Chapter Text
November 7th, 6:00 PM
Happy 25th. Make good choices.
GOTHAM - BROWN BRIDGE
PRESENT DAY - MARY
March 17th, 5:00 PM
An estimated 30,000 officers were employed by the GCPD. A number Mary could easily neglect until a fraction of the force was literally forced together. Unfortunately, her stinging shoulder would never forget.
“Move! Stay out of the walkways.”
She lightly sidestepped past two smoldering vehicles, an unfortunate byproduct of the panic earlier that afternoon. Another overconfident officer with a megaphone roughly bumped into her, resulting in a pained hiss.
Asshole.
Mendez was walking a foot ahead, long legs cutting through the crowd. Focused on the cleanup ahead, her partner remained unaware of their fellow officers’ abuse of voice amplifiers.
“You think”, he called back, voice tinged with hope, “they might ask us to profile the suspects?”
Mary quickened her pace, finally catching up. A soot-covered hand pulled her to the side, positioned between the edge of the bridge and Mendez’s frame. Walking next to the lanky giant, she could see the furrow of his thick brows. They had somehow become more expressive when coupled with the gas mask.
“Given that we technically don’t have clearance to be here anymore, I doubt it. Plus, He’s here, so change that doubt to a definite no”, Mary answered, voice low as she spoke out the side of her mouth.
They stopped at a cleared area that allowed a decent view of the ‘He’ in question. Mary shifted her lean as the metal guardrail bit through her coat. In the setting sun, the flowing fabric ahead of them reflected inky black against a ramrod-straight back.
“He’s tense with annoyance.” The hero’s face was unreadable, but body language was always up for grabs. Mary tilted her head to continue mumbling, “If he were talking about Joker, his arms would be rigid and his feet light.”
The stance reminded her of Dr. Elias Bircham’s theories on vigilantes. Unpredictable foes forced the uncanny merger of fight and flight. The upper body primed to swing, lower body prepared to dash. Mary had spent enough time in Gotham-wide emergencies to know the theory held weight.
“Makes sense”, Mendez hummed distractedly.
Everything lined up with what they knew. A confirmed copycat strain of Joker venom, which had caused far too many car crashes but nothing more. Mary narrowed her eyes, fingers working against coat buttons to block out the residual early spring chill. By all definitions, it truly was a lovely day. But in Gotham, that meant the pendulum had to swing. They got a cloudless day in exchange for substandard panic.
Still, if that was the case, why was the Bat annoyed?
Following Mendez’s soft stare answered her question. An ever-growing number of young vigilantes were scattered across the scene, none of them behaving in a manner that would aid the investigation.
“They’re fine", Mary assured, stretching out the 'i'.
“They’re never fine.”
It had been his idea to arrive at the scene hours after the alert had been canceled. At this point, the bridge would reopen by the end of the hour. But Daniel Mendez took every opportunity he could to observe the side kicks, and Mary needed an excuse to avoid their paperwork.
A clear command broke through her partner’s fretting, “You’re all clear to remove your masks.”
The words were met with several simultaneous clicks and sighs of relief. Mary held her mask loosely at her side, hooked onto one manicured finger. Beside her, hesitant fingers twitched above the release clasp.
“You believe that?” Mendez watched her out of the corner of his eye as if expecting her to drop dead. Mary remained very much standing, hand on her cocked hip.
“The Bats haven’t been wearing theirs since we got here, and I’m certain they’re more paranoid than you.”
That was all the convincing it took for him to pull off his mask and take a deep breath of air. He returned to his frankly almost maternal-like worry, and Mary didn’t have the heart to chastise him again. If she were a betting woman, she would’ve placed money on the fact that giving in to the nagging, pinging feeling in his head was a relief. It was the same mental alarm that screamed phrases like “learned compulsion” at her daily.
She flexed a hand, noting the residual ash under her nails. Most of her day had been spent kicking through charred remains of a building downtown, trying to climb into a serial arsonist’s brain. She was happy to be out of it for even the briefest respite.
Rummaging through her bag, Mary pulled out a pack of wet wipes, attacking her nail bed with one. “We still need to write that report for Samson and Whitlock.”
The words snapped Mendez back to reality as he threw his head against the rail. Profilers were necessary for anything the Bats couldn’t budget their time for, and the regular force hated. AKA, digging into people’s existence with a fine-toothed comb. Which also meant that -
“We’re so overworked.” The man groaned as he dug the heels of his palms into his eyes.
“Tell me about it.”
The reply didn’t come from her own mouth, but the suspension cable above. There was a swish as feet hit the ground, and Mary yelped, chucking her wipe at the landing figure. Nightwing caught it easily, his smile bright despite being here since noon. Slowly, Mary plucked it back with two fingers, keeping her eyes neutrally set. The action only made his smile widen.
“I will say you came late to the party, Mendez and … Hayes,” he watched her face expectantly, making a show of extending out the “s”.
What did Golden Boy want now? Mary fought to keep the bitter thoughts from manifesting on her face.
“I hate that they know our names.” Daniel tilted his body conspiratorially as he muttered.
Mary let her hair partially obscure her face as she turned to whisper, “They know all our names.” The blonde curtain didn’t keep the ignored man out, as Nightwing cleared his throat loudly.
“Actually, I’m just reading your name tag.” An escrima stick flicked the edge of the badge clipped onto her hip.
“Good for you.”
Mary drummed her fingers, unimpressed. She didn’t let the silence stretch before adding, “Must not be a lot of crime in Bludhaven if you’re here.”
He paused before cocking his head, teeth gleaming from his plastic smile. But in the brief seconds between the two gestures, the corner of his mouth had curled downward. Her words had bothered him. Her own mouth twitched in pride.
“Just here to help”, he flicked her badge again, causing it to flip, “FPCP Mariam Hayes. Clunky moniker, you got there, Mariam.”
“Forensic Psychology Criminal Profiler,”
Nightwing sucked in a breath, shaking his head in condolences, “Lawrence still insisting you guys use that title?”
Mary watched him through slits as her mind carefully formed her next words. “Detective will do just fine next time.”
Mendez watched the exchange like a child with access to nightly TV for the first time. Interest, excitement, and the possibility of getting called out practically radiated off him.
“Next time?” The humor in Nightwing’s tone almost masked the expectant lilt in the question.
Almost but not quite.
She jutted her chin towards the other side of the bridge, drawing his attention to the beckoning Batman, “I’m being polite. Next time is doubtful.”
He met her eyes in silent questioning … or challenge. It became difficult to tell with the mask. She tilted her chin back at him.
Daddy’s calling
“Well then, until we meet again, Detective Mendez,” Nightwing turned fluidly on his heels, releasing his smile from her sight, “Good night, Mary.”
The conversation was over. No openings. Just the way the two of them had liked it for the past four years. Mendez gave him a salute before placing a hand over Mary’s shoulder and clinking his keys. They made it exactly three steps before his brows knit together, and he barked out a bewildered laugh. Mary whipped her head towards him, frowning.
“I was polite! He came down here from thirty minutes away. What’s he expecting, a red carpet?”
The car beeped as Mendez pressed the button several times in succession. The noise pierced the empty side street.
“Polite isn’t enough when you’re trying to fit a circle block in a square hole,” he smacked both his fists together, demonstrating, “You just don’t like him, and I’d like to know why.”
Mary wrenched open the passenger door. “And I’d like to get home before midnight.”
Daniel slid into the driver’s seat, and the poor vehicle jolted as the speakers came to life. Reaching into her bag, she rummaged past case files and pens, feeling for a small plastic case.
“Hey, we’ve got a ten-minute drive back to the precinct. I’d love to pick that little head of yo-”
She finally found her earplugs. Lip jutted out into a pout; her partner continued mouthing words at her. Papers came up to block him out of sight.
Fortunately for her, ten minutes was enough time to begin her arsonist profile.
Unfortunately for Mendez, ten days wouldn’t scratch the surface of why she disliked Nightwing.