The sun hung low over Blüdhaven, casting pale golden light across the apartment. The storm had passed, leaving puddles on the rooftop ledges and a calm silence in its wake. It was the kind of afternoon that made the city feel... almost peaceful.
Dick quietly unlocked the door to his apartment, stepping inside and closing it behind him with a soft click.
Barbara was already up, sitting comfortably in her wheelchair by the window, a tablet in her lap. She looked up the second she heard him and smiled.
"You're back," she said, her eyes lighting up. "Took you long enough. I was starting to think Bruce dragged you into one of his twelve-hour detective spirals."
Dick smiled, walking over and leaning down to kiss her softly on the forehead. "Not quite twelve hours. But close."
She put the tablet aside and wheeled toward the kitchen. "Well, since you survived, I'll make tea. You look like you could use something stronger, but I don't keep whiskey in the apartment anymore."
Dick chuckled, following her. "Tea's perfect."
Barbara filled the kettle and set it on the stove. The silence between them wasn't tense-it was domestic and warm. Familiar. She grabbed two mugs from the cabinet with practised ease.
"So," she said casually, "what did Bruce want to talk about?"
Dick hesitated for only a fraction of a second. Then he slid onto a barstool and said smoothly, "He wants me to go to Eastern Europe. Wayne Foundation's expanding its philanthropic reach-wants to partner with new NGOs. Especially in places dealing with infrastructure collapse and refugee displacement."
Barbara turned back toward him, one eyebrow raised.
"That's... a pretty big deal. And not exactly your usual patrol beat."
"Yeah," Dick replied, offering a tired smile. "He said I have the charm and the public image to pull it off. It's a low profile, mostly off-grid stuff. Could be good for the Foundation-and good for me to get some perspective."
Barbara studied him for a moment as the kettle began to heat.
"You okay with it?"
Dick nodded, though the lie sat heavy in his throat. "Yeah. It's not forever. A few months, tops. It's just long enough to get the right people talking."
Barbara's smile faded into something softer. "So... we're going long-distance again."
"I'll make it work," he said, forcing warmth into his voice. "We've done worse."
She looked at him then-really looked-and for a second, Dick thought she might see through the lie.
But she just nodded and turned back to the kettle. "I'll hold you to that."
Dick looked away.
Because deep down, he knew he couldn't.
The soft whistle of the kettle filled the kitchen, breaking the silence as steam began to rise.
Barbara poured the hot water into two mugs, dropping tea bags into each with steady hands. She pushed one across the counter toward Dick, then wheeled around to face him, a faint smile on her lips.
"So," she said, "when do you leave?"
Dick looked down into the mug for a moment, then up at her.
"Tomorrow. Early morning."
Her smile faltered slightly, but she covered it with a sip of tea. "That's... soon."
"Yeah."
Barbara nodded, then reached across the counter to take his hand, squeezing it gently. "Then you better call me. Every moment you're free. I want to know you're safe. That you're okay."
Dick stared at her, his heart tightening.
He could feel the words Bruce had said echoing in his skull.
"There is to be no contact."
"The moment the Court knows about her, they will kill her."
He should've pulled away.
Should've told her no.
But when he looked at her-at Barbara, this fierce and brilliant woman who had stood by him, fought with him, loved him through so much-he couldn't do it.
She needed this connection. And so did he.
Dick managed a small smile and nodded. "Yeah. I'll call. I promise."
Barbara's face lit up, and she leaned forward slightly. "Good. Because if you ghost me for three months, I will hack into a satellite and track your signal. Just saying."
Dick laughed gently. "Noted."
They sipped their tea in silence for a few moments, the mood lighter now-but beneath the surface, guilt clawed at Dick's ribs. Because he knew the moment he stepped into that role, into the Court's world, every word, every whisper, every connection would be a risk.
And Barbara would be in the crosshairs.
But for tonight... she was here. She was real. And so was the life they could've had.
He reached across the table, took her hand again, and held it.
If this was the last night before everything changed, he was going to remember it.
Every second.
*Later that night*
The apartment was quiet except for the occasional creak of the old floorboards and the soft rustle of clothes being folded.
Dick stood beside their dresser, carefully packing the last of what he needed into a worn duffel bag. The essentials. Enough to support the lie-and the truth beneath it. A burner phone, a forged diplomatic ID, a data drive encrypted with backdoor access to the Batcave satellite feed. Everything for the mission. Nothing personal.
Except the photo tucked deep in his bag. The one of her.
Barbara was lying in bed, half-propped up by pillows, the soft glow of a reading lamp casting golden light over her red hair. A book was balanced in her lap, though she hadn't turned a page in ten minutes.
When Dick finally zipped the bag closed and exhaled, she looked up.
"You done?" she asked softly.
He nodded. "Yeah."
He moved to the bed and climbed in beside her, lying on his back. Barbara closed the book and set it aside on the nightstand, then shifted to face him.
"I'm going to miss you," she said, her voice quiet but full of emotion.
Dick turned his head toward her, heart tightening. "I'll miss you too. More than I can say."
She looked at him for a long moment, then, with a faint smile, said, "Good. Then this might help."
Before he could ask what she meant, Barbara moved-slowly but determinedly-climbing onto him the best she could, adjusting herself carefully until she was straddling his waist. Her hands rested gently on his chest, steadying herself.
Dick blinked, caught between surprise and emotion. "Babs... what are you doing?"
She leaned down and brushed her lips against his. "Giving you a going away present."
Her kiss deepened slowly, full of longing and unspoken words. Dick responded instinctively, his hands finding her waist, holding her carefully. They kissed like time was running out-because it was. Every touch, every breath between them was a promise and a goodbye rolled into one.
When they finally pulled back, foreheads touching, Barbara whispered, "We're going to be okay, right?"
Dick hesitated.
Then nodded.
"Yeah," he said. "We're going to be okay."
Even if he didn't fully believe it.
Because in the morning, he'd disappear. And she'd be left with only memories-and a promise he might not be able to keep.
But for now, in the stillness of the night, they had each other.
And that had to be enough.
*Late evening/early morning*
The moon hung high above Blüdhaven, casting a pale silver glow through the apartment windows. The city was asleep. And so was she.
Barbara lay curled under the covers, her hair fanned across the pillow, one hand resting on the spot where Dick had been. Her breathing was slow and steady, her body relaxed in a way that only came with trust. Safety. Love.
But the man she trusted was already moving.
Dick sat on the edge of the bed, fully dressed in dark jeans and a black thermal shirt. His boots were laced, his duffel slung quietly over one shoulder. He looked at her for a long moment, memorizing every detail-how the corner of her mouth curled in sleep, how her lashes flickered now and then like she was dreaming something beautiful.
His chest ached.
He leaned down and gently brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, then pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.
"I love you," he whispered, barely audible. "I'm sorry."
He moved through the apartment in silence, every step careful not to wake her. At the kitchen counter, he paused and pulled a small folded note from his back pocket. He placed it gently beside her mug from earlier and weighed it down with a spoon.
Just in case.
The note read:
> Didn't want to wake you.
I'll call when I can.
Be safe, Babs.
- D
He knew it wasn't enough. Not even close. But it was all he could leave behind.
Moments later, he slipped out the front door, locking it behind him with a soft click.
The night air was cold and damp as he descended the stairs, stepping into the quiet alley where his motorcycle waited. The engine purred to life beneath him, low and smooth-just loud enough to fill the silence in his chest, but not enough to echo through the sleeping streets.
No final glance back.
No second-guessing.
Dick Grayson, Nightwing, the man who'd built a life and a love here-was gone.
And in his place rode a ghost. A weapon. A lie wrapped in flesh and shadow, heading toward the city that had shaped him-and the darkness now waiting beneath it.