By Miss Aldridge
Disclaimer: Nightwing (or Grayson) and associated characters belong to DC comics. I do not own him or any of the others.
Author's Notes: This is an answer to dragonbat's challenge on the DC message boards. In short, sorting out the mess that Devin Grayson has made of our favourite hero. This is my take. Nothing spectacular, just a conversation. The title is a hack of a thing, taken from "Sorry seems to be the hardest word", written by someone who I don't know the name of.
It took me a few days, but I finally got round to calling Amy. Things had been left bad between us –my fault really. She had done her best and I had been, well, as she said, an ungrateful jerk. Going at her shouting like that was a mistake from the start. Maybe I should have complimented her on her new hairstyle first.
Or maybe I should have got out of my own self-centred world long enough to see that there are in fact other people around. I've been so wrapped with everyone who's died that I've forgotten those who're still alive. God, I need to find out what's happened to Aaron. Poor guy must be out of his mind. I seem to have lost the ability to care about people somewhere along the line, and wound up very good at lashing out at them.
Hell, even Tim's scared of me now. Just the time when I should be helping him, and we're getting further apart. You'd think it'd bring us closer. His just lost his father and Steph, while I've just lost most of my closest friends in the 'Haven.
Crap. I wonder if John's old team mates know about his death yet. Or if Jesse knows. I should have told them straight away. Too damn wrapped up in myself. Seems to have been the norm lately.
And that's why I rang Amy. Rebuilding a bridge that's hopefully only a little charred, though it would have been my own stupid fault if she'd never wanted to speak to me again.
The phone rang for seemingly ages. I sat at my end, clutching the receiver and getting more and more nervous. Yeah, I know. Me, nervous of a phone call. I was too chicken to talk to her face to face again.
"Rohrbach residence."
Here goes. "Hi Amy, it's Dick."
"Oh."
Come on, Grayson, say it before you bottle out again. To use an old cliché, you gotta let go and fly! Come on!
"Listen, Amy, I …uh… wanted to say sorry. For …um…. shouting at you, and being a jerk and everything. You did your best for me and I just threw it back in your face. I'm sorry. I've just been … a really horrible person lately and … it's not yor fault. It's mine. I'm sorry."
There was a long pause. I dreaded what she was going to say.
"I'll understand if you never want to speak to me again." That's it, Grayson, keep right babbling, that'll do the trick. "Just stick the phone down if you want. I just wanted to say sorry."
Well, that had to have been one of the lamest speeches I've ever made. I suppose that's one of the things I never got Bat-training on –apologising. But that's not an excuse; everyone else in the world had to learn for themselves. Shame I never got round to it.
"I'm glad you've realised that."
Okay, so she probably was still a little pissed. Unsurprising.
"I can explain," I began. Now I'd started I knew I'd bottle if I stopped.
"You don't need to," she cut me off. "I don't want to hear it. I'm pretty certain I've worked out what happened." She sounded stern.
"I'm sorry."
"About what? Lying to me about what you do at nights, getting involved with a high-profile murder, or bringing a sociopathic little bitch to justice?"
"How is Catalina?" I ask. So maybe I was deflecting attention from me. Go figure.
"Screaming at every cop she can see. Don't worry about her, Dick. She's not worth it. She manipulated you over this whole affair! But you'll be glad to hear that she hasn't given up any of your secrets. But if she does I'm sure we can think of some explanation."
"Like that lie about me being on an undercover op? And the undeserved promotion I got because of that little fiction?"
"Don't be like that."
Instant chastisement. You can hear that she's a mother. It's all in the tone of voice.
"Sorry. It was a shock, that's all. And I'm not sure if it's what I want to do."
"Dick, you're one of the best cops I know. And it's obvious that you know your stuff … even if you didn't learn it at the academy. It'd be a crime to waste that."
"It's not wasted. You've got enough decent cops." Way to go, Grayson. Slam down that mask.
"You know I haven't. And are you saying you're quitting?"
Had it come out like that? I hadn't realised. Dratted female intuition. "I don't know. Everything's a bit … unsure at the moment. There're a lot of changes going on." Everyone who's dead in the 'Haven, Donna, all the infighting in the Outsiders, Batman in general. "I was going to take some time out."
"You've got some healing up to do as well, haven't you?" There was concern in her voice. I was touched. "Did that leg wound come from all that mess that happened in Gotham? I heard that the cops were ordered to fire on all capes."
"Officially, I was in the wrong place at the wrong time and got caught in the crossfire. There were a lot of bullets flying around."
"I see. What else are you planning to do with your time out?"
I hadn't really thought about it much, like how long I was going to be and suchlike, but there was one decision I'd definitely made. It was something I hadn't really realised I'd missed recently, until I had got back to it for that one awful night. Something that made me as happy as a schoolboy to think of. Something that made me happy.
"Well, as soon as my leg's healed up I'm going to rejoin my circus for a bit. Get away from here, meet new people, that sort of thing. The replacement Big Top should be sorted by then, and they still need an aerialist after Oleg … died. I think it'd be a good break. Flinging myself around off bits of wood and rope high above the ground. The sort of stress-free thing I need." I think it must be the best ideas I've had in ages.
"Hang on a minute: your circus?"
I grinned, even though she couldn't see me. "Didn't I ever tell you I grew up in one?"
She almost laughed, making a little snorting noise. "Kiddo, when you get back you have a lot of explaining to do."
"At some point, Amy."
"At some point soon, Grayson." She was suddenly serious. "Even if … if you're not coming back, I want to hear from you, got that?"
"Promise." I was getting sleepy, probably sue to the pain meds. But I meant that one word with all my heart. I didn't want to lose Amy as a friend.
"I hold you to that. We'll speak soon then."
"Definitely. Thanks, Amy. For listening and all that."
"No problem. Take care, Dick."
"You too. Bye."
I put the phone down. I realised that I was smiling, for what seemed the first time in ages. I'd actually managed a civil conversation with someone. And despite everything, I finally began to feel a little optimistic. I was going to be spending some time as Dick Grayson. Just as Dick Grayson.
There're times when I think Nightwing becomes a censor for Dick Grayson, especially just lately. The overriding part of me has been Nightwing, and the costume takes priority over the rest of my life. When I'm in the mask, my real name is crossed out, hidden with asterisks, whatever. Just like him. I didn't used to be like that.
But at the moment, I am Dick Grayson. I am going back (to the circus) but only in order to go forward.
So, I'd better check who's next on my list of people to apologise to.
End.