A/N: See chapter 1 for full notes. Also note that this story does not take the events of the Hush arc into account, as I did not have access to that material. ClassicCowboy, FusionBlaster, phoenix83ad and Vincent Hales for assistance with canon, VirtualFaerie for betaing, and everyone for their kind reviews. All feedback, including constructive criticism, is welcome and appreciated.

"This sucks, Tim." Greta had her arms folded over a white shirt sporting a proud Bugs Bunny, the ever irate Daffy Duck leaning against his right side popping his knuckles, and an unsettlingly composed Tasmanian Devil flanking his left. Tim jokingly called it her "Loony Toon Mafia shirt" the first time he saw it, but at the moment, the toons' defiant, accusatory expressions were just making him feel even worse. Greta glared past him, watching the trees pass by the window on his side of the Rolls, and sighed, a resigned sound that stung Tim's ears worse than any amount of yelling ever could. Disappointment. "Why didn't you tell me until now?"

Because I hate putting that look on your face. Whoever said girls were cuter when they were angry was perhaps the greatest moron to ever walk the earth. Pissed off girls just look pissed off. Period. He frowned, tugging self-consciously at his denim shirt and forcing himself to meet those unsmiling blue eyes. "Because I knew it would upset you. Yesterday you were so excited about the game, and I--I guess I chickened out." I challenged Lobo to hand to hand combat, and I chickened out of telling my girlfriend I might have to cancel some dates. God, that's pathetic. "I wanted us to have one nice, normal afternoon before ... before I ruined it."

He laughed darkly. "I could almost think it was funny--I actually get Bruce to agree, and not two hours after I tell you the good news, someone starts up an interstellar war and I wind up on protect-the-world duty, not just Gotham standby. And I can say that and be completely serious. Almost funny, but not." He pinched the bridge of his nose. There was really no way Gotham could keep itself quiet for two whole weeks--let alone the world. It was only a matter of time. "I'm sorry, Greta. I don't know what else to say." He fixed his eyes on his Superman sneakers, not daring to meet her eyes. Somehow, looking at the crest of the world's greatest hero was not making him feel better.

A small hand fell on his shoulder, squeezing lightly. "Hey, wait a minute," she said quietly, a tinge of surprise seeping into her voice, "you don't think I'm mad at you, do you?"

You should be. He looked up, forcing himself to meet her eyes. They were watching him carefully, the disappointment still obvious. The almost snarling glare had all but melted away, a tight, concerned frown in its place. "Don't tell me this doesn't bother you. You said it yourself--this sucks."

She laughed, a short, derisive tinkle. "You bet it does. I was looking forward to having you all to myself for a while. But you have more responsibilities now than before you asked Mr. Wayne for leave." She frowned. "And yeah, it stings more this way than if he'd just said no. I've had the ... pleasure ... of spending time with Mr. Wayne, and I know even with Alfred's intervention, getting him to let you off--making Bart sit through an opera would have been easier. So this sucks, hard. But there's no part of me upset with you."

He raised an eyebrow. "None?" He knew Greta had a temper. A magnificent, terrifying temper that had nearly gotten them all killed. One of my more spectacular mistakes. Sure, there were flashier screw-ups to his name, but he'd never, before or since, let a friend--more than that, now--almost lose their soul. She'd come a long way in mastering her personal demons since then, but the question remained. I know I'd be furious with me.

She groaned, running a hand through her short hair. "You're too hard on yourself, you know that?" She grinned, shaking her head. "And for a genius, you can be really dense." She winked, grabbing a fistful of his collar and yanking him out of his slouch. She leaned over, and he felt her relax into his side. "Most of the time, it's really cute."

This is ... unexpected. His eyebrows shot up, but he wrapped an arm around her, his lips twitching up against his will. "Most of the time?"

She grinned. "Sure. Then there're times like now--when it just makes me want to hit you with one of those Styrofoam baseball bats." She sighed. "Tim, when I first started ... when I realized I felt something for you that wasn't just friendship, you were just Robin. I hadn't even seen your eyes, even though I could tell exactly when you were looking straight into mine. I didn't care if you were really named Robin or Alvin or Big Bird or whatever--that didn't change who you were."

Her voice dropped to a whisper, faraway and wistful. "Even though you almost never let your guard down with us, you always made me feel safe, and confident, and more than that ... you treated me as close to normal as anyone did ... never let me forget I was just as human as anyone else ... until I got too confused and angry to listen. Even then, you didn't give up on me. You showed me the way back." She lowered her head. "But I fell in love with you before that, had fantasies about what it might be like if we were together." She looked up at him, blue eyes content. "And you know what? I couldn't have been more off the mark. This is nothing like I imagined. It's so much better."

Nothing like I imagined ... He pulled her into a hug and thought about their relationship ... how it had never moved beyond friendship for so long because he simply forced himself not to consider the possibilities. He was with Stephanie, and two-timing was never an option. What I almost missed ... "Really?" He felt a spark of something warm inside, and savored it. Hearing he'd outperformed a utopian perception of himself--that was a rare compliment, indeed.

She nodded, her cheek moving against his shirt in slow arcs. "I imagined being with Robin, the almost untouchable, nearly infallible vigilante you tried so hard to make sure we saw you as--you always wore the mask until I saw your face, if that tells you anything. You would leave me sometimes, on some mission with Batman or alone that you didn't want Young Justice in on. I knew, even in my fantasies, that being in love with you meant I had to share--whether I liked it or not. So this can't make me angry. There was a time it would have--too many things made me angry then--but I know the world doesn't work exactly like I want it to ... and I have to accept that."

She smirked. "So the world can have Robin: his fists and his feet, that calm, soothing voice that never falters but never gives anything away, and the rest of the shadow-you that was all I knew for so long. When they don't need him, I get Timothy Drake, the hero behind the mask, his belly laugh and the smile that makes dimples in his cheeks and his blue eyes dance. All of him. Now tell me," she looked up at him, catching his eyes with her own, "who gets the better part of the bargain?"

Tim blinked. There was only one possible answer. "Me." There was a time when he would have wondered how he'd ended up with someone so ... compassionate. Understanding. Forgiving. Insightful. Perfect. But questioning fate was something he'd given up a long time ago. Now all he had to do was make sure he didn't screw it up.

She chuckled into his shirt, her cheeks flushing slightly. "Us, then. So here's what we're going to do. You'll probably be needed more than once before Batman and the others come back from dealing with ... Darkseid," she hissed the name, and he felt her shudder in his arms. He pulled her closer until she was almost in his lap as she took a deep breath. "But when we're together, we'll do what we always do. What we agreed to when we decided to see just how far an us could go. I know you remember."

Tim felt a full smile coming on. He took a deep breath, remembering their first oath to each other. "Make every moment count."

"Have as much fun as we possibly can." She grinned.

He wrapped one of her tiny hands in his own. "No lies and no secrets, not when it really matters."

Her voice lightened. "Enjoy the good, don't dwell on the bad."

"Don't worry about what's coming..." he squeezed her hand.

She smiled, squeezing back. "Just be ready to deal with it when it gets here." She rolled her neck from side to side, a pair of loud popping noises filling the car, reverberating off the privacy wall. The Rolls began to slow. "And we will. For now ..." she trailed off, her voice growing serious.

Uh oh. "Yeah?"

She poked him in the chest. "It's Karamel Sutra time. Next time you decide I'm going to be upset at you and work yourself into a brooding mess before you've even given me a chance to react ... don't."

Done. He smirked. "I think I can handle that."

"Wonderful." She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling herself up until they were eye-to-eye. "And here's how to tell when I'm actually angry with you." She leaned forward and pressed her mouth to his. His finely tuned detective's mind ground to a sudden and complete stop, empty save the occasional thought of strawberries and that taste that didn't exist anywhere else, his muscles feeling suddenly like warmed over Jell-O. She finally pulled away, and the pleasant haze retreated from his mind--leaving him with the realization that he was very, very low on air. "There'll be a lot less of that."

"Well," he gulped, trying to placate his lungs (which weren't being team players, as far as he was concerned), "I'll try to remember that."

She laughed as the car pulled to a stop. "Goody." She kissed him on the cheek. "Now come on. We don't want to keep Mr. Ben and Mr. Jerry waiting. They're important men."

Tim held open the door for Greta as she hurried past him, out of the record heat and into the wonderful air-conditioned coolness of the Double Dip, and glanced back at Alfred, standing next to the Rolls' driver's door. "Thanks for the ride, Alfred."

The older gentleman looked at him approvingly. "My pleasure, young sir. I shall always be available for those times when you horribly abuse your automobile." He smirked. "At least you have taken the rules of proper courting to heart--though the proprietors of this establishment may not appreciate your efforts to air-condition the sidewalk."

Tim raised an eyebrow, then realized he was still holding the door open. Oops. "I had an excellent teacher. You sure you don't want some ice cream? My treat. You've been really great about helping us get around."

Alfred's smile twitched up a notch. "Thank you for the offer, but I shall have to decline. Dr. Thompkins has informed me my cholesterol count is ... not as it should be. Besides, I must return to the manor. I expect to take delivery of your vehicle within the next few hours." He cleared his throat. "Call me when you are ready to return. Until then, Master Timothy." He bowed his head slightly, and disappeared into the car. Tim grinned and ducked into the foyer, where he found Greta alone, transfixed on one of the newspaper racks, giggling. He snuck up behind her. "Boo." She jumped, elbowing him lightly and smirking. "What's so funny?" He looked over her shoulder and frowned. "Aw, man." Figures. "How do they do that?" Damned paparazzi.

There, on the front page of the Gotham Insider, in great, bold, black letters, was the headline: "Dark Squire's Steed Befouled: Manure Spill Immobilizes Caped Crusader's Partner, Ruins Paint Job." Just underneath was an absolutely gargantuan picture of the inside of a dimly lit tunnel, packed to capacity with cars, most of which were surrounded up to the door by a dark, lumpy substance. And in the center of the shot was the Redbird, in all its freshly waxed red-paint-and-green-glass glory. And sitting on the roof, cape slung back and open, arms crossed, absolutely miserable expression on his face--and a rebreather over his mouth--was Robin, the Stranded Boy Wonder. Greta grinned, and scooped one up. "You should hear Cissie talk about the people that chase her around." She scrunched up her face. "No, wait, maybe you shouldn't. Once she gets going, she's almost impossible to calm down. I had to hide in a closet and call Bart to distract her last time. He told me he was 'prepared for this emergency' and showed up in a Speedo--just a Speedo." She collapsed into another wave of giggles.

Tim sputtered. "Please tell me ... someone got ... a picture of ... that," he managed between laughs. Some part of him suggested being concerned that Greta had seen Bart in such revealing attire, but he quickly dismissed it--they were more like brother and sister than anything else. Which was actually pretty cool--unless it was April Fools Day. Then it was time to find the nearest fallout shelter and wait for the all-clear. He made a mental note to put that paranoid part of his brain on The List--right under his treacherous lungs.

His laughter abruptly stopped when he noticed she was rolling up one of the papers and fishing in her pocket for change. His eyes widened, horror sweeping over him. "You don't actually want to ... buy one of those things, do you?"

She blinked at him, the portrait of innocence. "Of course. Do you realize how few professional--and I use that term loosely--pictures of Robin there are? And that look on his face, it's just adorable. Don't you think, Tim?" She looked at him pointedly.

He blinked. Timothy Drake had no reason to be that upset over a picture of the Urban Legend. But she was right about another thing--there weren't that many photos of Robin, for good reason. Bruce is gonna kill me. Or make me run simulations till my hair is in excruciating pain. He smirked. "So you think he's adorable? I guess I can work with that. But I'm afraid I still can't let you buy that paper."

She folded her arms, narrowing her eyes at him. "And why not?"

"I enjoy buying you things." He fished a few quarters out of his pocket. "And if Alfred found I let you pay for anything in my presence, the next picture you see of me will be on a milk carton."

She shook her head, grinning. "I can't believe I thought Mr. Wayne would be the disciplinarian when I met everybody." She grabbed his hand.

He started moving for the door that led into the rest of the shop. "The English Overlord prefers almost everyone think that. It aids his plan for world domination."

She raised an eyebrow. "Don't you, as a ... concerned citizen ... feel a little nervous about that?"

He shook his head. "Nah. I've seen the plans. I get my own island. Timland. To be ruled with my beautiful princess." Straight face, straight face, straight face...

She just laughed. "Fine. But we are so coming up with a better name. Like ... Graceland."

Tim laughed, and pushed open the door.

The little bells on the door chimed as the two of them stepped into the bistro-style shop, and several of the patrons looked up, favoring them with cursory glances. Tim felt their eyes slide over him, then Greta, and decided later he should have expected what happened next.

The wave of applause--Make that standing ovation--lasted a good half minute, and involved everyone from a pair of girls that looked like they would be starting eighth grade in a couple months to a middle aged man with graying temples and a teenage son whose happy faces were tugging at more emotions than Tim cared to admit. All of them seemed to be fixed on the girl at his left, but before he could get too concerned about accidentally stumbling into some sort of cult gathering, he noticed the majority sported some very familiar baseball caps. Oh. That cult. He grinned. Cool. "Looks like I'm traveling with a celebrity."

Greta looked a lot like a deer pegged by a strobe light, only somehow more surprised. She stepped closer to him. "Wha?" she whispered.

Tim guided her to a window seat as the applause died down, grinning from ear to ear. He pulled her chair out, earning a round of cooing from the older adults and appreciative noises from the women--and one very exasperated "Why can't you learn to do that, Kenny?" Greta was looking confused now, and more than a little embarrassed. She looked at him when he sat down. "Explain. Now. Please," she said quietly.

Now it was Tim's turn to look innocent. "If I had to guess," he said lightly, "I'd say they saw your stunt at the stadium yesterday--I know it was on the big board, and it probably made the network coverage." I wonder if Dad-- he cut himself off. Not going there. Not today. He grinned.

Greta blinked. Then blinked again. Then favored him with one of the most incredulous looks he'd ever seen. "You've got to be kidding me. All I did was give a little boy a baseball."

And you really think it's as simple as that. That is so cool. "Not exactly. Not only did you manage to catch one of Rocky Schwartz's homers, but you turned without a second thought and gave it to a kid in a wheelchair. And then sat down like nothing had happened."

Greta still didn't look convinced. "What's so special about that? He really wanted it when he realized it was coming our way, and there was no way he was going to catch it on his own if he couldn't stand up. I certainly wasn't going let that fat jerk behind him get it. You still haven't told me what a gip is. Whatever it was, that boy and his parents sure didn't look like they appreciated hearing it."

Tim's grin faltered a bit. "That's gimp," he whispered, "and let's just say it isn't something you'd want to call Barbara, either."

"Oh." Her eyebrows shot up. "Oh." She frowned.

Well, that's not going to do. "Don't worry about it," he said quickly. "I ... accidentally ... dumped nacho cheese all over that guy right before we left."

She tilted her head, that too-innocent look back again. "When I wasn't looking."

He nodded. "Right."

"Right." She fiddled with her newspaper, smirking.

"Anyhow, of course everybody who saw it loved it. The Knights suck. Bad. But we like to say we've got the best, most devoted, coolest, nicest fans in all of Major League Baseball. And you proved that in a big way." He grinned. "And I'll say it again--that was an awesome catch." That got an appreciative grin out of her, so he cleared his throat. "So, enough making you uncomfortable. May I take your order, beautiful?"

She looked thoughtful for a second. "Waffle cone, please. Definitely Karamel Sutra, two scoops."

Tim nodded. "You got it. Anything to drink?"

She shook her head. "Not right now, thanks."

He scooted his chair back. "Then I shall return." He stood, thought for a moment, and leaned forward, pecking her on the forehead. There was another, much quieter round of cooing--the adults again. Looks like we've still got an audience. Greta groaned, a resigned smile on her face. "You know," he whispered into her ear, "you've also got to consider the fact we probably look cute together, regardless."

"Probably?" she returned, just as quietly, shaking her head. "If we're going to be putting on a show, I think I'll need a scoop of Mint Chocolate Chip, too," she mused, "in between the other two." Tim winked and wandered towards the counter, leaving Greta, much to his chagrin, reading her newspaper.

He was in line behind a woman and a pair of babbling toddlers who really didn't need anymore sugar, trying to figure out a way to track down the tunnel photographer and do very bad things to him potentially involving mass quantities of laxative when a hand clapped him hard on the back. "Tim!"

Tim managed to suppress his first impulse--elbow his attacker hard in the gut and pull him into a windpipe crushing headlock--long enough to recognize the perennially happy, somewhat haughty voice. He grinned, turning around. "Bernard!" He grabbed the carefully dressed blond boy's outstretched hand. Anymore starch on those jeans and I could use them as a weapon. "I thought I told you not to sneak up on me," he chided, his voice lacking anything close to annoyance.

Bernard grinned. "That's what makes it fun, Timothy. It's not every day I get to run into you completely by accident. How's it going, mystery man?"

Tim chuckled. Bernard was probably--no, definitely--the best friend he had who didn't know about his affinity for spandex and Kevlar. And being the closest thing Grieve Memorial had to an Oracle--not that he was sure Babs would appreciate the comparison--he'd taken it upon himself to figure out the conundrum that was Timothy Drake. His inability to do so frustrated the hell out of him, even though he tried to hide it. It also made him stick close to Tim no matter what, and the third Robin appreciated that more than he could say, even if it did get annoying sometimes.

Their relationship changed after word had spread that his father had kicked him out. Bernard had seemed ... angry, if only because Tim refused to be, and Tim realized he actually liked having a third party so willing to listen to his problems--at least the ones he could talk about. The days of trying to drag information out of him seemed to be over, but the blond was more eager than ever to listen when Tim wanted to talk, and made no attempt to hide the fact he would still love to be in on whatever secrets Tim held. Someday, buddy. "No complaints. School's out, my report card is more than acceptable, and Greta," he nodded towards their table, "is spending the next couple months in Gotham. For the moment, my world is about as right as it gets."

"Glad to hear it. She has excellent taste in reading material," Bernard laughed, glancing in the girl's direction. "Still can't believe they caught the Urban Legend on film. I bet he's pissed." He chuckled. "I knew I didn't just like her 'cause she can put those adorable dopey grins on your face with a blink--besides, having a girl to impress has done wonders for your taste in clothing." He easily ducked Tim's playful swipe. "As for me, I may not be dating 'an angel' yet--Lord knows it's not for lack of looking--but things are great. Mom's starting to feel like herself again," Bernard's grin widened, "she just had a follow-up appointment. All the tests are back in. She's clean. She's even allowed to drive again. Thank God. She was getting antsy, and that's all I'm going to say about that. Thanks again for the gift basket you put together."

"My pleasure." Tim grinned, and caught Bernard in a hug before he could stop himself. "That's great news, man. Congratulations." Mrs. Dowd's gynecologist recently found a number of fibroid tumors in her uterus. They had her in for an emergency hysterectomy fast enough to make the Flash blush--and frightened Bernard nearly to death. Tim still remembered first hearing the news, when Bernard had asked to meet alone at a White Castle, and sat there, in their usual booth, clutching his tiny burgers and trembling, looking for someone to tell him the world wasn't coming to an end. Looks like you made it to the end of your tunnel. "How's the rest of your family?"

Bernard shook his head bemusedly. "I think the dog's jealous of all the extra attention Mom's been getting. Dad's as thrilled as I am. I'm not supposed to know about it, and I'll be dead if she hears it from me, but there's a truckload--and I do mean truckload--of roses and chocolate and at least one giant stuffed animal set to arrive at the Cosa del Dowd this evening. Mom's told us she's not quite up to a celebration outing yet, but that hasn't stopped Dad from throwing an impromptu party. As for me--convalescing women like Chunky Monkey, diet be damned."

Tim enjoyed listening to Bernard fill him in on the happy happenings, but at the same time, there was a momentary pang of longing in his heart. Not regret. Never regret. I did what I had to. What was right. The truth was, he was happier now than when he was under his father's house arrest. Most of the time. He blinked, shaking it off. Later.

Bernard tossed another look at Greta, who was still deeply immersed in the tale of Robin's vehicular travesty. "But something tells me you know all about girls who can't get enough of our favorite dairy product." He shook his head. "Not fair, really."

Tim raised an eyebrow, tossing a quick glance over his shoulder. Two more customers to go. "What's that mean?"

Bernard shrugged innocently. "Easy, Captain Overprotective." He smirked. "She definitely lucked out when she netted you. Someday I'm gonna manage to get you two to tell me how you met--I have a feeling it was interesting. But that's beside the point. I'm just saying, she doesn't look like someone who eats a few gallons of ice-cream a week--she manages to stay gorgeous, unlike those of us who blimp if we even so much as look at a bag of chips wrong." He poked at the almost invisible pudge around his midsection, grimacing as though it were the size of a tractor tire. "Not that I'm jealous, or anything. We can't begrudge people their blessings, not in this city. She also pulls of the Warner Brothers Chic look rather well."

Isn't that the truth? Tim smirked. "Hear, hear. You should tell her that. I think sometimes she doesn't completely believe me when I tell her how awesome she looks. Like I'm biased or something. Come over when you're done up here."

Bernard chuckled. "Whatever gave her that idea? It's not like you treat her like she's the center of the universe or anything." He poked Tim in the chest. "Too bad we can't all have a Timothy Drake. Or a Tina Drake, as applicable."

Tim chuckled. Ambiguous as ever, aren't you? "There can be only one."

Bernard thumped him. "You spout that lameness and then expect me to sit at the same table with you? No way." He stuck out his tongue. "But seriously, I've got to jet as soon as I'm done here. I just picked up our laundry. The supply of clean clothing at my house has reached critical mass." He smiled. "But tell her hello for me, and give her my compliments on that awesome catch yesterday." He winked. "I'd make a bigger deal out of it, but everybody in here sort of did my work for me. Two words, Timmy: Kodak. Moment. You're up, man."

Tim turned just in time to see the nameless mother herding her two children away. "Indeed I am."

A few minutes later, overstuffed waffle cone in either hand and a Soder bottle in the crook of his arm, he left Bernard at the counter, doing his best not to dump his cargo. On the upside, the cashier was a Knights fan cursed with the usual mania, so Greta's ice-cream was free. Not that he was going to tell her that. The next two months would kind of suck if she decided to go everywhere wearing a bag over her head. He licked his single scoop of Mint Chocolate Cookie (he didn't have Greta's would-be superhuman metabolism, and that was perfectly fine) and wove his way back towards his seat, balancing the triple threat in his left hand as carefully if it were a nitro glycerin bomb. Dropping it now would be ... insulting.

He looked towards Greta, expecting her to still be reading. Instead, she was leaning on the table with her head in her hand, watching something in the far corner intently, a small smile on her lips. You stopped touching the evil. Nice. He traced her gaze, and felt a grin split his face. Aw. Cute.

The laughing, smiling couple in the corner booth was late-twenties, white, dressed neatly but not expensively. Upper middle class, out of college a few years and just climbing on whatever career ladders they've chosen, more than likely. The man was broad-shouldered but probably not as strong as he looked--there were a few round curves in the wrong places--had dark blue eyes that crinkled at the edges when he laughed, a nice tan, and a gentle face framed by wild, thick black hair tied into a ponytail. The girl was about half a head shorter, hazel eyes, healthy if pale skin (Not enough time in the sun?), and platinum blonde hair that stopped just below her waist. But what caught his attention was the pair of babies in the two-seat carrier in between them and the way they were going at the spoonful of ice-cream in their father's hand. They were twins, a boy and a girl, with their mother's eyes and their father's hair, only curly.

Greta turned to look at him as he sat down, and her smile widened as she saw the half-frozen parcel in his left hand. "Ooh. Yummy." She took it from him carefully. "Thanks." The bottom of her face disappeared behind the tower of dairy.

Tim rotated his left wrist, willing his muscles to relax. "Anytime. I ran into Bernard. Tried to get him to come over and say hello, but he said he had to jet. He told me to compliment you on your catch," he smirked, "and your wardrobe."

Greta blushed. "High praise, coming from him. How's his mother?"

He grinned. "Better. She just got her test results back. Looks like they got everything. He was here to pick up a carton or two for her."

She smiled. "That's excellent. He's so nice. I hated seeing him so worried." A baby's laugh washed over them, and she glanced back at the family in the corner.

Tim licked his waffle cone. "Cute, aren't they?" She looked at him, confused. "The family in the corner. I saw you looking at them on my way back over. Like something out of a Norman Rockwell painting--if he painted 21st century bistro settings."

She was giving him a look that quite plainly said, "Who?" but shook it off. "Yeah. The guy reminds me of you a bit ... only not so handsome. I'm not sure how that woman can deal with all that hair, though. Especially with little kids to take care of. Anita's always complaining about how Donald and Oshii are constantly trying to rip out her ponytail."

Tim laughed, enjoying the image his mind was supplying. If you could see yourself now, Agent Fite. Greta's face caught his attention. Did she look ... nervous? "Something wrong?"

She blinked, and shook her head vigorously, bringing the waffle cone up for another pass. "What? No, no. Not at all. It's just, I was thinking--never mind."

Tim's eyebrow quirked up, a little tiny voice in the back of his mind warning him about ... something. "What? You can tell me anything. You know that."

She nodded slowly. "It's nothing serious like that. I was just ... do you ever think about babies? I mean ... having them? Someday?" Her voice brimmed with curiosity and more than a little hope.

Tim felt like someone had just thrown a bucket of ice water in his face. A little voice that sounded suspiciously like Kon was yelling "Danger, danger! Pull out!" in the back of his mind, but he didn't know why. This was bound to come up sooner or later. What surprised him was the fact he'd never sat down and actually thought about what he would say if it did. Okay ... no problem. It's not like I'm a child-hating bastard. Be honest. Here we go. "Sure," he answered. "For a while, actually." Ever since Steph and the baby. At least I know I wouldn't run. No way in hell. "I mean, I like kids. A lot. I see so many of them when I'm ... out. It's kind of hard not to ... consider the possibilities." He licked his treat, savoring the feeling of it sliding down his throat. When had his mouth gone so dry? Open ended answer. Next move is yours, baby.

"And?" She took a bite out of the topmost scoop, chewing. Slowly.

"I'd love to have kids of my own some day. But as long as we're being candid, I'm in no hurry to rush it."

This seemed to be the right answer. She visibly relaxed, and the smile on her face was just a little bigger than before. "Me neither." She blushed. "I mean, I think waiting's a good idea, too." More blushing. "For anybody our age, I mean." Half the top scoop disappeared in a chomp, and Tim was surprised the rest wasn't melting any faster, seeing as her face looked like it should be giving off enough heat to warm a small house.

He put on his best reassuring grin. "What about you? Do you want children?" He was pretty sure he knew the answer, but he suddenly wanted to hear her say it.

She looked at her hands. "I ... Someday, yeah. Children are wonderful. So innocent. You can look at them and think, no matter how bad things get, there's always light in the world if we're just willing to look for it."

Tim found himself nodding. "And they can make you believe it, too."

She smiled. "But like you said, I'm not in any hurry. There are a lot of things I want to do first."

Tim nodded. "Me too. I mean, there's the rest of high school, college, and maybe grad school. And I'd want to be married a while first and have a good job and nice house--there's no point in having a kid if you can't take care of it. I'd say no sooner than," I'm probably pushing it, "ten years?" And by then, he'd also know what he was doing with the rest of his life--he'd either be done prowling the night, or in even deeper than before. If I'm not dead.

She looked thoughtful. Thoughtful and pleased. "Make that twelve." He cocked his head. "I just got done with eighth grade, remember? I've got some catching up to do." She sighed. "But I don't know. I love kids, too. Especially babies. But ... I'm not sure I would be a good mother. I mean, I barely remember being little. I'm not sure I could handle a baby. We both know I'm missing a few things--Cassie said I just needed time to catch up. But that sort of thing's important. What if I did something stupid?" She lowered her voice. "Something that would be obvious to anybody who didn't spend five years of her life in a plastic cage," she finished bitterly.

Whoa! Time out! The mental alarm he hadn't understood suddenly made all-too-perfect sense. He grabbed her free hand with his own, holding it tight, forcing her to look at him. "Hey. Hey. Listen--don't be so hard on yourself. I can't promise you won't make a mistake. It happens to the best parents. Look at those two over there. Giving kids that little spoon after spoon of ice-cream? They are so gonna be spewing in a few hours--out of both ends." She giggled softly.

He smiled. "But when it comes to the important stuff--I've seen you with Donny and Oshi. You know how to keep them out of trouble. And more important than that--I'm sure you've seen all the baby-raising books and programs and all that in Barnes and Noble, right?" A slow nod. "It's all crap, as far as I'm concerned," he said flatly. She looked surprised, and slightly taken aback. "The most important thing a parent can do for their child is love them. Even if you've got enough money to buy all the food and clothes and medicine in the world, it means nothing if there's no love. And if there's one thing I've learned about you in the last six months that I know is absolutely true, it's that you have the biggest heart in the universe. I'm lucky enough to have a place in it. And you'll always have help." He paused, wondering if he should say what he really wanted to. Why not? "And there's no one else I could imagine as the mother of my children, past, present, or future."

Her eyes were saucers, but the dimples were back in full. "You ... really mean that?"

I've never meant anything more, beautiful. "If things keep going the way they are now," if I survive that long, and I fully intend to do my best, "I don't see why not. No limits, Greta. Not ever." He stared into her eyes waiting for a response.

She met his gaze, confidence blossoming across her face. "I don't plan on stopping them."

"Me neither." He grinned, licking his ice-cream cone and raising it in toast. Anyone who tries will have to deal with me.