This is my first update of 2007! Whoo! 1st January, '07. Unfortunately, since (surprise surprise) the review alert system is down, I could not possibly say when you will get to read this. Therefore, I hope that, whenever you get around to reading these words, you will have had a good start to the New Year. Hope everyone had an awesome time, whatever you did.

Also, I last left you on Christmas Eve, so I hope everyone had a great Christmas too! Anyone get anything amazingly exciting? I got a Batman: TAS box-set which I like very much… :)

Today we return to Robin and older Terra, fifteen years into the future. I'm afraid today's chapter isn't terribly exciting, but again, you have to remember that the proper chapters of Remember the Titans are a lot longer, and each one you get on here is like a third or even only a quarter of a full chapter. That's why some of them are boring and/or choppy – because they're only a chunk of a proper chapter.

So yeah, nothing awfully exciting today – I admit it. Just some more reminiscing and stuff… But at least Roy will be here soon, as well as someone else…

Thankyou to; Quinn and His Quill (take you and your hare-brained theories off, Quinny! Cordelia Silver doesn't impress you, then? Happy New Year, BTW…); Guardian of Azarath (more theories… the trouble is that a lot of you are on the right tracks…Oh, yeah, sorry… Which fic was it you wanted me to read again? Sorry, don't mean to sound dismissive – but you have quite a few, don't you? O.o); Raven Victoria Grayson (so you don't like to be confused? You'd rather rationally work it all out? Sounds like a certain Boy Wonder…); Poison's Ivy (you forgot about Seth? And why do you hate Terra so much? What did she ever do to you? And yeah, this story is confusing. If it wasn't, would you even read it?); Ray1 (that assumption isn't too far off the mark… :P); Me (um, Happy Christmas to you too, O Unknown One…); TheFallenAngel67 (your English is just fine, seriously!I think it was about time Arella showed up again – and "Slaying the Dreamer" is a song by Nightwish…); CrazyInsomniac (Robin wouldn't be any fun at all if his life was anywhere near normal! Besides, even without all of the extra torture inflicted on him by the world's fanfiction authors, the Teen Titans show itself isn't exactly kind to him – being turned into an old man, having an annoying mini-doppelganger popping out of his skull and being frozen to a Robin-shaped popsicle being prime examples, of course…); Athena's Wings (I think we'd all like to be able to have the kind of prophetic dreams where we can see all the exam questions… Does the bracelet with the gear on have anything to do with the storyline? Of course. What? Not telling. Mwa ha.); Kami-Elf (you have returned once again! Hurrah! You wanna know something odd? You know the chapter Shock to the System (a couple of chapters back now)? The original title for that chapter was none other than Thunderbird! Like a play on the spaceships… But at the last minute I changed it to Shock to the System, which is the Static Shock tagline… Brilliant minds think alike, dude! Sorry about your results, BTW. We don't have Grade Point Averages over here (I'm going to assume that is what GPA stands for…). You copy our Brit speak all you want, BTW…); YamiTai (I knew you wouldn't leave me! You are very welcome for the dedication – I'm just glad you liked it! Hear from you again whenever you get your internet back! Hope you had a Merry Christmas! I know you celebrate it in a big way in Germany…); and Simmie (ah, yes, good question – the bits with Marcus/Arella are not in the future, no. I should have explained that. They are still in the "present day". Sorry, yeah, that was a good question – and for once, I can answer you!).

And now, for a little bit of Dire Straits…

Brothers in Arms

Robin awoke to the unpleasant sensation of what felt like ice being pressed against the side of his face. He blinked and sat up sleepily, absently rubbing his freezing cheek; it was so cold it was numb.

It was still quite dark although it was morning, and at first he had trouble remembering where he was; once he had fought his way through that cliché, he realised that he was in the back room of Gotham City Cathedral, the home of a fifteen-year-older Terra gone renegade.

And the "ice", he realised, was not ice at all; it was the stone floor. He was still curled up snug and tight within his little nest of blankets and pillows, but one of the pillows had slipped, causing the side of his face to rest against the ice-cold floor instead. And it was dark because there was only one window in the room, and Terra had boarded most of it up to conserve the idea that the place was abandoned – only a few slithers of daylight broke through the barricade.

Wondering vaguely what time it was, Robin wriggled back down into the warmth, not feeling like venturing out beyond his blankets. It really was cold in here, especially with the fire now dead, and he suspected that it was winter in this devastated future, instead of the reasonably-warm September it was in his own time.

However, while he enjoyed the luxury of just being curled up nice and warm like a little hibernating field mouse, he couldn't drift back to sleep again.

No good; he sat up once again, stretching, and shivered slightly despite the oversized fleecy sweater he was wearing over his black boxer shorts. He looked across at Terra; in the narrow shafts of light he could see her wrapped up warmly within her own blankets a few feet away from him, sound asleep with her long, wavy blonde hair all over her face.

When he had first arrived in the horrible, twisted future world, straight from his own death at Slade's hand, the last person he had wanted to meet was Slade's apprentice, the earth-mover Terra. Now, as he looked at her, he was glad that it was her. This was not the Terra of his own time; this Terra had been through enough pain and grief to know where she stood, and it was not at Slade's side.

He reckoned it was still quite early – the light peeking through the gaps in the boards was dull, as though the sun had not fully risen – and didn't want to wake her. But he also didn't want to just lie here, however warm and comfortable he was. He absently checked on the Clock of Eternity – it was exactly where he had left it, right beside his "bed" – and sat up, kicking off his many blankets.

And then he saw the blood.

Alarmed, he looked around wildly. On the pillow and the sheets and a little on the stone floor.

Had he cut himself? A nosebleed?

He brushed his fingertips over the bridge of his nose, as though adjusting a pair of glasses, feeling for an ache; but there was nothing. Nothing on his lip either.

He eventually traced the blood to his wrist, and the "A" inscribed there; the "A" that wouldn't seem to heal, despite being shallow and having been there for a week. It was deeper than before, as though roughly reopened with a scalpel – dried blood encrusted the whole underside of his wrist. The bleeding had stopped now, but he was astounded by the amount that had wept from such a small, shallow wound.

He rubbed the dried blood away from his wrist, perplexed; what could have reopened it to the extent that it had bled all over the place?

He hoped Terra wouldn't be too narked at him for it. It wasn't as though he could have prevented it, but even so…

He got up, starting to shiver immediately – the sweater kept his top half warm, but his bare legs were freezing, as were his feet. He looked around and saw his uniform neatly folded by Terra's wash basin/baptismal font; he quickly scuttled over to it and retrieved his green trousers and his boots, which warmed him up slightly. He kept with the sweater, however, it being warmer than his red-shirt-and-cape combo, and crept out of the back room as quietly as his heavy boots would allow him; Terra simply rolled over in her sleep.

The main church was much brighter, but colder still. Robin could actually see his breath condensing on the cold air as he breathed, rubbing his arms beneath the sweater. But he smiled despite that, because… there were stained-glass windows high up on the back wall of the church, above the entrance, which were far too high to be smashed in and boarded-up. The winter morning light was shining through them, casting rays of melted coloured light all through the church, across the altar, up the aisle, onto Robin's face and torso and legs…

He smiled; sometimes the simplest things in life were the most beautiful.

He had another wander around the church, this time aided by the coloured light rather than the candles, scavenging underneath and behind the broken wooden benches to see if there were any remnants of newspaper or anything that might help him a little more, build up his mental information archive…

Of course, Terra had proved invaluable, not only being able to tell him what had happened during those fifteen years, but filling him in on all the insider information, everything about Bruce, Batman's Titans, Slade…

Nightwing…

He couldn't find anything and was quite disappointed. But then, Terra probably would have cleared everything away; newspapers would rot in this damp, cold environment. Maybe she had burned them as fuel for her fire.

He absently twisted his necklace around his finger as he stood in the middle of the church, watching his breath rise on the icy air. His attention drifted to the altar, his masked eyes settling on the painting of the Virgin Mary. Then his awareness slid once more, moving to the steps leading up the organ balcony.

Nightwing had gone up there, right?

He made for them, climbing slowly up them as they twisted in corkscrew-like architecture, and aware that they were not as strong as they had probably once been; indeed, they even creaked beneath his feet, and he was not heavy.

The balcony seemed surprisingly untouched, if thick with dust and grime. The organ was still standing there, large and impressive, with at least fourteen layers of dust on the top wooden cover protecting the chord-strings. He started to run his finger along it, actually feeling how thick the dust was, when something made him stop.

A handprint, imprinted into dust already there, then covered with more layers.

Nightwing's?

It had been there years, obviously, but how many? His older-self had died three years ago; he couldn't tell how long the print had been there.

He placed his hand on the print, unsettling the dust, spreading his fingers so that it matched exactly.

Perfect.

The handprint was bigger than his own hand, obviously, but the placing of the fingers and thumb matched up exactly. It was definitely Nightwing's handprint.

It felt so strange to be standing there, his hand on top of the larger print of his future-self's, the dead man known as Nightwing.

He removed his hand, then made another print beside it, his fingers in exactly the same position. It was much smaller, but it was the same hand.

He was intrigued now, wondering if his dead future-self had left any other little remnants behind. He moved closer to the organ… and felt his foot connect with something. It clattered and slid underneath the organ. There was a startled squeak and a rat scurried out from underneath the organ and shot off across the balcony, where he lost sight of it.

But the rat wasn't what he had accidentally kicked; it had sounded… metal…

Robin got down onto his hands and knees on the filthy floor and put his face level with the gap under the organ. No good – it was too dark. Grimacing, he slid one hand underneath the organ, rooting around. He unsettled a menagerie of spiders and earwigs and woodlice and centipedes – among other things – then sharply withdrew his hand he touched something cold and slimy.

Okay, I don't want to know what that was…

He wouldn't have minded so much if he had been wearing his gloves, but with his bare hands…

His curiosity concerning whatever he had kicked was overwhelming, and he delved his hand back under again, praying that he didn't come into contact with the cold slimy thing – whatever it was – again. This time he was lucky, and his hand closed around something cold and sharp. He dragged it out and wiped it clean on his sweater – it was his, really.

Frowning, he turned the object over in his hands. It was definitely metal, cold and heavy in his hands, but light enough to… throw… It was a long black tube with what looked like a bird's head at the end, and two long blue things came down on each side.

What the hell is this?...

He shook it… then dropped it in shock as the two blue strips of metal ratcheted out to horizontal positions; they were wings… And they were sharp, like his birdarangs…

Duh…

This was a birdarang – well, Nightwing's equivalent. Only it looked as though it packed more of a punch…

So what do you call this; a Nightwing-a-rang?...

He knelt there, toying with it absently, the feeling washing over him alien. This wasn't as though he was finding something that had been his dead father's; it was something that had belonged to himself.

But not a younger-self. His future one. This wasn't a scribbled-in baby book, or a Haley's Circus leotard. This was something that, in this time, was from the past, but in his own time, was an object of some twelve years into the future.

He stood up, still struggling to get his head around it, and placed it, for the time being, on top of the organ, next to his own handprint. He wondered whether the actual organ still worked, so decided to find out by pushing up the lid to the keys. A cloud of dust rose with it and Robin started to cough as he secured the lid against the wooden panel of the organ.

Before him sprawled two layers of keys, one above the other, set slightly back. He didn't have a clue how to play an organ but couldn't resist pressing down one of the keys. It made a sad, haunting note, which echoed throughout the empty, broken church. He had expected it to be louder, though, considering the tall brass organ-pipes stretching up behind it; they were supposed to carry the sound far further, and make it louder.

He pressed down another few keys, liking the melancholic sound they created…

"This is exactly where I found Nightwing."

Robin jumped, Terra taking him by surprise. He turned to her and grinned mildly.

"Yeah, I know," he replied. "I found some evidence." He thumbed towards the handprint and Terra smiled.

"Yes, I remember him doing that," she established. "He was complaining about how dusty it was. I never wiped it off; it's like a memory, you know?..."

Robin nodded in understanding, picking up his other find. Terra took it from him, wide-eyed.

"Where did you find this?" She whispered.

"Under the organ. I… I mean, Nightwing, must have dropped it and forgotten about it." Robin scratched his sleep-tousled hair, frowning. "I also found a rat under there, among other things. Did you know there are rats in here?"

"You should have caught it; we could have had it for breakfast."

"You eat rats?" Robin stared at her, half-horrified and half-disgusted.

Terra grinned.

"Oh, yeah, they're a good source of protein. Didn't you know that?"

She cracked up at the expression on his face.

"Kidding, Robin!" She giggled. "Jeez, I forgot how gullible you could be sometimes. Roy used to have poor Dick tortured with practical jokes…"

Robin snorted in contempt and Terra sighed.

"Can you play?" She asked, changing the subject and nodding at the organ behind him.

Robin shook his head.

"Can you?"

"A little. I taught myself just sitting around in here for like, ten years…" She handed him back Nightwing's weapon and pulled out an organ stool from beneath the organ. She dusted it down, the resulting cloud of dust making Robin cough again, and sat on it, pushing the cascade of blonde hair back from her face – enabling him, for the first time, to see both of her large, forget-me-not blue eyes.

"What can you play?" Robin inquired, coming up behind her.

"Oh, lots of different stuff," Terra replied airily. "Not all of it sounds very good on an organ, though."

"Well, what does?"

Terra thought for a moment.

"You ever heard of Dire Straits?"

Robin nodded.

"Yeah. Bruce has, like, every single one of their albums. His favourite is Brothers in Arms."

Terra was nodding enthusiastically.

"Yeah, that's one of the ones I can play." She frowned, trying to get the tune into her head. "Let's see, Brothers in Arms… see, most of Dire Straits' songs sound really good on an organ, because they were originally played on an organ, with the guitar back-ups. Unfortunately, nobody was kind enough to leave a Fender Stratocaster lying around in here, so I have to make do without…"

Robin nodded again as Terra began to play the main chords of Brothers in Arms.

"Why is the organ so quiet?" He asked.

Terra nodded up at the organ-pipes, still playing.

"It's not connected up to those anymore," she explained, "so the sound doesn't carry."

She shifted over a bit so that he could perch on the stool next to her. Despite not being connected up the sound still filled the whole church, breathing life into it, the sound sad and beautiful and poignant.

Terra shifted into the bars, beginning to sing the lyrics, and her voice was soft and sad too, so much that it almost made Robin cry.

Almost.

"…There's so many different worlds,

So many different suns;

We have just one world

But we live in different ones…"

Terra trailed off in her singing, still playing the crescendo that came after that part of the song.

"Do you know it?"

Robin nodded.

"Just to listen to. I don't know the words." He nodded at the organ. "Keep going; I know there's another verse…"

Terra smiled as the key dipped lower and became calmer again;

"…Now the sun's gone to Hell,

And the moon's riding high;

Let me bid you farewell—

Every man has to die.

But it's written in the starlight

And every line in your palm;

We're fools to make war

On our brothers in arms…"

Again her singing faded into the grasp of the moody organ music that receded it, and Robin smiled as he listened to her playing. It brought back memories of cold, dark winter nights in Gotham, when Bruce would light up the fire and put on a Dire Straits album, loud, to help him unwind. If he was in one of his rare, exceptionally-good moods, he would have snatched Robin up off the couch – where said Boy Wonder was happily absorbed in a book – and made him dance with him, leaping up and down the huge front room to the jaunty, surprisingly-cheerful-for-Dire-Straits Walk of Life or Money for Nothing, both of which were on the Brothers in Arms album; Alfred had often sniffily labelled this lack of decorum as "energized, Wayne-style cavorting". But the title track had always been Bruce's favourite, and it was far from jaunty. It was sad and beautiful and moody, with compelling lyrics.

Just the kind of song Bruce liked.

Terra played the repetitive few bars, ascending into the peak of the tune concerning the organ, then died off and stopped playing altogether.

"It's a bit boring after that," she explained, taking her hands off the keys.

Robin simply nodded wordlessly, and there was silence between, the music – now dead – still washing around them like the sea on the shore.

Finally Terra broke it;

"C'mon, mister," she said breezily, standing up. "Let's get some breakfast, and then we'll fix you up with some clothes. We've got a busy day ahead of us."

Robin blinked.

"We have?"

"Uh-huh," Terra replied, nodding. "We're going to go and see our own "Brothers in Arms"…"

Robin's masked eyes widened.

"What, you mean…?"

Again Terra nodded.

"Right. We're going to go see Bruce after breakfast; here's hoping he's having a "good" day. And then we'll go for a wander around Gotham, if you want, so you can see just how much of a hell-hole this place has become. And then, later tonight, we'll go see Roy at his club. It doesn't open until 8:00pm, so…"

Robin nodded, frowning.

"Ok, sounds fun," he answered, sort of meaning it. "But… what am I going to do about getting home? I… I can't stay here in the future forever, Terra…"

Terra grinned.

"Yeah, I know. That's why we're going to see Roy."

Robin cocked his head.

"What, does Speedy know how to fix clocks?"

Terra smirked.

"Well, he won't admit it, in case it ruins his street cred, but yeah."

Robin smiled, shaking his head; yeah, that sounded just like Speedy…

He followed Terra back down through the church and into the back room, where she had already started up a fire. She handed him a cup of coffee while she sorted out the rest of the breakfast.

"You're in luck," she said brightly from where she was rummaging through a cardboard box a few feet away from the fire. "I only saw Roy yesterday, concerning food orders. Most of this stuff is fresh." She held up a bag of flour, an egg and another bag of sugar. "Pancakes okay with you?"

Robin nodded, smiling.

"You know, you don't act a bit like… well, what you'd expect a hermit living in an abandoned church to act like," he concurred. "I mean, you'd think you'd be living off… tinned spam or something, or rats, like you said. But here you are, making pancakes and coffee, like it's just… normal…"

"It is normal, Robin," Terra replied mildly, oiling up the frying pan she had dug out from beneath a pile of black clothes. "It took some getting used to, I can tell you that, but after living like this for ten years… well, it does become pretty normal. It's a long way off from Titans Tower, but hey… it's home, I guess."

Robin nodded in understanding. But then, did he really understand?... He'd never lived in one place for ten years; ten years ago he had been six, living in a circus trailer with his parents. Two years on from that, and suddenly he was an orphan getting beat up in Gotham's Youth Centre, and then forced to pray six times a day at St Jude's. And then… Wayne Manor? Yes, six happy years living with Bruce and Alfred as millionaire Bruce Wayne's heir and as Batman's crime-fighting sidekick. And the past two years had been spent in Titans Tower living/having fun/fighting with his friends.

Eight years – five different dwellings.

So he didn't truly understand; but he understood what she meant.

"Besides," Terra went on, finding a bowl and beginning to blend up the pancake mixture, "I guess it's just because of the people I know that I'm not eating rats and tinned spam. Roy gets food for me and Bruce; and Bruce, on one of his "good" days, gave me all this essential stuff. You know, frying pans and plates and knives and towels and things, all stuff salvaged from parts of Wayne Manor that hadn't burned to the ground. He gave Roy some too. We all look out for each other, you know? I took Bruce his food yesterday."

"How was he?" Robin asked quietly.

Terra bit her lip.

"Not good. He didn't recognise me at first, so I had to calm him down and talk to him. I think he finally acknowledged that he knew me, but he was still a bit twitchy." She sighed heavily. "He's in a bad way, Robin, but there isn't anything we can do for him. Harley might have been able to help him, her being a psychologist and all, but Bruce didn't totally screw up until he watched Dick get shot – that was years after Harley died. Besides, Bruce doesn't really have an actual mental problem; I mean, I actually think his brain is in pretty good shape, 'cause if he's on a good day he's smart as anyone and he acts totally normal. It's just… I don't think it was his mind that drove him to insanity; it was a broken heart. He'd watched so many of the ones he loved die; his parents, Alfred, Clark, Barbara, Tim, Harvey, Talia, Selina… and then Dick. He couldn't handle it…"

She sighed again, looking up at Robin.

"I'm… just telling you this, okay, in case… well, he's not so good today either. If he doesn't recognise you, don't be upset. It's not his fault."

Robin nodded, feeling his stomach tying itself into a knot.

"And… even if he does recognise you," Terra went on carefully, "just watch what you say to him. He's seriously unstable; dangerous, even. You say the wrong thing and he completely flies off the handle, has tantrums, the works. But Bruce… well, his tantrums aren't like a little kid's. He throws things and smashes things, and he's big and strong and stuff… well, you'd know better than anyone, I guess…"

"Has he ever hurt you?" Robin whispered.

Terra seemed to take her time answering that.

"No," she answered finally, "but that's only because I've never let him. He's tried to before, in one of his mad, blinding rages, but if it starts getting a bit… well, I just knock him out and leave him. He's hurt Roy, though. He wasn't on a "good" day, mind. I don't know what he thought Roy was, but he jumped on him and started beating his brains out; I had to knock him off with a boulder. Left Roy a bit bloodied up, and he snapped his wrist. But the thing is… it wasn't really intentional. That's the part we have to keep remembering, and that's the part that hurts the most…"

Again Robin nodded, feeling like crying. But somehow, the thought that Bruce was mad… made him want to see his ex-mentor more than ever.

He sat cross-legged on the icy floor, sipping his coffee as he watched Terra quickly and deftly make a batch of proper fried pancakes, flipping them effortlessly onto a plate and sprinkling them with sugar.

"Here you are," she beamed at him, pushing the plate towards him. "Dig in."

Robin eagerly complied, savouring every mouthful, while Terra made up another round for herself, utterly drowning hers in sugar.

"Syrup substitute," she said, grinning guiltily as he stared at her plate; it was more sugar with pancakes than pancakes with sugar. "Nothing like something sweet to get you going in the morning, right?"

Robin wrinkled his nose, not sure how to answer that – he was more for a shock of caffeine, something bitter, to get him going.

Coffee, in other words.

They finished breakfast to a repertoire of jokes from Terra – but unlike Beast Boy's, they were actually funny.

"Okay, you go wash up," Terra told him after they were finished – and after she had finished smacking Robin on the back to stop him from choking with laughter on his pancake. She pointed across the room to the "wash basin" and Robin drained the rest of his coffee before getting up and heading that way.

She'd already filled it with lukewarm water so he washed up, feeling much fresher for it, and then turned to find her with a fluffy towel in one hand for him to dry his face and hands with, and a brand new blue toothbrush, straight out of the packet.

"Here you go," she trilled, pushing them at him. "Bruce gave me something like fifty toothbrushes, for some strange reason, so knock yourself out. Toothpaste is on the floor behind the basin."

She sailed off again, leaving him to finish up. When he was done he went back over to his "bed" and sat down on it, picking up the broken Clock of Eternity while he waited for Terra.

Eventually she returned, fully dressed and carrying an armful of black garments. Robin looked up at her and blinked.

Today her cascade of gold hair was pulled back into a high ponytail, with one single part left out at the front that still covered her eye, and she wore tight black leather trousers reminiscent of Seth Elliott's, black leather calf-length heavy biker boots, a tiny black strappy top edged with lace and a tight-fitting black leather biker jacket, which was unzipped and hanging open.

Okay, giving off a real "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" vibe there…

She looked great; she truly did. She also looked as though she was out to kill something – or someone.

Which she probably was.

"Okay, quit staring at me, you," Terra said flatly, reaching down and hauling him to his feet by the collar of his fleecy sweater. She bundled the clothes she was carrying into his arms.

"Go try these," she ordered. "I think they should fit you, and it all matches up. As for shoes, those other ones from your uniform should be okay." She nodded down at his feet, seeing as he was already wearing his heavy steel-soled boots.

She packed him off to his designated corner again as she had last night, while she went about clearing up and making the beds.

Robin unfolded the clothes she had flung at him, eyeing them sceptically. Leather pants that looked at least three sizes too small for him, a tight-fitting black Lycra t-shirt with a high neck and very short sleeves, black leather gloves, a thick black leather belt with pouches and sheathes on it very like Slade's, and brand new black leather bomber jacket.

Spandex was one thing – it was very tight, but it stretched, meaning it wasn't too difficult to get on.

Somebody pass the crowbar…

It actually wasn't as difficult as he had anticipated. He had been a bit worried about the pants but it seemed that they were in fact quite a bit bigger than they looked and hadn't caused him very much trouble at all. But while he could fit into them okay, they were still very, very tight and he found that he couldn't breathe as well as he could in spandex.

And now I probably look gay too; joy…

He made a mental note to steer clear of the many gay bars he had seen on his travels last night as he tugged off the nice loose sweater and replaced it with the Lycra t-shirt. He could breathe okay, which was a plus, but the sleeves hugged his upper arms, chest and stomach where his "R" shirt didn't, which made him feel a little uncomfortable. He put on the belt and buckled it, finding that it was too loose even at the last hole and slipped a little way past his waist, then pulled on the leather gloves.

Okay, that's my circulation cut off entirely; what next?...

Next came the boots, which he pulled back on over the leather trousers; then he grabbed the jacket and tugged that on too, zipping it up halfway so that a lot of his high-necked t-shirt was still visible. Lastly he threaded the Blood Diamond back around his neck, where it glittered valiantly against his black t-shirt, and fixed his mask so that it was perfectly straight on his face.

Okay, I can barely breathe and my circulation has definitely slowed down, but I look good, right?...

He staggered out from his corner and crossed the room to where Terra was waiting, her arms folded.

"Ah, bon même!" She cried rapturously in a very bad French accent, clapping her hands together as she ran her gaze over him. "Very nice," she translated when he looked blankly at her.

"Yeah, if "Gay Poster Boy" was the look we were hoping to achieve here," Robin replied bitterly, still very much aware of how tight those leather trousers were, and of the fact that they showed off his ass even better than green spandex did. "Yes, I'm sure "some people" would think it's "very nice" indeed…"

"Oh, don't be stupid," Terra snapped impatiently. "You don't look gay at all; you look fine. It suits you."

"Thanks."

"That was meant in a good way."

"Define "good."

"Oh, shut up…"

Robin smiled twistedly and walked past her to where she had neatly folded his uniform beside his newly-made "bed". He picked up his utility belt and rifled through it, taking his staff, two birdarangs and the knife from it and putting them into the leather sheathes on the belt now at his waist.

As he flung the belt back he did a double-take on noticing the bed – Terra had changed the pillow and sheets.

"You…" He said, turning back to her. "My pillow…?"

"Yeah." She arched an eyebrow at him. "Nosebleed?"

"It's…" Robin looked at the floor. "It's kinda difficult to explain…"

"Right." Terra didn't pursue the matter, thinking it to be embarrassing or private; when the truth was that he really and honestly just couldn't explain it. "Just don't make a habit of it. I'm not exactly swimming in bedsheets and pillowcases…"

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I'm sure you didn't make yourself bleed on purpose just to piss me off." She eyed him charily. "Or did you?…"

"Um, no." Robin blinked at her. "So… what next?"

Terra smiled weakly in reply.

"Next… we go see a certain Mr Wayne…"

Yes, bearing in mind that this fic does share a readership with the likes of Small Print (and additional slashy things I have written/co-written with Narroch)… You can forget any kind of slash-type "hanky panky" in this storyline where Robin is concerned. This isn't Small Print Robin – the Robin in this storyline was deeply traumatised by the rape Slade inflicted on him and as a result is something of a homophobe. I have been asked that before, certainly, in reviews; and I have answered that before.

I am not a homophobe – and in a lot of my other fics, neither is Robin. So don't think I have anything against it, because I don't.

But Robin is a homophobe in this – because of what happened to him – and he is perfectly justified in being so, so don't complain about it in a review. That's all I want to say on this rather obvious matter.

Dire Straits – an excellent band, one of my favourites. Anyone ever heard Brothers in Arms? It's very good – and it always reminds me of Terra anyway because the first time I ever heard it, about two years ago (around this time of year, too), I was drawing a picture of Terra. More importantly, my first ever proper picture of her. Ah, such memories… But I guess that's kind of why it worked its way in here. It's a song I associate with her.

Well, that's all for now. Next chapter: Robin and Terra drop in on Bruce.

Just as a heads-up… He is not on a good day.

Happy New Year!

RobinRocks xXx