Summary: The ice-war continues. Talking to her is like trying to get blood out of stone. But he has a feeling the stone would be happier about it. Heck, so would he, at this point...
Notes: Definitely not beta'd. I've had four exams I'm supposed to be revising for. Instead I've written three chapters in under a week. We can see how well that study-thing is going, can't we? I think I've gotta find a way to shut up the muses for a while after this..


CIRCLE I

THE BROKEN CIRCLE
6:
Ice


I found Barbara right where they said she'd be. Not, surprisingly enough, with Bruce, but in the solarium. Sunning herself in the non-existent sunbeams while rain pounded the glass separating us from outside. Taking a short break from watching Bruce, the proverbial pot that's never going to boil, judging from the nurses' rumors. You can find out a lot, if you take the time to charm the nurses. Heck, I could take over the entire hospital in a few days that way, if I wanted to. If I wanted to.

I moved silently to stand a few meters behind behind her. "I thought I'd find you here."

I concealed the spike of pleasure I felt at seeing the startled jump and flinch at my unexpected presence behind her. She whirled to face me. "Dick! What are you—!"

I shrugged. "Can we talk?"

She nodded, cautiously. "This place is as private as any other. No one comes here but me at this time of day."

Fair enough. Though I wondered privately if we'd be attracting all kinds of attention by the time this was over. "Fine. What happened to Bruce?" I asked without preamble.

"You mean you don't know?"

I shook my head. "Not really." Nothing that I believed, anyway. Mugging? Likely story. I believed that as much as I believed that I came to my parents via the Stork Express.

Her jaw clenched, and her eyes flashed just a little. "They think it's a mugging."

"But you don't believe them." It wasn't a question. Nor did I ask who 'they' were. I thought that was a rather admirable display of self-control on my part.

"No." G-ds. She sounded like I was forcing it out of her by torture. If it was like this in just a normal conversation, imagine what'd be like when we got to talking about what drove me out of Gotham?

Barely restraining myself from rolling my eyes, I instead raised an eyebrow at her from behind my sunglasses. "Why not?"

She froze. "What do you mean?"

Typical, answering question with a question. She's definitely been around Bruce too long. This time I did roll my eyes, knowing she wouldn't see it behind the sunglasses. "It's a perfectly reasonable question, Barb. Why don't you think he was mugged? Besides the obvious facts."

Barbara met my gaze squarely, or as much as she was able. The glasses I wore tended to have that effect on people. "Such as?" she asked coolly, wanting to know, no doubt, if I'd picked up on the same things she had.

Oh, give me a break. Ah well. If she asked for it, she was gonna get it. "The pattern of the bruising, for one. There's way too much for a simple mugging. Someone wanted to beat him up and punish him for something...and he wasn't fighting back, because there's no defensive wounds on his hands. Nor was he tied up by the obvious means, as there's no ligature marks. And we all know he can defend himself, so he definitely had his guard down. To me, that says good drugs of some kind, which the average street mugger doesn't have access to. Or fancy restraints, which again, the average street mugger doesn't have access to." I smiled a nasty smile. "Shall I keep going?"

She nodded faintly, a strange expression on her face. "Please."

I shrugged. Her choice, and thus her fault if she ended up not liking what I had to say. "Then there's what's missing, and what isn't there but should be. They took jewelery, but left his wallet. That is the most blatant clue that someone was trying to make it look like a mugging." I snorted. "They really should'a done their homework."

Barbara stared at me. "How did you—"

I tugged my glasses down long enough to give her a dark glare, then quickly pushed them back up. How dumb did she think I was? Just because I'd been 'away' from the game for all these years didn't mean my senses were any duller for it; years of living one's life looking over one's shoulder did not tend to do that, in my experience. "The wallet's sitting on the bedside table, Barb. Which means it was personal. Whoever did it, they wanted him found. And known. Because whoever found him would've needed some way to ID him, since they obviously couldn't do it by looking at his face. The swelling and bruising would've been too bad for that at the time. So they had to leave his wallet with his ID in it." Even now, days after the fact – and didn't that still hurt in a way I was reluctant to confront – it was hard to see Bruce underneath all those bruises.

She crossed her arms and leaned back in the chair. "So how do you know that these alleged muggers took his jewelery?"

I smirked. "Cuts and bruises around his right wrist. Medical personnel tend to be a bit more careful about removing watches than that." Now this was the part where I had to play dumb...at least for now, until I got some decent answers. "And then there's the fact that the ring of his isn't on his finger."

Because I was looking for it, I saw Barbara's upper body stiffen slightly in her chair. "Its an important ring. Ever thought we might not want to risk losing it to a set of light fingers?"

That was ironic. The 'light fingers' they'd lost it to were closer to home than she thought. "Then why isn't it with his wallet?" I challenged right back.

Her shoulders slumped. "Because we don't know where it is." She looked away. "Bruce had it with him that day, when he left. I wasn't here when he arrived. I..." She shook her head. "It doesn't matter where I was, but Alfred was here. All I know is that the ring was missing when Bruce came out of surgery. Alfred said it was gone when he arrived to talk to Bruce, just before Bruce went under."

I almost smiled at another one of Alfred's euphemisms. Yeah, it was 'gone' alright. Gone into his pockets. Still, it was as good a time as any to reveal my hand. Wordlessly, I dug the ring out of my pocket and held it out to her in the palm of my hand. Outside of her reach, but I showed it to her.

The flash of hunger in her eyes didn't surprise me. Nor did the minute jerk of her hand before she controlled it. Why do you think I was holding it out of her reach? I might not really want it, but I also had a feeling that I shouldn't let go of it. For whatever reason, Bruce had decided to give it to me. It was the least I could do to honor that.

And I could see when the hunger in her eyes turned to suspicion, when the control turned to anger and thoughts of thievery. It didn't surprise me. It was probably what I would've thought too, were I in her position. "Where...? How did you...?"

I laughed. Even to me, it sounded bitter. "Alfred."

She stared. "Of course. Alfred." I barely refrained from raising my eyebrows in surprise. Whoa, ease up girl. There was something...monumentally dark in that reply. Some history that went even beyond what had happened between me and the Family. Her gaze flicked back up to my glasses, then back to the ring. "I suppose he was your 'mutual friend', then," she said grievously, referring to how I'd said I'd found about Bruce.

I shrugged. "So what if he was or wasn't?" With her voice like that, it was probably better to keep her guessing. "It doesn't matter, does it?" I added.

She shook her head, still staring at the ring, a flash of that hunger from before passing through her eyes again. "I guess not. But why did you get...?"

I closed my fist over the ring and withdrew my hand. I palmed the ring back into its pocket and nodded towards the bed. "You'll have to ask Bruce. I don't know why he gave it to me." Except for what he'd told me through Alfred. But I wasn't sure, anymore, how much I believed of it...or what Alfred had told me of him. Bruce had to have gone completely mental for him to want me to have this. "Believe me," I added bitterly, "I would've been more than happy for the ring to go to someone else."

Her face hardened. "How can you say that? Don't you know what it—"

I cut her off. "Why do you think, Barbara?" I stepped closer, knowing full well I was towering over her and not caring. Just because she was in a chair was no reason that I couldn't use my height to intimidate her. "All of you tossed me out of the family on my rear. All of you. You made it quite clear I wasn't needed or wanted in your lives, hell, that I wasn't worth the air I breathed. So I left. And now I'm suddenly handed this ring and told to come back? And then I find out it's only because I'm suddenly responsible for his life? That's not exactly a good way to mending broken bridges, Barb."

She glared right back, not threatened by my height in the least. Half a lifetime of looking up would probably do that. "You didn't have to leave Gotham. You could have stayed. Worked things out," she ground out – rather pointedly ignoring the rest of my, well, rant.

Ah, so we were going to have that discussion about what made me leave Gotham here and now? Suited me fine. "Oh, right," I scoffed. "Like I could have stayed when everyone knew precisely what had happened. You weren't exactly subtle in kicking me out, Barb." Heck, even Kansas had known what had gone down in the Wayne Manor by the time they were through with me. And I should know. Ma and Pa Kent had phoned me about it before I'd disappeared. One factor, among plenty of others, in my decision to drop off the map.

Not that it had done me any good, in the end. Some things, I had never been able to escape. No matter how far I ran.

Barbara, however, didn't quite see it my way. And why did that surprise me? "We didn't kick you out. You left."

Oh, like that, was it? I shook my head. "I was pushed."

She snorted and rolled back a bit. "Semantics."

"Yeah, well, you know what they say about semantics," I retorted dryly, because otherwise I would've snarled or growled something rather...unpleasant. "Flowers have aroma and skunks stink. Without semantics everything would just smell." One of my erstwhile students had come up with that memorable line. For her sake, I left out the swearing. I shook my head again. "It's all the same, Barb. I left because I was pushed. I was kicked out. I wouldn't have walked out on everyone otherwise." I knew myself too well to say otherwise.

"Whatever," she said dismissively. "We both know what really happened that night."

It took all my control to keep my face still and not rub my leg. It was probably only psychosomatic pain in my knee. Because, yeah, having this 'discussion' was hurting about much as I'd expected it to. "No, Barbara," I replied quietly. "You don't know what levels of hell I went through on That Night." I'd never told anyone the full story of the events leading up my departure from Gotham and the Family. Not even Roy or Donna knew it all, and they'd extracted most of it out of me – they'd gotten me well and truly drunk one night the guise of 'therapy'. Even as plastered as I'd been that night, I'd managed to stay sober enough to keep the important parts to myself.

Suddenly Barbara smiled. It wasn't a friendly smile. "You make me laugh, you know that?" She gave a short, bitter laugh, as unpleasant to hear as it probably was to make. "You talk about your pain, about your hurt. You want to know what I think?"

No. But I doubted I could stop her at this point. I kept silent.

Her words were deliberately cutting and hurtful. "I think you were glad to leave Gotham," she spat. "You took the coward's way out. You ran like a little boy, simpering and crying to your little Titan friends, begging them to hold your hand and lick your pitiful little wounds."

As hurtful as the words were, that wasn't what made me instantly stiffen. It was the words themselves. Barbara knew I'd gone from Gotham to the Titans. She knew. While I'd always been aware that I hadn't hidden my tracks real well during that period – mitigating circumstances and all that – that wasn't what I was worried about right now. It was what came after the Titans, and what it lead to. Breathing deep, I forced myself to think quickly. Damage control, Grayson. Now!

Perhaps it was true what they said, that the only defense was a good offense. It was what usually worked with Barbara. It would certainly help me also clear a few things up (and cover a few things over) about that while I was at it.

I snorted openly. If you only knew... Getting 'my wounds licked' hadn't been the foremost thing from my mind at the time – and still wasn't. Gotham had left me with far more demons than that. Despite the relatively settled life I'd been leading for the last few years, since I'd finally gotten the things with the Titans worked out, my immediate life after Gotham had been anything but easy. I had the scars to prove it. "Do not judge me, Barbara," I warned in growl. "Not until you've been where I have. You wouldn't be able to handle it without me to hold your hand."

She could; she was one of the strongest women I knew. But the best way to get her off the Titans was to get her angry. And—

Fire flared in her emerald eyes and I could only watch as she sucked in a deep breath prior to letting fly.

Whoops. I braced myself. Now that I'd made her angry...I had to live the results, didn't I? Forgot about that, didn't you Grayson?

"And you don't know what it was like after you left," she shot back. The fire in her eyes was a raging bonfire now. "It was left to me to pick up the pieces you left behind. I had to put everyone back together." She wheeled closer, snarling and poking me in the chest. "So don't you dare judge me on what I've gone through without you to 'hold my hand'."

And if sarcasm was liquid, she'd just gone diving into an Olympic-sized pool with that last bit. On the other hand, it was like someone had magically opened a spillover gate. The words were just pouring out of her.

"We did just fine without you. You think we need you? Think again, Grayson. You left us behind. You walked away, and you forgot about us. And now you think you can waltz right back in here and think that everything's fine? Well, you can just think again if you think I'm going to let you get away with that mister... You've got another thing coming."

Gradually, the flow of words were slowing to a trickle. But somewhere along the line, we'd also changed subjects. How on earth did women do that any way – or this woman, at least? How had she changed subjects so rapidly?

"You haven't been here... You haven't had to make decisions, not knowing if they were the right ones. Don't. Presume. To. Judge. Me. Grayson." She breathed in deep, and said finally, "You...weren't...here."

Fine, change the subject. But that discussion isn't over, Barbara. Far from it. I worked my jaw for a moment to release the tension. All at once, her words about having to make decisions made the doctor's words about the living will flashed through my head. The person wearing the signet ring bears full responsibility for his life... It made me wonder exactly what that would entail. "But I am here now, Barb." I closed my eyes for a moment, then forced myself to regard her steadily, even if my voice wasn't as firm. "I don't like having the ring myself," I admitted quietly, not sure why I was saying this to Barbara of all people, "but the decision's made now, and it wasn't made by me. I can't unmake it."

"Perhaps." Barbara regarded me steadily, the fires of anger rapidly cooling in her eyes. "Perhaps not." Then she said something strange that took the wind right out of my sails. "I just hope for your sake that when your moment of truth comes, Dick, you'll know what to do with it." Her voice showed she didn't hold out much hope. With that, she nimbly maneuvered her chair around me and left the solarium.

I stared silently after her retreating back, a shiver of apprehension and foreboding choosing that moment to play a tune on my spine. Yeah. You and me both, Barb. You and me both.

Shaking my head in resignation, I decided I'd figure out what that thought meant another time, and headed back to Bruce's room. If I really was responsible for Bruce, then I probably should be there.

Just in case.


TBC...