A/N: I was so unhappy with the last scene I rewrote it five times. Not sure if it's better or worse.

Best,

GP

"Tell me all your thoughts on God

'Cause I am on my way to see her

So tell me am I very far, am I very far now?"

It's getting cold picked up the pace

How our shoes make hard noises in this place

Our clothes are stained

We pass many cross-eyed people

And ask many questions

Like children often do"

Dishwalla, "Counting Blue Cars"

"'G'...'G'...Gwen Stefani."

"The big bad Red Hood likes Gwen Stefani, I've heard it all."

"Don't you forget it. You know, she used to be in a B+ band called No Doubt before she went solo with 'Hollaback Girl' and all that happened. Weren't too bad."

Gail rubbed her forehead, laughing, "He just said 'Hollaback Girl'...What're we on?"

"'H,'" I replied as I rose up in my seat, trying to see if the streetlight had changed colors. Nope. Dammit. Rush hour in Gotham was murder. We'd had to taxi to Gail's for clothes, which was a ridiculous experience I don't want to repeat.

I rolled down the window of her Subaru, my eyes squinted in the sun as I rested my forearm on the steering wheel. We were on our way to Bullock's to pick up some things to make his hospital room more homely. Unfortunately, that was clear across the city.

Gordon's call to Barbara was a report: Harvey will recover, it was just a matter of time until he woke up. We had to regroup, the same thing we were sure Falcone was doing.

"Hmmm…" Gail hummed from the passenger's seat, circular sunglasses glaring. She now wore a pair of denim shorts, along with Chucks and a loose, gray t-shirt. I saw her expression brighten out of the corner of my eye. "Huey Lewis and The News."

"Really?" I couldn't help the grin. "'The Power of Love' and shit?"

She had this goofy smile plastered over her face then, talking like a recorded telemarketer, "'In '87, Huey released this, 'Fore!', their most accomplished album. I think their undisputed masterpiece is 'Hip To Be Square', a song so catchy most people probably don't listen to the lyrics - but they should-'"

"-are you quoting American friggin' Psycho to me right now?" I was pinching the bridge of my nose, giggling like an idiot.

She was eating it up, poking my arm, "Pull over, I need to return some videotapes."

"Z-zip it," I stuttered through cackles, getting a hold on myself, "That's it, I'm buying you lunch later."

"Not at Dorsia, I hope," She said nonchalantly out the window.

"Jesus, Abigail," Another short wave of giggles rocked my lungs until the light turned green and we started off again just to advance another thirty feet to another stop light. "Alright …'I'."

She bit her lip as she thought about it, throwing her feet up on the dash because she was so short, she could. "Iron and Wine."

"Never heard of them," I said, and she wrote it down as legibly as she could with splints on her fingers, onto a notepad she'd brought from her apartment for this game. We were collecting bands we could listen to while we guarded Bullock, ones we could introduce each other to. I had her beat by three bands.

"J…" I said, trailing off. My brand burned. "Hey, Gail?"

"Mm?" She had her seat tilted back, her blonde hair spread out on the headrest.

The light switched to green and we were moving again. I ran my free hand through my hair. Didn't want to do this; she'd been interrogated enough today, "Mind if I ask you somethin'?"

She didn't answer right away, but her fingers stopped playing with the string that bound the scrappy notebook on her lap. For a few minutes, we were quiet. I stole glances at her in the mirror and out of the corner of my eye, her own glued to the window as if she hadn't heard me.

I saw the yellowing bruise along her jaw, and thought about how many times I'd had one just like it...never received in the same way twice, but still. The swelling in her nose that hiked up her sunglasses just so. Couldn't have happened more than a week ago. My own crooked nose hurt just looking at it.

Maybe it was none of my business...but this was exactly the kind of thing I feared happening to her when I let her walk out of the firehouse weeks ago, after I showed her my scars. I never wanted her like that because of me. Distant. Afraid. Although...after what she'd said earlier this morning, this wasn't her first rodeo.

But even if I'm scared to stay close to her, even if I don't know if either of us will last the day, even if I can't save the city that forged me, even if I can't fight for the streets I survived in as a boy, even if I can't right the wrong I did as a man, even if I can't keep the promise I made on the gargoyle or break the one Bullock wanted me to maintain, even if I'll never see Bruce or Alfred again or Barbara or my brothers...even if I'm falling into something with Abigail Byron that I can't exactly climb my way out of, something deep inside the blackened parts of me told me I had to try. I'll never forgive myself if I didn't.

I cared for this girl. I knew that. After all she's said today, she didn't ask for any of this to happen to her. Or me to happen to her. I had to focus on that if I wanted to prevent her from hurting much worse.

"I still want to know who put those bruises on your face," I said, then added, "And I still want to put their head on a stick."

She gave me a name, though a bit quiet but my hands got hot, my head felt like a kettle about to whistle. "What?"

"He came to visit me after you blew up that law firm of his," She said matter-of-factly, like it was trivial and I shouldn't be getting riled up, "Falcone wanted to take his anger out, even said he hoped you saw his handiwork. He was sending you a message through me."

I scratched the scruff peppered along my jaw, trying not to wreck her car out of sheer frustration. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"He threatened me," She turned her face towards me, eyes unreadable behind her sunglasses.

"With what?"

She didn't answer, and I repeated my question through my teeth.

"I'm his murderer," She reminded me, her knuckles white as they curled around her notebook, "And I'm a link to you. Put marks on me, you get angry and reckless. You strike, he catches you. He wins."

Like hell. A growl rippled up my throat and I slammed the heel of my hand into the wheel, "Son of a bitch, I'll kill him!"

"Don't dent my steering wheel," She warned drolly, and I was - may I say- irate at her calm.

"Don't act like you're okay with this," I seethed back, and I saw with some small degree of remorse that I had left a dent. I'll get her a new one. "Why are you so calm? He hurt you. He put his hands on you and you could care less."

"Because I don't care, what he does," She placed a hand over my forearm, "He can do what he wants, I won't help him."

I'd rather be at the mercy of murderers than my conscience.

The whole notion made me uneasy and protective beyond my norm of zero-to-sixty, but eventually, after mumbling profanities for another forty yards, I cooled down. I drew my arm back until her hand fell into mine, I squeezed it and let it fall before I got any selfish ideas about holding it.

"Just…" I wanted to throw something, swearing again, "Dammit, Gail…"

She patted my shoulder, pointing to an apartment complex on the right side of the road, "Hey, here's Harvey's place."

I squeezed the car into the skinny, barely wide-enough park lane so that her door faced the sidewalk. Dropping her sunglasses on the dash, she started to open the door, before I pressed a hand to her shoulder and had her look at me.

"Listen, Gail…" I leaned close, staring her hard in her eyes and, though I don't think I decided to do it, my hands held hers between us, "Maybe I'm coming out of left field with this but I'm seeing too much to ignore the possibility…"

She squinted, her eyebrows knitting. "Jason…"

"I know suicidal when I see it," I said bluntly, watching her face pale, "Trust me, I might not be here if it wasn't for my vendetta. I might be buried in Venezuela someplace…"

She calmly spoke, but I felt the outlines of the shouting lecture she wanted to give me as she did, "Don't mistake my eagerness to leap into the fire for masochism...you know, you were a civilian too before you stole those hubcaps. I may not have the extensive martial arts training or the education, but I've got the same heart you've got." She poked a finger at my chest, "You and I both know what it's like to endure so that others don't have to…"

"Even for me?" I asked, barely above a whisper.

"What did I tell you last night?" She sighed, her eyes dark. "You're trying to make it right. And you're worth more than you think. To the world and to me. Don't try to stop me from-"

I cut her off, snarling under my breath as my anger spilling over the top of the dam I'd been stopping it with, "-if you think I'll just sit by-"

She withdrew her hands from mine, her own frustration rising in her voice, "Jason, why do you give a damn? Why do you insist on saving my ass?"

"Because you're a much better human being than me," I shot at her, too fast to stop myself, and she shook her head, "No, listen for a second- you're willing to throw yourself to the wolves for someone that has caused so many people so much pain, because your conscience scares you more than they do."

"Yeah, it does," She got closer to me to argue back, and I could see in her eyes that she hated herself, "But I'm also a murderer. I got revenge, not justice.…You, you torture yourself every day over what you did. Me? I get up in the morning and I'm disappointed that I failed to kill him. What kind of person thinks like that?"

In that split second, I could smell my shampoo in her hair again, taste the coppery blood from the cut that reopened on her lip, the yellowing paper scent that clung to her skin, the gold of her hair, could count the freckles on her cheekbones, drowned in the blue of her eyes, and I had a sudden, maddening, irresponsible, stupid, selfish urge to kiss her. I bit down on my tongue, hard enough to taste my own blood in my mouth and it curbed the urge enough for me to control myself.

"I think like that," I admitted, "I had him and your father pinned down once, could've taken them both out...didn't. You think now, knowing what I know about you, I don't feel disappointed that I didn't gut them right there for what they did to you?" I made a soft noise pushing air through my teeth, "I've got a whole fucking list of people I'm disappointed I didn't kill sooner. Scarecrow, for obvious reasons. Falcone, for all the shit he did to people on top of what he did to you. Deathstroke and Lex Luthor, without whom my militia would've been the sloppy seconds of Hugo Strange's TYGER men. And guess what, sunshine, some days I'm at the top of that list."

Shit. I...I think that's the first time I ever said that out loud. And the look on her face, her hands covering her mouth and her eyes watering...Dammit.

She wrapped her arms around me and hugged me, her face in my shoulder. Nerves lit my skin on fire where she touched me, but I had to focus. I didn't want her to be sorry for me, but after a moment, I returned it.

"Just be careful, alright?" I said in her hair, glad she couldn't see my cheeks heat up as I told her, "And live. Just keep living and I'll be okay."

She inhaled a strangled breath, and I loosened my grip, realizing I'd been holding her a little too tight. "Same goes to you."

We didn't spend long at Bullock's place, and in all honesty, I spent most of our time there checking out windows and down hallways to ensure that no one else was there but us. I was strapped with a couple of handguns concealed under my jacket, a knife in my boot, and a flashbang grenade in the other boot.

Abigail came out of the apartment with a book and oddly enough, a few records. We got back in her car and I drove us out, maintaining a steady silence the entire way to where the rest of the family was.

Elliot Memorial was the last hospital left in Gotham with a chapel. Barbara Gordon was mildly relieved that the chapel had a ramp, unlike some of the older parts of the building where wheelchairs weren't accommodated. Her fingernail beds were raw and didn't appreciate the extra abuse wheeling herself from the fourth floor where Bullock was currently being watched over by her father, his ex-partner and best friend, all the way to the ground floor.

She let her burning arms dangle at the sides of her chair when she got there, taking in her surroundings. The ceilings were lower, making her feel safe and enclosed, and although the chapel only had a few rows of pews, the room held with it a kind of security. A golden cross was hung on the far wall, the Christ figure hanging from the shape.

Barbara had never been to church in her life. Praying was something vaguely familiar...the only glimpses she'd had was when her father Jim would thank God up and down every time she came home from school safely as a child. And she'd never understood it until after she was paralyzed, then she started to do the same when the Commissioner returned from a shift at GCPD.

After Bruce lost Jason, she'd seen Alfred praying alone in the mansion many times for him and had caught on to the basic steps. She pushed herself down the aisle to just in front of the altar, reaching out to touch her fingertips to it. She knew no psalms, she knew no prescribed prayers...but she had an idea of what she wanted to say, and hoped that that would be enough.

But as she drew in breath to begin, a voice from right beside her startled her eyes back open.

"I didn't expect to find you here…"

She jolted, almost tipping her chair over, and looked over to find Dick standing next to her, his eyes on the golden cross. His hair was unkempt, the black strands hanging in his eyes and the five o'clock shadow along his jaw would've made her knees weak if she could feel them, she mused. He wore a white tank, a pair of jeans his hands were shoved into the pockets of.

She clutched her chest and breathed, "You scared me…"

"Sorry," He said shortly, his gaze transfixed on the face of Jesus. He inquired, moving a hand to the back of her chair,"What're you doing down here?"

"To be honest?" She sighed, defeated, "I don't know...my dad is up there with Bullock, and I don't know what to do for this whole situation but to bargain with Him."

He slowly nodded, finally glancing down at her. Dick didn't know what to say that might put her at ease, and even with all his optimism, to think that maybe the Joker was back after all…

He found himself thinking to Jason, and his poor friend Abigail. He hoped she stayed with Jason...as after today, Dick himself might not be there to keep his brother together. Dick was about to leave to find Bruce. If the reverse tracking on the BatComputer signal was right, it should lead him straight to Bruce...but that's something he didn't pass on to the rest of the family.

"My parents weren't overly religious," He said after a few moments of quietly being with her, "But there were times, like when a performer died or got sick...that they had me pray with them, that's how I learned. The way I understood it was...it wasn't what you said that was important, it was how much you meant it."

"When was the last time you prayed, Grayson?" She asked, more out of idle curiosity than anything else.

Dick hesitated. In truth, the last time he really prayed, he did so with tears in his eyes...because the woman he loved was broken beyond repair, and he'd been someplace else, in someone else's arms because he was too late to work up the nerve to tell her. Because he wasn't there to save her. He waited too long, and he believed that if he'd only told her sooner that he loved her more than the stars in the sky, more than he loved to breathe, she wouldn't be half-dead.

He remembered the night he saw Barbara in that hospital bed, unconscious from shock, and he climbed through the window, sat by her bed. An emotional wreck, he cried into the palm of her hand and begged, yes - begged for the first time in his life, for God to heal her in any way he could. Or at least to keep her alive and in his life. Even if he couldn't have her.

"Can't remember, really," He lied, knowing himself to be unreadable to her and she'd believe it enough not to press further. "Probably when Jason disappeared."

That wasn't a total lie...he'd prayed for Jay, too. But it was more for Bruce and Alfred than for himself, he hadn't known Jason as he did now. Enough to love him as a brother.

"Where's Tim?" Dick asked her.

He liked Tim, he did. He had ceased thinking of him as the new kid after Fear Halloween, and more as an equal. Though Tim had been the one who swept Barbara off her feet the way Dick would've wanted to, Dick knew he would be good to her. He was smart, too; enough to keep himself and others alive, more so than the rest of the family sometimes. Bruce included.

"Trying to get some sleep," She said, frowning, "He's pushing himself...but he's not built like you or Jason. He can't go on three hours of sleep."

Dick uttered a soft chuckle, rolling his shoulders restlessly, "How's his arm?"

"An inconvenience, but I set the bones myself," She shrugged, "If he doesn't get surgery and has the sling on it, he'll be back at it in six weeks...If he does, sooner."

"We need him ready as soon as possible," Dick noted, worry creasing his forehead, "If Tim's out for longer, while I'm gone you'll only have Jason to work with and with one or two hits, Falcone could tear this thing wide open."

"I know," She met his eyes, and both of them forgot completely where they were, "I'm having Lucius work on flexible casts so he could go on patrol, at least." She took out her phone, checking for texts to see if Tim had woken up. Nothing. She went to a different screen, "Kate Kane will be back in town on the thirty-first, and I called ahead. She'll be patrolling."

A smile curled Dick's lip. Falcone's never met Batwoman. That's an advantage. He had an idea, though he wasn't sure how practical it was, "When's the last you heard from Selina?"

"Since she destroyed Riddler's robot factory?" Barbara shook her head. "I could try reaching out, see where she might be."

"Do it, we'll need every hand we can get," Dick said, before he caught sight of the cross again and laughed.

"What?" Her brows knit behind her blue-rimmed glasses.

"Sorry," He rubbed an eye, "I'm laughing at how easy we got caught up in business...and forget everything else. Sometimes, it's almost like we do it on purpose."

"Do we?" She asked sincerely, her voice smaller than he was used to.

He stared at her, and she stared back. A groggy, thick voice from the entrance to the chapel brought them both back to the present, "Hey guys."

Both former Robin and former Batgirl looked back to see a sleep-disheveled Tim, "Jason and Abigail just arrived, we need to plan our next move."

He glanced between them, before leaving the room once again. Barbara shot Dick a 'well we'd better go' smile and rolled herself out after Tim, leaving the acrobat to stand there alone with the cross behind him.

He exhaled, his moving to the face of Jesus behind him. "Please, keep her safe while I'm gone."

And then Dick Grayson left the chapel, about to say goodbye to what he knew.

Have I mentioned yet how much I hate hospitals? Like, every time I drive by one or run past one, I just ended up thinking about all the sorry people in there with crappy luck and places like the morgue.

It smelled too clean, and I felt like an eyesore, covered in scars and moodiness. Don't get me started on the snotty doctors and passive-aggressive 'have a nice day' nurses who groan when the call light signals that they're needed. It's the exact kind of place I went insane in.

We were standing in a conference room, Abigail and I. It was usually where doctors consulted people, or each other; long table, plenty of leather chairs and a flat-screen computer monitor mounted on the far wall. Light poured in from the windows at my back, the sun warming my skin as I stood with my arms crossed. Abigail chose to sit in one of the chairs, swaying left and right as we waited for the others.

Tim got back first, nodding to her and not meeting my eyes. He looked like hell, dark circles and he winced every time his arm moved, still wrapped up in the sling. Only he shifted uncomfortably and blinked more often, like he'd just seen something that'd turned his stomach.

Abigail attempted small talk, eyeing him carefully, "I brought some Ibuprofen...if you needed…"

He waved her off, "Nah, I'll be alright...thanks, though."

"Sure," She said, as the door opened again and in came Barbara, with Gordon pushing her in.

Barbara rolled her way to the front of the room, while Gordon caught sight of the newest addition to the team. When Jim and Abigail saw each other, both froze. His eyes got wide, and her face paled as he slowly walked around the table.

"Sir…" She said, strangely formal. "I, uh...Hi."

Jim's features softened, taking off his glasses, "How many times did I tell you not to call me 'sir', no matter how many times your mother said otherwise?"

"Something short of a million," Gail said, barely having time to get up from her chair before Gordon turned it around, scooping up the girl in a hug. Tim and Barbara watched on, him wary and her beaming.

Jim exhaled, blowing away a lock of her blonde hair, "Missed you, kid." He let her go, setting her back on her feet, "I appreciate you bringing the records."

Gail nodded, grinning. Jim's own faded when he saw me. We locked a gaze for a second, before he outstretched a hand. I could tell he was doing it out of respect for the old man, not really out of respect for me. Not that I cared where he put it and what for, but I guessed this was likely thanks for saving Gail at the charity event, or something convoluted and mushy. Or maybe he wanted to thank me for killing Alberto. Whatever. Gordon wasn't a mushy guy, but he was like the old man in some ways. Sentimental, honorable. I didn't do it for him.

I felt Gail's eyes on me, and I took a hand out of my pocket to shake his. Dick had just walked in, shutting the door behind us all and coming to my side. Gordon went to stand next to his daughter, before he began talking, "Alright...Falcone's on the back foot, and he's just lost a son, which means he's mad."

"You're welcome," I mumbled, and Dick shook his head from beside me.

"Barbara filled me in," Jim said, his eyes sweeping over us, "And...Well. I don't think we can afford to flirt around the subject any longer. There's a very strong possibility that Joker is back...now, if there's anybody with room for suspicion about this, it's me." He pointed to the floor, "I was in the morgue with Bruce, and I hit the button. Cremated him. Don't get any deader than that…His body was under top security between the time he died and the day we cremated him. Nobody took their eyes off him for a second."

I raised an eyebrow. Didn't know he was cremated...Shame he wasn't alive when they burned his ass. Damn shame. Would've paid to watch that.

"Recently, I went through the security footage in the morgue," Barbara told us, "And I found something...Between December thirty-first and January first, two years ago...there was ten seconds of footage that was deleted…"

Gordon turned on the TV monitor, and the footage was on the screen. There he was...hands folded over his chest, purple pinstripe suit...yellow flower...white face covered in sickening sores, his green hair thinning. Barbara gestured to a surgical tray that was on a table by Joker's body, "Keep your eyes on these, they're the contents of his pockets…"

I couldn't see much, but I could see a purple-handled knife I was...familiar with. My insides clenched, and more than a few scars burned on my back...Jesus. There was a nudge in my elbow, and I mumbled that I was fine to Dick.

Barb played the footage, "After about three seconds in, watch…"

I trained my eyes on the knife, ignoring my nausea. After three seconds, there was a blink-and-you'll-miss-it flicker of black and the knife was gone, along with the other grainy objects on the tray. Joker's body was still there, but his stuff was gone.

"How recent did you see this?" Tim asked, incredulous, "How'd we not see this sooner?"

"I was searching as soon as the playing card was left with the Platters song," Barbara said, biting her lip.

"Who'd want his things?" Dick voiced aloud, "Harley was in Bludhaven when this was recorded."

"I can confirm that," I said lowly, "She was starting to work with Scarecrow and I, Penguin reported to me that she was there."

I received plenty of uneasy stares from everyone, and I shrugged, scoffing, "It's fact-checking, people."

"This doesn't really qualify as proof," Gail piped up, the others surprised at her contributing. "He's still on the table after the jump."

"Doppelganger corpses," Tim said, turning to her. "The League of Assassins have used them before to fake deaths, steal corpses."

"Which is why I had round-the-clock guards on him," Jim said, shaking his head.

"We can't afford to fully deny the possibilities of tampered video evidence anymore," Barbara said, trying not to look at me and I knew why.

Gordon put his hands on his hips, "We need to figure out what our next move is."

"I'm going to find Bruce," Dick declared, stepping forward, "If anyone's got a chance of stopping him…"

Jim stared at him, and I knew he hadn't been told that Bruce is alive, but I don't think he really bought it for a second anyways, "Who's going with you?"

"Friend of mine," Dick said, poking a thumb to the door, "She's on her way here to pick me up. Once she does, I'll be on my way."

"Who is she?" Tim asked, suspicious.

"She's good," Dick dodged the question again, trying to figure out how to say it, "She's, uh...not from around here."

"Fine," Tim lifted his free hand, "As for the rest of us?"

"You're not doing anything until you heal," I ordered, firm, "It'll be just me unless we get some backup."

"Just you?" Tim repeated, and I was in no mood for his 'but Jason's too dangerous' shpeel.

"Problem, Replacement?"

"Not here," Babs warned, "I'm working on backup, but until help arrives, it will be Jason doing the heavy-lifting."

"I'll try to support you where I can with men," Gordon attempted to reassure me, but I resisted the need to roll my eyes.

"Support me by keeping your donut squad out of my way," I said shortly, and Gordon did his best not to seem annoyed. He was failing.

Tim sighed, leaning back in his chair, "And what am I to do while I'm dealing with this?" He gestured to his sling. "If it takes surgery to get me back in the field - I'll do it."

"Even with surgery, you'll be out for another three weeks regardless to recover function," Dick informed as he checked his phone.

"You'll be helping me," Barb said, smiling, "Some of the people I'll be asking for backup will need convincing, and I'll need help taking down Falcone and the League's financial supply lines." She took his hand, "You always say we never get to spend time together."

"Hmm, might learn to like this," Tim quipped, squeezing her hand gently.

I might vomit. Gordon pointedly left the room, muttering something about seeing if Bullock's alright. I glanced over at Dick, and he jerked his chin to the door. Gail stretched as she got out of her chair, following me as the three of us left Tim and Barb, who'd started discussing the game plan on their end. Technobabble made my head hurt.

"Is there anything I can help with?" Gail asked Dick as she walked around to my side, gazing past me to him. We were just walking down the hall, doctors and nurses weaving around us to get where they were going.

Dick, thankfully, didn't dismiss her like Tim might've. He answered her, "I'm not sure...can't go back to your apartment."

Gail frowned glumly. "I knew that."

"She could stay with me until this blows over," I offered, "My place is the last safehouse that Falcone doesn't know about."

"I'm fine with that," Gail said, a bit more confident, "But I'd like to do something more substantial than play housekeeper." She stopped us, and the three of us were semi-huddled together so we wouldn't block up the hallway, "I have information that might help, just things I picked up from being around Falcone so much when I lived with my father."

"You want to come with me on missions," I said, unsure of her real intentions.

Gail scrunched up her nose, joking with a wry smile, "I want to be useful, Jason, not blow things up and do crazy shit."

"It's worked so far, hasn't it?" I defended, though I knew she was partly right. "Hey, I've always had a plan," I squinted at her, as Dick switched between us with amusement in his eyes, "Can't call it 'crazy shit' if it has a plan."

"Plans make sense," Gail refuted, hands on her hips, "Yours don't."

The corner of my lips pulled up in a crooked smirk, and I leaned closer, plenty of sass in my voice, "I am under no obligation to make sense to you, sunshine."

"And I'm under no obligation to tell you what I know," Gail said, not backing down for a second.

"Then here's the bargain," I said, bringing something I'd been tossing around in my head to light, "You give me what you've got on Falcone, and I give you a crash course in crime fighting when I'm not doing, quote-endquote, 'crazy shit'."

"Done," She agreed, holding a splinted hand to be shaken, and I took it, dwarfing her little fingers in my own. She seemed proud of herself, "Now that that's taken care of, I'm gonna go find Harvey." She regarded Dick, shaking his hand too. "Nice meeting you."

"Take care, Abigail," He said, and she half-jogged down the hall in the direction Gordon had disappeared.

"Don't say it," I said as soon as she was out of sight, and the two of us slid into a nearby elevator alone, my brother hitting the button for the garage.

"You two are good together," Dick did it anyway.

I itched the back of my neck. "We're friends, Dick."

"That's what I meant," Sure it was, Dick. Sure it was.

The doors swooshed open, and we stepped out into the breezy, but hot garage. I asked, leaning against the cold concrete wall as he craned his neck to see further, "So exactly who is this chick that's picking you up? I know you're together. 'Kory' or whatever."

"You want the short answer or the long answer?"

"Long," I said, shoving my hands into my pockets.

"She's an alien princess from another planet," Dick said, as casual as if he were talking about dating a bartender from someplace, "Name's Koriand'r, calls herself Starfire. Met her while I was visiting the Titans. She's got superhuman strength, can fly, outstanding endurance to hostile environments, nearly immune to extreme radiation, can shoot absorbed energy into these really cool green blasts," he held his hands out to indicate the size of one of these things, "They're called 'starbolts'."

"...Starbolts," I said after listening to this montage, not doubting him but rather kinda fascinated, "So this...Starfire?" He nodded, "She can fly?"

"Yeah, apparently her powers are triggered by emotion," Dick informed, a stupid grin on his face. He was fascinated by her, I could tell. "Flight's triggered by joy. Starbolts is confidence.."

"Huh. Neat," I said, before asking the important question, "Are you happy with her?"

He stared at me, before thinking. I had a guess what about. After a minute, a small close-lipped smile formed on his face. "She's wonderful."

Before I could reply, a screeching sound split the silence and I saw Dick's car screaming up the path, barely missing the other cars. Dick tried not to freak out as the car nearly hit me as it parked.

Almost immediately after the car stopped, the drivers side door opened and an almost supermodel-ish tall, woman with a long, thick braid of red hair all the way to her thighs and copper skin that seemed nearly orange hopped out, throwing up her hands, "Dick, did you see?! I parked!"

"Good job, Kory," He said weakly, proud of her and slightly scared for her at the same time. He asided to me, "She's learning."

"I can see that," I snorted.

As Kory sprinted around the car, I saw that she wore one of those to-the-ground dresses and she was nearly taller than me, definitely a bit taller than Dick.

"Kory, this is my brother," Dick introduced, "Jason, this is Kory."

Her eyes, sclera included, were a bright green. Yeah. Definitely an alien. I put on my best attempt at a good-natured smile, holding a hand out, "Nice to meet you."

"You as well!" Her voice might've been a bit annoying, if I hadn't been focused on the fact that her hand was squeezing the shit out of mine, and I grimaced, "Oh, I am sorry, did I hurt you?"

"I'm great," I reassured, massaging my fingers once she let go, "Hell of a grip you got there."

"Thank you. I am still sorry," She sounded genuinely apologetic, "I sometimes have trouble with how much pressure I put into handshakes. Dick's is usually strong."

"You sayin' I shake hands like a sissy?" I joked as Dick went to check the trunk of his car to make sure he had everything, I suppose.

Kory gave me a knowing and honest expression. "More like you are holding back, as if you are afraid of hurting those you touch."

"Wha?" I stared at her, a little dumbstruck. Dick called over, saying that he had everything and was ready to go, striding back to us.

"I will get in the car and let you say goodbye," Kory said, pecking Dick's cheek and winking at me before going to the car.

I rattled my head, clearing it. It was my brother and me. Dick and I looked at each other, then pulled each other in for a hug at the same time. He had a hand tight at the back of my neck, and he said to me, "I'm gonna bring him home safe, Jason."

I still wasn't sure how I felt about seeing Bruce again, but I just held him harder, shutting my eyes, "You bring you home safe...You're my brother, Dick."

"Love you too, Jay," He said, throat thick as we gradually broke apart, "Update me, okay?"

"I will," I promised, as he finally turned away and got into the driver's side of his car.

He drove off, and, though I knew better, I found myself wondering if that was the last time I'd see him.