Dick grabbed a towel from the dryer (well where do you keep YOUR towels?) and greeted Cassandra as she exited the bathroom.
"I called Batman and told him you'd be working here with me for the next couple of weeks, Cass. I'm gonna hop in the shower real quick. I made that other call, too. Someone's going to be stopping by in the next few minutes to bring us a training tool. It's all taken care of; just open the door when he gets here and he'll give it to you. It's Lesson #1, okay?"
Cassandra nodded eagerly and moved to stand by Dick's apartment door. Dick considered telling her she didn't have to wait there for the guy to show up, but thought better of it. 'Besides,' he thought to himself, 'she's safer by the door than exploring the apartment…the roaches are big enough to take her hostage.'
Dick fully intended to map out Cassie's training regimen as he let the hot water wash away the last remnants of sleep from his body. But his mandatory shower routine, holding the shower knob so it wouldn't fall off while singing "I'm Too Sexy" into the shampoo bottle, interfered with his dutiful intentions. He toweled off and dressed quickly in jeans and a favorite button-up. As he left the bathroom, he almost walked headlong into Cassandra, who was standing just outside the door with a flat square box in her hands.
"Whoa! That was almost a mess. You ready for your first lesson," he asked with a smile.
"Yes."
He took the box from her hands and ushered her to the couch. Setting the box on the coffee table, he opened the lid. "This, grasshopper, is a pizza."
"Pizza?" Cassandra looked confused.
"Yup, pizza."
"Pizza lesson?"
Dick laughed. "Kinda. The first thing you need to learn is appreciation for life. Pizza is always a good start. But this is more than just a pizza. This is a Luigi Deluxe with my favorite topping. You know what that is," he asked, pointing proudly at the scattered brown toppings.
A look of horror grasped Cassandra's features as she voiced her guess, "Grasshoppers?"
Dick's eyes nearly popped out of his head. "No! God, I'm sorry. Grasshopper is a nickname from an old…nevermind. It's not important. That's spicy Italian sausage. I'll get us a couple of sodas and we'll chow down." Dick quickly retrieved the beverages, two paper plates, and some napkins. He placed a slice on each plate and handed one to Cassandra.
"There ya go. Eat up," he said invitingly.
"No."
"What's the matter? You don't like pizza?"
Cassandra could only shrug in response. "Not good. Make fat."
Dick chuckled, "Too fattening? That's what Babs says, too. I've got news for you, kiddo. You and I need to eat stuff like this, and lots of it. I've only known you a few months, but it's obvious that you have trouble keeping weight on. Training all day and fighting all night, you're going to start burning muscle with that metabolism of yours…maybe even end up with a vitamin deficiency. You know what Batman eats for breakfast?"
"Toast, fruit."
"Right. That's what Alfred gives him to eat. When he 'changes for work,' you know what he eats? Pop Tarts and Devil Cremes. Full-on junk food, sister. He keeps them in the wall safe behind that painting over his bed," Dick stated with a wink.
"No. Does not," Cassie said in disbelief.
"He sure does. He sends me and Tim out to buy them because Alfred won't, and tips us for smuggling them in under Alfred's nose," Dick replied with a convincing nod.
"Alfred know."
"Oh, of course Alfred knows. You can only keep so many wrappers in your sock drawer before Alfred catches on," Dick said with a laugh. "So eat all you want. Believe me, we'll work it off later, and then some."
Cassandra lifted the slice of pizza to her mouth cautiously and took the smallest of bites. There was a moment of hesitation before her features betrayed surprised satisfaction. The munch-fest was on.
Dick turned on the television and tuned it to a baseball game. He figured he'd listen to the Knights get trounced by the Rockets while he straightened up his apartment a bit. This is not to be confused with cleaning, Dick thought. Cleaning was reserved for Alfred's unscheduled visits. Dick would pretend to help, secretly trying all the while to annoy Alfred ("You shove all that stuff in the closet while I mop the counter, okay, Alfred?") until the kind older man shooed him away. Then Dick would eat whatever food Alfred brought him while he watched the Knights get trounced by whoever they were playing that day.
That's cleaning. Straightening pretty much just involves collecting dirty dishes from places like the fire escape and under the bed, and piling them in the sink. Then when the sink fills up, he would throw the dishes away ("Alfred, Deathstroke broke in here looking to kill me, but I wasn't here…so he stole my dishes.") and buy more the next time he went to the store to get stuff to fix the shower knob. Housekeeping, by Dick's estimation, is easy if approached efficiently.
Dick ate three slices as he moved about his apartment. He'd just finished sweeping his kitchen floor debris under the small floormat when he saw it.
The last piece of pizza.
He moved casually toward the coffee table, bending over to scoop up the last edible food in his apartment, only to have the pizza box disappear before his eyes.
Logically speaking, he knew she was fast. But even Wally West had never beaten him to the last slice of pizza. Not even once. "C'mon, Cassie. You had four pieces. I only got three."
"No," she pointed at him, eyes narrowed. "Know pizza." Pointing to herself, she added, "Learn pizza."
Dick grinned at her. "I'm not buying that one, Batgirl. Give it up."
"No! Me pizza, grow. You pizza, make fat."
They stood staring at one another, an unspoken challenge in the air.
"…"
"…"
"Please?"
"No."
"But…"
"No."
"Split it?"
There was a long pause. Cassandra looked down at the last piece of pizza, considering her options. She nodded, "Share…partner."
A truce. Hostilities ended, lives saved…
…she gave him the crust.
Cassie and Dick sat and watched the end of the baseball game. Dick looked on in disgust as his team got manhandled by their visiting rivals. Cassie observed in utter confusion. It seemed to her that everyone wanted the ball. The man that most often had the ball kept throwing it at the man with the odd-shaped staff. This didn't make sense to Cassie. He was definitely trying to hit the ball with the staff, but she couldn't tell if he was angry because he missed or because the man kept throwing it at him. Every time the ball was thrown, the man would swing, and the man behind him in the funny mask would catch it.
Cassie could think of eighty-three different ways to use the staff to get the ball from the man in the mask.
Then again, Cassie was fairly certain she could hit the ball and run around in a circle like other men had earlier (though none wearing a Knights uniform), and she was positive that she could handle any of the men that tried to stop her at the "bases" she ran to. Especially the last base, because she would absolutely hit the man in the mask with the staff before she ran to the first one.
Thoroughly exasperated with his team's performance, Dick changed the channel. Maybe a little college football would cool him off.
He didn't notice Cassandra's face twist into a fearsome scowl. After trying for an hour to comprehend the nuances of one game, now she was faced with another. Now there were a lot more people, the ball was bigger and shaped differently, *all* of the men wore masks, and they were hitting each other. They didn't know *how* to hit each other, but at least they were further along than the baseball players.
Cassie stood and turned the television off. "No more," she said with a sweep of her hand.
Dick opened his mouth to protest, then fell silent. "You're right. You didn't come here to watch my teams lose. Let's see where should we start?"
Cassandra reached down and grabbed Dick by the arm, pulling him to his feet. She then took his place on the couch, her body language making it clear that Dick had her attention. "Talk…teach."
"Trust," Dick stated simply. He spoke no further, and for a full minute, silence reigned.
"Trust?"
"I know it sounds simple, but that's all there is to it, Cass. Trust is the beginning, middle, and end of working with others." He paused, gauging her body language to ensure she was following. Convinced, he continued, choosing his words carefully.
"You know I'm not the greatest combatant in the world. I'm not the strongest, not the fastest, not the smartest, and I don't have super powers. I do have gifts, and one of them is teamwork. Leading, following…I've got it all wrapped up," he said, adding another wink because it always seemed to get a smile from her.
And it did, even as she asked, "How?"
"Trust. You have to know who to trust, when to trust, and how much to trust. And for you there's another step, Cassandra. You have to learn *how* to trust," Dick said carefully.
Cassie's face took on a look of surprise and protest. "Can trust. *Do* trust."
"I know you do. But you don't in action. Being capable of trust isn't enough in what we do. I'll give you an example. Tim is a good partner, right?"
"Yes."
"A good leader, too, yes?"
"Yes."
"Right. As good as he is, he's not great. And he's not going to be great at either for a good while. Why?"
Cassie considered Dick's question. She pointed to her head, "Robin strong here," then to her closed fist, "Strong here," and finally to her chest, "Not strong here."
Dick weighed her reply, nodding his head. "Very good. Tim is exceptionally smart, brilliant even. He's physically formidable, too. But he lacks confidence in himself. He trusts his partners and his teammates, sometimes to a flaw. He just doesn't trust himself enough."
Cassie smiled, pleased that she was on the right track and that Dick understood her.
"You trust yourself completely, but have a difficult time trusting others. Azrael has problems because people have a hard time trusting him."
"You," Cassie stated firmly.
Dick shot her a small, relenting smile. "Okay, by 'people' I mean me. Azrael and I have issues, but that's not the point. Anyway, The Huntress has the same trouble Jean Paul does."
"Nightwing?"
"Me? I'm good at it because I trust my partners, no matter who they are, and they trust me. Knowing that you have confidence in your abilities and the faith of your teammates, the actual teamwork takes care of itself. Given time, it'll become second nature to you."
"Bat?"
Dick sighed resignedly, his shoulders slumping slightly. "Batman is a unique case, Cass. Those of us who are 'permitted' to work with him would trust him with our lives. But Batman trusts no one. There was a time not long ago where I would have said he trusted me, Tim, Babs…but I don't think I believe that anymore."
"Why?"
"I wish I could explain it to you, Cassie. Really I do. He just doesn't trust us anymore, at least not with his heart. He's pushing us all away, even me and Alfred. But that's not important right now. You have the right idea. Maybe if we all learn to be his partners, he'll remember what it was like to really have one and let us in."
"Yes. Help."
"Let's help you first, then we'll worry about Batman," he smiled at her encouragingly. "First we need to work on your trust issues. Working alone is a crusade unto itself. You're superb in that department, obviously. But when you work with others, whether leading, following, or in tandem, you *must* trust them to do their part; to do what they do best.
"We put innocents first and ourselves last. Because of that, you have to trust your partner to know when to ask for help. Leaving your objective to assist a partner or teammate jeopardizes your goals and safety. Sometimes it's necessary, and that's the hard part…knowing when to break the rules. Understand?"
"Yes."
"Great. We've got some time to kill before it gets dark, so I'll give you the nickel tour of Bludhaven. Maybe we'll stop in and introduce you to my landlady, and I've got some uniforms to pick up from the cleaners. But we start tonight."
"How?"
Dick turned up the wattage on his smile. "That's simple, Cass. Tonight, we fly," he said.
Her expression turned quizzical. "Fly?"
END PART 2