AN: Bummer, kiddo. My, it does suck to be you…doesn't really settle into my canon, but I felt like being a little evil and poor Jason's suffered enough today.
(Did this not upload? Did ff freak? I dunno, but it should've been here already. Better late than never...takes place before 'Phone Call'.)
It's sad, really, that Nightwing has reached a point where being jumped and knocked out is just…not that exciting. He doesn't like it-he's not a glutton for punishment or anything-it's just…eh. He'll work his way free eventually (or Batman will collect him, joy), and haul whoever's behind this to the GCPD for the night.
A door opens and the mook lounging across from him snaps to attention. Nightwing has to wonder-Penguin? Two-Face? Crane? God, hopefully not Crane, he has no desire to risk a lungful of fear gas. (Or a syringeful, for that matter.)
It's not Crane, but it will be soon enough-Richardson steps into his line of sight, flanked by a pair of dull-looking men and a small cluster of armed mooks.
"Hullo, little bird. No squawking tonight?"
He grins-ow, that is definitely a split lip.
"Hi."
"See, boys, I knew I liked this one. Has manners."
The dull ones say nothing, but the others nod seriously behind her back. One reaches forward and pokes the dull ones, one after the other, and after a minute they nod, too.
"You look tired, Richardson."
"You keep your trap shut."
Oh, but she's so easy to rile.
Then again, he thinks, maybe riling is a poor idea. That pipe looks like it's seen things tonight already, and he's still trying to get an angle to reach the lock pick in his sleeve-he can just feel it, poking mockingly at his wrist.
"Maybe it's the other one that has manners…there's so many of them. How many, now? There's this one, the dead one, the new one…god, where does he find you all?"
That's enough. Any hope of witty banter went down the drain at the mention of Jason.
He's just about got the angle he needs when one of the armed mooks hands his gun to his buddy and comes up.
"Now?"
"Mm-hm."
Now? What now?
He squirms desperately, but the guy steps behind him and wraps meaty arms around his neck. Richardson adjusts her grip on the pipe and there's no time to prepare before she swings, hard, and he feels his shoulder leap from its socket.
Shit. Ow.
It's not the first time, but it hurts where the hell is Batman dammit-
"Whoops." She doesn't sound sorry. "Look at that, little bird's got a broken wing." He doesn't have the breath for one-liners, so he settles for spitting at her shoes. "I think it must be one of the other ones I like, after all. Oh, well."
Okay. Breathe in, breathe out. Ignore the pain. Ignore the fact that shoulders aren't supposed to dangle like that.
He's dropped and now there's no hope of getting any sort of angle now. He could try a dislocated thumb-what's something else, now?-but the cuffs are tight as hell and he doesn't think it'll work.
She's dialing someone and he has the nasty feeling he knows who it is.
"Mm-hm…broken wing." Cute. Really, hilarious. "D'you want him…you're sure? I can have him back in less than an hour…all right, love, if you say so. Mm-hm-don't nag, I'm fine." Why. "I don't nag, I worry, and I'm better at it than you." Yes. Yes, keep talking, give him time to think about this. "All right, then. See you soon. Don't do anything stupid."
Crane's voice, raised and decidedly annoyed, comes through the speaker.
"I never do anything stupid, Kitty."
She laughs at him.
"Lies."
"Kitty, don't you dare-"
She hangs up. A second later, the phone rings again and she tosses it into the throng of goons.
"One of you answer that, I'm busy."
Looks of horror are exchanged before one of them is shoved away from the others, phone in hand.
"Uh, boss?"
"Outside, that is rude."
"Sorry, sorry-no, boss, not you-"
He leaves. Nightwing almost feels sorry for him.
Almost.
Unfortunately, there's no sign of Batman and there's no moving for him, not like this. Bastards even chained his ankles.
Richardson turns her attention back to him.
"Lucky you, I don't have to lug you back to Jonathan."
"No murder-presents?"
"Hilarious." she deadpans. Well, he thought it was funny. "You know, boys, I think it must be one of the other ones I like best. Oh, well."
He'll have to tell Tim-it has to be Tim, Jason cracked a short joke within five minutes of meeting her-that his nice manners are making villain friends.
She snaps her fingers and the dull ones shuffle forward, eyes blank. Nightwing sees matching scars just above their left eyes and shudders.
"Took a bit of work to get it right, and even then I had to take out their vocal cords…they just wouldn't stop screaming."
"You sick, twisted-"
"Psychotic bitch, I'm going to Hell, I know. That's what they said. Y'know, before I got out my little ice pick."
They blink, eyes fixed on the wall. Nightwing wonders if they can even see. Richardson leans down and pats his head. He tries to bite her, but moving is a poor choice. Very poor. "You can say hullo to the other little bird. The one Joker broke."
"Fuck off."
It's short and not like him, but she deserves it.
She smiles at him, brittle and vicious, and steps back.
"Harley told me what they did, you know. Said she took a crowbar-"
"Go to Hell!"
"-and just. Kept. Swinging." She taps the pipe on the floor with each word, the hollow ping! echoing in the room. "Said the screaming only stopped when she clocked him in the head."
He clenches his teeth to keep from provoking her further, but it's an effort.
"Boys." The dull ones turn their heads to her, slow and mechanical. "You know what to do."
"What're they gonna do, Miss R?"
She rubs the bridge of her nose.
"What does one do with injured birds, James?"
"Uh…"
"You wring their necks." She turns and walks away. "Come along. D'you want to be here when the Bat shows up to find another dead one?"
THE END