Crime Alley was perhaps the only part of Gotham City that had not been changed by the advancement of technology. In the day light, it wasn't the haunted memory that had lived with Bruce Wayne since he'd been an eight-year-old boy, coming from a theater with his mother and father.

No, today, with the sun streaking down like heavenly fingers, the street nor the ramshackle and rundown buildings surrounding it, looked like the impoverished, hell hole that had spurred a child to shuck of the innocence of youth and mold himself into a weapon against injustice. No, that picture had spread like ink to darken the other streets of Gotham City, leaving Crime Alley nothing more then a ghost of a memory.

Bruce had fought harshly and unmoving against its destruction. And had won. Crime Alley would stand untouched as long as he lived, a quiet reminder of what had been. A quiet reminder of why Gotham needed Batman.

Palm open, Bruce turned his right hand to Terry McGinnis, his assistant, and most importantly, the current Batman, and Terry placed two red roses into his hands, thorns and all. Something beautiful always came with its pains.

Leaning down, the bones in his back, that even his incredible strength couldn't quite keep from deteriorating, groaning in protest every inch of the way. He cursed the cage that age had put him into. Secretly, he knew, Terry cursed it too.

They'd been careful not to say it, but the tragedy at the Gotham Hall was something that words could not speak more eloquently between them. But they were as loud and palpable as a fall wind. What if? What if age had not robbed Bruce of his vitality, would those boy's parents still have died?

It was pointless of course. Barriers of time rarely melted away, becoming merged. Gotham as he'd protected it was not the same as the Gotham that Terry watched over. Regrets did little for the world, but Bruce shouldered a world's worth.

And now his young protégé, his predecessor was weighed by his own.

"I'll warm up the car," Terry broke into his reverie. "Come on, mutt," he called to Ace, their constant companion.

Ace looked up at Bruce with an intelligent glint in his eyes and the old man gave him a terse nod. The dog began to trot after the twenty-two year old Batman when he stopped suddenly sniffing the air around him.

"Ace?" Bruce asked.

The long pointed black snout, continued its survey of the air. Then it let out a sharp bark.

From out of sight a snicker was heard.

"Ace!" Terry commanded, pointing a finger at Bruce. "Protect." The fighting dog, instantly took position in front of his master, his lips drawn back to show sharp, dagger like teeth.

After Terry had recovered from his own injuries, he'd been hellbent in finding every way possible to protect Bruce. Aside from intensive training with Ace, he'd also rigged Bruce's chair to carry a number of batarangs and an electric current that Bruce could switch on if any came to threaten him.

"I didn't quiet believe it," the voice followed the snicker, a light baritone that despite the amusement, managed to sound tired and wary. "I mean who would have guessed it. Bruce Wayne in a wheelchair."

Terry's stance went into a guard position and his hand moved deceptively casual towards his belt. The young Batman was more heavily armed then he'd ever been before. The knowledge that Penumbra was still out there with no shroud of secrecy protecting Terry or Bruce, had spurred the boy to greater measures.

But this was no enemy.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, not needing the figure standing in the shadows to step into the sunlight to shed illumination.

"Geez, Bruce, you really don't change do you?" the voice continued, a sense of a head wagging back and forth in its tone. "Can't you pretend to be a little glad to see me."

"What are you doing here?" Bruce repeated, as hard as before.

Terry was watching him out of the corner of his eye, gauging him with that innate understanding he'd had of Bruce since the moment they'd met. He knew that occasionally he frustrated the boy, but where all his other protégé's had been unable to put up with it, Terry seemed to take all of it in stride.

Eventually, the figure stepped out of the shadows. He was younger then Bruce by at least twenty years, his hair still contained threads of his once lustrous black hair. Dressed in a fashion similar to Terry, Dick Grayson looked younger than his years. Still, he had aged since the last time Bruce had seen him.

The last time had been a few months before Terry had stolen the suit. It had gone as well as many of the other encounters since that night when Dick had managed to get a punch under his guard.

"Who is this dreg?" Terry asked, his voice deepening unconsciously.

"Wow, do you know how unthreatening you are right now?" Dick replied, eyeing the boy with disdain and his usual forced amusement.

Terry's handsome features hardened. "Maybe you want a demonstration."

"Any day, junior," Dick assured, holding his ground.

The young Batman took a step forward and would have gladly taken a punch at Dick, but Bruce stopped him with his cane. "That won't get us an answer. Dick?"

"Ah, Dick," Terry said and made it into an insult without much effort.

"I go by Richard now," Bruce's old partner said, giving a pull on his jacket for emphasis.

"Not what I meant," Terry replied.

Bruce looked between his former partner and his current partner and sighed. He really didn't need this right now. "Richard," Bruce said. "Answer my question."

"What is it ever?" he asked, giving Terry one more disdainful glare. "Blüdhaven's problems are leaking in on Gotham and instead of like last time, I've come to ask permission to play in your sandbox. And well...," he gestured vaguely at Bruce and the two red roses lying on the sidewalk. "I know your schedule."

"Is that it?" Bruce asked.

Dick's blue eyes turned to him, nearly as piercing as his own. There was something bubbling under that anger, a sadness that Bruce knew he was more than partially responsible for. His ward, his all but son, wanted him to say something else, to do something that Bruce could never quite guess at.

"Yeah, that's it."

"Good."

He motioned for Terry and automatically, the boy took Ace's lead. He never believed it possible, but he actually missed McGinnis' more rebellious side. There was only room for one grumpy, old man at the manor, and Bruce had already claimed that position.

"I don't want your boy messing up my investigation," Dick called to their backs as Bruce urged his chair forward.

Terry paused as he opened the door to the car. "Just as long as the bird keeps out of the way of the bat." He grabbed Bruce's arm and helped him into the car. Dick watched the easy way that Bruce accepted Terry's help and his eyes narrowed to slits. "Catch you later, dick."