Nightwing crouched on the edge of a rooftop looking in through the window to see a swarm of Gotham cops investigating a murder. His eyes narrow as he watches them take pictures and converse to theorize what happened. It was boring to have to wait for a couple hours for them to leave but he knows its worth it to know what they may have contaminated and what they might've overlooked.

Eventually, after midnight they started to trickle out and only Gordon remained. He precision jumps onto the balcony of the apartment and does a fancy flip just for flair. "Nightwing." The commissioner greets, the vigilante is not caught off guard - he's used to Gordon knowing one of the bats was going to show - and instead waltzes up to the door-frame with a light smirk. Smoke hits his nostrils hard.

"Commish." He makes a joking salute to the officer whom is smoking a cigar. He turns an eye to the crime scene, seeing how strangely clean it looked. "What do we have tonight Gordon?" Blood splatter covers only around where the body was -which was marked with yellow tape to contrast against the white walls. Not too much force, must've been precise and experienced. Pottery and flowers were still standing and nothing was shattered. A table in the corner still held keys and a wallet which mostly crosses out burglary-

"Murder, though not our only one with these calling cards." He informs, catching the cigar between his teeth. He pulls out a file and showing him a few laminated pictures of the scene when it was still uncontaminated. He places his index finger on the side of his mask and takes a couple of pictures of each laminates photograph.

"Lemme guess, the other coppers don't think these are connected with the ones from last month?" Nightwing asked, already knowing that Gordon had connected the dots from the similarity of the crimes. From his time from being an officer, he knows the rest of the department wouldn't really pick up on these clues.

"Not a clue, the stubborn idiots. Sometimes I wish I could be as blind, would save me a lot of headaches. Even if I was, even a rookie could see they're too similar. Its gotta be a part of something."

"Something bigger."

A hum of agreement comes from the older man and Nightwing decides to investigate further, he gently pulls the balcony tape up but not enough for him to go under it. "May I?" He retorts, looking at the man who's known him for more than half of his life. Gordon takes the death-stick out of his mouth his his index and middle fingers and just shrugging, smoke billowing out of his mouth.

Nightwing supposes that's enough approval.

He creeps under the tape and looks around, sharp eyes that were covered by white lenses glanced all around. Furthering the assessment that he had started before. Everything seemed to be in place, if it weren't for the blood and smell of death one would guess this was a regular room. He still decides to hold he button on the side of his mask, recording it -even if their masks are always recording on patrol- and sending it directly to his computer with a few taps.

His gaze flits to the commissioner again. "Anything your boys move or grabbed that I should know about?" He questions and Gordon pulls out a bag. "Just this, might be from a random bird. Was hoping you bats would know something about it."

Nightwing shuffled over to him and gently plucked the bag from his hands, careful not to squish the item inside. A white, crisp feather lay inside, pristine and with no blood staining its colour. His eye twitches underneath his mask at the sight of the plume but he doesn't let his figure stiffen in alarm. No point in alerting James.

"You recognize it, don't you." Gordon sees right through it - Dick doesn't have it in him to hide from the commissioner, having known him for so long- and he has it in him to grin. "You always have been the best at looking for emotions. Don't tell Batman I told you this but when it comes to sentiment coming from us, I'd say you're the better reader."

The officer smirks at that. "Flattery, Nightwing?" James retorts, walking to stand next to him. Probably the psychological version of reassurance without words. The vigilante ignores the jibe or the 'fun fact' and instead starts speaking.

"The feather belongs to the Court of Owls."

"The nursery rhyme?"

A beat of silence.

"Commissioner... there are many things that happen behind the scenes. We can't tell you everything, and for your own safety and your family's, I think this is one of those things that should not be said." Nightwing's head turns to look at Gordon seriously, tension falls upon the room. The elder's gaze hardens before he nods. Nightwing's mind goes into planning mode, thinking of every single way he could infiltrate the Court.

Commissioner Gordon turns away and Nightwing doesn't stay to stare at his back. Instead, he stalks off to the balcony. "Stay safe, Nightwing. A young man like you shouldn't die yet." Gordon grimly says, his voice echoing through the area.

No smile comes upon the usually lighthearted hero's face. "Can't promise that Commish."

____________________

This was risky.

He knew that.

Was that going to stop him?

He wasn't sure it would.

Dick's hands grappled picture after picture, scrutinizing them carefully. Maria Gonzalez, Scott Davis, Garret Relish and hundreds more names stared back at him. Dead, dead, deadeadeadead. He grasps the last picture, spiky brown hair that looks like it belongs more on a vampire. Matching milk chocolate eyes that stared at the camera with a raging, burning inferno of rage and anger. His eyebrows were furrowed and sharp. His frown seemed to show mild irritation and right underneath his stubble covered chin there was a collar infused with green material.

He came to inspect the scars and unnaturally visible veins that traveled up this man's face. His gaze landed on the name and a wave of anger washed over him. 'William Cobb.' His eyes narrow at the description, analyzing the information for what felt like -and probably was- the millionth time. "I'm going to take you down Cobb." He growls at the photograph, unsatisfied that the bastard still wasn't in jail.

The last Grayson let the picture flutter onto the heap that piled up on his desk and he took a deep breath. He glances at the picture of the Talon outfit that was pinned up on the wall.

His apartment may have been decimated after Blüdhaven was destroyed but that didn't mean he didn't have backups in Gotham. He had hoped to never have to use them but here he was.

Drafts in post it note and printed files were all pinned up on the wall, all done in a strange code that Dick had created as a child. His lip twitches up in amusement but then he remembers that everyone who also knew how to decode this either hated him for some reason or another or was dead.

Suddenly he isn't so amused anymore.

'The probability of them accepting me without any reason would be practically nonexistent.' He mutters random things while he thinks, leaving what he's dubbed his 'detective room' and going over to his kitchen. He eyes the three cereal boxes he has on the counter before sighing and shuffling to the fridge. 'What would be something that would convince them I want to join their side?'

Checking inside he finds only a couple of green apples in the process of browning and leftover pizza. Not wanting to eat unhealthy for two days in a row he snatches an apple, ripping off the sticker and washes it in the sink. Dick sinks his teeth into the apple, a sweet and sour taste explodes in his mouth and he chews, periodically eating the fruit.

'The only thing that's missing is my opening'

____________________

It was only a week later that Cobb approached him.

Strangely, it was broad daylight and it was very much palpable that his grandfather had caked his face with makeup as to look as normal as possible. He side eyes him, adjusting his grip on his coffee mug and fork while he took a sip of the warm and bitter beverage. Civilian chatter and utensils clinking against plates and bowls were the only noises that were heard.

The silence was tense and thick. "Are you waiting for me to start the conversation? Cause its not happening." Dick retorts between a sip of liquid energy. A few more beats of silence and William sits down in the chair next to him and finally speaks.

"There is a proposition for you Richard Grayson."

Dick raises an eyebrow but doesn't speak, enjoying the drink he had seen be prepared at the front desk. Now that he knows this place could be infested with talons he wasn't going to even dare touch the meal he had ordered. He watches the civilians, observing a woman -in a very short skirt, she was practically asking to get mugged and/or assaulted-

"The court is getting impatient, they want their Talon. Their Gray Son." Cobb starts explaining. "Therefore, if you do not obey they shall attack your family." Dick scoffs, he had to play the part. No matter how much it reminded of when he was Renegade. The thought almost sent shivers down his spine.

"They can handle themselves, besides, what do I get except for being turned into a mindless slave?" He speaks in his Renegade voice, cold but cocky. His grandfather's lips light curl up into a smirk. "Your facade may fool Wilson but it shall not fool me, Gray Son."

"However, it is known that you do not take threats to your family lightly. Hence, you shall become our Talon, no matter how much you protest or fabricate resistance." Cobb's sharp eye glances at Dick again and suddenly the cafe doesn't seem so safe anymore. "Or am I mistaken? If so they are to be rid of immediately."

Dick glares, now realizing that his cup is now empty, he sets it down and turns to his grandfather. "When?" He asks, his eyes almost flickering to the cameras he knows are recording this interacting. It seems as if William read his mind, a sinister twitch of his lips signify it and he does liberally glance at the security camera.

"Not here, Gray Son." He almost wryly teased, and Dick almost grit his teeth. "Too many eyes." He slips a piece of paper over the table and the vigilante quickly pockets it. "I will see you soon Gray Son."

His grandfather stands, disappearing among the crowd and Dick stays in his seat, glaring at the chair where William Cobb had been in a few seconds ago. It seems that minutes pass with him mulling everything over. This was his opportunity, even if it seemed too coincidental to just be chance.

A waitress was about to skirt past in her uniform, a few buttons undone at the top showing a little cleavage and he resists the urge to roll his eyes. Instead he smiles charmingly and calls for her attention. "I'd like to pay the bill please." The woman -whose name-tag said Lucinda but he vaguely recalled introducing herself as Katelyn- appeared surprised.

"Handsome, your bill is already paid. He introduced himself as your grandpa and politely tipped everyone in the cafe before leaving." She explained and Dick resisted the urge to rip the paper in his pocket to pieces and forgetting about this whole ordeal.

"He wasn't my grandfather." He clarified, disgusted at the fact that he was biologically related to the man, he didn't need him flaunting it around and causing rumors. "He didn't find any tables he wanted to sit at so he came over here and struck up a lovely conversation." He hoped he didn't growl the word lovely like he wanted to.

"Dunno, but he paid the bill anyways, I'd take it." The waitress shrugged, writing something on her pad and ripping off the top paper, handing it to him. "Seems you're a little stressed, you ever wanna chat, that's my number."

He thanks her and she goes off to do her job, he stored it in his breast pocket and started to leave. At the door he glances back only to see him standing there creepily, staring at him. Resisting the urge to shudder he gets out of there, hating the man even more than he already had.

This was risky.

He knew that.

Was that going to stop him?

He wasn't sure it would.