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Denial

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"What do you mean what’s wrong?"

"It’s just. You don’t seem like yourself, BG."

Barbara rolled her eyes, even if Dick couldn’t see it over the comms, “Yeah, well, it’s been a while since I’ve been BG.”

"Don’t tell me you’ve got performance anxiety." There was a note to his voice that gave Barbara a mental image of the exact smirk that was on his face.

She didn’t grant him the laugh he was looking for, though. And didn’t snark back either.

"I’m out here, aren’t I?"

"Yeah," Nightwing said after a beat, clearly pulled up short by the lack of banter. "So. What’s wrong?"

Barbara tried to find an answer that would satisfy him and just shut him up for the rest of patrol, but there was only one thing coming to mind and before she even knew she was going to, she was already snapping at him, “Cassandra left town when you decided to put on the cowl, then you and Bruce chased off Stephanie, and you’re asking me what’s wrong?”

"What? Cassandra? Stephanie? What do they have to do with anything?”

The streetlight across from Barbara suddenly went out and for a brief moment she actually thought the power of her glare had shorted it, melted its wires. She wished Nightwing had been sitting on it, used the image of his thick skull exploding to help calm her down enough to not get into a pointless shouting match over the comms that Batman would just break up anyway.

"Nevermind, Ass Wonder. I’ve got a wannabe carjacker here with ‘kick my ass, please’ written all over him."

There, that was a reasonable and mature response, right?

"You really think my butt looks that good?"

The carjacker hit the ground a little harder than Barbara had originally planned.