"BRUCE TOLD ME about the case you're working on," Dick Grayson hummed as he swung his legs. He was sat at the edge of the Gotham City Hall roof, rather precariously in Jason's honest opinion. But Dick Grayson loved heights, and most of their nights on patrol tended to end like this.

  It was two days since he'd struck his flimsy deal with Calypso Wan. So far, she hadn't contacted him.

  "It's going to be the death of me," he glowered.

  "I faintly remember the sister."

  "She's a menace upon society."

  "She's the one with psychometry, yeah?"

  "That's her." He paused. "She blames me for it."

  "Spiritbird?"

  "Yes."

  Dick had worked with Cyrene at points too. Only a couple missions. But they were friends. Nowhere as close as Jason was to Cyrene, and at that point, Dick and Jason hadn't been on excellent terms either. Dick was the unreachable golden boy that Jason had started to detest. Jason was Dick's replacement. There was, as he realised down the line, plenty of disgruntlement between each of the Robins.

  Most of it was resolved by now, though. At least, he hoped so.

  "It wasn't your fault. She knew the risks. We all know the risks."

  "I invited her on that mission."

  "And she agreed to go on it. You didn't strong-arm her into it."

  "I'm still the one who led to her being there in the first place, though. She is right that I am responsible. Not fully, of course not. It was fucking Swinton who pulled the trigger. But if not for me—"

  "I've watched both you and Arsenal rip yourselves into bits over the past five years for Spiritbird's death. I think it's about time both of you stopped punishing yourselves for it."

  "She's mad at me for not avenging her sister."

  Dick paused. "She must understand..."

  "She does. She wonders why I didn't just kill him instead."

  Dick glanced at him. "Why didn't you?"

  "I don't know. I made Batman a promise, I guess. You know what the most terrifying bit of all this is? I know exactly what she's feeling. And I can't help but feel like a double-standard hypocrite. I was her a few years ago, Nightwing. I was exactly in her position, in her shoes. I'd asked the exact same questions to Batman and I'm giving her the same answers Batman gave to me."

  "That's just growth."

  "I"m going to fix my mistake," Jason finally said. "I'm going to make sure she gets the closure she needs. That she deserves. I'll throw Swinton's sorry ass in prison." He wasn't going to let her kill him. He'd lied about that. It wasn't going to come down to it. He wasn't going to let her become a murderer, not if he had any power over it.

  And if it did come down to it...

  He'll make sure he was the one pulling the trigger.

  He'd be the one to end it. And the one to bear the consequences. She deserved better. He wouldn't make her carry that burden for the rest of her life.

  She'd been punished enough, and she hadn't done anything wrong in the first place.

  "Ambitious." Dick tilted his head backwards. "I'll give you a hand, maybe."

  "Aren't you off to Hong Kong in a couple weeks?"

  "Which is why I said maybe. Thing with Swinton is that he's out of reach, legally. Even if you get enough to prosecute him here, you physically can't drag him back into Gotham in a legal manner."

  "I realised."

  "You need to lure him back. After you've collected enough evidence. Lawyers and the like shouldn't be an issue—Batman will have that covered."

  "Maybe I can kidnap him," Jason half-joked. "Or get someone to mind control him into returning."

  "Best if he comes back of his own accord," Dick said with a shrug. "I would give more tips, but well, it's your case. And Red Robin's better at this sort of thing than I am."

  "I'll consider it. I'm not sure how many people I want to be involved in this, though."

  "You, or her?"

  "Both of us," Jason replied grimly. "She's a private person. And a lone wolf."

  "That's a word I tend to prefer describing you with. Though you tend to work well in a pack as well."

  "Perhaps not a wolf then. She's a fox."

  "A fox?"

  "Looks like one too. And acts like one. You think you've got the upper hand, and then suddenly this horrifying realisation dawns on you that she'd been playing you the entire thing. That you've fallen right into her trap, right where she wanted you to be."

  Dick frowned. "That doesn't sound good. She's manipulative?"

  "Like I said, Nightwing, she's a fox. And you really think she'd have gotten away with writing that blog for so long if she wasn't clever?"

  "I read Themis sometimes. She gets good tips. She's a good writer too, really. And some of her investigations..." he shook his head. "Scares me that she might be able to manage with more resources. Something like Red Robin, I think. Their brains work the same way."

  "I don't know about that. I think Red Robin beats her on pure detective skills. But she has psychometry. That's an advantage no one else has. She doesn't even need to talk to anyone. She just needs to touch something and she'll learn more than most of us ever will."

  "I bet you Batman's jealous of her power," Dick snorted. "But maybe it's a good thing he doesn't have the same ability."

  "She wears gloves now. She didn't used to."

  "Can she control her powers?"

  "Not sure. Cyrene mentioned to me that she couldn't control it with people. She touches you, she gets some of your memories whether you like it or not. That might have changed."

  "If she's wearing gloves," Dick pointed out, "probably not. But I can see why that might stop being an advantage and turn into a nuisance after a while."

  "Must be painful. Touching shit and just getting all their secrets blasted in your face." Jason let out a chuckle.

  "I always found it quite interesting. One sister can summon wings and shapeshift into a bird. The other has the power of psychometry."

  "That's metahuman genes for you," Jason retorted, raising a brow.

  "No relation whatsoever." Dick shook his head, looking amused. "But I suppose, from what I know, the two sisters cannot be more different in personality as well. Blood doesn't mean much sometimes."

  "But they cared about each other. Deeply. She's still haunted by her sister. I can see it. She's not over it."

  "We rarely are over the deaths of our family," Dick said with a tinge of sadness. And they were both orphans. They were all orphans. They all knew that pain. Which was why neither him nor Dick, not even Bruce, judged her for her choice. They all, in their own way, agreed with it. Perhaps not her methods, not the way she'd gone at it, but that thirst for vengeance? For justice to be served?

  Jason decided, then, that the entire conversation was turning a little too dark. Flashing a grin at Dick, he said, "I think I might crash by Damian's." The youngest at the Robins had turned eighteen a few months back, and as a birthday gift, got his own penthouse in the middle of the city. Dick, Jason and Tim had made a habit of crashing by at the most inconvenient of times and generally being a nuisance in the name of watching out for their brother.

  Damian feigned outrage, but Jason rather thought he was quite amused by it.

  "He's been acting a bit strange recently," Dick murmured.

  Jason blinked. "Who?"

  "Damian."

  Jason pondered over that. "I suppose he's been quieter than usual."

  "Ever since he came back from Shanghai. Keeping his lips tight, though."

  Jason raised a brow. "Suppose it has something to do with Odile?" Odile Yu, adopted younger sister of Dick's long-distance girlfriend, Remiel. Both were in Hong Kong at the moment. Or at least he assumed so. They had to be somewhere in China. Odile was also great friends with Damian and Jon, and the three had gone on some trip together in Shanghai recently.

  Now that he thought about it, Damian had been quieter than usual. Not that he wasn't usually quiet. Just...

  "I'll ask Remiel about it." Dick pinched his nose. "Odile tells her things." Unlike Damian with us.

  They were all a secretive bunch. Jason couldn't quite blame Damian. Living with a bunch of detectives meant you learnt how to keep your secrets close to yourself quite well.

  But he wouldn't trade this for anything in the world. Having people who... understood. Who knew all the sides of you, who you could talk to about things like... weapons and fighting and what drove you on this crusade?

  Dick wasn't wrong in saying lone wolf fitted Jason as a description. But wolves worked in packs too. And Jason would be completely and utterly lost if not for the people that he found and considered family.

  And that was, maybe, another reason he felt the need to help Callie. She was alone. Partially of her own choice, yes, but that couldn't be good for anyone. And he doubted she'd been that social at university either. And even if she'd had plenty of friends at university, none of them would be able to understand the way he did.

  In his darkest hour, people had offered him a hand again and again. Leading him out. It was time for him to pass on the favour.

—

  M. DEA'S TIP would, unfortunately, have to wait. Callie needed a lot more than what she currently knew to be able to write a full piece on it, and she didn't want to alert Scarecrow to anything just yet. She wasn't stupid enough to think at least a couple criminals kept tabs on her blog.

  Instead, Callie went on with her usual day routine, three days after her last meeting with Jason. She should, probably, reach out to him soon. She wanted to investigate those men again. Scarecrow was the easier target. She wanted to deal with him quickly, get him out of the way and into Arkham so she could focus on Swinton. But for some reason, she couldn't bring herself to pick up her phone and give him that call. Or even just a text.

  Morning was spent in the gym down the street. And then a quick trip to the supermarket for groceries. A few years in England meant that she was a proficient cook, more than able to feed herself without a constant need for takeaway, though she still indulged herself every once in a while. 

  And then: before her laptop. With no findings to report on, Callie instead went through the major Gotham news websites, finding pieces she found interesting to offer her own commentary on. Like the issuing of the third care package in two years from the Gotham City government to the underprivileged. Or the fact that Wayne Industries had recently secured the deal for the new building of dams on the west coast of Gotham City, over—with some satisfaction—Swinton Industries' rivalling bid.

  She wondered if that had anything to do with Cyrene. If Bruce Wayne might have noted to his company a distrust and a grudge against the Swintons. Or if she was overthinking it.

  Because thing was, despite having met two former Robins and plenty of Batman's allies, she'd never dealt with the man herself. Cyrene had met him. Once. And she'd raved about it all night, except only when Roy and Jason were gone because Cyrene hadn't wanted to offend Jason.

  Callie wasn't sure why Jason and Batman had a falling out. Probably had something to do with the former's loud personality, she presumed. Maybe she should ask. Or maybe she shouldn't.

  They seemed to be on good terms again now, though, so it couldn't have been that bad?

  Then she went on her daily glance-over of the gossip sites. There were plenty of blogs just like hers, except choosing to focus on the rich elite and their lavish lifestyles of Gotham City instead. Rudolph Swinton tended to be a particular favourite. To anyone not in the know, he seemed like a mysterious, glamorous figure—eldest son of Freud Swinton, patriarch of one of the richest families in Gotham (the Waynes beat them, along with a few like the Kanes). Shrouded by scandal and controversies, yet no evidence presented quite enough to actually prove anything. Left Gotham a few years ago, first heading to Europe, where the gossip rags reported on everything he did. A mixing point of women, booze and suspected drug abuse had led to him being yanked out of Paris and thrust into the Mediterranean (well, she supposed France was technically bordering the Mediterranean sea, so he'd already been there in the first place), far away from trouble, allegedly overlooking the Swinton's investments there. Latest reports seemed to indicate Greece as his current location.

  People described him as handsome. Looking like a tortured soul. Alluring. He was also, to a much smaller group, a murderer.

  There were whisperings of that around the city, of course. That his disappearance was due to him being mixed up in some unsavoury business. That he'd been involved with the criminal element of the city, that he was being kept out of the city to avoid the consequences. It was all true, of course, but the Swintons did their best to keep everything under wraps.

  They were guilty by association. And they must have known. They must have known what their youngest son had done.

  So for all she might talk about how she wanted to destroy Rudolph Swinton, had she the chance, she'd take the entire company down with him.

  But that was a little ambitious.

  But there weren't any reports about Rudolph Swinton's latest activities today. Just the news about the contract the Waynes had snatched right out of Swinton Industries' hands. She would have to take that little victory.

  But it wasn't enough.

  Nothing was ever enough.

  Callie turned away from her laptop. Stared out of the window and into the city, at the horizon that was slowly starting to darken, the sun that was beginning to descend. Another night in Gotham City. That was when life in Gotham finally arose. A year in this city had taught her much.

  Fortunately for her, spending three years in London was enough to teach her about long nights and short days. Callie wouldn't go as far as describing herself as a creature of the night, a nocturnal animal, but she was close to it.

  She placed a hand on her rumbling stomach, letting out a small sigh. But then she reached for her phone and called the number she'd been avoiding for days.

  He picked up on the second ring.

  "Jason? Let's meet up tonight."

  The other side was quiet. She was almost tempted to speak again, but stopped when his voice came through. "I'll come by and get you. What time?"

  Callie frowned. "Where exactly are we going?"

  "My base of operations."

  Her eyes fluttered shut. Right. Because neither of their apartments seemed like a good place to discuss things like this. Fair enough. "I'm going to make dinner now. Come by in... oh, I don't know, an hour."

  "You don't know?" He sounded slightly amused.

  "You're irritating me."

  "Noted." He paused. "You know... if you ever want to talk to any of Cyrene's friends... I'm in contact with most of them. And they'd all be willing to offer a hand, or just talk to you."

  If he was offering this branch, she was going to take it. "How's Roy been?" she asked, voice soft. "Lian?" Roy had brought Lian Harper over a couple times, here and there. She'd been a little toddler then. She'd be, what, seven now?

  Jason was silent on his end for a long, long moment. And then, he said, "Lian's dead, Callie. She died two years ago."

  Oh.

  Oh.

  "How?"

  "Prometheus."

  Sometimes, Callie wondered if she was too selfish. In trying to protect herself, she'd cut off almost everything and everyone from her previous life during her time in London. Including Roy, who was the closest thing she had to a brother. To family outside of Cyrene.

  And she didn't even know that he'd lost his daughter.

  "Is he...?"

  "He's better now." Jason sounded pained. "But... he was a mess for a while. He's why I don't drink anymore. We all hurt, Callie. We miss your sister just as much as you do."

  Callie felt like she was about to cry. But she didn't want to do that, not in front of Jason. So instead, she whispered into the phone, "Come pick me up at seven." Which was two hours later, because she thought she'd need a bit longer to get herself into the right state of mind.

  "Okay."

  She hung up.

  Then she pulled her knees up to her chest and cried.

  She cried for little Lian, only a child. Who should have had such a long, long life ahead of her but instead had it stripped away. She cried for Roy, who lost his sister figure and his only daughter in the span of three years.

  She even felt, for a brief moment, that she was crying for Jason.

  They were all a miserable, sad bunch of creatures, weren't they?

  For a moment she contemplated calling Roy. She hadn't done that since she'd gone to the UK. Their last meeting had been at the airport.

  "I'll see you during your breaks," he'd told her, ruffling her hair. He must have been hurting then still, but you couldn't see it from the light smile on his face.

  She didn't tell him that she'd already decided not to go back that Christmas break. Or Easter break after that. And not even the summer. Instead, she'd stayed in the UK for four years, learning and saving like a madman, only keeping track of the situation in Gotham for the first year, and once she'd realised nothing was going to be done about Scarecrow or Swinton, running her own research. And saving up for her return.

  Did he hate her for it? For not being there in his darkest hours?

  She didn't think she'd blame him if he did.

  She ended up having plain rice for dinner. She thought she might vomit if she ate anything else.

yes. i'm going with the "lian harper died" but not the "amanda waller has her teleporting through time" bit.