Author's Note: Action remains the bane of my existence. I was also struggling with a plot, but this chapter would have been so much easier to write if the plot I finally found hadn't involved action. I struggled so much with Dick's scene... *sigh*

I made up the names of the crooked cops and mobsters. I don't remember them from the comics, and I don't own any Nightwing ones, so I am just going on what I remember. It's not like I'm not playing fast and loose with canon as it is, as I have also decided that Amy has already introduced Dick to the non-corrupt members of the police force. It fit the plot to do it that way.

Dangerous Drives

"Frank Hardy is undercover as a cop in Blüdhaven," Barbara repeated, taking a moment to clarify that. She had heard all of what Dick had said despite the program she was running on the flash drive and despite his annoying antics and refusal to leave the Drew business alone. "What about the brother?"

"He bares a resemblance to the guy I rescued and think Weston—Hardy—was talking to in the cell," Dick said. "Interesting."

"They have someone on both sides of this thing," Barbara said, her mind still running through the possibilities. She didn't know if their strategy was good or bad. Dick had both sides, but his work was done through Nightwing, using his hours in a suit to pick up things on the street and stop crimes while he was doing it. No one knew he was playing both sides, and he wasn't directly involved in the mob. "It's risky."

"And a little bit brilliant at the same time," Dick said, making her roll her eyes. He leaned against the desk. "Are you thinking that's why Drew was here in Gotham? Because she knew they were in Blüdhaven and was concerned about the vigilante angle? Or somehow managed to connect Oracle to it? I think that's a reach, and certainly a disservice to your talents. Granted, I'm no you, but I can't find any trace of you online, and I have looked—just in case, you know."

She smiled at him. "Just in case."

He shrugged, that boyish charm almost impossible to ignore. She knew better than to think about that. He picked up her stuffed Batman doll and turned it over in his hands. "I could go speak to her, if you like. Find out what she knows."

Barbara sighed. "I think I liked it better when you were interested in her because she was a redhead and not because of her connection to the Hardys."

"Not another word about being a fanboy," he almost snapped, and she couldn't help being amused by his reaction. She would have said more had his phone not rung just then. He took a step away from it as he answered it. "Grayson."

Barbara turned her attention back to the program she was running. A few more steps, and she should have the drive unlocked. She had to admit, she was curious about it. The level of encryption she was dealing with here was ridiculous for some simple street thug.

"No, Amy, I told you. I gave it to IT," Dick said, and Barbara frowned. "You said—who asked for the drive? Mahoney and—Damn. That's really not good news, is it?"

Barbara felt herself tense. She knew that name. Dick had given it to her not long ago, asking for a deeper background search than he'd been able to do. He was one of Blüdhaven's crookedest cops, and for him to be asking about the drive meant it had something to do with his other employers. Trouble was, he was pretty much open to anyone who had money. The other name might have told her more, who this drive actually belonged to and what it might contain.

"Well, if they keep bothering you, just tell them the truth. You gave it to me, and I gave it to IT. You don't know anything else about it. Go home. It's late. Your family must be worried about you." Dick hung up and came over to Barbara's side. "How's it coming?"

"Almost done, but you might have to come back to find out what's on here."

"Oh, come on, Babs. You're not really that mad at me that you'd refuse to let me see it," Dick objected. "You know that's—"

"You just threw your case study under the bus," Barbara told him. "You might not want to let your fanboy dreams die just yet."

Dick rolled his eyes. "Yeah, sure, because you weren't like the original fangirl yourself, Batgirl."

Frank pulled on his jacket and started out of the precinct. He'd gone ahead and worked past the typical shift, wanting to put distance between Joe's release and his departure. He wanted to keep his interactions with Joe to a minimum, at least in public. They didn't look so much alike that they were instantly recognizable as brothers, but they did share parents and some resemblance. The less they were seen together while they were undercover, the better, especially since the Network hadn't given them much time to prepare and the closest they got to changing their appearances was a set of fake glasses Frank rarely wore and the different styles of clothes they were wearing now.

He was just glad that the Network made the rest of the cover a little more in depth and believable, other than the absence of pictures. Maybe they'd assumed that Frank and Joe would do more to alter their appearance, and so they'd gone to great care not to use any pictures that might contradict them, but still, it was hard to feel comfortable with the layer of protection so thin.

He might as well be himself here for all the good his cover was likely to do.

"Weston."

Frank turned, facing one of the plainclothesmen from the department. He didn't recognize him, but he knew that didn't mean much. He hadn't memorized every face on the roster, not yet. "Can I help you, Detective?"

"I hear they gave you a flash drive earlier. I want it. It's my case."

Frank blinked. He didn't think he believed that. This guy rubbed him the wrong way. "I don't have it. Why would I? It's evidence. It should have been logged in and locked up."

He wasn't about to mention that he'd copied the drive, all the encrypted files, and was planning on decrypting them later. That was something no one else needed to know. That part was safely in his pocket, but he wasn't going to admit to it.

"It was never logged in," the detective said, taking hold of Frank's arm. "You have it."

Frank stared at him. "Excuse me? Why would I take it? Go double check your logs. I don't know what you're talking about, but if you don't let me go right now, I'll file a harassment complaint."

The other man let go, and Frank shook his head as he started walking again. He wasn't sure what the detective's exact connection to the drive was, but he could learn a lot more once he was at home with his laptop and looking at the data he'd gathered. He could even see about looking up the man's file and learning more about him, but for now, he needed to put distance between him and the precinct.

He went to the car the Network had given him, taking out the keys. He opened up the door and got behind the wheel, starting it up. He would have to check after he got back to his apartment to see if Joe had actually checked in this time. He should have, but if he didn't, then Frank would have to assume that his cover had gotten blown and try to fix things somehow.

Joe had better not blow off a check-in again.

Frank had gone about three blocks away from the parking lot when he noticed the lights in his rear view mirror. He was in the middle of a city, so it shouldn't be that big of a deal, but after his encounter earlier, he figured paranoia was warranted. He watched as the lights followed him through three turns, and he knew he was being followed.

He considered trying to lose them for about thirty seconds, but it didn't take long to swing his opinion toward not doing it. He didn't know Blüdhaven well enough, for one, and for another, he had a cover to maintain. He needed to act like he wasn't aware of what was going on. When the lights swung around in front of him, speeding up and leaving him behind, he tried to relax. Maybe he'd overreacted. Three turns was usually a good indicator, but it didn't have to mean he was being followed.

He turned into the lot next to his apartment building, driving up to the second level before parking his car. The first floor was always full, and he didn't think that all of those vehicles belonged to the building the lot was for, but no one would want to park on the streets around here anyway.

He got out of the car and started toward the door. His apartment was at the opposite end of the hall, as far away from the door to the lot as possible, but he didn't need it to be closer, especially since he wasn't planning on staying long.

He was almost to the door when he heard someone behind him.

Joe rubbed his shoulder, thinking he should be glad that he was on Slyleri's good side. He'd hate to think about what a lesson might be like if he was on the wrong side of the enforcer. He was lucky. His cover was intact, but that didn't mean that it didn't hurt. Slyleri packed one hell of a punch, and Joe was still feeling it now, hours after the fact.

He used to think that he was good at fighting, but he'd had a few unpleasant things to learn at Slyleri's hands. The guy was all about toughening Joe up to face the next bit, almost enough to make Joe think the man was punishing him instead.

He leaned against the wall, taking a breath. Today had been long enough, and he was already sore and bruised, but he didn't think Slyleri was ready to quit.

"What's with the long face, kid?" Slyleri asked. "You're doing pretty well so far."

Joe forced a smile. "Just wouldn't have expected someone who got hit in the head earlier to be so... tough. I... I'm tired and sore, but you just seem to keep on trucking."

Slyleri laughed. "We don't have the luxury of resting around. That's not the life we lead. Movies and television, they make the mob into a joke. They make us into lazy slobs or idiots, and it's not like that at all. We all have to work, and we got to be smart about it, especially now. It's not like the days when all it took was a beating here and there to make people see your way. You have to be a lot smarter than that."

"That lesson number two? Or are we up to three now?" Joe asked. He grinned, though he didn't really feel it. Playing at being nothing more than a fighter was harder than he'd thought. He'd always said Frank was the brains of their operation and he was the brawn, but he didn't feel much like brawn right now—and he would like to be doing a lot more investigating. "Sorry. Lost track."

Slyleri let out a belly laugh this time, grinning back like a fool. "You remind me of my own boy. He would have said the same thing, only I'd been giving him lessons since he was a baby."

Joe frowned, a suspicion overtaking him. "Your kid... He... He's dead, isn't he?"

Slyleri looked at him, and that was answer enough.

Nancy was almost to the Hardy's house when her phone rang. She ignored it, deciding that she would rather not try and answer until she was parked again. She pulled up in front of the darkened house and frowned as she turned off the engine. She should have called ahead—again—and seen if she got a hold of anyone before she drove all the way here. Not that it was too much of a problem. She could always get a hotel room for a night and start over in the morning.

She did want to make contact with at least one of Frank and Joe's friends even if she didn't see any of the Hardys while she was here.

She sighed, about ready to leave when the phone rang a second time. She reached over and picked it up, accepting the call without looking at the screen. She was hoping for Frank or Joe to be on the other end of the line. That would be a relief.

"Miss Drew."

"I thought I made it clear that we weren't going to be able to work together unless you were willing to drop the voice," Nancy said. She didn't like the timing of the call. It was unsettling, to say the least, sitting in front of a dark house with a computerized voice in her ear.

"You did," the computer voice agreed, and then it stopped, the rest coming out in the clear tones of another woman. "I think we should talk further—that is, if you are still willing."

Nancy looked up at the house. "I'm not in Gotham anymore."

"I know," Oracle said. "I'm aware you're in Bayport. In fact, there is something I think you can do for me while you're there."

"Like what?"

Dick had to convince Barbara to move her operations to Blüdhaven. He knew she wouldn't, she'd say that Gotham was a better base, but she could coordinate what she did from anywhere, and he'd much rather she did it here, since then he wouldn't have to travel as far to see her. He did miss that about being in Gotham—seeing her—but then again, he hadn't been in Gotham very much toward the end of his days as Robin. He'd spent more time with the Titans then. Now he was in Blüdhaven, and the river separated them all too often. He couldn't get up there as often as he'd like, not with his schedule.

If he could get her to move, though, he wouldn't have to travel as far when he was needed here, and he wouldn't have to worry that he wouldn't be here in time.

He had gotten to the precinct in time to see Mahoney approaching Hardy. That should have been the end of it, but Mahoney didn't seem to like whatever answer Hardy had given him. He let Hardy walk away, immediately making a call.

Dick didn't like the looks of that, so he waited, making sure Hardy got into his car before firing off his grappling hook. He swung to another building, trying to keep pace with Hardy as he drove. The car wasn't hard to track, one of few decent looking ones in the city—obviously belonging to a newcomer—and he easily followed it through the streets.

Trouble was, he wasn't the only one who did. Dick had figured on it, but he was still hoping he'd be wrong. He hadn't meant to cause Hardy problems when he told Amy to say the drive had been given to IT. That was just meant to buy time—he would have had it back to the evidence locker as soon as Babs was done with it—but Mahoney clearly wasn't willing to let it rest there. Dick might have been the target if he'd still been in town, and he still might be. Mahoney would be smart to cover both bases—going after Hardy and after Dick, since he must have been told that Hardy had given the drive back.

He grimaced. Maybe he should be watching over Amy instead. Mahoney could have sent someone after her, too.

He saw the car following Hardy speed up and go around the corner. He swung around in time to see it go into the parking lot for the apartment complex next to it. Dick had a feeling that was where Hardy was staying while he was in Blüdhaven.

Amy would have to wait. He'd have to hope that she was safe enough until they learned Hardy didn't have the drive. Dick swung himself over to the parking lot, landing on the second level. He'd seen lights on that floor before his swing, and he had to hope they were the ones he wanted.

He landed just in time to see four men in dark clothes about to rush Hardy. At least two of them were armed. Dick didn't have to call out a warning; though, Hardy heard them before he could, turning around to face them.

"If you're after money, I have a grand total of ten dollars in my wallet. You can have it, though," Hardy said, holding up his hands in surrender as he pretended he was going to cooperate. Dick didn't miss him slipping into a balanced stance, ready for an attack. He had to smile as he decided on the best way of crashing the party.

"We ain't after your wallet, idiot."

Hardy grimaced. "Well, I should warn you, my last girlfriend was very disappointed, if you catch my drift there, and really, it would be worse with you because you're so not my type."

Dick laughed, flipping himself over to the two on the outer edge, allowing the distraction his laughter had caused to be his advantage as he knocked one of them to the ground. That one hit the cement hard, and Dick figured he was out for the count. He withdrew his eskrima and used one to block the swipe the other made with his knife.

It didn't take long for the others to decide that Dick was the bigger threat—he was armed, after all, and in costume—and they joined their friend in fighting him, apparently putting all their faith in strength of numbers.

Great, Dick thought. This should be fun.