When Tony had first met Dickie it had been cop to cop. Years ago, when they were both still pretty fresh, though Tony much less so than Dick. They had both ended up on the same case when a killer moved from Baltimore to Bludhaven. Dick was technically just a uniform, not a detective, but he had somehow interjected himself into the case anyway. It would have been suspicious, but Tony had checked the logs at the Bludhaven station and knew that Dick had been on duty when the other murders had happened.
They hadn't worked together long, but Tony had found him bright, cheerful and friendly, if a bit intense at odd moments. When their killer had been found gift-wrapped by Nightwing for the BHPD they'd exchanged numbers and parted ways. Tony had liked him. He had meant to call him, but shortly after that he'd been steamrolled by a gruff NCIS agent and had packed up his life and moved to DC. He'd lost the number, and when he'd called the BHPD he'd been told that Dickie had quit, and had left no forwarding address, or contact details. He probably could have found him, but the man obviouslt didn't want to be bothered by old collegues, and Tony was busy. Tony had thought it was a shame, though. Dickie had great instincts and fantastic insight, and Tony had suggested to the man that he go for detective, only to be laughed off with the man's signature charm and good nature. The Richard Grayson who stalked into the NCIS offices, in a perfect suit that made Tony want to weep with jealousy, was not the same person.
"Where is he, Tony?" Dick growled, in the same tone he'd used to first answer the phone. Tony swallowed and stood to answer. Gibbs superimposed himself between the angry man and Tony.
Tony felt a little emasculated, but at the same time thanked Gibbs' protective instincts. Something about Dick had been instinctively frightening at that moment. The way he walked, the way he spoke, the set of his shoulders and the loose clench of his hands. A glance at his teammates confirmed that they had felt it as well. Ziva was on her feet, poised and coiled tight. McGee's fingers were perched over his keyboard in a nervous tell. Gibbs had felt the need to step between the billionaire's heir and his fully capable senior field agent.
"Mr. Grayson," Gibbs growled, obviously unhappy about all the posturing going on in his territory. "We are doing out best to find the boy, but right now I need you to stay calm and tell me what you know about the situation."
"I know that he was in your care, and you *lost* him,"
Tony stared. Dick had seemed so cheerful to him, and not like the type to growl about anything. Very few people had the guts to growl back at Gibbs. But then again, very few people had the guts to be an honest cop in a city like Bludhaven, either.
"What are we doing in this useless establishment, Grayson?" A drawling voice came from behind Dick. Tony shifted enough to see a young teenager standing there, every line of him screaming well-bred privilege and arrogance. The Special Agent had taken the intervening time waiting for Dick to arrive to brush up on his knowledge of one of the nation's wealthiest, most unusual families. He recognised the controversial youngest, and only biological, son. Damian Wayne. "Obviously these plebeian 'special agents' are even more worthless then Gotham's doughnut consuming 'finest.' We would be better served searching for Drake ourselves."
Dick spun on the kid with another growl and a glare so fierce that some of Tony's outrage at the remark twisted into admiration that the kid didn't flinch.
"For the last time, Damian, *respect.*"
"Tt- Like you're showing, *Grayson*?" The kid snapped back, spine going straighter, if that was even possible. There was in infinite moment of tension where it did not seem like anyone in the entire bullpen was even breathing.
Then Dick laughed, his stance shifting so abruptly that it made Tony blink. He reached out and ruffled the kid's hair, ignoring the batting hands and protests.
"Aww, Dami," Dick almost cooed, smirking at the disgusted growl that got. "What would I do without you?"
The kid finally managed to duck away and spent a moment ostensibly straightening his jacket and hair.
"Wallow forever in your own inadequacy and foolishness, Grayson, obviously." Damian sounded abrupt, but Tony also saw him fighting down the tiny pleased blush that had overtaken his face.
That got another bright laugh and genuine smile. It all had a softening effect on Dick, who clutched dramatically at his heart. "Oh Dami, you say the sweetest things."
"Tt-"
When Dick turned back to Gibbs, he was almost a different man.
"I apologise, Special Agent…" He trailed off, leaving a space for Gibbs to grunt his name. "Gibbs. It has been a stressful week, and now Tim is missing again. I am a little…tense. Do you have any information you can share with us? You say Tim appears to be six? Did he seem to be mentally that age as well? How coherent was he?"
"Yes" Tony interjected. Dick peered around Gibbs with an apologetic smile. Tony returned it, though perhaps a little overly full of bravado. "He looked around six or seven to me. He knew what agency we worked for from seeing the acronym on our vests, and knew at least the rudiments of a martial art."
Dick shook his head, looking frustrated. "That's not conclusive. If he looks six or seven, he's probably physically around eight or nine. Tim's always been small for his age, and he started martial arts lessons at seven. Did he say anything else?"
"Asked us where he was, why we kidnapped him," Tony couldn't quite keep the incredulity out of his voice at that one. His reaction inspired a smirk and rueful nod from Dick. "Asked for a Mrs. Mac?"
The last made Dick hiss. He looked a mix of angry and sad, which was a little strange. Though, Tony had been wondering about that too. Most kids asked for their parents, but not little Tim Drake.
"Damn, damn, damn. Mentally a child then. Alright." Dick closed his eyes and tipped his head up towards the ceiling. "Damnit Tim, why do you always have to make everything so difficult?"
Damian snorted.
"He is Drake; that is what he does. Look on the bright side, Grayson; as you are always insisting I do. At least Drake had the sense to leave you as his primary contact, and not-"
"Where is he?" A voice roared from the direction of the elevator. A tall, broad man in a leather jacket was striding in their direction, a harried escort struggling to keep up.
"-Todd."
Dick dropped his head into his hands and groaned.