Icy gusts tore through the skyscrapers, around the silent, brooding form. His cape draped over his hunched shoulders, encircling him on the ground where the kevlar was immune to the wind’s barrage. Gotham blinked back at him, each flicker of light evidence of the life thrumming through his streets.
A whiff of amber, sandalwood and musk sailed on the wind. A dark, spicy and warm scent the detective would recognize anywhere.
“Nightwing.” His voice punctuated the air.
The figure snorted, one foot in front of the other as if walking a tightrope. “I knew the wind would give it away.” Nightwing’s weight dropped out beneath him with one leg suddenly hanging precariously off the building’s edge— an action that would look dangerous if it wasn’t being performed by a world class acrobat. “How’s it hanging, boss?”
Batman gave an unintelligible grunt. “Quiet night.”
“Sounds like I caught you in a conversational mood. How long have you been staking this place out?”
“Three hours. Four minutes.”
“Well, look, I’m here now,” Nightwing said. “Go stretch your limbs for ten. I’ve got it covered.”
Batman didn’t move, and Nightwing rolled his eyes. “How about some soup then?” He twisted off the cap, letting the wind carry the steam away. “Made it myself,” he continued, wagging the thermos as if enticing him.
A low, brief rumble through the man’s throat was the only reply.
“It was Alfred’s recipe. You know I had to bend an arm and a leg to get a hold of that?”
Batman held out a hand and Nightwing passed the thermos. “So that Sionis’ office?”
Batman grunted, the sound echoing against the metal tin.
Nightwing settled back on his elbows, a wry smile taking over. Batman passed back the thermos, and Nightwing took a draught.
“I think I’m the only person who’s seen you eat in the cowl.”
“You are.”
The blunt truth trilled a chill up Nightwing’s spine. “It does clash with the whole striking fear into the superstitious and cowardly lot thing.” His voice dropped several octaves to mimic the Bat.
An involuntary shiver wracked the acrobat’s frame. “Too bad soup doesn’t stay hotter when you’re traveling thirty-three stories by jump line.”
Batman spent a long moment in silence before shifting so that his arm extended outward, opening up his cape in invitation.
The brief hesitation didn’t last long before Nightwing scooted against Bruce’s side, the cape falling and enclosing around him.
“I thought you had your suit insulated.”
Nightwing momentarily wondered whether to go with the truth or not. “I do.”
“Hmm.”
Batman didn’t move, though.
Quiet Night
Published
Daintyfire 