Chapter 3
Ever since his meeting with the mysterious girl, the one who called herself NightHawk, he walked the streets and rooftops of Gotham City, searching for her, obsessed with her. He was like a man possessed. He wanted to find her, to ask her many questions, to find out who she really was. He wanted to know who the man was, the man that was forcing her to be a thief. And, deep inside of him, he wanted to see her beautiful face, hear her melodious voice and feel those soft, warm lips on his again.
And what did she mean about it being good to see him 'again'? He had never met her once in his life, at least not that he could remember. He remembered that he had felt an odd familiarity about her, but he couldn't quite place his finger on it. She was a criminal, he knew that. She had stolen one million dollars worth of jewelry, and yet she piqued his curiosity, his sympathy and some other emotion he couldn't put words to. Who was that man she talked about with such fear? Why did she have to do anything? He wanted to, needed to find her. However, he knew he wasn't the only one looking for her. Half of the city's police force was still looking for her, because of the large amount of jewels she had stolen. But he had to find her first. He just had to.
He had left the scene of the robbery in perfect health; the only part of him that had been injured was his pride. The poison had worn off, but it had left behind a sick, drunken feeling. He was getting shakily to his feet when the police finally noticed him, after she had made her escape. It was embarrassing, but he told them everything that had happened, leaving out what she had said to him. And, of course, that she had kissed him. He didn't even know what to make of it, and he sure as hell wasn't going to tell the entire city police force about it. The whole city knew he had been beaten by her, a 'common thief'. He worked three times as hard at catching criminals, to make up for 'The Incident', as he called it. He would answer every alarm, every robbery, expecting it to be her, secretly hoping for it to be her. It never was. She had entered his life, quickly and quietly. She had left it just as fast, even faster.
Daybreak was just beginning when he returned to his loft. It was on the top floor of a luxury apartment complex, where he had the entire top floor to himself, along with the rooftop garden. From the garden, he could survey Gotham City in one glance. 'Sort of like the old tower' He thought to himself sadly. Angry with himself for remembering the tower, he told himself to shut up and forget about it. He had to stop. The Titans Tower, the Titans, everything about his old life needed to be erased. He had to stop thinking about his old life. Robin was gone, replaced by Night Wing. His old life, the person he was, was dead. And it was going to stay that way.
He opened the door to his loft, and was reaching for the light switch, when he heard a familiar voice and a familiar word, both that he wanted to forget.
"Robin!" Starfire exclaimed, in a voice filled with hope.
"That's not my name. It's Night Wing." He said wearily.
Flipping on the light switch, he saw Starfire sitting on the couch, with a green kitten next to her. Cyborg was standing in the shadows, and Raven was sitting on his window seat, calmly surveying the sunrise.
The green kitten turned into BeastBoy, who shouted, "Yo! My man what's up?"
He extended his hand, expecting their usual handshake, but Night Wing brushed right past him into the kitchen. Beast Boy dropped his hand.
"Ro- I mean friend Night Hawk. We desire your company at the tower, and Jump City needs you to.' Starfire said. Then in an undertone she added 'I need you."
He turned from the fridge, startled and angry. Damn her! Why did she have to do this? What did she want from him? Didn't she understand that he couldn't be with her, or the Titans? He was different. He wasn't the same. He was never going to be Robin again! Damn it!
"Starfire, I'd like you to leave. Beast boy, Cyborg, Raven, I want you to leave too. I want you all to leave and never come back. Ever. I'm not Robin. I'm not who you knew."
Then turning to Starfire he added, "I'm not the guy you love. And I don't love you."
With that remark, the one last bit of Robin in him truly did die. NightWing felt him die, but he had no regrets. He had just said the words he could never take back. But he wouldn't want to if he could. He really was no longer a Titan.
She gave a muffled sob, and then ran out of the loft crying. Beast boy ran after her, but not before shooting Night Wing an evil glare. Cyborg walked out of the room, turning at the door to say,
"That was cruel man. That was just cruel."
Night Wing turned to Raven, who had quietly been surveying the whole scene.
"I want you to leave. Now." He said quietly.
She turned to go, but while passing him she stopped.
"You have changed.' She said quietly. 'Robin is dead. We can no longer help you, but I know who can."
She continued walking.
"Who can?" he asked. In answer, Raven walked up to him, dropped a tiny figurine into his right hand, closed his hand over it and then walked out the open door. For a long time Night Wing just stood there, tears sliding down his face for the life he had just lost. He had killed two people now. That unknown girl and now Robin. He knew he had killed part of Starfire, too. He could never be with her. Ever. Robin was dead. But he, Night Wing, was alive. The tears stopped, and he walked into his bathroom to wash his face clean of the tears, the last remnants of his old self.
As he walked into the bathroom, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. What he saw there disgusted him. His face was pale, thin and harrowed, from weeks of barely any sleep. But it was his eyes that bothered him. There was a dark black ring around them, and they were red and puffy, a testament to his earlier weakness. Unable to stand the sight of his pathetic, weak face anymore, he brought his left fist up, and roaring with anger, pain, hatred and misery, smashed it into the mirror. Sharp pain flooded his body, as glass sunk deep into his palm, his knuckles, his fingers and a part of his wrist. He stood there for a moment, his hand cupped slightly, watching the blood gather into a little pool in his palm, and continued watching as it overflowed, and began dripping down his arm, falling to the floor. He crumpled to the floor, and continued to watch the blood, and feel the pain. He liked the pain, it felt good. He couldn't think of anything else, just the hot flashing pain.
After a bit, the pain began to numb, and other thoughts began to creep into his mind. He couldn't have that. He couldn't think. So, bringing his right hand to his left, he began picking out glass fragments. Something fell from his right hand, hitting the floor with a soft thunk. He didn't pay attention to it, he hardly even noticed it. With every bit of glass that he pulled out, a new wave of pain would ensue. This was good. The pain blocked all other thoughts. After a while, he had extracted all of the glass from his hand. He noticed that he was now not only in pain, but he was also exhausted. He wasn't quite sure what had just happened, but he did know that he had discovered something valuable. If he was in pain, physical pain, he couldn't think. Physical pain was his savior from all the turmoil raging inside him. Physical pain saved him from the emotional pain.
He looked around him, at the mess of blood and glass, and noticed a small black object in the gore. Poking through the bloody glass, he picked the object up. It was a small figurine, but with the blood covering it, he couldn't make out what it was. Walking to the sink, he rinsed the object off, and held it to the light. He gasped, and for a second, thought he was seeing things. He thought that maybe the loss of blood was getting to his head. He closed his eyes and took a few deep breathes, before opening his eyes. He saw the same thing as before. It had to be real then, not just some figment of his imagination. He stared at it in surprise and in confusion. What was Raven trying to tell him? That this figurine was the representation of his savior? He continued to stare, lost in thought as the day progressed and passed him by. Alarms went off, cries for help were screamed, buildings burned, and people died but he ignored all, so consumed he was by this tiny figurine. The figurine was about as big as a golf ball, pitch black, with stars strewn all over it, and it was shaped in the form of a hawk.
So, Review. You know you want to... ; )
