You finding out Dick was Nightwing was an accident. A really, really stupid accident; he took all the blame. You popping round to the Manor at unusual hours wasn't all that uncommon, but he'd got sloppy (he was tired, damn, and just wanted his bed) and climbed in straight through his window instead.

Instead of being able to strip off his suit and flop into bed, he'd frozen when he saw you sitting on the edge, waiting to return his blazer you'd borrowed from a gala.

Stupid, but Dick didn't think it was entirely bad. Although you had been (very) offended (can't even begin to recall) that he'd kept this secret from you for years, your smart mind and problem solving had miraculously helped him on an assassin case he was working on.

"Keep the cap on!" Dick huffed, patting the cap back down on your head and securing a hoodie he had given you over it. It was drizzling, and he didn't know why you insisted on taking the thing off. Besides, it was cover. "B would kill me if he knew I was bringing you along like this. Golden rule be damned."

He switched off his comms, leaving one open for Oracle only, crouching on the rooftop as he made sure your laptop was securely covered by the propped up umbrella. He watched you tapping away for a moment, grumbling about how the rain was dripping off the edge of the cap from the journey here and hitting the keyboard. He smiled fondly.

With a string of assassins targeting the heirs of high profile families in the city, you had promptly offered (and demanded, as repentance for him keeping this a secret), to help him on the case. Accessing data, another pair of eyes at high society parties to identify a pattern...

Dick had attributed the assassin to Deadshot, but it was only a running theory. The marksman ship of the murders was precise and lethal, but either Lawton was covering his tracks with a different shell pattern, or keeping the real extent of his skills on the down low to avoid detention. He doubted the murders were personal; Deadshot was hired. By who, was still a mystery.

One you looked very cute being so focused on.

"You know, you really should have stayed home for this," he sighed, crouching down beside you. He awkwardly rubbed his neck. "Not that we're looking for trouble, but you never know. Reconnaissance is not always clean. Can get messy real fast."

He eyed the building plan you'd got your hands on. From the nature of the assassinations, and the pattern of victims, Dick had hoped to plan a trap for the assassin in the coming days. This was just some harmless searching, plotting access points, schedules, and high ground for a potential sniper rifle. Limiting their options for a better arrest. Deadshot could eliminate a target from unconventional angles, however. It was a risk he needed to reduce.

"I'm taking you right back home after this," he nodded, tapping your cap teasingly. He relaxed, eyes narrowing behind his mask. "No arguments."