A/N Teen Titans (animated) and Batman Begins crossover, because I like those worlds better.

Dick idly jotted at the wrinkled police report, now just erasing and rewriting the words already there to avoid getting up. He glanced at the cracked plastic clock hanging above the doors of the Bludhaven Police Department. He racked his brain for the appropriate number to add on the too-slow clock. It was forty slow last week, two days ago it fell from the rusted nail holding it up, so that'd be an hour...

His cell phone vibrated on the alluminum desk top.

God damn it.

He grabbed it impatiently and flipped it open without bothering to look at the number.

"Grayson," he said automatically.

"Grayson?" a voice mocked from the other end. He realized with exasperated irritation that he probably should have looked at the number, "I would have seen you as something a bit more...mysterious."

"How'd you get this number, Raven," he sighed, giving up any hopes he may have foolishly harbored of making it out of the building before dawn. Of course, he should have known better by now.

He could hear the smile in her voice, "S'not hard, with you being the Tom Cruise of police officers."

"I try."

She paused for a minute, and he heard the sound of metal being dragged across the floor, "So, the reason I called was-"

"Your in jail and you want me to bail you out?" Dick joked, stuffing the police report into a folder.

"Funny. Anyway, I was in Gotham the other day, and..." Dick imagined her, in her dark blue cloak, shuffling awkwardly wherever she stood. He waited for some kind of ellaboration.


"Did you know Bruce is getting married?"

Pause. His mouth remained in mid-breath. He fell back against the chair, the phone just barely staying in his grip.

There were only a few things in this world that Richard Grayson was absolutly positive. One, grass is green. Two, EMc2. Three, Bruce Wayne never got too close. These things were the only things that he had ever taken solace in, because they were the only things that stayed the same. Everything else in his life rotated like clockwork, one moment there, the next gone, off being something else. It was logic, and logic was always logic. This was not logical. At all.

Bruce Wayne was like a stray cat. If you stood perfectly still and didn't say a word, he'd stick around. Made a sudden move, the claws came out. That was how he'd come to believe it. It was what he told himself when he'd wonder why when he'd be officially adopted. When he was 18, and the obligation the billionaire had held over him expired, Dick had finally just given up and spent the beginning of his adult years in a sort of limbo, belonging to no one. Not quit his son any more, like he had thought. A duty served. A former employee forced to retire. With it, the Robin persona he'd been given. For years, Robin was his identity, thought it always belonged to Batman. If he didn't belong to Batman, he wasn't Robin. That's what it was.

Now, it was like he was in witness protection. Thinking one name, ahving to go by another. Sometimes forgetting that the when people said "Richard", they were talking to him. It was why he'd left the team. Robin was belonged to the Titans as much as he did Batman. Nightwing wasn't a sidekick, nor was he a leader. He worked alone, whether he liked it or not.

The only thing that had comforted him when he'd left Wayne Manor for the last time was that, Bruce Wayne had an inability to get close to anyone. That it would probably cause him physical pain if he tried. He didn't have girlfriends. He had few friends. He trusted no one. He probably didn't even trust Alfred completly. He'd always said, anyone can easily be broken. You can never give them too much information.

Cynical, yes, but, as Dick had learned throughout his early years, very true.

So, as his precious logic would have it, Bruce Wayne did not get married. That would require trusting someone you weren't biologically obligated too. That would require letting someone get within an inch of you personal bubble, where the last person to get that close was buried six feet under. It was like trying to hold a cloud. It didn't happen.

"Oh." he croaked, his earlier buzz of anxiety subdued. God, he wished he was old enough to drink.

"I just...thought you might like to know." she said quietly.

He shook his head to himself, running a hand through his long black hair.

"Robin?" she asked. He winced at his old name, "Are you okay?"

He shook his head again, "No. No, I'm fine."

Her voice was gentle, like a mother trying to calm a crying baby, "Look, I'm sure he was going to tell you-"

"No, Raven, it's fine. I..." he took a weary glance at the clock, "I have to go."

"Oh." she said, deflated.

A pang of guilt stabbed Dick's chest. He added, "It was good talking to you."

"Yeah. You to. Bye."


He slammed the phone shut, letting it clatter on the desk, throwing his head back, rubbing his eyes absently. He imagined the women who had somehow broken Bruce Wayne's infamous shield.

Why as he worried about it? Bruce had made it clear Dick was no longer part of his life. He could get married to whoever the hell he wanted. Why should he care?

"Grayson!" the voice of the Chief of Police boomed through the nighttime silence of the squad room. He was snapped from his thoughts, jumping at the sudden noise.

He found the Chief, at the doorway of his office, the phone held tightly in his hand. He, from what Dick had seen thus far, was not a usually pleasent man. When he talked, his bushy brown mustache wagged like a crushed caterpillar squirming for breath. His beady eyes bugged out of their sockets most of the time, and he had a fat, angry blue vein that constantly threatened to explode popping from his thick, red neck. He wagged the phone at Dick, his eyebrows turned into what had to be a painful grimace.

"Yeah?" Dick called back wearily, praying to whatever god he could think of it wasn't another accident.

"You and Evans get down to Gotham! They're gonna need backup!"

Dick furrowed his eyebrows, "What happened now?" It was fact that most of the police system in Gotham was just as corrupt as Bludhaven. Not many lasted a few months before they were bought out, which meant they were usually short about fifty men. They constantly called BPD for high profile cases, even though as soon as they would get there, the whole mess was already cleaned up. Dick was constantly called on it, even though he was probably the youngest police officer in this half of the country.

"Wayne Manor. Some gang planted a bomb. It's pretty bad."

Dick stiffened, snapping his head toward the red-faced captain. He didn't look surprised. Of course, Dick shouldn't have been surprised either. He was high profile. Alot of people hated him. He should be more surprised it didn't happen more.

Still. He could help but hope that Bruce was Batman tonight.

A/N I might continue this. Depends.