Dick was, actually, pretty good. The morning had been nice, he'd had a long enough reprieve to grab a bowl of cereal and coffee, and now he was working out a bit of pent-up adrenaline and the sugar rush from too much Froot Loops. He'd rather work out with a full aerial set-up, but the gym was good enough for now and things changed and shifted all the time around here so there was no telling if he might get something like the in the future. For now, it was pull-ups, his arms shoulder-width apart, ankles crossed, and knees bent to maximize resistance. He'd built up a bit of sweat already by the time he caught Rose in a wide mirror along one side of the room, and he smirked, dropped down, and twisted a bit to look at her.
"You guess?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. Though he was clearly amused. "I've been voted Gotham's Best Ass for ten years running." And, yes, that was a real thing. He might have been a shoo-in for it considering the Robin Rooters were the ones to establish it, but he still liked the title.
He grasped the pull-up bar next to his head and swung forward a little, eyeing her, trying to figure out what might be different between her and the Rose he'd known. But he couldn't really find anything. It had been like someone had sucked out her memories and replaced them with other, slightly different ones. And he probably knew someone who was not only capable of doing that but absolutely would do it too. And maybe there was a huge part of him that missed his Rose too. But she was pretty cool. Even if she didn't know what they called the orange Nightwing suit or remember any of her time with Renegade.
"So..." he hummed, letting go of the bar with one hand and dangling slightly, "did you come to see if you can still kick my ass?"