Author's Note. Happy Belated Thanksgiving. The next chapters are about ready to go. Welcome to all the new followers and thanks for all the reviews. Please keep em coming. This chapter was a little difficult to write, I am a huge KF fan, since before geekdad had geekkids, and I'm hoping that Dick comes off as well as I think Wally does. He has proven to be a little more challenging to write than I thought while Nightwing fans tell me what you think. I can take it. Have a good one and enjoy.

Motion Sensors

There was a reason Wayne Tech did not go into the commercial home computer market. Power. The energy consumption ratios for their main designs were immense to put it lightly, Pentagon immense. Government agencies and military contractors were the prime target consumer for this type of technology. Wayne Tech computers were large and took up floors of space in most agencies wealthy or powerful enough to afford them. They were not your everyday laptop, but occasionally a prototype was created for a select few that could run the same powerful computations and logarithms of the larger models, but in a more compact form. Dick Grayson happened to own one of those models, one of only a handful of individuals that was intelligent and experienced enough to use them. They still had the same major flaw however. Power.

That was the reason it had taken Nightwing several hours to set up his own personal model in the motel room he was currently residing. The power draw would be enough to blow every fuse in the shabby complex. That was why it was necessary for him to set up several ports along the nearby power grid to ease the burden. By spreading out the ports he was assured that the energy drain would not be recognized by the local power service, and all they would detect would be a moderate increase in electricity usage with in the small town. Billing was going to be a nightmare.

Dick had long since paid ahead on his rent once he realized his stay was going to last longer than the originally planned two weeks. Cash was the preferred payment of choice, just in case someone back home was searching any of his bank records. Despite leaving his alter ego behind in Gotham, there were still two things he would never be without. Utility bets and laptops. He sat on the bed of his dingy abode as the high tech hardware displayed three dimension images across the room floating in midair. He may not be patrolling his native city anymore, but he still felt a certain responsibility for her well-being.

He was zooming in on a certain hospital via a local traffic cameral when the text came in

(Unknown Sender) Strange weather they're having out in Wyoming.

Dick immediately began a trace for the source while on another floating screen checked out all pertinent information on Wyoming for the past 72 hours; He was not surprised when all the Google hits led to Yellowstone.

He quickly watched the two day old NBC news report and smiled.

(R Grayson) Windy.

(Unknown Sender) You could say that. Are you ok? It's almost time.

(R Grayson) Time for what?

(Unknown Sender) Time to come home.

The trace abruptly ended with no source found. Whoever was doing this was good.

(R Grayson) Not sure that's such a good idea right now.

(Unknown Sender) You will in time. Take care of yourself.

Dick just stared curiously at the phone. He had always liked mysteries and puzzles, mainly because he really liked solving them, but even though this one really piqued his curiosity, it would have to take a back seat for now, more pressing matters took precedent.

It had started about a week ago when he began to notice the figures, the slight hints of non-German accents. No more disappearances had been reported, but Dick couldn't get past the feeling of a shark stalking its prey. Patient, cunning, and dangerous.

He had set up several camouflaged micro cameras around Mittenwald. His laptop was on a constant facial recognition mode. Thousands of scans were made daily, comparing them to most wanted lists and criminal data bases from across the continent. Only recently had the hits began to come in. Along with the high pixel ratio, the cameras were also wired for voice recognition, and Dick had programmed them to search for anything outside of the normal German dialect spoken in in Mittenwald. He wasn't ruling out a local connection, but the child abductions had the classic signature of an organized crime ring dealing in child trafficking. The mere thought made his skin crawl.

He spent his days at the circus, working with what had become his two new young protégé acrobats. Seeing how quickly the learned and progressed, he began to understand the pride and satisfaction Bruce might have felt with himself, Jason and Tim in the early days. Only recently could he mention the name Jason Todd and not wince in sadness, but it was exactly for kids like him and the pain their families would suffer when they were gone, that forced Dick to take these disappearances so seriously. This mission would be undertaken as concerned citizen, not exiled hero. There would be no grand master plan, no lives risked but his own. This was not in it for redemption; this was not a penance for a sinner. This was about justice and punishing those who would do harm. He and Wally would face their own judgments soon enough, but until them he reminded himself you don't have to wear a mask to be a hero.

It was around 2:00 a.m. local time when Dick finally began to yawn. He was used to relying on three to four hours of sleep a night, but this days had been particular taxing as Schmidt's new show was preparing to premiere. Grounds work and heavy labor were involved in preparing for opening night. Dick had his hands in everything, no job being too big or small, and Schmidt couldn't have been more grateful. One of the true tricks of being a circus owner is to make your production seem bigger than it was. Circa de Maravillas (as it was now called) appeared to be a highly professional, highly expensive production, when in truth it was a fairly small troupe of performers and staff. For some performers a launching point to the bigger shows, and for others a retirement for veterans who could not completely get the circus life out of their blood. It had been decades since he had been directly involved with a production like this, but very rarely did a show come through Gotham that he didn't attend, never losing or forgetting the desire to perform.

There had been no activity on the streets and it was beginning to snow. He did not bring the Nightwing battlesuit, but still remained warm wearing only dark pair of fatigues and a black Gortex thermal layer to blend into the night.

He looked at his phone to check the time when a sly thought crossed his mind. It was would be late afternoon across the globe and it seemed like a good time to check in with his best friend

(R Grayson) Is the Freak Tornado available to text?

(W. West) You liked that huh?

(R Grayson) That was pretty sweet.

(R Grayson) How did it feel?

(W. West) Damn good.

(W. West) Any news about Artemis…or Kaldur?

(R Grayson) No, but whoever keeps texting me keeps dropping hints that everything is going to be ok.

(W. West) Have you been able to trace the texts?

(R Grayson) No. but I will.

(W. West) Well I doubt there are many hackers out there better than you. Do you think its Tim or Babs?

(R Grayson) Not sure, but if they were using any Wayne Tech, my system would pick up on it. Whoever it is has talent.

(W. West) How's the circus life?

(R Grayson) Amazing. Like stepping back in time.

(W. West) Cool.

(W. West) The League is taking their sweet time getting the inquiries started.

(R Grayson) I figured it would take a while. Bruce is not participating. He supports what we did.

A long pause

(W. West) We should have done it better.

(R Grayson) Yeah.

(R Grayson) Well I just wanted to check in, I saw the video. Pretty badass.

(W. West) I melted my only pair of sneakers and they don't pay jack shit out here

(R Grayson) Smoky the Bear would be proud, Keep in touch.

(W. West) You too Dick. Thanks for the text.

Nightwing put his phone away and started scanning the streets again when it vibrated one final time. He brought the phone back out read the message.

(W. West) I don't think I have said this out loud, but I'm really sorry about what happened between us. What you did wasn't easy and it took a lot of balls. I just want you to know that I am proud to be your friend and I'll be right by your side when this all come down. You can count on it.

Dick smiled, but didn't reply. He didn't have to. Wally knew, he always knew.

Over the next few nights Dick began to recognize the patterns. A two men team appearing around local schools, not interacting with kids, but silently observing. To an onlooker they were just to men in running attire out for a jog, never pausing, never staring, but always aware of the children and mentally recording their schedules and routes home. They were good, Dick Grayson was better.

He figured the men would not be so brazen as to make any moves during the day, but darkness would easily cover their tracks. They would target lonely kids, outcasts that blended into the background to begin with. Observe them walking home with no companions. The two man team would evaluate and rate the low income housing units the children would reside, and gage their security and ease of access. Once a daily scheduled was established, that's when they would strike. This was Nightwing's assessment and in matters like these he was rarely wrong.

Later that evening Dick followed the men to a local tavern and sat on the other side of the bar watching them silently. They bypassed most traditional German foods and dined on Plemini and Vodka, securing Dicks faith he was dealing with a Russian mob. He had discovered the hotel they were staying in, but not the location as to where they may be housing the missing abductees. It had to be isolated enough that transportation could come and go without alerting the locals. With their proximity to Russia, it was not a convenient trip, and would only be feasible to do it once or twice a month. He was hopefully they had not made any trips lately and the missing would still be there.

It took every ounce of restraint for Dick not to take the clowns out back and beat them senseless until they confessed, but there was a bigger picture to consider. If these men were even slightly alerted, they would move their operations into another West German town and the local kids already abducted would never be found. Dick sat quietly eating his food when finally he put his plan into action.

The two mobsters were speaking quietly over the busy and loud tavern, when a very inebriated dark haired man stumbled into their table, spilling the minced meat and red sauce all over the two diners.

Entschuldige! (Excuse me) Dick replied trying to straighten himself as he regained his balance. He had intentionally poured most of his thick German beer he was drinking down his shirt to play the part.

Dick looked over at the two mobsters and chuckled as he stumbled his way towards the exit. The two men made no moves and Nightwing needed them outside.

As he did his best fake drunk walk out the door he looked back and slurred, "Schönes T-Shirt (nice shirt)."

That was they trigger, and as he stumled out the door, in his perepial vision he saw the men rise and follow him out. On to stage two.

Outside Dick leaned against the wall as he prepared to urinate in the alley. This was the tricky part, he had to make it look good without actually getting killed. He gambled that a murder of a local would attract too much local attention from the police, but a belligerent drunk getting his ass kick outside a tavern wouldn't raise any flags at all.

Dick held his breath as the first punch landed. These two men would have lasted only seconds had Nightwing chose to fight them, but that wasn't the plan. He took the punch and stumbled to the wall to catch his balance.

Playing drunk and an inept fighter was little more difficult than Nightwing had figured. Dick took a wild swing completely missing the men while throwing out his best German curse words.

Another shot landed, and Dick allowed himself to land on the ground. That's when the kicking began. The two Russians were strong armed muscle only, no real fighting skills to speak of, but that didn't mean their punches didn't hurt. It was finally time to make his move, when he got to his feet and charged into the men knocking them both down. Nightwing swung wildly with one hand, while covertly moving his other hand into place.

He was quickly thrown off and began the last phase of his plan when suddenly his body began to violently shake. The two assailants quickly realized their drunken victim was having a seizure. Foam erupted form Dick's lips as his paralyzed body vibrated and strange sounds escaped his mouth. The larger of the two men kicked him once more in the ribs for good measure, and then finally walked off, leaving the poor German drunk seizing and bleeding by himself, thrown into a pile of garbage.

When the men were out of sight, Dick got to his feet and rubbed his ribs. They had landed a few good shots, but Dick had prepared for worse. He spit out the remaining antacids he had popped in his mouth before the last assault to produce the foam, and activated the tracker he had planted

During the scuffle, Dick carefully tore off the button of the larger Russian's overcoat, and replaced it with a tracer that morphed into an exact replica of the missing button. They might change their clothes several times, but as cold as it, these would be the jackets they would wear at night while on the hunt. Dick dusted himself off and made his way back to his motel room to create a software tracking program. For the next few days, he would know every move these two men made.