#her files at some point says “when Caper was still a kid” but I think it means “when she was still very young”

[arkiwii]

dunno if anyone posted it before, but just for the people who don't read the files or are too lazy to buy her in the certificate shop; Caper is a minor 👍

[snowflake-apocalypse]

“English is a difficult language. It can be understood through tough thorough thought, though.”

“You need to stop.”

It’s been six months since the formation of Global Justice’s new aces, “Team Go-Possible”. Though, the rhyme and reason of it was wrong, Shego was actually enjoying the partnership with her former rivals. Dare she ever admit it out loud. The three grew to have a good dynamic, she thought. Between conversations about world events and the audacity of Club Banana creating a brach-off store, to the double-edged sarcasm they dished out to their adversaries in combat.

Team GP’s missions took them near and far around globe. This time, it was a nuclear power plant in the blustery Netherlands. Some madman claiming the greed of the world has grown to great. That he was the salvation it needed. His answer to said salvation? Implode the richest nuclear power plant in the world to prove his point.

This has got to be the seventh extremist kook we’ve taken on this month.. though the dude’s not wrong..

Kim and Shego are in route to the mountain side factory. Shego landing their sleek jet on an empty field with concentrated ease.“Okie dokie, let’s go get Mr. Doom Gloom before he turns the mountain side into a mushroom cloud-.” Shego powers their craft down, switching various instruments this way and that.

“-Don’t know about you, Kimmie but I’m looking forward to the bocca coffee. No stupid avalanche is going to ruin that.”

Double checking her equipment, Kim spares the woman a glance. “Heh, glad to know where your priorities are, Shego.-” Kim directs her attention to their mission control via comm link.

“-Hey, Wade you got a lock on our position?”

“Always do.” From GJ headquarters, the tech wiz of the team zooms his screen in on their target.

“That is the most creepy, heartwarming thing I’ve heard from you, Load.” Shego quips, donning her green and black cold weather apparel. When she accepted Betty’s offer, the one thing she swore is that she was keeping her colors.

“Uh..thanks? Anyway, I’ve scanned the interior of the facility, the reactor is located in the south side of the building.” Through the wrist-worn Kimmunictor, a holographic layout of the factory appears. Detailing the whereabouts of their target, only one heat signature appears on the layout. The reactor, they assume.

“Wade, this guy is working alone?” Kim quizzical asks, zooming in on the projection.

“From my latest update, yes. The building has been evacuated for safety. No other intel I’ve collected suggests multiple culprits.-“

Wade swipes through the limited file he has on their perp. He had an uneasy feeling about this caper, but couldn’t justify it from a hunch. “-But, please still be careful, you two.”

Shego, after getting one last solid look at the diagram, closes her hand on the blueprint. “Will do, dad. Thanks.”

——

Approaching the bolted door of the factory, Kim still voiced her concerns., “Y’know, I just wished we had more information on this guy.”

Shego directs a small concentration of searing plasma at the deadlock, freeing the door. “Yeah, well I wished they’d appear at GJ’s doorstep. Or just stayed home.”

Cautiously pushing the door open, Shego scans the left side of the interior, while Kim covers the right.

“Okay, Wade. It looks as empty as you said.- Wade? Wade.” Kim, only being met with silence, tries and fails to reach their partner. Somewhere along the trek, the so-called incorruptible signal was lost.

“Fan-freakin’-tastic. Guess the altitude is the weakness.” Rolling her eyes, Shego marches on. “Let’s just shut this joint down before we get any more surprises.” Despite her quiet tone, Shego’s voice echos throughout the vast building.

Creeping through the corridors, the women stay on alert. Passing abandoned offices, break rooms, only Kim’s quiet chatter fills the space. “Hey, about that coffee, you also want to stop at Portugal of the Little Ones?”

“Are you serious, Possible? You want to visit a tiny replica city in Portugal?” Shego raises an eyebrow in Kim’s direction.

“...Yeah.”

If you don’t stop making that damn face...

“..Okay, fine. Portugal.” Shego huffs in faux annoyance. The pair rounded the corner to the vast power center of the facility, the two spot the ticking time bomb.

“Bingo!” Shego exclaimed, running up to the reactor. Which had been armed with specialized munitions.

“This is new.. Newer. What the hell kind of explosive is this?” The younger agent puzzles.

The device, almost cybernetic, jet-black with a single blinking blue light. Upon closer examination, Shego makes out a faintly marked two-pronged arch on the surface. Gaping at the realization, she snaps of her shock.

“No.. No way...”

“What’s up? What is it?”

“This looks like a prototype product of Gemini’s splinter cell scientists. Before he broke off to W.E.E. It’s not on a timer, it’s remote detonation.”

“Gemini? Hold on, then how is some random guy get a his hands on-“

Before Kim could finish her statement, a man’s honeyed voice breaks through the atmosphere.

“Well, you always were the most observant of the team, Shego. Bravo.”

On the grated deck before them, stood a man. Medium build, piercing blue eyes, a mop of brown hair turning grey. All pulled together by a navy trench coat and tactical cargo slacks.

“Sorry, don’t think we’ve met. Unless I’ve taken you hostage or saved you from a flooding city before.” Shego deadpanned, hands resting on her hips.

Leisurely leaning on the rail of the balcony, a shiftiness displayed in his eyes. “Oh no, I didn’t expect you to be familiar with me. But I have been following the folly of Global Justice’s new dream team. I must say, you are quite the force to be reckoned with.”

“And we really don’t want you to find out why.” Kim interjects, conviction lacing her voice.

“-So if you could hand over the remote, shut down the detonation, then maybe we can reach an agreement.”

“Possible. Kim. Of all the people in the bloody world, I thought you would be one to know.. it’s never that simple.” Faster than her reflexes, the man draws a sleek laser-gun from his coat and fires upon the unsuspecting woman.

Center mass.

Direct hit.

“Gah!” With a cry, Kim covers the wound with her hand, bracing herself on her knees.

“Hey!” Shego booms. Hands ablaze, she charges their suspect... no, enemy now.

Kim, biting back the shock and pain, rises to her feet.

Damnit... Sloppy. Get up, Possible.

Kim averts her concentration back to the reactor. Without Wade, she scrambles to find a bypass way of disarming the bomb.

Firing scorching blast after blast, Shego dodges the rounds aimed at her. The room being filled with the leaden smell of burning metal, as the balcony gave way to the force of plasma.

“I swear, that god-forsaken organization is more concerned with the stock market and shiny toys than actual global security-and you! You radioactive madwoman, turn your back on your very profession! The Emerald Rage can’t even decide who’s side she’s on!” Anger and outrage boiling from the man the closer she got.

“Yeah.. y’know your twenties when you’re trying figure shit out... a lot of grey area and robberies in there.” Flipping onto the grate, Shego faces the man with a controlled fury.

“Oh, also I’m on my side and no one else’s. Which, coincidently is the side that doesn’t want a giant crater in the middle of the Netherlands!” Weaving between a few more shots, Shego disarms the man. She restrains him in a firm, plasma-fortified grip. Not enough juice for a second degree burn, but it sure wasn’t comfortable.

“Hello.” The welcome rolling off his tongue like an invitation.

Abruptly Shego is met with a viscous head-butt and a solid tungsten bracelet around her wrist.

“Grrr-! What the hell-!?” Collecting her wits, Shego paws at the metal. Kicking up the intensity of her powers in hopes of liquifying the substance.

Her foe stands back in smug satisfaction, watching her ferocity slowly turn to languid effort. Her flames spasmed, then doused like a candle in the wind.

Shego lightheaded and pale, collapses with heavy bang on the cold metal.

Crouching next fallen woman, he gingerly strokes her raven hair. Conceited grin never leaving his face. “Oh, my my. Did dear Mother Director not tell you about the adverse correlation between tungsten and the Aether comet? I don’t blame her. Must’ve been frightening for her to raise super-powered children, especially if she had no way of controlling them.”

The clamber drawing Kim away from her task, horror at watching the strongest person she knew hit the floor. “Shego!”

“No, no.” Motioning to the button on the detonator remote, he actives the explosives. Sending the entire right side of the structure up in blazing destruction.

Kim instinctively covers her head, in an effort to shield herself from the blast. Evading wooden beams and falling debris, Kim steels and drives on towards her ally.

Producing a small syringe from his coat, filled with a concentrated supply of the fatal alloy. He methodically pushed back the sleeve of Shego’s fleece, carefully injecting the liquid into her bloodstream.

“My father, Jeremiah Asbell had so much passion for his work. So much drive to create a better world. What did he receive for his endeavours? Scorn and betrayal by the very people he supported!-“

Jeremiah Absell.. Absell.. Dr. Absolute. Wait, he had a kid?

“-All to be handed back by some punk children who should’ve been left in a crater.”

As the tungsten courses through her system, melds with her mutated cells, Shego braces the pain gripping her body. She clenches her teeth, fighting for some kind of spark of her dwindling power.

Thanks, Betty. Chalk this up to another ‘I got your back, kid.’ move. Trust sure ran deep there.

With a flicker of ginger hair catching her attention behind a wall, Shego arduously motions her head to face Kim. Olive meets emerald eyes.

After all of the years they spent trading blows, like scorpions in a bottle, after the late night discussions they’d have when neither could sleep... they both knew that look. The look of unwavering determination meeting one of unabated stubbornness. With all of the unknown wild cards revealed, Shego couldn’t afford both of them being killed.

Mustering as much strength as she could, Shego discreetly raises her hand, stopping Kim in her tracks.

Don’t you dare.

[simplyshelbs16xoxo]

‘The Christmas Caper’ Chapter 4: One Step Closer

Prologue | Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3

FFN | Ao3 | Buy Me a Coffee?

.

.

When Mycroft headed into his room where Anthea waited, she raised an eyebrow at him. “Well?”

“They’re speaking to each other, and there’s minimal to average physical affection,” he replied. “They’re not talking about the elephant in the room, but I have no doubt all will work out.”

Anthea smiled approvingly. “Let’s hope the first time you give a gift, it doesn’t crash and burn.”

Mycroft grimaced. “So glad to see you have every confidence in me.” He walked over to the bed, and sat upon it, his back facing her.

“You know what I mean, dear,” she told him. “I just meant that your plans tend to backfire, especially when it comes to matters of the heart.” Anthea did her best to not laugh aloud in remembrance of the first time Mycroft tried to show her how he felt.

“Don’t remind me,” he sighed.

Three Months Ago

“Anthea, it has come to my attention that you’re a fully functioning female with above average intelligence,” he informed her.

She knit her brows in confusion. “Sir?”

He tried again. “What I mean to say is I would appreciate if you kept away of being in the company of other men—especially Wilson—who knew your standards were quite that low?”

She dropped her mouth open in shock, and walked right up to his desk, the clicking of her heels echoing in his office, and gave him a good smack. As she turned to walk out, Wilson came in with some files. Anthea approached him, tugged the lapel of his jacket and snogged him right in front of Mycroft, who was, for once, dumbfounded. And she left without a word.

Wilson stood there in a daze having felt the rage in her kiss. “Wow,” he said in amazement, “you must have really pissed her off.”

Mycroft was not amused. He pointed to the door. “Get out.”

Shaking the memory from his mind, Mycroft turned to face Anthea. “On second thought, maybe you should get more involved with the plan.”

“Oh no,” she laughed. “This one is all you—and your brother, of course. If anything goes wrong, the name Holmes will be written all over it which would make it understandable.” Anthea slipped under the duvet, and shut off her bedside lamp. “Now get changed and into bed, I’m exhausted.”

.

.

Sherlock hadn’t slept at all last night. With what little sleep he did get, his dreams were haunted by the words of John Watson: “Talk to Molly. This may be the very last chance you’ll ever have to fix things.” He knew that John was right. So many scenarios played out in his mind where he never spoke with her. And every single time, it ended with him and Molly drifting apart. His mind even went as far as to show him she would eventually move on into the arms of another man—one who probably deserved her more than a man who couldn’t be brave enough for her.

After getting dressed, he made his way downstairs where his mother was reminiscing about her career as a mathematician with Molly who was looking through one of the books she had written. Both women looked up at him as he entered the room.

“You’re up early,” Mrs. Holmes commented.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he replied with a shrug, heading towards the kitchen.

Molly noticed how tired he looked, wondering if he ever got a decent night’s sleep after the Sherrinford Incident. “Try drinking some tea before bed,” she suggested to him, like she was one to talk. She could hardly sleep last night either even with the tea.  

“I’ll take that into consideration, thank you, Molly,” Sherlock smiled warmly. He met his mother’s knowing look. “Where’s father?” he asked.

Mrs. Holmes felt an idea brewing. “Went to pick up some eggs—we completely ran out what with all the baking. You know, why don’t you and Molly go into town for breakfast?” She turned to who she hoped would be her future daughter-in-law. “You would love it! It’s a little cottage diner on high street. Nettie makes the best fry up!”

Molly smiled. “That sounds delightful! What do you think, Sherlock?”

“Well, I—“

“Oh, Sherlock loves the food there,” she told Molly as she got up to leave the room. “Go on, you kids have fun!”

Molly looked up into Sherlock’s eyes, an amused smile forming on her lips. “I have to admit, your mum is a force to be reckoned with.”

He chuckled. “You have no idea.”

.

.

Once they began the drive into town, Sherlock had to admit he was thankful for his mother’s interference. He took a quick glance to his left at Molly in the passenger seat, her hair done up in a French braid. The more time he spent with her, the more he wanted to just throw all caution to the wind, and damn it all, he wanted to be selfish. But would it be considered selfish if she wanted the same thing? It was much too tempting.

“How’ve you been holding up?” Molly asked, breaking the silence. “Since…well, you know.”

She still cared for him—that was good. But, of course she did. One thing about Molly Hooper is when she gave you her love, it was unconditional.

Sherlock, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Mary’s berated him. If I have to hear you go on about how you don’t deserve her and she deserves better, I think I might die…again. Too soon? He ignored her in favor of the ache in his heart. “I’m getting by,” he replied to Molly. “But what about you? It’s not as if you escaped unscathed.”

“I’m okay,” she shrugged, but Sherlock knew better.

“You’re not okay,” he said matter-of-factly.

Molly sighed, turning to look out her window. “I’m just bloody frustrated,” she muttered to herself. Part of her hoped he had heard her.

.

.

He had heard her—loud and clear. Sherlock was tired of fighting with himself, and so, for their time at the diner, he let go. The two of them had a right good time, laughing it up and sharing stories, including memories that they couldn’t very well agree on.

Molly swallowed her last bite of food, having cleared the plate. “Alright, but I remember on John’s stag night, the two of you were pissed after only two hours, and I had to come pick you up in the morning!” She laughed. “I met Mary outside of the station and we were just laughin’!”

Sherlock took a sip of his tea. “I didn’t think it was particularly funny, Molly.”

“Oh, you know, you’re right,” she continued, laughing as she spoke. “It’s not nearly as funny as the seven voicemails you left me! You were so smashed!” Molly gave a light playful slap to his forearm.

His brows rose up. This was the first he had heard of this. “I…left you seven voicemails?” Was he too inebriated to remember? But he remembered so many other events of the night. “Molly, what did I say?”

She eyed him curiously. “You mean, you don’t remember?”

He shook his head. “Afraid not—what did I say?”

“I dunno,” she teased. “Maybe I want to keep it to myself.”

Sherlock tilted his head, clearly frustrated.

“Alright,” Molly conceded with a laugh. “Not one of them ever completed a single thought. It was like bits and pieces. In one you called me your pathologist quite possessively, then in another I think you said something about marriage changes people. Oh!” She was giggling now. “I think you called Tom a wanker in another one.”

He felt—what?—relieved? Embarrassed? Possibly both. “Right, well, no one said I could hold my liquor.” Sherlock returned the amused smile that was also on Molly’s face.  

Molly couldn’t help but notice how at ease she was around him. Those first couple of years she knew him gave her butterflies and frayed nerves, but ever since she helped him with his lazarus plan, there was a shift in their friendship. It became deeply intimate from that moment forward. It was when her crush turned into a raw, honest love. Not once did it waver. His apology last night sparked something in her, and she felt the need to say the words rattling around in her head before she lost her nerve. “Sherlock?” His eyes pierced hers inquisitively. “I just want you to know, I’m sorry too.”

He furrowed his brows. “I don’t understand—for what?”

She bit her lip anxiously. “This friendship”—she motioned between them—“whatever this is; it’s a two-way street. Last night, you apologised for not having gone to see me. Sherlock, I’m sorry for having not gone to see you. I knew what had happened and why, but I wasn’t brave enough to face it all. Neither of us were. I don’t want to live a life that doesn’t have you in it. I’ve tried, and it’s bloody awful. I forgave you. Can you forgive me?”

The muscles in his face relaxed, giving way to a softness that Molly had only ever seen a handful of times. “Of course I forgive you. I’ll let you in on a secret…”

They both leaned their heads forward.

“…I don’t want to live a life that doesn’t have you in it either. A life without you, Molly Hooper, would be too dull to imagine.”  

.

.

Whilst Molly went to have a look at the shops, Sherlock had an errand to run with an old friend. The bell on the door rang out when he made his entrance. The place was full of handmade jewelry, as far as the eye could see.

“As I live and breathe, Sherlock Holmes has come back for a visit!” The man behind the counter clapped his hands together. “It’s been an age! What can I do for ya?”

“Hello, Rupert, I need you to do something very important for me…”

.

.

Mycroft had been smoking in the backyard when Sherlock and Molly returned. He put out his cigarette just as his brother appeared. “And how was your morning with Doctor Hooper, brother mine? Inquiring minds want to know.”

“It was enlightening,” Sherlock answered.

Mycroft eyed him curiously. “And have you two discussed the events of that night?”

“Not yet,” he replied, looking down toward the ground. “It’s a delicate matter—a bit difficult to just bring it up, especially when we’re trying so hard to move past it.”

With a sigh, Mycroft shook his head. “Has it ever occurred to you, little brother, that it will be easier to move past it if you two have this conversation?”

Sherlock glared at him. “Of course it has! Honestly, Mycroft, why do you care so much? What’s in it for you?”

“Can’t I be a good brother for once?” he asked. “Is it so hard to believe I want you to be happy?”

Taking a moment to think things over, Sherlock turned around and turned back, unsure of how to process this information. “Yes, actually, it would be very hard to believe had we not just shared a traumatic experience three months ago.” He roughly ran his fingers through his curls. “Sherrinford changed you, Mycroft.”

“As it did you,” his big brother countered. “I don’t think it’s necessarily a bad thing, do you?”

“No,” Sherlock agreed. “For what I need to do, it isn’t. She loves me—God knows why. But I’m not blind to the fact that sometimes loving someone isn’t enough. I love her, but can I provide for her everything she needs? I doubt it.”

Mycroft walked up onto the stoop. “I’ll leave you with this: it’s not about asking whether you can provide these things for her, but asking whether or not you are willing to try.” A knowing smirk appeared on his brother’s face, and then he was gone.

.

.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Sherlock needed to talk to her. It was all he could think about. It was early evening when she entered the sitting room after dinner. His eyes couldn’t help but linger, especially since she was holding their goddaughter in her arms whilst she sang Christmas songs to her. He found that he enjoyed hearing Molly sing. He also noticed how she had stuck a red Christmas bow in her hair much to Rosie’s amusement, the lights on the tree reflecting off of it.

This adornment reminded him of another Christmas at Baker Street. It was a bittersweet memory. On one hand, it was the first time he had ever kissed Molly, though only on the cheek. But on the other hand, he still regretted his behaviour to this day. Knowing what he knows now, he knew he had been jealous, thinking she had been doing all of that for someone else. It was cruel to insult her the way he did. Allowing himself a quick glance, he admired the set of her lips and the swell of her breasts peeking out from her blouse. Though he wanted to, he didn’t allow his eyes to linger there too long, and settled on watching her eyes light up.

Molly caught him staring eventually, and she just beamed at him as if there was no place she’d rather be. “Look Rosie, your Uncle Sherlock is actually smiling for once.”

“I smile,” he argued playfully. His heart was pounding when she approached him, only mere inches away. “May I?” Sherlock held out his hands from where he sat on the sofa.

Carefully, Molly helped to settle Rosie in his arms and seated herself beside them. It warmed her heart to see him take an active role in the little girl’s life. Surprisingly, Sherlock was actually good with children in his own way. Rosie reached a hand up, her dimpled fingers grabbing her godfather’s nose. He gently pulled her hand away and pressed a quick kiss to her fingertips.

“I hope you’re being good for your Aunt Molly,” he told her softly. “She works very hard, and deserves everything she’s ever wanted.” Sherlock didn’t know what it was about talking to his goddaughter, but he found he didn’t feel so afraid saying these things though he was very aware that Molly was sitting beside him. When he glanced over at her, he noticed tears forming just at the waterline of her eyes, but she held them back.

Molly brushed back the wispy pale blonde curls on Rosie’s head. “Your Uncle Sherlock is just a big softie deep down,” she laughed quietly. “And you know what? He deserves just as much—especially to be loved.”  She looked up and their eyes locked, neither unable to look away. Her heart beat furiously in her chest, and before she could talk herself out of it, Molly kissed him tenderly, lingering long enough to get lost in the feel of his lips on hers. She hadn’t given him enough time to kiss her back, the shock evident on his face when she pulled away.

Without a word, she stood and left the room suddenly in need of fresh air.

[tessatechaitea]

Teen Titans Spotlight #14: Nightwing

So that's why I finally dropped this series: they dropped the "on:".

You might have forgotten that the biggest gang in Gotham in 1987 were the Jewish Surrealists.

I don't even care how many people don't know what the fuck I'm on about. Did you know this world is on fire? Batman is busting a cocaine shipment into Gotham in the prologue of this comic book. According to the cover, he's about to be crucified. I guess the Jewish Surrealists are still micro-managed by Caesar's Hand. Speaking of unbelievable things in comics (this segue works because I believe I was speaking about it fifteen hundred commentaries ago when Nightwing drove a motorcycle up the wall of a building), how does Batman always wind up unconscious and in some form of complicated trap and yet, in all the time it takes to put him there, nobody ever takes the mask off. Not one henchman is curious? Not one henchman binding Batman to the cross ever thinks, "If I knew Batman's identity, I could quit this henchman gig, sell the information, and retire"? I don't believe it. My theory is that thousands of henchmen have tried this plan but Alfred intercepted all of the blackmail notices, hired Jason Bard to find who sent them, and then hired Tommy Monaghan to kill them. I would just like it on the record that I spelled Tommy's last name correctly before looking it up. The Jewish Surrealists capture Batman because they had a sniper with a tranquilizer gun on overwatch during the deal. Batman gets drugged, blackjacked, and spit upon before nobody thinks to take off his mask.

At least I hope that's spit.

I guess if that isn't spit, I now understand why nobody took his mask off.

"Are ya kiddin' me, Rudy?! Put yer fuckin' dick away and help me schlep this bastard into tha van! The boss can take tha fuckin' mask off. Ugh."

Alfred calls up Dick Grayson when Bruce doesn't show up for morning stitches. Dick sighs, hangs up the phone, and goes off to do a literally thankless job because Batman thinks expecting people to be there for him is the same thing as gratitude. I hate complaining about the art because I never complain about the art. So when I finally complain about the art, that means I really fucking think the art sucks. And, well, I'm complaining about the art now.

"Fuck dinosaur references! I got this!" -- Stan Woch

This is some of Woch's earliest work with DC so I shouldn't be too hard on him. Plus he's still alive and he might read this. Although wouldn't it be worse if I were criticizing the work of a dead man? Also, he draws a pretty decent studio apartment and jizz dribble. Nightwing heads off to save Batman even though he knows Batman doesn't need saving. If Batman seems to need saving, it's only because Batman misses Nightwing and this is the only way he can see him without admitting that he misses him. "Oh no!" says Batman as he tries to remember what it's like to feel sleepy from tranquilizers or to feel concussed from a blackjack to the back of the head. "My legs are all, um, wobbly? I'm, um, falling now, right? OH! I'm helpless! I just peed a little too!" Then he lets the bad guys kidnap him and waits for Alfred to worry way too soon and call for backup. And of course Batman would choose a night when Jason Todd is off in California and Superman is off on Oa and Wonder Woman has her anniversary dinner with Steve Trevor.

Oh, just because he's suddenly half-robot, I'm supposed to believe some high school football star can now design high tech contact lenses?! Fuck you, comic books.

Dick finds a vial of acid left behind as Batman as a clue to who murdered him. I mean kidnapped him, probably! Who would kill Batman when they had the chance? I mean if they actually had a chance and Batman wasn't completely faking and ready to start breaking kneecaps the second somebody tugs at his cowl or tries to put a bullet in his brain. Anyway, the acid vial reminds Dick of that one case which was the only one ever in which Batman used a vial of acid which leads him to Drakkar, a Gotham drug lord. This is less evidence that Batman was in trouble and realized Nightwing would come looking for him and more evidence that Batman wasn't in trouble at all and was expecting Nightwing to come looking for him because Batman misses him.

With all the Batman themed stuff in this picture, that marquee obviously says Debbie Does Batman.

Nightwing threatens to beat up some cowardly punk named Skates who Batman apparently beats up every time he needs information. And even though Skates always gives up the information, he somehow hasn't been killed by any other Gotham criminal. Skates tells Nightwing that Batman is going to be killed at midnight in the graveyard. It's going to be a huge party. But instead of thinking, "I'll go to the graveyard and stop this!", Dick wastes precious time tailing Skates hoping he'll lead him to Batman or Drakkar. When Nightwing loses him due to Nightwing's fandom crowding around him, Nightwing thinks, "Wait. What did Skates say? Oh yeah! He gave me everything I needed to know! But now it's so close to midnight, I might not make it in time! Shoot!" Drakkar's plan is to auction off the right to unmask Batman and put a bullet in his brain. So, you know, almost the plan I proposed when they first knocked him unconscious! Stupid greedy thugs! Now Drakkar won't be rid of Batman or rich because Nightwing has found him! And he saves Batman in the nick of time! Time for hugs and demonstrations of familial love and intimacy!

Oh Batman!

Nightwing should know Batman cares because he didn't disappear the instant Nightwing looked away. Batman does smile at the end but not until Dick leaves. Only the reader gets to know Batman is capable of the tiniest bit of joy! And that joy probably wasn't due to Nightwing telling Batman that he's proud to have been Robin. The joy was probably in getting away with not thanking somebody for saving him yet again. Teen Titans Spotlight #14: Nightwing Rating: C+. If I had written this issue, it would have been from Batman's point of view. And all along the way, Batman would be thinking things like, "I'll drop this acid vial which will remind Dick of the Great Dragon caper which will lead him to Drakkar and the subway graveyard where I'm certain Drakkar will take me to kill me!" Then Batman will think, "I bet Dick and Alfred are brainstorming how to find me right now!" And later, as the gun is being put to Batman's head, he'd be all, "The lights should go out just about now! Dick will save me in the nick of time which I'll totally razz him over. Should I say, 'Cutting it pretty close, Boy Wonder' or 'Jason would have been here five minutes sooner'?" Then the final panel of Batman's life will be a bullet passing through his head as he's unmasked. The final page would show Dick Grayson sitting in his apartment listening to Cat's in the Cradle with the phone off the hook.