Dick's mind raced while he thumbed through the contacts on his phone. Gordon wanted to talk to him. It was urgent.

As far as he knew, Gordon didn't know Batman's secret identity, but then, what could the call be about?

His knee bounced as the other line rang. He didn't have to wait long.

"Gordon."

"Commissioner. It's Dick Grayson."

"Dick?"

"Alfred said you wanted to—"

"No, Barbara isn't here right now. Can I take a message?"

Dick's momentary confusion was cut off when he heard Gordon's voice drifting in further from the receiver. "Just a family friend, Michael, I'll be right back."

There was shuffling as the cellphone was passed between hands. "Sorry, Dick. This bodyguard business has gotten out of hand."

"It's okay. I want you to be safe."

There was a long pause where neither of them spoke. Dick opened his mouth to say something else, but Gordon cut him off. "Let me get something to write that down with."

Dick had to stand up. Gordon wouldn't be keeping up the ruse unless he was worried about the line being monitored. Which meant something was up. Maybe this was an Officer Grayson issue; he hadn't carried the badge since returning to Gotham, but he knew that the commissioner trusted him. "Tell Babs her package came here on accident. Can she come pick it up?" Can you come here?

"No, I'm worried about her safety." I'm worried about my safety.

"Can I send it to her?" Should I come?

"No, don't worry about it."

"Are you sure?"

"Actually, since I've got you on the phone, could you do me a favor?"

"Yeah, of course."

"Babs' friend, Bridgette?"

Dick paused in his pacing. Batman? Bruce was known to fund Batman through Wayne Industries, what leap was it to assume he could get a message to the vigilante? "The one who stays up all night?"

Gordon's voice tightened a bit. "That's the one."

Dick's eyebrows drew in. "Are you worried about her?"

Gordon huffed a laugh. "She can take care of herself. She has Barbara's camera, though. I don't want Babs going out right now, but she needs the camera for a project with the library. Any chance you could pick it up for her?"

"You want me to meet Bridgette?"

"Yes, and let her know that Babs wants to talk to her." I need to talk to Batman.

Dick's eyes widened. "Have you tried calling her? I have her number." Why don't you use the signal?

"Babs has been trying to reach her, but her cell is broken. The calls keep getting dropped. I can't use mine because of the. . . situation here at the precinct."

Dick was right. Something was up.

He began making his way toward the Cave. "I'll try to talk to her, but no promises."

"I know; she's stubborn and flighty."

A wry grin broke across Dick's face. Bruce had made quite a reputation for himself. "No kidding. Where should I meet her?"

"8900 Poplar Way. She's usually there around 10?"

"I'll see what I can do."

"Thanks, Dick. I owe you one."

It had to have been more than an hour.

Damian's legs shook. His throat burned. His toes throbbed where he had so much weight resting on them.

It was completely dark. He couldn't move enough to set off the motion detectors.

With a heave, he used what strength he could to hoist himself up using the chain above him. Again. It only granted momentary relief. His oxygen-deprived fingers lost their grip and sent him sliding down onto his toes again too soon.

His eyes hadn't stopped watering, and it was making the old spirit gum itch against his face. He didn't dare rip it off; it would mean releasing his hold on the chain and—

Without his consent, his right leg buckled.

The collar—the noose—pulled taught, cutting short Damian's wheeze. In his surprise, he lost his footing, and for a terrifying second he hung by his neck.

He kicked with his left leg until he found the floor again.

He began to shake for reasons beyond the cold or the fatigue.

Damian was getting scared.

His legs were cramping, and what was painful before was excruciating now. It was only a matter of time before he lost control.

The door opened, light flooding the small room. The light made his eyes water harder, and he felt the edge of his domino break loose from his skin. Cold tears dripped out.

"I'm back," Heymann announced, unnecessarily. He stopped halfway down the steps to pat Damian's sweat-soaked hair. "Are you ready to listen now?"

Damian couldn't bring himself to answer. He gasped for each shallow sip of air.

The leash suddenly got shorter, forcing Damian to hold on with all of his dwindling strength. "Answer me."

"Yes," Damian immediately whispered. Another tear slipped out, warm this time.

Heymann didn't release the pressure. "Yes sir."

The bottom half of the domino had disconnected. Damian's fingers slackened. "Yes, sir," he barely breathed.

Heymann lowered him. Back to his toes. "I thought so."

Damian tried to stop his shaking as he listened to the large man descend the steps. It was harder than it had been before. Heymann approached him slowly, not at all perturbed by Damian's heels beginning to lower against his will.

"No, you can't get out that easily," he said. He pulled the bucket from the corner and capsized it, lifting Damian so he stood on top.

The pressure gone, Damian lowered his burning arms. He coughed, hard and deep and long. His legs wanted to give out again, but he planted his weight in his heels. The leash was still short enough to choke him if he crouched.

Heymann raised a hand. Damian flinched back, but the man's hands were slow and soft as they traced up his cheek, following the tear tracks there. He fingered the edge of the domino where it had pulled loose. Even the small push he made caused it to pull off more. He clicked his tongue. "No, that won't do."

Before Damian could react, he gripped the bottom and ripped the mask off.

Damian hissed at the feeling. He shut his eyes reflexively and turned away.

Heymann laughed. "Come on, let me see those eyes," he coaxed. He pulled on Damian's shoulder, causing the bucket to tilt before slamming back down.

"No," Damian said. His own voice sounded foreign to him. Hoarse. Quiet.

Heymann's hand slid down to Damian's collar. It constricted, just slightly, as he slipped two fingers beneath. It was enough to make Damian's breath hitch in fear. "No?" Heymann repeated.

Damian's heart was speeding up. "I can't be Robin without my mask," he rushed to explain. "I can't help Batman—I can't help you without it."

Heymann's fingers released his collar with a hum. "I guess you're right. I'll be right back."

He left. Damian didn't open his eyes until he heard the door shut and lock again. He irritably rubbed away the tears where they were drying on his face, and that's when he saw the dried blood on his hands, where he had worn through callouses trying to hold the chain. He tutted half-heartedly at them.

He was exhausted. His legs felt like jelly, his heart was beating too fast. Now that he wasn't in immediate danger of suffocating, his stomach had regained interest in the sandwich still lying in the corner. But he could do nothing but stand on the bucket while he waited.

Heymann returned, and Damian didn't risk the man seeing his face to watch as he approached. He heard old knees creak as the man dropped to a crouch in front of him. Something uncapped—adhesive? "Face me, kid."

Damian shook his head. "I'll do it." He held a hand out behind him blindly. Heymann grunted, and something a little too heavy fell in his hand. "This isn't my mask," Damian said.

"It's an improved one. You can't beat the original."

Damian brought it in front of him so he could examine it. It was a simple shape, round edges just large enough to cover his eyes and brows. He recognized it from the Robin display. It looked like Grayson's, if Grayson's had been made of craft foam and liquid latex.

"Hurry up; the glue dries fast."

Damian tutted and raised it to his face. The glue was cold; thinner than he would like. He suspected it wasn't prosthetic adhesive.

At least the proper lenses were in the eyeholes. They looked like they had been ripped from his domino.

He turned to face Heymann. The man grinned hungrily. "Perfect," he mumbled.

The glue burned slightly where it was attached. Damian ignored it.

Heymann appraised him for a longer time than was probably necessary. "Smile."

Damian didn't have enough saliva to spit.

"The old Robin smiled. You're too angry."

There was fire in his stomach. "I'll smile when I kill you," he said, lowly.

"Robin doesn't kill," Heymann shrugged. His face dropped into something more serious. Damian startled when he began using his father's voice again, saying, "Turn around, face the wall."

This time, he complied after only a brief hesitation. He listened while Heymann fished the key from his utility belt. The leash fell slack, only to tighten again as he wrapped the length around his wrist. There was a soft snap as he locked it in place.

"Let's go."

"Gordon," Batman greeted.

The commissioner twisted around with relief. "Batman, you got my message."

Batman nodded. "Why here?"

They stood on the deck on the fifth story of an empty apartment. The wind carried the smell of Gotham Harbor, only a few streets away.

Gordon was alone; no bodyguard.

"I don't know who I can trust. I needed to talk to you, in private."

Batman stayed quiet. Gordon pulled a file from beneath his trench coat. "I have reason to believe that our blackmailer works with the police."

Batman accepted to proffered file. "Evidence?"

"Everything I have is there." Gordon shook his head. "I know it's not a lot, but it's hard to investigate with people breathing down your neck."

He took a drag from his cigarette, glancing around. His eyes softened. "Still no sign of Robin?"

Dick paused; Batman straightened his posture. He tapped the file once in his hands. "I'll look into this."

Gordon opened his mouth to say something else, but never got the words out.

A building down the street from them shot up in flames.