Chapter 7

It was raining. Cold, driving rain. Clouds wept with all their might down on the City, wetting everything, even the lower levels. Thunder and chain lighting roared and ripped through the sky, shaking the buildings that brushed the storm cloud underbellies. Nightwing stood emotionless in the rain, waiting for the light across the street to wink out. He stood precariously on a ledge, his staff held loosely. The dark man shivered slightly, having neglected to bring a weatherproof cloak. His black hair clung to his cheeks and hung over his eyes, partially obscuring his vision. His breath misted in the damp air, denoting the low temperature. Gritting his teeth, the assassin silently willed the light to go out. He waited, and waited, and waited. Finally, the light winked off. Nightwing grunted as he leapt off of the building and went to work.

The window shattered, scattering glass every which way. A dark man stepped into the room, his glass band hiding his searching eyes. The pole suddenly extended blades as he leapt next to the bed and drove his weapon deep into the covers. There was no tearing of flesh, no cry of pain, not even the resistance of bones. He was instantly on his guard, seeing the taser milliseconds to late. The electric arched through his body and leapt off the tips of his fingers in a maddening, twisting dance. Nightwing shuddered fitfully, his mouth wide in a pained howl. He gripped the taser pressing into his side and crushed it with his other fist before turning on the owner. The bodyguard grinned and pulled out a gun, aiming for a non-lethal shot. The guard's pistol hand fell off before he could blink. Screaming in agony, he clutched at his stump as other guard's came in, pistols raised. Nightwing hissed angrily between his teeth before leaping into the guards' midst. This was not good.

Another taser found him. This time, he ignored the pain and began to slash through the mass of flesh. Men fell left and right as his bladed pole flashed in the dim light; they clutched missing limbs or simply breathed their last breath of mortal air. Soon, they all lay on the ground. Nightwing checked each one, making sure they were dead, before running into the hall to find his target.

The 'target' was a skinny, middle-aged bald man, who was currently cowering in the lowest level of his home, flanked by his top bodyguards. His dull grey eyes glanced this way and that at every little sound. "Remember, aim to kill. I doubt those idiots upstairs managed to crawl away alive." The men nodded, their guns trained on the only door, triggers half-pressed.

Footsteps. The guards instinctively clutched their weapons tighter as the sound of resolute footsteps echoed in the hall outside the door. Then silence. Silence. A creaking sound. The doorknob was slowly turning. Then, the door burst open suddenly. All the men began to shoot blindly at the door, hoping against hope their aim would be true. But, there was no one there. They were shooting at nothing. They glanced at each other, confusion clouding their faces. They lowered their weapons slightly, trying to see around the haze their guns had formed.

A pole suddenly pierced through the haze and skewered the skinny man through the throat. He gurgled and fell forward, his body propped up at a strange angle. All eyes turned towards him, failing to notice the shadow darting over the stairs and yanking a gun out of a guard's hands. Three of the hired men died instantly, a clean shot to the head. The pole suddenly vanished from the dead business man's neck and returned to the assassin's hand, his blue eye bared to the world. His face was cold, emotionless. "No witnesses," was all he said before leaping onto the men.

Nightwing flipped gracefully through the air and stabbed through two men before carefully aiming his stolen gun and disposing of another four. He didn't notice the guard behind him. A bullet grazed his leg, forcing a grunt of pain from the stolid man. He turned and killed the man before running straight into another taser. Sparks danced before Nightwing drove his pole through the guard's chest. The bodyguards began to shoot in earnest, aiming at point blanc. Another bullet managed to find its way into Nightwing's arm. The assassin grunted and continued to kill. It was going to be a long night.

Nightwing stumbled out of the building, leaking blood everywhere. He couldn't care less. Wayne would dispatch a crew to get rid of all the evidence soon. Exhaustion was creeping up on him and the loss of blood and electric had taken their toll on him. The rain was still pouring down hard as he slumped against an alleyway several blocks down. He glanced around with naked eyes, his heart beating erratically. The bloodied assassin slowly slid down the hard wall and to the ground, black creeping at the edge of his eyesight. "Hypothermia," he groaned as he watched his breath fog in the cold night, an odd sense of amusement and nausea overtaking him. He slowly slipped into the embracing dark, slumped against an alley wall.
Starfire sat on the couch, watching the holo-screen clock. It had been nearly three hours since Nightwing said he would return. As the seconds ticked by, Starfire become more and more worried.

The doorknob suddenly jiggled. Starfire sat up suddenly, her worry melting away. Flying to the door, she unlocked the large dead bolts and threw the door open. Will blinked at her a bit before grinning. "So, Mister dark 'ssassin is no' back yet?"

The pretty alien watched him uneasily as she shook her head. "No, I am afraid that Nightwing has not returned as of yet."

Will grinned wider. "Well, is that no' a shame." He walked through the door and closed it behind him. His eyes glinted with an unsettling light. "Perhaps we shou' get ta know each other better, eh lass?"

Starfire backed away. "I do not think that Nightwing would appreciate you entering his home. I wish for you to leave."

Will smirked. "No." He grabbed at her, pinning her arms to her sides. "I do no' think I will, lass." He leaned close and smelled her neck. "Ya smell good."

Starfire shuddered fitfully, too afraid to form coherent thought, much less a starbolt. Will lifted a hand and felt her face roughly. "An' soft too. I'm a lucky 'un."

He suddenly spun around, a pale hand on his shoulder. "What do you think your doing, Will?" an icy voice asked slowly, anger dripping from every word. "Let her go before I decide to ignore Bruce's wrath and gut you." Nightwing had his pole extended, its tip poking into Will's hard abdominal muscles. The larger assassin swallowed hard and backed into the door. He threw it open and ran out with whatever was left of his pride.

Starfire sighed before turning to Nightwing. She gasped. The stoic man was deathly pale, his legs barely keeping him up. Diluted blood dripped off of his clothes and stained the carpet, making a steady dripping sound. His clothes had holes in random spots, displaying angry red burn marks. His glass eye-band was cracked and slightly askew. Starfire swiftly flew to him and gave him her shoulder to lean against. Nightwing glanced at her before pushing her away. His brow was furrowed in anger.

She suddenly frowned at him. "It has been three hours. What has happened?"

He seemed a bit surprised. "My target was tipped off. There was an ambush."

Starfire could not keep her angry frown as pity overwhelmed her. She touched his face, feeling his clammy skin. "You need rest."

Nightwing pushed her away. "I need a shower. Leave me alone." He took a step forward and nearly collapsed. He righted himself and walked into the bathroom. However, before he could close the door, he slumped to the floor, darkness grabbing him once more.

Starfire gasped again and dragged him to the couch. Stripping him from the waist up, she threw his wet clothes into the bathroom. Touching his arm wound, the distraught alien noted that the bullet had pierced through. It was not deep and the blood had clotted. She quickly found some linen bandages and wrapped his arm carefully. Noticing his leg wound, she quickly wrapped that as well. Finding some salve in the medicine cabinet, Starfire rubbed his burns slowly.

All the while, Starfire was blushing furiously. She couldn't help but stare at the lean muscles, strong jaw, and relaxed face. Even relaxed it held its emotionless quality. She flipped him over carefully and gasped once more. A large series of scars and indentions on his back's flesh glared up at her. The welted skin was obviously not fresh and they reminded Starfire of something. Standing up, she glanced down at the scars. They were placed in the rough shape of the letter 'R', the skin seemingly cut, torn off, and then regrown. Her hands flew to her mouth at the grotesque mark, her eyes filling with tears.

Nightwing winced as light streamed through the window and struck his face. He lifted an arm, blocking the light, and suddenly winced at the pain shooting through his limb. The muscle had obviously been torn. He glanced at it and was surprised to see a crude bandage. He was far more surprised to see a red head sleeping peacefully on his stomach. Starfire was stretched out alongside him on the couch, breathing softly. The stoic man's eyes widened behind their glass band. "Starfire," he said. "Wake up." She merely shifted and sighed happily, mumbling something incoherent. Nightwing sighed and began to try and move her head when he suddenly sneezed violently. Starfire woke up immediately. Her head lifted suddenly, her green eyes only half open. "'m awake. Did training commence?"

Nightwing cleared his throat. Starfire turned sleepily toward him and smiled, blushing furiously. "Starfire? Why are you sleeping on me?" He lifted an eyebrow at her.

She sat up, scratching her head while still blushing. "Um, I assumed you wished for company." She fidgeted, playing with her hair. "I also wished to monitor your condition throughout the night, but I could not stay awake."

Nightwing couldn't bring himself to scowl at the alien, which he severely wished he could do. "I told you to leave me alone, didn't I?" He sneezed again.

Starfire placed her palm over his forehead. "You are still cold." She ignored his frustrated gaze and slowly got off of him.

Nightwing tried to rise as well, but a wave of dizziness made him fall back to stare at the spinning ceiling. He began coughing, hard.

Starfire, unsure of what to do, patted his head softly. Nightwing glared at her fiercely between coughs until she stopped stroking his hair. "Perhaps you are in need of professional help."

Nightwing forced himself to stop coughing and continued to glare angrily. "I do not want your help," he hissed, his voice raw. "Stay away from me." He struggled to stand up, his legs weak. "I told you before that I do not deserve your care or your pity. What part of stay away don't you understand?" He collapsed to his knees as he began coughing again.

Starfire sighed and gripped his arms, pulling him back onto the couch. "And as I have proclaimed before, I do not care. If you will not be reasoned with, I will force you to cooperate." She found a bottle of cough syrup and poured him a spoonful. He eyed it warily as she hovered it in front of his mouth. "Come now; open your mouth so that you may digest this liquid healing agent."

"I will not be treated like a child," he muttered through clenched teeth.

"You act as one. I have no choice." She leapt on him; miraculously keep the cough medicine in the spoon. Gripping his head in one hand, she tried to force the spoon through his teeth.

"Since when does the big bad Nightwing let woman push him around?"

Both heads twisted to look at the newcomer standing in the doorway, in full view of their position. In their moment of silence, Starfire shoved the spoon into Nightwing's gaping mouth, blushed, and scrambled off of his prone body. The dark assassin gagged and hacked as the foul substance slipped down his throat.

The visitor, a small woman with short green hair and a revealing, leather skinsuit, cackled at them almost maniacally. Her face was covered in a sort of white powder, making her seem pale. "Duela Dent, hon," she said, extending a hand toward Starfire, who shook it hesitantly.

Nightwing tried to sit up again, but he fell back as nausea clutched at him again. "What do you want, Duela?"

Duela's loose green gloves fluttered as she performed a small twist on her heel. "I came to ask about last night's mission." She looked at his bare chest and smirked. "But by the looks of your little injuries, I'd say you ran into trouble." She cackled again, a hand on her hip. "Come now, I was sure you were the top assassin."

"They knew, Duela," Nightwing grunted. "I was ambushed. Got the job done though, you can tell Bruce that."

The strange woman cartwheeled to the couch. "And why can't you tell him?" she cooed, letting her finger trail around on his naked torso. "He always loved to hear from his pupil."

Nightwing brushed her finger off. "I can't." He sighed and glanced at Starfire, who was still a little confused. "I'm sick."

Duela cackled. "I guess that means the Joker's Daughter and Will the Cannon have to handle the assassinations." She shrugged. "More pay for me. I always did enjoy killing." She leapt backwards in a somersault and landed besides Starfire. "Well, this Joker has to get going. Bruce'll have to deal with second and third rate killers for now. Ta!" She threw something at the ground, detonating a smoke veil bomb. And, she was gone.

Nightwing made a muffled sound of frustration from where he sat. "Brought down by a virus. If that isn't the single most pathetic thing I have ever heard."

Starfire sighed and floated over to the assassin. "You are not pathetic." She bit her lip. "Merely ill. We all become ill at one point or another." Smiling, she grabbed the cough medicine. "And you have ceased your coughing. Perhaps more of this liquid will speed recovery."

Nightwing watched her unscrew the cap and walk toward him. "Starfire, I don't think that-umph!"

Starfire shoved the bottle's top into the assassin's mouth, tilted his head back, and pinched his nose as incentive to drink all the medicine. Gagging, the poor man had no choice but to guzzle the foul syrup. He almost immediately slumped into a drugged sleep. The alien girl smiled brightly until she was sure he was asleep. Her smile faded, as she gazed down at the assassin. Draping him with a blanket, she sat down across the room, her pained eyes watching the prone figure.

The shadows. They abounded in the dark corners of the room, concealing, yet strangely revealing. They flickered and twisted, squirming like live things. He crouched low to the ground, shuddering, his hands gripping at his spiky black hair. The shadows contorted, forming familiar silhouettes against the dark walls. A fist. A knife. A yelling head. They fell and rose, slashing and beating. Dark, shadowy liquid dripped, dripped, dripped in a maddening rhythm.

He squeezed his blue eyes shut, fighting the tears of horror. Of rage. Of madness. He shouted at the walls, yelling at the shadows. They ignored him. They mocked him. Echoing screams flitted off the walls and mingled with his own voice. The liquid continued to drip. Then…everything fell silent.

A laugh jumped here and there, sickeningly happy. "Hahahaha!"

He jolted. "No, stay away!"

But the shadow pulled from the wall, the black knife still in its grasp, dripping, ever dripping. "If it isn't a little robin." The shadow laughed as the knife plunged forward, cutting into his back. He shrieked in pain, his own crimson blood mingling with another's. Shadowy fingers tore and ripped at him, laughing all the while.

Then, the knife was in his hand. Howling, he lunged, screaming like a demon-possessed Thrusting, thrusting, thrusting with frenzied fervor. Madness tainted his pure voice. His howling voice. The room rocked with it. The shadow screamed along with it, contorting grotesquely beneath the furious knife. The tears poured, dripped…stained.

And the worlds were red.

Honestly, I only liked the beginning and end of this chapter. I'm not an angsty person or anything, I just feel I'm good with writing angst. I try not to be too graphic. Am I? I wonder sometimes.

This chapter should really be treated as an intermission. It was a bit of fun to have Starfire nanny Nightwing. It is so freakin' hard to keep them Nightwing in character though. You just have no idea. As for Duela Dent, that's not my character, she's DC's. Look her up.

Originally, I was going to do a fluffier chapter, but decided against it. Oh, and in case you didn't catch it, Duela Dent is the second most assassin. For those who did, well, give yourself a pat on the back…somehow.

Razvanor