walked to the edge, the exact spot. The pavement far below was now marked with official outlines and the focused activity of death investigators.
“Nothing up there but pigeons and bad decisions.” Lopez said, looking down. “Hell of a height. Think he was pushed?”
“Maybe?” Dick said, looking around. “No note…no…nothing…” His phone vibrated. A text.
Mary: woke up. heated the drink. it’s good. case bad?
Mary: suicide? Or murder? At the docks right? Same docks?
He knew what she was asking, same docks as last night? Blüdhaven had many docking ports. It was shipping central. A connector to many major cities, direct to Gotham, Metropolis, Keystone and Central City.
Dick: Yeah, bug. Case is bad. Not sure yet. See you soon. Go back to sleep. No video games. Or TV. Sleep, kay?
Mary: Okie dokie. Be safe.
“You know, this might just be a suicide.” Lopez said, finishing her coffee, pulling out a ciggrette packet. “I mean…this is a common place, quiet not many people. I mean, initial call was unclear,” Lopez grumbled, lighting a cigarette despite the drizzle that started. “Patrol unit rolls up, sees a body with clear trauma in a high-crime alley, they think ‘homicide.’ I thought ‘homicide. But then you look. No signs of a struggle up top. No defensive wounds on the hands. He landed feet-first, mostly. Jumpers usually do. Pushed victims…they fight, they twist. This guy… he just stepped off.”
Dick followed Lopez’s gaze, his own eyes scanning the body’s placement. She was right, the body placement wasn’t consistent with a pushed victim. “I dunno…somethings bugging me.”
“Clean clothes, empty pockets,” Lopez continued, dropping her cigarette and grinding it under her heel. “No wallet, no keys. Just a guy who didn’t want to be identified, didn’t want to be followed home. Wanted to be done.” she shrugged. “Sometimes it’s just that, Grayson.”
“No…it doesn’t, somethings not right,” Dick said, “This is what? Third jumper in this district in six weeks. Come on...that’s fishy…”
“You did not just say that at a dock site.” Lopez deadpanned. Dick sighed. “I just mean, its…don’t you find it weird-”
“Probably just a statistical blip, a bad streak.” Lopez said. “I mean, this area…isn't the greatest in our oh so modern and high tech and glorious city-”
“Easy, I got it.” Dick said, pausing. “Wait a sec, what’s this?” he said, moving to a vent cover.
“You find something?” Lopez said, pulling out an evidence bag. Dick pried the cover slightly ajar, grabbing the thin wallet. It nearly fell though the vent, but he snagged it in time, opening it up. “We got a name…Paul Opperman.” he said, opening it up, pulling out ID, the wallet had a few cards about two notes of cash, a business card with the name Kestral and a photo. A bent photo, of Paul with his two daughters at a birthday party. “No way this guy committed suicide.” he mumbled, handing the wallet to Lopez.
Lopez sighed, bagging it in evidence. “Lets hope not.”
~
Mary yawned, stretching out like a cat, padding into the living room. She slept an additional four hours after texting her dad. She drew the curtains the penthouse, and long windows that lead to the balcony and saw most of Blüdhaven which was now bustling with activity. She passed the note from the morning, on the Batman emblem shaped magnet.
Bug 🩷—
Coffee cake in the tin.
The blue mug in the fridge is hot chocolate, just warm it for 90 seconds in the microwave.
Do NOT use the “potato” setting. Again.
Ms. Henderson from 32B will check in around noon.
Be nice. She brings cookies.
Love you. Stay inside. Door’s double-locked. — Dad 🩷🩷
Mary smiled, at the note, tracing the ‘love you’ before she hunted for the coffee cake in the tin. Eating it out of the tin with a spoon, turning on her cartoons. The apartment in Haven was nothing like the Manor in Gotham. For one it was…more cluttered, in the way that was homely and not messy.
It was simple. One couch, a fridge that ran a bit warm, mismatched throw pillows, and boxes upon boxes of stuff not fully unpacked yet. There was just one thing she didn’t like. She had grown used to her dad presence every morning, and now he was gone. She was now in firm belief that jobs were some sort of conspiracy by the government.
Another point was, the lack of the Batcomputer, and arguably Oracle, while they had remote access, to both. Mary understood why Oracle was often hailed ‘most important’ member of the Bats, save Batman. She knew everything, and everything knew her, without her and Tim. Mary firmly believed, cases wouldn’t be solved at the efficiently that they were solved at these days.
In Haven, it was ‘raw’ police work, according to her Dad. The nitty gritty stuff. The long work. She was still getting used to that. Long work. She opened up her Dad’s laptop, typing in the password, looking up Dockside Schematics. Bay 14. City Planning Archives. She made some annotations on some potential entry and exit points, shift schedules for the longshoremen’s union, and the manifest for a freighter named the Kestral, which was scheduled for a 2AM entrance on Thursday, and other notes, when she heard a knock at the door.
“Coming. Password?” Mary asked before she opened.
“Crumpets!”
“Okay, I’m opening Mrs H.” Mary said opening the door. She smoothed her pajamas and put on her best “normal kid” smile. She practiced with her dad, apparently she did it perfectly.
Opening the door, she found Ms. Henderson, a kind-eyed woman in her sixties with a tray of shortbread cookies. “Hello, dear! Your father said you might be on your own for a bit. I thought you could use some company.”
“Hi, Ms. Henderson,” Mary said, stepping aside. “Thanks for the cookies.”
“Oh, your welcome dear, did you eat? Shower? Good girl, go wash your face, off you go, get clean and tidy, what did you eat for breakfast?”
“Coffee cake!” Mary chirped, taking the laptop with her, as she skipped away, munching on a cookie.
“Coffee cake? For break--Dick Grayson, you…wash your face. And I’ll make you some lunch…dear heavens above, why is this cupboard just cereal?!”
~
“Hey, bug,” Dick said, over the phone at around, 5:30pm. “Just wanting to check if we need anything from the store? Juice? Milk? Eggs?” he said unlocking his car, tossing his jacket, and the Paul Opperman Case File, his personal one, of notes.
“We have those things.” Mary said with certainty.
“Oh how much of those things do we have exactly?”
Mary hummed. Dick hearing her open the fridge over the phone. “We have…less than a quarter of a litre of milk, one juice box and two eggs.” Mary reported.
“Store it is, thank you,” Dick let out a long, slow breath that was half a laugh, half a sigh. “We need to go back to school shopping too.” he said, looking at the list strapped to his dashboard, which held the now thousands of things he needed to do, but didn’t get done.
To Do
~ Shopping for Essentials for Mary (URGENT)
~ Clothes, underwear, socks, etc. (SHE’S GROWN I DON’T KNOW BY MUCH BUT I CAN TELL??)
~ Dinosaur Nuggets (URGENT)
~ Juice boxes (GRAPE, APPLE, ORANGE. NOT PEACHES! OR LYCHEE. She will know.)
~ Uniform Pick-Up (BLÜDHAVEN PREP--OFFICE CLOSES AT 6PM! FINAL DAY TO PICK UP FRI!!)
~ Shoes pick up (measure her first??)(Size 1, Kiddies)
~ Check WingDings
~Case File 342
~ Schedule dentist appointment (NOT SURE LAST TIME SHE WENT)
~ Wash uniforms (BEFORE SCHOOL STARTS!!)
~ School supplies (PENCILS, NOTEBOOKS??)
~ Talk about after-school activities (Safe ones!)
~ Check-in with teacher (EMAIL ABOUT “ADJUSTMENT PERIOD”)
~ Flu shot? (CALL DR. THOMPSON)
~ Fix her nightlight (KEEPS FLICKERING)
~ Update emergency contact form at school (DON’T PUT JASON! TIM???)
The list went on. He had to close his eyes, he could feel the twinges of a stress headache brewing behind them.
“Hey, peanut, Mrs Henderson still there?” Dick said, the lists making his head spin, even more when he opened his eyes and saw the rest.
“Yep! She’s telling me about her cousin’s bonsai tree that got pooped on my this massive dog.”
“Right…Cool. Okay. I’ll…go shopping tomorrow. Hopefully. See you soon bug.” Dick said, cutting the call, leaning back into the car seat. He shut his eyes, leaning against the wheel. Parent. Father. Vigilante. Nightwing. Detective. Father. Dad. He had been a dad for maybe a year, but he hadn't been a dad, not like this. Not alone.
Lopez had been right. He’d been Dad in an easy way. Dad at the manor was…easier. He didn’t have to worry about childcare, a sitter, food, good home-cooked meals, security, or education. He had Alfred, or Bruce, or Jason, or the other various ways his family picked up the slack when he didn’t even know he was slacking.
Alfred was the backbone. Bruce was the bank or the babysitter. The others were a chaotic, reliable safety net, and he was…Dad. Dad, was in bedtime stories, teaching a flip in the gym, a late-night talk after a nightmares. Slow bonding and careful ways when he tried to get Mary out of the shadows of her past, her shell…and just be a kid. He hadn’t had to worry about the infrastructure of a child’s life. Not like this.
He wanted to do it. The single dad thing. He wanted to do it. He still did. He didn’t think he’d ever not want to do it.
Maybe it was Paul.
Paul Opperman, would never buy his daughters dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets again if he ever did. Paul Opperman…he’d been married…two kids…one wife. Struggling but happy it seemed.
“Ugh…snap out of it.” he mumbled. It hurt to think about now. Paul Opperman would never buy them nuggets again. Would never debate brontosaurus versus T-rex shapes with a giggling child. Would never fish the crispy ones out of the air fryer first because they were his daughter’s favorite. That small, sacred ritual of parenthood gone. Just like that.
And just like that, he lifted his head, and started the car. He’d wanted this. He wanted this. The single dad thing. The messy, real, terrifying totality of it. He wanted it. To prove—to himself, to Mary. He hadn't upended his and Mary's life to bring her to Blüdhaven, just to be the "fun dad" who showed up for the highlights.
He didn’t fight Talon and Cobb and Slade for her, to be a freaking deadbeat wannabe when it mattered. He wanted the real thing. The real deal. The sock matching. The lunch-packing. The worrying over fifth-grade social dynamics. The inevitable arguments, the inevitable make-ups, the hugs and kisses and movie nights and binge-ing series and late night patrol, tears and laughter and debates over duvet cover patterns and her possibly growing out of her new clothes three months after he brought them.
He wanted this.
He’d fight for it.
And get milk.
~
Dick pushed the apartment door open with his shoulder, holding a back of groceries in his hand, and a drive ready to conquer the stove, when he smelt lemons, potatoes and the scent of roasting chicken hitting him first, cutting through the city grime clinging to his clothes
"—and then I told him, 'Marty, if you don't fertilize those begonias, they're going to look sadder than you in a rainstorm!” Mrs Henderson said, at the stove stirring a pot of what looked like pot roasted chicken, potatoes and vegetables. Mary, perched on the kitchen counter, swinging her legs, a plate on her lap, already half eaten, she was mid-way eating a roasted potato.
"Dad!" Mary said, her mouth full. She swallowed. "Ms. H made dinner. And, like, dozen cookies. Shortbread!" she said with a smile, cheeks full.
Dick chuckled, tossing his keys, settling his bag on the counter. “I see that. Smells like heaven. Ms. Henderson, you are a saint. You really didn’t have to do all this.” Dick said, leaning to kiss the top of Mary's head, snuggling her lightly with his forehead, just breathing her in for a second, before peering into the pot. “Wow, Mrs H. You must take some home, or I pay you back for groceries, or you have dinner with us at least.”
"Nonsense. A growing girl needs proper food, not pizza every night," Mrs Henderson said, eyeing Dick, lightly swatting his hand away from a nearby roll. "Wash up, first. Don’t worry, I’ll make a plate for myself, but I’ll head out, I have my soapies to watch you know."
After about half a hour, Mrs Henderson bustled out with a plate and some extra leftovers, waving them goodbye. Dick closed the door, checking the locks.
“I think Kestral, is a front for a major drug operation.” Mary said, eating a drumstick.
“Kestral? Drugs?” Dick said, eating a chicken breast, putting some more gravy in Mary’s plate. “You think so?”
“The shipment is moving too quickly, its arriving 2am, and leaving the docks 4am, I think its packed in the refrigerators somehow.” Mary said, eating her potatoes, looking like a chipmuck as she chewed thoughtfully.
“Maybe its being swapped, not unloaded.” Dick mused. “Kestral is a pharmaceutical though isnt it? I breezed over it public catalog, allergy meds, aspirin.”
“So why does it need, a 2 a.m. dock slot with armed private security on the manifest?” Mary said, pulling up the documents she found on his laptop. Dick sighed. “I heard from Bruce there’s this new drug popping up in Gotham. Prometheus.”
“Fancy name for a drug.” Mary said, swallowing hard, setting down her plate.“Greek, Titan right? Stole fire from the gods to give to humanity, I believe he was chained to a rock and and eagle ate his liver daily as punishment...whats it do?”
“According to Bruce, its an extreme synaptic overdrive.” Dick said.
“Huh?” Mary asked.
Dick paused, right, ten-year old. “Sorry, okay, think, like your brain’s suddenly running on a supercomputer. Enhanced reflexes, accelerated learning, heightened sensory perception. A low-level thug on Prometheus could dodge a punch he’d never see coming, or solve a complex problem in seconds. A college student could ace an exam without studying, that’s the idea.”
Mary hummed. “I’m not seeing the downside, besides a potential overdose?”
“There is no downside. For about twenty minutes,” Dick said grimly. “Then the ‘eagle’ comes. The crash is catastrophic. The brain essentially burns itself out trying to sustain the high. Migraines that feel like a skull fracture, synaptic collapse leading to temporary or permanent memory loss, severe motor function degradation. And that’s just the physical side. Psychologically…paranoia, hallucinations, violent psychosis.”
“So the name is a warning or a joke?” Mary said.
“Possibly. Apparently Prometheus can cause a suddenly and acute liver failure.” Dick said, sighing suddenly. “Paul Opperman. He was longshoreman on duty to receive that container…and he dies…” Dick said, patting the documents Mary found and his own personal notes he made at work.
“My theory is, Kestral… they could be manufacturing the base components legally as ‘allergy meds,’ then shipping them here for the final, illegal synthesis by someone in Haven. The refrigerated containers would stabilize the volatile precursors during the swap. A clean, pharmaceutical front for a poison factory.” Dick ran a hand over his face. “Paul Opperman…he might have been a longshoreman who saw the wrong container, or asked the wrong question during one of these 2 a.m. swaps. I’ll need to confirm it, but my guess is all the suicides have been murders covering up, Prometheus and more importantly their supply lines and their dealers.”
“Wow.” Mary said, staring at him. “That was really cool.”
“What was?”
“The whole…detective thing, that was really really cool.” Mary mumbled, playing with her fork.
“Oh…thanks.” Dick mumbled, feeling…sorta…chuffed. “Its all circumstantial. A theory. Though. For now.”
Mary blinked. “I mean it…it was…cool the putting-the-pieces-together part. Usually my job was to punch the problem. Or get rid of it…that more my job.” she mumbled. “How did you learn how to…do that? Or…”
“You’ll learn, you helped a lot, I mean without all the stuff you found about Kestrel. Good job, bug.” Dick said ruffling her hair. Mary smiled shyly, as Dick picked up the plates, moving to wash them.
“Could you always do that though, the whole…putting stuff together thing?” Mary asked.
“Well Bruce taught me to…always…try and see patterns in everythings, I guess I caught on fast since it was…like how I was growing up, He set the plate down, leaning back against the counter. “But the other part… that’s just from growing up. Before Bruce, I mean.”
“In the circus?”
“Yeah. A good aerialist doesn’t just see the trapeze. They see the swing, the air currents from the tent vents, the exact tension in their partner’s muscles. They solve the problem of gravity in three dimensions, in real time. It’s…all about connections. Seeing how one thing leads to the next.” He tapped his temple. “Detective work isn’t that different. You’re just looking for a different kind of connection. Instead of a hand reaching for you, it’s a motive. Instead of the timing of a release, it’s an alibi.”
“Woah…I’m not that much good at that either.” Mary mumbled.
Dick paused, setting down the plates in the sink. “Hey, you are really good.”
“No…but-”
“Listen, peanut.” Dick said, “You are good, I know that, and not because you instantly get the move. You try. You fall you get up, and you try again. And, I’m here to help you and guide you…whether that is connections or on the trapeze swing. Doesn’t matter, kay?”
“Okay?” Mary mumbled. “So…um…roof first? On Thursday?”
"Roof," Dick said. "Quieter. We observe first. Confirm the shipment. Then we call the harbor police and the FBI tip line, anonymously. Let the system handle the heavy lifting, well let them know we’re handling it."
Mary sighed, leaning over the computer. "And if they start moving the shipment before the Feds get there?"
Dick met her gaze, he smirked. "Then," he said, the ghost of a smile on his face, "we encourage a delay.”
“Guess this is a job for Nightwing and Bluej---Robin.” Mary said sharply getting up from her chair.
“Grayson. Mary.” Robin said, walking in from the balcony, he pulled off his domino mask, eyes meeting Mary’s. “We need to talk.”