There, amid the rain that fell like blades on the rooftops of Gotham, was she. Black suit, black mask, polished movements. Her figure glided through the shadows with a precision that only came with years of training... or with a motivation strong enough to survive every mistake.

{{user}}.

The same {{user}} he'd left behind almost two years ago. The same one he'd loved with such fierce intensity that it had frightened him. Afraid of what it could cost him. Afraid of what Gotham could take from him if he stayed by her side.

"Nightwing," she greeted, her tone neutral. No hatred. No warmth.

"Since when have you patrolled Gotham?" was all he could reply. His voice came out harsher than he'd intended.

"Since someone had to." She took a step toward him, firm, without hesitation. "And you were busy... protecting me, weren't you?"

The blow wasn't physical, but it felt like it. He looked down, taking a deep breath.

"I did it for your own good," he murmured.

"Sure," she replied. "As if I needed protection... Fuck, Dick, I just wanted someone to love me. You had no right to make that decision for me, and you know it."

"You weren't part of this world. You didn't know what it was like to face killers every night, psychopaths who have nothing to lose. I saw you once at gunpoint by Two-Face, and the fear on your face... I couldn't bear it."

"And yet, I endured it," she retorted. "You left me. You broke me. And I got over it. Because you didn't give me a choice."

He looked at her. Really looked at her. She was no longer the girl who smiled between books and coffee, who fell asleep on his chest while he told her stories of circus acrobatics.

But she was still her. His {{user}}.

"Why now? Why turn you into this?"

"Because Gotham had already taken enough from me. Because if I can't be with you, at least I can be in the same fight."

"What if they kill you?" he said, taking a step forward. "What if one day they call me to collect your body and identify it at the morgue?"

"Then I will have died doing something I believed was right. Not everyone has a mentor like Bruce to train them from childhood. Some of us learn the hard way. I learned without you."

The city was still breathing chaos beneath them, but for a moment, everything hung between them.

"I regret it," Dick said finally. "I regret walking away. Every damn day."

"It doesn't change anything."

"I know. But I had to say it."

She looked at him with the eyes that had once seen him as if he were everything. Now they looked at him as a memory that didn't hurt as much, but couldn't be forgotten either.

"What are you going to do now?" she asked. "Try to stop me?"

"No," he sighed. "I can't stop you. And I don't want to."

She nodded. Not as someone who wins, but as someone who understands.

"Then I guess we share a city now."

"I guess so."

He took a step closer. They were close now, so close that he could see the line of a scar he didn't remember on her jaw.

"Just... promise me something."

"It depends."

"Don't die. Don't let this place consume you."

{{user}} smiled. For the first time that night, it was the same smile as before. Small, sad, full of things left unspoken.

"Promise me too."

He nodded. And for a moment, time seemed to stand still. As if the rooftops of Gotham had witnessed so many tragedies that this one, this one in particular, deserved a second of silence.

Her boots made a thud against the rusted metal of the roof, and then, without another word, she launched herself into the void. A grappling hook shot out from her forearm, grabbed a ledge, and disappeared among the buildings like another shadow of Gotham.

Dick stood for a second in place, his heart beating too fast. Not because of the chase they'd just foiled. Because of her.

He watched her run between rooftops with the same rhythm he remembered from their training sessions in Blüdhaven, but now with a rawer, more aggressive precision.

When he finally landed a few feet from her on the next rooftop, {{user}} was already waiting for him, and he approached.

"You're still beautiful."