Firestorm
Batman/Teen Titans
By Amos Whirly
Chapter Three: Ghost from the Past
The door creaked noisily as Nightwing stepped into his loft. He slammed the door with a dark scowl and moved slowly to the couch. Spreading himself out on it, he laid his head on the armrest and sighed hugely.
"Not even human," he muttered to himself, his eyes drifting shut as the morning sun peeked around the edges of his blinds.
Sleep claimed him quickly, but his mind kept churning, musing over images and faces long sequestered to the depth of his consciousness.
The wind was cold and chilled him to the bone. His breath spilled from his lips like a cloud. She stood beside him, her fiery hair caught in the frigid wind.
Surely she was cold. He was freezing, and he was fully clothed. She wore only her uniform, the two piece purple suit that clung to her feminine frame like a glove.
"Robin?" she asked, her voice clear and sweet and soft.
"Yeah, Star?"
"I wish to ask a question."
"What is it, Star?"
"This—circus. What is it?"
"Star, now really isn't the time."
"Yes. But I am curious." Her big green eyes were pleading.
He could never refuse her.
"It's a bunch of people who get together and perform for an audience."
"There are animals, yes?"
"Yes, Star."
"And the strange painted creatures called clowns?"
"Yes, Star."
"And people who fly without wings?"
He hesitated before answering, "Yes, Star."
"Is it very beautiful? The dance they do in the air?"
He only nodded.
"I would like to go to this circus. Would you accompany me?"
"No, Star."
"After we apprehend this doer of
evil? Would you accompany me then?"
"No, Star. I'm not going to the circus."
"But, Robin, why? It sounds like a joyous place."
"I've lost my taste for it."
"I do not understand, Robin. How could you not—"
"I just don't, Star! Leave it at that and pay attention."
He turned his eyes back to the street to watch for any sign of Cinderblock. He tried desperately to ignore the shocked expression on Starfire's innocent face and the hurt tears welling in her luminous green eyes.
Nightwing woke with a start and sat up quickly, gazing around his darkened loft. From the angle of the sunlight spilling through the edges of the blinds, he judged that it was mid-afternoon.
"Was that a dream?" he mumbled, swinging his legs over the edge of the couch and popping his neck. "No. No, I remember that."
With a scowl, he stood and walked to the bookshelf at the far end of the loft. After scaling a ladder, he pulled a large volume off the very top shelf. The book was dusty and old, stained with age and disuse. The front cover was emblazoned with a large letter T.
Nightwing, still frowning, slid down the ladder and flung the book on his table. Quickly, he opened it and began thumbing through the pages. The book was full of a multitude of newspaper articles and pictures, images of five teenagers in strange costumes.
Nightwing recognized himself first, years younger, still wearing the obnoxiously bright Robin suit, his hair wild and unruly. Even his mask looked immature, he thought. He did eye the steel-toed boots in the photograph, though.
Man, he thought to himself, I miss those boots.
The tallest of the group was a brawny young African American. Cyborg. He was part human and part machine, his arms and legs composed of cybernetic systems and computers. His torso was metallic, and half his face shone with blue lights and wires.
With a chuckle, his eyes moved to the shortest of the boys, a little green figure in purple and black tights. Beast Boy. What else needed to be said? Pointed ears, expressive eyes, and a strict vegetarian, the skinny teenager was the goof-off of the group.
Raven, unfriendly and sour, stood at the back of the photograph, her face covered by her blue hood. Only her eyes showed, glowering from within the depths of the shadows in which she existed.
Nightwing allowed himself a faint smile as his eyes lighted on the tall, slender figure standing next to his former self in the photograph. She was tall—taller than he was—and the wind caught in her silken red hair. Her eyes even seemed to glow in the photograph—a lifeless representation of who she was.
She was beautiful.
Why had he never told her? Why had he not insisted that she stay on Earth with him instead of going home to Tamaran, that strange world beyond the clouds?
"Stop it," he suddenly sat up and slammed the book closed. "It doesn't matter. She's gone. They're all gone. I'm alone, like I've always been." He picked the book up and shoved it back into the cabinet. "What am I doing, anyway?"
He scrambled back down the ladder and scowled at a piece of paper on the ground.
"Must've fallen out."
He bent down to grab it and glanced at it casually.
As he had assumed, it was another photograph of the Teen Titans, all waving at the camera like idiots. But—
"Where's Star?" he murmured suddenly, scanning the image for her bright hair and not finding it.
But her face—
"Wait."
He looked closer at the image.
A tall, slender young woman stood in the image, her arms draped over Beast Boy and Cyborg's shoulders. Her face was beautiful—as beautiful as Starfire—but her hair—
Her hair was black.
He had forgotten.
He had completely forgotten.
He stood in shock as Starfire flew into the heavens, her eyes flashing green in fury, and he gawked as the two Tamaranians began to fight. The first blow sent Starfire tumbling head over heels, but she regained her balance and flew toward her opponent again.
Violet and green bursts of light streamed from the two combatants, illuminating the clouded sky like a fireworks display.
Finally, Starfire threw a starbolt that impacted with her opponent's hand, negating the violet light that glowed there. But before Starfire could deliver another blow, the slender black-haired woman screamed, a green tentacle snatching her out of the sky.
The Centauri police.
He listed in awe as Starfire said how good it was to see her big sister again.
"I will get out of jail, little sister," the black-haired girl shouted as the police arrested her, "and I will get even!"
Nightwing stared at the photograph, his mouth dry and his eyes unblinking.
"It couldn't be," he muttered. "It's just impossible. She would never have—I mean, she never could have—"
He threw the photograph down.
"The Joker? There's no way she'd work with him. She couldn't stand him!"
He glared at the photograph, his mind shifting back to the previous night—
Three orbs of violet light burst out of nowhere and knocked the three vigilantes off their feet. Batgirl crashed through a storefront window, glass cascading around her. Two more blasts of light knocked Batman to the ground, and he barely managed to roll out of the way before another blast left a crater in the sidewalk.
"Was it her?" he whispered, remembering how the slender woman had levitated out of the wreckage of the destroyed building. "Is it possible?"
Robin flung two explosive charges at the woman, but she moved around them easily and dealt the boy a fierce blow. He smacked the cement hard and rolled. She plunged for him, but he rolled out of the way as she crashed into the street, the force of the blow sending a shockwave through the street—
"Who else could it be?" Nightwing sat down in a chair. "Who else? There's no one else. But why? Why is she here? Why did she come back? And why is she working with the Joker? It doesn't make any sense."
He jumped as the radio in the corner suddenly flared to life.
"Nightwing," he heard Barb's voice in between bursts of static, "get downtown quick. She's back."
His eyes lifted, hard and cold.
"Blackfire," he hissed.