Title: Short Walk

Rating: I'm going to go ahead and make this PG-13 now, so I don't have to go and change it later.

Disclaimer: All Batman-related characters belong to DC, the lucky dogs.

- - - - -

Chapter 3: The Funeral

- - - - -

LAST TIME...

- - - - -

"Drake, where ya been?!"

"I was... upstairs, thinking. What's wrong?"

"We got the call a few minutes ago. Tim. It's your dad. He's in the hospital.

"He's had a heart attack."

- - - - -

NOW...

- - - - -

Tim sat by the hospital bed, holding his father's limp hands between his own. A solitary tear traced a small path down one side of his face. His hand came up for a moment to brush it away, then returned to its former position.

The older Drake stirred.

"Tim..." he said weakly.

Tim leaned in to where his father could see him. "I'm right here," he said softly. "Don't worry."

"Have to... say... something..." Jack said. "Have to... tell... you something..."

"Relax, Dad. It's okay. You just need to rest, and you can tell me when you're better."

"No... Need to tell you... now... Not getting better... Listen... closely... Wrong... I was... wrong... You... needed... Mask... Need... mask... Most effective... Best choice... Proud of you, son... So proud..."

The monitor by the bed flatlined as Jack Drake breathed his last breath. Tim continued to hold his father's cooling hands for a long moment. Then, he stood, and walked outside the room. He beckoned to a passing nurse.

"It's over," he said.

- - - - -

It rained at the funeral. One of nature's little clichés, Tim thought to himself, as he held a black umbrella over his weeping stepmother.

He was almost overwhelmed with grief at the passing of his father, but he was happy, too. The older Drake had finally forgiven him completely for those years as Robin. And...

His last breath had been spent to tell Tim that he had been wrong. He had told his son to pick the mask back up.

He couldn't be Robin anymore. By all reports, that position was being filled by a blonde-haired girl close to his own age. He smiled inwardly as he pictured Steph Brown in the costume. Knowing her, she'd probably cut the midriff out.

No. He couldn't go back to being Robin. And he probably couldn't go back to the Bat-Clan, period. He had left them, and he knew from his short meeting with Dick that they wouldn't be overjoyed that he wanted to come back. He pictured Steph again. Most of them wouldn't be overjoyed, anyway.

Besides, the FBI had actually come to him. They specifically wanted him to work for them, to train their new recruits in unarmed combat and in police procedures. He was honored that they had singled him out of all the possible people they could have chosen.

"Ashes to ashes..." Tim turned his mind back to the events at hand. His father's coffin was slowly being lowered into the soaked earth. He picked up a rose, and tossed it down onto the coffin lid. On it's way down, a single petal dropped off, and floated to the ground at his feet. He stooped, and picked it up. It glistened with the drops of rain that had fallen on it.

He slowly folded his hand around the fragile petal, careful not to crush it.

He could teach at the FBI academy for the next five years. He had plenty of time. And he could use it all to prepare to resume the Life.

The only Life where he felt truly free.

He turned with his stepmother, and helped her back to the waiting limousine.

- - - - -

Dick Grayson turned away, and walked back to Alfred, who was standing by the car, holding an umbrella.

"One of nature's little clichés, Alfred," he said, unknowingly echoing the thought Tim had had earlier.

"What, sir?" Alfred inquired innocently.

Dick almost smiled. "It always rains at funerals."

He reached the car and the old butler. "Go ahead and get in the passenger seat. I'll drive."

"As you wish, sir," said Alfred, and reliquished the keys. Dick walked arounfd to the other side of the car, and climbed in.

"And do you know what Master Timothy is going to do now?" asked Alfred, as Dick started the car.

"He's going to Quantico to help train FBI recruits," Dick told him. "Jon told me the night Jack had his heart attack. He wanted me to help Tim tie up his loose ends before he left."

"And will you?" asked Alfred.

"Already taken care of," said Dick, and they rolled down the long driveway, and headed back to the Mansion.

- - - - -

TO BE CONTINUED...

- - - - -

From the Author: Am I doing better this time? The only way I'll know is if you tell me! Anyway, Next Time: Tim starts his new job, and boy, is it a doozy! Stay tuned!