Greetings,

My short but lengthening career writing these fanfics has been, thus far, deeply fulfilling. I've had reactions to the three (with a fourth one to come shortly) stories I've written that have absolutely floored me. Know that every kind word you all have said to me has been read, and recorded, and I'll not soon forget them, and to say thank you, I present this, a re-release of my first Titans fanfic.

It was a fairly easy one to write, and I did it in two and a half days, and uploaded the whole thing all at once, which I guess means it kind of got under the radar, and only got one review. That isn't why I'm releasing it again, but I felt it should be pointed out. Anyway, this re-release has been expanded and revised, and now contains an alternate ending (just so everyone, whether you like Terra or not, can enjoy the work). I must say, going back to a story that you've already written, however easy it was the first time, is kind of like eating a piece of gum that has been stuck to the underside of your desk for two months and left to harden...but I digress.

So now I present "Terra Morte? The Directors Cut", I'll release it slowly, probably a chapter every other day, for probably five chapters or so (depending on how much revising and expanding I actually do, of course. Remember, two month old gum...yummy). As far as dedications go, I dedicate it to you, reader, for actually taking the time to open this window and dedicate any small amount of your life to reading my crap. For that, and for your reviews (whether you leave them or not, it matters little, as long as you read my story and enjoy it, I am happy), you all have my eternal thanks. Now, go on, read, and enjoy!

Stuart Livermore AKA The Golden Gael.

March 21st 2005

Terra, Morte?

1.

There was a dark figure flying through the city, over streets and people alike. No, flying is the wrong word, swinging is much more appropriate. In the dark, you can't see the wire he's swinging on, or the piece of machinery it was fired from, which is clasped in his right hand. You couldn't see them, but you know they're there. In his hand, his left hand, was his precious cargo, which he has come all the way from Gotham City to deliver. Precious, precious cargo. It was inside a glass tube, presented almost as a relic from a former era, under glass, preserved, forever perfect. But this was not a relic, and to be fair, it was not as well preserved as it once had been. No, once it had been solid stone, slowly doing nothing and quickly going nowhere in some deep dark cave under the city. The dark man knew about cave's, but not much in the way of being stone. Still, when an old friend dropped by to ask a special favour, he felt compelled to oblige. For some reason, he felt indebted to this old friend, he somehow owed him something. Certainly the way they parted was on less than amiable terms, and that phone call he made must have been a dagger in his side, just killing him.

He landed on a rooftop and ran across it, firing a new line out and swinging through the air again.

The cargo in question was a lock of human hair. He'd taken the time and effort to bind it with a length of red string, just to keep all of the evidence together in a neat bundle. Not that he was bragging, he just didn't want to lose any of it, it seemed important, after all. He swung quickly towards his destination, which was about as inconspicious as a Christmas tree coloured hot pink (and quite a bit brighter than one), and as headquarters went, it was more than a little gaudy. He supposed that was the opinion one gathered when one made one's own base of operation in a cave, albeit a cave with a big car and an obscenely expensive computer inside of it, but a cave nonetheless. This was a tower, a massive, multi-story, to-big-for-five-people, T shaped tower, it did nothing for the scape of the city really, but who was he to judge?

In any case, he wasn't going to be setting foot in the thing anyway, it was on an island and largely inaccessible, so he was going to be meeting his old friend on the shore, and he, his friend, was going to take the lock of blonde hair, tied with red string, the rest of the way.

Yes, Batman was going to meet Robin. A reunion he was sure neither of them was looking forward to, and one that was sure to be brief, and rather to the point.

He landed on the street in rather dramatic fashion, and walked the rest of the way, lightly fingering the flask he held. He wasn't sure exactly what its significance was, he just knew the bare bone facts. Turns out the girl that this hair belonged to had caused a whole lot of trouble, emptied out this very city and nearly killed the hero's who protected it. Did all that, but redeemed herself, even managed to rid the world of the infamous criminal Slade. She was a friend, then an enemy, and a friend again, but in redeeming herself she managed to turn herself into a statue, go figure. Robin had been a little sketchy on the details, which meant he wanted to keep it an internal affair amongst him and his other Teen Titans. He rarely ever told Batman anything these days, anyway, which suited Batman just fine. All birds eventually needed to learn to fly on their own, after all.

He stopped walking and lifted his attention away from the hair in his hand; someone was close.

"You've still got to work on that." He said, apparently, to nothing.

"No way," Robin walked calmly out of a shadow, with a green gloved hand running through his hair. "No way you heard me, I never made a sound." Robin made a gesture, the spreading of the arms with palms out, a give me a break sort of movement.

"I knew you were there, didn't I?" Batman turned to face his former ward, with an odd little smile on his face. Robin walked towards him, boots thumping slightly on the tarmac.

"So, any luck?" There wasn't any light-heartedness in his voice, he was dead serious. There was more than a few ounces of hope in it though.

"Well, you be the judge." Batman, known to some as Bruce Wayne, tossed the glass tube to Robin. He caught it lightly in both hands, with little effort, and inspected it; Batman could not see Robin's eyes then, but knew that they held a glimmer of hope as they inspected the hair.

"Wow, you did it..." he said, not taking his eyes off the tube, "you really did it." Bruce tried very hard to not take any pride in this praise. For some reason, it didn't seem like the right time to be a braggart. To Bruce Wayne, there was almost none of those times, and certainly not when they were speaking of a human life, perhaps soon to resume.

"Yes, you should be able to replicate the formula pretty easily, as much of it as you need." Batman took a folded piece of paper out of his belt and handed it over, Robin took it eagerly. The boy then turned, his cape wrapping lightly around his shoulder.

"Thanks Bruce, I owe you." He said over his shoulder, and made to leave, when Batman stopped him. Put a hand on his shoulder, keeping him in place.

"Robin.." He hesitated. Robin turned to look at him, he could tell something was bothering the Batman. Bruce wanted to say something, and Robin intended to find out what. He stowed the hair and folded formula in his utility belt and looked up at the man.

"Yes?"

"Dick...you've got the cure now. But are you sure you want to use it?" He spoke in his usual raspy, bass toned voice. It was the type of voice that made everything sound more serious and important than it really was. This, however, was one of those rare times that his voice matched the gravity of what he'd said. Robin looked confused, and pulled the hair back out for a second look.

"What do you mean?"

"Robin, I know that you won't tell me everything that this girl has done. But what you have told me, proves that she is unstable. What's the guarantee that if you reverse whatever it is that's happened to her, that she won't just attack, that she won't just try and kill you all again?" Robin thought of this for a moment, looking squarely at the ground between his feet. Trying to really nail his point, even though it wasn't really necessary, Batman continued.

"I know you want to do the right thing, Robin. But sometimes what is right, isn't what's best. You can't in good conscience save her if it might mean putting the people of this city at risk." Batman waved at the buildings visible from the shore line, all of them black pillars with little squares of light here and there. People burning midnight oil in offices, staying up late and watching talk shows. People doing what people do at night. And that was the problem, Robin thought, all those people...

"I won't make this decision alone," Robin finally said, "I'm going to talk to the rest of the Titans first. We'll make the decision, together." Batman looked at the boy for a second, then grabbed him by both shoulders, much softer than he usually grabbed anything.

"Good. But remember Robin, you're their leader. You have to put your needs aside, for the greater good." He looked down into Robin's eyes, or mask, for a few moments, then let go of his ex-partner, current friend, but still looked long at him. Robin turned away, holding the hair in his palm.

"...The greater good..." He fired a line into the nearest building and was gone, in a well practised blur.

Batman was now standing alone, cape wrapped around his whole person, wind slowly kicking up its bottom, making it flutter a little. He shook his head and pressed a button on his belt. Moments later, a sleek, black car shot out of the night and screeched to a halt beside him, its sliding top opening as it did. With one last look at the Tower, home of the Teen Titans, Batman closed the car's door, and was gone.

Terra, it seemed, had a hope, but just a small one.