Chapter 24: The Plan

September 12th

Gotham

Sparrow

Gotham was a dark city in more ways than one. There was its very soul, a dark spirit sucking out any potential warmth and light, a vampire feeding on the misery and desperation of its citizens. This benevolent spirit weighed down upon the city so heavily that it rarely felt truly light out, not even at the height of summer.

Tonight, however, Sparrow was more bothered by the physical darkness. She squinted down into the pitch blackness of Crime Alley. Every lamp was broken, and the street ran like a jagged, black wound through the heart of Gotham.

Centuries of grime and decades of pollution had covered the entire city in darkness, and no street was filthier than Crime Alley. Not even the downpour quickly soaking through her hair and into her suit was enough to wash away the grime.

"Did you know people say Gotham is built on cursed ground?" she mused aloud, watching her companion shift in his spot.

Beside her stood Red Hood. In her ear was Oracle. Somewhere below were Red Robin, Batman, Robin, and Nightwing. Hopefully.

Red Hood looked at her, though his face was hidden behind his helmet.

"What are you talking about?" he asked with a gruff voice.

She shrugged, not sure why she had brought it up. Maybe because they hadn't spoken a word yet since meeting up ten minutes ago, and she wanted to get him talking to get a read on him.

"Well, that's why they say no attempt at making the city better is ever going to work."

"So, you're wondering what we're even doing?"

She shook her head. "No way. If it takes this many active heroes in Gotham just to keep the status quo, could you imagine how quickly this place would fall apart if we stopped?"

"Fair point."

She shivered as she felt rain trickle down the back of her neck and into her suit. Once upon a time, the suit had been waterproof with some sort of rubbery fabric sown into the neck and sleeves that clung tightly to the skin and prevented moisture from slipping past. Now, after years of rigorous use, the rubber had lost its elasticity and water was allowed to soak her through every time she was out in the rain.

Maybe Robin had the right idea with the hooded cape. Why was it always raining?

Red Hood shifted again, looking out across the city. The sound of cars honking, and the occasional police siren broke through the rough pitter-patter of the pouring rain.

"I'm-" Jason cleared his throat, the sound distorting from the voice modifier in his helmet. Despite the distortion, she could hear the awkwardness in his voice. "I hope we're cool after.."

"After you tried to kiss me?" she forced her voice to sound breezy. "Don't worry dude, I don't blame you for wanting a piece of this."

He sounded so genuinely apologetic, she almost forgot the attempted kiss had been a manipulation attempt, and that he was currently plotting to capture her as bait.

Almost.

The communicator hidden in her ear came to life as someone on the other end reacted to what she'd said.

"What the hell?"

Sparrow stiffened and her eyes widened a tad behind her mask. That wasn't Oracle.

Exaggerated retching sounds from who she assumed was Red Robin confirmed what she hadn't been aware of.

Oracle wasn't the only one connected to the radio.. so were the others.

The 'what the hell' had been from Nightwing.

Dammit dammit dammit.

She bit into her lip and wished she had some way of responding. She wanted to assure him that it hadn't happened, and it certainly wouldn't have been mutual, if a kiss had occurred.

"Anyway, it doesn't matter," she strongly stressed. "Nothing happened. Let's just focus on the mission at hand, yeah?"

Red Hood nodded casually. Someone in her ear scoffed.

She considered deactivating the communicator. Her cheeks were blazing, to the point where the cold rain running down her face felt like a relief.

Had she made a mistake by including the others? Maybe she and Tim would've been fine on their own.

Trying to hide her wince, she recalled the grim faces of Bruce and Dick when she'd told them about what she'd been doing.

"You've been working with Red Hood?" Bruce asked in a carefully calm voice, his nostrils flaring. Dick stood still as a statue, his face wiped clean of emotion.

Morgan shifted in her spot. The two men were by the computers, on a platform slightly above the one where she stood, and they appeared to look down on her like disapproving emperors about to decide whether to feed her to lions or let her go. At least she had Tim on her side. Barbara, who had positioned herself somewhere behind Morgan, was still up for grabs. Morgan felt like a spotlight was pointed straight at her as she stood in the middle of the cave, all eyes on her.

"How long?" Dick asked, and she realized his blank face was hiding an exceptionally clenched jaw. He spoke through his teeth. "How long has this been going on?" he turned blazing eyes onto Tim. "And how long have you been involved?"

"Uhm," she braced herself for their anger. "A couple of months or so."

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. Dick's fists clenched.

"I've only been helping maybe three weeks," Tim piped up innocently from his perch atop the batmobile. He looked completely relaxed.

"How could you keep this from me- us." Dick's voice was laced with hurt. The look in his eyes nailed her to the spot and she felt guilty even as she stood firmly by her own actions.

"Do you understand how dangerous he is?" Bruce said gruffly. "It was irresponsible of you to do this without backup."

"How could you tell Tim before you told me?" Dick demanded, still sounding like a kicked puppy.

"Hey!" Tim protested.

"You could've been killed." Bruce looked as serious as a car crash. "You don't know Jason like we do – none of you do."

Against her better judgment, Morgan rolled her eyes. "We didn't tell you because you two are reacting exactly like we knew you would."

She accepted the identical displeased looks she received from the two worrywarts across from her.

"No offense but you're completely incapable of objectivity when something's to do with Jason. You're letting your feelings get in the way." She squared her shoulders and hoped she was managing to nail them with her gaze as much as Dick had just done to her. "If either of you had gotten involved, you would've lost your nerve and ruined the whole operation."

Dick looked even more hurt, but this time it was borne from the look of realization he wore. Bruce, however.. if looks could kill, Morgan would no longer be here, and he would've broken his no-kill rule.

"So why tell us now?" Dick cleared his throat awkwardly. "Since you've decided we're a liability."

Morgan grimaced.

"Because I'm in deep waters at this point, and I need backup," she admitted. "In two days, Red Hood and I are meeting up to take down the trade of a weapons cache for the Militia. Or that's what he told me. I'm pretty sure he's going to take me hostage."

"Why?" Dick asked, and the hesitance in his voice told her he'd already guessed most of it but he needed her to confirm.

She gave him a pointed look.

"I'm assuming he thinks it'll get to you. Because of our.. history."

Dick released a deep breath that betrayed the resigned worry and surprise her admittance caused him, his shoulders and back slumping with the movement and his eyebrows furrowing. His blue eyes stared intensely at her with some emotion she wasn't sure she wanted to place – least of all while they had company. She wanted to assure him, even when she was unsure why this information seemed to affect him so. It wasn't like it was a new concept that having ties to superheroes could make you a target – even when you were a superhero yourself. So why did he look so.. guilty?

"Morgan is just the bait." Tim said carefully. "He's trying to get to Dick, probably so he can get to you, Bruce."

Bruce looked pensive. He sat in the large chair by the computer, looking at the ground with a furrowed brow.

"So, technically, this is your fault." Morgan helpfully added. She pressed her lips together under the weight of the sharp glares aimed her way.

Tough crowd..

"Anyway.." she moved along quickly. She needed them to think she was on top of this, otherwise they probably wouldn't go with her plan. And she desperately wanted them to go with her plan, to know that they trusted her enough to let her do this. "I heard him talking to some of the gang. He said I 'took the bait'. I'm assuming the weapon's deal is a lie. He also told me he'd stop killing by using rubber bullets. That was a lie too," she produced the bullet she'd stolen from Jason and threw it at Bruce, who caught it without looking. He studied the bullet, and where she'd scratched off the thin layer of rubber to reveal their metal center. A ruse.

"That's why I need your help. I'll let him capture me and then you guys can follow us by using the tracker in my suit. If we do this right, we might have a shot at taking down the Militia and Red Hood.."

"There they are," Red Hood ducked down ever so slightly, pointing below. Sparrow was broken out of her thoughts, gaze following the pointed finger all the way down into the darkness of Crime Alley. A group of men were gathering. She felt her heart speed up. Adrenalin spread like icy spikes from her chest and all the way through her body. How was he planning on capturing her? Would they knock her out? Break her wings? Tie her up and beat her within an inch of her life? Shoot her?

She refocused on the sight below her. Working herself into an anxious frenzy wasn't going to help. She'd already resolved to do this – no chickening out now.

"If they're here, what are we waiting for?" she asked. If she was really about to go get captured on purpose, she'd rather get it over with instead of dragging it out.

"Did you forget we're here to stop a weapons trade?" Red Hood reminded her, scorn slipping into his tone.

She may as well have – her focus was not at all on the fake reason he had brought her there, but rather on the plan she'd made with the bats.

"Of course not," she mumbled.

Two vans rumbled slowly down the alley, their headlights illuminating the filthy, grim street. In the light, she could count how many men were there. Her chest clenched. Too many for her to escape if she needed to. She'd just have to pray their plan would work.

"That's probably it," Red Hood said, and they watched as the vehicles halted in front of the group of men. Seconds passed, and then the driver jumped out of the first van and approached the group. The rain had turned into a heavy downpour and the sound of it drowned out any words exchanged between the driver and the gang members.

"Let's go!" Red Hood shot his grappling hook into the opposite building and jumped over the railing of the fire escape they'd hid on. Landing on steady feet, he pointed his guns at their foes, giving Morgan a good show of firing at, but consistently missing, the men.

"Good luck, Morgan." She heard Oracle's encouragement in her ear. Despite her best attempt, Morgan could still hear the trepidation Barbara had been unable to keep out of her voice.

She jumped down and landed steadily with the aid of her wings. Her heart hammered in her throat as she launched herself at a man, kicking him in the stomach. He hunched over with a groan, and she jammed her elbow into the soft point between his neck and shoulder, the spot Nightwing had taught her to always go for to incapacitate her enemies.

That was as far as she got. From behind, Red Hood barreled into her like a freight train. Sparrow let out a surprised grunt as she was forced to the ground.

He pressed a knee into her back, forcing the side of her head into a pool of dirty rainwater. Pain shot through her face. Her ear was flooded with water, muffling the sound of the rain. She felt him slip something around her neck. The familiar weight of it made her stomach sink. Inhibitor collar. She'd hoped to never encounter one of those again. Her hands were put in cuffs behind her back, and then she was roughly pulled up by the scruff of her neck. As she was pulled from the water, she felt the tiny communicator slip from her ear and she was unable to hold in the gasp that followed.

Shit. Cut off from the team.

She couldn't allow herself to become distracted now. She had to play her part – she would just stick to the plan and hope the others had her back.

"What the fuck, Hood?" she said indignantly. He responded by grabbing the root of her braid and pulling at it roughly, forcing her head backwards. His red helmet appeared in her line of vision, hovering upside down above her.

"If you even think about flying off, I had a bomb installed in the collar. No funny business. I'll blow your gullible little head clean off your fucking body."

She swallowed thickly. Somehow, the look on the helmet seemed more menacing than usual. She didn't doubt his promise.

He pushed her towards the back of the first van. She watched as the driver opened the doors, revealing an empty back.

"I see the weapons deal was a lie too, asshole," she antagonized him as he shoved her inside. She fell unceremoniously onto the dirty floor of the van, struggling to get onto her knees with her tied hands.

"Don't try me," he responded. "You're more valuable to me alive right now, but only just."

He climbed in after her, as did four other members of the gang.

"Oh, and by the way," Red Hood's icy voice came over her shoulder and he grabbed her wrist, pulling her up by her bound hands. He slipped glowed fingers inside her sleeve and dug out the tracking device she had hidden there. "Can't have anyone following us. We're not quite ready for them yet."

Shit.

Did he know she was working with the others? Sparrow tried to keep fear from making her lose her focus , but things weren't looking too good. The plan hinged on him thinking she was working alone. His guard had to be down.

She also hadn't expected him to strap a bomb to her.

They began driving and she struggled to keep her balance. She pressed her back against the hull of the van to keep her steady. Trying subtly to get a feel of how tight her handcuffs were, she shifted her wrist around a bit. It was clear that Jason wasn't a fool – she wasn't getting out of these anytime soon – and least of all with her powers gone. The weight of the collar around her neck was oppressive. Had he really installed a bomb in it, or was he just bluffing to keep her compliant?

As they drove down the street, she studied the men she was stuck with, her pounding heart and whirring brain hoping to recognize some of them. Her last lifeline.

"Tim and I will dress up in their uniform and infiltrate the group so we're with you the whole time," Dick said.

"No way, that's too risky. Jason would recognize you from a mile off," Morgan dismissed the suggestion quickly.

"They wear helmets," he deadpanned.

"You think he needs to see your face to recognize you?" she said with scornful skepticism.

"You don't think I'm capable of changing my gait?" Dick shot back with the same tone. "He won't recognize me."

She stared at him with her shoulders stiff and her lips pressed together. Didn't he trust her to be able to handle this?

"Letting you get captured without backup would be an unnecessary risk." Bruce mused, looking thoughtful as he stroked his chin. "The boys shouldn't have an issue blending in with the rest of the gang. It would be the smartest option."

Morgan swallowed thickly, squashing down the hurt she felt, and nodded. "Alright, let's do it."

What a fool she'd been to fight Dick's suggestion. Clearly, that ability to think ahead was what made the difference between a competent strategist, and someone like her.

With the masks covering their faces, it became impossible for Sparrow to know for sure if she was lucky enough that Red Robin or Nightwing were in the van with her. Some of the men resembled Dick's build for sure, but that wasn't helpful – every member of the gang seemed to be tall and muscular. The difference was just levels of burliness.

Still, one of the guys closest to the doors at the back matched his build pretty closely. She studied him silently, trying to discern any kind of sign that he might be it.

No sign came. She looked at her feet. Doubt started to creep in. Honestly, what had she been thinking, offering herself up like a lamb ready for slaughter?

No. Confidence. Stick to the plan. It'll work. It has to. And why exactly are you acting like a scared little baby? Pull yourself together! Are you a hero or a coward?

She looked at Jason, who sat across from her with his back pressed against the van and his hands resting on his knees. From the moment he had turned on her, a change that had come over him that was chilling. It was clear to her now how much of their time together he'd been acting. Or maybe he was acting now? Perhaps she was a fool, perhaps she'd fallen for his charade, but part of her still wanted to believe he was better than this – that he could redeem himself.

"So, how long have you been planning this?" she asked with careful casualty, keeping her unrelenting gaze on the shiny red helmet of Red Hood.

He studied her for a bit as he seemed to consider whether to answer her. Then, he shrugged, as if deciding it wouldn't matter how much he revealed, since he didn't expect her to be alive for much longer.

"Since our second meeting," he said. "You were so eager to help me, to relate to me, I realized using you would be as easy."

She looked at her feet in shame. She had briefly allowed herself to get blinded by her desire to help him – to do something right, something Batman had failed at. To matter to someone, to have made a difference.

She shrugged, looking rueful.

"Maybe I just saw something in you that you're not ready to face yet."

He scoffed and fiddled with the gun he held, but there was a tightness to his shoulders now that hadn't been there before.

She allowed the sliver of a smirk to pass across her lips. He didn't want to admit it, but she had managed to get under his skin, even if it was just a tiny bit.

"Then again, you did just strap a bomb to my neck, so I guess my judge of character isn't all that great."

"Do you get kidnapped often?" Red Hood shot back, sounding caught between irritation and exasperation.

Sparrow blinked and tilted her head at him.

"Can't say that I do. Why you ask?"

"You're remarkably chill, I thought maybe you were used to it."

"Would you rather I start crying?" she offered. "I can if it would make you feel better about betraying me."

"I didn't betray you, we never had anything for me to betray. And I'll shoot you if you start crying."

Sparrow pouted exaggeratedly – though she had to admit managing to engage him in small talk did calm her nerves a bit. This was somewhat familiar, even though the curtain had been dropped. As long as she succeeded in humoring him, she figured she wasn't in any real danger.

"What's all this even for? It seemed like a very roundabout way of killing me if that's the goal."

"Don't play dumb. You're just the bait. You know who the real target is. Now shut up."

"Do you realize how humiliating this is for me?" she groaned, ignoring his order. "Like, I could understand if I was just a civilian ex-girlfriend, but being taken hostage and used as bait when you're a superhero? I'm never living this down!"

"Fucking hell, you never shut up, do you?"

She flashed him a brilliant smile that somehow didn't quiver.

"I've been told it's one of my best traits."

One of the men at the back of the van snorted. Sparrow watched as Red Hood got on his knees, looking at the man who had made a noise. She quickly kept talking.

"Also how do you even know Nightwing is going to show up? You know we're exes. Maybe he'll think you're doing him a favor by getting rid of me."

He tilted his head at her in such a way that, despite the helmet he wore, she could tell he was looking at her like she was incredibly stupid.

"You must not know him very well."

"Well, you don't know me very well," Morgan shot back. "Maybe I was an absolute nightmare of a girlfriend." Somewhere in the back of her mind she registered that maybe she was getting a little too close to something real.

"I can easily imagine," he mocked. "Now, seriously, one more word out of you and I'm going to shoot you in the leg."

He cocked the gun he held and pointed it straight at her calf, and Morgan sucked in her lips, pressing her mouth closed.

Maybe she was an idiot for talking so casually to him. She was allowing herself to forget that he was dangerous.

The rest of the drive was silent. They went on for a while, long enough for her butt to get sore and her shoulders and wrists to start aching from the awkward position the cuffs put her in. Water dripped from her soaked bangs onto her face and down her neck. It made her shiver, but she had no way of pushing her curls back, with her arms tied behind her back as they were. She vaguely registered that some of the water was red and realized that when he had pushed her into the ground, she must've gotten hurt. She could feel her cheekbone and temple throbbing, the blood oozing. She wondered how bad it was. Would Dick see it as proof that she wasn't cut out for this?

Every time they swerved or drove over bumps in the road she was thrust forward or sent slamming into the side of the van and her body ached. Her wings and arms bore the brunt of the abuse and she feared a wrong movement would send her nose-diving into the hard steel floor or push her shoulders out of their sockets.

The disappearance of her telekinesis disturbed her. She had tried it before, of course, during the destruction of Mount Justice. But she hadn't been so attached to her telekinesis then – it had been a tool she used sporadically during fights, a force she hadn't yet understood or learned to control. Now, it was a part of her, as much as a physical limb. This absence was an ache, and it was different from when her telekinesis had been depleted after the fight at the North Pole. There, it was simply exhausted – like tired legs after running a marathon. Now, it was like someone had cut off her legs entirely.

Her body bore the abuse of the car ride and the cuffs around her wrists because she didn't have her telekinesis to shield her.

She tried not to let hysteria creep in. The loss of her ability and the harsh weight of the collar felt claustrophobic and the longer she was forced to sit in silence, drenched and cold, surrounded by heavily armed and masked men, the worse the feeling got.

Eventually – and she wasn't sure if it was a mercy or not – the van puttered to a halt and then the engine was turned off. The men in the back waited in silence for a short moment and then she could hear the crunch of someone walking across gravel.

The backdoors opened and cold air rushed in. She did her best not to shiver, not wanting to allow any perceived weakness.

The men piled out with effortless efficiency. With a single flick of Red Hood's wrist in her direction, the soldier who had sat beside her grabbed Sparrow's arm and pulled her out after him. She stumbled in her attempt to keep up with him. The thought of getting dragged because she couldn't keep up was too humiliating.

They were still in Gotham, she could tell – as she had expected. A large, decrepit warehouse rose before her like an omen. However, it wasn't the same one Red Hood had led her to a few days ago when she'd spied on him. In fact, she had no idea where they were.

The men had all gathered in organized lines in front of the warehouse, waiting for Red Hood to enter first. They stood silent and efficient, like actual soldiers in the military. How had he inspired such orderly loyalty from what she could only assume was a bunch of thugs? The man behind her began pushing her along by her arm, and another soldier stepped up to her other side. He placed a heavy hand on her shoulder and squeezed tightly, guiding her along.

As she was pushed past them, the crowd became rowdier. While the men jeered and cheered at the sight of her bound and defeated, pushed along behind her captor, she was reminded of the depictions of victory laps in her childhood history books. Of Roman Emperors riding in their gilded chariots through the cities with prisoners of war forced to walk behind them.

Her eyes searched upwards, studying the rooftops and fronts of the buildings surrounding them, trying to spot any dark shadows watching them. The hint of a cape, the flash of a limb. Any sign that she wasn't alone.

Have faith.

God, she really wished she hadn't dropped her communicator.

The warehouse was almost blindingly alight as they entered out of the darkness. She blinked as her old mask took a second too long to switch off night vision.

She swallowed dryly. The warehouse was packed with heavily armed gang members, the red emblem of the Militia branded on their firearms and black clothes. The way they carried themselves, the efficiency and the matching uniforms, lend credence to the gang's name. She felt as if she had entered a military compound. Some of them wore masks, but the ones that had their faces barred were somehow scarier. The blazing hate she saw in their eyes as they beheld her was terrifying.

Red Hood halted once everyone had entered. A hush fell upon the crowd. They all stood still, watching their leader with anticipation as they waited for his word. Morgan felt the hand on her shoulder squeeze tighter, to keep her from running off.

Red Hood turned towards her and grabbed her arm. He pulled her out of the grasp of the two soldiers and pushed her forward roughly. She stumbled a few steps, but managed to catch herself, sparing her the humiliation of face planting in front of the antagonistic audience. He walked and dragged her with him. A collection of crates had been placed against the back wall of the large room, laid out so they formed a raised stage, from which Red Hood's demonstrations would unfold.

He pushed her and this time she did fall. The crowd broke out into a few dark chuckles and jeers as all air was knocked from her body when her torso connected with the crates, before she was unceremoniously bodied up onto the platform. Her right shoulder screamed from the way she had landed, and she bit into her lower lip to keep from groaning out in pain. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction. She could hear him jump up after her and his heavy boots entered her vision.

"Tonight!" Red Hood roared, his voice chilling. He paused for dramatic effect as a hush fell on the crowd.

She was unable to keep in the cry that jumped out of her when he grabbed her braid again and used it to pull her up onto her knees.

"Tonight, we begin our takeover!"

The crowd cheered as one voice, and the sound of it felt like it shook her bones. She wanted to say she was brave, but she felt alone and vulnerable. She was tied up, without her powers, and she had a bomb strapped to her neck.

"Tonight, we bring Batman to his knees. Along with all his sidekicks!" He wasn't shouting anymore, but he hardly needed it. His voice carried across his captivated audience with no problem.

More cheers.

"You all know the plan," Hood said matter of factly. He motioned for two of the men standing at the front of the crowd. "You two, make sure the bait is tied up properly." He threw her further across the crates and walked towards her again. She was starting to get tired of getting thrown around like a ragdoll and the annoyance was quickly surpassing her fear.

"Can't have her trying to fly off and play hero," he sneered. "The rest of you, pack it up! We're moving out."

Move out?

Were they going to leave her there?

This wasn't the plan – how were they going to capture him and take down the gang if they left before the others arrived?

She realized that she had to stall. Oh lord, this was going to hurt.

"You're a coward, Hood," she said loudly. One of the soldiers tasked with tying her up had pulled her up by her arms and she strained against their hold. "I get the plan. Tie me up and wait for someone to come save me so we can both get blown up, right? What, you don't even have the guts to face Batman head on?"

She looked out over the crowd. "Some strong leader you have!"

Red Hood's answer was swift, and as he backhanded her across the face Sparrow felt her lip split. Blood pooled into her mouth. Her head spun from the force of it. He added a punch to her stomach for good measure, and she would've gasped if there'd been any air left in her lungs. The only thing holding her up was the vice-like grip on her arms by the soldier behind her. As she regained her footing, she felt the hands on her arms clench, holding her back from trying to retaliate.

"I'm not letting you goad me into a fight." Red Hood's voice was chillingly calm. "I like to work smarter, not harder."

She managed a glare, and the sneer she pulled increased the throbbing in her face. She tasted blood in her mouth and thought about spitting it at his feet, but she was afraid of how he would react.

He looked back out over the crowd like she was nothing. "Let's go!"

The people in the room started heading towards the exit, grabbing equipment, masks, and firearms as they went. Her attempt at weakening their respect for their leader had fallen laughably short.

Sparrow felt rope being wrapped around her wings and she instinctively puffed up, hoping it would make the bonds easier to escape from once she was alone. One of the soldiers bumped against the collar around her neck and the weight of it reminded her of what would happen if she struggled too much. She was forced onto her knees again and shackles were added to her handcuffs, which were then fastened to the metal handle on the crate she sat on. They pulled at the shackles, and she was forced down onto her side, unable to move her tied hands off the floor. Somehow, she was sure it would've felt less humiliating if she'd been allowed to sit. She tried to keep her shaking hands steady, afraid he'd hear the movement of the shackles and notice her tremors. It felt vital that nobody saw her fear. If the plan went south and she died, Morgan wanted it to be known that she hadn't been afraid.

Red Hood watched his men leave before turning towards her. He looked impossibly tall as he loomed over her. She lifted her head enough to turn it towards him, looking up at him with spite.

"Don't forget I won't hesitate to blow you up the second I smell trouble. I have surveillance. I'll know."

She watched him and the two soldiers that had tied her up jump off the crates and leave as the last people in the building.

Suddenly, she was alone. It grew quiet. So quiet, she noticed the little things – the pitter-patter of the rain still being released upon the streets outside. Somewhere she thought she could hear a rat or a mouse squeak. Perhaps a bat? That would've been funny.

The lamps from outside cast long shadows. The light flickered rhythmically and for a moment she watched it with no tangible thoughts running through her mind. She was starting to come down from the intensity of the moment she had just endured. And despite her circumstances, the silence was a welcome one – it allowed her to think.

The rough wooden crate pricked at the skin on her temple, and she could feel the wound she'd already sustained sting and throb from the pressure.

In her solitude, she thought about giving up. It didn't matter that the others found her in a moment because she'd get blown up the second they did. And then, if they died in the explosion too, she'd be the reason Dick or Tim, or even Bruce and Damian died.

What had she gotten herself into? Why did she think she could do this? Why had she willingly offered herself up as bait?

Was she so desperate to prove her worth as Sparrow, that she had eagerly put herself up for slaughter? And to what end? To prove to Batman that she wasn't a coward? Prove to Nightwing that she could stand on her own?

..

To prove to herself that she could make a difference? That she wasn't just made to follow someone else's orders, someone else's plans – but that she could be the one with the plan, the one that was the invaluable piece in the puzzle?

That she had worth?

Morgan squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the shame she felt. This plan hadn't been about stopping the Militia, nor had it been about defeating Red Hood. It had been about her.

She'd been wrong to think she was capable of this. She didn't have decades of training like Batman, nor had she grown up in the world of heroes and villains like Nightwing. She had been in the business for less than three years.

The others had been wrong to trust her with this part. Why hadn't Dick stopped her? Morgan felt like he was always underestimating her, how had he overestimated her so badly this one time?

"Morgan.. please, don't underestimate Jason," he said, making sure her tracker worked before handing it back to her so she could hide it in her sleeve.

"Don't worry about me. I'm just the bait, remember? My part is easy; get captured, keep Jason distracted, lead the rest of you to their hideout and then try not to die in the process."

He frowned in disapproval and stepped closer under the guise of double checking the placement of the tracker in her sleeve. His thumb ran across the stitching on her sleeve, and she kept down her shiver. They both remembered when she'd sustained the injury that led to those stitches. She still carried the scar that ran along the length of her forearm.

"You don't have to do this, you know," Dick told her. She knew he wished she'd back out. But how could she? This was her fight.

"Of course I have to do this. I opened this can of worms and now I'll have to lie in it."

"Not sure that's how the saying goes," he sighed, but he couldn't stop a smile from appearing. "But fine."

"It'll be fine," she assured him. She gave him her most confident and carefree smile.

"I just hope you know what you're walking into. Getting captured isn't fun – not even when it's on purpose. You'll be alone behind enemy lines. Even if Tim and I manage to infiltrate their ranks before you're captured, we might not be able to get to you fast enough if you need it."

"Relax, I've tried it before. I was alone at War World for days, remember?"

"Yeah, but you were never actually captured at War World. I'm.." he grabbed her hands and squeezed them tightly, pulling her a smidge closer. "I'm scared of what he might do. He's not going to kill you – not immediately. But you won't escape without some bruising. Not when he's doing this specifically to hurt me."

She looked into his worried face, trying to ignore the jump her heart did at the sight of his beautiful eyes looking so tenderly down at her. He looked tortured that this was the plan they were going with.

The thought made her release his hands and take a step back. He was worried because he didn't think she could do this. And the reminder that she was only a target because she had connections to someone more important, stung.

"I'll be fine, Dick. It's not like I've never had bruises before," she said dismissively.

His mouth was a thin line and his jaw clenched – she could tell it frustrated him that she wasn't taking him as seriously as he wanted her to. Didn't he get that she didn't care about getting a beating? It would be worth it if they could capture the men currently making the streets of Gotham so dangerous.

He sighed and stepped away from her, picking up a glass on the table beside him.

"Drink this. It has micro trackers in it – in case he finds the other tracker. They're less accurate, but they're a good backup."

"Smart."

"And Morgan.." she looked at him over the rim of the glass as she drank from it.

He tried to smile but it looked weak. "I'll be there if you need me. Your plan is sound – just stick to it and you'll be okay."

Hadn't Nightwing been the one to tell her that every plan had a hiccup? She'd failed to consider that Jason would've had a way to remove her telekinesis. And that he'd fitted the collar with a bomb.

Maybe, truthfully, she'd failed to realize how bloodthirsty he was. She'd thought they were friendly – at least friendly enough that he'd spare her life. Once again, she had overestimated her importance.

She thought about giving up – but she didn't. She didn't want to give him the satisfaction of getting the best of her. Not when she knew how little he thought of her.

She realized, the longer she lay there, that she wasn't at all ready to throw in the towel. Sure, someone else probably could have executed this plan better, or could've thought of a better strategy that didn't involve sacrificing themselves, but there was no one else here right now.

Morgan felt her defiance rear its spiteful head like a fire in her chest and she decided lying around and moping wasn't doing her any good. This wasn't a time to give up – it was a time to prove that she had what it took to pull off this mission.

Also, she really wanted to make Jason regret backhanding her.

Your plan is sound, just stick to it.

So, what was the next part of the plan? The plan had been to let the others track her to the warehouse and they'd leap in, batarangs blazing, and together they would all take down the gang and Red Hood in one fell swoop.

But now, neither the Militia, nor Red Hood were here. Neither were the bats, it seemed.

So, what now?

Her wrists gave a particularly painful throb that traveled all the way up her arms and into her shoulders.

Well, for starters, she could get out of these handcuffs.

She bent her torso towards her shackled hands as far as she could and dug through one of the pouches on her belt. It was difficult to find, but she managed to get ahold of her lockpick. Her hands were cold and prickly from the tight cuffs. She needed some blood flowing back into them before they fell off.

She could get the cuffs off, but she'd have to stay on the floor for now. If Red Hood had her surveilled, she'd get blown up the moment she sat up.

It was arduous work. She almost dropped the little pick several times, and the angle was impossible to work with.

"C'mon, c'mon.." she mumbled, silently praying that the cuffs would give. Several minutes later her arms were trembling from the exercise, and she felt sweat mingle with dried blood on her brow. In her focused state, she bit into her bottom lip and instantly released it again when it sent a shooting throb through her split lip. She groaned in pain. Her heart started pounding with fear that she might not be able to get the handcuffs off.

"Need any help with that?"

She was sure no piece of music would've been sweeter to her ears, than the sound of his voice then. Morgan whipped around as fast as her tied body allowed her, so elated that she didn't even care about the twinge of pain the movement sent through her poor shoulders.

Tall, confident, and dressed in the black uniform of the Militia, he was moving towards her with hurried steps. The dark helmet was still in place, but his voice had been unmistakable.

"Dick," she gasped breathlessly. She had been so focused on her handcuffs; she hadn't detected his presence at all. She shook her head when he came too close, feeling her heart climb up her throat with fear, causing her voice to shake. "You have to stay back; he's strapped a bomb to me."

"I know." He halted by the platform of crates. With all the confidence and swagger of a movie star shooting a scene for their next action flick, he took off the helmet in a fluid motion. His dark locks fell perfectly into his eyes that seemed to only gain in intensity in the dark room. He pushed the hair out of his face before looking at her. "It's been deactivated."

Relief made her sag, not that she could sink lower into the hard surface she was on. She closed her eyes and let out a shuddering breath, releasing the undercurrent of fear she'd felt since the moment Red Hood had told her about the bomb.

"How?"

"It wasn't exactly easy. After you dropped the communicator, Oracle lost all contact with you so she couldn't deactivate it from her computer. I had to get close to you and plant a new connection – I was the soldier that led you from the van and then tied you up."

She felt somewhat better in retrospect, knowing that Dick had been there the whole time.

"Red Robin?"

"He's standing watch outside. Oracle hacked their video feed. We're going to make them think we sprung the trap once I've got you out of here."

Dick jumped onto the crates and crouched beside her. The look in his eyes was scorching and she trembled for an entirely other reason than her fear. His eyes flashed with fury as he looked over the bruises and cuts on her face. She knew she must've looked terrible.

"You did well," he said as he fiddled with her handcuffs, his voice deliberately calm. "Your talking kept him so occupied he didn't notice Red and I."

"That was the plan," she sighed with relief when the tight cuffs finally snapped open, and blood rushed into her stiff, cold fingers. "I'm good at talking."

Dick helped her sit up and watched as she rubbed at her tender wrists. The rope around her wings fell loosely to the floor and Morgan pulled it off her.

"Some might even say it's one of your best traits," he said, quirking an eyebrow at her, a tiny smile pulling at his lips.

"That was you in the van!" She pointed a cold finger at him, and he nodded, the smile growing. "I thought it might've been, but I wasn't sure."

"Told you I can change my gait to disguise myself," he mumbled, eyes raking over the damage done to her now that she was sitting up and in full view.

His hand reached for her face, fingertips running with a featherlight touch over the cut on her cheekbone, the scratches at her temple and then the split on her lower lip.

"What did he do to you.." he said with deep sadness, his furrowed brow and clenched jaw betraying the anguish he felt. Morgan held her breath as his fingers tenderly prodded at her lip, which tingled from the intimate touch. She couldn't feel the pain of her wound anymore, her skin set alight with the ecstasy of his touch. "I'm sorry I couldn't stop him. It would've revealed my presence too soon."

"This was the plan, remember?" she whispered, wishing she could wipe the look of agony from his face. "I'm fine. I expected the beating."

Morgan's stomach felt like a mess of jitters, her heart fluttering weakly in her chest at his tender demonstrations. He frowned at her words.

Dick's hands hovered by her jawline like he wanted to seize her face and pull her to him, but his eyes found the collar around her neck, and he redirected his focus.

"Let's get this off."

He dismantled the collar and slipped it from her neck, and she sighed with relief as she felt her telekinesis come rushing back into her consciousness.

He set the collar down on the crate beside them, his eyes still looking her over with a pained expression.

The collar had scarcely been put down before it let out a series of high-pitched beeps.

Sparrow and Nightwing exchanged looks as understanding passed between them.

The crates..

"Oh, I'm an idiot!" he exclaimed as he grabbed her hand and they got up, leaping away from the platform as far as they could.

It was hardly far enough. Before they'd even crossed half of the length of the room, the stack of crates exploded in a wall of fire. The shockwave hit Sparrow in the back like a speeding car, and she just barely had the sense to turn around as she was thrown through the air, sending out a telekinetic blast that would stop the roaring fire from burning them to a crisp.

The heat was almost unbearable, but the harsh landing on the concrete floor was even worse. Nightwing landed ahead of her, rolling several feet across the room, his body limp like a ragdoll.

Her vision blackened, eyes swimming in and out of focus. A blurry figure approached, hidden behind smoke and ash. He was dragging a body behind him, which he threw down beside the two heroes already on the floor.

Tim..

His pale face, shockingly contrasted against blood, was the last thing she saw before her vision grew dark and her mind slipped into oblivion.

For this chapter, I recommend Sky Full of Song by Florence and the Machine. It fits well with where Morgan's head is at!

For this chapter, I was unsure if I wanted the confrontation with Bruce and Dick to be an entire scene on its own, or like this as small flashbacks spread throughout. I even did a poll on my tumblr and the first option won lol. As you can see, I ended up ignoring that result because I ultimately liked this better. The poll helped me realize what I really wanted though, so not a total waste!

I shockingly don't have a whole lot I want to yap about for once. I have a lot I want to say about the next chapter though, so we're keeping this authors note short.

I hope you enjoyed it! Let me know what you think!