Nightwing: The Darkness

Chapter 10

DISCLAIMER: The characters and situations contained in this story are ©2004 by DC Comics Inc. and are used without permission for fan-related entertainment purposes only. This original work of fiction is ©2004 by Christopher W. Blaine and may not be reproduced without permission.

"How come you never asked me out?"

Nightwing turned away from his cup of coffee and regarded Black Canary with a sarcastic smile. It was the last question he had ever expected to hear from her and it broke the monotony of their stakeout. He was glad for it. "To be honest, Dinah, I just was never really interested."

She put a mock look of hurt on her face. "Too old for you?"

He laughed, but there was no humor in it. "No, I think it was more because of your relationship with Roy." For a moment they were quiet as each remembered the fallen hero. Nightwing took another drink of his coffee, letting the caffeine sooth the beasts within his mind; they seemed to really like it. "I know you aren't much older than me, but Roy described you more as a mother than as the hot chick his adoptive father was dating."

"So, I was a hot chick back in the day, was I?" she asked, uncapping her purified water.

Nightwing gave her a quick once over. She had not lost much of her beauty, but again the sickness that had ravaged her had also left its mark. In her younger days she had been vibrant, a blonde bombshell that most male heroes went to sleep thinking about. More than once Nightwing had caught himself imagining herself naked next to him in bed, but it never went beyond a fantasy. Her love for the original Green Arrow was simply too well known. "You're still hot," he answered. "Just a lot more cranky."

"I haven't had sex for three years, dear; that is enough to make you a little hostile," she remarked. "Rich pretty boy…man like yourself probably has some young thing stashed away at the manor," she joked.

Nightwing said nothing but instead pulled out his Justice League messenger and checked it. Black Canary leaned over and gave it a quick glance. "You know, when we started the League, I don't think we ever imagined it would get to this point." Nightwing regarded her as she spoke. "I mean the League has survived so much, so many members…"

"I know," he agreed. "I remember when Superman nominated me for the chairman's position…I suddenly realized that I was being asked not to just lead a team, but guide something legendary." He did not bother to tell her about his private conversation with the Kryptonian right after the nomination. For hours Nightwing had tried to beg off, suggesting that Wonder Woman or Hawkwoman, who was a member at that time, would have been a better choice. But Superman could not be swayed and Nightwing had been able to tell that the Man of Steel saw Nightwing's ascendancy to the top position as a way to erase the darkness that Batman's fall had caused.

It only became worse as Nightwing was re-elected to the position a year later. "I'm thinking about leaving, though," he told her. In fact he had wanted to leave for years, ever since he and Helena had broken up. The League was a place of honor, respect and justice. His presence tainted it. Yet, he knew that by being on the team, he could do something positive. "I just haven't found a replacement."

"Well, the Bat family is kind of thin these days. Did you know the Robin that was killed?" she asked.

He shook his head and downed the last of the coffee. "I thought she might have been related to Tim or Steph, but it turns out she was just someone obsessed with the way things used to be in Gotham City." He sighed and crumpled his cup. "I tried to warn her off, but she just gave me the typical teenager attitude."

"Bruce would have scared her off," she commented.

Nightwing choked and quickly pointed out that Barbara, when she had first appeared on the scene as the original Batgirl. Both Batman and Robin had tried to convince her that the life of a super-hero was not a vocation she wanted to pursue. But she had resisted and finally even the Batman, terror of the night, had to give in and he agreed to train her to make sure she did not get herself killed.

They both laughed about when they considered how Batman seemed to have a soft spot for the women of Gotham that had fought for him. They spent the next few minutes reminiscing about their adventures when they were younger until Black Canary turned away and looked out her polarized window. "Dinah?" Nightwing asked, wondering what was wrong.

She sobbed once, then twice, before speaking in a cracked voice. "It's so hard, sometimes, carrying on after them. Ollie. Barbara. Roy. Barry. Ralph. This job sucks."

He nodded and said nothing, his own thoughts turning inward as he contemplated the same thing. In his war on crime, Batman had enlisted many troops and like any good commander, he had realized that there was a danger to their mission. Some got hurt and some died, but always the war carried on.

How many casualties had to mount before it became apparent that the cure was doing as much harm as the disease? Heroes were an outdated notion, something that worked fine in the so-called Golden Age, back when criminals had some sort of honor code. The criminals of the era of the Batman were something else entirely. "Did you really mean it when you said you thought Bruce had done the right thing?" he asked.

Black Canary turned quickly; her eyes were wet with tears. "Oh, God, yes! He killed Barbara, Dick!"

"I know who he killed," he reminded her.

She sighed. "I'm sorry, I do sometimes forget. I guess I try to monopolize her in my mind; I don't even want to share her memory with anyone." Again they were silent and Nightwing, for just a moment, saw in her face the visage of a much younger woman.

Years before, after the Black Canary had put the League behind her for good, she had become a partner to Oracle, the cyber-sleuth identity that Barbara had adopted after the Joker had paralyzed her. Together they formed Birds of Prey, a loosely knit band of female crime fighters that dealt with criminal problems from the mundane to the most dire. They had become very close friends. Nightwing had never really thought about how Barbara's death had affected the other hero. "I know you miss her," he offered.

"I've gone through so much, Dick, I really have. The cancer. Ollie's death and Roy's murder." She reached over and pressed the release button for the door and it opened quickly on hydraulic power. Nightwing did not mind stepping out into the night air; it wasn't a typical stakeout. They were situated across the street from the headquarters of the Young All-Stars, a relatively new team of heroes, made up of older teens and young adults. Not a single veteran was among them and Batman suspected that they would be one of Obsidian's targets.

Nightwing moved to the front of the vehicle and sat on the hood. Black Canary soon joined him. "She loved you so very much, Dick. She really did."

"I know," he replied, not really believing it. How could she have ever loved someone who could not protect her? "She loved you, too."

The Canary nodded and pulled out a handkerchief. Nightwing noticed that it was monogrammed with "O.Q." on it and he wondered how long she had held onto it. "She was my absolute best friend, more so than even Ollie, and you know how much I cared about Ollie," she said. He did know; Oliver Queen spent most of his relationship with Black Canary apologizing for cheating on her. "That giggling bastard cut her up," she said, anger set in her voice. The wounds were still fresh for her as well.

"I know," he said.

"No, I don't think you do, Dick. He cut her up…he cut up another human being because he thought it was funny. Or maybe he thought it was art. God, who gives a damn what his reasons were? Everyone screams about how his life was worth something, but I say anyone who does something like that isn't alive…they're anti-life!" She began to ball her hands into fists and Nightwing remained quiet. Her perspective was fresh and new, but it was also very angry. Was that the way he was, angry all of the time? No wonder demons fed on him constantly.

"How can they say every life is equal? Can you tell me that someone like Barry Allen, who died fighting the Anti-Monitor and saved the entire universe is just as important as the Joker?" She let loose with a couple of choice curse words and then they were quiet once again.

After about ten minutes, Nightwing turned to her. "I think he deserved to die, too," he told her.

"Two vid-calls in forty-eight hours, Bruce," Wonder Woman said. "I'm beginning to think that you might have a crush on me."

"Your sense of humor has improved with age, Diana," the former Batman replied. She felt a chill run down her spine when she looked at him. There was no doubting what it was; she was still in love with him. She comforted herself with the fact that he would be out of prison in a few years.

"I certainly hope that you've improved with age," she told him. He laughed and told her that he was ready for some quiet time reading books and tending his rose garden. "Seems like an odd way for a Batman to spend his retirement," she said.

"I'm a convicted murdered, Diana," he said and she felt the lie in his words. She said nothing, though, trying to figure out what everything meant on her own. She wanted to try to see if what she and Bruce had seven years before could be saved. She was patient and he was stubborn. Making any sort of accusation about what had happened to the Joker without proof could ruin everything.

It was not that she needed Bruce Wayne in her life; it was that she wanted him. A child of tragedy, he had allowed himself to be formed into a powerful warrior. There was something ancient about that and it was one of the reasons she was so attracted to him. His aging, as she had told herself before, was a problem that could be overcome if he allowed it. "I suppose you are correct," she told him. It was not a lie; he was convicted as a murderer though she had her doubts about the validity of that verdict. "Why have you called, Bruce?" she asked.

"Have you spoken with Dick?" he asked.

She shook her head and blew out. "Bruce, we have a real situation here. The League is way under strength; we are having to activate our reserves…"

"Yes, I know, Black Canary and Power Girl, but that's to be expected. The League needs to be kept small in order to prevent world governments from complaining it is getting too powerful," he said, not bothering to explain how it was he knew about the change in the League membership. "But surely you can see there is something wrong here, Diana."

"I see a man who might or might not be depressed, Bruce," she told him. "One of his best friends was murdered before his eyes and he has had a confrontation with his father in recent days," she explained before pointing out that Bruce appeared to be healing nicely. "Is there something more you can give me?" she asked, hoping for a break-through.

He remained stoic. "The events of seven years ago deeply hurt him. I thought that maybe by now, being involved in the work of the League, doing good and all, would have had a more positive effect in him. I was wrong. He's kept his anger internalized."

"I thought that was Gotham City 101," she said. "I want the truth, Bruce."

"The truth is that I was a bad father. The truth is that I should have devoted a little more time to him instead of the cape. I'm only sorry that it took the death of a man to get me to see that," Bruce replied and he suddenly looked very tired. "Please, just sit down with him and ask him some honest questions about how he's feeling."

"Suicidal?" she asked again, not believing it. "I just don't see it, Bruce. Dick has always been so strong…"

Bruce sighed and looked to the overhead. "God help me…"

"The truth, Bruce…"

"The truth is that you need to talk to him," he said before breaking the link.

"We staked out the Young All-Stars HQ all night long," Nightwing said as he stumbled into the bedroom. Cissie was on the bed in a yoga position, nude as always. It was almost a habit for her to take off her clothes the second she entered the bedroom. "Nothing."

"Just a question, lover," she asked as she inhaled deeply. He stood there and watched the gentle sway of her breasts, feeling the lust stirring in his loins. The voices told him to take her, that the rings she wore on her finger were nothing but an empty promise. He knew about such things, like his oath to never kill. It had been a promise made in the heat of the excitement of becoming the partner of the Batman. A child could not understand that some things had to be killed in order for there to be justice. Justice was blind, but it didn't have to be stupid. "Who is watching Gotham City while you're making out with Black Canary?"

"We weren't making out," Nightwing said. "She's too good a friend."

"Really?" Cissie asked, her eyes suddenly getting a harsh glare to them. "Then I must be your worse enemy after what we did last night."

Nightwing shook his head and pulled off his shirt. "That isn't what I meant and you know it," he said before tossing the dirty clothing at her. She caught it and threw it to the side of the bed where her own clothes lay. "Bart talked to me again today," he said.

Cissie's expression soured. "You're going to tell me I need to explain how I really feel, aren't you?" He started to say yes, but then he figured what was the use? He was a murdered, a liar and an adulterer; it was a little late to be trying to act like a family counselor. "Well, I've decided that after I find out what sex the baby is, I'm going to."

"Why wait?" he asked as he slipped out of his pants and stepped into the bathroom. He turned on the shower and before he could step in, she brushed past him and got in it herself. "It's simply a point in time I've reserved for the occasion,' she said a she wetted her hair.

He stepped in and half an hour later, after they had made love, they both stepped out and resumed the conversation. "Isn't kind of cruel to keep him in the dark like this?" he asked her.

She shrugged and her attitude took him off guard. Ever since she had moved in with him she had been acting strangely, or at least differently. She was losing some of her innocence being with him. It made sense; create a den of evil and you will corrupt everything in it he mused.

They continued to talk until she tried to coax him into bed for some sleep. He refused, telling her he was still wound up and needed to get a drink. She climbed under the covers and he tucked her in, receiving a long passionate kiss for his troubles. "Come on, Bat-Mite," he said to his faithful dog. Together they made their way to the library and the portable bar.

He poured himself a double shot of whiskey and downed it in one swallow before pulling out a doggy treat from a special compartment. Bat-Mite gracefully accepted the kibble and then moved over to one of his many beds that were scattered throughout the house.

Standing in front of the giant window that personified the library, he sipped at a second drink and thought about the way things used to be. He remembered being innocent, or at least being man enough to take responsibility for his actions. In the old days, he never would have allowed Bruce to accept his punishment and he wondered why he had allowed it to begin with.

Maybe he still had some resentment towards Bruce for his childhood? Was it really that bad, he thought? Taking another drink he had to conclude that it had been. After his parent's murder, young Dick Grayson had needed love and attention, not vengeance. Revenge was something that only fools found comfort with.

The only love that he could remember, besides the caring hand of loyal Alfred, was Barbara. He couldn't say when it had happened, though he could recall their first kiss like it was yesterday, but he could definitely say that beyond a shadow of a doubt, it was she that made him feel complete. When she was gone, it was like the world no longer belonged. His mind told him that the second she stopped breathing the world was supposed to end.

But it hadn't and instead he was living a personal purgatory, his soul roasting in the fires of his own despair. Without even thinking he opened a small drawer in the table next to the window and put his hand on the pistol that was there. Most people believed that the Batman completely abhorred guns, but they did not realize that it was not the weapon, but the way they were employed that bothered him. Guns, like hammers and wrenches, were tools, and when used properly they served a useful function. In fact, the Batman was a marksman, perhaps one of the best in the world.

The pistol in the drawer was special. It had been specifically made to use a Kryptonite bullet, a bullet provided to the Batman by Superman in the event he ever lost control. Superman understood that the Batman would use the bullet if necessary. Ironic in a way when one thought about it.

He picked up the weapon and watched as the safety light turned green, indicating that his fingerprints had matched the set burned onto the memory chip in the grip. Only he or Bruce could fire the weapon if required and now it was ready to go. Inside the chamber sat the Kryptonite bullet.

If he shot Superman with it, he would die. The radiation from the radioactive mineral would eventually weaken the Man of Steel to the point he would not be able to breathe and he would suffocate. If he shot himself with it….

The truth was that the nature of Kryptonite had not been studied very well. Prolonged exposure tended to give the recipient cancer, but there was no empirical data to indicate what would happen if someone shot themselves in the chest with a bullet made of the alien metal. He stared at the gun in his hand and wondered, tried to think of what sort of pain would be involved with the action. Was there any pain, or was it shock, the realization that you were about to leave the mortal plane?

Why do you want to die, Richard?

He never knew where that single voice came from, the light in the sea of darkness that was his mind. It did not speak often to him, did not make itself the Alpha Male of the pack of demonic wolves that prowled through the corners of his brain. When it did speak, it was with a voice of concern and he sometimes wondered if it were her…Barbara.

He took another drink and considered the question. Why did he want to die? Was it so he could face some sort of punishment for his crimes or did he secretly desire a private audience with God so he cold plead his case, as Zauriel had thought so many years before? Surely God would understand, even if he wasn't so sure anymore.

He finished off the remainder of his whiskey, all the while twirling the weapon with one finger in the other hand. He had no fear of it going off and in fact secretly dared it to. Even if it went off, the chances of the bullet actually hitting him were pretty slim, and then it actually hitting something vital was even more of a rare chance. Still, it was not something he would have wanted his child doing and that made him stop.

A stray bullet might hit Cissie and harm either her or his child, which he was disturbed to discover he had no feelings for. He wished it no harm, but he also prayed that she would just take herself and their unborn child and leave. His poison was spreading quickly now and he wondered if it were a sign of the endgame. He looked down at the weapon and saw that the barrel was aimed straight at his head.

His finger twitched for the briefest of moments and then he relaxed, replaced the weapon back in its drawer and went to pour himself another drink.