#martinisforbreakfast

[martinibreakfast]

Devotion Comes in Sets of Three - 1/3

He knew her by heart before he knew her by face. Born knowing her, born to know her.

Dick did not have the fortune of meeting her for the first time when Bruce dragged the filthy, wine eyed girl into the Batcave. For him, there was no first-time meeting. How could there be? How could one introduce themselves to the second half of their own soul? Dick was youthful and bright that night, the daring age of twelve. Yet, when their eyes crossed, suddenly he remembered swaying in the winds of Babylon’s hanging gardens. She too was there, by the flowing water. Mouth red and wet, pomegranate juice weeping down her chin. He reminisced on his times fighting on the front lines of a Parisians war, following a young girl into battle. This Joan of Arc was not golden haired and of white flesh, however. A stream of ink-dark hair poured down the back of her silver, godly amour, and her skin was sun-kissed and loved by the autumn hues. When their eyes crossed, an ancientness sunk into his bones. Recognition beyond that of bloodline and time was a heavy thing.

The Washington Case is closed. But I fear this is only the beginning of things, Chum.

Casey Washington had been missing for eleven years after the sudden death of her father, Eric Washington. Not only was Miss Washington missing, but her two-year-old daughter, Sarah Washington, was also one of Gotham’s strange and odd disappearance cases. Only the young girl in Batman’s hold was not Sarah Washington. She was simply too young.

Who’s she? Why is she here? In the Cave, I mean.

Batman forced himself and the girl deeper into the cave, closer to where the medical ward was held; like in the gardens, in Paris, Dick followed. There was a limp to the Dark Knight’s stride and his hands left bloody cuffs around the girl’s cotton sleeves. Like the son of god, someone had tried to nail the hands of Batman to the cross.

They called her Athena. Her mother did not name her Athena.

Batman, I don’t think I understand…

I am not asking you to understand, Dick.

Bruce never addressed him by his civilian name when in front of strange company. Dick felt himself stiffed, his stomach turn. This girl or rather, whatever conception of this girl bought with her, had disturbed Bruce in a way that left him besides himself.

Chum. Bruce corrected his tone, his fear. I will explain everything. One day. Right now, I ask for you to trust me. Do you trust me, Robin?

The whites of Robin’s domino mask burnt through the shadows cast by the Bat. The girl was quiet, doll-like. Lifeless.

Of course I trust you.

Good. Now, get on the table. We need to remove your teeth.

It had been thirteen years since that faithful night. Over that time, Dick had developed a nasty habit of tonguing at the bare gums of his missing molar.

A heavy hand warmed the deep bow of his back and Dick curled tighter into himself and the cocoon of sheets he had formed. For late autumn, the nights were already insufferable.

 Vienna hated the cold, moreso then Dick had any right to.

“When do you think she will be back this time?” Dick whispered into the night.

“You tell me, kid.” Slade rumbled back, voice thick with a sort of half sleep. He thumbed the bridge of Dick’s spine, nonetheless. “You’re the one who fought with her. God knows what trouble that nasty mouth of yours has caused.”

Dick pawed at the covers, tearing them off the both of them in frustration. “I’m going out to look for her. This is ridiculous.”

Slade groaned. “Leave her. You know she needs space when it comes to this shit.”

“I thought you said you don’t know what we fought about.”

“I may have not been raised by the world’s greatest detective.” The terminator dragged a large palm over the lines of his face. He looked so handsome under the moonlight. Dick wanted to kiss him, and have him kiss Dick back, and kiss away all this tragic, saintly guilt. “But it doesn’t take a genius to know that you and Vienna only fight when The Bat is involved.”

Dick kept still, kept quiet. Shamefully, he held his gaze down low, hoping his heated stare would warm the wood beneath the soles of his feet. It was so cold tonight. His tongue found the gasps between his back teeth. His hands found the gasps between the bed sheets. A missing tooth, a missing third.

“What does Wayne want this time? The location to Luthor’s latest cloning project?”

“Don’t.” Dick snapped. “Don’t you dare. We don’t trade information about our line of work, Slade. That’s the rule – that’s the one rule.”

“Easy, Grayson.” The older man warned, his fingers curled around the right side of Dick’s waist. It was comforting. Only, in the same way Saint Sebastion found the arrowhead buried between two ribs comforting. It was a cautionary contentment. With two simple words, Slade had laid his cards down flat on the table. With two words, he promised a definite outcome if Dick chose to ignore his mercy.

“I don’t care about whatever silly criminal the Dark Knight wants to sic you two on like a pair of hounds. But I am curious as to why the bastard can’t send an email like he usually does.”

“You’re old – you should know the one about how curiosity killed the cat, right?”

Slade kissed the knot between Dick’s shoulder blades. “Old enough to know the proverb ends with satisfaction brought it back. Now spill, kid.”

“It’s not…Court related. Not this time, anyway.” Dick whispered, and he threw a nervous look over his shoulder to his lounging lover. “But it’s eerily similar. A copycat, maybe? Bruce doesn’t know. Tim thinks it’s the League of Assassins but –”

“But Wayne wants – what god-awful name did they have for you two, again?”

“Which one?” Dick snorted. It was hollow and tasteless. “The Gray Son of Gotham? The Lady of Owls, Athena? The Messiahs of Barbatos – the Divine Judge and her Grand Executor?”

“Hmm”, Slade hummed in understanding. “Our girl is divine... But fuck, you’d make for a terrible executor, Grayson. These Prophets sound like a bunch of circus hacks.”

“Oi. Leave the circus out of it.”

Slade ignored him, choosing to follow through with his previous line of thought.

“But Wayne wants the messiahs to confirm what is going bump in Gotham’s night?”

“Yeah, our blood kinda – I don’t know? – responds to things? Vienna knows more than me, growing up with her dad, and later the Court and all. Shit sometimes glowsaround us. It’s totally creepy. Bruce needs us in person to see if he can get a reaction out of the crime scene.”

“Sounds romantic.” Slade drawled and the hints of an old Kentucky accent wound his words with a southern tang.

“Don’t get jealous.” Dick teased as he dressed himself in shadows of the night. Vienna and Dick had fought, much as lovers with trying histories and conflicting opinions do. But Nightwing and Athena were partners – the Patron Saints of Blüdhaven. If anyone was going to find her, bring her home and tuck into the space between himself and Slade, it would be Nightwing.

 “The three of us can have date night when we get back.” The domino mark sat tight around his eyes, but Dick was sure his older lover could taste the promise on the air without needing the assurance shared with a glance. “Right now, though? I need to find Vienna.”

“Go get our girl, Grayson.” Slade said, and he sprawled back out into the sheets like some sated king. “And be quick about it. You know how much I like my little birds when they come in pairs of two.”

The night was old and cold, and the smell of morning dew clung to the city’s air and clouded the skyline.  Their apartment was a tall, rickety thing, but the hung balcony attached to their bedroom was a delight to leap from. Nightwing flew from one apartment complex to the other, the heart of Blüdhaven in his sight.