WARNING: This story is rated R (just to be safe) for language, violence,
and mild sexual content.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Batman, Nightwing (even though I'd like to) or any of the related characters. They are owned by WB, AOL Time Warner, and DC Comics. Created by Bob Kane, God rest his soul.
Agent Thomas, Agent Hicks, Carmella and Sammy, along with the story, though, are mine. Read but do not hurt.
Timeline: Sometime after NML, but before the "Bruce Wayne Murder?" series.
Anyway, enough of that mumbo jumbo crap, I hope you like! And please review!!!
* * *
"Ouch!"
Agent Thomas couldn't help but smile, Hicks reminded her so much of her brother at that moment. "I'm sorry," she spoke as she finished wrapping the ace bandage around her partner's hand. He pulled his wounded hand up to his chest in a protective manner. "Well, Hicks," she said turning back around to reach at the first aid pack lying on the hotel bed, "at least it isn't broken."
Hicks sighed, "Yeah, right." He watched as Thomas cleaned up the mess they had made. "Oh, Thomas."
She stopped and faced him, slightly startled. "What?"
"He must have hit you pretty hard against the glass." He raised his hand and touched her cheek gently. She had a bruise across her cheekbone. It stung slightly. As soon as Hicks removed his hand, Thomas put her hand up to it, and sure enough, the more pressure, the more pain.
Thomas went to the mirror on the closet across form the bed, looking at the nice blue ring forming. Her eyes glanced over to the reflection of the muted television reporting the news of the earlier bombs. She quickly averted her eyes to her partner's reflection. He had his back turned to her, and his shirt opened. Raising his hands above his head, resting them momentarily on his messy blonde hair, he let out a deep low sigh.
"Did you talk to the guys at the morgue?"
The dull ache in the back of Thomas' head suddenly re-sparked. She rested her forehead against the mirror. "No. I-got sidetracked."
He turned around and watched his partner leaning against the mirror. "It's alright," Hicks reassured her. "I'll stop by there tomorrow. You should go to the police department, find out everything the commissioner knows. They might have some info we don't."
"Right," Thomas said, hitting her head on the mirror. "Like they'll listen to me."
Hicks laid his good hand over her shoulder. "Since when have you been one to give up?"
She turned to face him, and smiled. "Yeah, I guess you're right. I just hate this city. And I haven't had any sleep."
This time Hicks laughed out loud. "Yeah, you should get some sleep. You look like crap."
Thomas turned around to face him. "Thanks," she blurted sarcastically, rolling her eyes.
He smiled his retort. His features softened, and for a moment he looked more tired than Thomas had seen him in a long time. He rested his hand on the small of her back, guiding her toward the door. "I'll come by your room in the morning before I leave."
Reluctantly, Thomas nodded, she really did need sleep. "Then I'll see you in the morning," she said, grabbing her jacket.
"Don't worry," he said once she was out of the room. He leaned on the partway-open door. "Everything'll be better in the morning."
Thomas smiled again weakly. "Goodnight."
The hallway seemed so long, and yet nothing changed. Every door, every panel of wall was exactly the same. She sighed, wishing for her own apartment, her own bed. With an unwilling body she was forced to drag her feet down four doors to the room with the gold numbers 1731 on the door. She had to swipe the card three times before went through and unlocked the door.
"I miss keys," she said under her breath and pushed the door open with her shoulder. She kicked off her shoes and dropped her coat just behind the closed door. A bath would be good, she thought and began unbuttoning her blouse, ready to be rid of anything that reminded her of the day she had.
She flipped the lights on and froze.
The French doors were opened wide, leaving the long white curtains to dance in the breeze and surround a dark figure. He stood perfectly still, his starlite lenses glowing in the dark behind them. He took a step forward into the light of the hotel room.
"Nightwing," Thomas spat through her teeth. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"I got your message," Nightwing said glancing over to the table. She followed his gaze, only to see the files that he had taken.
She wanted to yell at him for taking them, she wanted to slap him and tell him to leave, she wanted to say, or do anything other than just stand there, her shirt open.
Getting bolder, he took a commanding step forward, and then another until he was right in front of her.
"I heard you went to Arkham," he said in a smooth tone. He tilted his head, his eyes drifting to her cheekbone. He grazed the bruised flesh with his gloved fingertips in the same manner Hicks had just a few minutes ago. But this touch had a completely different effect on her. "Are you okay?"
She didn't step back, but she turned her head away from his touch. Why are you acting like you care? she wondered bitterly, masking the feelings he was already beginning to entice. She concentrated on it so much the bitterness seeped into her spoken words. "Yeah, I'm fine."
Looking somewhat hurt he pulled his hand from her. "Did you get any information?"
"I'm not sure. Maybe." Thomas turned her back to him. "But no one else is giving me any information either," she shot sharply. "You and your . kind," she said flipping her hand in the air. "And the Commissioner wants less to do with me than your boss, if that's possible." Thomas rolled her eyes. She grabbed a tank top and a pair of sweats and disappeared into the bathroom.
Nightwing stood in the middle of the hotel room, not exactly sure what he should be doing.
Thomas stared at the open door from well inside the bathroom for a moment, debating on whether or not she should shut it. She gritted her teeth. She wasn't going to let him make her uncomfortable. Defiantly she took her shirt and pants off, and just stood in front of the mirror wearing her panties and bra.
"I think the Joker might have overheard something." She said it without even thinking. She wasn't intending on sharing information with him, but for some reason it just came out as she readied herself for bed. "I just don't think he knows what it is." Padding on bare feet, she came out of the bathroom completely changed, her hair up in a loose ponytail. She dropped onto her bed, letting herself fall onto her back and close her eyes. "I don't think I know what it is either."
She laid there running what the Joker had said over in her head. There were pieces, but they didn't seem to fit together. She frowned, realizing she didn't hear the other occupant of the room anymore.
She opened her eyes and sat up, to find Nightwing standing right in front of her. She leaned back slightly, and let her eyes float up to his lips. His tongue flitted out over his dry lips, wetting them.
Don't kiss him, she thought as he stood in front of her. Don't kiss him, she repeated. Don't kiss him.
He kneeled down in front of her, resting his hands on her legs.
Kick him out, she told herself. Make him leave. Do something. Do anything!
He pressed his lips to hers, hoping, searching for something. Somehow he managed to coax Thomas' lips apart, allowing his tongue entrance, but she still wasn't kissing him back.
Don't kiss him, she thought as the last rational shred of hope disappeared.
His gloved hands found their way up underneath her shirt and over the smooth skin of her back. Thomas closed her eyes as he pulled her to the edge of the bed and into his arms. Standing her up, Nightwing ran his fingers across her bare arms.
Finally she kissed back, grabbing at his arms. A familiar need rising in her stomach. She wanted him, wanted to taste him.
This is so wrong, she thought. She wasn't supposed to need a man. She wasn't supposed to need anything. I'm going to be punished for this in the morning, she kept thinking. I'm gonna go to hell.
Hell. The Devil.
"Diablo," she spoke pulling away from him.
"What?" The devil? Nightwing wondered. Women shouldn't be thinking of that while I'm kissing them.
"The Joker, he said the devil was Spanish. Los Diablos." The connection hit Nightwing just a fraction behind Thomas. "Two-Face was talking about Los Diablos." Thomas headed straight for the small round table. Grabbing a pad of paper she collapsed on the couch across from the bed. She scratched a few things down on the paper. "What does the gang have to do with-" Thomas looked up, but Nightwing was gone. "Two-Face," she finished to herself. "Damn it Thomas," she spoke aloud. She blew out all of the air in her lungs and rested her head on the back of the couch. "You kissed him."
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Batman, Nightwing (even though I'd like to) or any of the related characters. They are owned by WB, AOL Time Warner, and DC Comics. Created by Bob Kane, God rest his soul.
Agent Thomas, Agent Hicks, Carmella and Sammy, along with the story, though, are mine. Read but do not hurt.
Timeline: Sometime after NML, but before the "Bruce Wayne Murder?" series.
Anyway, enough of that mumbo jumbo crap, I hope you like! And please review!!!
* * *
"Ouch!"
Agent Thomas couldn't help but smile, Hicks reminded her so much of her brother at that moment. "I'm sorry," she spoke as she finished wrapping the ace bandage around her partner's hand. He pulled his wounded hand up to his chest in a protective manner. "Well, Hicks," she said turning back around to reach at the first aid pack lying on the hotel bed, "at least it isn't broken."
Hicks sighed, "Yeah, right." He watched as Thomas cleaned up the mess they had made. "Oh, Thomas."
She stopped and faced him, slightly startled. "What?"
"He must have hit you pretty hard against the glass." He raised his hand and touched her cheek gently. She had a bruise across her cheekbone. It stung slightly. As soon as Hicks removed his hand, Thomas put her hand up to it, and sure enough, the more pressure, the more pain.
Thomas went to the mirror on the closet across form the bed, looking at the nice blue ring forming. Her eyes glanced over to the reflection of the muted television reporting the news of the earlier bombs. She quickly averted her eyes to her partner's reflection. He had his back turned to her, and his shirt opened. Raising his hands above his head, resting them momentarily on his messy blonde hair, he let out a deep low sigh.
"Did you talk to the guys at the morgue?"
The dull ache in the back of Thomas' head suddenly re-sparked. She rested her forehead against the mirror. "No. I-got sidetracked."
He turned around and watched his partner leaning against the mirror. "It's alright," Hicks reassured her. "I'll stop by there tomorrow. You should go to the police department, find out everything the commissioner knows. They might have some info we don't."
"Right," Thomas said, hitting her head on the mirror. "Like they'll listen to me."
Hicks laid his good hand over her shoulder. "Since when have you been one to give up?"
She turned to face him, and smiled. "Yeah, I guess you're right. I just hate this city. And I haven't had any sleep."
This time Hicks laughed out loud. "Yeah, you should get some sleep. You look like crap."
Thomas turned around to face him. "Thanks," she blurted sarcastically, rolling her eyes.
He smiled his retort. His features softened, and for a moment he looked more tired than Thomas had seen him in a long time. He rested his hand on the small of her back, guiding her toward the door. "I'll come by your room in the morning before I leave."
Reluctantly, Thomas nodded, she really did need sleep. "Then I'll see you in the morning," she said, grabbing her jacket.
"Don't worry," he said once she was out of the room. He leaned on the partway-open door. "Everything'll be better in the morning."
Thomas smiled again weakly. "Goodnight."
The hallway seemed so long, and yet nothing changed. Every door, every panel of wall was exactly the same. She sighed, wishing for her own apartment, her own bed. With an unwilling body she was forced to drag her feet down four doors to the room with the gold numbers 1731 on the door. She had to swipe the card three times before went through and unlocked the door.
"I miss keys," she said under her breath and pushed the door open with her shoulder. She kicked off her shoes and dropped her coat just behind the closed door. A bath would be good, she thought and began unbuttoning her blouse, ready to be rid of anything that reminded her of the day she had.
She flipped the lights on and froze.
The French doors were opened wide, leaving the long white curtains to dance in the breeze and surround a dark figure. He stood perfectly still, his starlite lenses glowing in the dark behind them. He took a step forward into the light of the hotel room.
"Nightwing," Thomas spat through her teeth. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"I got your message," Nightwing said glancing over to the table. She followed his gaze, only to see the files that he had taken.
She wanted to yell at him for taking them, she wanted to slap him and tell him to leave, she wanted to say, or do anything other than just stand there, her shirt open.
Getting bolder, he took a commanding step forward, and then another until he was right in front of her.
"I heard you went to Arkham," he said in a smooth tone. He tilted his head, his eyes drifting to her cheekbone. He grazed the bruised flesh with his gloved fingertips in the same manner Hicks had just a few minutes ago. But this touch had a completely different effect on her. "Are you okay?"
She didn't step back, but she turned her head away from his touch. Why are you acting like you care? she wondered bitterly, masking the feelings he was already beginning to entice. She concentrated on it so much the bitterness seeped into her spoken words. "Yeah, I'm fine."
Looking somewhat hurt he pulled his hand from her. "Did you get any information?"
"I'm not sure. Maybe." Thomas turned her back to him. "But no one else is giving me any information either," she shot sharply. "You and your . kind," she said flipping her hand in the air. "And the Commissioner wants less to do with me than your boss, if that's possible." Thomas rolled her eyes. She grabbed a tank top and a pair of sweats and disappeared into the bathroom.
Nightwing stood in the middle of the hotel room, not exactly sure what he should be doing.
Thomas stared at the open door from well inside the bathroom for a moment, debating on whether or not she should shut it. She gritted her teeth. She wasn't going to let him make her uncomfortable. Defiantly she took her shirt and pants off, and just stood in front of the mirror wearing her panties and bra.
"I think the Joker might have overheard something." She said it without even thinking. She wasn't intending on sharing information with him, but for some reason it just came out as she readied herself for bed. "I just don't think he knows what it is." Padding on bare feet, she came out of the bathroom completely changed, her hair up in a loose ponytail. She dropped onto her bed, letting herself fall onto her back and close her eyes. "I don't think I know what it is either."
She laid there running what the Joker had said over in her head. There were pieces, but they didn't seem to fit together. She frowned, realizing she didn't hear the other occupant of the room anymore.
She opened her eyes and sat up, to find Nightwing standing right in front of her. She leaned back slightly, and let her eyes float up to his lips. His tongue flitted out over his dry lips, wetting them.
Don't kiss him, she thought as he stood in front of her. Don't kiss him, she repeated. Don't kiss him.
He kneeled down in front of her, resting his hands on her legs.
Kick him out, she told herself. Make him leave. Do something. Do anything!
He pressed his lips to hers, hoping, searching for something. Somehow he managed to coax Thomas' lips apart, allowing his tongue entrance, but she still wasn't kissing him back.
Don't kiss him, she thought as the last rational shred of hope disappeared.
His gloved hands found their way up underneath her shirt and over the smooth skin of her back. Thomas closed her eyes as he pulled her to the edge of the bed and into his arms. Standing her up, Nightwing ran his fingers across her bare arms.
Finally she kissed back, grabbing at his arms. A familiar need rising in her stomach. She wanted him, wanted to taste him.
This is so wrong, she thought. She wasn't supposed to need a man. She wasn't supposed to need anything. I'm going to be punished for this in the morning, she kept thinking. I'm gonna go to hell.
Hell. The Devil.
"Diablo," she spoke pulling away from him.
"What?" The devil? Nightwing wondered. Women shouldn't be thinking of that while I'm kissing them.
"The Joker, he said the devil was Spanish. Los Diablos." The connection hit Nightwing just a fraction behind Thomas. "Two-Face was talking about Los Diablos." Thomas headed straight for the small round table. Grabbing a pad of paper she collapsed on the couch across from the bed. She scratched a few things down on the paper. "What does the gang have to do with-" Thomas looked up, but Nightwing was gone. "Two-Face," she finished to herself. "Damn it Thomas," she spoke aloud. She blew out all of the air in her lungs and rested her head on the back of the couch. "You kissed him."