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Two nights later:

Nightwing had been keeping a careful eye out for the two strangers. There had been no sight or even sign of them so far, anywhere. None of his criminal contacts had any information. And no matter what he did, the young hero couldn't shake the ache that continuously pounded in his head. He had tried pain relievers – both the normal and the stronger stuff – a heating pad, an ice pack, everything Alfred had ever done for him growing up. It was just a fading bump, just a concussion. So why wouldn't it go away?

He was currently on a random patrol, no rhyme or reason to each new destination. Nightwing had begun in Crime Alley, then flitted to the west side of town, then straight to downtown Gotham, and was now going north. Rule number eighteen: always plan out your trip before you go. It was more efficient than just aimlessly flying around. Nightwing had thrown number eighteen out the window. His patrol wasn't efficient, but it was fun.

This was one of the best parts about being Nightwing – flying from building to building using whatever gadget was handy, usually his grappling hook. He felt so free, and the burdens of his normal life easily fell off his shoulders for a while. Except for one.

His fight with Bruce was constantly on his mind. Nightwing knew he – well, Dick Grayson – should apologize, but he couldn't bring himself to swallow his pride and do it first. It might lead to an apology from Bruce, or it could lead to a nod of triumph and Dick would feel as small as an ant waiting to be stepped on. Nightwing was sure it would be the latter, and he was tired of being an emotional punching bag for Batman to use whenever he wanted.

The distinctive sound of a gunshot interrupted his musings. It echoed through the alley over which he was currently flying, so it was close. Turning around, he silently swung down into that alley. Stopping at the corner, he peered around the building and carefully searched the entire street. Nothing visible, so Nightwing turned his attention to the shadows.

There was a quiet noise behind him and he automatically turned and crouched. No bullet, knife, or other weapon came flying at him. The man whose momma had taken out the young hero two nights ago was standing by the dumpster at the other end of the alley.

"Good evening, sidekick," the man said, just loud enough for Nightwing to hear.

Standing up, Nightwing strode towards the man, who didn't move.

"I'm not a sidekick," he growled, walking straight up into the man's personal space.

"James," the man replied, extending his hand. "It's nice to formally meet you."

Nightwing slapped the man's hand away rudely.

"Where's your momma?" he asked, failing to keep the smirk out of his voice.

"Ah, paying closer attention to her now. How does it feel to know you were probably taken out by a fat lady who doesn't move very quickly?" James retorted with a smirk of his own.

The man was baiting him again, and Nightwing ignored the taunt.

"What do you want? Why are you in Gotham City?"

"I already told you what I want," James stated with a dramatic sigh. "Or did that hit to your head cause you to lose your memory? How are you feeling, by the way? Any lingering effects, such as a headache that won't leave?"

Brushing the questions aside, Nightwing repeated, "Why are you in Gotham City?"

"Where else would I be in order to get what I want?"

"Just get on with it," Nightwing said impatiently. "Whatever you're going to try to do to me, just do it. I'm tired of this conversation already."

"Oh, I'm sorry," James retorted sarcastically. "Am I wasting your jumping around time? I'm not going to try anything. I know exactly what I'm doing, and you have no idea. It's irritating and frustrating, isn't it?"

Anger flared through him, but Nightwing remained calm on the outside.

"I have somewhere to be…"

"Did you not learn from our last meeting?" James interrupted. "I'm very good at using recorded sounds to lure heroes into where I want them to be. I do have more than one gunshot sound, in case you're wondering."

"I wasn't."

"What a pity. I thought you would be searching for me, worried about what I could be doing to your precious little city with all its innocent…people."

"I search for all criminals, not just puny ones like yourself."

"And here come the insults, the famous Nightwing verbal jabs," James said with a laugh that sounded eerily similar to that of the Riddler. "I haven't even shown myself to be a criminal yet, but there is a tinge of concern floating in your words."

"I'm concerned about being home in time for a decent dinner," Nightwing countered. "I don't spend the entire night waiting for people to show up and start monologuing."

"Oh, I haven't even begun to monologue," James stated scornfully. "You'll know when that time comes."

Folding his arms across his chest, Nightwing sighed and said, "Can we just do this? I'm hungry."

The sigh from James was much more dramatic.

"You're ruining my fun," he almost whined. "I enjoy conversing with you."

"Sorry," Nightwing responded sarcastically, "but I don't enjoy conversing with you."

James reached into his jacket and Nightwing immediately dropped into a defensive stance. The man laughed and pulled out his tape recorder.

"Do you want to hear the other sounds?" he inquired.

Nightwing relaxed and shook his head. He wasn't going to amuse the man by being patient with this conversation.

"Fine," James said with an actual pout. "Momma!" he called.

The large woman walked around the corner and stood by her son.

"Nightwing, I would like to formally introduce you to my mother, Jasmina."

The young hero stayed silent but raised his eyebrows in disbelief. Jasmina grinned.

"Zorry for ze hit," she stated with an accent that Nightwing couldn't quite place. "Jacques," she said, the word outlined with what sounded like a warning.

Putting the tape recorder back in his pocket, James covered his ears. Too surprised to recognize the fact that he should probably do the same, Nightwing again dropped into a defensive stance. He didn't want to hit a woman, but if it came to the safety of Gotham City, he wouldn't hesitate to do so.

Jasmina opened her mouth and a single, beautiful note gently caressed Nightwing's ears. The ache in his head disappeared, and the young hero melted into a pile of limbs, unconscious before he slid onto the ground.


Batman had also heard the gunshot, although it was much fainter and farther away. He arrived at the top of a building across the street and saw Nightwing fidgeting impatiently. The young hero was talking to someone whose face was hidden in shadow, and it was obvious that the boy wanted to be done with the conversation.

He's not a boy anymore.

His own thought was chiding him, so Batman shoved it out of his mind. A woman stepped around the back corner and stood right next to whomever had been talking to Nightwing. She began talking, but Batman was too far away to catch any of the words.

A note of pure musicality flowed into the darkness and, without warning, Nightwing melted to the ground. His head dropped onto the gritty floor of the alley, just hard enough that Batman knew he was going to have another headache when he woke up.

Nightwing could take care of himself, but Batman sat down to wait anyway. An unconscious hero was an open invitation to any criminal or villain. The two strangers turned away, but then the skinny silhouette pivoted and knelt by the fallen hero. The person was a man, but Batman was too far away to see any distinguishing features. And he had no idea of the identity of that man or the woman that had accompanied him.

Something silver flashed in the moonlight, and Batman didn't hesitate. Standing up, he quickly grabbed his grappling hook and shot it across the street He swung down into the alley and strode purposefully toward the scene. The man stood up, but didn't run away like the hero thought he would.

"Batman, so nice to finally meet you," the man said.

The Caped Crusader did the same thing Nightwing had down two days ago: searched his memory for a face or voice to match was he was seeing and hearing. He also came up with nothing.

"What did you do?" Batman growled.

"I didn't do anything," the man stated with a slight grin. "Catch."

He tossed something to the hero, who easily caught it. A rubber knife, coated with something that would reflect light to make it seem like steel.

"See? Nothing at all. I'm James, by the way."

The woman, who had already turned the corner, came back.

"And you are?" Batman snapped.

"My mother, Jasmina," James introduced. "She has something to say to you."

Jasmina opened her mouth and sent forth the haunting note. Batman shook his head, would criminals never learn? He had Bat-gadgets for everything. Quickly reaching into his utility belt, the Caped Crusader pulled out his Bat-earplugs.

"Oh, right, I forgot," James interrupted. "Momma, he was late to the party last time. He doesn't have a headache. Unless you do from something else," James stated in the direction of Batman.

Jasmina closed her mouth, nodded, and simply said, "Yez."

The statements didn't make sense, so Batman put them in the back of his mind for now.

"I'll ask you only one more time," the hero warned as he returned the Bat-earplugs to their pocket. "What did you do to Nightwing?"

And what party was I late to that made her shut up at the mention of it? And why would I have a headache? Does Nightwing still have a headache? If so, how long and how severe?

The questions couldn't be easily answered, so the Caped Crusader put those in the back of his mind, also. For now.

"Don't worry about him, he'll wake up soon. We haven't done anything wrong, there's nothing you can do to us."

"Nightwing wouldn't drop unconsciously to the ground of his own volition. I'm assuming you are the ones he met two nights ago. The ones that knocked him out and left him to slowly bleed out. I'm also assuming that Jasmina's note was the thing that dropped him right now. Tell me I'm wrong," Batman challenged.

"We did meet him two nights ago, it's true. But I did nothing to knock him out, and I know nothing about him bleeding out. As for right now, my momma was merely singing, so you're wrong on your second assumption."

"What happened two nights ago?" the hero demanded. "And one note does not equal singing," he added.

"We met, we talked, we left. And that's insulting, my momma has a beautiful voice."

"Then how do you explain the plank of wood stained with blood, and the large puddle on the ground by his head?"

"Again, I don't know anything about whether or not your young partner was bleeding. And I did nothing to knock him out," James replied with a slight smirk. "As I said before, I have done nothing wrong. You can ask him yourself when he wakes up. It was nice to meet you, but we have to go. If you'll excuse us…"

James trailed off when his eyes connected with a Bat-glare. It was the most threatening thing he had ever seen, and his heart began to beat a little faster. Then he relaxed. There was no way to prove anything. No way for Batman to prove the hit to the head two nights ago, and no way to prove that Nightwing had been taken out by a mere note of music.

"Perhaps I'll see you around, Batman. Have a good night."

With a formal and somewhat mocking bow, James turned and walked away. Jasmina dipped her head with a scowl, then followed her son.

Batman knew he had next to nothing to go on, so he ignored them and crouched by Nightwing.

"Nightwing, can you hear me?"

The younger hero twitched and then his eyelids began to flutter. Ten seconds later they slowly slid open. The light-blue circles were outlined with a trace of red. It was so light that a normal person wouldn't have noticed it. Batman, however, was not a normal person. And Nightwing was his son.

"How do you feel?" Batman asked, attempting to keep the concern out of his voice. Nightwing's eyes should not be tinted red, and it was worrying the older hero.

"Fine," the younger hero said shortly as he pushed himself up to sitting.

Perfect. I wake up to a frowning Batman after being unconscious for however long.

The knowledge irritated Nightwing. This was the second time in three nights that this had happened. An unfamiliar feeling of rage filled the young man's chest, and he rolled away and jumped to his feet. The headache returned full force and he wanted to lay down again. But Batman was here, and Nightwing was strong.

"What happened?" Batman asked as he, too, stood up.

Nightwing growled then said, "I'll take care of it."

The feeling of rage tightened into a ball of fury, and the younger hero suddenly wanted to fight the older one. But he turned his back on his former partner and strode away instead.

"Nightwing."

The tone was commanding. Nightwing stopped and slowly turned to face Batman.

"What's going on."

It wasn't a question, it was a demand for answers. Nightwing attempted to push the ball of anger away, but it was stuck. Just like the ferocious headache that had been stuck in his brain for two and a half days. He remembered it disappearing, but now it was just as strong as it had been before.

"I…don't know," he finally admitted after several moments of silence. "We were talking and then the woman came and then I woke up. Happy?"

Batman was surprised at the tone. Nightwing had been angry with him before, but he had never heard rage in the young man's voice.

"It was the same guy from two nights ago," the younger hero continued. "And his momma. I don't know what to make of them. I have no proof of any criminal activity. All of his weapons and the sounds of violence that happen when he's around are fake."

That part was harder to admit, the fact that he didn't have proof. But Nightwing felt, somewhere in his crime-fighting mind, that the man was dangerous. It would be helpful to have Batman on his side, but the hero probably didn't want to work with him. And Nightwing wasn't at all sure that he actually wanted to have Batman working with him. Especially since that ball of fury was still bouncing around in his chest.

"What other weapons? And what sounds?"

"A toy gun, a rubber knife, and he has gunshots recorded. He's done nothing wrong, that I can prove anyway."

"The woman, Jasmina. It must have been her that hit you on the head. And she sang something when I arrived, but nothing happened to me."

A memory popped into the younger hero's aching head. The memory of something beautiful forcing his headache to flee. The anger faded as the memory filled his head.

"It was magnificent," Nightwing murmured, admiration evident in his voice.

"Yes," Batman agreed, "but not enough to do anything to me. So why did it affect you?"

The last sentence was almost inaudible, as if he were talking to himself. Batman had no doubt that Jasmina's "song" was supposed to have some mesmerizing effect. But why had it taken down Nightwing and done nothing to Batman? And what about the statements from James that hadn't made sense, and the questions to which he had no answers?

"What, exactly, happened two nights ago?" Batman demanded, hoping Nightwing could provide answers.

Nightwing was startled out of his memory. The ball of rage began dancing around again, and he dropped into a defensive stance.

"Nightwing, what are you doing?" Batman asked. "Stand down," he commanded.

Silence answered the question. Nightwing was rarely silent. Batman's concern grew.

"I'll take care of it," the younger man snarled. "Stay out of my way."

Surprise dashed through the minds of both heroes. Batman narrowed his eyes when he saw a flash of red skim through Nightwing's normally blue eyes. At the same time, Nightwing felt the fury begin to fade and then it skipped away, leaving him dizzy and nauseous. His muscles relaxed and he stood up.

"I think you've been drugged," Batman stated calmly. "Come to the Batcave so I can get a sample of your blood to analyze. You're in no condition…"

"I'm fine," Nightwing interrupted, clenching his teeth in an attempt to hide whatever was happening to him. "I'm capable of analyzing my own blood. When and how could I have been drugged? I'm. Fine."

"You don't know what happened two nights ago between the time you were knocked out and the time you woke up. They could have easily drugged you with anything. Do you feel any different?"

"Just…I can take care of it. Just shut up and leave me alone."

"Rob…Nightwing, enough," Batman snapped, the more-familiar name almost sliding out.

"Robin? You have the audacity to call me 'Robin'?!" Nightwing yelled. "Robin's gone, that's how you wanted it, and Batman doesn't need Nightwing! Just like Nightwing…"

The younger hero trailed off, realizing he couldn't say it. Nightwing wanted to work with Batman again, but neither of them could handle even saying that. Which meant there was no possible way they could do it.

A single, pure note drifted through the night air. Nightwing grabbed his head and dropped to his knees. His body began trembling, and his breathing became erratic. Batman watched in astonishment as different emotions raced across the young hero's face. Pain, fury, misery, pain again, and then he closed his eyes and tilted to the right. His hands fell away from his head and he hit the ground, completely unconscious again.

"Nightwing!" Batman exclaimed, crouching down as he had earlier.

The only thing Nightwing did was begin wheezing, so Batman scooped him up and strode down the alley, in the direction of the Batmobile. As he walked, he tried to make some sense of what had happened. The note that had come from Jasmina's mouth when she had, allegedly Batman had to admit, knocked Nightwing out the first time had been different from the one he had just heard.

"Both notes disabled him completely. This one with pain, but what about the other? And how can one note take down a strong hero?"

The thoughts were murmured out loud; he still had so many unanswerable questions. Arriving at the Batmobile, Batman deposited his former partner on the passenger seat then walked around to the driver's side and climbed in. Nightwing moaned softly, Batman shook his head, the engine roared to life, and he set off for the Batcave.


Note: Yeah, I know Batman wouldn't just sit down and wait for something to happen. Please forgive me if you don't like it. Creative license for writing. :)