Archive of Our Own

⏸

“Pause,” Nightwing says so quietly Dinah only catches it because the room goes silent right after. 

Or, rather, Batman goes silent. 

Dinah looks up from where she’s been scrolling through the agenda, trying to find a good place to call for a break. The meeting has been going on almost two hours now and the last thirty minutes have been more heated than is warranted. 

Everyone could use a chance to cool down and Nightwing’s created one with a single word. She studies their newest committee member. On paper, he’s replacing Beast Boy as the Titans’ stakeholder. In reality, his position holds much more weight. The first sidekick endorsing the Committee on Youth Heroes by his mere presence. It’s his second meeting and he hasn’t torn into anyone for trying to control children who want to do what’s right—or, worse, for not stopping those children from endangering themselves. Dinah tries to give herself grace, but Mia is sitting on the other side of the table. This is the only room Mia doesn’t exit immediately because Dinah walks in. 

At the moment, Mia is breathing heavily, staring down the Bat with seething retribution that’s only forced back because Batman hasn’t allowed her to get a word in. Dinah isn’t sure what’s preventing her now that he’s quieted, until she looks to Nightwing. So much of his face bare, just a small bit of technology covering his eyes. His jaw is set, but not with anger. There is clear discomfort buzzing through his every feature. His hands are in his lap and because she’s sat behind him, she can see the stress ball he’s furiously squeezing under the table. His feet are poised to spring up and his shoulders are hunched in. 

In the two seats on the other side of Dick are Anita Jimenez, a Watchtower admin tasked with taking minutes, and Rani Singh, Solstice’s mom. They exchange a look, confusion clear. Anita has retracted her hands from her laptop and Rani has scooched away from Batman on her other side. 

Mia crosses her arms, directing her gaze expectantly to Nightwing. Dinah can feel the time dwindling as Mia’s respect for Blüdhaven’s hero runs out of the limited courtesy it affords him. 

Nightwing sighs, straightening. “You’re not listening.” It’s not an accusation, nor is it incorrect. Batman has been steamrolling Mia for the last thirty minutes. Dinah wanted to intervene, but knows how unwelcome such a gesture is. 

Batman leans back in his seat, chin ticking down. “I…” Dinah waits for the denial, the justification. It doesn’t come. “Apologize.”

“To me?”

Batman clears his throat. “Speedy, I apologize. Your point of view is valuable and I should not have spoken over you to emphasize my own opinion.” 

Nightwing clears his throat. 

“And I will take care to not do so in the future. If there is a way to additionally rectify my actions, please inform me in whatever way you feel comfortable so I may do so.”

Mia, very blatantly, mouths What the fuck? to herself. Dinah echoes the sentiment internally.

Batman doesn’t apologize. He doesn’t make amends. He takes accountability and responsibility, but only for future possibilities, not past realities. 

There is a fleeting thought that they have a mind control situation on their hands, except Nightwing knows Batman better than anyone and he isn’t sounding a code purple. Nightwing is shrugging uncomfortably at Mia, then glancing at Anita. 

“Should we-” Dinah starts carefully. A break feels like an excellent idea at the moment. Impulse and Aquagirl, the two youth representatives, are glancing at each other with wide eyes. They stiffen when Mia interrupts. 

“Just,” she bursts out. Her cheeks are red. “Just like that? You apologize for the first time in history because Nightwing pressed pause?” 

Dinah bites her tongue. This is a professional environment. Mia wouldn’t appreciate it if Dinah blundered into the conversation with her own heartfelt apology and several assurances of Mia’s importance. 

Their committee chair shifts back, trying to cue his former sidekick into speaking. Nightwing’s cheeks twitch. “If it’s alright with you, Speedy, I’d prefer to discuss the rest outside of masks. For the purposes of this committee, it’s relevant to know that Batman and I have several communication techniques to make it… feasible for both of us to advocate for the safety of youth heroes, a topic that we are both- that we are all-” He gestures around the table. “-passionate about.”

Dinah tucks away the word choice feasible. That’s an interesting one. 

“I apologize if I overstepped, Speedy,” he continues. “I know you can hold your own.”

She narrows her eyes at the Titans’ founder. “Sure,” she allows. “We’re good.” We being Nightwing and Speedy and no one else. 

Anita lowers her laptop lid halfway. “Would now be a good time for a break?” she hedges. 

The parent and youth representatives nod vigorously. Dinah gives her own assent, stretching out her shoulders as those three disperse. 

Usually during breaks, Dinah stretches her legs on the observation deck with the second Wonder Girl, the Young Justice representative, but she couldn’t make today’s meeting. Instead, Dinah finds herself trailing Nightwing and Mia to the break room, hoping a coffee will get her through the rest of the agenda.

“I don’t know how you stay in contact, let alone go to all these meetings with him there,” Mia is commenting when Dinah steps into the small kitchen and lounge. 

Impulse and Aquagirl are already leaving with their snacks in tow, both girls whispering conspiratorially. Rani must have stopped by the bathroom across the hall. 

Nightwing raises an eyebrow in Dinah’s direction. Mia huffs. “Point.” 

“Let’s talk about it some other time, Speedy,” he requests again. “And I really am sorry for stepping in. I just got uncomfortable.”

She nudges his shoulder as she closes the fridge. “Nah, it was funny seeing his mouth slam shut like that. I just can't believe it worked.”

“It is work,” Nightwing mutters. But he’s smiling when he accepts the juice Mia hands over. He even extends the same pleasant look to Dinah when she conjures the bravery to wave as they pass her on the way out of the room. 

Mia ignores her, but that’s par for the course. 

Batman and Anita are in the meeting room when she returns, though they likely never left. By the time everyone’s reconvened, the tension has dissipated. This is in no small part due to Nightwing regaling the youth representatives with a story of a Titans sleepover so long ago the team hadn’t dropped the word ‘Teen’ from their name. 

The rest of the meeting moves smoothly, with several concerns having action plans set forth by the time they mark off the final agenda item. 

Dinah lingers on the way out. She’s not sure exactly why. She’s patrolling Gotham tonight, covering for Helena, and the sun that’s so brilliant from the Watchtower is setting on the East Coast. 

Still, she takes an extra few moments to gather up her tablet and jacket. 

Nightwing and Batman are the only other two remaining. They stay silent. Dinah doesn’t realize they’re waiting for her to leave until she hears through the closing door, “Thank you for interrupting me. I apologize for the discomfort I caused and for any… reminders of past experiences.” 

The lock clicks before she can hear Nightwing’s response. 

⏪︎

After action reports are to be submitted within forty-eight hours of the stop of a Justice League intervention. This is considered strict by new members, but lenient by old timers like Dinah, who remember when Batman was breathing down necks at the original twelve hour deadline. It’d been extended to twenty-four hours in the second year of the League. And forty-eight hours two years back. 

There are exceptions, of course, for injuries or clean up assignments or even, rarely, personal emergencies. 

But the partnership with the UN requires a certain amount of auditing and there need to be forms to audit. The preference is for the paperwork to be completed on JL property, and while Dinah has access to quite a few locations, she prefers a small facility located outside Central City. It’s little more than a zeta-depot for JL employees in Keystone and Central City to commute to their various destinations. But there are a pair of offices, a garage, a tiny kitchenette, and a beautiful view of the golden wheat fields extending miles and miles. This time of year, it’s buried under a foot of snow, but even that has its beauty. 

The building is completed with a med station. Every JL property has at least one, although not all are staffed. 

Dinah is typing up a description of the Krolotean formations when she hears the distinct buzzing-whooshing of the zeta-tube. She hardly glances up until she smells anti-septic wipes. 

Saving her progress and logging out of her device—cyber-security is one of the few things Roy would talk to her about when… he picked up Lian—she hurries toward the tucked away med center. 

And stops at the entrance.

Nightwing is braced against the cot, unkempt hair hiding his face. His frame is tight with pain, a t-shirt brushing against the white paper covering the center of the cot. It trembles with his own tension. It trembles because it isn’t his skin tight armor. 

He’s in civvies. Beat up tennis shoes, holey jeans, sweaty t-shirt, and no mask. 

Dinah jerks her gaze away but that only causes her to look at an even more recognizable face. 

Ollie’s wealth may have fluctuated over the years, but his invitation to the Martha Wayne Foundation’s Annual Gala has never gotten lost in the mail. Dinah has been a plus one on many such occasions.

“Bruce,” she greets woodenly. She knows that Wayne Enterprises is a significant funder of the Justice League but she didn’t know that this meant he had zeta-tube security authorization. Below the shock is a low level annoyance that this man receives no public backlash for his hero team funding while Ollie had to resign from office in disgrace for supporting the Outsiders. After the annoyance comes a deluge of complicated emotions she hasn’t sorted through regarding her ex. She pushes it all aside. 

Bruce hardly glances at her, surgically searching through the various drawers and cabinets, precisely setting medical supplies on a polished metal tray. He’s wearing blue plastic gloves. There’s steaming water draining down the sink and paper towels tossed in the non-biohazard trash can. 

“Hi, Dinah,” Nightwing greets, not looking toward her. There’s a thread of pain in his words. 

Bruce closes his last drawer and brings his gathered supplies toward the cot. “Lay down,” he orders. His voice is flat, demanding. Nothing like the party host she remembers. Almost… 

“In a sec,” Nightwing exhales. He braces his arms, head dipping down. 

“Dick-” 

“One second.”

“Delaying treatment will not make up for your own recklessness.” 

“Rewind,” Nightwing bites out through gritted teeth. His arched back caves with effort.

Bruce grunts. “This is not-” 

His brow is creased in pain. “Rewind or I’ll do it myself,” he threatens, reaching toward the needle Bruce has been intently threading. The father’s hand jerks back. 

Dinah steps forward at the same moment Nightwing looks up. 

Barbara dated Dick Grayson and never thought to share such a detail? 

Ripping open an antibacterial ointment, Bruce takes two meditative breaths. “I’m worried about your health and safety.”

The younger mask hisses through his teeth. His eyes catch Dinah’s and she witnesses depths of turmoil that rival the grief mirrored in Roy’s at Lian’s funeral. 

“It will make me feel better if you allow me to treat your wound.”

“‘m not reckless,” he mutters bitterly. Sweat drips onto the cot. “Shit. Ow.”

“Dick, please.” Bruce has carefully shielded anxiety scattered across his face, though his hands do not tremble when he doles out a pair of painkillers. They’re set aside. 

“I’ve won Kryptonian football before,” he continues under his breath. But he heaves himself stiffly onto the bed. There’s a smear of blood in the corner of his mouth, partially dry. He lowers one ankle to the cot much more gingerly than the other. An ankle that has swollen to twice the typical width. “I’ve won Kryptonian rugby.”

“I know, chum. Shirt off.” 

“B,” Nightwing says aghast. He dramatically flops one hand over his face, but Dinah can tell he’s trying to block out the overhead light. “There’s company present.” 

Concussion. Twisted ankle. A cut that requires stitches, likely under his shirt. 

Dinah takes the field medic course offered by the JL twice a year. She shouldn’t be standing by. 

Except Nightwing’s not wearing a mask. And Bruce Wayne isn’t either. 

“I can help,” Dinah says, sounding out the words like the concept’s never occurred to her before. Like she hasn’t been rushing to do the right thing since she was nineteen and her mom could no longer keep her from her legacy. “I can wrap your ankle or comm the Watchtower about getting an MRI ready.” Or both. She’s always been good at multi-tasking. 

Finally, Bruce regards her. His hands hover over his son like he isn’t sure he’s allowed to touch him and Dinah knows that feeling. She knows how it feels to be sitting right beside Roy or Connor or Mia or Sin and not know if she’s meant to be in their space. If she’s welcomed or liked or loved. If she’s anything more than the step-mother who failed them. 

“Let me help,” she repeats because she can’t sing to Sin as she falls asleep or join Connor in his meditation or drive Roy to his meetings or pick up Mia in the middle of the night from a sleepover. But she can help Batman treat his son’s wounds, kiss his son’s boo-boos. 

Bruce shifts ever so slightly, his broad shoulders blocking his son a little less, and Dinah steps fully into the room. She silently unlaces Dick’s tennis shoe and tugs it off as gently as possible. Dick doesn’t wince at that, doesn’t wince at all, even as Bruce finally convinces him to remove his shirt so he can clean up a nasty looking cut on his abdomen. The young vigilante casts his slightly unfocused gaze at Bruce’s chin. Hesitant to catch his eye. 

“NSAIDs are out, but how many Tylenol would you like?” she asks as Batman prepares to slide the needle and create the first stitch. There are three pills set aside, but the lengths baseline human capes go to minimize pain management is always something to contend with. 

Nightwing blinks at her, brow creasing. “Bleh, pass,” he answers unhelpfully. His late twenties. Dinah doesn’t remember feeling so young when she was that age, but he really is. All his peers are. Roy. 

“He threw up earlier, his stomach is probably unsettled,” Bruce fills in. His voice is flat, the same tone he uses in founders meetings to relay ‘obvious’ information. 

“You threw up,” Nightwing mocks back. God, she hasn’t heard that terrible joke format since Mia was still in the house. It pangs deep in her chest. 

Bruce sighs. “Chum, please hold still.” 

“I wish O had come.” 

Something like regret or pain or grief threatens to surge out of this miserable black hole of rejection. “I know.” 

So quick Dinah is reminded of Roy—of hearing his call sign of Speedy for the first time and then seeing him nock and launch an arrow faster than Oliver could slip his bow from its strap—Dick grabs his father’s sleeve. It’s got grass stains on the edge, and there’s a bit of grease on the collar. Nothing fancy, nothing like the sleek suits that he wears as just another mask. “‘Cause she wouldn’t make me get an MRI.” 

And from this distance, emotional at least, Dinah can tell that Dick can tell that he’s hurt Bruce’s feelings. She can tell that he’s trying to rectify this. That they keep missing each other. That it’s Bruce’s turn to ask Dick to rewind but that he doesn’t realize he should. 

“You have a concussion,” Bruce says instead. Flatly. Missing him. Dislodging Dick’s grip to continue his stitches. 

Dick winces and it has nothing to do with the pain. 

⏹

In typical Justice League fashion, the retirement of Black Lightning is met with a spectacular party. The League never wastes a chance to celebrate a teammate leaving on their own terms. 

They’ve taken over the public areas of the Hall of Justice for tonight, spilling out through the small museum and the voting chamber. Buffets designed to keep up with all kinds of enhanced diets are set up in the largest conference room. 

There’s a mix of masks and civilians, teens and adults, metas and mundanes. Black Lightning was a ready source of wisdom and a fierce protector of this Earth. Dinah’s sad to see him go, but is happy that he’ll be able to focus more on his family. His daughters are clumsily dancing with a number of the Young Justice crew. 

Dinah can’t watch them for long, because otherwise she’ll think of how Lian would love to be among that crowd. Tonight is a happy night. Letting her grief overcome her would be unfair to Jefferson and all the good work he’s done. 

She lets the conversation flow over her as her gaze drifts to where Hal and Oliver are laughing. For a moment, she wants nothing more than to let Oliver take her hand in his own. To feel his rough callouses squeeze against her nicked skin. To let his lips brush her knuckles as he tells her it will all be alright. 

But she hasn’t seen that Oliver in years. And he certainly won’t be that man to her here, to her now. 

On the opposite end of the museum, past all the replicas of magical artifacts, armor and capes, and alien technology, stands another pair of men. 

Nightwing, no escrima sticks poking out from behind his suit. Arsenal, no arrow fletchings encircling his head. 

His prosthetic is holding a flute of what she hopes is sparkling grape juice. She knows he’s been out of rehab for almost two years now because they responded to the same earthquake. He hadn’t acknowledged her then. 

She hopes maybe he will tonight. 

Bracing herself, Dinah makes her excuses. Oracle and Huntress wave as she leaves. She dances through all the gathered capes until she’s almost to their little corner. 

But she realizes she’s not the only one approaching. 

Batman beats her there. 

“Nightwing,” he greets. 

Effusive as always, Dinah can see the way the younger hero’s limbs and torso embody the eye roll. And she can see beneath that. How he cringes away. How he bites back the anger springing forth. 

“We’re in a stop right now,” he states like the words burn on his tongue. 

Batman stiffens further. “I know. I-” 

“What he meant is fuck off, old man,” Roy cuts in. His shoulder brushes Nightwing’s, the kind of fraternity that she thought they’d lost over the years. She doesn’t know when they got it back. If it’s really back or just a show they’re putting on. 

The dynamic duo of old stay frozen for one beat. Two. 

Nightwing is glaring at his former mentor and Batman must be a mirror because the ire bounces off him and hits Dinah in the chest. 

It’s hard to breathe, knowing just how angry Nightwing is at the man who helped raise him. (At knowing just how angry Roy is at the woman who was supposed to help raise him.) 

She looks at Batman and knows that they are marked by the same failures. The same unforgivable deeds. 

And maybe Batman is proven the better parent when he keeps trying. Or maybe the worse, for ignoring all the signals radiating off Nightwing to be left alone.

“I’m not here to talk about- him. I just-” 

“Just what?” he bites out. “What could you possibly want?” Strain weaves through his voice. Grief. Grief that Dinah knows, that Roy knows. 

(There’s a child that should be here. There’s a child that’s been missing for months.) 

Batman lowers his head. “I…” But he doesn’t continue. 

“You already took Red Hood to his deathplace. Where are you going to drag me? To his cracked open grave? You want me to lift the Universe Orb off Troia? To shake down Lantern until he goes Parallax on us again and drags someone you like better across the veil?” His voice is hushed in deference to the party, but it doesn’t matter. 

Every word hits Dinah where it hurts. 

Roy too is stiff. Arsenal recently tore insight out Deathstroke’s twisted version of the Titans. A footnote of the report described the Methuselah. A healing machine Wilson claimed could raise the dead. 

Dismantled, the report stated. After Jericho was brought back to full health. 

Dinah’s written enough reports to read what was not said. That Roy took it apart. That Roy had the opportunity to return his daughter to him and chose not to rip her back into this world. 

She wonders how much influence the Red Hood’s tragedy of rebirth had on such a decision. 

Batman opens his mouth and Dinah knows it’s not to defend himself because the set of his shoulders tells her he’s done something indefensible. But Nightwing plows on. “Just-” The regret, tiny, squeegeed amounts of it, trickles in. “We’re in a stop, B. I can’t right now, okay? I can’t.” He nudges Roy and her kid starts toward the exit. She wonders why they came, if they were planning to spend the whole night brooding in the corner. Or maybe her and Batman’s approach ruined their evening. Maybe they were intending to join the dancing, to wish Black Lightning the best, to catch up with the generations of Titans and Outsiders and Leaguers. 

Dinah’s nails cut into her palms, a sliver of the self-recrimination she feels. 

“I wanted to ask if he thought Red Robin was coming,” Bruce intones quietly. Confidingly. He’s at her shoulder, staring into the corner where the boys once were as if his gaze will return them. 

It occurs to her for the first time that Bruce must miss Dick as much as she misses Roy. 

And the other kids. Jason and Sin. Connor and Cassandra. Tim and Mia. Lian and Damian. 

She doesn’t know the details, but it’s easier to put them together now that she knows who is under the cowl. Where the rifts formed. Where they’ve tried to heal. 

Where they’ve broken again. 

Damian al Ghul’s funeral was less than a month ago. Dinah had seen Bruce and Dick in that isolated medbay only a couple weeks before the news broke. 

She doesn’t know how the world can bear to tear them apart. 

Bruce stands beside her like she has the answers to his grief, his family’s turmoil. It’s been over two years since Lian was buried and she still can’t hold any of her children close. 

“Speedy stopped living at Titans Tower,” she says when the aching air between them becomes so thick she’ll choke on it. “She won’t tell me her new address.” 

She too stares into the corner. The magical thinking that if she pins her gaze there long enough it will no longer be empty. Instead, tears well in her eyes. 

“Red Robin works at my company. He lives in a building I own. His Nest is in the building my parents died outside of.” He swallows. “I have barely seen him since I returned.” 

Returned. 

Because Batman is just another name on a long list of death cheats. 

Ollie, Jason, Bruce, Donna, Wally. 

Some years, there’s a net zero of deaths and resurrections. 

Some years, it feels like all they do is lose and lose and lose. 

“I miss her. She was going to kill Lian’s murderer. She used to be so happy and funny and alive. I don’t know where that little girl went.” 

Batman sets a hand on her shoulder. “They grow up.” His mouth twists. “We push them away.” 

She did. She never meant to, but Mia was there, watching Lian, when it all happened. The day Roy lost his arm and Lian was killed. Their family broke apart. 

Dinah doesn’t blame Mia. She doesn’t. But being around her was a reminder of what they lost for so many months and even though it isn’t that way anymore, Mia learned to tolerate their family a little as they could tolerate her after the funeral. At this point, Dinah doubts any attempts at contacting her would go over well. Why would Mia want to be around a family that betrayed her trust? 

“At that meeting.” And Dinah thinks of it often. The small, shorthanded exchange earning Mia the respectful apology she deserved. “Nightwing said that you two had ‘communication techniques.’”

“We-” He hesitates on the verb tense. “We do.” 

“Did they help?” 

He shakes his head. “For a time.” Weary years are etched on his face. 

Her bones ache with familiarity. “Will they help again?” Will they help me? Will they pick up the scraps of my family and make us more than a series of islands lost to the crashing waves of grief? Will they set a table with napkins and placemats and cutlery and pass around an overflowing feast and bring raucous laughter back to my empty home? Will they heal what I leave broken because I’m too scared of all the ways I can make it worse?

“I don’t know,” he answers softly. His hand tightens in somber reassurance, like he can read all her insecurities on her face. She knows now that he isn’t much older than her. That he too is carrying the legacy of his parents. “I hope so. I.” He swallows. “I will have to wait for Nightwing to approach me. It’s what I’m supposed to do, but I. I just wanted to know if Red Robin was coming.” 

If Tim is okay. Alive. Rested. Fed. Healthy. Whole. 

“You’re in a stop,” she recalls. Pause. Rewind. Stop. 

“It was a joke,” he says with a voice that longs for happier days. “That he wished he could get me to speak when I was silent or to be silent when I wasn’t saying what I meant. That he wished I had a remote control. It helped me realize just how- how uncomfortable our interactions were for him. It helped for a time. But only when I comply.” 

And he failed to do so tonight. Nightwing needed space that Batman hadn’t afforded. 

Dinah doesn’t know where she stands with her children. She doesn’t know who needs space and who needs to rant at her and who needs to hear to her apologies. 

But it’s clear that she has to start. She has to start now, before a third year passes with no words between them. Before a third year passes with no promise that she’ll be there when they need her. 

⏩︎

The music, just like everything else, is elegant. It slides through her ears, peaceful, unobtrusive, and wholly brilliant. 

For all her knowledge of music theory, Dinah is in awe of every symphony composed and every orchestra that brings one to life. 

It’s not the object of her attention tonight though. No, she is entirely focused on her plus one for the evening. 

When the invitation came again this year, Dinah was pleasantly surprised. After learning Batman’s identity, she was under the assumption that he would want to distance Bruce Wayne and Dinah Lance at every angle. 

Oliver isn’t here and she isn’t sure if he wasn’t invited or chose not to come. Aside from Hal, he’s had rocky relationships with the entire community since he was released from prison. Not that, to her knowledge, Ollie knows Batman under the cowl. 

It’s not really any of her business. The anniversary of their divorce draws ever nearer and each day she feels a little more apathetic to all his failings. 

Tonight isn’t about Oliver though. Connor picks awkwardly at a plate of vegetarian hors d'oeuvres. His hair has grown out, curls shaking into his eyes when he leans forward. He shifts uncomfortably in his suit, having always preferred clothing that doesn’t limit his range of motion. Every few minutes, he glances at his watch. 

Dinah tries not to feel hurt by that. 

Since Black Lightning’s retirement party, she’s tried to pick back up the relationships she allowed to fray. Connor had been the first she’d gone to, with the misguided belief that their relationship stalled because they both grew busy, prioritizing different things. That had been exceedingly wrong. 

There’s been a tension in his body each time they’ve seen each other these last few months. His nervousness persisted at Star Beans and Brews, the Museum of Natural History, and the High Oaks National Forest. It’s present here, now, and she isn’t quite sure how to ask. 

It feels like he’s humoring her, holding her at a length she didn’t think necessary. With Mia and Roy and Sin, especially Sin, she expects this sort of distrust. But not with Connor. 

Connor’s always been so solid, so self-assured. What has she done to leave him so on edge? 

“Would you-” 

“Are you-” 

Dinah bites back the word okay and gestures for him to continue. 

“Would you like to check out the art?” The hint of formality in his words just another tick in the box that she’s lost her way with him. 

She lets herself smile anyway. “Absolutely.”

The Martha Wayne Foundation’s annual gala always features a number of art pieces to be auctioned off. It’s the main thing to do here, other than schmooze. Neither she nor Connor are ‘schmoozers.’

She follows him to the curtained off area where the music and conversation are muffled. 

A few wealthy attendees are moving about the space, commenting on the pieces like they know anything about baroque styles or impressionist inspirations. They hardly glance over to where she and Connor observe a beautiful statue commissioned by the Gotham Arts Foundation. 

It’s an abstract piece, with hints of leaves and flowers, but nothing she can identify specifically. The different metals all weave together, tighter at the bottom and looser at the top. 

Connor taps at the starting bid number with a raised eyebrow. 

“You want it?” she offers. It’s outside her budget, especially considering how much their plates cost, but it’s not unreasonable considering the school revitalization project for which the gala is raising funds. 

His eyebrow ticks higher. “You’re offering?” There’s something layered underneath that she can’t place. 

“Of course.” She tries to make the words confident and assuring. “I’d do anything for you, kiddo.”

His shoulders stiffen. He moves onto the next piece. 

Dinah follows, wishing she understood what was wrong with that sentence. 

Maybe she hasn’t always been there for Connor, but he’s never really needed anyone. He’s always had it figured out. 

“The colors are nice on this one,” Connor comments, taking in a rather large painting of a valley during sunset. The paints selected are striking, beautiful. 

“It’s so textured too.” She wishes their conversation could reach depths of that valley. 

Connor nods, always a few feet to her left. Always moving onto the next thing. 

The gallery clears out as more exciting music starts up, an invitation to dance. 

“This one says all the materials were plastics pulled from Gotham Harbor,” she notes. The trio of woven baskets are sealed inside an airtight display case. 

“Daring,” Connor jokes, his heart not in it. 

A pair of footsteps clap into the secluded area, around near the first sculpture they viewed. Harsh whispers accompany the approach and Dinah cringes in second-hand embarrassment. 

Connor gives an awkward smile. “Maybe we should…” 

She nods in agreement. Unfortunately, the gallery is set up in a U-shape, with the exit beside the entrance. They quietly move through, getting closer to the arguing pair. 

Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson. The hosts of the event in stiff lines, mellow light.

Dick is speaking quietly, features a study in wrought anxiety. 

Bruce, with his back to the rest of the gallery, is a wall of impenetrable shame. 

The father gently lifts a hand from where it’s resting its pocket. The son half-flinches back. 

“Dick, fast forward, please.” 

His mouth snaps shut. He heaves a breath. His arms cross over his chest. His long hair falls into his eyes. 

“I don’t want you to talk about Damian during your speech.” 

Grief rises in her chest. For Damian, for Lian. 

She glances back at Connor, who’s slowed down as they’ve gotten closer to the hosts. His brow is tight in concentration. Dinah thinks about reaching for him, but the fear of him too flinching back outweighs the hope that he’d lean in for comfort. 

“Okay,” Bruce answers after a heavy pause. “Okay, chum.” 

Dick lifts his gaze. “I just- He hated school, he never wanted to go, and he’d hate being used as an example.” His eyes shine with unshed tears. 

“I won’t mention him,” he soothes. The gentle tone that Dinah’s heard once or twice. Batman endearing himself to young witnesses. “I’ll focus on you and Tim.” 

“Okay,” Dick whispers. He wipes at his eyes. “Sorry, I didn’t mean-”

Bruce shifts forward. “Thank you for telling me what was wrong. I… appreciate you being here, Dick.” 

He nods shortly. Dinah can tell that his emotions are still turbulent and jumbled despite the apparent resolve. It came too early, she thinks. He wasn’t prepared to be heard. 

The pair exit a moment later. Dick first, to the bathrooms. Then Bruce, to whom he identifies as a speech writer. 

Dinah turns to Connor, her throat dry. He rubs the back of his neck. “Well that was-”

“Connor,” she interrupts, mind surging with the desire to be more than former colleagues, former family. “What’s wrong?” 

He stiffens before forcing a confused look. “I don’t know what you mean.” 

She shakes her head, loosening all the trepidation. “Kiddo.” She catches his eye even as he tries to look away. “I know that… I know that we haven’t really talked since- since the funeral.” His shoulders stiffen. “And I know that I should’ve reached out sooner. I’ve missed you, kid. I feel like I’m being held at a distance and I just want to know what it is I did. I love you like my own son, Connor.” 

He flinches and her heart plummets. Her palms prickle with the misstep. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, not knowing what it is she’s apologizing for. 

He turns to a nearby painting. An abstract piece with smears of paint in browns and greens and blacks. “I wish you wouldn’t lie,” he says finally, studying the piece with Oliver’s sharp eyes. 

“Connor, I am sorry. For whatever I’ve done to make you feel like you can’t trust me.” She feels a kind of desperation that she hasn’t felt since begging Oliver to spare Lian’s murderer. 

His head shakes minutely. “I’m sure you are. But you don’t have to act like you want to be my mom or step-mom or whatever. I have a mom, Dinah. I don’t need you to pretend.” 

Her chest cracks with a decade of failures. “I-”

“I know you resent me. I don’t blame you.” He sighs like it hurts to breathe. “Just another reminder that you can’t give my dad the kids he wants.” 

She’s been doused in arctic waters warmer than this. Robert? She hasn’t thought about Robert in- in years. There’s a distant hurt about knowing that Shado provided in the worst way what Dinah couldn’t, but Dinah’s never tied her self-worth to her ability to conceive. 

She learned about Robert’s existence, Oliver’s son, during the period that she’d lost her canary cry. She’d been going through upheaval after upheaval at the time, including meeting Connor. 

But she’d never connected her lost ability to her complex feelings about Robert, nor to her complex feelings about Connor. Had she?

What’s more, she and Oliver are divorced. Her ability to have future children with Oliver has nothing to do with her relationship with Connor. 

“Connor,” she says quietly. “We met at a really hard time.” Her mind’s eye flashes with her torturer’s cruel face. The arrow through his chest. Oliver’s chaste, cheating kiss. Connor’s down turned eyes as he informed her of Oliver’s death. “But I never.” She pauses. Swallows back the excuse that automatically formed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed we were in a good place all these years. You were always so good to your siblings and I assumed that extended to me.” 

“Can I be honest?” he asks, still not looking at her. 

“Of course,” she answers like she can take another gut punch. Her extremities are numb with his disappointment. His hurt. 

He rubs his thumb over the edge of his suit jacket. “I never thought of you as a mom, Dinah. You’re not all that much older than me and we met when I was twenty. Yeah, you were married to my dad for a time, but it’s not like we ever connected the way you and the others did.” He pauses, body loose. She’s reminded that he’s the most skilled fighter among them, yet always the last to raise his fists. “I was really happy when you reached out. Genuinely. But not because I was waiting for my ‘step-mom’ to remember me. I was hoping for a friend.”

She allows that to sink deep below her skin. To wrap around her meta gene and clog up her vocal cords. 

It’s not what she wanted, when she reached out to Connor. But maybe it’s what she can give him. A friend who knows their family, their history, their faults, and their triumphs. “I’d like to be in your life however you want me to show up,” she tells him honestly. 

His eyes dart toward her, searching, seeking. “Alright,” he allows. 

🇨‌🇨‌

It’s generally frowned upon to grant emergency access when there’s time for a guest review, so Dinah finds herself in the DC JL office with a (digital) stack of paperwork. 

The League is contracted with Kord Inc. to provide tablets for all their facilities. This one came with a stylus that’s a little too sensitive. 

This building is much livelier than the Central City zeta depot. There’s tasteful decor against the beige walls and speckled, wheelchair friendly tile throughout. Potted plants of various, proudly native Earth species catch the sunlight. The windows have soft curtains covering the mechanisms for bomb shelter reinforcements. 

Diplomats and civil servants with the United Nations and League staff pass their tucked away table every few minutes. There’s a major negotiation with the Saturnians underway. She’s not on that particular committee, but from the heavy sighs that Jesse Quick brings to the meta affinity group dinners, they’re not going well. Apparently Kyle Rayner accidentally committed a serious faux pas and swapping out with Jessica Cruz as the Managing Green Lantern caused some serious backtracking. Dinah is so, so happy that she’s effectively removed herself from all diplomatic affairs. 

A Qualaran is being guided by an immigration specialist toward the asylum application center, a purple orb floating between them and translating their conversation both ways. 

Dinah watches them until they disappear, before returning to adding her initials to each liability acknowledgement. 

“What should I write here?” 

Sin’s voice is calm and even. It’s unrecognizable. Dinah made a promise to Sin, she opposed and defeated dozens of powerful adversaries for this young girl. And then she forgot to watch her grow up. 

In the last three and a half years, Dinah has seen Sin five times. Since Lian died, she’s seen her once. To inform her of the loss. 

And then she left, relying on the monastery to care for her daughter in her grief. 

There’s time lost and there’s time abandoned. 

Dinah blinks away her blurry failings. “You'll leave that blank,” she answers, toggling the screen into English momentarily. “It’s for the reviewer to complete.” The section Sin’s hovering over is where the biometric scan file number will be written. And the back up. And the other back up. And the third. 

Zeta travel, as reliable as it is, is exceedingly dangerous. 

“Oh.” She awkwardly scrolls past it. She's fourteen now. Almost fifteen. Her hair is much longer and braided by someone with less aching wrists than Dinah. She’s a few inches taller and she wears earth tone colors and open toed shoes. She still wrinkles her nose like she did when she was ten and first encountering the enamored Birds of Prey. But she stifles her laughter when Dinah makes a dumb joke that would’ve gotten her giggling four years ago. 

When Dinah arrived at the monastery three weeks ago, she’d been prepared for Sin to scream at her, to send her away, to sob into her shoulder. (She fantasized about an emotional, warm welcome, in which she could explain her absence with something more than I was too scared to face another little girl I failed.) 

She wasn’t expecting the cold shoulder. It took several days before Sin even acknowledged her. And the whole time, there was such hostility from everyone else. 

Dinah didn’t know monks could glare. 

She should’ve. Connor has sent similarly vicious expressions her way many times as they’ve continued to meet every few weeks since the charity gala. He’s been so much more open and free now that they aren’t trying to be someone they aren’t to each other. Their latest excursion, an indie folk concert at a converted barn outside Star, was filled with laughter and friendly ribbing and so much joy that Dinah thought herself bolstered enough to untangle all that she left frayed with Sin. She was wrong. 

Flying to the island was encouraged by Barbara, Zinda, and Helena. Barbara even chartered a Wayne plane for her to parachute down from. Her arrival was met with immediate disapproval. 

Sin didn’t want to see her, the head monk repeated again and again. And Dinah would accept that, genuinely. She saw how poorly Bruce’s reception was when he forced himself through to Dick when his son wasn’t ready. Dinah would accept that Sin didn’t want her in her life anymore, as much as it would brand her failure permanently in her heart, so long as she heard it from Sin’s own mouth. Sin’s right to say no is just as important to Dinah as her right to say it herself. 

So Dinah camped on the beach. The waters were rough and the sand rocky. She still has a few slow healing scrapes from cutting herself on the rough shore. Unlike Oliver, she stranded herself on purpose.

In the morning, she approached the monastery and within minutes she was sent away. But it was clear that Sin was not being consulted. She returned, day after day, until a week had passed. 

When Sin arrived on the seventh day, the reunion was nothing like she expected. Sin was indifferent to her presence, but she didn’t leave, nor did she ask Dinah to. Her English, which had improved leaps and bounds in the year she lived with Dinah, had been largely forgotten. Dinah’s Vietnamese had similarly devolved. And when someone doesn’t want to communicate, it’s very difficult to get ideas through charades or pictures drawn in the sand. 

Dinah’s daughter is a full fledged teenager now and unlike most moms, Dinah’s loss of communication has nothing to do with raging hormones. 

Determined to stay on the island until Sin told her to leave, Dinah spent another week sitting in Sin’s silent presence. Her self-flagellation fluctuated between her regrets at abandoning Sin, her ineptitude now, and her arrogance that she could be enough for this child. 

It follows the same pattern now, as she mindlessly signs every release of liability to bring Sin back into her life. 

When Sin finally thawed enough, or maybe when Dinah finally stayed enough, the teen asked if she was finally allowed to come home. 

Risk be damned, Dinah isn’t going to deny her anything. 

Sin submits the zeta release form and the emergency contact one pops up next, recognizable by the numbers at the top. Dinah’s retrieved that form too many times to not know its identification number on sight. Too much sorrow tied to it. 

Beside her, Sin pulls her knees up to her chest, not yet touching the stylus to the screen. 

Dinah inhales the urge to offer Barbara’s name, since Sin always had an affinity for Oracle. But she forces herself to wait. It took two weeks for Sin to ask to come home. Dinah won’t rush her now. 

She jerks her attention away and it lands on two figures that arrived without notice. 

Nightwing and Black Bat. 

They’re standing so close together that they’ve created their own little shadow in the brightly lit hallway. Cassandra’s full cowl has been foregone for a more classic Gotham domino, so Dinah can see how her lips wobble every few moments, fighting off tears. Nightwing wraps an arm over her shoulder, his own chest spasming in time. 

There’s a soft tap as Sin’s tablet nudges into her own. 

Dinah looks down. The form has already been switched to English and her name has been written on the first line. 

She presses her lips together, compressing the burst of emotion she feels into something more manageable. 

With care, she fills in her information. Phone line and email and comm ID and social security and zeta designation and multiversal origin and every detail that will allow Dinah to get to her- to get to Sin in time. 

She leaves the relationship field blank. 

Any answer is too much or not enough. 

Has she ever really been a mother? 

Growing up, she never imagined a family like the one she was born into. It was so… small. Just her mom and dad.

Dinah always wanted to be a part of something more. It’s why she took her mother’s legacy as her own, why she joined the Justice League, why she married Ollie. 

But Ollie was always so much better at bringing others in. Sometimes, Dinah felt like another one of his strays. The only thing separating her from Roy and Connor and Mia being how long she’s known her ex. 

Sin though, Sin was Dinah’s first… The first person she protected because of her own connection. Ten years old, in that village ensnared in the Mother’s hold. A little girl with the weight of expectation that only one other can truly understand.

Out in the hallway, Lady Shiva’s daughter has straightened and let go of her brother. The space darkens, a shadow expanding, approaching. 

Nightwing crosses his arms like he has something shameful to cover up. 

Batman pauses a few feet away from his children. 

The three of them are unmoving, caught in each others’ presence as if they’ve never been there before. Dinah can’t look away, her stylus hovering over the Lantern Corp Unique Identifier question. 

It aches because she knows those stances, knows those breaths. Every word just out of reach, every sentiment too delicate to form into speech. 

It feels like the sand trapped in her fists. Sounds like overeager waves crashing onto a forbidden shore. Smells like salt water she would risk drowning in to swim a little closer to what she lost. Tastes like volcanic vent sulfur in the back of her throat. 

It looks like a teenage daughter too long removed from the love they once shared. 

The stylus trembles in her grip. 

Batman’s hands disappear into his cape. Black Bat reaches into the pooling darkness to hold one between her shaking palms. “Thank you,” she whispers. 

Nightwing nods stiffly. He is looking somewhere past his father. “We should-” He swallows. “We should head back there. The appointment’s in.” There are more words but they don’t make it past his throat. A fist is pressed against his lips and she feels his sob in her own chest. 

Horribly, suddenly, she knows why they’re here. 

Roy hadn’t invited anyone along when six months had passed for Lian. 

“Three minutes,” Batman supplies. Black Bat presses closer into her father’s side, halfway disappearing beneath his cape. 

They don’t move. 

Dinah forces herself to drag her eyes back to the tablet. She signs her name on the line of a medical information release form. If Sin is ever in need of blood or an organ and Dinah’s a match, she wants to be the first in line to give a piece of herself back to this child. 

The forms that follow blur in her vision. Eschewing her privacy is nothing new. At least now it feels like an ember of warmth in her chest rather than a dousing of frigid water. 

“You two need… captions,” Black Bat huffs, her voice a little high and tight. 

“What are you talking about, double B?”

She shifts a little back into the light. “A translator.” She catches Nightwing’s wrist. “You need a translator.” She tugs her brother forward. “You want to be hugged. He wants to hug you. You’re both- We’re all-” Her voice breaks. “We all miss him.”

Nightwing sniffs loudly. While his shoulders are tense, he doesn’t resist being drawn into Batman’s embrace. 

The father stiffly wraps his arms around both children. He presses a kiss against Cassandra’s hair, then Dick’s. He holds them as tight as he can manage. 

A strain too familiar to Dinah. She can’t help but inch her chair closer to Sin. 

The teen is watching the family as well, eyes wide. Her jaw trembles minutely and she wraps her arms around her knees. She’s just a kid. How anyone can seek her as a weapon to control when she’s a child, Dinah’s child, is wrath-inducing. 

The family breaks apart all too soon, but they keep within reach of each other as they approach an extinguishing hope. 

Sin watches distantly as Dinah signs the final few forms. She reverently swipes back to the first page and switches the language to Vietnamese once more. 

The girl accepts the tablet with uncoordinated movements. “What… happened?” Each syllable so delicately formed as she reaches for a language Dinah was meant to teach her. 

Dinah sniffs, eyes hot and wet with emotion. She’s never worn a mask. “They lost someone, six months ago. They’re here to retire his zeta designation.” 

It’s one of the few bits of closure afforded to capes when a family member passes. With the irregularity of death experienced by masks, the League waits to decommission zeta back up data until half a year has passed with no indication of resurrection. The small ceremony is heartbreaking. It is a crushing reminder that death is the end. It’s a necessary wake up call for those who hope for a reunion in an unkind universe. 

Sin taps her tablet. “This zeta designation?” 

The very service Sin is applying for. Permission to utilize the zeta tubes with Dinah. To visit the Watchtower and Gotham and Star City. To return to the world she was abruptly removed from. 

Dinah nods. “That zeta designation.” 

She hunches her shoulders in a bit more. She’s known since she was a toddler just how dangerous this world is. Unlike Dinah, she did not have a choice to enter it. 

Finally, when the stormy thoughts calm in her eyes, she returns to the emergency contact form. In the relationship field, she writes one of the few Vietnamese words Dinah still remembers. 

Family. 

⏭

The dizzying yellow light fades too slowly for the quickness of Dinah’s heart beat. She doesn’t wait for her vision to return, only affirming her grip on the hand in hers before rocketing out of the chamber. 

The computerized voice rings in her ears, the information so insistently unimportant to her. She needs to move, she needs to be there already, she needs to let physical reality affirm what she refuses to be a cruel taunt of the universe. 

Tripping footsteps rattle at her side and the hand only squeezes tighter the faster they move. “Chúng ta đang đi đâu?” 

Her mind stutter-stops until a translation forms. Where are we going? 

“Up the street.” The disguised zeta point is already a block behind them, but it’s not far enough away because they’re not yet at their destination. The rising sun gives just enough light for her to identify the idling gray car. 

She points to it and Sin nods in recognition, her footsteps hurrying along. 

Every beat of her heart, every sucking of air, every press of her toes against the sidewalk, her body pounds with get there, get there, get there. 

The world tunnels, stretches, and then snaps as all too soon (not soon enough), she is yanking open the backseat for Sin and climbing in the passenger’s seat. 

The car, not risking the extra moments of being in park, immediately starts forward. Connor briefly casts his gaze at his two passengers. His warmth spreads through her chest.

“Thank you for getting us,” she repeats, barely feeling the car as her mind races ahead to where she wants to already be. 

Connor distractedly pulls out onto the empty road. “I was already in the area,” he says. “I was visiting-” He cuts himself off. “I was here. I’ve already waited almost three years. Thirty minutes isn’t a huge difference.” 

Dinah wishes she could channel his cosmic perspective, but there’s an urgency under her skin that will only release when she has the physical proof wrapped in her arms. 

In the back seat, Sin leans forward to the end range of her seatbelt. “Minutes?”

“Chào em gái,” Connor greets over his shoulder. It’s only the second time they’ve been around each other since Dinah brought Sin home, but his Vietnamese is already far better than her own. “Mười lăm phút. Fifteen minutes.”

Sin grumbles something that Dinah can’t quite make out. Probably frustration that they aren’t already there. 

She tries to center herself, to remember that this is more than her own reunion. Connor and Sin are just as overjoyed at this unexpected occasion. And they won’t be the only ones there. Hal, the one who called her, said Ollie was already on his way. 

Any number of others involved in the rescue. 

And Roy. 

She doesn’t know what she’ll say to Roy. If she’ll be allowed to say anything at all. 

Since Black Lightning’s retirement party, she hasn’t seen him once. Before that, it had been almost a year. She’s sent a few messages to each phone number she has for him, as well as a lengthy email to his Outsiders account. 

No response. 

“Have you heard more about their conditions?” Hal told her there were minor injuries, but he barely stayed on the phone long enough to give her an address. There are so many people that dared to hope for this day. Dinah was lucky to be contacted at all. 

Connor blows through a yellow light. “No. I just know that the Titans have been informed.” 

If Dinah wasn’t so focused on willing this car to break the sound barrier, she’d be more interested in how Connor knows that despite never being a Titan. 

The streets blow past. Connor’s mom taught him to drive, but Dinah taught him to speed. She’s very grateful to her past self, so that those skills can be implemented now. 

They cut through a neighborhood to avoid a notoriously slow light. Then veer toward an area Dinah once knew quite well but hasn’t visited in almost two years. They pass a store front so familiar it brings tears to her eyes, despite the Sherwood Florist sign no longer hanging there. 

Connor, thankfully, doesn’t stop there. He turns right at the end of the street though, and enters a neighborhood she walked through many long mornings. 

It aches, that Roy would call this corner of the city home. 

The tiny one story house, with its lawn cut in criss-crossed, diagonal strips and its sides tucked in by corn, beans, and squash. The rich chestnut exterior is accented with warm reds on the window sills and doors.

They park under an apple tree that’s been dedicatedly pruned so that a few large fruits can thrive. 

Sin gets out first, yanking open Dinah’s door when she moves too slowly. Connor taps twice on the mailbox as they pass it. Instead of the classic red flag, there’s the shape of an arrow’s fletching. 

In the driveway is Hal’s Challenger, haphazardly parked. A plane he can land on a dime, a car… not so much. 

She feels another pang, knowing that she definitely lost Hal in the divorce. But the rush of reunion overpowers the gloom in moments. The front porch boasts pots of snake plants, yarrow, and herbs she can’t quite identify. There’s a No Soliciting sign prominently displayed, plus more discrete arcane wards and vigilante safety symbols. 

The door isn’t locked when Sin wraps her twitching hard around the knob. As she pushes it open, Dinah sees beyond to a home brimming with joy. 

Shoes are scattered around a rubber mat just inside. Dinah kicks hers off, recognizing Ollie’s favorite hiking boots. Beside them, a pair of tiny white sneakers she never thought she’d see worn again. 

She casts her gaze, honed from years of searching dark streets for darker deeds, until she finds the little girl her heart has not forgotten for a single beat. 

There, sitting on a green couch that used to be in the basement of the Outsiders headquarters, tucked tightly against Roy’s chest, is Lian. 

Her dark hair is frizzy, pulled back into hasty pigtails. There’s debris caught in her clothes, clay and splinters. She’s wearing… 

Dinah swallows. She’s wearing the same clothes she died in. Green shirt. Blue jeans. Purple socks. She knows they’re the same because she forced herself to understand the splatter pattern of those blood stains, to know exactly how Lian died in the Prometheus attack. 

In her periphery, she recognizes Oliver knelt down in front of their granddaughter. She feels Hal’s watchful eyes tracking each new arrival. She hears Troia and Starfire whispering to each other, both with a finger on a comm. She sees Nightwing expertly bandaging scrapes on Roy’s right shoulder. 

It’s all background to her tears and knees, both falling to the floor the moment she’s in arm’s reach of her granddaughter. 

Roy’s prosthetic arm squeezes tighter around this little girl that their family broke apart for. He ducks his head down to whisper in her ear. Dinah doesn’t hear what he says, is only grateful that it causes Lian to lift her trembling face up. Eyes bright with tears meet Dinah’s and in a moment, she has her arms wrapped around her grandbaby. 

Her bones are too delicate under Dinah’s hold, her little ribcage rushing out heaving breaths. 

It doesn’t feel real. None of it feels real. 

She remembers kissing Ollie after having him buried him nearly two years before. She remembers socking Ted in the jaw the first time he popped back up from a snapped neck. She remembers the celebration of life of the second Robin and Wonder Girl and Lilith.

She remembers how many of them came back, how many didn’t. 

How impossible this all is, as she wipes tears from this little girl’s face and promises her that she will never leave Dinah’s sight again. 

As she holds this little girl tight, Roy keeps one hand soothing her back. Ollie squeezes her shoulder. Sin brushes her hair from her face. Connor lends his expansive mass to huddling them all together. 

Over two years their family has been separated. And they’re still not complete. 

Lian reaches for Oliver’s embrace and Dinah knows that they are still missing someone. Just for now though, she chooses to be joyful. 

Of all the reunions she’s orchestrated in these past months, this is one she thought beyond possibility. 

Oliver is humming a familiar song into Lian’s ear, soothing their granddaughter the way only he knows how. Dinah wraps an arm around Sin and kisses the top of her head. She clasps Roy’s hand before she can think better. 

“Thank you.” The words ache in her throat. 

Connor reaches for his brother as well, bumping their heads together in quiet support. 

Roy smoothes out Lian’s rumpled shirt. “Don’t thank me for this,” he murmurs. His eyes are bloodshot and his hands shake and Dinah pushes down an unruly, worried, protective instinct. He doesn’t deserve her bad memories. 

“Thank you for letting us into your home,” she settles on. There’s too much she wants to say. 

Roy glances at Dick, who’s packing away the medical supplies. None, despite the crusted blood, have been needed for Lian. Another miracle. 

Dick gives a complicated smile before slipping away from their mess of a family. Lian’s started drifting to sleep in her grandpa’s arms and Dinah is so, so grateful to witness this once again. 

The first child to make Dinah realize how much mentorship and motherhood mean to her catches her eye again. His face is tight with all they’ve never said—and all they’ve said too much. Finally, he sighs, a release of all he holds against her, at least for now. “I’m glad you could be here, Dinah.” He lets go of his daughter just long enough to ruffle Sin’s hair. 

“Chào mừng em về nhà,” he smiles. Welcome home. 

There’s a soft beep on Dick’s communicator. He flips it open with a frown, then draws Roy’s attention with a short, soft whistle. Nightwing flashes two quick handsigns which must be Titans-specific because while Dinah doesn’t understand, Roy, Koriand’r, and Donna do. 

“C’mere, Lee,” Roy murmurs, drawing his groggy daughter out of Oliver’s strong hold. Sin crawls up on the couch after them, gently tugging Lian’s hairbands out and detangling it with patient fingers. 

Connor stands after a moment, joining Hal where he keeps watch. Hal gives a half hug, nodding to Dinah when he sees her watching. 

Dinah can’t convince herself to move, one hand coming up to rub circles against Lian’s ankle. 

Beside her, Oliver opens his mouth. Dinah has known the man too long to not know that the question on his lips will unsettle the peace wrapped around them. His teeth clack shut at her stern look. 

There’s every chance that he has the same burning questions as her. How this happened. What cosmic entity they owe for this miracle. Who else could be returned by this same anomaly. 

It’ll come later. Roy is on reserves for the Outsiders, a report will make it to the JL eventually. 

The front door swings open. From this angle, Dinah can only make out two shadows. 

Rigidly, Roy sits forward. Lian shifts in his lap until she is facing the doorway. 

“Mommy!” she screams, renewed tears already flowing. She wriggles free, tripping over Dinah’s knees as she races to where Jade has dropped down in disbelief. 

A string of reverent murmurs fall from Jade’s lips as she sobs over her revived daughter. Standing above them, Batman forms a shaded wall. Protecting the reunion from all that would interject. 

Roy and Jade lock eyes, pain only they know easing. The tension is broken after stretching minutes by Donna’s quiet interruption. She gestures him to her and Koriand’r’s command corner, quietly consulting him on whether Rose Wilson is welcome to this reunion. 

Lian’s first nanny. 

Dinah’s mind shies away from thinking of her second primary babysitter. Another young Titan who has struggled to fit in. 

Nightwing has sat down beside Sin and is struggling to engage her in conversation. It sounds like he keeps attempting to swap in Japanese words for the Vietnamese he doesn’t know. Sin (and Dinah) appreciates the effort, but Dick has clearly fallen below his own standards. 

“B,” he calls quietly. 

Batman stiffens, and then Bruce breaks through. He stumbles forward at Dick’s beckoning nod, careful not to disturb the embrace at his feet. 

He takes Oliver’s place as the older vigilante goes to join Connor and Hal in conversation. 

“I’m trying to tell her about BB’s group,” he explains quietly.

Bruce regards Dinah’s daughter. “Con có nói tiếng việt không?” 

Do you speak Vietnamese? Dinah translates with only a small bit of uncertainty. 

Sin nods eagerly, jabbering too quickly for Dinah to make out. Bruce responds in short measured statements. 

He’s so gentle with her, Dinah wonders for a moment how he could have such fractured relationships with his own children. She knows the answer though. That this measuredness can be emotionless, can be rigid, can be unforgiving. 

The reunions continue. A few members of the Outsiders arrive, the only one Dinah’s familiar with being Metamorpho. 

Jade relinquishes her hold on Lian just enough to allow Sin to braid her niece’s hair. 

A moment after Sin leaves their gathering at the couch, Bruce turns to Dick. Earnestness and seriousness coat his features. 

“Nightwing, I…” 

“Let’s just skip for now, B. Lian’s here and… I want to be happy for Roy.” 

Dinah stands, allowing them the small amount of privacy to work through their own grief. Lian is home, but Damian is still dead. 

She finds herself standing beside Roy. They both watch Lian insatiably. Dinah will never have her fill of seeing this little girl. Or speaking to her, or holding her. 

“How are you feeling?” she asks quietly. 

Roy shrugs, his uninjured shoulder raising higher than the one weighed down by heavy, life-changing technology. “Doesn’t feel real,” he admits. The words roll out of his mouth like his lips are numb. “I swear I’m going to blink and…” He sniffs, shaking his head. The gentle murmur of the room covers his tears. “I can’t lose her again.” 

A little daring, Dinah places a hand on his arm. “I will do everything in my power to prevent that. I don’t care how she came home. We’re keeping her here.” 

Roy doesn’t dislodge her touch. “Thanks, Di.” Still in her mom’s arms, Lian wriggles around until she can see her dad. “It- You helped me get my act together so many times and I know I fucked up a lot of shit after she- If you’d be willing to give me a third chance, I know she’d…” 

“As long as you’d be willing to give me a third chance in return.” She wraps an arm around his back and her heart squeezes as he turns fully into her, tucking his head into her neck like he did when he was a head shorter than her rather than a head taller. “I know I haven’t been there for you all the time. And certainly not when you’ve needed me. But I’m trying to do better. To be better. I’d really like to be in your life again Roy. However you’d be willing to allow me.” 

He chokes on a sob and she pulls him tighter. “You’re my kid, Roy. I’m going to be here for you. Not just for Lian, but for you. And-” Here, she pauses, tugging him away to ensure he’s looking at her. “-you have nothing to apologize for. You needed me and I wasn’t there. That’s changing Roy. I’m not going to hold my mistakes against you.” 

▶

There’s an unsettledness under her skin, being away from Lian, from Roy, from Sin, from Connor. For two and a half years, all she felt was numb about her absence in their lives. 

It’s necessary though. Roy has firm lines about when, and which, visitors are allowed. Dinah has responsibilities outside of cradling Lian in her arms. 

She finds herself up on the Watchtower during an off week for the Committee on Youth Heroes. It’s not autopilot, per se, but she certainly didn’t plan on coming here when she dropped Sin off for her painting class this morning. 

Resigning herself to the draw of this monument to cooperation, Dinah sits down to do what she’s been pondering for months. 

As she pulls out her Kord Inc. tablet, she instinctively glances around for Mia. It’s the right hallway, but the wrong week. 

What’s more, Speedy was absent at the last two CYH meetings. Dinah can’t help but connect this to her telling Connor that she was planning to speak with Mia after the next one. It hurts to be avoided and it hurts to know that her kids are talking about her behind her back. But there’s a strange amount of pride in knowing that they’re taking care of each other. 

If Mia’s not ready, that’s okay. Dinah can make peace with Mia needing more time before she can allow someone who’s disappointed her so thoroughly back into her life. 

It’s the bigger picture that bothers her. It’s the fact that an old family group chat has been resurrected, one that includes Ollie and excludes Mia. It’s the fact that Lian has asked after Mia twice and no one’s been able to bring the five year old her beloved aunt. 

She understands that Roy isn’t ready to forgive and she won’t counsel him on the matter. He has more than enough friends that he’ll more readily listen to than her. Their reconnection is still far too fresh and built on the shaky ground of a miracle. Earning his trust again will take much more time. Much more work. 

Setting the thought aside with a shaky sigh, Dinah returns to her blinking cursor. The form is mostly blank still and she already plans to rewrite the few items that have been typed. 

But if these last ten months have taught her anything, it’s that this is too difficult to do alone. Caping has always been and will continue to be a familial endeavor. Yet among all of the affinity groups that the JL offers, there is not one for vigilante parents with vigilante children. 

It has to change. She isn’t the only one floundering. She doesn’t want to be alone anymore. 

She forces a few more meager thoughts onto the page, letting the hum of the Watchtower envelope her. Civilian trainees learning the security protocols for unauthorized teleportations. Rookie capes being folded into the League. UN officials organizing last minute thoughts before the Saturnian delegation arrives. A technician running in with a next gen auto-translator. 

This little desk, tucked away in the hosting floor, observing the bustling life around her. She chose it for a reason. For a reminder of all that can come from a group of people working together for a common cause. 

A few hours pass, her request being written and re-written and deleted and started fresh. The Saturnian delegation and the committee negotiating close up the doors to the largest meeting room on this level. She waves to Nightwing, Jesse Quick, and the admin Anita as they head in. 

Maybe the next time she sees Nightwing and Anita, Mia will have returned to the CYH committee.

The hope carries her through the next several form fields. 

A gentle shadow passes over her, a kind warning. 

“Black Canary.” 

She feels her shoulders relax. “Batman.”

When she gestures for him to take a seat, he does. They sit in a companionable silence for many minutes, understanding she never would have anticipated settling over them. 

“Nightwing agreed to upgrade the tracker in his suit,” he informs her after reading the half-finished proposal over her shoulder. “I asked. Not Oracle or Cyborg. It. He hasn’t agreed when I’ve asked since he was Robin.” 

Ten years then, if Dinah remembers the beginning of Roy’s groaning about Nightwing correctly. A decade of breaking apart and glueing themselves back together. 

She rests a hand over his own, not minding the thick glove that protects him. “That’s great.” Genuinely. After all the ups and downs she’s witnessed in the past several months, past several years, it’s great to hear that this up has continued. 

“Arsenal gave me his emergency comm frequency,” she shares, another small celebration. 

Bruce smiles at her, tender and warm. They talk about how Roy and Lian are adjusting and Dinah thanks him again for bringing Lian’s mother home. He’s one of the few people who could have made it happen on such short notice. 

She tells him about redecorating Sin’s room in her new apartment that overlooks Gotham Harbor. About hiking Mount Rainier with Connor. 

He tells her about Red Robin staying the night for the first time since he donned that new mantle. About Spoiler and Black Bat inviting him on an architectural tour. 

They don’t suffocate in the silences. Robin. Red Hood. Speedy. 

“Sin’s really enjoying Black Bat’s language exchange group.” Sin really enjoys Cassandra Cain, really. Her daughter hasn’t stopped jabbering about the young woman since she got home from the first meeting. Their similar experiences are striking and Dinah is grateful there’s someone out there who understands Sin so fully. (And she is wracked with guilt, knowing that Cassandra stayed with her family when danger came, rather than being sent away.) 

“She likes making people feel welcome. Mentoring,” Bruce muses. “She’s quite the host too.” 

Dinah marvels again at how easy it is to speak with Batman. Every parent gushes about their children when given the chance. 

There’s a soft beep on his wrist computer. He frowns at it. 

“Duty calls?” she surmises. Her own communicator hasn’t gone off, so she hopes it’s a run-of-the-mill rogue or a bureaucratic matter. 

“I have monitor duty.” Something she admires about him. Even at the highest ranking level in their organization, he’s never above the boring work new recruits complain about. “I was hoping to catch Nightwing before, but it appears that the Saturnians are running long again.” 

“I’m surprised you’re not in there.” 

“I was,” he admits. “For the first few negotiations. Nightwing asked that I trust him with it.” 

She smiles. The triumph feels shared. 

He stands stiffly, discretely stretching his back. 

They start their goodbyes as the conference doors spill open. 

Nightwing stalks out, his hands flexing to rein in his rage. Green Lantern Cruz hovers between him and the lead delegate who is quickly following Nightwing. 

At the same moment, the zeta station down the hall announces, “B-92. Speedy.”

Dinah shoots to her feet. 

Nightwing strides up to Batman. His rage is palpable and even as her attention strains into the next room, she sees the way Batman deflates. How Bruce already accepts the toll, the blame, the scorch of Dick’s anger. 

Dinah squeezes her friend’s shoulder as she goes, their sharp, coded speech quickly fading to the background. As much as she wants to fight this battle with Bruce, she has her own child’s anger to weather. 

The Saturnian diplomat takes Dinah’s place, snarky speech hissing out of the translator. 

Just before Dinah turns the corner, she hears Nightwing bite out, “B. Play.” 

And her understanding of the situation flips. Nightwing hasn’t come to Batman to strike out with anger. He’s come to his dad for support. Whatever offense the Saturnian has paid Dick, Bruce will have it well in hand. Father and son, aligned as they should be. 

The gray, industrial braces of the Watchtower—the strongest, lightest metal available—branches around her. Intricate architecture that forms all the functions necessary to protect their planet. 

This floor is the only one to be described as cavernous. The greeting center. The entry hall. 

Layers of security Dinah voted to approve years ago of which she no longer fully recalls the details. Layers that slow Mia down, just enough, for Dinah to meet her at the stairwell. 

Mia’s face is stern, jaw clenched, nose flared. Her hands are curled into fists. She brushes past Dinah, trudging up the stairs two at a time.

“Speedy,” she calls, catching up quickly. 

Her steps don’t falter. The arrows in her quiver thump rhythmically. That sort of movement usually requires the force of being smashed against the side of a building, but Mia’s built it up all on her own. (Or, worse, her equipment isn’t being maintained by Oliver like she thought.) 

With a burst of determination, Dinah gets a step ahead of Mia and stops. “Speedy, what are you doing here?” 

It’s a terrible question, ripe to be taken in all the wrong directions. But she shouldn’t be on the Watchtower. There’s no meeting and no alert calling in JL affiliates. If Mia’s here, then something is wrong and Dinah can fix it, if she just knows what it is. 

“Excuse me, Black Canary.” There’s a crinkling. An envelope clenched tight in her right fist. She won’t look Dinah in the eye. 

Trying again, Dinah gentles her tone. “Is everything alright?”

Mia huffs, or maybe sniffs. She side steps Dinah and Dinah allows it. She remembers that sound. Mia, sixteen years old and too scared to lock the bathroom door as she broke down. 

Dinah catches the strap of her bracer. “Kiddo,” she whispers. “What’s wrong?” 

The young woman chokes out a laugh. “Leave me alone, Canary,” she croaks. Her words harden. “What I do with my life doesn’t concern you. No one’s going to die because of me, so just leave out of whatever this is.”

The words crack like ice around her heart. The archer continues pounding up the stairs, fleeing and Dinah should let her go. She should. She promised herself that if any of the kids still needed space, she would grant it. Except none of the kids have needed space. She deluded herself thinking that, when the only person that the distance protected was herself. 

Mia makes it to the second level, her palm out to scan her into the administrative sector. 

“Speedy-”

“You win!” Mia shouts, her perfectly regulated, sharpshooter breathing spastic in her lungs. “You win, alright? Just let me resign and get out of your life!” 

Clutching onto the railing, Dinah’s chest tightens. “Resign? From what? From the committee?” 

“Yes.” Mia crosses her arms, the crinkled letter disappearing behind her. “Flamebird already agreed to replace me.”

She takes a few tentative steps up. “You love being on the committee.”

It’s a battle Mia can fight with words rather than fists. It’s another front where she can end exploitation. Her hard gaze averts when Dinah tries to make eye contact. 

“I don’t want you-” 

“I know,” she interrupts, cheeks red. “I know. No one wants me around. I wouldn’t want me around.” She tries to swipe at her eyes, but the mask is in the way. “I killed her, why would anyone want me?” 

The words echo off the brutal beams. 

“I should’ve been there, I shouldn’t have run off, I shouldn’t have tried to kill the Electrocutioner like that would fix anything. I thought I was helping with the committee, I thought maybe-” A strangled laugh. “But she’s back now and I can’t even- I can’t even apologize because no one wants me there. Arsenal won’t let me in his house. Green Arrow practically dumped me with the Titans again. Sin’s home and you won’t let me see her!”

The air between them is thick, impossible to pass through. All this time. All this time Dinah thought it was Mia pushing her away, but it’s blatant, so obvious, that it was the family pushing Mia away. 

As hard as it is, Dinah thinks back to those horrible hours after Prometheus’ attack. The upheaval as a regular day of Mia babysitting Lian exploded with violence. The agonized despondence in Mia’s voice when she discovered Lian’s death. The blame echoing from Roy and Oliver. The shocked, stuckness Dinah couldn’t escape. 

Then the funeral, a week later and the loss all-consuming. Mia arrived late and left early to the cape ceremony. She hadn’t attended the private one for family at all. It’s possible she hasn’t been invited.

Dinah didn’t see Mia at all in the months that followed. In the year that followed. It was only when Oracle nominated Speedy as her replacement to the Committee on Youth Heroes that Dinah saw her daughter again. 

At the top of the stairs, Mia takes a shuddering breath. She pries her mask from her eyes, loosened by her brimming tears. “I get it, okay? Just leave me alone.” 

“Mia.” Finally, Dinah forces herself to the doorway she’s desperately grateful her daughter hasn’t escaped through. “You are a part of this family. You- I am so, so sorry that you have been doing this all alone.” 

She reaches for the shaking hand holding the letter, cradling her calloused skin. She never got to kiss Mia’s wounds or read her bedtime stories. She doesn’t, can’t, regret this. She met all her children exactly when she was meant to. Her problem is leaving their lives too early. 

“Fuck off,” Mia snaps, yanking her hand away and pressing the other against the scanner. 

“No.” 

The door unlocks, accepting Mia’s security access. Access she is giving up because of the constant rejection Dinah considered space. How can she fail her kids the same way over and over again? 

The archer reaches for the handle. “Leave me alone, BC.” She hastily presses her mask back over her eyes. 

“No, Mia.” Dinah presses her body against the door, not heavy enough to really prevent Mia from continuing on, but a barrier nonetheless. “Leaving you alone is a mistake I’m not going to make anymore. You’re a part of this family.” She hesitates, a little afraid that she’ll scare Mia off by saying this, but: “Lian’s been asking for you.” 

A floor below, echoing up through the stairwell, Batman’s heavy voice eliminates any arguments that could be mounted regarding his son. 

Mia’s gaze grows distant, listening to the Saturnians slowly defer to the father’s protective spirit. 

Carefully, Dinah tugs the resignation letter from her daughter’s grip. “I want you in my life. I want you at dinner with Sin and I. I want you on hikes with Connor. I want you to watch princess movies with Lian. I want you barbecuing with Roy. I want to zeta home together after committee meetings.” She rests a hand on Mia’s shoulder, protected by the glittering yellow cape. “I want you.” 

The archer watches as Dinah tucks the letter into her jacket pocket. “Connor started calling me again a few months ago.” She glances up. “He said you’d been making changes and I- I waited for it to be my turn.” The door behind them re-locks, a stern buzz. “You didn’t and then Lee came back and- I was always more of Ollie’s kid. If he sent me away, then why would you care?” 

“I’m sorry, Mia.” She tugs her close and Mia falls into her embrace. “I shouldn’t have waited so long to reach out. I was scared and I shouldn’t have let that stop me.” 

Mia shrugs. “It’s fine.” 

“It’s not. But I’m going to make it right.” She pulls away just enough to look Mia in the eye. “How about we go pick up Sin together? We’re heading back to Star tonight to get dinner with Lian.” 

She shakes her head. “Roy won’t let me see her.” 

“I’ll talk to him.” She’ll burn every bit of goodwill she’s regained with Roy to allow Mia this chance to heal. “This family is a lot more forgiving than you would guess.” 

And this is true, she knows as Mia whispers, “Okay,” because all four children have extended that forgiveness to Dinah. Four miracles that she’s worked for and will continue to work for. Four miracles that she won’t take for granted again.