Summary: Nightwing and the Huntress investigate a mysterious figure from 
Batman's past. Meanwhile, Barbara continues her relentless search for concrete 
evidence to help clear Bruce Wayne. 

Author's Note: Takes place during the Bruce Wayne Fugitive story arc, and 
immediately following the events in my story, Down Came the Rain. 

Disclaimer: All characters belong to DC and Time/Warner; this is an original 
story that doesn't intend to infringe on their copyright. Feedback is welcome.

Copyright March 2002

****

Out Came the Sun
By Syl Francis (efrancis@earthlink.net)

****

She watched him from the shadows, grudgingly admiring his fluid movements. She 
privately admitted that she always felt a secret thrill by his grace and 
finesse. She knew of no one else whom quite matched Nightwing's subtle fighting 
style, which was closer to that of a danseur than of a martial artist.

By comparison, Batman was a steamroller, ruthlessly crushing his opponents and 
anything else that lay in his path. As for herself? The Huntress prided herself 
in her own unique way of dealing with Gotham's underworld. Her hand 
automatically moved to the special holster at her side and unconsciously 
caressed the deadly crossbow that was her signature weapon.

At a good-natured laugh from below her, she adjusted her mask opticals and 
zoomed in. She stiffened suddenly. One of the teenaged punks was suddenly 
holding a gun on Nightwing.

"Didn't your mother ever teach you that it's impolite to point?" Nightwing 
asked. The Huntress rolled her eyes.

"Here we go," she muttered exasperatedly. In the few years she'd known 
Nightwing, she could never understand his penchant for bad quips and puns in the 
middle of a firefight. Especially since he'd been trained by Batman, a man not 
known for his conversation. And because the Huntress felt that talking to the 
mooks in this town was a waste of energy. As far as she was concerned, they were 
good for only one thing--being taken out!

If she happened to inflict a little pain into them in the process, so much the 
better.

And yet, this young man whose fighting style she so admired was more inclined to 
take out his opponents with a punch and a pun--and only use the minimum force 
necessary to take them down. And where was the fun in that, she wondered 
ruefully? Hearing them bleat and squeal--now that was her idea of fun. 

She scowled, observing as the punk fired pointblank at the young daredevil hero. 
Almost faster than the eye could follow, Nightwing somersaulted backwards and 
kicked off the wall of the building nearest him. This instantly reversed his 
momentum, sending him flying back towards the punk. Meanwhile, the young hood 
nervously fired, vainly trying to hit Nightwing. 

The Huntress again shook her head. She watched as Nightwing leaped, spun, and 
kicked out with his powerful legs, connecting with the punk's temple. The teen 
gunman went down without another sound.

Nightwing stood over him, grinning broadly. "See what being naughty gets you? A 
timeout for bad behavior." Shaking his head in amusement, Nightwing bound the 
group of unconscious teen gang members with plastic tie-wraps and called the 
GCPD. With that, the Dark Squire fired off a jump line and rose into the night.

The Huntress waited until she saw which rooftop he'd headed towards, and 
immediately fired off a jump line and followed him.

****

Barbara Gordon sat in the lonely gloom of her clock tower and studied the 
contents of Vesper Fairchild's laptop. Something wasn't right. No matter how 
hard Barbara tried, she just couldn't seem to trace Vesper's electronic 
footprint.

"This isn't right," she muttered, sitting back. Shaking her head, Barbara 
removed her glasses and tiredly rubbed her eyes. Setting the laptop down, she 
glanced over at the giant clock face that dominated her quarters. 

2:30 a.m.

She thought of Dick, recalling their earlier conversation. They'd argued about 
Bruce, of course. She sighed, stretching. For a man who according to Batman was 
supposedly 'irrelevant,' Bruce Wayne was certainly casting a long shadow and 
eclipsing both her life and Dick's. 

In fact, Bruce Wayne had sure become a real pain in the neck lately. As if to 
emphasize her point, Barbara massaged her neck, her mood darkening.

Presently, it seemed as if she were spending every waking moment trying to find 
some way to clear his name. And what was *Batman* doing to help? Nothing! He 
claimed that he didn't have time to be 'bothered' by the problems of Bruce 
Wayne. 

As for Dick...If Batman didn't have time for Bruce Wayne, then Dick was making 
up for it by putting as much time as she into trying to clear his mentor's name. 
But he was going about it all wrong. Dick was too emotionally involved to remain 
coolly professional. 

Which brought her back to their earlier argument. What had he said, she 
wondered: "...Don't force me to choose between the two of you--"

Had he really said that, or had she imagined it? Suddenly, she wanted to talk to 
Dick, to try to explain again, to make him see that her actions were that of a 
concerned friend, not of a traitor who'd turned her back on his father.

About to reach for her communicator, she stopped. And what if it were *her* 
father who stood accused of murder, she asked herself? Would she tolerate Dick 
or anyone else saying anything negative against him? Would she sit still for any 
speculation that implied Jim Gordon might be guilty of murder?

Slowly, she shook her head, 'no.' Sighing, she brought her hand up to her eyes 
and covered them in momentary pain. 

"Then how can I expect Dick to be objective?" she muttered. Feeling guilty over 
daring to remain clinically dispassionate in her own investigation, Barbara 
moved her hand away from her communicator. Instead, she turned back to her 
computer and continued her search for Vesper's electronic trail.

****

"Is this a private roof, or can anyone join you?" Huntress kept at least a ten-
foot distance from Nightwing to prevent any possible accidents, like Nightwing 
kicking out in surprise and knocking her all the way into the next county.

"Pull up a ledge and have a seat," he said without turning. He sat cross-legged 
on the roof's ledge, oblivious to the prohibitive distance to the dark streets 
below, concentrating intently through his long-distance night goggles. 

"Thanks," she said, feeling inexplicably happy. Usually, the Bat-clan met her 
overtures of help with suspicious looks and a 'Thanks, but no thanks.' It was a 
rare occasion indeed when one of them extended the hand of friendship. Taking 
him up on his invitation, she sat on the roof's ledge next to him.

"So, what are we doing?" she asked playfully, deliberately leaning in closer 
until she was almost touching him. Not bothering to answer her, Nightwing 
continued his surveillance. Pouting at being ignored, the Huntress retreated 
until there was at least a foot of separation between them. 

Glaring at his chiseled profile, she wondered how he could go all night trading 
nonsense quips with the City's night vermin but totally ignore her friendly 
banter. Sighing, she studied the angle in which his goggles were trained and 
noted that he was intent on a particular balcony across the street. 

"Whose place?" she asked.

Putting his equipment away, Nightwing stood without speaking and fired a jump 
line. 

"'Yes, thank you for your help, Helena. Please, follow me,'" the Huntress 
mimicked. "Why, Nightwing, you say the sweetest things. Don't mind if I do." 
With that, she too fired a jump line and streaked across the black night. An icy 
rain had begun to fall, and the Huntress felt a certain titillating pleasure as 
her long, dark hair was whipped back by the biting wind.

Landing on the opposite roof, she was no more than a mere whisper, a shadow 
embraced by the familial darkness. She pressed a hidden switch in her mask, 
activating her night optics and searched the immediate area around her. 

Empty.

Where'd he go, she wondered? Again, she felt a twinge of annoyance, coupled with 
a grudging admiration. How did he do it, she asked herself? Nightwing's ability 
to disappear at will was almost meta-human. One minute he could be standing next 
to her, the next instant--poof!

Well...he did have a head start, she grumbled. Okay, Helena, she told herself, 
snap out of it! If Nightwing wasn't up here, then logically, he should be at the 
balcony that he was checking out earlier. Nodding, the Huntress was about to 
move out, when a soft voice spoke next to her ear. 

"You took long enough." 

Unable to help herself, she jumped, startled. Without hesitation, the Huntress 
whirled, kicked out, and punched at the mysterious shadow that was suddenly 
beside her. Somehow, the shadow easily evaded her--gracefully, elegantly--and 
coming to her senses, the Huntress stopped her attack almost as quickly as she'd 
begun it.

"Sorry," she muttered. But Nightwing was already diving over the roof's edge. 
Rolling her eyes skyward, the Huntress shook her head and followed at his heels. 

****

"So, that's it," Barbara murmured. "A false trail..." Typing rapidly, her 
beautiful face scrunched in concentration, Barbara finally found what she was 
looking for. Someone had obviously replaced Vesper's original files with the 
current ones--someone who obviously wanted investigators to believe that the 
newspaper reporter had uncovered Bruce Wayne's double life and was about to 
expose it.

Hitting enter several times, Barbara ran her search program, cross-checking 
certain key words, sorting by date/time/group.

Watching her as the information she'd been searching for scrolled across her 
monitor, Barbara felt a definite sense of triumph. 

It looked like Dick was right. While all the evidence pointed toward Bruce's 
guilt, this showed her that maybe--just maybe--the airtight evidence might have 
been planted.

"But who?" she murmured. Again, she glanced at the clock face. 5:30. "Almost 
dawn." She turned back to the evidence on her screen, and eyes narrowed sat 
back. "It looks like someone will have to rob the bank."

Her thoughts went back to Dick. If anyone would be able to get in and out 
without being spotted, it would be the great escape artist, himself--Nightwing! 
But no, Barbara thought, shaking her head. What she had in mind had to be done 
in daylight, during regular bankers' hours, in full view of everyone.

"And the last twist this case needs is for the adopted son of Bruce Wayne to be 
observed leaving the scene of a bank robbery!" She grinned ruefully. "Looks like 
a job for Black Canary...and is she gonna hate the idea!" Barbara's face 
softened at the thought of her friend who hadn't once questioned the Bat-clan's 
near obsession with clearing Bruce Wayne's name.

She wondered if Dinah knew or suspected the truth. Sighing, Barbara shrugged her 
shoulders. "Probably...but she's too much of a friend to say anything." It 
seemed that whatever else happened, by the time this nightmare ended, Batman's 
real identity would fall under the category of 'World's Worst Kept Secret.'

Seeing the first hints of the breaking dawn, Barbara put in the call to Black 
Canary.

****

What were they looking for, she wondered again? The Huntress had no clue, and 
Mr. 'Junior Closed-Mouth When He Wants to Be' Nightwing wasn't saying. Shrugging 
in exasperation, Huntress childishly made a face and flopped down on the sofa. 

"You know, if you don't want my help," she muttered, addressing the room in 
general, "all you have to do is say so."

"Oh, I'm sure the Dark Knight's Squire more than desires your assistance, my 
dear. In fact, I'm certain that his desires run even deeper than he would ever 
willingly admit to--either to you...*or* to himself."

At the first sounds of the unfamiliar voice, the Huntress leaped to her feet and 
whipped out her crossbow, assuming a defensive crouch. The Dark Mistress 
expertly shifted her stance every few seconds, effectively covering the 360 
degrees around her.

"Nightwing!" she hissed. Where had he gone? She hadn't noticed--again--when he 
pulled his usual disappearing act.

"Don't worry, my dear," the voice said. "Our heroic young man is in good 
hands...*Behold*!"

Abruptly, a flat screen television monitor flickered to life. Unable to help 
herself, the Huntress watched as the camera panned to a lone, dark figure that 
lay helplessly strapped to what appeared to be an examination table. She saw 
that he was held down by metal bands along his wrists, ankles, chest and thighs. 
Plus, there were several electrodes attached to his temples and scalp.

"Nightwing!" she gasped. Ignoring any danger to herself, the beautiful vigilante 
sprang into action. She moved quickly through each room, thoroughly searching 
the bedrooms, closets, bathrooms, and even the kitchen cabinets. All too 
quickly, she ended back in the living room. 

Gone! But how was that possible?

An evil laugh suddenly echoed through the apartment. "They are blind although 
they can see!" the voice taunted. "Your young knight is a deeply troubled young 
man, my dear. His mind, however, is open to me--as was his mentor's but a few 
months ago! Watch...if you dare!"

The next instant, the TV screen dissolved and was replaced by a scene out of 
H.P. Lovecraft...

A very small and insignificant Nightwing stood at the edge of dizzying precipice 
while being attacked by a giant-sized bat. Try as he might to dodge and weave, 
the bat was too powerful, its fluttering wings stirring up a gale-force wind 
that knocked the young crimefighter off his feet and sent him hurtling into the 
dark depths of the abyss below...

The next instant, a small boy dressed in a bright red, yellow, and green costume 
stood helplessly by as two circus performers plunged to their deaths. The boy's 
screams were a piercing echo to theirs long after their voices were forever 
silenced...

Next, she saw Nightwing being pulled in two directions--Batman on one side and 
Oracle on the other. "...Don't force me to choose between the two of you--!" he 
cried. Her heart broke at the pain and suffering in his voice as the two people 
he loved the most in his life tore him in half...

Finally, to her infinite shame, she saw herself in his arms as he tightly 
clasped her to him, his hands eagerly exploring every inch of her nude body, his 
mouth passionately covering hers. Involuntarily, her lips recalled his kisses 
and her body responded to the memory of his hot touch...

"No...!" she whispered hoarsely, her cheeks burning in mortification. As much as 
she wanted Nightwing to be attracted to her...as much as she secretly desired 
him, this was wrong! His mind was being invaded--forcefully ravaged--and it was 
up to her to help him.

"As you can see, my dear...Your young squire's mind holds many interesting 
secrets. Secrets that are open to me and my will. In fact, I have the power to 
bend his will to mine. To make him dream and desire anything that I wish him to. 
*Behold*--!"

But the Huntress refused to be drawn into the dark scene of sick depravity that 
was suddenly thrust before her: Again, she caught a glimpse of herself and 
Nightwing, both naked, both performing acts that only the most demented, most 
vile psyche could conjure.

But that wasn't Nightwing's fantasy being played on screen, she knew. Instead, 
they were the twisted delusions of whoever was holding her friend captive. 

And when I get my hands on you--!

The evil laughter again rang through the apartment, interrupting her incensed 
musings. "It seems our Dark Squire should be arrested for even entertaining such 
filthy ideas!"

Keep talking, Huntress thought darkly as she crept stealthily through the 
apartment once again. She'd activated her mask optics to trace the voice's point 
of origin as well as the video feed to the television screen. Taking out a palm-
sized PC, she ran a quick analysis.

Her eyes narrowed in triumph. Bingo! I got you now!

Without hesitation, the Huntress took out a handful of pellets from her utility 
belt and tossed them at the television screen. At the same time, she ducked into 
a defensive crouch, bringing her cape up and around her, its triple-weave Nomex 
protecting her from the sudden blasts that rocked the apartment.

****

Before the smoke cleared, the Huntress leaped through the new opening between 
the adjoining apartments. Instinctively, she fired her crossbow towards her left 
and was rewarded by a squeal of pain as the quarrel found its mark. Grinning 
ferally, she vaulted over a bank of electronic equipment, dodging a sudden hail 
of bullets near her head.

Spinning horizontally in midair, the Huntress fired behind and over her head 
several times in rapid succession. This time, she was twice gratified with the 
agonized cries and screams of those who'd fallen victim to her wrath. Landing, 
she allowed her momentum to carry her forward, and she rolled several times 
until she reached the examination table on which Nightwing still lay.

Regaining her feet in a single, smooth motion, the Huntress hurriedly yanked the 
electrodes from his temples and scalp, and then in outraged fury, grabbed 
another handful of pellets and threw them with unnecessary force at the strange 
equipment that outlined most of the room.

Without hesitation, she pushed the examination table with all the power she 
could muster, while simultaneously jumping up on top of Nightwing, using her 
cape to protect them both from the force of the explosions that followed.

****

Her hearing returned first as the sound of soft breathing next to her slowly 
invaded her consciousness.

Next came her sense of touch. She stiffened suddenly as she became aware of his 
well-sculpted body lying underneath hers. 

Finally, her sight and sense of smell arrived at the same time. As she slowly 
opened her eyes, she saw that he was still unconscious and marveled again at the 
exquisite beauty of his features. She felt a momentary relief that he was 
unaware of her open assessment of his looks.

Sniffing, she became aware of a pervasive black smoke that hung in the room. 
Sitting up, she realized that the place was on fire! And not a little fire, but 
a raging, out-of-control conflagration. Quickly, she undid the metal straps that 
still held Nightwing prisoner, and somehow managed to throw her much heavier 
friend over her shoulders in a fireman's carry...

Much later, she helped him to a sitting position on the opposite rooftop. The 
street below was alive with sirens, emergency vehicles, and rescue workers. 
There was little point in interfering with their jobs, since they obviously had 
the situation under control. 

Therefore, as the horizon changed from twilight gray to pink plum blossoms, she 
concentrated on Nightwing, checking him for any possible injuries. When she was 
satisfied that he wasn't hurt, she lightly tapped him across the cheeks, but he 
didn't respond immediately. Hesitating slightly, she bent down and kissed him 
lightly on the lips. After a few seconds, he woke with a start.

"Welcome back, handsome," she teased gently. His expression rapidly went from 
shock, to fear, to anger, to deep shame. Unable to bear looking at her, he stood 
suddenly, stumbling slightly as a wave of vertigo overtook him.

"Hey! What's the matter?" she asked, confused by his reactions and feeling not a 
little hurt by them.

Not answering, he stood stiffly, his back to her.

"Look! I just saved your life!" she yelled. "I don't expect to be inducted into 
your club all of a sudden, but a simple 'thanks' would be nice." His silence 
continued to grow, seemingly clouding the morning with its gloom and sense of 
despair. "All right! Okay!" she said, fed up with him. "I'm sorry I ever tried 
to make amends. And don't worry...you'll never have to lay eyes on me again--!"

"I'm sorry."

She stopped. What did he say? It sounded like--

"I'm sorry," he repeated. Nightwing's shoulders had slumped slightly. Eyes 
widening at the unexpected turn of events, the Huntress walked up to him. Almost 
afraid of touching him, she hesitantly placed a hand on his arm. As expected, he 
stiffened at her touch, but he didn't throw her hand off.

To her alarm, Nightwing suddenly covered his eyes with his other hand and let 
out a single, anguished sob. Instantly, the Huntress had him in her arms, 
holding him tightly against her, offering soothing words of comfort, caressing 
his face with her own.

Before either was aware of what they were doing, their lips were less than a 
whisper apart. The next instant, they were clinging to each other overwhelmed by 
a feverish hunger that neither appeared able to control. Seemingly of their own 
accord, their lips parted slightly as they pressed together...

"No!" Nightwing cried out, breaking free. "No! What are we doing?! This isn't 
right!" He whirled on her, his eyes almost accusatory. "That wasn't me in 
there!" he raged. "That was *him*! *He* did it! He made me want those--
those...things!" Nightwing shuddered at the images that had been conjured 
unwillingly in his mind, images that now haunted him, drawing him against his 
will to the Huntress.

Realizing what she'd been willingly about to do at her friend's expense, the 
Huntress felt an overwhelming sense of guilt coupled by a deep longing. She 
couldn't help how she felt about Nightwing even if she knew that whatever 
emotions he was currently experiencing for her were false. And it hurt her to 
watch him hurt over what had been done to him.

In an attempt to change the subject, she asked the first question that came to 
her.

"Who did this to you, Nightwing? To us?"

"He calls himself Hugo Strange. He's some kind of mind-expert, a psychologist 
who likes to play mind games with his clients. A few months ago, he almost 
destroyed us--Batman and me. It was as if he knew what we were thinking before 
we even thought it."

Nightwing walked towards the roof that faced the breaking dawn. He relished in 
the warmth of the early morning rays, which were dispelling the final remnants 
of last night's freezing rain.

"That's how he caught me so easily. One minute I was exploring a suspicious spot 
along the wall. The next, I was falling through it. Before I could react, 
someone sprayed me with a knockout gas. Next thing I know, I'm living in a 
topsy-turvy nightmare world. My whole life is being played back at me in a kind 
of fun-house mirror version." He stopped, looking down at his feet, his cheeks 
flushed in sudden embarrassment.

"And then, there you were..." he swallowed. "I wanted the images to stop, but 
couldn't make them go away. I had no control over them. And then..." he stopped 
and slowly looked up her. "And then, I didn't want them to stop..." He turned 
away, unable or unwilling to look her in the eye. "I'm sorry, Helena...I--"

She was instantly next to him, not touching, but not out of his reach, either.

"Hey...we're friends, remember? We shared a moment together way back when. We 
both knew that wasn't right for either of us, so we went our separate ways. I 
know you love her, Dick."

By 'her,' Nightwing knew the Huntress meant Barbara, whom she knew only as 
Oracle.

"And these feelings we're experiencing right now...They'll pass because we both 
know that they're not real. That it isn't me you want. That they were put there 
by that monster...whatisname...Hugo Strange, right?" At his nod, she continued. 
"Well, the last time I looked, you and were two perfectly normal, intelligent 
adults who know how to control their feelings--"

She paused at his expression. He was looking her at with a look of complete of 
disbelief. If there were one thing about the Huntress that she knew Nightwing 
believed, it was that she was a woman who was rarely in complete control of 
herself. Grinning, she shook her head.

"I'm quite capable of controlling myself around men, Nightwing. I promise you 
that I won't knock you over the head and drag you into my lair to make illicit, 
passionate love to you."

Nightwing's usually quirky humor finally kicked in, and he gave her a rakish 
grin. "That's a relief. For a minute there, I was really scared."

They both shared a quiet laugh. After a moment, he grew serious again.

"Helena, I haven't really thanked you for what you did back there. I'm still not 
sure whether Strange isn't in some way responsible for what's going on with 
Bruce, and believe me, I won't rest until I find out one way or another. But you 
risked your life to save me, and for that, I owe you."

He gazed sadly and longingly at her, his emotions warring inside him. Before she 
knew what he was doing, he took first one then a second step towards her. 
Tentatively raising his hand to her cheek, he caressed it softly. The next 
moment, their lips were searching tentatively for the each other's, and then 
barely touching, a charge of electricity coursed through them. Nightwing pulled 
her to him, feeling himself again overcome by passions beyond his ability to 
comprehend.

Only this time, the Huntress pushed him away. "No," she cried out. "We mustn't! 
It isn't real!" She felt the tears that had been threatening earlier begin to 
spill. "I should go." She turned and stared at him. "I'm afraid that I won't be 
able to stop the next time."

He nodded, but didn't speak. She saw a confusion of guilt and desire in his eyes 
and knew that he saw the same reflected in her own. Neither made a move to go. 
It was as if they couldn't fight whatever force was pulling them towards each 
other and their own self-destruction.

It seemed they stood this way for an eternity. Certainly when she became aware 
of time again, the sun had risen quite high in the sky. She was about to speak, 
when Nightwing's expression suddenly took on a faraway look. He brought his hand 
up to his ear, as if listening.

Oracle, she knew.

"I copy," he said. "I'm on my way." Turning to her, Nightwing was suddenly all 
business. "That was Oracle. She thinks that she's uncovered new evidence that 
might prove Bruce was framed. She wants me to take a look at it."

The Huntress nodded mutely. She watched him as he vaulted onto the high ledge in 
preparation for take off. About to leap, he turned suddenly and faced her one 
last time.

"Thanks again, Helena...for being a friend." With that, Nightwing leaped into 
the bright, sunlit morning.

****

The beautiful, dark haired young woman climbed the steep steps leading up to the 
grand double doors of Gotham Cathedral. Covering her head with a plain, dark 
scarf, she entered the quiet, somber vestibule. She felt for the small font next 
to the door, and dipped her fingers lightly in the holy water, crossing herself 
automatically.

She looked around for a few seconds in the deep gloom of the massive, gothic 
church. She finally spotted the confessionals tucked away in an out of the way 
private cul-de-sac, which lay adjacent to the sanctuary. Entering, and empty 
booth, she kneeled and again crossed herself. Saying a short, private prayer, 
Helena finally spoke. 

"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been..." she paused. "...several 
years since my last confession."

****

The End

***