Gotham City sprawled across three coastal inlets 10,000 feet below. From his window seat on the plane, Dick Grayson hitched his mouth into a mirthless grin. It's wrong, what they say - you CAN go home again. As long as you realize that it's not home that changes; it's you.
Even from here, he could make out the 40-story pillar of glass that was Wayne Enterprises in the heart of the financial district; a shining beacon of hope in a city more known for its moody feel and exceptionally theatrical crime. It looked exactly the same as the first day he saw it all those years ago - he'd bet every person inside was the same as they'd ever been, including the inhabitant of the corner office on the top floor, one Bruce Wayne.
Dick wasn't going anywhere near that building, or the imposing manor he'd called home for more than 10 years. He was going to fly under the radar. Get himself situated and plan his next move. At least, that's what he'd been telling himself in the two months since he'd leased the loft on the lower east side. He'd used the money from the Haley Circus Trust wisely - the loft was in a middling part of town, so it was cheap. No nosey neighbors meant his retrofits had been made with little fuss. The occasional shipment of a crate - of smoke pellets, custom wingdings, medical supplies, spare parts for one very tricked-out new bike, and all the other things a vigilante needs - didn't raise any suspicion.
So there really wasn't any reason for him to feel a little jumpy upon seeing his home city - no one knew he was coming. He wasn't stepping off a private jet to the flash of press cameras - he wasn't Bruce Wayne's charity case anymore. Now he was Dick Grayson, private citizen.
So why did Dick Grayson feel like the prodigal son returning home?
#
He hadn't planned on going out so soon, but he soon realized it was inevitable. The very air of Gotham called to him - he knew nightfall by the smell, not the clock. His whole body itched to feel the wind. So on his very first night in Gotham, Nightwing took to the rooftops.
He hadn't called the Manor. Not even to tell Alfred he was back in the states. While he wanted them to know he was all right - and a few postcards had taken care of that - he wasn't ready to face them. Not yet. Maybe that's why he needed to be out on the roofs and in the alleys tonight - much as he wanted to be a new person, some small part of him longed for who he had been, and his other persona was the bridge. Robin would always be at home on these dark streets, even if Dick wasn't. Would Nightwing?
He needed to find out.
Tonight's route was carefully designed to take him as far away from Batman as possible. The Garden District was always quiet - private security and very large fences saw to that. It wasn't part of the usual Bat patrol. He was alone, and he knew it, but he couldn't stop... listening. Waiting for the feeling of a shadow behind him to tell him he'd been spotted.
It irked him, that he couldn't shake the feeling. So much so that he found himself gliding towards downtown, eyes on the skyline for a familiar pointy-eared shape. When there was nothing there, he headed east towards the commercial shipping docks. No sooner had he taken up a spot on the rooftop - his favorite, one he'd perched on so many times before as Robin - he felt it.
He stayed in his crouch. For months he'd thought of his moment. What he'd say. What he'd do. He wouldn't be the first to speak.
"And who are you supposed to be?"
The sound of the boy's voice made Nightwing whirl - he found himself starring at a younger version of himself. A dark-haired adolescent in a scarlet and black suit. An unmistakable R on the left side of his chest.
"Took the words right out of my mouth," Nightwing said, forgetting that he wasn't going to speak. His tone was mild, but his insides burned. Replaced. He'd been replaced. And so quickly. Barely a year. He'd envisioned hundreds of scenarios; consequences of his leaving. This wasn't one of them. It hurt in a way he didn't think was possible. And it killed him that he could still let himself be hurt...by Batman.
The kid - Robin, he reminded himself - crouched into an offensive position. Like he could take on the REAL Robin, Nightwing scoffed.
"Talk," the kid said.
"Robin."
Nightwing's belly flipped and he forgot the boy. She melted out from the shadows, auburn hair and short cape tugged forward around her by the wind. She stopped at Robin's side and looked Nightwing over. Her weight shifted to one hip - one of her tells. She knew him, then.
"So," she said lightly, "what are we supposed to call you now? Bluebird?" If she felt any emotion at seeing him, her voice didn't betray it. Nightwing wished he could see her eyes.
"You know this guy?" Robin asked. He dropped his hands, following Batgirl's lead.
"Nightwing." He heard himself say. His mind felt numb. First the shock of the kid, and then seeing her... he'd been right. He wasn't ready. Especially not for her.
She cocked her head jauntily. "Nightwing. Suits you."
The coolness in her voice raised his hackles. She'd never spoken to him like that before. That was the tone she reserved for the meatheads who cat-called her around campus in their college days; the tone of polite disdain. It almost hurt worse than seeing a new Robin.
"Good thing I didn't expect to put the red and green back on," he said acidly, shooting a glare at the kid, "that would've been awkward."
Robin's glance didn't waver but his hands twitched - he was putting the pieces together.
"Don't worry," Nightwing continued as he released his gliders, "I'll stay out of your hair."
He jumped from the roof and let the wind swallow her response. If she'd made one. He assumed - told himself - she'd made one.
#
He slept badly that night. Rage made every bad situation, every argument with Batman play on a loop in his mind. But by the time he dragged himself out of bed at dawn, he'd exhausted the rage. There was no steam left to fume about Bruce doing what Bruce always did. And that left him vulnerable to fresher memories.
"So what are we supposed to call you now? Bluebird?"
Batgirl. Barbara.
He dragged himself to the kitchenette and fixed a mug of instant coffee. He drank the whole thing through a grimace - growing up with a professional cook making every meal kind of ruins bachelorhood for you - and sat down on the floor in front of a box. The last box, full of the personal stuff he didn't want to look at every day, but couldn't seem to get rid of.
He opened it carefully, knowing what was on top: a bubble-wrapped photo of Dick and Babs. He'd saved it through all his travels because, even when he was angry with her for her secret, for confiding in Bruce but not him... he wasn't just angry.
He'd saved this photo, because it had been taken on the day he realized he loved Barb. Not that he'd had the chance to tell her. The big blow-up was just 5 weeks after that happy picnic. He didn't allow himself to wonder what could have been. If he hadn't been Robin... and she hadn't been Batgirl.
It had been so painful and confusing, to be in love with two girls simultaneously, but not able to pursue either fully... and to realize that she had some big secrets of her own. He'd been so furious when she found out two girls he thought about late at night were one and the same. How dare she risk her life like that, how dare she muscle in on his territory... how dare she be so perfect for him.
No. Not gonna think about it. It's over. It's BEEN over. His mind made up, he put the photo back in the box.
Except... as he showered, and went out to the auto store for supplies to tune up his bike, he couldn't stop thinking about what could have been.
For hours while he worked on the bike, his mind was on her. And later when he picked up Chinese takeout from the little place three blocks away, he couldn't deny it.
The stomach flip was what did it. A visceral, unintentional reaction the moment he saw her. Just like the first time he'd seen her - as Batgirl, and as Barbara. He'd been carrying that love around, bubble-wrapped against harm, and packed away so he wouldn't have to look at it, just like the photo.
There was no future for them; that much was crystal clear. Too much had happened, too many trusts betrayed. But he'd ignored his feelings for too long, and now they were... a distraction. They'd never had a real conversation since all the secrets came out, and that was the problem.
The rational thing would be to call her. Ask her to coffee. Have that real conversation.
After a lifetime running around rooftops in tights, Dick wasn't about to start being rational now. He'd just have to keep away. Shorten his time in Gotham. Stick around just long enough to figure out where he wanted to settle, and then disappear again. This time, for good.