Part Four

The doctor was professional and quick, samples taken, he told Robin that the results would available within twenty-four hours, at least the preliminary ones anyway.

"So shouldn't you be calling your parents or someone, let them know that you're all right?"

"I spoke with Batman a little while ago."

"I know that; I meant your family..." Sharon broke off. "I'm sorry. That's none of my business."

"No, but it's okay; I don't have to call anyone else."

She wondered at that, there were a lot of possibilities but knew she wasn't supposed to go there—no one was supposed to go there. "Do you have to wait for the results or can you leave to go back east now?"

He shrugged, obviously restless and uncomfortable sitting around a hotel room. He needed to be outside, moving, doing something. "They can let me know by fax or e-mail or something but I'd like to see this thing through myself. It kinda personal, y'know?" She nodded. "But do you have to get to the airport or something? You really don't have to wait around just to keep me company."

"'You trying to get rid of me? Maybe have a better offer?" He actually blushed, it was adorable though she knew it was just a reaction to her slightly suggestion remark and nothing more. Her mind switched back to it's usual analytical state and she knew, suddenly understood that he needed to solve this, find out who was trying to hurt him. Potentially kill him. Who, why and how could he prevent it happening again.

Of course, play time was over and he'd switched into professional mode. She'd do the same. He had a case, a problem to solve and that was now his first and likely only priority. She had the distinct impression that he was similar to a cat tired of toying with it's prey.

"What do you think happened?" She'd dropped any act, any pretense but tried for a few moments to gather her thoughts. She wanted to know what was going to happen now, happen to her, that is.

"I was drugged by an amateur. I don't think there was anything malicious about it, though I could be wrong about that. I think it was someone who simply saw an opportunity and took it, possibly without any planning or forethought. I suspect it was someone who might have wanted to meet me, get to know me to some degree and probably didn't have any plans to harm me."

He was looking at her calmly as he spoke, making it obvious he knew it was her, that she wasn't any real danger to him and scaring the hell out of her.

"So what do you plan to do about it?"

"Nothing until I get those test results back. Meanwhile, I have to be back in Gotham tonight so I'll either turn the case over to the Denver police or follow it myself long-distance."

Jesus. "I see." Talk about living with an anvil hanging over your head.

"And you'll be going back to wherever it is you live?"

"Yes, Boston." They exchanged a look of understanding. She'd go home, he'd do the same and he'd never hear from her again. Period. Something had changed in the room, in the feeling in the air. They'd come to an understanding and had accepted one another's acceptance without the need to hash out details. She understood the new rules, knew there was no negotiations and no real choice. There wouldn't be any more trouble, at least not from her. She glanced at the clock. "You didn't touch any of that food I ordered for you."

"'Sorry."

"Let me at least get you some lunch. 'You haven't eaten since last night, you must be hungry."

"You're serious?"

"Well, yes. Of course. It's the least I can do. I mean..."

He gave a half laugh. "This is a first; sure, okay. Why not, right?" He was a cross between disbelieving, bemused and suspicious. "Just lunch, right?"

She was getting a bit annoyed. He had her dead to rights; he knew and she knew he knew. There was no reason to be snotty about it. "Of course just lunch. I wasn't planing on jumping you, you know."

"What were you planning?"

"Oh, f'the love of—I was planning a pleasant weekend in Denver, relaxing, spending some time on my own to do some shopping, eating some good meals and watching your exhibition. That's it—take it or leave it." He just watched her, almost as if she were putting on a private performance just for him. "What?"

"Nothing, just trying to decide if you''re real, naïve, telling the truth or the best actress I've seen in a long time."

She didn't deign to address that and resisted the prickle of annoyance at his arrogance; if she'd suspected this side of him, she hadn't expected to encounter it. "So, did you want lunch or not?"

"Thanks but I have to get to the airport."

She nodded, not surprised. "What happens now?"

"I go home, I assume you do the same."

"That's it?"

He almost had a smile on his face along with a slight touch of confusion. "Why, what did you expect?"

"I'm not sure, something, I guess."

He half-shrugged. "You do know that I don't work alone—he might not be as understanding as I am."

"Are you threatening me?" The gall of the boy.

"No, just giving you a head's up, I guess. 'Stating facts."

Three weeks later, the trip to Denver tucked away as a good/bad memory/experience, Sharon was back to work, back to her usual professional, no-nonsense self and living her life the way she had been. "Right, Misty? You and me tonight, just the way we like it." Yes, she was lying but if she said it enough it might become true.

She'd thought about that weekend a lot, a day hadn't gone by without it occupying at least an hour of her thoughts. Okay, maybe not all at once, but on and off through the day. She'd picture the sight of Robin flying through his routines, the look on his face when he heard the screaming roar of ten or fifteen thousand people cheering him, the happiness, pride and embarrassment as he ducked his head. Smiling as he tossed a wave. His kindness when he rescued her from that slimy coach hitting on her. His sweetness when he offered to take her away from all that for a private dinner to allow her to compose herself and shake off that horrible man's advances.

"It would have been nice if we'd..." But she didn't let her thoughts go there. Always (well almost always) stopping them from their natural conclusion. "No, he's still a baby, still a teenager and even if I'd really wanted to go there with him, it would have been wrong and why would he ever think about me like that? Idiot—stop being stupid."

Of course, telling her mind to get out of the gutter and having it cooperate were two different things. Next she'd insist that wasn't the way she thought about him. It wasn't. Really, it wasn't. Like she had told herself for years, she admired him aesthetically, was impressed by his intelligence, compassion, dedication and all of that.

Really.

Back at the office Jean asked her her weekend had gone and been given the barest bones and almost no details. "It was great, just what I needed; time alone with no phones ringing, no one asking questions and time for myself—perfect!"

"So do you want me to arrange that dinner with George we were talking about before you left? C'mon, you've been putting it off since you got back and he's really sweet. I think you two will absolutely hit it off. I'll eve make it a double date to take off the pressure—Tom said he's been wanting to try that new Japanese place over that just opened. Saturday?"

"Saturday would be fine." Whatever. It was easier to agree than to find an excuse. Meanwhile she could spent this evening reading through People and Superheroes Weekly; Robin was on the cover of both and featured in the lead stories. "Okay, Jeannie, I have to get through this report; 'later. Oh, and could you send my assistant in, please?"

She knew she'd never meet him again, that what they'd shared—if shared was the word to use—would never happen again. It was a once in a lifetime thing. It was okay. It was fine and more than she thought she'd have. 'Of such things dreams are made' and she had plenty of dreams to keep her going.

In Wayne Manor Dick sat at his usual place for breakfast. It was Sunday morning, relatively a kickback time, at least for the Manor's residents. It was already eight o'clock, a late start for them.

"What happened in Denver, why did you cut out on the dinner?"

Dick picked up a piece of bacon; crispy, just the way he liked it. "Tom was hitting on one of the high rollers from the audience. I took her out instead, 'calmed her down."

Bruce was already distracted by some article in the Gotham Times. "...Good."

Dick turned his attention to his food. 'No need to waste Bruce's time with unimportant details. The situation was contained.

Sharon continued to work her usual eighty hours a week, making time go by quickly. She stayed up on what Robin—later Nightwing—was doing, how his career was going, rejoicing over the highs and worrying about the lows. She still bought the magazines and books about him, dusted the shelf holding her mementos and souvenirs.

Periodically she'd come home to find something subtly different than it had been that morning or the night before. A book would be slightly out of place, a knick knack would be out of place, her computer would feel warm, as though it had been in recent use. Nothing was ever missing, there was never a note or an explanation of who or how they'd gotten inside.

She knew he was just checking.

5/18/11