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 5: Dinner at Clarke's

-

Six Weeks Later...

-

They lined up in their accustomed order, big, strong Jim at one end, and small, nervous Melissa at the other. Five of the recruits had dropped out in the first week, but the rest remained, enduring Tim's rigorous training regimen in addition to everything else they had to do to become agents in the FBI.

He walked up and down the line, watching them. He had to admit, in the short time thay had had together, the twelve recruits had come a long way. He didn't feel that he had taught them nearly enough, but Agent Clarke had told him that was normal. Fred had confirmed this for him, so he supposed it must be true. Still...

"Go ahead and sit down," he told them. The twelve recruits lowered themselves to the mat on the floor, where they sat cross-legged, waiting.

He reviewed his short speech in his mind one last time, making sure he knew exactly what he wanted to say.

"You've all come a long way. If we'd had more time, you would have gone farther. As it is, I'm very happy with what you've all accomplished.

"This is your last class with me. From here, you move on to the next part of your training. I won't say I'm not sorry to see you go, because I am. Oh, boy, am I sorry to see you all go.

"But, there's nothing left for me to teach you. So, I formally declare to the twelve of you that you have officially passed my class in unarmed close combat.

"Class dismissed."

The twelve cheered, then got up and gathered around to shake his hand.

"We'll miss you, Old Man," one said. "Don't be a stranger," another told him.

They turned to congratulating each other, and Jim pulled Tim over to the side, out of the main group, but not far enough to attract notice. "Good luck, Old Man," he grinned. "If you ever need any help with anything, here's my number. Feel free to drop by every so often. My wife is looking forward to meeting you."

Tim smiled back. "How could I say no to your wife?" he joked. Jim pulled him into a quick bear hug, then released him and turned back to the other celebrating recruits.

The small group made it's way out of the room, and the door swung closed behind them.

Tim shook his head, still smiling, and began to straighten up the room for the next occupants. He stacked the floor mats neatly, and made sure the lights were all turned off. He walked out into the hall, and closed and locked the door. Turning, he saw Agent Clarke standing behind him, smiling.

"Well," she said. "You've got a week till the next group. Want to come by for dinner tomorrow? You promised you would sometime."

He smiled back. "I'd love to," he said.

-

The next evening, Tim was frantically searching for a tie, when he heard a knock at the door. "Just a minute," he called, finally locating a long strip of cloth that matched his casual suit.

Tying it quickly, he walked over to the door and opened it.

"Hi, Tim."

"Steph. What are you doing here?"

Steph Brown, the former Spoiler and current Robin, looked uncomfortable. "Dick asked me to drop by. He has a little problem that he says he needs help on. Your help."

"Sorry," said Tim. "But I don't do that stuff anymore, remember? Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a date tonight."

Steph's eyes widened slightly, but she nodded, and turned and walked away.

Tim felt bad, but what else was he supposed to do? He wasn't ready yet. He still needed time to get his new persona in place, and finish up his time at the FBI without attracting attention.

-

When he got to the address Agent Clarke had given him, he had to double-check the small piece of paper to make sure he was in the right place. He let out a long, slow whistle. They mut be paying her a lot more than they were paying him, he thought as he got out of his car.

The neighborhood was very upscale. Trees provided shade for the brick sidewalks, as walls stretched up the other side.

Agent Clarke's house was huge. A single light shone over top of the door.

He entered the yard, and walked up a small path to the door. He considered a moment, then rang the bell. Chimes echoed through the huge house.

The door slid open.

Agent Clarke was wearing a comfortable-looking dress, simple and black with just a hint of sparkle.

She smiled when she saw Tim. "Hey, how are you?" she asked.

"Fine," he answered.

-

Dinner was enjoyable. She had made it herself. She was an excellent cook.

-

After dinner, they relaxed in front of a fire. "So, Agent Clarke-" he began, but she held up a finger. "Please, call me Sharon," she said.

He smiled, and started again. "Alright, Sharon. Not to be rude, but... how did you end up with all this?"

She laughed, and said, "My parents were wealthy businesspeople. When they died in a plane crash, all their money and this place came to me."

"I'm sorry," he said.

"Don't be," she replied. "We weren't exacatly a loving family. But let's not get depressed. Would you like something to drink?"

"No, thank you," he said. "I need to head home. I've still got a lot a work to catch up on. But this was fun, if you'd want to do it again?"

She smiled up at him. "Count on it, Old Man," she said, using his nickname from the training center.

Their kiss goodnight was long, warm, and soft, and he felt extremely light headed as he walked back down to where his car was parked. She watched him until he was out of sight, then turned, and walked back into the large, empty house. The door slid shut behind her.

-

Gotham.

Night.

A shadow slides through the mist by the harbor.

An old drunk is sitting, watching two young women as they walk and joke along the water's edge.

The figure appears out of the mist, and appears to ask them something.

They answer. The figure shakes its head.

Its arms move. There is a flash. A glint of steel.

A red cloud sprays from the throat of one of the young women.

The other opens her mouth to scream.

Too late.

Another flash.

Another spray of red.

The two crumple to the ground.

Blood stains the pavement around them.

They die.

The figure disappears.

The old drunk is left alone.

-

TO BE CONTINUED...

-

From the Author: Next Time: Tim's time with the FBI is up. He returns to Gotham, where he is put in charge of finding a killer who has taken thirty-two young women in the last five years. Will he be able to stop the killer? And what has happened between him and Agent Sharon Clarke? Stay tuned to find out!