No specific timeline is intended for use, as of yet. This is my own take on the overall relationship between the Titans and the League, with a little bit of spice added from Young Justice Continuity. None of the relationships I explore haven't already been established, in one form or another by original DC works. At its heart, I intend for this piece to be a BM/WW centered story but I admit to getting distracted with other pairings from time to time.

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Steel blue eyes watched the monitor feed from the training room, intently. He'd been watching Nightwing train for hours, knowing the former sidekick would soon be at his limit. Bruce was growing impatient, but he knew his time was close at hand. He knew getting answers from the former Robin would be impossible unless the youth found himself too exhausted to lie. So he waited. And watched. Wayne had known is protégé too many years to think he could casually ask him anything even remotely this private without running into the lad's stubborn streak. No, instead he'd wait for him to tire himself out, to be too drained to react in any capacity other than directly.

Under more normal circumstances, he could rely on Alfred to worm the problem out the young man. During his years as Robin, Dick had always confided in Alfred the things he felt too intimidated to discuss with Bruce. But this wasn't a normal situation, and Bruce didn't have the time to wait for Alfred to work his magic.

On the screen, an electrified stun stick caught Dick square in the gut after a less than perfect landing from a handspring. A stumble after such a basic gymnastic maneuver was signal enough that Nightwing had reached his limits, but the training dummy's successful attack was the icing on the cake. It had taken almost six hours of constant assaults but Dick Grayson finally hit his limit. That fact wasn't lost on Bruce. Six whole hours, and the kid refused to crack. He calculated his next move carefully. He'd be stressed, he'd be agitated, and he'd be exhausted.

All according to plan.

Bruce pulled the cowl over his face and punched a few keys on the console at his lap. The training room abruptly shut down, the door to the outer hall opened and the smell of sweat and steam began to seep into the cave. Before the door fully opened he was standing before it, filling the frame with his blank scowl and crossed arms.

"So you saw that one, huh?" Nightwing winced, holding his ribs. "If you're mad I overrode the training protocols, you should know Tim was the one who showed me how to do it."

Dick stepped closer to the door but Batman remained planted, effectively blocking his path.

"Something on your mind, Bruce?" Dick asked warily.

Narrowed eyes behind a cowl were the only response.

A solid minute passed in silence as the two eyed each other. Years ago these staring matches could stretch to ungodly lengths, but Dick no longer let Bruce get under his skin like he used to. Coupled with the creeping exhaustion setting into his muscles, he simply didn't have the energy to posture with his mentor. He wasn't sure what he'd done to deserve the full Bat Treatment, as Tim had coined it, but he was too tired to care. If Bruce didn't want to talk out whatever their apparent problem was, Dick was inclined to let him stew about it.

Hoping to resume his way forward, he lowered his head and reached to brush past the brooding Bat. Bruce stopped him before he could take another step. "I want you to let Alfred take a look at those ribs-"

"It's nothing," Dick interrupted. "I got worse when I was wearing your cape that month, remember?"

"-And let him take a blood sample," Batman concluded without pause.

"Blood sample? It was just a stun stick. I'll be fine."

Batman didn't budge and his glower etched itself deeper into his features.

"I hope your face gets stuck like that one day," Nightwing spat. He was returning the stoic gaze with equal ferocity but began rolling up the sleeves of his costume anyway, silently consenting. "I'd like to see you play the fop with your face stuck like a gargoyle's ass."

Turning on his heel Batman stepped crisply back down the hall, and lead Dick to one of the examining tables in the corner of the cave that had been established as the medical bay. Carefully sitting himself on one of the tables, Dick winced as he tried to find a comfortable position that didn't aggravate his injuries. He was bone tired, but he would never allow himself to show Bruce his exhaustion. Better to simply walk it off and save face than admit weakness in front of his scowling mentor.

"Master Dick," Alfred greeted warmly as he descended the stairs, breaking the silence. "I didn't think you would be back home so soon." He paused slightly, casting a meaningful glance at Bruce before returning his attention back to Dick. "I was under the impression your hiatus from the Titans would be spent in Bludhaven?"

In spite of the uneasy undercurrent of the room, Nightwing had to smile. No matter how old he was, or how many years it had been since he actually lived in Gotham, he supposed Alfred would always be making assurances so that Dick knew he could always call the manor home.

"He has a contusion on his ribs, and probably a pulled tendon in his left leg," Batman interrupted coolly.

Alfred set into motion immediately, grabbing supplies from the stainless steel medical cabinets and placing them on a rolling tray. He held an ill-concealed laugh as he busied himself. "Not home a day and already cleaning your scraped knees and elbows again. Even these days… The more things change, the more they stay the same."

Dick couldn't help but chuckle, but winced quickly at the constriction in his lungs. Bruce was right on that front, he definitely had done a number on his ribs. He took a few short breaths to steady himself, but held his smile in place for Alfred's sake, almost as much as Bruce's.

"I'd also like you to draw a vial of his blood for me," Batman cut in again. The Bat was allergic to reminiscing, Dick reminded himself.

"Whatever for?" Alfred asked. "You haven't been chasing that horrid ivy clad woman again have you?"

Nightwing shot Alfred a mischievous grin, but thought better of remarking on Poison Ivy's current method of delivering her toxins these days, if the rumors were to be believed. Instead, he lazily pointed at Batman. "You'd have to ask him. I've been getting the Bat Glare from the start. No 'hello', no 'good to see you', or 'welcome home'. Just 'Give me your blood and shut up'."

Alfred fixed Bruce with a withering stare of his own. Dick smiled triumphantly. Good ole Uncle Al was always on his side when it came to matters of the overbearing Bat. More to the butler's credit, he kept his unhappiness with his employer evident while he administered care to Dick's injuries.

"He's been uniquely exposed to meta... His relationship with the Titans has been redefined. However unlikely it may be, it's possible he has been controlled, or otherwise unnaturally influenced," Batman answered roughly. The edge in his voice was sharp, undercutting his true concerns. He was angry at himself for the misstep and that anger flowed into the conversation, despite his best efforts. Mentally berating himself, he redoubled his focus in order to hold his stoic scowl.
"Uniquely exposed? Unnaturally—What?!" Dick leaped from the table and squared off against Bruce. "Cut the shit, Bruce. You're talking about Kori aren't you?"

Bruce remained impassive with the exception of a momentary flash behind his eyes. Had Dick been anyone else, he'd have missed it but his years working as Robin meant he could read that dour, stoic façade like a road map. That was the issue at hand here. Bruce still didn't see him as his own man. He wasn't watching Nightwing's back as he developed a new team, in his mind he was keeping an eye on Robin while he played hero with his friends. It made Dick sick.

The matter became distasteful on another level altogether, as he digested the idea of Bruce Wayne having an opinion about his relationship with Kori. How Bruce had managed to catch wind of the rumors surrounding Nightwing and Koriand'r, better known as Starfire, Dick could only imagine. Hell, he didn't even know where they stood as a couple but in the end, he felt he did the right thing. She was why he took the break from the team. He couldn't objectively and competently perform his duties leading the Titans if he held special feelings for one of his teammates. That type of affection could cloud his judgement, make him a liability. When he came to that realization he hated Bruce for instilling that type of training in him, even though he knew it was the right thing to do.

That realization had stung worse than the heartache. Dick Grayson had come to that understanding on his own. He didn't need Bruce to point it out. He'd come to the same conclusion Bruce would have, and even took the same action he knew Bruce would. All without his interference. It was proof he had more Bat in him than he'd care to admit. But all of it meant nothing if Bruce didn't trust him enough on his own. That was the simple truth. Bruce didn't trust him enough, so he spied on him. Dick kicked himself mentally. Of course he'd have the Titan's tower bugged. How could he have overlooked that?

"You bugged me… Bugged us? You spied on the team you agreed to build? What the hell Bruce! Why?!" He was seething.

"Consider who your teammates are. It was in everybody's best interest," Bruce condescended. He wasn't defending his position, he was chiding Nightwing for not realizing the obvious.

Behind Nightwing Alfred's head slumped in dismay at Bruce's lack of tact, and the tempest that would be inherent in Dick's reaction.

"You're a real son of a bitch, you know that?" Dick pulled his sleeves back down. Anger dulled the pain in his ribs as he moved. He took a deep breath, knowing he'd be quite sore later for his abrupt actions, but it couldn't be helped at this point. Ignoring Bruce entirely, he stomped away before remembering Alfred's presence. "Nice seeing you Al," he said warmly. "I'll see myself out, thanks."

In an instant he was on his motorcycle, the engine revving loudly. "Oh, and she's an alien. Not a meta, asshole."

Squealing tires and acrid smoke from burnt rubber marked the exit from the echoing cave. The slowly fading reverberations bounced around the cave until finally, mercifully, leaving the two remaining occupants in a depressed silence.

"That… Could have gone better, I suppose?" Alfred offered quietly. "Must you be so rash with the boy, Master Bruce?"

A slight slump to his caped shoulders was the only response.

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The stories I post to this site are a dalliance from my day job(s) and are a way for me to break through writer's block on other projects. Reviews are always welcome, positive or otherwise. If anything, it'll probably give me further motivation to post more chapters sooner rather than later. I reserve the right to edit any and all chapters as I strike lines I don't like, or choose to reword specific ideas.