Who: Dick Grayson and Barbara Gordon Where: GCPD Headquarters What: A casual run-in -- could become something more? When: May 15th Rating: PG
These days Barbara was running on coffee and determination. Being a vigilante before had been hard, but now she had something--someone--to live up to. Besides that, she had a purpose: one that was staring her in the face. She stepped through the doors of the GCPD's headquarters, thermos tucked under one arm and her other hand at the ready for the slew of waves that it needed to deliver. She knew almost every officer, especially the older members of the force.
How many of them had betrayed her? Betrayed her father? Betrayed all of Gotham really...because if not the police, then who could you trust?
She was sure as anything that she had been taken from her home by the Italian mob because of an ongoing investigation to expose police corruption. That meant that to save their necks, someone here had let Barbara get taken, let the men who took her remain free to make a profit off of breaking the law. She wanted so badly to believe that it was all greenhorns, that no veterans and lifers could possibly be involved. But she knew that when the investigation was over with, she'd find names on the list that she didn't want to see.
That was why she worked the long hours, researching until her eyes were burning and training until she was bone-deep sore. She believed that someday the plague of crime would be purged from the city. She would just help push the process along.
That also meant keeping up the faith of the good guys, like her father. She could only hope he was in his office, and not at a crime scene. If he wasn't there, the thermos would have to do its job of keeping his soup warm indefinitely. It wouldn't be the first time the container was put to that use.
She leaned over one of the open desks reserved for the clerks and for officers who'd been benched, putting on her most charming smile. "Excuse me...do you know if Jim Gordon is in?"
Barbara wasn't the only one who knew about corruption. She may have had a more intimate look at the darkness at the heart of the GCPD, but Dick Grayson was familiar with extortion and racketeering, too. He'd been more up-close-and-personal than he'd ever have wanted, and now he shared the drive to wipe out corruption. It was why he was behind the desk in civilian clothes, working a crummy clerk's job instead of seeking out a position that would pay a little more. He was young, early twenties at best, with short-cropped dark hair and blue eyes. When Gordon's daughter approached, he looked up from some particularly tedious paperwork and blinked.
"I'm sorry?" Dick started, but the question registered a few seconds later and he didn't wait for a response. "Oh, the Commissioner? Yeah. Sorry, I think he's in, err..." The boy leaned forward and started leafing through a calendar on the desk. "I think I saw him head down to two. There's a meeting this afternoon."
The smile was apologetic at first, then slowly twisted into something a little more friendly. "I can take a message."
"That's fine," Barbara smiled right back, shaking her head. This guy looked familiar, but she couldn't quite remember his name. "I'm his daughter. Barbara Gordon." She reached out to shake his hand. "I don't remember you from around here, but you look awfully familiar...."
"Dick Grayson," the young man said, still wearing the affable grin as he reached out to accept the hand. "It's nice to meet you. Uh -- I don't know where you'd know me from, if not here. Do you go to the U? Maybe the parkour club? But I haven't done that in a long time. It's that or the gym." The smile turned abruptly into a lopsided smirk. "I'm boring; work, school, exercise, and work again."
"That's it!" Babs smiled, snapping her fingers together. "I joined the club I think right before you stopped going....and that doesn't sound so boring. Barring recent events that sounds exactly like my normal day. Work, school, practice, work, school." She giggled, looking around the office. "You think anyone'll try to tazer me if I go put this in my dad's office?"
"Tazer? No. But if you want, I can walk you over there. I don't have a badge to flash, but I do have a sleek white ID card." Dick grinned again and held up the photo identification card that hung in a plastic sleeve around his neck. Like most official IDs, the photograph was terrible, and the name in black lettering read 'Grayson, Richard.'
"It's not like I have weight to throw around, but at least you'd be somewhat less likely to get held up by locked doors?"
"I'd appreciate it," Babs smiled, idling around his desk further. Maybe she'd have to start visiting her father more often...if she could squeeze it into her schedule. Dick wasn't bad looking at all. Even his awkward ID photo was cute in a funny way. "I mean, most everyone knows me, but protocol and all..."
"Hey, not a problem." Dick pushed back in his chair and stood up. He wasn't a particularly tall guy but he was clearly more muscular than your average desk jockey, even with the baggy work shirt obscuring as much as possible. He nudged the chair towards the desk with his foot, grabbed a folder off of the tabletop, and turned to gesture for Barbara to precede him. "I can't sit at a desk all day, anyway. You're doing me a favor and giving me an excuse to stretch a bit."
Barbara smiled, holding the thermos in front of her as she sauntered past Dick. She knew the way to her father's office like the back of her hand, but she kept her stride to a slow pace. Seeing someone remotely her age at the police station who wasn't there for public drunkenness or drug possession was an event in and of itself. "So do you still keep up with the parkour?"
"I do, but it's on my own time, which there's not a lot of - class and work keep me pretty busy. I stopped being able to make the meetings." Dick's smile was lopsided, apologetic. "How about you?" Without thinking about it, he held open a door into a hallway until Barbara could pass through. "Are they still having meetings, or did the University administration make them stop?"
"They're still having meetings...less frequently now because a lot of the club is from the greater Gotham area, and they're home for the summer or working too much to meet," Babs informed him, slipping past him into the hallway. "But I haven't been training with them recently. I've been mostly working out, improving my gymnastics and recuperating." Recuperating included her hours spent on computer research and the little sleep that she was managing to get.
"Gymnastics? Really." Dick shot a curious glance sideways at Barbara. "I did a little of that as a kid." Once acrobatics were no longer an option and before the foster families stopped caring about his 'after-school activities,' but he didn't admit to that part. "You're one of the first I've met who have carried that on to adulthood. Good for you."
"I'm not very good," Barbara admitted, then paused to wave a hand in the air. "Scratch that. I'm good, but I wasn't good enough to compete past twelve." Gymnastics had been one of the many interests she cared about, but it had never been a sole passion for her the way it had been for the girls who'd beaten her consistently. But they couldn't put a grown man flat on their ass. So there. "Doesn't mean I wanted to stop doing it for myself. I find it particularly freeing." She grinned broadly before casting him a sideways glance of her own. "How about you? Were you good?"
"I was okay." Which was a partial truth; in his early teens, Dick had done very well in a few local events on the parallel bars, but poor floor routine showings kept him from taking titles. "Competing wasn't something I ever really wanted to do. It was the f-- the parents' idea." He caught himself mid-stumble and went on casually, as if he'd simply misspoken. "I prefer the air and more fluid motion anyway. But hey: the vault practice comes in useful during parkour, so. Not a total loss."
"Definitely not," Barbara replied, seeing her father's office door fast approaching. "I guess I'll leave this on his desk with a note." She glanced casually at Dick. "I've probably kept you from your desk long enough, but it was really nice meeting you." She reached up to pull a pen that had been holding her hair in a messy bun from off her head. "Hey, um, if you need an exercise buddy or want to swap unitard stories over coffee, give me a call sometime." She found a receipt in her bag and quickly scribbled down her number and email address on the back, willing her face to keep from burning the whole time. She was mustering up ever fiber of confidence as she handed the paper over to Dick. It was probably a bad idea to get boy struck when she was so busy with everything else, but this guy was interesting enough and had a nice smile. Worst case scenario, she might make a friend. She put on a cool tone as she waved. "See you around."
She put her hand on the doorknob, ready to make a smooth exit into the office only to find it locked. Leave it to her father to be smart enough to lock his office during long absences. She blushed, glancing to her right and then her left. "Oh, look. Detective Montoya, she'll give this to him. Bye!"
Make no mistake: Dick was going to call Barbara. Yes, he was single-minded and stubborn and On A Mission, but he was also a twenty-something year old man and he wasn't going to pass up another opportunity to talk to a pleasant, pretty young woman. "Sure," he said, grinning as he pocketed the number. "Might be nice to tell the old war stories to someone who'd understand them. I'll be in touch."
Probably not within the next few days, but by the weekend. If he could escape his nightly 'exercise' unscathed. Wouldn't do to have to explain away bruises.
"It was nice meeting you, Barbara," Dick said, lifting a hand into the air by way of goodbye before turning to trot back off to his desk. Alright. Paperwork. Focus, Grayson, focus.