Faye Feng → Dick Grayson ✔

Infiltration

Grayson.

Back to Grayson, are we?

Just calling you 'Dick' gets boring after a while.

You've only called me that once. Every other time it's Richard or Grayson.

Those aren't your names?

It's pointless arguing with you. What's up?

Are you doing anything next week?

Uh, yeah. It's Thanksgiving.

Oh god, I forgot.

How do you forget Thanksgiving? The school literally announced our holidays a few days ago.

It's an American thing, Grayson. And you know full well that I don't listen in school.

Are you serious? So you've never celebrated it?

China barely has Christmas. My family only celebrates that because it's near my birthday and I want an excuse to have a bigger party.

I never thought of that. What are you going to do during the week we're off school then?

I was going to ask you if you wanted to go to Paris but never mind.

PARIS?

"Dick!"

A loud crash made him jump in his seat. Dick's head snapped up to see Barbara storm away, the chair she had been sitting on still spinning. He turned to meet Bruce's glare. It was more disappointed than it was angry, and that was worse than if it had been pure frustrated rage.

"What?"

"You're not paying attention." Bruce accused.

"I am!" Dick exclaimed. "We've been over this a hundred times – whoever killed Lorenzo is the same person who killed Torrance, but they were angrier this time!"

"You're making it sound like there's nothing more to be investigated."

"I'm just saying that's everything we know!"

"Well, it shouldn't be," Bruce said sharply. "We should know who the killer is, have enough evidence to tie them to the crime and lock them up so they can't kill anyone else."

"We're working on that, aren't we? Why did Barbara have to assault the table like that?"

"She's frustrated, and frankly, so am I. We have been combing through forensic reports, trying to do exactly that, while you've been texting Faye and talking about the weather."

"First of all, we're not talking about the weather," Dick snapped. "And secondly, you're forgetting that I did the same thing for five hours before pulling out my phone."

"I can remember hundreds of cases in which you sat here for longer than seven hours, working to crack it."

"Yeah, that was normally because I'd find clues within the first fifteen minutes and would spend the rest of the night following up leads. Speaking of which, I've got one right here," Dick waved his phone, showing the screen to Bruce. "So you can't say I'm not doing anything."

"You're not asking her about the murder."

"I don't know if this is because you don't have many friends who aren't vigilantes, Bruce, but headline-worthy murders don't come up casually in conversation between normal people."

"Dick, I'm being serious."

"So am I!"

Bruce levelled his gaze. The gravity in his stare made Dick fall silent and words of indignation died in his throat. He wasn't talking to the master of Wayne Manor anymore; it was Batman, who was ruthless and cold and unfeeling, who believed in black and white and nothing in between, who would stop at nothing to strangle those who were on the wrong side of the law.