Climbing through her window on the fourth floor was a bizarre way to enter her own apartment, but she wasn't sure if her roommate was home or crashing at her girlfriend's place, so better safe then sorry, she figured. She kicked off her yellow combat boots and slinked comfortably into her wooden swivel desk chair. It may not be the most comfortable spot to sit, but her dad salvaged it from the GCPD when they switched over to ergonomic chairs a few years back. It reminded her of years growing up in the precinct after school, watching her dad sift through endless stacks of case files. This chair was someplace she felt at home; sitting in front of her set up, three screens spread over a cheap IKEA Bekant computer desk. She still had a half full mug of creamy coffee from earlier that morning, a slight milky film sitting on top of the now ice cold drink. Sliding the coaster under the mug across the desk top, she pulled out the stolen phone, placing it beside her keyboard.

A quick upload shouldn't take too long. Find out who his contacts are, more specifically who sent the last message, and start a new case to take down another of the city's drug dealers. Easy, she thought as she plugged in the USB cord to the shattered phone.

Lost in her thoughts, she didn't hear the window open. She didn't feel the chill creep in through the sheer curtains. She didn't smell his very distinct scent which normally drove her to the brink of distraction. Which is why she nearly fell off her chair when Grayson stepped up behind her.

"Are you insane?" He accused. "Jumping off a building, after a dead man?"

She turned in her chair to look at her intruder. His arms were crossed in that disapproving fatherly way, which made her giggle considering she was two years older than him. He narrowed his eyes at her and frowned.

"I needed his phone," she simply stated with a slight shrug of her right shoulder. She didn't see any issues with her actions. She got the job done.

"So take the elevator. Don't free fall off a fifteen story building." He moved to lay on her bed, kicking his feet up on her duvet, leaning casually back against the headboard, hands linked behind his head.

She narrowed her eyes in his direction, noticing the corners of his mouth were slightly raised. Typical Grayson, she thought. Not actually upset, just needing to tease me at every moment, even if I do something cool.

"Get your feet off my bed," Barbara shot back. He immediately obliged, getting up to stand behind her chair, leaning over the back and placing one hand on her desktop. She moved her attention back to her computer, trying to focus on the task at hand. The closeness of his body gave off a comforting warmth, combating the breeze that trickled in the still opened window. She breathed in his aroma; slightly sweet, like mint soap, with a touch of smokey firewood. They could candle that smell and she would burn it every night.

"So who's our guy?" Grayson's breath coated the nape of her neck, sending a shiver down her spine.

"My guy is named Greg," she jabbed back.

"Greg? What, is he a frat boy at GCU? Also, how many Greg's are there in Gotham? Could you narrow it down?" Grayson started pacing her small bedroom, taking three or four long strides before hitting a wall and having to pivot the other way. Barbara watched as Grayson's detective impulses kicked in; his lips pursed and his brow narrowed under the eye mask. If he wasn't trying to steal her case, she would find his dedication adorable.

"I'm working on tracing the message. There are no phone calls between these two. All I have is his last text. Our dead thug always deleted them after he hit send. Just didn't have time tonight before you interrupted them. Lucky for us, I suppose."

She didn't want to indulge too much information. She still wanted this win for her column. But having an extra hand couldn't hurt. Especially if it meant getting some quality stake-our time with the prodigal son of Gotham.

"When I get more intel, I'll message you with a location," Barbara subtlety looked at the door, seeing if he would take a clue.

"Alright," Grayson succumbed. His hand grasped the doorknob when she leapt from the chair just in time to slam her palm on the door by his head. He tilted his head down slightly to his right so he was looking into her eyes. A sly smile surfaced on his lips as impure thoughts of his friend filled his head.

Slowly unzipping her leather jacket revealing the white tank he knew was underneath. Sliding his other hand behind her head, twirling his fingers around her fiery hair. Leaning in to kiss her lips as he lifted her light frame towards her bed.

"Window," Barbara said to a distracted Grayson, her hand still firmly pressed against her door. "I can't have Frankie seeing Nightwing do a walk of shame from my bedroom at 2am on a Wednesday."

"I can assure you, it would not be in shame." He took a step closer to Barbara, but thought against it. "Fine," he said as he walked across the room. Sliding one foot out the window on to the fire escape, he paused, turning back to her.

"Keep me posted. Don't go running off any more rooftops without letting me know first."

Barbara playfully shoved his shoulder, pushing his head down and out the window, laughing at his immaturity. He swung down the side of the fire escape in two quick leaps, landing beside his motorcycle. He looked up at her watching and raised two fingers to his temple as he started the motor.

Shutting the window, she unzipped her jacket, and shimmied out of her tights. As her computer quietly whirred, filling her room with a dim blue glow, she collapsed on the bed in a tank and underwear. She closed her eyes and blacked out until Frankie pounded on her door 4 hours later.