She didn't have a standing invitation to this place, not the way she did for the rest of the Manor. Over the years, she'd been invited down often enough, usually when there was a particular crisis to be handled jointly with the Bat-clan - either in their capacity on various teams or because SHIELD needed to move more actively in Gotham - but she'd never been welcome to wander freely as the whim struck her. She didn't want to; her tolerance for Batman's vigilante activities notwithstanding, she had her limits, and she was still the Director of SHIELD. What she didn't know about or witness, she didn't have to find a way to justify later, or lie about if she was ever questioned.
This time was different. The invitation hadn't nearly been as explicit, or quite as voluntary as some times it had been, and she could feel it in the vast expanse of the subterranean vaults. This was, however, the best option open to them all, and that made her willing to count the chill in the air to the water and earth around her and not the mood of its most prominent resident - but not it's only one. Not the reason she was here.
It was a subtle noise, and she followed the steady creaks and bumps over to the areal rings. Even wounded, Dick Grayson could move through the air as one born to a particular element. She smiled at his comment. "It's surprisingly refreshing - I expected more in the way of bats," she said. Hands digging into her pockets, she added, more serious, "You're looking well for a dead man."