Thanks to Patty for the beta job today. Snow days always seem to inspire fic from me lol. Hope you all enjoy this part of Dick's little trip to the mirror universe. Char :-)

DARK REFLECTION: Part 1c:

Dick Grayson watched Officers Amy Rohrbach and Gannon Malloy on patrol through the streets of Bludhaven. He followed them as closely and safely as he could on his motorcycle. He had to keep up with them, without them seeing him. Eventually, they would leave the car. Go to lunch. He was betting that Amy's lunch habits had transcended the universes. If this Amy had his Amy's penchant for a greasy spoon, he'd have the time he needed to do a little breaking and entering of her patrol car.

He smiled as he watched the car turn off Willeford Avenue and into the parking lot of Donnelly's Irish Restaurant. She would park near the back, she always did. Dick rode past the restaurant on his motorcycle, watching Rohrbach and Malloy entering as he swung right at the light. Circling the block, he entered Donnelly's parking lot from the Island Street back entrance. Pulling his motorcycle beside of the cruiser, he hopped off.

Dick quickly looked around. No one was watching. He pulled a lockpick from his black leather jacket and popped the trunk in one quick movement. He grabbed Amy's black duffle bag knowing she kept extra police issued items. He was going to need to get information from S.T.A.R. Labs without calling attention to Dick Grayson or Nightwing.

"FREEZE! PUT YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR!"

"Shit," he muttered under his breath at Amy's voice behind him. Slowly he turned to see this world's versions of his two partners aiming their service revolvers at him. He was glad he had left his black motorcycle helmet on. Slowly he lifted his hands in the air in what appeared to be compliance with the officers, then with a quick flick of his left wrist threw gas pellets at them. Dick grabbed the bag, hopped on his motorcycle, and gunned it into the street. He ducked as bullets whizzed past his head.

Sirens followed him as he headed into the Bludhaven streets. Dick was glad he had switched plates on the motorcycle. If they ran these plates, they'd discover that the number imprinted on the plate belonged to a work van owned by Gotham Power and Light. He did like this world's version of himself's selection of altered license plates in their private garage under the clocktower. When he got home, he'd have to work on upgrading his own selection.

Revving the powerful engine of the cycle, Dick zig-zagged through Bludhaven traffic. Amy was doing her best to keep up. He grinned as he imagined what she was saying as she drove. He caught sight of two other patrol cars coming off the exit ramp to join in the pursuit. "Time to lose the cat." He accelerated the cycle past ninety and veered onto the cement retaining wall. The patrol cars were close behind him when he drove his motorcycle off the wall. The motorcycle left the wall and soared toward the traffic below.

Dick heard the muffled sirens of Bludhaven police cruisers as the wind whipped past him. He held his breath for the jump and exhaled as the cycle landed on the top of an eighteen wheeler. Expertly, he kept the bike from skidding to the side leaving a heavy dark tire mark as the cycle bounced once. When the wheels hit the top of the trailer again, he revved the engine and popped a wheelie on the top of the truck. As he surged forward, the cycle leapt and landed on top of another smaller truck's cargo section. He drove down the windshield and hood of the truck and jumped off into traffic. He jerked the cycle back and forth as he continued to change lanes going around slower traffic and zooming between vehicles on the expressway. Flattening himself over the handlebars, Dick rocketed back toward Gotham.

"I'm Doctor Bryan Foster, head of Gotham City's S.T.A.R. Labs. I've already spoken at length with detectives from Gotham about the break in," the middle aged man in the long white coat said as he came from the secured area of the building into the main lobby. "I'm not really sure why you're here again, uh, officer --"

"Detective," Dick said with a wide smile as he held out his hand. "Detective Robert Malone, Bludhaven Police Department." He pulled a badge from his sports jacket, flashed it quickly at the scientist, and silently thanked Amy for the use of her spare. "I'm aware that this crime occurred in Gotham, but I have reason to believe it was part of a conspiracy that began in Bludhaven."

"Well, I don't understand why you couldn't just go to Detective Bullock and get any information that you might need. This seems like a waste of my time," the grey-haired man said as he adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses.

Dick shoved one hand in his pants pocket, "You know how territorial some officers are. Gotham doesn't like Bludhaven stepping on it's toes and aren't so forthcoming in sharing information. Besides, I'd love to get a look at that room myself. In case they ... missed something important."

Foster sighed. "Very well, if I must. I'll take you to the laboratory." He walked to the reception desk, leaned over, picked up a visitor's tag and slapped it to the young detective's chest. "Follow me."

He led Dick down stark white hallways to the very large room Dick had been in the night before. It was identical to the room he had entered in his Gotham to stop a robbery. More than robbery had taken place in this room however. He walked past the many taped off outlines where bodies had fallen ... fallen at the hand of Nightwing. He walked over to the matter transference capacitor, the gash where a razor sharp modified batarang in his symbol had sliced into it exposing wires and charred circuit boards. "What's this machine used for Dr. Foster?"

"I'm quite sure that its functions are beyond your scope of understanding."

"Humor me."

Foster sighed and launched into his explanation as if he were speaking to a child. "We've been experimenting with matter transference, that's the movement of matter or items from one place to another, and temporal anomalies. Temporal anomalies or…well, let's just say problems in time. S.T.A.R. hopes to develop this technology into a realistic transportation alternative. Imagine the possibilities that electronic transportation in this form could have on our world. Decreased dependence on oil, a cleaner environment, the time that would be saved. What takes hours could take mere minutes. Lives would be saved simply by being able to get people to hospitals faster. Can you imagine --"

Dick held up his hand stopping the scientists excited ramblings. "Star Trek science doctor," Dick replied in a skeptical tone. He knew that on his world the JLA had transporters. He understood the alien technology that had assisted them in building them. He was unsure whether anything akin to the JLA existed in this dark world. His gut told him it didn't ... couldn't ... and allow assasins like ... well a JLA would never leave them unchecked.

"Possible science detective. With just a little more research." Foster assured him with a superior and condescending air.

"What about dimensional travel?"

"Pardon me," Doctor Foster's voice dripped with contempt as he looked at the dark haired young detective.

"Can or rather could this machine of yours transport people between dimesions?"

"I'm not sure what you mean by dimensions, detective. But perhaps you mean the fables that there are parallel universes in existence. If they were not figments of the uneducated mind, I don't believe that the MTC could open any gateways." If possible, his condescending tone had reached a new level.

Dick ignored Foster's tone and nodded. The doctor was obviously wrong. He was proof of that. But telling off the doctor and establishing the proof necssary to do so wasn't exactly prudent. "Have any other machines like this one in the building or in other S.T.A.R. facilities?"

Foster snorted. "Gotham's S.T.A.R. Labs is the most advance in the country, if not the world. No one is as advanced as we are. If you were knowledgeable about the scientific-"

"Doctor, would it be possible for you to just answer the question." Dick snapped. He didn't exactly hate Foster that took too much energy and in the realm of trouble he was in….he simply didn't have the energy to spare for anything other than getting answers.

Foster frowned. "We were the exclusive unit working on this project. This destruction has put us back at least two years before we can have another MTC back to the stage we were at before last night."

"Was anything taken last night, or just damaged?"

"Damaged. Of course I have no clue why an assassin would have come to this facility to simply destroy a machine."

"Obviously someone paid him enough to do it," Dick mused aloud.

"It maybe obvious to you detective, but to someone that doesn't think like that kind of person. It is not."

Dick swallowed his reply. He could easily find out exactly what that kind of person was thinking. He did, after all, have access to the bad guy's bank account since "he" was the bad guy in this world. Doctor Foster was wrong about several things. Chief among them was his assurance that S.T.A.R. was the only company capable of producing this level of technology. Someone paid to have this machine destroyed or damaged that would mean a rival company most likely. If so, perhaps they had another matter transfer capacitor. Another way home.

His cell phone rang. Not his ... the other Dick Grayson's ... still something inside him compelled him to answer. "Hello?"

"Are you better?" a deep voice asked.

"Yeah." he replied.

"Come to the Manor. I have something to discuss with you."

"What?"

"Another job," this world's Bruce replied.

Dick closed his eyes and sighed. "I'll be there ... in about an hour." The phone went dead in his ear. He closed it and dropped it back in his pocket. "Thank you Dr. Foster for all your help. If I need any more information, I'll be in touch."

"Remember to turn in your visitor's badge at the reception desk Detective Malone," the scientist drolly responded as he walked away.

Dick looked back at the matter transference capictor and sighed. There had to be another way he could get home, he wouldn't ... couldn't ... believe this world was where he'd remain. Dick Grayson would not live out his life in this bastardized version of reality. He would find a way home.

Dick pulled in front of the Manor and immediately noticed the difference. It was in the same place, but it was not the same house. It was darker, more gothic in architecture. It was also ... smaller and appeared somewhat neglected in parts. This was not the palatial showcase he expected. This Bruce must not care about the show ... the playboy image. He wondered what other surprises awaited him inside. Taking a deep breath, he got out of the sports car and headed up the steps.

His hand lingered over the doorknob a few moments as he steeled himself to go in. "Just plunge in and remember your part," he chided himself as he used his key to open the door.

"Hey Dick," the cheerful voice of a sixteen year old called out.

He smiled as he saw Tim coming down the stairway. Then it bit at the back of his mind reminding him that this wasn't Tim. This boy was a killer, like all the rest. 'Play the part, play the part' his mind recounted the litany in his brain. "Hey bro."

"Wanna go to the movies after dinner? You are staying for dinner aren't you?"

Dick shrugged. "I guess I am. We'll see about the movie after Bruce tells us about this new job."

"We'll have time. We'll make him give us time off," Tim smiled and ribbed him with his elbow as Dick took off his jacket. Tim chuckled and shook his head. "Don't drop that on that chair. Remember - "Tim slipped into another voice, "A place for everything and everything in it's place."


Dick didn't pause as he folded the jacket over his arm, but he couldn't conceive what the twisted Alfred of this world was like.

"Exactly, Timothy, everything in it's place. How would you find your weapons if they weren't? But I don't need to remind the world's best killer of that. Finally, coming home to visit his family. You don't have to get yourself almost blown up to have an excuse to come to dinner, Richard."

Dick slowly turned. That voice ... was ... not ... a voice he expected to hear in this house. He bit the interior of his bottom lip to keep his mouth from droping open.


A wheelchair-bound David Cain held out his arms and smiled broadly. "Come give your Uncle David a hug."

TO BE CONTINUED ...