Dick felt like he had been given one of Scarecrow's toxins again.
This was ridiculous. He was Dick Grayson. He had practically been born on a highwire. He was Robin. He chased the evil in Gotham night after night, had done so when he was still a child. He was the Boy Wonder.
Robin did not get sweaty palms. Robin had been captured, beaten, used as bait, seen murders and fought criminals. He jumped off rooftops all the time. He was not scared.
The worst part of it was that he knew Commissioner Gordon. He'd worked with the man before, as Robin, and he knew him as Dick, too, as the son of one of Gordon's good friends. He shouldn't be scared of the man at all.
Or maybe the worst was that even though Dick's father was Batman, Barbara wasn't scared of him.
He felt her hand his arm. “Something wrong?”
Dick swallowed. “You think your father's really going to be okay with what we did in Vegas?”
She laughed. “Relax. You know Dad likes you.”
Somehow, that wasn't as comforting as she meant it to be, and Dick had to wipe his palms on his jeans. Again.