DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters. Nightwing and all of his friends belongs to DC comics. I'd be a happy woman if Dick belonged to me...but no such luck. I have not made any profit out of writing this, so please don't sue me. It would not be worth your while.
Author Comment: This was the third Dick Grayson story I ever wrote.
Thank you to my wonderful beta, Jean whose comments force me to examine my writing. There are a number of spelling, grammar and punctuation differences between Australia and the USA... please forgive me for writing with an accent. (g)
Special Thanks: Thank you to all those people who have left such wonderful feedback. Some of you haven't left your e-mail addresses so I haven't been able to thank you. I just want you to know that your kind words mean so much. I'm in your debt.
"You want to see your mother," the oarsman stated with certainty.
"Yes."
"Good. I thought you would." The oarsman continued to stare at the young man across from him. "Have you nothing to live for? Nothing back there worth fighting for?"
Dick turned to face the bank. There he could see Leslie, Alfred, Tim and Barbara.
"Your family?"
"No... maybe... kinda."
"They must be. Only family from your life stands on that side. Oh, and if it is a case of murder, you are allowed to see the person who caused your death." Dick searched the bank. Far off to the right he could see a man lurking. Grayson's face darkened. Him? He was behind the assassination attempts on Bruce's life!
Without warning, Leslie moved. It was only then that Dick realized that the others were frozen. The doctor stepped right up to the water's edge and stretched out her hand, her face a blanket of worry.
"What's she doing?"
"She's trying to save your life. She's calling you back." Dick swallowed. He had never seen Leslie look so concerned. "She knows you are dying and she is beginning to realize that whether you live or die is not up to her. The decision is yours and yours alone."
"She'll blame herself if I die."
"Yes, she will." The oarsman continued to row. "Does that matter? She'll get over it. She will come to terms with your death knowing that she did everything she could. Remember, your mother is waiting." Dick focused on the other bank and his heart soared. The figures there were becoming clearer. "You do want to see your mother again, don't you?"
"Yes." Yes, he wanted to. He wanted to so much it hurt.
"Then sit and relax. This journey is painless."
Dick glanced back at Leslie. He could see the woman's mouth moving. He couldn't hear the words, but Leslie's eyes were pleading.
"Dick? It's not too late to turn back," the oarsman whispered.
"I..." He was torn; confused. As much as he wanted to see his parents, something was holding him back.
"Of course, back there, there is pain. On the other side," the oarsman stated, inclining his head toward the other bank, "there is no pain. No suffering. You have earned that. And there is your mother and your father who are longing to hold you again. Are you prepared to disappoint them now - now that you are so close?"
vvvvvvvv
"Clear!" Dick's body jolted as the electrical charge stimulated his adrenaline-flooded heart. Leslie lifted her eyes to the monitors.
"We have a pulse... He's stabilizing... Breathing is becoming more regular." There was quiet celebration from the nurses and the anaesthetist.
Leslie released her breath slowly.
Schneider shook his head in amazement, taking the paddles from the relieved woman. "You're an incredible doctor, Dr. Thompkins."
Leslie flicked her eyes to Schneider. "I have an incredible patient."
"He's strong."
"Yes, he is," Leslie agreed, placing her hand on Dick's head and smiling down at the young man with great affection. "He always has been."
Schneider eyed the woman carefully, concerned she would blame herself if Grayson didn't make it.
Considering his condition, that was the most likely outcome. "I'm not sure any of this is up to us any more," he warned.
Leslie looked over at the other physician and nodded. "I know. It's up to him now," she agreed.
vvvvvvvv
Alfred continued to pace. He thrust his phone back into his pocket. Bruce still wasn't responding. It was obvious he had turned his communicator off. Batman only did that when he was determined to see something through. At such times, interruptions of any type weren't tolerated.
Commissioner Gordon stepped out of the elevator and spotting Alfred, approached the restless man. He offered his hand. "How is he?"
Alfred set his shoulders. "If I know Master Dick, he is cracking jokes and refusing to lie still."
Gordon smiled. He'd known Dick Grayson since the day his parents had been killed. He was a good lad. Gordon had watched the relationship between his daughter and Bruce Wayne's ward grow and mature over time. "From what I know of that young rascal, I'm sure you're right." Jim's face became serious. As much as he would liked to have simply been there to offer support, he had a job to do. "Alfred, I know this is a bad time, but do you have any idea where Bruce is? He's disappeared... now, I'm sure that he's safe," Jim added, quickly, not wanting to alarm Wayne's long time friend, "but I really need to find him. Those bullets were meant for him."
"I... I..." Alfred blinked, searching for an excuse. What the hell could he say? How could he explain Bruce's reason for not being at his former ward's side after Dick had been shot? "I..."
The Commissioner reached out and squeezed the floundering man's shoulder. "It's okay. We'll find him, Alfred. We'll find him. Give Dick my best," he added, before turning and disappearing down the corridor with purposeful strides.
Alfred released his breath in a burst, took out his phone and re-dialled, punching the buttons with a certain amount of frustration. Again he received the automated message signalling that Bruce's communicator was switched off. Alfred squeezed his eyes shut helplessly. If Batman didn't want to be found, no one would find him.
Realizing that others needed to be informed, Alfred called a second number.
"Yo!"
"Master Robin."
"Hey, Alf. You'll never guess where I am? Go on, try and guess."
"I have some news." Alfred's voice cracked with emotion despite his best efforts to keep it level.
"Alfred? What is it?" Tim asked carefully, hearing the strain.
"Master Dick has been shot."
"Ooookaaaay. His suit would have absorbed most of the impact."
Alfred swallowed. "Master Dick as been shot."
For several moments there was silence. "I don't... you mean...?"
"I am at Gotham Hospital. Dr. Thompkins is tending to him. He has lost a considerable amount of blood. He... he wasn't breathing when we arrived."
"What?!... but... Alfred?"
"I think it would be best if you joined me here, Master Tim." The last past was a subtle message informing Tim that this was not the place for Robin.
"Okay. I... Alfred, how bad is it?"
Leslie's words rang in the butler's ears, but Alfred had no intention of passing that on until Tim arrived. "Dr. Thompkins is with him."
"Is Bruce there?"
"I have been unable to contact him. He has gone after the shooter."
"Do you want me to find him?" Tim asked.
Alfred considered the question. "No. He knows Master Dick has been injured. I am sure he will call to check on his condition shortly. You come straight here."
Alfred ended the call and started to dial Barbara's number when Leslie appeared at the top of the hall. Their eyes met and she nodded. Alfred slowly lowered himself into a chair, relief sapping his strength. Dick was alive.
Leslie walked up the hall and sat beside him. "It was tough going. I almost lost him."
Alfred nodded, doing his best to stay abreast of his emotions, but it was becoming more difficult by the minute. "And he is going to be alright?" He stared into Leslie's eyes, pleading for the only answer he was prepared to accept.
The doctor took each of his hands in hers. "I don't know," she replied sincerely. "He's lost a lot of blood. However, the bullets missed his heart and other organs. One of the bullets broke two of his ribs. I'm waiting on brain scans to check that there has been no damage due to oxygen depletion. I..." She sighed. "It's going to be touch and go for a while. I wish I could be more positive."
"You have been honest and for that I am grateful. May I see him?"
Leslie nodded and they rose to their feet together. "Alfred, you need to prepare yourself. He's on life support."
"I have seen life support before, Dr. Thompkins," the butler informed her stoically. "I expected as much."
Leslie led Alfred through a maze of corridors to the intensive care ward where Dick had been taken. She paused in the doorway assessing the butler's tense expression. Satisfied that Alfred was strong enough to face the scene beyond, she stepped inside.
One of the best poker faces known to man faltered momentarily, but Alfred maintained his calm appearance, focusing on the wall beyond Dick. Leslie gripped his arm gently. "Are you okay?"
"Fine."
"You can stay. I have spoken to the nurse," Leslie informed him, inclining her head to an intensive care nurse seated at a small table across the room. The woman was completely absorbed in her work and did not appear to notice the newcomers. "She will inform me the moment there is any change in Dick's condition. Are you sure you're okay?"
"I am doing as well as can be expected, under the circumstances," Alfred replied. The doctor waited a few more moments and then retreated, providing Alfred with some privacy.
Alfred Pennyworth continued to stare out directly in front of him. He listened to the fall of Leslie's shoes as they echoed down the corridor and finally disappeared. Only then did Alfred lower his gaze and allow it to fall on Dick. His breath caught in his throat as he stared down at his grandson who appeared somewhat small and frail hidden under the masses of tubes and wires. Dick's face was as pale as the pillow his head was resting against. His heavily bandaged chest rose and fell - or was forced to do so by the breathing apparatus that he was attached to.
Slowly, Alfred approached the bed, his face twisted with a combination of horror and grief. He reached out and laid his hand on Dick's head, gently brushing his hair from his brow. "Oh, my boy." Alfred raised a trembling hand to his mouth as he fought back the tears.
For a long time he just stood. Finally, Alfred lowered his face and asked for help from the one person he thought may be able to give it. "Please don't take him, Father. He is needed here."
Opening his eyes, Alfred picked up Dick's hand and squeezed it, hoping that somehow the injured man would know it was him... know that he wasn't alone... know that someone who cared was there.
"Don't you go and die on me, young man. Do you hear me?" The only response was the gentle beeping and buzzing of the technology that surrounded the bed. Alfred could feel he was losing the composure he was renowned for. Tears filled the reserved man's eyes and spilled down his cheeks.
"If you live to be a hundred, I want to live to be a hundred minus one day, so I never have to live without you," he whispered, quoting from Winnie the Pooh. It had been Dick's favourite book. Why that popped into his mind at that moment, Alfred didn't know, but it echoed everything he felt.
"He needs you, Dick. I honestly don't think he knows how much he needs you." Again, Alfred ran his free hand though Dick's hair. "And... I... need... you... too." The quiet sobs increased until Alfred Pennyworth finally broke down and cried.
© June 2004 Aussie Nightwriter. : This relates only to the creative property in this story. The distinctive way the story unfolds, the specific dialogue and unique situations are mine. I acknowledge that some of the characters and settings belong to DC comics. (g) No infrigement of copyright was intended and no profit has been made from this story... so, please don't sue me. It wouldn't be worth your while.