Nightwing's Last Flight?
By
AJ
The beeping of the heart monitor got stronger, becoming steadier. Alfred's eyes became wide. For a moment he could have sworn that . . . "Master Bruce."
Bruce Wayne rushed forward and saw for himself the heartbeat of his son growing stronger.
'He's alive,' he thought. 'My God after all that he's really alive. He . . .' No, he didn't want to jinx it. Grabbing his son's hand Bruce gave it a squeeze. He didn't expect the squeeze to be returned. It was enough. Tears rimmed Bruce's eyes. It wasn't too late. They had more time.
"Did you get everything?" Bruce asked.
'I repaired most of the damage. He's going to need extensive recovery time. Once he's stronger, I can get the rest."
Bruce ran his hand through Dick's hair. "You're safe, and you're home.' He was grateful they lived outside of Gotham. They would have time to strategize to go back to the beginning, to do what Batman and his birds were meant to do, protect Gotham. Once again they would have to operate outside the law and at night, to make certain they weren't seen, to rebuild the trust and the faith that they had over the years with the police. They might still be able to count on Gordon, but eventually Commissioner Gordon would retire and that meant trying to build trust with someone else. Batman Incorporated had been an idea, a dream that turned out to be a disaster. Talia saw to that and it was Damian who paid the ultimate price for it.
'Oh . . . I think I zigged when I should have zagged," Dick said.
"Dick, you're awake," Bruce stated.
'Is Tim okay? Tim's not . . . And Jason? Is he . . ." Dick tried to sit up,
"Whoa, take it easy, you just went through surgery," Bruce said as he pushed Dick back down on his stomach. "I sent Tim upstairs soon after I returned home with you. Jason is at the bunker. He's monitoring Talia's whereabouts."
"The sanctions . . ."
"Are still in place for now," Bruce stated. "Get some rest."
As Dick slipped into natural sleep, something slipped from his hand. It was a locket. Bruce bent down to pick it up. It was one that he had not seen in years. He remembered the young woman who wore it; her raven hair and striking blue eyes . . . Dick's eyes were the same color. At that moment, Dick mumbled something in his sleep.
"I'll remember, Mom . . . Show pictures to meh dad . . . to Bruce."
What was Dick talking about? What puzzled Bruce more was how the locket got into Dick's hand. It hadn't been in his hand when the paramedics found Dick or even when Bruce brought him home. The locket wasn't small but neither was it large. It fit comfortably in ones hand, just the right size to grasp. He would have waited until Dick was awake, but something tugged at the back of his mind. Taking a chair and sitting next to his son, Bruce grasped the locket in both hands, and working at the seam, he popped it open. A small slip of paper fell to the floor, but inside the locket were two pictures, one of a child around two years of age, and another of a young man that Bruce knew all too well and yet he had not seen that face in many years. 'Was I ever that young?'
The small slip of paper caught his attention between his feet. He picked it up and carefully unfolded it. It was a short letter written in a tight neat hand. What was written on that letter gave Bruce hope once more to his darkened world.
Bruce,
I know you have to leave and I would never keep you from your mission. That is why I did not tell you. He is your son, not John's. I will keep the truth a secret less it would hurt him deeply. Some day I hope you will get to meet him, your son, Richard John Grayson-Wayne.
With All My Love,
Mary
Folding the small letter back into the square that it originated, Bruce took one more look at the smiling child in the photo then turned to look at his sleeping son. So after all these years, Bruce hadn't realized he had adopted his own son. He could do a paternity test just to be sure, but did that really matter after all this time? He had always felt a strong . . . fatherly connection . . . And even though he felt uncertain during those early days, that connection had grown stronger. Out of the four boys, Dick was always the one he could talk to the easiest.
'Just like Mary," he thought, a long forgotten memory blossomed in his mind. And he did remember, the long walks on the beach, the tightrope lessons, and the sudden passion that erupted between them his last night. 'I would have given up everything if I had known. She knew and she let me go anyway. And without realizing it, I brought my son home.'
Bruce brushed his hand along his sleeping son's cheek. Instinctively, Dick moved a little closer to feel the warmth of that caress. Then Bruce leaned in and whispered in his son's ear as he did the first time they met.
'Have a dreamless sleep, my son," amending with " . . . I love you."
And just as Bruce was about to leave, Dick sleepily said with that special smile just for him, "I love you, too . . . Dad."
End