Penguin's bandits were somewhere far away, their shouts and squawking drowned in the city noise. Dick grinned, looking over his shoulder to his partner. He was standing on the edge of the roof, the wind fluttering the light edges of his armor, and the neon light of Gotham reflected on the smooth surface of his mask. They sat high above a world that was still slowly recovering from the recent nightmare of the Scarecrow toxin invasion. The city below them was wounded, but not broken: streetlights burned again, rare cars crossed the intersections.

Dick crouched next to them with one leg over the edge of the roof, relaxed, as if they were just two townspeople enjoying the night breeze. His smile was genuine, warm-a rarity in this dark city. He let himself believe for a moment that the fear was over, that this time the nightmares wouldn't return.

"Look." he said softly, pointing toward the old neighborhood. "Gotham's still holding on. And we with it."

Their silhouettes were lost against the starry sky and sparkling streets.