Warnings: language, violence and more. The ending ain't pretty, okay? Do I have to spell it out?

Disclaimers: These guys aren't mine, they don't belong to me, worst luck, so don't bother me.

Archive: Fine, but if you want it, please ask first.

Feedback: Hell, yes.

Random Chance

"I said I'll get it, will you relax?" He sounded annoyed and knew it, wished he didn't and immediately apologized. "Look, I'm sorry, okay? But this is getting ridiculous; all I was doing was clearing the fucking table."

"Because I'm incapable..."

This was escalating too fast and too far, he knew it and didn't care. "No, I was helping because you ordered and paid for dinner and have been working all day. There's a difference between polite and patronization."

"And you crossed it—again."

"By carrying some empty Chinese food containers and dirty plates to the kitchen? That's..." He stopped himself.

"Stupid?"

Fine. "Yes."

Her face was now a frozen mask and, frankly, he felt the same way. "Get out."

He stared at her for a few long moments. They stared at each other. "Barbara, c'mon. Let's both count to ten and start over. This isn't worth fighting over."

"Clearing the table, no. You treating me like a goddamned invalid, yes."

"I've never treated you like an invalid and you know it."

"Of course you do, just like my father and every member of the JLA. You all think of me as 'poor Babs, stuck in that chair.' I'm sick and tired of it and..."

"You know what? You're the only one who has you stuck in that particular niche. You. You're the one who makes a deal about it, harps on it and drags it up every chance you get, Babe. 'You get over it, you want to talk? Call me, until then I'll see you around." He grabbed his jacket from the back of the couch and slammed his way out of the Watchtower, her 'Go to hell' following him.

Breathing hard, angry, he stood by his bike, the new Kawasaki ZX-6R, his latest birthday present from Bruce,now customized for Nightwing with it's black paint and midnight detailing. He'd done everything he could think of the last couple of years to make her see that he loved her, wanted a relationship and didn't care about the fucking chair or whether or not she could have kids. He'd told her, let her know how much he desired her, respected her intelligence and abilities, her accomplishments and none of it had made a dent.

Her mind was made up and he'd come to believe that she needed serious therapy to deal with her insecurities and baggage. He'd even suggested it to her as tactfully as he could, the results were another tantrum, him being thrown out and another round of not speaking.

He was tired of it. Sure, she'd suffered a horrible crime, violation and almost fatal injury but who hadn't in their business?

Dammit.

His communicator beeped at him. "Yes." Static, probably caused by the thunder he could hear miles away. "Say again."

"You're needed for backup. Gotham Art Museum is being robbed. 'Loading dock by the garage."

"On my way." He made the change to Nightwing, glad that Bruce had called and privately relieved that the damn museum was being robbed since it would take his mind off of tonight's pointless fight. Three minutes later he was on the entrance ramp to US 61, he'd be at the Gotham Museum inside of seven minutes at the speed he was going.

Pulling in around the back of building he saw the Batmobile parked under a stand of trees in the adjacent park and stowed his new bike there as well. Better to make his entrance quietly and use surprise. He shot off a jump line, landing on the roof a moment later, close to where Batman was watching the art works being loaded into a nondescript van below. Lightning flashed across the city, probably coming closer. Thick clouds obliterated the half moon.

"How many?"

"Four. The alarms and the guards are disabled, the police haven't been notified.."

"Why not?"

"Not needed." Two of them against four? Bruce was right, this should be a cake walk.

Below them the van's driver got in, they could hear the engine start as the other three thieves loaded the last paintings and climbed in, shutting the doors.

"Let's go." Batman shot off a line while Nightwing used his two bat throwers to flatten the near side tires then joined Bruce on below, landing on the roof of the van.

It was embarrassingly easy. Batman took out the two in the front seats by pulling the driver part way before punching his glass jaw through the window then slamming the partially opened passenger side door on the escaping man's arm, breaking it and causing the man to sit on the curb while he was restrained. Nightwing caught the two trying to get away through the rear doors, knocking their heads together in a move straight out of the Three Stooges and had them restrained moments later.

Easy, simple, straightforward, done deal. "I'll call in GPD for the pickup."

Batman nodded. "Then let's get these things inside. He was referring to the three painting which had fallen out in the panic of the moment. A Sergeant, Cassatt and a Picasso lay on the ground, hopefully not too badly damaged.

"Before it rains."

"Or snows."

The police arrived, the gang of art thieves were taken into custody. "'Must have been private clients, that stuff is too well known to sell on the open market."

Nightwing nodded. "Most likely. I hope they didn't pay in advance." Another crack of lighting and lit the scene for a half second, followed instantly by the crash of thunder. "Batman, I'll be in touch." He pulled his helmet back on. "I'd better be getting home, if you'll excuse me."

The lieutenant nodded. "I hear you're doing some good work over in Bludhaven, Nightwing. You stay safe, okay? 'Good to see you again."

"Thanks, Steve. 'I'll see you around."

"Get home safe."

He was headed across New Triangle Bridge onto 61 when the rain hit in almost a solid wall of water, reducing vision to a few yards and almost instantly flooding the low-lying sections of the highway. When the wind kicked in, blowing the rain into horizontal sheets, he stopped under an overpass to possibly wait it out.

"Batman, come in." His answer was a burst of static. "Come in, please." More static. "Shit." Changing channels he tried again. "Robin, come in." Static. Another channel. "Oracle, come in."

"Go ahead."

Could the mechanical voice be any colder? Whatever. "Any reports on how long this storm is supposed to last?"

"Through tomorrow. Problem?"

"I'm stuck under 61 under the overpass for 91 headed to Bludhaven."

"Do you need assistance?"

"I could use a ride. The roads are underwater and I'm on my bike."

"Are you injured?"

"No, but..."

"I believe that AAA has an 800 number. Please keep this line open for emergencies." The connection went dead.

"Bitch." He looked out into the rain which seemed to be slightly less blinding that it was a few minutes ago. "Okay, fine. I'll just take it slow." He remounted, kicked the engine to life and took off again in the torrent. The wind had lessened enough that he could comfortably go about fifteen MPH and dared to rev it up to twenty on and off. At this rate it would take an hour for him to get home. He considered one of the safe houses but then remembered they were being changed after several locations had been compromised and weren't ready yet.

The only thing good about the ride was that there was almost no traffic, everyone having the sense to seek shelter in this mess.

Feeling confidant and really wanting to get home, he pushed the bike up to thirty, then thirty-five without problem and being careful to dodge the major puddles and obvious sections with flooding. He was coming into the Bludhaven city limits, there was more light on the roads and his tires seemed to have better purchase on the old and potholed roads. He accelerated to forty, still a snail's pace to what he was used to. The wind starting to pick up and the rain, now mixed with hail, was starting to sting where it hit.

He was just entering the big almost ninety degree curve on 61 headed south towards the stadium when he hit a patch of road oil at just the wrong angle. He went into an unrecoverable skid, flipping over the guard rail and landing twenty feet below in a ditch, the bike pinning him in the mud, his leg at least badly sprained and probably broken. And his arms, both arms. He knew how to fall, it had been drilled into him but both arms—he'd tried to shield himself from the fall and he could barely move the right one and the left was slightly better. Very slightly. At least he could move it.

The sounds of the crash were muted by the cacophony of the storm, followed by the white noise background of the whistling wind and pounding rain.

"Fucking perfect, just fucking perfect." He managed to open the com link after wiping the clods of mud out of the way. "Oracle, I dumped my bike and I'm stuck. I could use some help." She could locate him with the Kawasaki's GPS sensor.

"Are you injured?"

"Yes."

"I'll send assistance."

"Tha...nks." She'd cut the line before it was out of his mouth. At least she said she'd send someone; all he had to do was wait.

Alone.

In the dark.

Half buried in mud.

In the rain. No, in the hail.

With a broken leg. And screwed up arms.

Damn and ow.

"Hey, dude, you got a problem here, huh?"

A couple of guys had somehow heard the crash. Street people from the looks of them, they were coming out from under what vaguely looked like shacks made from findings. At least that's what they looked like in the bad light and through the crap weather.

"Yeah, but help's on the way. Could you maybe get the bike off me?"

"Yeah, sure. John? C'mon." The two men, maybe in their twenties, maybe early thirties, hefted the heavy machine over onto it's other side, causing more damage as it fell.

"Thanks." He still couldn't move, the starting to freeze mud held him too tightly but at least he could breath.

"No problem. Glad to help, bro." The one who wasn't John bent closer then removed his helmet, revealing his mask. The man straightened, his demeanor changed. "I know you, you're Nightwing." It wasn't a question and the tone of voice was suddenly—off.

He felt an instant prick of raw fear. This was bad and it was out of his control. "I hear the ambulance coming, that siren. I'll be okay now but I owe you..."

The shot was point blank range, less than three feet. One bullet. Fast. Clean. Done.

"Jesus! What did you do that for? You know what kind of a shitstorm this is gonna start? You're gonna have the whole fuckin' Justice League after your ass for this. Why the hell did you...?"

"'Bastard was the one who put me away; ten to twenty. Ten years ago, Robin collared me for armed robbery."

"Dude, bad mistake. Seriously, this is not good."

"Yeah, well payback's a bitch."

8/10/10