Chapter 23: In a Complicated Relationship with My Gutfeeling


September 2nd

Blüdhaven

Morgan

A low groan escaped from deep within Morgan's throat as she woke up.

She felt like death.

Shifting around in bed, she was aware that it felt familiar, but it wasn't her own. It felt like putting on a jacket that you haven't worn in two years but used to be your favorite – well known, but belonging to the past.

She thought about opening her eyes to see where she was, but the light streaming in from the window was so bright it already hurt her brain, even with her eyes closed.

She turned over and burrowed deeper beneath the comforter, hoping to shut out some of the cursed sunlight.

The comforter smelled familiar too, but in a way that sent her head spinning – more than it already was – and her heart pounding.

"Rise and shine, sleepyhead," said Dick, his voice reaching her from the doorway to his room, because of course that was where she was. From the moment she'd woken, she had heard him puttering about in his kitchen, she'd just been completely unwilling to accept the fact.

She pulled the comforter even tighter around her, wondering how this kept happening. How did she break up with a guy and somehow keep finding herself in his bed, or him in hers?

It felt like her brain was trying to think through tar, but she slowly started to formulate a strategy for how to deal with her morning. The night before felt like a blur to her muddled, throbbing brain, but she remembered distinctly being in a bathroom and admitting to a bunch of drunk women that she was still in love with her ex, and that she wanted to win him back.

Which was, presumably, why she now found herself sleeping in his bed.

Hungover Morgan decided then and there that she hated Drunk Morgan. She made messy decisions and left her with cleanup duty.

I'm never drinking again..

Okay, so she just had to play it cool, right? All that talk about winning him back had just been the cocktails talking. Her original plan had been to stick it out while they were still dealing with the rifts and the spell binding them together, and then put some distance between them once it was over. She had wrangled her feelings under control once before, it was probably easier the second time.

So, all she had to do now was go out there and eat the breakfast he'd made – preferably without throwing it all up in his face immediately afterwards – then go home, sleep this off, and go back to acting professional.

She found the courage to open her eyes at her new, foolproof plan. The sun felt like a thousand tiny bats stabbing her eyes and brain, but she courageously kept her eyes open while they adjusted. She was starting to choke under the comforter and so she reluctantly pulled it off her face. She could hear Dick approach again.

So far so good – now she just needed to get out of this room and hang out with her ex for a bit to save face.

Doable, for sure.

Why wasn't he wearing a shirt?

Why wasn't he wearing PANTS?

She felt like her brain glazed over at the sight that greeted her, and she thought about going back under the comforter and allowing it to choke her for real this time.

Oh god, they had sex, didn't they?

Why else would he be walking around in only his underwear?

"Sorry, I didn't want to wake you, and all my clothes are in here."

"That's fine," she squeaked, closing her eyes to protect his modesty, and her sanity. She turned over and buried her face directly into the pillow, which had the unfortunate downside of assaulting her with his scent. She could hear him shuffle about as he put on some clothes.

She was too hungover for this.

"Breakfast is ready."

Morgan gave him a thumbs up.

He left the room again and – was he humming?

Okay, she needed to get this over with. Slowly, she got onto her elbows, and then into a sitting position. Her throat felt dry like the Sahara, and it felt like her brain was tap-dancing in her skull, but she worked through it and got on her feet.

She was all but crawling as she headed for the little island separating his kitchen from the living room and worked her way into one of the tall barstools.

He placed a plate of generously buttered toast and a pile of bacon in front of her and she resisted the urge to scrunch up her nose as the smell hit her and made her stomach roil.

"Don't make that face; fatty and salty food helps hangovers," he lectured before placing a big glass of water and some painkillers in front of her too.

She drank eagerly. As he sat across from her, a wave of nostalgia hit her. She hadn't been here since the night she'd broken up with him, and she had to admit she missed this place.

How many mornings had they spent at this table, drinking coffee? How many evenings had they spent snuggled up on that couch?

Dick sipped from his coffee and dug into his breakfast.

She studied the wavy patterns of his hair, her tired mind working overtime as she sorted through last night. Everything was so muddled, but she thought maybe that was more from the jackhammer in her skull, than because she'd been drunk.

He watched her watch him with an innocent look and then he smiled fondly at her.

Just eat and play it cool like we decided.

"Did we have sex?" she blurted out.

.. What are you doing! This is not playing it cool!

Dick choked on his eggs and coughed harshly. She thought about slapping his back to help, but she sat frozen in her seat, in horror at her own question. With the sound of every cough, her brain throbbed. Did he have to be so loud?

"What? No!" he exclaimed between coughs. "How drunk were you last night?"

"Ugh, too drunk, clearly." She pushed her face into her hands and rubbed at it. As she drew her hands back, they'd been stained with what remained of her glittery, smokey eye, and she assumed she must've looked like a racoon by now. "Brain no think good."

"You're just hungover. Eat." He pushed the plate insistently back towards her. Scrunching up her nose, she pushed the plate back and instead stole his cup of coffee. "Do you really not remember last night?"

"Sorry, my brain is a little slow this morning on account of the devil tapdancing on it," she mumbled into the cup.

He breathed out a laugh and shook his head at her as he resumed eating.

The night was starting to come back to her. She'd complained about her feet hurting and he'd bought them fast food. Then they'd both realized they were only a five minute walk from his apartment, and they'd decided to go there to enjoy their treat.

How she'd ended up in his bed was still a mystery to her.

"I fell asleep on the couch, didn't I?"

He nodded and swallowed before replying, "I put you in bed. I tried to wake you, but you were gone so I figured I should just let you sleep it off."

He finished his breakfast and got up, putting his dishes in the sink. Then, he started pulling out the things he needed to make one of those high-calorie, protein shakes that he so loved, and which Morgan had always found revolting.

After piling every ingredient under the sun into his blender, he turned it on, and Morgan instantly cringed. She covered her ears and bent so low over the table that her forehead touched the counter. Her skull vibrated like someone had opened fire with a machine gun right beside her.

"Do you have to do that?" she moaned in pain and Dick looked at her with a breezy smile.

"Need my gains."

"Hate you."

"Harsh."

Eventually, the blender finished, and her ears rang in the quiet room. Morgan realized that perhaps she should eat a bit if it really helped as he claimed. She slowly chewed on a piece of buttered toast, trying not to focus on her roiling stomach. Maybe, if she ate something quick, she would feel well enough to reach the nearest zeta tube. She thought about getting home and getting under her covers, where it would be dark, and quiet, and it wouldn't smell deliciously of her ex-boyfriend. There, she would be safe from his bulging muscles, his disarming smile, and his blasted blender.

"If I were you, I'd hurry up and get better. You're going to a meeting at the tower in a few hours."

She looked at him in disbelief.

"I'm what?"

"We're going to discuss the disappearance of the rifts. Why we haven't seen any in weeks."

Morgan knew it was important – obviously. But why today, of all days? When she felt like death?

She looked at the dark mark on his wrist, freely visible. If the rifts were gone, what about the spell they still carried? Would it ever go away?

Even Morgan's nightmares seemed to have lulled a bit.

Was it possible that things were.. looking up? Without some big do-or-die battle?

Could she really be that lucky?

Somehow, she doubted it. But perhaps she ought to take her own advice and not look a gift horse in the mouth.

"How much time do I have?" she said in a defeated voice, letting her head fall gently back onto the counter.

"Three hours."

Three hours felt doable, she decided. Except, as she looked down at herself and the tight black dress she wore, she remembered that she needed to shower and change.

"I need to get home and change. Freshen up," she groaned, getting onto her elbows, and rubbing at her temples. Who had even suggested going out? She took a piece of bacon and chewed slowly.

"You can do that here, if you want," Dick said between mouthfuls of his protein drink.

She shot him a deadpan look. "And what would I wear? I'm not wearing your clothes to the tower."

"Uh." Dick set the glass down and turned his back to her as he went towards the sink to wash his dishes. "Some of your clothes were in my laundry basket after we, uh, broke up."

Morgan studied the tense line of his back. He seemed.. embarrassed? He turned back towards her, and Morgan's suspicion was confirmed when he leaned back against the counter and rubbed at the back of his neck, looking like he was holding in a grimace.

"I was going to return them, but then you avoided me for months and I.. forgot."

"You knew about that?" she asked, not without a note of humor to her voice. He seemed worried that she would be angry about the clothes, but really, why would she? She didn't doubt that he would've given them to her if she hadn't hidden from him.

He raised an eyebrow and grabbed a towel to start drying off his dishes. Morgan carefully chewed on her toast.

"It was pretty obvious. I saw you dive behind a table once. Your wings were still fully visible, by the way."

Morgan rubbed at her face and ran a hand through her hair. "Great. Sorry about that."

"It's okay. I didn't really want to see you either."

The apartment grew quiet for a bit. Morgan tried to work past her headache to discern if the silence was awkward or pensive – or just calm.

God, it was bright in here.

"Do you have a pair of sunglasses I could borrow?" she said in a weak voice, resisting the urge to hide her sore eyes behind her hands.

Dick looked across the living room briefly, before heading for his coat rack, where he pulled a pair of sunglasses out of the pocket of his leather jacket.

"Catch." He threw the sunglasses at her.

Morgan's muddled brain didn't even register that he'd spoken before the sunglasses had already bounced off the side of her head and fallen to the floor. To her horror, the glass popped out of one eye upon impact.

The two of them looked at the sunglasses in surprised silence.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry," Morgan fretted and got off her chair, sliding gracelessly onto the floor. The movement made her poor head pound and she breathed in a hissing breath, supporting her heavy head in her hands.

"No, that was my fault." Dick sat beside her and picked up the broken sunglasses. "Don't worry, they weren't expensive."

Morgan looked at the sunglasses.

"Those are Tommy Hilfiger!" she protested, leaning against the kitchen island.

"So?"

"So, that means they're expensive!"

Dick chuckled and bumped her shoulder, "Relax, I bought them at a thrift store." He popped the glass back into the hole with ease. "See? Good as new."

She gingerly accepted the sunglasses and put them on, relieved when the world grew darker and less harsh on her eyes.

They sat in silence, shoulder to shoulder for a moment on the floor, leaning against his kitchen island. Morgan thought about staying as he suggested. He would probably let her nap, sleep off her headache, and then she could take a shower and wear the clothes that were here.

That would be.. nice.

The heat of his body beside hers made her heart race and she realized she'd been right from the start – she needed to get out of here. He was too dangerous to be around.

Curse her weak heart.

"I prefer to wear my suit at the Watchtower. Especially when there's a meeting," she said haltingly, guilt gnawing at her for rejecting his suggestion – rejecting him. Besides, she knew she was going to go check on the Red Hood rooftop after the meeting. According to Tim, Jason had been there a few times this past week, and it gave her hope that he was ready to talk to her again.

"Alright." He sounded unbothered and stood up, offering her his hand. "Let's go."

The sunglasses obscured her eyes, so he was unable to see her blink at him in confusion.

"You don't-" how to tell him she wanted to be alone without hurting his feelings? It was clear that Dick enjoyed having his friend back, and she didn't want him to feel rejected. "I can go by myself. You probably have to prepare for the meeting anyway."

"You can barely walk," he pointed out. " Gotham isn't safe in your condition, even in the morning."

As she got up, Morgan felt her eyes narrow.

"Are you saying I can't defend myself?"

Dick seemed to realize his mistake and help his hands up placatingly.

"No! Of course you can. I just figured since you're hungover and tired, you wouldn't want to have to deal with anyone."

God, he was so kind.

It made her want to leave even more. Not least because his kindness was wounding her pride. Was she a toddler that needed help taking the bus?

His attempt at a kind gesture made her feel like they hadn't moved past the mentoring days. He was still just trying to clean up her messes, even when she hadn't asked for his help, nor needed it.

"Dick, I don't need an escort, I'm just hungover!" She found herself taking a step back and away from him, resisting the urge to wring her hands together, knowing he could read her like an open book. "You don't need to try to help constantly."

The sad look in his eyes made her feel like the biggest ass alive. Maybe she was just panicking and grasping at something to get mad about because she needed to get out of there, get away from him before her feelings became too apparent. She wouldn't allow him to find out how she felt – how big of an idiot she was.

"I'm not trying to be condescending," he said in a tone tinged with insecurity. "I just.. like hanging out with you."

Oh.

Asshole award coming my way..

She stood frozen at his softly spoken admittance. Butterflies tickled her stomach.

No!

She needed to resist the urges he awoke in her. He was being a really good friend, but she had to get out of there, so she could be a good friend to him. It wasn't fair that she was allowing her feelings to go unchecked.

"I like hanging out with you too.." She sighed and looked at her feet. "But I'm tired and my head hurts and I honestly just want to be alone to deal with it."

He considered her for a moment, but then he nodded.

"Of course. I'm sorry I was pushy."

"No, it's okay!" she quickly said, not wanting him to feel bad. "If you want to and if you have the time, can you come over tomorrow? My afternoon is free."

He visibly perked up and gave her a genuine smile and she was unable to keep her own smile off her face.

"I'll see you at the meeting."

Morgan nodded and walked past him to quickly slip on her shoes. She made to hand back his sunglasses, but he shook his head.

"You can borrow them."

"Thank you for breakfast.. and for letting me crash."

"No problem."

Morgan all but fled his apartment, trying to blame the churning in her stomach on her hangover.

Hadn't she been trying to convince herself she needed space? Why was she inviting him over?

She tore down the street as fast as she could in her wobbly heels. Her head was pounding harder the quicker she walked, and her nausea became overpowering, but she kept going. The zeta tube was nearby. She would be home soon. She resisted the urge to fly, knowing it was a risk out of costume.

By the time she had reached her building, Morgan was practically dragging herself along on her hands and knees. She had never felt so relieved to be home. Unlocking her front door, the urge to throw herself in bed was overwhelming but she fought through it, delaying her desire. She kicked off her heels and left them by the door, feeling sorry for her poor feet.

First, she needed a glass of water. And she needed to get out of this dress.

As she poured herself some water and sipped carefully at it, she tried to work through what she was feeling. She felt guilty for leaving him like that when he'd clearly just enjoyed spending some time with her. She felt scared about her feelings for him – feelings she could sense take hold of her more with each passing moment. Just the act of conjuring his image in her mind's eye made her stomach flip.

She also felt frustrated. They were exes – they shouldn't be hanging out like this. If they'd been better at maintaining some distance, then her feelings wouldn't have come back. This was all his fault for constantly butting into her life and her apartment.

She'd started working on getting some distance from him.. after they'd hung out tomorrow.

But that was a problem for a later time, she decided as she finished her water and dragged herself towards her bed. On the way, she unzipped her dress and shrugged it off. Her mattress felt heavenly to sink into, and her covers were so comfortable.

Morgan had the wherewithal to set a timer on her watch so she wouldn't miss the meeting, but she quickly fell asleep after that.


Fire. Hot, crackling flames licked along the walls of the room she was in, and as her feet hit the ground and she started running, the hall she went down wasn't much better. Her senses were overwhelmed, her eyes and throat stinging with the smoke she inhaled. Her body trembled as she ran along. Something was coming – the shadows all started chasing her, evil little demons laughing, mocking her.

The wailing of a child made her look down at the bundle in her arms, and she clutched it tighter.

The shadows surpassed her, blocked off the exit she had been heading for. They gathered until they stood taller than her, imposing and dark.

Part of the ceiling gave up under the relentless fire, and fell to the floor, briefly hiding the shadows from her view. Once her view cleared, the shadows were gone, and Black Beetle stood in their place.

She skidded to a halt.

Nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide.

Black Beetle launched at her, the blade of his hand glinting wickedly in the harsh light from the flames.

With a guttural groan, she felt herself getting slashed open. Her legs soaked in her own blood, and she felt limp to the ground.

Right as her own scream was about to wake her, the scene changed. Where there had been darkness and flames it was now blindingly white and she was floating in nothingness, disoriented and unable to move. Tendrils of gold and white snaked around her like rope threatening to choke her.

A voice came to her, echoing and muffled as if underwater. She couldn't make out what it said. Something was beeping, distracting her.

The voice rang out clearer, laced with urgency. He sounded familiar?

"Morgan!" Cried the voice. "Something is coming! You need to be ready!"

September 2nd

Gotham

Morgan

Morgan sat up in bed with a gasp, her mind in a confused panic. She could almost taste the smoke on her tongue, and the strange voice was still ringing in her ears.

Or maybe that was just the incessant beeping from her alarm, telling her to wake up.

With a heavy, shaking hand, she reached over and shut off the alarm. The silence was almost worse, as she sat staring at the bookshelf directly across the room.

That had been.. different. That voice.. she had heard it before. Why couldn't she place it?

Morgan ran a hand through her hair. She hadn't had a nightmare in over a week. Why were they back now?

At least, her headache was gone.

She sat for a moment longer, waiting for her heart to stop pounding. The sweat on her body was rapidly cooling and she started to shiver.

Why now? They had just agreed the crisis was over. Now, the hopefulness she had felt was quickly replaced by paranoia, settled deep in her stomach. Was she meant to trust the words of that voice, or blow it off as just something her subconscious had made up?

Realizing she was going to be late if she didn't get up now, she heaved a deep sigh and got out of bed.

Removing the fake back wall of her closet, she pulled out her Sparrow suit and slipped it on. She studied her boots and scrunched up her nose in distaste. Old, ratty and dirty. They needed replacement.

Her suit probably did too, though she wasn't ready to admit it.

"A problem for another time," she said to herself as she braided her hair back. With her mask in place, she stood by her window and checked the streets below for anyone who would notice her.

Empty. Her que to leave.

She was by the zeta tube site only minutes later, and she quickly set her destination.

Right as the zeta tube activated, she realized that she'd totally forgotten Dick would be there too, because she'd been so focused on her nightmare. She was about to backtrack, getting out of the zeta beam, so she could prepare herself first. She had to keep a cool head, or he would surely realize she still had feelings for him – she should've prepared herself. Laid down a battle strategy.

It was too late. Her mind went blank, and her senses all cut off. By the time she came to, she was standing on the zeta platform at the Watchtower.

Damn it.

So much for having time to pull herself together. Dick, now dressed as Nightwing, had already spotted her, from where he'd been talking with Wonder Woman, Doctor Fate and Zatanna. He was holding a paper bag in one hand and Morgan wondered what was in it. Perhaps the clothes that he'd alluded to, that she had forgotten to take with her earlier?

Morgan, obviously, was the last to arrive. She felt her shoulders hunch and her cheeks redden as she stepped off the platform, approaching the group.

"Let's go," Nightwing said curtly, leading the group down a corridor. The stark contrast between the focused, professional Nightwing at the Watchtower, and the warm, personable Dick she knew when they were alone, never ceased to surprise her.

She watched his straight back and his broad shoulders as they headed down the hallway, feeling heat spread in her chest. It wasn't like it was a new sight to her, but somehow the way his suit clung to his flawless form sent her thoughts into dangerous territory. She suppressed a frustrated groan at the unfortunately timed awakening of her libido, which she had kept so carefully buried for months now.

Zatanna fell behind, falling into step beside Morgan.

"You okay?" she whispered, eyes running over her bewinged friend. "You look off."

Aware that Dick was definitely listening in, she smiled blankly at Zatanna, hoping she didn't look as flushed as she felt.

"I'm fine!" she attempted a perky tone, but it came out just a smidge high-pitched. "Just woke up from a nap so I'm a bit cotton brained."

Zatanna narrowed her eyes critically, but let it go.

Minutes later, the group all sat in one of the conference rooms. Morgan was starting to hate the amount of meetings she'd been required to attend. She supposed she should've been happy that she was being included in something important – something world-ending, even. It's what she'd been asking for, wasn't it? Something important to do? Some responsibility?

But then, perhaps this was slightly more than what she'd been asking for. She had wanted to go on more important and bigger missions – not carry the fate of the entire world on her shoulders.

"We all know why we're here." Nightwing began the meeting with little fanfare. "The fogs are gone – as far as we know."

He looked slowly at each of them, and as his eyes found her form, she was loath to acknowledge the flush that went through her. The churning in her stomach from her nightmare, and the heat he ignited in her, engaged in a vicious battle and she felt like she might throw up.

She shrunk down in her seat and felt foolish for doing so. They were talking about the fate of the world, and she was stressed because she had a crush on her ex. Talk about lack of perspective.

"I am sensing a calmness and order upon the Earth that I haven't felt for months," Doctor Fate declared. "It appears your efforts have been successful."

The paranoia that had settled in Morgan's stomach from her nightmare stirred. She supposed his words should've brought her peace, but they didn't.

"I've been making progress in my search for the Moirai," Diana revealed. "While the crisis may be over, we should still look into why it happened. And we need to confront those responsible for it."

"Agreed." Nightwing said. "We need to get to the bottom of this, so it won't happen again."

"I'll start looking into ways to remove the spell. It looks like you won't be needing it anymore." Zatanna smiled at Morgan, and she managed to twitch her lips, though it could hardly be considered a smile back.

Something was wrong. Or was she just being paranoid? If the others looked so relaxed, why did she feel uneasy?

"I think, at least for now, we can declare this solved," Nightwing said. "We'll keep looking into answers and I'll keep the scanner active, just in case. I'm not satisfied until we have some concrete answers."

He leaned back in his chair, looking relaxed and happy.

"But for now. Yeah, crisis over. We can focus on other things."

"Congrats, guys." Zatanna reached over and squeezed Morgan's shoulder. "You saved the world."

Morgan jumped at the contact, she'd been so lost in her own thoughts. She supposed as long as they found the Fates, and Dick kept the scanner active just in case, she should shelve her worry.

"Anything to add, Sparrow?" Wonder Woman studied her with a shrewd look on her face.

Morgan looked up at her, feeling caught beneath the four pairs of eyes on her. She thought about telling them about her nightmare and the feeling in her gut.

That deep, strong feeling in her gut that something was wrong.

But really, who was she to tell them they were mistaken? If everyone else agreed that this was over, who was she to disagree? The others were all older and far more experienced than her – why would she assume their gut feelings were wrong? Why not just accept this win and be happy about it?

"No." She tried for another smile. "I'm just happy it's over."

Without looking at him, she could tell Dick was studying her reaction. She avoided his gaze and strengthened the weak smile, though she was sure he could see right through it. She didn't want him to worry just because she was paranoid. If she expressed that she thought something was wrong, he'd go into Batman Mode and never let the case go until he found something. And then, what if she was wrong? He'd waste his time.

But what if she was right?

She should probably talk to him. Just to be safe – if nothing else, then he might be able to put her unfounded worries to rest.

She gnawed at the nail on her thumb, too lost in her thoughts to realize the awkward silence the rest of the room had been in as the others waited for some kind of elaboration from her.

"Let's go," Zatanna stood up, indicating that she considered the meeting to be over. "There's a cup of coffee at the canteen with my name on it."

She grabbed onto Morgan's shoulder and pulled her up. "Join me."

Stumbling out of her chair, Morgan followed Zatanna, who was dragging her along by her wrist. She shot a worried look back at Dick, wondering when she'd get the chance to talk to him now.

"So, what happened?" Zatanna asked with feigned casualty as they walked down the hall. "Because last I saw you, you looked pretty happy on the dancefloor, and now you're acting like someone shot your cat."

Morgan frowned. "I – that's a low blow, you know my cat died last year."

Zatanna rolled her eyes. "Always this deflecting with you. Did you two fight? Did you have sex?"

"No!" Morgan spluttered. "Why does my mood have to have anything to do with Dick? I'm just hungover from yesterday!" Morgan bristled, her face growing hot in her ire.

"Oh."

"Yeah, oh!" she said as they reached the canteen, "Are you done interrogating me now?"

As they turned the corner, Morgan walked straight into Kaldur. He didn't seem surprised, and she realized he must've been expecting them.

How much had he heard?

"Sparrow," he acknowledged her with a smile on his face. "Nightwing told me you guys fixed the timelines."

"Uh," she felt caught, her face still red with annoyance. She was aware that several Leaguers were watching them. It was as if the people at the canteen had been waiting for their meeting to be over, to hear an official update. "Sure."

Nightwing turned the corner and Kaldur clapped his shoulder fondly. Dick seemed completely at ease, a lazy smile on his face.

"Congratulations." He turned slightly so he was addressing the rest of the room as well, and raised his voice, drawing the attention of everyone there. "Through your quick thinking and hard work, you've managed to stop a great threat to our planet."

Black Canary stood up and, to Morgan's absolute horror, she started clapping. Others joined in, until the entire room broke into applause.

Oh, this was a nightmare. Forget her dreams – this. This was the real horror.

Heroes started approaching, milling about as they clapped and cheered.

Morgan wished at that moment that her superpower had been invisibility. Or transportation. Anything that could remove her from this room. She didn't want this. What they'd done hadn't been brave or even that hard. And her gut told her they were celebrating too soon. It felt wrong. Her hands felt clammy. Her stomach was churning, and this time it wasn't just the lingering effects of her hangover.

Morgan took a step back, fully intending to get out of there, but Dick placed a hand on her shoulder and bent down close to her ear.

"They're cheering for you, Sparrow," he pointed out, and the skin on her neck erupted into goosebumps from his closeness. He gave her a gentle shove further into the room. "Enjoy the attention for once. You did good."

"You were there too!" she protested weakly.

She found the courage to look at the people cheering for her. The depth of her discomfort was unfathomable.

Karen came forward and hugged her tightly.

"You staked your claim!" she exclaimed.

Morgan smiled weakly at her. When was this over? Could she go now?

Oh god, they weren't expecting her to say anything, right?

"Thanks, guys." Nightwing spoke up, and the small crowd piped down. He seemed completely used to the applause. "But we're not finished. We still need answers."

He launched into some speech about the job not being done until the ones responsible were dealt with. Morgan heard very little of it.

Eventually, the attention on her dwindled as the heroes started breaking off, some questioning Nightwing about the missions they'd been on, and others going back to their food.

Aquaman found her through the crowd once more.

"Sparrow," he said, still looking like a proud mother hen. Morgan fretted with her hands, the experience leaving her with nothing but jittery energy. She knew they had all meant well, and she tried to not show her discomfort.

"Kaldur," she responded. "What's up? How's Wyynde doing?"

He smiled and looked at the ground in a fashion close to bashfulness.

"He is well. I am hoping to visit Atlantis next week."

The happy look on his face made her smile as she briefly forgot the sinking feeling she had in her stomach.

He cleared his throat. "But that is not what I wanted to discuss. I have decided that it might be time for you to shoulder some more responsibility at the Watchtower, if you should wish it. If you feel capable, perhaps you would like to start taking on some shifts at the control room? You would be monitoring and responding to emergencies."

Morgan blinked at him. The task of monitoring at the Watchtower was usually reserved for people who had been part of the League for longer than her. She realized it was a significant vote of trust, but the churning in her stomach didn't let up. She couldn't help but feel that his trust in her was misplaced, that he was rewarding her for something she hadn't truly done.

"Kaldur, I'm touched, I really am. I-"

Morgan's eyes followed Nightwing as walked across the canteen, that paper bag still in his hand. With a sinking heart, she watched as he approached Koriand'r and handed her the bag.

He was giving her gifts now?

The beautiful alien smiled and hugged Dick tightly. The sight made Morgan's stomach bottom out. She needed some distance. She wasn't going to do this to herself.

Somewhere distantly, Morgan became aware of Kaldur speaking, and she clamored to get her focus back onto him, redirecting her gaze from the painful scene she'd been witnessing.

"Come again?" she asked, feeling her throat clench around the words.

"I asked what is on your mind." He must've sensed the distress she felt, as he put a tender hand on her shoulder and the weight of it was very comforting to her. "You seem troubled."

She smiled, her first genuine smile since entering the Watchtower. Kaldur would surely understand – he was a fair and caring leader.

If she had dared to share her thoughts.

"I'm fine. Just tired," she lied.


September 3rd

Gotham

Dick

An hour, and he'd be off work.

Dick looked away from his watch with a sigh, slumping further into his chair. His eyes hurt from having stared at the bright screen in front of him all day, but there was one positive; at least, he hadn't been to any board meetings.

His eyes landed on the phone lying beside the keyboard on his desk. Not for the first time, he recalled Morgan suggesting that they hang out today. Should he text her and confirm? She hadn't reached out to him, so perhaps she was expecting him to text her first.

He refocused on his screen and copied a few numbers off some papers beside him. His boss wanted the report done by the end of the week – an easy task. It shouldn't take more than a couple of days.

So, about that text..

Grabbing his water bottle, he started to wonder; Why was he overthinking this?

He grabbed his phone with determination.

Dick was many things – but he wasn't a coward.

Did you want to hang out today? I'm getting off work in 45 min

He left his phone on, screen facing up so he would see it the second she responded. He could feel his heart thump a little harder in his chest. Not exactly racing but beating slightly harder with the excitement.

Forcing himself to get back to work, he started furiously typing, hoping to get as much work done as possible so he would feel accomplished by the time he got off. Most days, he went home frustrated and annoyed by how much he hated his job and how unproductive it made him feel. He didn't want that to affect his mood today – not when – if – he was seeing Morgan.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a message pop up on his phone and he almost knocked over his water in his haste to grab it.

Sure! I'm on my way home. I have a few hours of free time to kill lol

A smile grew on his face. A few hours weren't as much time as he'd hoped, but he would take what he could get.

I'll be there

Initially throwing himself back into his work with renewed vigor, he was displeased after another ten minutes to find that time had started moving at an absolute snail's pace. He tried to avoid counting the minutes, but if his work had been boring before, it was even worse now that he knew Morgan was out there waiting for him to come over. The only thing keeping him in his seat was his sense of duty.

Thankfully, the torture wasn't to last. Eventually the clock struck four and he practically flew out of the building.

It was almost embarrassing that the prospect of spending a few hours with her could brighten his day to this degree. But he couldn't help it – after all, he was in love.


"So how was work?" Morgan asked from her perch at the little table by her window. Her nose was buried in her laptop as she furiously wrote down notes from her textbook.

Dick had been close to dozing off on her couch, listening to the tip-tapping of her keyboard.

He sat up a little further so he could see her over the back of the couch.

"Boring."

She grimaced but didn't look away from her screen. "Sucks. Did you talk to Bruce about it?"

He lay back down again and threw an arm over his face. He felt like a spoiled kid – most people his age would be incredibly thankful if they'd managed to score a high-paying job the second they left school. He was lucky he had job security because of Bruce.

"I've already switched positions twice now.."

"You just haven't found the place you belong yet." Dick scooted further back on the couch so he could watch her with his head dangling over the side. She chewed on the tip of her thumb thoughtfully before writing down something.

Morgan went on, "You're not driven by the same thing that he is. For him it's all about duty to the family name. But it's not your family name so it's fair that you need more than that."

Dick stared at her ceiling and sighed, "I guess you're right. I just don't want to seem ungrateful."

"Okay, I'm about to say something your idealistic little superhero heart won't like but just hear me out for a second." She looked up from her computer and fixed him with a look. "You are being ungrateful."

His mouth fell open in a little, affronted gasp.

Morgan held up a hand and said, "let me finish. You're ungrateful because you were pressured into accepting a position you didn't want at a firm that you don't care about. What's there to be grateful about?"

He closed his mouth again and scrambled upright into a sitting position. She watched him with a quirky little smile on her face as if she could plainly see the gears whirring in his brain.

"I didn't think about it like that."

"Of course, you didn't. You weren't raised by Bruce to consider your own opinion over his wishes."

"Ouch."

With a sigh, she closed her books and her computer and stretched out her spine. She seemed to accept that she wasn't getting any work done while he was here brooding about his employment.

"I'm just pointing it out because I kinda know what it's like. I mean.. Bruce isn't nearly as shitty or toxic as my dad was, but he absolutely has control issues."

"At least, he's aware of it," Dick pointed out. "He tries to fight the urge, but it's not always easy."

Part of him felt the urge to defend Bruce. Certainly, he'd never had accepted any kind of slanderous talk about him from an outsider. But Morgan wasn't an outsider – she was perhaps the only one he felt like he could actually have this talk with.

She sent him a wry smile. "Isn't it so annoying? Knowing that our father figures haven't done right by us but still.. we want to protect them from rightful criticism."

Dick shook his head at her with a smile of his own. "I don't hear you defend Henrik all that much."

She shrugged, leaning her face against her hand with a scrunched nose, like the very notion was putrid.

"I tried to defend him for a time after his death – you remember that. But I think I realized I was sacrificing my own feelings and experiences in favor of a lie. My dad was a horrible person, even during the times where he treated me right. And I'm at a point where I can admit it."

"Is that why you stopped speaking danish?" he asked, voicing something he'd been wondering about for some time.

She sat up straight and studied him silently, almost as if she hadn't realized it herself until he mentioned it.

"I.. I guess? It wasn't some decision I made, it just happened." She leaned back in her seat and looked out the window with crossed arms. Dick watched her with interest, her body language relaying several things to him. She had grown thoughtful, reliving some memories seemingly in a new light.

"I think every time I've been about to speak Danish, I stop myself because I don't want to give him the satisfaction. It.. was always so important to him that I could. But why should I? It's a pointless skill when I don't plan on moving to Denmark – why should I keep it up when the only tie I had to that culture was my dad, and I don't want anything to do with him?"

Dick leaned his arms across the back of the couch and nestled his head in the crook of his elbow. She was looking at him like she wanted him to tell her if she was doing the right thing or not, as if he was able to offer some kind of insight she had missed.

"I'm not telling you what you should do.." he said carefully, giving her a slow smile. "Not that you would listen."

Morgan stuck her tongue out at him but huffed out a small laugh.

"But I wouldn't be so quick to throw out such a big part of my identity. Whether you like your dad or not doesn't change the fact that you're half-danish and you grew up with two different cultures at home."

Morgan pointed a finger at him. "That's hypocritical. I don't see you engage in Romani culture a whole lot."

He shook his head. "I only found out my dad was Romani like a decade after my parents died. I've been doing a bit to learn the language and study the culture, but I didn't grow up with it the way you did."

"Touché," she sighed and looked out the window. Her face was hidden from his view, but he could vividly picture the contemplative look she'd be wearing. He never liked talking about her father – he was always happy to, whenever she needed it, but he didn't like how sad it made her. Often, these conversations made her draw into herself, and he felt like he couldn't reach her.

They sat in silence for a moment.

Morgan leaned back in her chair and sighed deeply, as if dispelling the gloomy thoughts brought about by their talk. Looking at the watch on her wall, she heaved another sigh.

"It's almost dinnertime and I haven't gotten half as much schoolwork done as I had hoped."

"I have a feeling that's my fault for distracting you."

She quirked a little smile. "It's fine. I'll make up for it later."

Dick jumped off the couch in a fluid movement. "I'll make dinner so you can study a bit more. It's the least I can do."

She considered his suggestion but waved him off. "It's fine – I'll just grab something on my way out tonight."

Dick paused where he stood. "You're going out?"

Like a date? Was that what she'd been talking to Kaldur about yesterday at the Watchtower?

Oh yes, it hadn't escaped his notice that she had beelined towards Kaldur at the cafeteria and the two of them had talked about something. It left him confused. Part of him swore he knew she was still in love with him. But then, why this interest in Kaldur?

"I'm going to the shelter," she said, and he almost puffed out his cheeks in a big, relieved sigh. "In about an hour."

Good thing I didn't overthink that..

"Right." He headed towards her front door and grabbed his sneakers and his jacket. "Then let's go. My treat."

She looked both small and large as she sat curled up by her little kitchen table, watching him carefully. Her large wings took up a lot of space, creating an imposing visual. But the way she sat, hunched over, legs propped up and arms wrapped around them, made her body almost shrink in on itself. Something was off about her – and it hadn't just been brought on by their talk about her dad. She seemed pensive and skittish. Well, skittish for Morgan.

What wasn't she telling him? Dick studied her tired face and wondered if perhaps it wouldn't have been better for her to stay home and rest. When was the last time she had a day off?

Before he could voice his concern, she unwound her arms from around her legs and set her bare feet onto the floor.

"Alright," she said and stood, grabbing her discarded pair of socks off the floor. "Give me a minute."

He studied her movements and became ever more aware that something was up. Perhaps he'd been too relaxed and happy to see her to notice it when he'd arrived, but by now it was obvious. She shuffled to put on her shoes and nearly tripped from her jerky movements. Her eyes refused to meet his gaze as she gathered her things and hastily pulled her hair into a ponytail.

What's up?

The question lay on the tip of his tongue, threatening to burst forth at any moment. But he didn't push it – he knew the reason her skittish behavior was intensifying was because she was ramping up to tell him something, and he would rather that she spoke on her own terms than because he pushed her.

Off they went. It was a rare dry day in Gotham and so they only wore light jackets. Dick watched Morgan out of the corner of his eye as they went down the street. She led the way towards whatever shawarma place she had in mind, and Dick was content simply following along.

"What's the deal with this shelter you work at?" he asked once he realized he didn't actually know how this had come about. She hadn't been volunteering when they were dating.

Morgan shrugged, still avoiding his eyes.

"I had a lot of free time on my hands after we broke up and I wanted to use it productively." Her attempt at faux casualness was lost on him. He saw the way she perked up, her chest puffing out with a proud breath.

Deciding to gas up the confidence he read on her, he complimented her, "It's an admirable thing to spend your time on."

She bit into her lips to keep the smile off her face, and Dick felt his own smile erupt. Despite her best efforts, she stood a bit straighter, a pleased air about her.

"Thanks," she said, finally meeting his eyes, allowing a small smile. "But I'm not really doing much. We have plenty of hands – what we need are funds."

"Have you tried applying to the Wayne Foundation?" he asked, his brain whirring with possible solutions to her needs.

"We did – we were rejected."

Dick stopped in his tracks. He was about to ask why, when Morgan halted in front of a food place. The neon sign blinking irregularly above them read 'Shawarma', and he assumed this was the place she had been heading towards.

She went through the door and poked her head back out when he didn't follow.

"C'mon. You said it was your treat."

Dick followed. The little bell jingled as the door shut behind him, and he had been so slow getting through it, that the wooden frame smacked him on the ass as it swung closed. The shop was simple, with décor that clearly hadn't been updated since the eighties, but the smell wafting from the kitchen was heavenly. Its siren call bade him approach, and like Odysseus, he didn't hesitate to answer.

Morgan was already by the counter, greeting the elderly man behind it like an old friend.

"Morgan," he said with a voice that sounded like years of cigar-use, "the usual?"

"As usual!" Morgan responded with a cheeky grin. She pointed at Dick who now stood beside her. "My friend might need a moment to decide."

"I'll have what she's having," he quickly said, eager to get the order over with so he could ask her more about the Wayne Foundation rejection.

It took their chef all of two minutes to put together the wraps, and they left the shop once more. Morgan warmly greeted the owner goodbye, and it didn't escape Dick's notice that he only had her pay half of the listed price, to which she responded by tripling the tip.

Morgan was walking a few steps ahead of him with their food in a bag, scouting for anywhere to sit. She headed for a staircase that led down towards a lower street, soggy newspapers and overflowing trash cans betraying how close they were to the Narrows.

"You know him well?" Dick asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

Morgan shot him a look over her shoulder before jumping onto the crumbling remains of the balustrade by the stairs. She pulled out her wrap and took a big bite.

"I'm just at a point in my life where I'm on a first name basis with my local, grubby fast food shop," she joked.

He shook his head at her but accepted the shawarma she held out. "Fine, keep your mysterious past to yourself."

"My dad used to take me," she admitted, taking another bite, and studiously avoiding his gaze. Her voice became pointedly calm and blank.

Dick jumped up beside her, bumping her shoulder with his.

"Forget I asked," he quickly led the conversation in another direction, "Why did the Wayne Foundation reject your application?"

"Erhm.." she coughed awkwardly and cleared her throat. "It's easier when you know someone on the inside. Everyone needs funds – we just weren't some of the lucky ones that got it."

He blinked at her. "But you do know someone on the inside?"

She looked at him with a skeptical face. "We had just broken up. Was I supposed to go to the foundation like 'Hi, I'm Bruce Wayne's adopted son's ex-girlfriend'?"

"I would've put in a good word for you!" he insisted, perhaps a bit naively.

"Do you have any sway at the foundation at all?" she pointed out.

"No, but I would've talked to Bruce about it."

She shrugged. "Be as it may, I didn't want to use your name to get the money. Besides – and this may come as a big surprise – the Wayne Foundation is almost exclusively focused on orphanages and scholarships. A women's shelter isn't on their radar, despite the frustrating fact that more resources like our shelter would inevitably lead to less orphans."

She took another bite out of her wrap and Dick studied her, feeling like he'd never seen her before. She was far from the teenager he'd first met.

Morgan went on, "The Wayne Foundation seems stuck trying to put out fires instead of putting some money into preventing them. I know for a fact that a lot of the money they're using is wasted on pointless things. Half of the board is probably corrupt. It's an open secret in the industry, according to Julie - my boss. But Bruce is too busy with.. other endeavors to notice."

Dick's first instinct was to defend Bruce and the foundation. Surely, she was being overly cynical? But he had to admit, he truly had no idea what was going on at the Wayne Foundation. He had barely even been in the building from which their operations ran.

An idea formed. A tiny compulsion that he immediately felt the need to pursue.

"Do you think I could join you today? At the shelter?"

Her sharp, gray eyes studied him carefully and he took care to wear an open, kind expression. She seemed to sense that he had an underlying reason, but perhaps she was curious to find out what, and she knew him well enough to know that she'd find out sooner by letting his plan play out.

"I can ask Julie. If you can promise to look very innocent and non-threatening." She pushed her lips together, a grim look about her. "Some of these women have a complicated relationship with men. For good reason."

"I'll look as non-threatening as humanly possible."

"For a six-foot bundle of muscles," she mumbled, looking out across the dirty street.

"I can be very charming when I need to be," he said confidently.

She stuck out her tongue at him. "Unfortunately."

He bumped her shoulder with his again, but instead of straightening back up, he kept leaning against her. "It worked on you, didn't it?"

"Dick," she raised an eyebrow at him. "You were rarely charming when I fell for you. Charm had nothing to do with it."

"So why did you?" he asked, though it might've been a dangerous question.

"I mean, uh, you know- I.. that is.. uh-" she started searching feebly for the right words, her mouth opening and closing as singular syllables and sounds came out.

"Don't bluescreen on me," he laughed, and the laughter seemed to shake her out of whatever thoughts she'd been stuck in.

"We're going to be late if we don't go now," she said, looking at her phone. "If you want to join, we'll have to be there early so I can ask Julie."

Although he had been genuinely curious – in fact, desperately curious – to hear her answer why she had fallen for him back in the day, he let it go. Jumping off the balustrade, he unwrapped his food, which he had yet to dig in to, and let her lead the way as he scarfed down the wrap. He could always ask her another time if he really wanted to know. But right now, he had another mission at hand.

They walked in silence for a while before Morgan spoke again.

"I don't think the portal stuff is over," she said, stuffing her hands deeply into her pockets, her shoulders rising about her ears as if trying to hide her face. "My nightmares are still going strong. I know that's not concrete proof but.. I just have a feeling."

"I agree," he said, with little fanfare. She whirled around and looked at him with such a terribly vulnerable look on her face. She looked both worried but immensely relieved. He raised an eyebrow at her. "Did you expect me to brush you off?"

"Kinda."

"I have the same feeling. That's why I'm still heavily monitoring for any new activity. And if anything shows up, you'll be the first to know."

She nodded, seeming to perk up slightly. "I was worried it was all in my head."

"You shouldn't ignore your gut feeling," he encouraged. "I told you that already - you have good instincts. Sometimes, it'll be the thing keeping you alive."

"If your gut is right," she mumbled.

He was about to protest that of course it was right, but she stopped in front of a building, and he lost the thought as she put a warm, halting hand against his chest.

"Wait here while I go ask Julie if you can join."

He stood outside for about five minutes, his mind running with possibilities. A moment later, Morgan came back out with a middle aged woman. She was about Morgan's height, her dirty-blonde, wispy hair pulled into a prim bun at the back of her head. She studied him shrewdly and he smiled invitingly back at her.

"I suppose," Julie shrugged, going back inside.

"C'mon," Morgan gestured for him to follow. "I promised her you'd clean the kitchen if she said yes."

Dick wasn't sure what he had expected the place to look like, or what he had expected the mood to be, but as he entered, he was surprised by the sound of laughter and the warmth of the place. Children were running around and playing, and their mothers were sitting together and drinking coffee. Some appeared more worn than others, but they all looked relaxed at that moment.

Julie led him towards the back, pointing like a drill sergeant towards the doors to what he assumed was the kitchen.

Morgan offered him a sheepish smile, but didn't try to stop Julie, and Dick willingly went along with her. Perhaps she wanted him to be out in the back, where he wasn't so visible. He didn't mind - manual labor didn't scare him.

For the next couple of hours, he deep-cleaned their kitchen. It wasn't a hard task because the kitchen hadn't been that dirty to begin with. Every so often, Julie or one of the other volunteers would stick their head in to check on his progress. He greeted them with nothing but a smile, aware that he was there purely by their grace. Morgan popped in on him once, but she was busy with her own tasks.

Eventually, Julie allowed him to leave the kitchen and he was granted permission to play a few board games with some of the older kids.

They settled eagerly around the table as the game began. It didn't take long for him to realize they were all ganging up on him to beat him into the ground in their game of monopoly, and he readily gave them the dramatic reaction they seemed to seek from him. His over-the-top, theatrical complaints of cheating and bad luck were met with giggles and delight from the kids, and he felt his heart squeeze at the fact that he was even able to draw laughter from them, when he knew what most of them had come from.

Some of the smaller kids started gathering around their table to watch him get obliterated, and one of the boys even latched onto his back and stood looking over his shoulder. Two identical girls with braids and missing front teeth flanked his sides.

The evening went by in a blur. He was kept busy, but even more than that, he was inspired.

By the time Morgan's shift was over, she found him surrounded by the kids as he taught them an impromptu lesson in acrobatics. He kept a constant, vigilant watch on the kids' body languages to make sure none of them were ever getting uncomfortable with his presence, but so far, they were all simply enraptured by his ability to do a standing backflip. The mothers were sitting by tables pushed to the walls, watching their kids. Their expressions were far more guarded, and he didn't blame them.

"Ready?" he asked the little girl standing with her feet in the palm of his hand. She nodded eagerly, and he let her hand go and stretched out his arm, keeping a tight grip around her feet so she wouldn't fall. She giggled with delight as he kept her balanced in the air, adjusting his stance constantly to keep her upright.

"My shift is over, when you're done," Morgan called out. The kids groaned with disappointment when Dick set the girl down and bid them all goodbye.

He was practically vibrating with excitement as he followed her outside. Everything made sense, like his world had slotted into place.

"That was amazing!"

She smiled as they went down the now darkened streets. "That's why I do it."

"I know what I have to do now," he said cryptically, but he was too excited to explain it to her fully – he had to go. He needed to talk to Bruce. "Thank you for letting me come with you. I have to go now. There's something I gotta do!"

Morgan looked puzzled, and in his excitement, he pulled her into a hug, giving her a tight squeeze. Acting on instinct, he almost bent down to give her a kiss on her lips, but his reflexes managed to adjust, and he aimed for her forehead instead.

If she'd looked puzzled before, she looked genuinely confused now. She opened her mouth, but he was already on his way down the street.

"Can't explain now! I'll see you later!"


Dick burst through the heavy wooden doors to Bruce's study. The man in question didn't budge from his seat, not that Dick had expected to catch him by surprise. Bruce simply looked slowly up from the papers in his hand, his eyes alert as he watched his ward march across the room.

Dick slapped his hands down on the desk with vigor, hard enough for a picture of him and Tim to fall over.

He leaned over and said enthusiastically; "I quit!"

Bruce furrowed his brows. "You quit?"

"Yes, I quit," Dick repeated, straightening and placing his fists on his hips, as he felt his heart soar at the prospect. He wouldn't have to keep working by that soul-sucking desk anymore. "I found a new job. And I'm pretty confident they'll hire me."

Bruce raised an eyebrow and leaned back in his chair. "Maybe you should wait with the resignation until you actually get the other job. You never know for sure."

"I'm pretty sure, because you are going to say yes to hiring me."

"I thought you just quit?"

"I quit Wayne Enterprise." He took a deep sigh and revealed his wish, "I want to work at the Wayne Foundation."

Bruce folded his hands together and rest his mouth against them, studying Dick.

"I spent my afternoon at a women's shelter. They're doing amazing work, despite barely having any funds. And you know what? They were rejected by the Wayne Foundation! One of their volunteers told me it's an open secret in the industry that the foundation only donates to orphanages because the rest of the money goes to corrupt chairmen!"

Dick could tell this news truly took Bruce by surprise. Like Dick, his first instinct seemed to be denial.

"I'm sure it can't be that bad.." Bruce sighed, his brow furrowing further, the shadows in the room sketching harsh lines into his worn face. "Is your source reliable?"

Dick nodded eagerly.

Bruce leaned back in his chair, stroking his chin in thought. A minute passed, and Dick let Bruce think, despite his own jittery, excited energy.

"I'll take a look at the latest accounts and see if things aren't matching up.." He started rifling through some more papers on his desk, his mouth set in a hard line as he contemplated their next course of action. "In the meantime.. I think it's a good idea to hire you onto the board. See if you can weed out some of the rotten apples before they corrupt the entire tree."

"I don't just want to be hired to weed out bad fruit," Dick said with conviction, "I said I wanted my job to mean something – to make a difference like I do as Nightwing. This is how I get to do that. I want to work with the foundation to make sure money is going to the right people. Help prevent fires instead of waiting for the fires to need putting out."

Bruce smirked, but the pride was all but glowing out of him.

"That must've been one hell of a volunteer you talked to."

Dick worked to keep the heat out of his face, aware that Bruce probably would've been less enthused if he knew all the facts of the matter.

"They were very convincing."

Bruce gathered his papers and set them aside.

"Meet me at my office tomorrow and we'll get this sorted."

"Great. Thanks, B." Dick grinned and bound back out of the room, vibrating with excitement. He knew even this job would have boring days, just like any other. But already, he felt elated at the prospect of working at a job which held real purpose to him. If he could help make life easier for people like the women and children he'd met today, he'd take all the boring days that came with it.

Things were looking up.


September 10th

Gotham

Sparrow

Gliding effortless through the smelly and polluted Gotham air, Sparrow looked towards the Gotham Clock Tower. She watched the big hands tick ever closer to ten pm. The time at night Tim had told her Red Hood most often stopped by their rooftop. Waiting for her? Or just to think?

Low, dark clouds were gathering above, choking out the last bit of light as night rolled over Gotham. Already, scattered drops of rain were falling from the sky.

She would be there any minute now. She was exhausted as her nightmares had returned with a vengeance. It felt like Dick agreeing with her that the threat wasn't over had kickstarted them, and now she was lucky to get even a couple nights of restful sleep a week.

She really hoped Red Hood would be there. She dearly needed the distraction.

As she flew past a dark, gargoyled skyscraper, the rooftop came into view. Relief mixed with trepidation when she could see an imposing, tall figure standing on the rooftop, looking out over Gotham with one leg propped up on the railing.

He was there.

Let the games begin.

She made sure to flap loudly with her wings to announce her presence, should she manage to catch him by surprise and receive a bullet to the head for it.

He barely acknowledged her presence, but he must've heard her as she landed. She found herself unsure what exactly to say. The angry line of his back told her saying the wrong thing wouldn't be smart.

"Hey."

He didn't acknowledge her.

"How have you been?" she tried again. If he was just going to ignore her, why even bother showing up on this particular rooftop?

"You mean after you called me insane or stupid and then flew off?"

Sparrow opened her mouth, though no words came out.

He turned towards her and threw one of his guns towards her. She fumbled with it, but caught it, nonetheless.

"Rubber bullets," he announced flatly. "You can check for yourself. They hurt but they don't kill."

She studied the blank contours of his helmet with caution. Then, she unhooked the cartridge and allowed a few bullets to fall into her palm. They were indeed made of rubber.

"Good call," she threw the gun back at him after reloading it, using a bit of sleight of hand to slip one of the bullets into the sleeve of her suit.

He shoved it back into the holster. Then, with a sigh, he undid the clasp on his helmet and slipped it off his face.

To her great confusion, he wasn't wearing his red domino mask underneath.

He was unmasking in front of her now?

What was going on?

His eyes were a cool, clear blue and his nose was crooked, she assumed from being broken at least once.

She was starting to wonder if Batman had them all genetically made in a lab somewhere. The blue eyes and black hair combo was rare enough as it was – how had he managed to find at least three boys with those same attributes? That were also insane enough to become Robin?

"I've been thinking a lot about what happened." There was a vulnerability in his voice that she wanted to believe. "I was out of line. I shouldn't have killed that guy, especially not in front of you."

He sighed with regret and went to sit on the railing. He ran a hand through his dark locks and rested his elbows on his knees, hunching over.

He looked truly regretful. Morgan felt her guard slip ever so slowly, and she went to sit next to him. If she said she believed he was capable of redemption, she wouldn't be the one to ruin it by distrusting him.

"I want to say that it's okay, but, like, a man is dead. And you can't really take that back."

His jaw clenched and he looked ahead with a darkness to his eyes, thick, black eyebrows drawn in a frown over his narrowed eyes.

"I'm starting to unpack that. Realize the weight of what I've done." He turned towards her and the look on his face was too fond – it made her uncomfortable. "You've helped me realize that. So, thanks for the wakeup call."

Warmth spread in her chest, and she looked bashfully at her knees. Had she really gotten through to him? Made a difference?

"I didn't want to believe you were beyond saving," she shrugged. "I try to see the good in most people." She grimaced. "Emphasis on try. I don't always succeed."

He chuckled, and the sound of it wasn't unpleasant.

"So, what now?" she asked. She assumed he wasn't just there to show off his new guns.

"There's a new deal in two days," he revealed. "Should be dangerous. You coming?"

Sparrow couldn't help an impish smirk from breaking forth. "Wouldn't miss it for the world."

"Good." He seemed pleased. "Working in a team again feels good."

Okay seriously, what was up?

"Why are you being so nice?" she blurted out.

He didn't answer but he suddenly moved towards her in a quick motion. His hand had started to snake to the back of her neck and his face was barely an inch from hers by the time she realized what was going on.

Flapping wildly with her wings, she shot out of his grasp and into the air, landing in a crouch on the rooftop several feet away from him.

"Uh, what the hell are you doing?" She was aware that her voice carried a hysterical tinge, but seriously, he'd just tried to kiss her!

He sat frozen, looking caught and embarrassed.

"Ah, fuck, I'm sorry." He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, his other hand curled into a tight fist. "I majorly misread that."

"Uh, yeah!" her voice was still sounding too high pitched in her ears and she felt her cheeks burning.

He didn't seem all that embarrassed – or at least, he got over it quickly. He studied her shrewdly.

"You're still in love with the golden boy, aren't you?"

"That's none of your business!" She said from behind clenched teeth. "And I'm working on it."

He barked out a laugh. "That's your deal." He looked at her cautiously. "Anyway, I'm sorry about that. Are you still helping out?"

She crossed her arms across her chest. "So long as you keep your hands to yourself."

"Suit yourself." He held up said hands in surrender and then got up, putting his helmet back on. "Here, midnight, two days. Don't be late."

He shot his grapple hook across the street and jumped off the roof.

Sparrow gnawed at her bottom lip for a moment as she watched him swing away.

Something was.. off. Obviously.

It took her only a second of deliberation, and then she took to the air, gliding after his retreating form. She kept her distance – he was trained by Batman, after all – which made shadowing him difficult as he weaved in and out of the crooked Gotham streets. She stayed in the air as little as possible to stay out of sight, flying from rooftop to rooftop, always a building or two behind him.

She must've shadowed him for about ten minutes when he landed on the ground in front of a large, musty-looking warehouse. He looked around cautiously, and Morgan hurriedly ducked, lying flat against the roof she was on. By the time she dared to look again, he was already gone.

"Dammit." She hit the rough concrete with her fist. "Please just be in the building."

Soundlessly, she flew across the narrow alley and onto the roof of the warehouse. In the middle of the flat roof was a skylight – or what was left of it. Only a few of the window panes still had glass in them, the metal framing left behind like the clean-picked skeleton of a dead, wild animal.

She snuck closer to the skylight, staying in the deep shadows cast by the skyscrapers around them. There was light inside the building.

Peeking inside, she saw a score of men, all heavily armed, some wearing helmets. The Militia? She spotted the red insignia on one of their rifles, which confirmed her suspicion. A door, presumably leading to what had once been a breakroom, opened, and out stepped Red Hood. His red helmet flashed dangerously in the fluorescent lights and he stood tall and imposing. The men inside jumped to attention at his entrance, their respect for him clear.

Her stomach started to sink as she realized her hunch had proved correct. One of the men approached Red Hood casually, looking like he was simply talking to one of his buddies.

"Did it work?"

A curt nod. "She took the bait."

Her mouth dropped open in indignation. Had he really tried to kiss her just to trick her?

Oh, when I get my hands on him, I'm going to wring his little– erh, big neck.

"Good. I'll tell the guys to get ready."

The two men stepped back into the breakroom and closed the door behind them. Sparrow snuck across the roof, but after inspecting the building she realized there were no windows to spy from. Perhaps that was exactly why they had gone there.

She would probably get no more information tonight - and the longer she stuck around, the more she risked getting seen.

She flew off, deciding she knew enough to act. She shook with the revelation. Adrenalin, indignation, and a tinge of fear made her body tremble as she flew as fast as her wings could carry her.

Digging through one of her pouches, she found the earpiece that connected her straight to Red Robin.

"Tim?"

He answered immediately.

"Did you meet with him?" The wind howled in her ear but she could still hear the eagerness in his voice.

"I did more than that. This bitch is trying to pull a fast one on me!"

"Obviously."

"I shadowed him after we talked. He's not trying to take down the Militia, he's their leader."

"Damn. Feel like we should've seen that coming?"

"I know right?" she let out an exasperated laugh. "He wants me to come help take down another weapons-deal in two days. Pretty sure he's trying to kill or capture me."

"But why?" Tim asked. "He doesn't have any history with you."

That was the weird part. Aside from her being a superhero, the two of them really had no beef. If he just wanted to get rid of her, he would've shot her long ago. He had to be up to something bigger.

Morgan halted midair as she realized what was really going on. "But he knows I have history. With you guys. With Dick."

"Oooooooh."

"Am I the bait?" she landed on the fire escape by her apartment and quickly slipped inside. "That's so insulting! I'm not even the real target!"

"Isn't that a good thing?"

Morgan sighed as she slipped out of her sparrow suit. "What's it going to take for a girl to get her own nemesis."

"You're not mentally well," Tim deadpanned.

Morgan barked out a laugh. "That's the most preaching to the choir thing you've ever said. Also hellooo pot. I'm kettle."

She slipped into a t-shirt and a pair of jeans, undoing the braid in her hair. Her brain was flooding with ideas. Jason didn't know that she knew. If he was really trying to make a fool out of her, then she might as well return the favor.

"What are we going to do now?" Tim asked.

She grimaced as an idea formed. She didn't relish in the lecture she knew she would receive. But she saw no other way. Red Hood on his own was one thing – the inclusion of a big, armed gang had officially pushed this fight into a whole new league. It was time to call for backup.

"I have a plan."


In this chapter we see Morgan's raging imposters syndrome reaching new heights. I wanted to explore this concept with her because, as someone about to begin work on their Masters Thesis for real now, imposters syndrome is my biggest enemy so I wanted to write someone battling with the same thing.

It was important to me to show Morgan essentially succeeding, but acting like she's failing. She's so desperate to prove herself as Sparrow because she's insecure and convinced she'd not good enough. But then when she's offered what she's longing for - respect, encouragement from her peers, more responsibility and recognition from her leader - she rejects it because that insecurity has her convinced she's unworthy. It's a pretty vicious cycle and I'm sure some of you can relate to it. Like, she finds out someone doesn't actually have a vendetta against her, and she's disappointed because in her mind it just means she's not important enough to have a nemesis.

Over on Dick's side, however, things are looking good! He's found the place where he wants to be right now and is very excited about it! Good for him!

(Btw I feel like I should add I 100% see Travis Moores Nightwing in my mind when I'm writing. He just draws him SO PRETTY and BEAUTIFUL so that's the version I go with. Apologies to YJ Nightwing but the "Preludes to the Wedding" comics had the BEST DICK of all time! Dan Mora's Nightwing is also pretty good, but Moore's Nightwing just has that pretty hair and the soft eyes.)

And oh no, Jason is being a little shit. What's he got planned? What's going to happen next? You should strap in because we're in for a bumpy ride!

As always, let me know what you think and I hope you enjoyed this chapter!