The cockpit seemed a lot smaller to Dick somehow. Although he had practically lived in an earlier version of this vehicle throughout most of his teens, he couldn't recall the last time he had actually rode shotgun in the Batmobile. It had to have been years ago.

Big shock there.

He wondered idly if Tim would have the same sense of awkwardness whenever he finally came back from his Titans' training and rejoined Bruce.

Of course, if he had half a brain, Tim'd stay on the West Coast and never come back.

He immediately chastised himself for the unkind thought. Bruce had done right by Tim Drake.

Guess he had already made all of the major mistakes with me.

He glanced over at Bruce, who was driven silently, typical Bat-face in play. A thin, grim line for a mouth and slightly narrowed eyes betrayed absolutely no emotion. Cast him in stone and he'd be a perfect gargoyle, his solemn visage keeping watch from the moldering rooftop of some crumbling edifice of a begone era. Actually, now that he'd thought about it, Dick had seen plenty of gargoyles with livelier expressions.

He looked back out the window at the passing scenery, knowing exactly where they were going. He may not remember the last time he had ridden in the Batmobile, but there was no way he'd ever forget the way back to Wayne Manor.

After all, it had been home for over a decade.

Riding in the passenger position, Dick considered how much things had changed since the first time he had sat in this seat, nearly bursting with excitement at the thought of his first patrol. Back then, Bruce would talk a lot more, still relatively new to the game himself. Sometimes, after a particularly successful or uneventful night, he would even crack a joke or two. Oh, there were times when he'd give a stern lecture, especially when Dick had screwed up somehow, but there was never any doubt that Bruce cared for him and was looking out for him. Combine that with the unconditional love of a certain Alfred Pennyworth, and the pain and shock of the loss of his parents would gradually subside.

All in all, it was a pretty good way to grow up, if you considered how bleak and hopeless life had appeared that night in the big top when his entire world came crashing down from a high wire.

Too bad it didn't last.

The Batmobile turned onto an inconspicuous dirt road, hi-tech shocks barely registering the rough terrain even though the vehicle was pushing 80. Dick watched the sheer side of the mountain approach and was mildly surprised when no entrance appeared and the car plowed right through the wall.

"That's new," he said, "Hologram, huh?"

Batman nodded, "Installed it a month ago. Allows entrance and exiting in half the time."

"What about security?"

"The wall still exists. It just slides into or out of place several seconds before the Batmobile gets there. But the casual observer knows no difference."

The vehicle hummed down the underground passageway, gradually going deeper until entering the Batcave proper. Batman parked the car on the massive turntable and got out.

"Let's clean up and we can talk upstairs. Alfred will be thrilled to make a late night snack."

Dick was wary of Bruce's sudden disarming manner, but wasn't about to miss an opportunity to enjoy Alfred's cooking. He loved Barbara with all his heart, but he'd found out the hard way that she couldn't cook worth a damn.

---

"Damn it!" Barbara swore, staring at the contents of the oven in dismay, "I could have sworn the recipe said 20 minutes at 350 degrees, but they're still cold!"

"No sweat, Babs," Kara bent down next to her, "Lemme have a look."

The younger woman's eyes flashed briefly, and suddenly the baked goods were no longer cold. Instead, they were charred a solid black.

Smoke began to pour out of the oven.

"Oops!" Kara blushed, "This is why Ma never let's me anywhere near the kitchen."

Barbara rolled her eyes and groaned. "Just get those out of here before you set off the fire alarm. I'll order some pizza."

Forty-five minutes later, the two off duty heroes were enjoying what was billed as the best pizza in Bludhaven.

"Metropolis's pizza is better."

Barbara shot her an annoyed look, "Metropolis's pizza is better!" she mimicked, mocking Kara's higher voice, "Too bad you're stuck in Smallville."

Kara threw a pillow at her. It nearly knocked Barbara over.

"Hey! Watch it! Pregnant woman here!"

Kara's eyes widened. "I'm sorry! Are you okay?"

Barbara started to laugh, "Relax, Kara. I'm fine." She reached over for another slice. Now that she was over her morning sickness, she had developed quite the appetite, "But seriously, how much longer are you going to stay in Kansas?"

Kara took a sip from her cola and then belched loudly.

Barbara winced, but her guest was obviously quite pleased.

"Well, I graduate from high school this year, so I guess I could attend an out of state university, but I think Ma and Pa need me on the farm, so I'll probably attend the local community college instead."

"Really? I thought you hated being on the farm. You keep going on and on about it during our ski trip last Christmas. Whatever happened to 'I'm getting the hell out of there once I turn 18?'"

Kara looked thoughtful for a moment, and Barbara took note of how strange this glimpse of maturity was on her friend's face.

"Yeah, well, there'll be time for that later, you know? Ma and Pa have been so good to me, and I'd like to return the favor, at least for the next couple years. And anyway, I have no idea what kind of major I want. Besides, I'm Justice League now! Who's going to have time for school?"

Barbara smiled. Kara's growing up.

"Hey, Babs! Are there going to be any hot guys at the wedding?"

Okay, maybe she still has a ways to go.

---

Dick walked into the study, hair still wet from his shower. Alfred had set out a nice spread despite the late hour and lack of forewarning, but there was no sign of the Englishman.

Ah well, it is pretty late.

He began to make a sandwich from the various cold cuts and fixings, as he wondered why Bruce had chosen this room to talk things over. He looked over towards the fireplace and at the large portrait over the mantle. The fire cast much of it in shadow, but he knew that particular picture by heart.

John and Mary Grayson stared impassively down at him.

The painting was of such quality that it was almost photo-realistic. His mother in particular was very life-like. He remembered coming in here many times during that first terrible year just to stare at her. Most of the time he would cry his eyes out, trying vainly to explain to them how much he missed them. But as time went by, he would take great comfort in the portrait. He would often wind up talking to his parents through it, the way a younger child might discuss things with a treasured stuffed animal. With its near life-size, he could almost fool himself into imagining they were right there in the room with him.

Even now, staring at their painted faces, he felt an urge to talk to them about Barbara. As if by doing so, he would somehow sense them giving their blessing.

"I thought you would want to see them again."

Dick turned as Bruce entered the room, dressed in casual wear.

He remained silent as his mentor got something to eat and sat down in front of the fireplace. His aching muscles immediately told him that was an excellent idea, and soon both men were relaxing in over stuffed leather chairs in companionable silence.

Eventually, Bruce spoke again.

"How is Barbara?"

"She's good. The morning sickness went away a few weeks ago," Dick hesitated for a moment, but decided to press ahead, "If you'd bother to call us once in awhile, you'd already know that. I'm sure Alfred is sick of playing middleman."

"He is." Bruce stared at the flickering flames and then continued, "I'm sorry about that. Expanding the League has turned out to be much more of a headache we had thought it would be. But things are pretty much settled now. The main components of the new Watchtower are being launched into orbit next month. We should be fully operational within 120 days."

"That quickly?" Dick was genuinely surprised.

"It helps when you have a Martian, Kryptonian, and Green Lantern on your construction crew." Bruce smiled wryly, "And now that Waynetech isn't footing the whole bill, I don't have to spread costs out over multiple quarters. Besides, we wanted to get up and running as quickly as possible. Damage control after the invasion. We need to restore the public's faith in the League."

"You're coming pretty far out of the shadows these days, Bruce."

"Can't be helped. The world has changed. There are threats out there I couldn't have imagined back when I was starting out."

"That explains the expansion, right?"

Bruce frowned slightly. "The Thanagarians proved that even the seven of us weren't enough. This time, we'll be ready for anything that comes our way."

Why is he being so open out of sudden. What's his angle?

"Sounds like you'd want to have as many people as possible."

Bruce remained silent.

"Bruce. Come on. Barbara and I have more experience than half original League, much less all the new guys. You going to invite us to join, or what?"

The older man continued to stare at the slowly dying fire, face passing into and out of the shadows.

Dick began to become angry. Does he really think a hot shower and some small talk was going to get me to drop the subject? He stood up abruptly.

"What? You don't think we can cut it? I can't believe after all these years you're still treating us like kids! I've been on my own for a couple years now, and let me tell you, Gotham's got nothing on Bludhaven. At least you've got Gordon backing you up here. Half the cops I deal with are as corrupt as Two-face!"

Somehow he ended up right in front of Bruce, seething.

"This isn't about you capabilities," he replied calmly, "I'd entrust my life to either of you without hesitation. You know that."

"Then, what the hell, Bruce? It is the marriage? Just because you won't let yourself have some happiness, we're not supposed to either? We're supposed to be monks? Take a vow of solitude and devote every bit of ourselves to your Mission?"

Dick almost regretted that volley, especially when Bruce's face clouded and the older man finally stood up, "You are free to live your own life, Dick. Yes. I think you're making a mistake, but it is yours to make. Both of you. This kind of life does not allow normalcy, and you're only deluding yourself if you think it ever will."

"So I'm deluded now?"

"You're letting your emotions get in the way of rational thought, but that happens to Flash all the time. It's not the reason you're not joining the League."

"Oh, so you're going to blackball us? If Superman or Wonder Woman vouch for us, what are you gonna do? Cast a veto?"

"If I have to, yes."

The blow didn't knock him down, but it nearly spun Bruce around.

Dick didn't mean to punch him.

He was just so angry. All those years of practice and training and fighting the good fight. And still, he somehow wasn't good enough. Maybe if he wiped the floor with him, Bruce would finally see just how far he had come.

But Bruce merely wiped the blood from his mouth and looked back at him.

"Happy, now? Got it out of your system?"

Then his eyes became deadly serious.

"Because you won't get another."

Dick sighed, rage evaporating. This wasn't what he wanted.

"Bruce, I just don't understand. For once in your life, can you just explain yourself?"

The two men stared at each other for a long time. The fire was barely more than embers now, and the steady tick-tock of a grandfather clock faithfully marked the passage of the night.

Bruce turned away to stoke the fire. As he bent down to add another log, he spoke.

"Do you remember that night?"

The way he said it, the tone of his voice, made it clear just which night he was referring to. Dick looked at the portrait again.

"Of course, how could I ever forget?"

"Do you still dream about it?"

"You mean, nightmares?"

Bruce nodded, standing back up and looking at the painting.

"Sure. Not as much nowadays, but still . . . maybe once or twice a month. You?"

Bruce closed his eyes, "Yes."

"A lot?"

"Every night."

"Really?" Dick was shocked, "You've never told me that before."

"Not always with the same intensity, and not always in the same manner, but I relive the death of my parents every single time."

"Bruce, that's . . . I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"I'm surprised that you don't."

Dick looked away, almost guiltily, "I used to. I still get a vivid one once in a while. Wake up screaming, bathed in sweat. Scared the crap out of Barbara the first time it happened when we were . . . uh, you know."

"And why do you think that is? Why does it haunt us so?"

Dick looked at Bruce as if he was crazy. "Why?"

Bruce nodded.

"Because we lost our parents, Bruce, that's why. That's the night our lives were destroyed and we became orphans! What the hell kind of question is that?"

"A question you should be asking yourself, Dick. You're going to be a father. You're going to have a child. And yet here you are complaining about why I'm keeping you out of the League."

Bruce walked up to him and looked him right in the eye, while pointing a the stoic portrait of John and Mary Grayson, "I don't want to have to commission another painting, Dick. I don't want to see a picture of you and Barbara hanging over yet another fireplace, and I sure as hell don't want your child to end up like us. I don't want him or her to have a night."

Dick stood there, stunned.

"And if you had an ounce of responsibility, you'd stop being Nightwing and find some way to lead a normal life. But since you're too busy thinking about what you want, I'm going to do the only thing I can to minimize you and Barbara's risk. You are not going to be in the Justice League."

Bruce locked eyes with his former ward.

"And that's final."