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: 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)
WARNING: I have nooooo medical knowledge. There are likely to be inaccuracies in this story. I hope you can enjoy it despite this.
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.... Special thank to Esther-Channah and M2 who I haven't been able to contact. Thank you for your great and detailed feedback and constructive comments.
Donna gripped the tissue tightly and dabbed her red, swollen eyes. Starfire slid her arm across her friend's shoulders and then turned the page of the huge photo album that was laying across their legs.
Both women smiled down at the pictures. The first was of Roy and Dick wrestling on the floor of Wally's apartment. The second was of Dick holding Roy in a headlock and smiling widely at the camera. The third was of Dick flying though the air and Roy laughing.
Donna sighed. "That was Wally's birthday last year," she explained.
Kory nodded, her attention focused on Dick's face. She had loved him - almost married him. Fate had been against them, but that didn't change how much she cared. She had fallen for him the first moment she'd laid eyes on him. She'd never stopped loving him.
Donna's feelings for Dick were different. He was her brother... it was as simple as that. Blood didn't play a part; it didn't need to. Whenever she had needed him, he'd been there. He'd given her away at her wedding. He'd stood with her when Terry had taken custody of their child. He'd turned up on the doorstep when she and Roy had broken up. Of course, she'd always been there for him too. Their friendship had been so easy. Neither had made demands on the other. Neither had had any expectations. They had simply loved each other for who they were... and now, he was gone. The one person she had always been able to turn to when there was no one else, swept away while she had been saving the lives of millions of faceless strangers.
Donna's tears began to fall again, finally turning into heart-wrenching sobs. Kory picked up the photo album and placed it on the coffee table in front of them and then wrapped her arms around Donna and held her. Together they cried, morning the loss of someone who had meant so much to both of them.
VVVVVVVVVV
"Oracle? Are you there?" Tim's voice echoed in the silent, pitched black bunker. This particular room hadn't been silent or dark for years. The state of the art computer and satellite equipment that littered one wall were ominously blank.
"Oracle? Come on, Barbara, please. I need help. I'm on my own out here... well, expect for Huntress and I've got to say, I'm not sure if she's a help or a hindrance," Tim stated, trying to lighten the atmosphere.
Barbara Gordon kept her eyes closed, kneading her laced fingers lying in her lap. She could hear the desperation in Robin's voice but she just couldn't bring herself to 'get back on the horse'. What was the purpose? What had any of it achieved? The loss of her legs. The death of Dick. None of it made sense.
"Oracle?... Oracle? Look, I can understand that you miss him. God, I do too, but you can't give up. He wouldn't have. He didn't, Barbara."
Tears began to stream from the emerald eyes of the former Batgirl. The agony she felt was the worst she could ever remember. She had actually believed that the pain of losing the use of her legs could not be surpassed, but she'd been wrong. That had been self-pity and physical pain - this was altogether different. This was bewilderment and disbelief amalgamated into a torture she couldn't describe.
"Oracle, he died trying to save this city. If we don't do something, it will all be for nothing," Tim spat. The anger in his voice was palpable. "We can't let that happen. We just can't!"
The words entered Barbara's mind and bounced around for a few seconds. She raised her tear-stained face and wheeled herself across to the computer. For several moments she stared at her own reflection in the dark monitor. Then, she hit a single key and the entire work station sprang to life. Her fingers came to rest on the keyboard and with a few touches, Robin's distressed face appeared in front of her. His eyes grew wide and then a smile of sheer relief blanketed his tired features.
"Hey, Oracle."
"What do you need, Robin?"
"I need a list of Arkham residents that haven't been recaptured. I need to know the areas that the police are struggling to maintain control of and I need some physical help. I don't know who to call? Azrael has fallen off the face of the Earth and everyone else is busy helping out elsewhere."
"Arsenal is still in town," Barbara informed him, her fingers dancing across the keyboard. "List of those still loose from Arkham. "Pamela Isley, Jonathon Crane, Edward Nygma, Roman Sionis and The Joker."
"Great. So, Roy is still here? Where do I find him?"
"I don't know. I'm tapping into the Titans' computer to see if he is wearing a homer."
"Thanks, Oracle. I... I don't know what I'd have done without you."
Barbara swallowed and blinked, a single tear rolling down her cheek. That was the purpose... her reason for going on. She could still make a difference. From now on, she would make a difference for Dick as well. "Thanks, Tim. I... Okay, I've got a location on Arsenal."
"Give it to me."
VVVVVVVVVV
Back in Scumville....
"So where are you from?" a scruffy looking man asked as he dealt the cards in the seedy back room of the drinking house.
Roy glanced up at the speaker and snapped irritably, "Does it matter?"
"Just making conversation, friend."
"Sorry. Haven't been myself lately. At present, I am staying in Gotham."
"Shit hole, isn't it? Did you hear that Batman's disappeared? Hope the bastard's dead."
Roy nodded. "Yeah." His mind wandered. For the life of him he couldn't understand Dick's continued loyalty to Batman. Roy knew what it was like to be a man's ward and junior partner, but Ollie hadn't been anything like Bruce Wayne. Ollie hadn't sacked him and replaced him with someone else. Ollie hadn't shut him out of his life. Sure, Ollie had been far from perfect and they'd had their problems, but Ollie had never put him through the sort of emotional hell Bruce had put Dick though. Ollie knew he'd made mistakes and admitted them. Bruce Wayne was such a self-righteous bastard. Everything for the greater good and nothing for Dick.
Roy's anger began to boil again. Someone needed to tell Bruce Wayne what a mongrel he was. The idea took root. For Dick, Roy would do so. He would go and stand toe to toe with Batman and tell him what a sorry excuse for a human being he was. He would tell him how much pain and anguish he had put Dick through and then he would slam his fist into the middle of the sanctimonious bastard's face. Quite suddenly, Roy felt a certain amount of clarity... something he had been struggling to find.
"Mister? Hey, mister."
"Sorry," Roy apologised. He stared down at his cards and turned them over. He had something he needed to do.
"Leaving so soon?"
"Yeah," Roy muttered, rising to his feet.
"Hey, I heard one of them bat-heroes drowned in the floods. The fool jumped into..."
Roy dived at the speaker, his hands encircling the other's throat before he knew what he was doing. His rage exploded as he bellowed, "That fool gave his life for a child!"
"Hey, settle down," one of the other men cried.
"I'm sorry," Roy's victim squeaked. "Let go!"
"Roy!" a voice thundered from across the room.
Harper didn't turn. He continued to glared into the face of the man who had insulted Dick. "That fool," Roy whispered emotionally, "was one of my best friends."
"Roy," Tim repeated, darting across the room and laying his hand on the enraged man's arm. With great effort, Harper dragged his eyes from the squirming idiot who's face was gradually going blue. "Roy," Tim repeated with an encouraging nod.
Harper stared at the boy and then shoved the other man away. His victim crashed down into his seat and began greedily dragging oxygen into his lungs.
"What are you doing here, Kid?" Roy demanded, stepping away from the table.
"I need your help."
Harper shook his head. "Sorry, Kid. I've got something I need to do." Something he should have done a long time ago.
"Dick told me that if I ever got into trouble and I couldn't find him, I should call you. He said I could depend on you."
"That's nice, Tim," Roy dismissed sarcastically, "but like I said, I've got something I have to do." Roy Harper started for the door.
"Gold pen call," Tim called after him.
Roy froze, every muscle in his body seizing up. For several seconds he didn't move. Tim licked his lips, unsure of what he had unleashed. Gradually Roy turned, his face ruddy with surprise. "What did you say?" he whispered, his eyes wide with shock.
Tim swallowed and walked toward him. "Gold pen call. Dick told me if I was really in trouble and I needed your or Wally's help, all I had to say was 'Gold pen call', and you'd come immediately."
Roy continued to stare at the dark-haired teenager as he tried to assimilate the information. Haltingly, he nodded. "Gold pen," he muttered. He blinked several times. Strangely, his face gradually relaxed and he smiled at Tim, repeating with great affection, "Gold pen call. Well what do you know?" Roy reached out and laid his hand on the teenager's shoulder. "Okay, Kid, I'm all yours. Looks like that other business will have to wait if this is a gold pen call." This time he chuckled. "I've got my costume and gear at my hotel. We'll need to swing by there so I can change... you can change there as well, unless Robin is patrolling in jeans and t-shirt these days."
Tim's face flooded with relief. "Thanks, Roy."
Harper smiled. "Gold pen call," he muttered, emotionally.
"You okay?"
Roy blinked, nodded, winked at Tim and together they headed for the door.
VVVVVVVVVV
Alfred stood at the door of the mansion gazing across at Wayne. The other man had literally sat in the one spot all day. Alfred had taken food out to him, but he could see that it was still on the ground where he'd placed it.
Pennyworth shook his head with growing concern and headed toward the garage. Bruce had to start eating. It was no longer a simple matter of him not wanting to. He would make himself ill if this continued any longer. Alfred set his shoulders and promised himself that Bruce would eat a meal tonight... even if Alfred had to force-feed it to him!
The butler had some errands to run and despite not wanting to leave Bruce, he had no choice. Life needed to go on and bills needed to be paid.
Bruce noted the Rolls driving toward the gate. As he watched it disappear, the mist that had been clouding his usually alert mind lifted. He stared around himself and sighed. Where had the day gone? Stiffly he pulled himself to his feet, his legs aching from inactivity. In the back of his mind, he catalogued the fact that he needed to thank Slade Wilson... not for saving his life, but for reminding him of just what he'd had... and lost.
Bruce walked across to the cross and focused on it. His heart felt so dreadfully heavy. "I made a mess of it all, Dick. I'm sorry." He would give anything to have five minutes with his son. Just five minutes. Hell, one minute. One minute to tell his boy what he should have told him a hundred times before... before it was too late.
The chill on the air cut through the flimsy shirt Bruce wore. Realizing he needed to chop more wood for the night, Bruce moved toward the woodpile. He lifted the axe and let it slam into a crude log. The action was slow and lethargic, more automatic than anything else. The millionaire flexed his shoulders uncomfortably. Chips of wood spat out at him as he chopped, cutting his bare feet. His filthy shirt and matted hair clung to his body. His huge hands, which had failed him, felt useless. Nothing felt as it should.
The sun began to set on the day, casting long shadows across the stables. The horses, which had been corralled all day for the first time ever, began to move restlessly and call for their evening meal. Alfred had told the stable hand to take a few days off. Bruce knew it was because his old friend didn't want others to see him in this state. Bruce, however, didn't care. Nothing mattered any more. He wanted it to, but he couldn't lie to himself. Life itself had lost its meaning.
Wayne paused and wiped his hands of the perspiration that was making the axe slippery. As he did so, he despondently scanned the uneven area leading back to Gotham.
"What the..." Wayne's eyes narrowed. Just for a split second he thought he'd seen movement out there. The millionaire blinked, his brow furrowing as he strained to focus on the approximate area. There! The top of a man's head. The head flashed above the grass briefly. Bruce felt his chest tighten. It wasn't. It couldn't be... could it? His heart began to pound. Bruce dropped the axe and walked in the direction of the image he was sure he'd seen.
The top of the head appeared and disappeared again among the shadows of sunset.
Bruce increased his pace, staring frantically at the place where he was certain the man would rematerialize. Long seconds passed. His soul screamed. Bruce waited, his strides shortening. There was no sign of the person. Come on! Come on!! Please!
Nothing.
Wayne stopped walking. The pain he felt was worse than any physical injury he had ever sustained. For a split second all he had ever wanted had been presented and then stolen again mercilessly. There hadn't been anyone, he decided. It was just his mind casting the image he so desperately wanted - needed to see. Dick was gone. Just like his parents were gone... and Bruce was alone again. The claustrophobic realization was unbearable. His very soul felt like it was being torn from him... and perhaps that was exactly what had happened when Dick had been wrenched from his fingers.
Wayne squeezed his eyes shut tightly and fought to regain control of his faculties. Was he going out of his mind? Perhaps this was his punishment. A punishment he agreed he deserved. He had let Dick down... not just by his failure to pull his son to safety. He had let him down on a number of other levels too.
Taking a long, deep shaking breath, Bruce opened his eyes... and gasped! There was a man walking toward him some one hundred feet away. The millionaire couldn't make out the other's face at the distance and he didn't recognize the clothes, but Bruce Wayne would know that gait anywhere!
"Dick?" A hoarse whisper. Before Wayne knew it, he was moving. Walking swiftly... jogging... running! The cloaked figure continued to walk - forcing one foot in front of the other with conscious effort.
As the distance between them diminished, the visitor's face came into focus
It is Dick! God, it's him! He's alive!
PART FIVE COMING SOON
© August 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.