Title: One And Only: VI

Author: D C Luder

Summary: Set four years after the conclusion of Life Is Good. The Family moves on and... apart?

Rating: PG 13 for language

Infringements: All recognizable characters belong to DC Comics, not DC Luder.

Author's Note: It is highly advisable that you read Time Will Tell and Life Is Good or you may be a tad bit lost. I am writing this due to the numerous requests for a sequel. That and I am absolutely obsessed with the concept of the Bat and Cat living happily ever after.

AN 2: Well what do you, know? Another memorable scene from Chris, yeah for awkward, silly, sexy, soapy moments between sidekicks!

V

Happy Halloween!

V

Dad was late.

Alfred had dropped me off at my riding lesson at four, I rode for an hour and Dad was supposed to be there at five to pick me up. As I looked at my blue watch, it read a little before six. At first, I thought he had forgotten, since we had to move my lesson to Friday instead of Thursday, but I remembered Alfred had reminded him at breakfast.

Janet, my instructor had called home and Dad's cell phone but no one was answering. I knew Mom couldn't come get me because she was on a trip for the week to look at some big cats that needed a new home and wouldn't be getting home until later that night. I couldn't wait for her to have the preserve done, she said I would get to come and visit all of the cats every weekend and if there were any baby ones I would probably get to hold them.

That was if Dad ever showed up to take me home.

"Mattie?" I heard Janet's voice from behind me.

I was sitting out on the front fence that was between the parking lot and a small paddock. At first, I was going to sit on the grass but Alfred didn't like it when I got my Jodhpur pants dirty, especially grass stains. She walked over as she pulled on a sweater, "Hey kiddo, your Dad just called, he said he'll be here in a few minutes."

After biting my lip, I nodded and looked down at my feet.

The wind blew a few leaves across the ground, Janet reached over and tugged on my sleeve, "Hey, why don't we go inside, get some hot cocoa?"

Even though I shrugged, I slipped off of the top rail and hopped to the ground. Back in the barn, I followed her to the lounge that looked into the indoor arena. A few of the older girls were warming up over jumps and I sat on a stool next to the window.

I wanted to jump. Janet said maybe next spring. Mom was really happy about how good I was getting. Dad thought it would be best if I stayed on the ground, let alone on the back of a pony. I asked for a pony for a Christmas and had been asking since last summer, but I didn't think it would happen. I was hardly able to get a kitten, let alone a horse.

When Janet handed me the cup, the phone rang and she crossed the room and answered it. I ate all of the marshmallows first, and then drank the entire cup while watching the jumpers. With my cocoa gone, I looked over to see Janet was still on the phone and Dad still hadn't come. Over the summer, whenever he had to pick me up from soccer practice, he would be late. Mom said he always had trouble getting away from work. Still, he should be there. I was always the last one waiting after lessons or practice. And my coach or Janet would have to watch me, and they always looked sad. And then Dad would show up, apologize and we would head home.

Just as I was about to ask for some more cocoa, I heard a car pulling up the drive. I hopped off the stool and threw my cup in the trashcan before heading out to see who it was. After leaving the lounge, I walked to the end of the barn and stepped back out to the front drive. Sure enough, it was him.

I stood just outside the door and looked over as he got out and walked towards me. He was on his cell phone, talking quietly and when he saw me, he offered a slight smile and talked into the phone, "Right, let me call you back later," and then hung up. He leaned over and held out his hand, of which I didn't take. He sighed and walked alongside me as we went to the car, "How was Rocky?"

"Rusty," I corrected him quietly.

"Sorry," he said before opening the back door for me. After we were both in and buckled, he turned around and drove off, "So how was he?"

"Fine." I was looking down at my lap, doing my best to avoid his eyes as they reflected in the mirror.

Just as we turned up the drive to home, his phone rang and he answered and talked quietly as he drove. I tried to listen in, found it boring and decided to study my shoelaces some more. That was when Dad handed back his phone, "Here, kitten, it's Aunt Barbara."

I nearly jumped out of my seat, only the belt holding me back, and took the phone. The very second it was near my face I said, "Hi!"

She replied, "Hi Mattie, ready for some Trick or Treating?"

"Yeah!" I bounced on the seat a bit and then looked up to see Dad's reaction. I smiled to see him offering his own slight smirk. "I have my costume all ready."

"That's great. Still the same as what we picked out?"

I pictured the matching cape and boots that were in my room, "Yep."

"Well, I'll be up around seven-thirty and then we can hit every house in Bristol."

"Is Dick coming?" I asked. I hadn't seen him since shortly after I started school and we had never missed a Halloween together.

She paused, "No, he has to work, hon. But we'll have to get candy for him, since he can't come. But Cass will be coming with us, so it will be a girl's night out."

"Okay," I said quietly.

She reminded me to make sure I had a coat for when it got colder later and to save room for sweets after dinner. I said I would and then gave the phone back to Dad. He went to speak into it and then hung up, "Hmm, so when is she coming up?"

"Seven-thirty."

Mom, Barbara and I had picked out my costume two weeks earlier and had not let anyone else know about it. Even Dad and Alfred. Mom said it would be funnier if it was a surprise, although I didn't see why. She said she was going to do my hair when she got home, and make sure everything looked super for the night.

After all, there were Laffy Taffy bars out there in need of a good chewing.

V

As I put fresh film in my camera, Alfred walked over to me and offered a mug of steaming cider, "Dr. Thompkins."

"Thanks, a bit chilly in here, don't you think?" I asked.

He shrugged, "Not in the least. Last I checked the thermostat was hovering just above the sixty-six degree mark."

"Like I said, chilly." The cider, as always, was perfectly spiced. I took two long sips and then held the cup close beneath my chin, allowing the vapors to rise over my face. Jim, who was seated across from me on a small leather chair, smirked a bit but did not comment, and went to work on his coffee.

We were in the den, awaiting for Mattie's spectacular presentation of her Halloween costume. Barbara and Bruce were down in the "finished basement", working on some processor or program that had gone haywire in his computer systems. She had joked that if we saw smoke coming from behind the clock or heard them cursing at each other to just ignore it. Two determined minds such as theirs rarely got along for lengthy periods, but could accomplish great things in brief sessions.

After all, Bruce had never played well with others.

"Speak of the devil," I murmured as Bruce and Barbara appeared at the doorway, engrossed in some sort of discussion. Alfred, who had taken a seat beside me on the couch, harrumphed quietly to himself and lifted his own cider to his lips. Not wanting to discuss techno-babble that was most likely coursing through both of their minds, I spoke just as Bruce took a seat towards the door, "So, you going out with Mattie tonight?"

"Me?" he asked.

I nodded just before Barbara asked "What, still not ready to be around large groups of small children?"

Despite the fact that Alfred, Jim, Barbara and myself shared a hearty laugh, Bruce failed to see the humor in it. In fact, the look that washed over his face reminded me of one I had seen countless times, half-covered by a black cowl. He had tried to keep the zoo trip misfortunes from leaving the walls of Wayne Manor, but once Selina had called Barbara and Alfred had called me, it was too late. Within an hour of his return from the torturous trip, we all were giggling at the chaos that had been Bruce and Mattie's first field trip.

When a small silence had settled and we all had realized that we weren't going to be able to ruffle Bruce's feathers from that angle, Jim decided to be the first to break it, "So I hear Dick's got his hands full over in Bludhaven."

Barbara nodded, "Yeah, the Wallach case. I've haven't talked with him since last week."

I asked, "Any progress?"

She shrugged, "He didn't really want to get into it."

I looked to Bruce, noticing that his face had changed even more, from grim to solemn, "Have you heard anything, Bruce?"

His head shake was slight and his voice was quiet, "Only what I've read in the papers."

"Damn shame," Jim sighed as he set his coffee mug down on the end table, "That case has redball written all over it." He coughed a bit and continued, "But I'm sure Dick will get to the bottom of it. He's a natural for detective work."

I nodded, "Thanks to his wayward mentor."

Bruce looked over at me, his lip quivered in a brief half-smirk and his eye brows a quarter of an inch higher than usual. A look of surprise. Before he could say anything, I heard Selina's voice from the hall, "Are we ready?"

After setting my cider down and I picked up my camera and activated the flash before I scooted over to the middle of the room. Since Bruce had been like a son to me all these years, I had taken to lavishing Mattie just as if she were my grandchild. My office at the clinic was layered in pictures of her from soccer, horse riding, and of course, plenty of Halloween nights and Christmas mornings.

Selina stepped into the room and stepped to the side, allowing for her daughter to make her grand entrance. As tradition, we never knew what she was going to dress up as, but this year, even Bruce had been kept in the dark. I had taken Selina aside when I had arrived that night and she promised me it would put a smile on my face and would most likely put Bruce into heart failure.

"Oh, my," Alfred muttered as Mattie walked in.

With her hair straightened and wetted down, it shocked me how closely she resembled her costumed influence. Sporting bright red vinyl boots, an ankle length red cape and blue spandex emblazoned with a stylized S, Mattie Elizabeth Wayne, the daughter of Batman and Catwoman, was the exact spitting image of a miniaturized Superman. After centering herself in the room, she stood poised, put her hands on her hips and looked up to the ceiling.

Barbara was on the verge of a giggling fit as was her father.

Alfred, always the gentleman, told her "she made a very lovely Kryptonian."

Bruce stared in absolute disbelief, his eyes darting back and forth between his daughter and his wife.

After I snapped a few shots of her in the stolid pose, I heard Bruce begin to stammer incoherently. Which was only fueled as Mattie skipped over to him, flapping her cape. She paused before him and held her arms up. When he stared down at her, dumbfounded, she proceeded to grab on to his forearms, "Dad, make me fly."

He lifted her, effortlessly, and continued to stare.

Selina approached him and set a hand on his shoulder, "What do you think, hon?"

All he could manage was a few rapid blinks.

I stepped forward, "I think it's great. Where did you find it?"

She replied, "There is a small children's costume shop in the Denmar Building, on the same floor as that custom jewelers. I had gone in to drop off my rings for cleaning and right in the display window was the costume. Mattie picked it out herself, didn't you kiddo?"

The child nodded exuberantly, "Dad, isn't it cool?"

"Yeah," he finally spoke, "Right." He set her back down on the floor and shot a glance to the doorway. I looked as well, wondering if Superman himself was out there, waiting to laugh at Bruce's misfortune.

After a few more pictures and few inside jokes, Mattie, Barbara, Cassandra and Selina were off for a girl's night of trick-or-treating. Jim left shortly after, and I nearly laughed as he spoke to Bruce while shaking his hand, "Damn shame. Maybe next year she'll take on the pointy ears."

V

Surprisingly, Gotham had survived All Hollow's Eve well. I recalled countless nights back in my early days in the city, long before I had ranked as a commissioner, where the death toll doubled and vandalism was a joke.

It was November first that did the city in that year. Or at least it did me in.

Harvey Bullock and I had been sitting in an unmarked, just at the corner of 18th and Harrison. Even though night had fallen and it was well past breakfast, we had taken a late dinner courtesy of Dunkin Donuts: fresh, steaming coffee and a box of orange frosted doughnuts that were not so fresh, but at least they were festive. Harvey had eaten three by the time I had managed one.

"Sonofabitch," he growled, crumbs tripping out of his mouth.

I looked in the same direction as he and stared in disbelief as a young man, dressed for the cold weather with a bulky denim coat and low hanging pants, approached a woman who was standing at the bus stop and chatting on her cell phone. In less than a second, he stared at us, in the obvious unmarked police car, at our doughnuts, coffee, and the rest of our police-esque aura, and then proceeded to bump into the woman and snag her purse.

Neglecting our meal, we dashed out of the car in an instant and raced across the street. Harvey growled, "Dip shit would need to go to college to graduate to dumb shit."

The woman had begun to scream for help even though she was no longer in any danger. The same could not be said for her brown suede purse, most likely heavy with that week's paycheck and a few choice credit cards. She took a step back as we raced towards her, and Harvey only scared her even more by barking that we were with the GCPD in a tone just a hair shy of Kodiak grizzly bear.

The denim man had scooted down 18th with an amazing quickness. Despite the bad knee and sore feet, I pushed into the run, doing everything I could to keep the man in my line of vision. Harvey, light years from his physical prime, was already breathing heavy as we passed the first block.

I sure hoped he didn't keel over, because I sure as hell wouldn't have the wind left to give him CPR.

The streets were fairly bare, given the cold weather and the late hour. Unfortunately, this only allowed the suspect to move faster down the unblocked sidewalk, putting more and more distance between us. My heart had been doing a million miles an minute for five blocks, and I was almost certain it would explode with the next step I took.

Before I knew it, we were on 24th, miles and miles from the car and lady with the cell phone. In fact, it had to have been at least month or two that we had been running after this denim clad perp. If not longer. Foot traffic had picked up a bit as we neared a region of restaurants and shopping boutiques. Several cried out as the suspect dashed through them and ran away. Most of them stared at Harvey and I as we lamely traveled through, breathing ragged and holding onto one another to keep from falling down.

The last I saw of him, he had ducked into an alley just beyond Grant, after turning left and nearly being hit by a taxi. I had half-heartedly hoped he would have been hit, just to make my life easier.

Who was I kidding? I whole-heartedly wanted the sucker to get hit.

As we entered the alley, our breaths escaping us in puffy gasps into the cool night air, I did my best to call out, "Freeze, GCPD!"

It came out more like, "Free-zzee... Gee... Cee... Pee... Deee..."

Harvey had lost all sources of intimidation and was leaning against the brick exterior of Oren's Café and Deli, his face an unnatural shade of red. As I thought how nice it would be to lay down and die, I looked into the dark recesses of the alley to see... nothing. A small garbage dumpster, a few empty wooden crates and a set of stairs leading to the service entrance of the deli. I scanned feverishly, hoping for something and ending up with nothing. There wasn't even the infamous chain link fence for him to jump over, only a brick wall resulting in a dead end. There weren't even windows he could climb into.

My pulse throbbing in my temples, I stumbled to the steps, managed to climb them and checked the steel door. Locked. Where in the hell could he have gone? As I nearly stumbled back down the steps, my eyes fell to the pavement in retreat. I glanced over at Harvey, to see he had taken to sitting on the ground next to a stack of wet newspapers. I smirked and thought, What a good idea. Sit down. Lay down. Never move again.

I took a seat on the last step and felt a great relief by getting off of my quaky legs. After closing my eyes for a moment, I felt myself slip backwards onto the steps as post-adrenaline exhaustion washed over me.

When my eyes fluttered open again, I found that I had slouched further back on the steps. Had I blacked out? Where was...

"Harvey?" I called out, my voice dry and quiet.

He waved at me, unable to speak as he heaved trying to catch his breath. He was still over by the entrance of the alley, sitting on the ground with his back against the wall. After a few gulps of air, he managed, "I'm. Okay, commish." The color in his face had receded some, leaving him a few shades lighter than that of a tomato.

I used the metal railing to get myself up and had to grit my teeth as my cramped legs refused to yield. Walking was unbearable as shooting pains echoed the length of my legs while each breath scorched my lungs. I looked down the alley once more, this time, my eyes picking up something.

A body, propped up against the rear of the alley.

I stumbled over and sure enough, it was the denim dip shit. Literally.

He was drenched in mud and sewage and reeked of something unholy. The only clean spot on him was his forehead, where a sticky note had been attached. I reached down and picked it off of him, and was surprised when he didn't even move. And despite the pain and agony that was every cell of my body, I managed a smile. And then a soft chuckle as I read the note for the second time: Dumb bad guy bad escape plan dumb bad guy covered in poo, R.

"Commish, you get him?" I heard shuffled steps alongside Harvey's voice.

I pocketed the note and nodded, "Yeah, he took a very wrong turn."

V

With patrols fairly quiet, Batgirl and I had taken to touring Central Gotham while Batman worked the periphery. Cass had showed me the digital pictures Barbara had taken of Mattie's Superman costume and I still couldn't wipe the grin off of my face. I truly felt for whatever evil-doers crossed Batman's path in the next few days.

Just after ten-thirty, we had found ourselves in Tri-Corner, but more importantly, four stories above Commissioner Gordon and Detective Bullock as they made a pit stop for some police fuel in the form of sugar topped sweets and strong coffee. Batgirl had pointed them out and I joked that we should drop in on them.

It was great having her back from Europe. Patrols had been torture over the summer with just Bruce, and occasionally Dick whenever he decided to drop by. On quiet nights, I would get stuck on surveillance, but with Batgirl back on the job, games of tag ensued. Mostly, she had been recounting her travels and what she had done over the summer months. It was unbelievable, that not six years earlier, she would barely utter a peep, now she could talk at no end if the topic was right.

The last few nights, however, she had actually been fairly quiet and I wondered if she was retreating back to her old ways. I did my best not to pry, but I would initiate conversations, just to test the waters.

"Look," she pointed down at the street at a man dressed in a denim coat. He had punk written all over him, and loser as well. Just as expected, he dashed forward and grabbed the purse from a woman at the bus stop, before racing down the street, Gordon and Bullock already making their pursuit on foot.

Before I could say a word, Batgirl had taken off, bounding to the next rooftop. I matched my pace with hers as well as suspect on the ground. He kept a fairly good rate, but unfortunately, Gordon and Bullock began to lag shortly after the first block. And by the fifth, there was no possible way for them to catch up to him.

At 24th, he took a sharp left and dashed across the street and into an alley. We watched from the roof of a deli as he lifted the sewer cover and slipped inside. He probably thought that it was: A, a safe place to hide or B, a place where no one would bother to look for him.

That's the thing about making an assumption. You tend to make an ass out of yourself.

We landed on the pavement and slipped into the sewer as well. I replaced the cover and made my way down the slick ladder and down onto a cement landing. The sound of water trickling and the stench of something wicked bad met me full force, nearly overwhelming my senses. Batgirl hardly seemed affected as she trudged onward, moving quickly despite the sludge and muck.

With the aide of night lenses and quick reflexes, it was easy to locate the frightened purse snatcher, who was armed only with the purse had just snatched. Unfortunately, our stealth had been compromised by the sound of us disturbing the murky water. But in the dark, it made for a more eerie attack and apprehension.

All the while knee deep in the unthinkable.

Apparently, the perp had slipped a few times in the muck and was layered in a slimy coat of who knows what. So after we had jointly knocked him unconscious, it was quite the task to drag him back. We slipped several times, nearly completely submerging in the mess. It took all of my control to keep from upchucking right then and there.

When we made it back to where we had descended into the darkness, I lifted the cover slightly and spotted Gordon and Bullock passed out. After looking carefully, I noticed both were breathing, hard, but at least they were alive. We set up the snatcher against the wall, left a calling card and the sludge covered purse as well.

"All in a night's work," I muttered as we made it up to the rooftop once more.

The damage was immeasurable. We were both covered in slime head to toe, our capes weighted by the glop. Even worse than the feeling of it was the smell, one I was sure would never go away. We wiped off what we could before skipping over a few rooftops and calling in the pickup. It was there that we ran into a very put-off Batman.

He approached us and then paused before stepping back a bit. The look on his face was loud and clear: Ewww....

"What happened?" he asked moving down wind from us.

Batgirl replied, "Pursued a suspect into the sewer."

"I hope you caught him."

I nodded, "Yeah, he'll think twice about playing the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle card as an escape."

He paused before asking, "Why didn't you just put a tracer on him and wait for him to surface?"

That, I had no answer for.

Just as I was about to ask if we could cut patrols short to go get cleaned up, he looked directly at me, "Maybe you should... Call it quits for the night. Get cleaned up."

"My thoughts exactly," I replied.

Batgirl was looking down at her trashed suit, her brow high with intrigue, as if she had just realized she was covered in sewer sludge.

Batman looked us over once more, his disgust growing more evident as he spoke, "But not at the Cave. And you can't get in the 'Mobile like that."

"What, come on, where are we supposed to go, the car wash?" I cried out, waving my arms for emphasis. In doing so, I had sent a dollop of slime flying across the roof, and watched in horror as it landed on Batman's boot. He looked down at his boot and I almost thought he was going to pull out a Bat-Wet Wipe from his utility belt. Instead, he glared at us briefly, and then shifted his gaze to the Clocktower.

And for once, Barbara had not shown the restraint Batman had.

As always, we had snuck in through the side entrance of her den. At that hour, she would already by set in for the night in her room of operations, headset on and fingers flying over the keyboards. The plan was to sneak in, wash up as much as possible and then clean up any evidence there was that we had been there for any other reason than to check in with our favorite cyber-shut in.

That's why when we stepped into the den, we had been surprised to see her on the couch, pop corn bowl and remote in hand. With the lights turned down, we looked normal to her, but we smelt of a thousand stink bombs.

"What in the hell....?" Barbara began as she took in the sight before her. After she pressed a button on the remote, the lights came up full from their dimmed state and her expression changed from shock to rage in seconds.

"Listen, Babs, we can explain---," I began.

She cut me off as she made the swift move from the couch to her chair. Her eyes followed us and then back along the trail we had left from the window, then back to the puddle we were standing in. I watched on as her analytical mind began to take over, the shocked Barbara Gordon receding as Oracle came into power.

"Don't. Move," she ordered. Careful not to travel over our path, she maneuvered around us and went about opening all of her windows and then turning on all of the overhead fans. The chill from outside slipped into the apartment and brought about shivers from Batgirl and I. When she had returned to her spot in front of us, she took a deep breath and then asked, not politely, what had happened.

Not wanting to get Batgirl in trouble, I spoke, and described the purse-snatcher, the chase, the sewer. And at that point, I was all about getting Batman in trouble, so I highlighted the part where he had ordered us to go clean up at the Clocktower, an exaggeration but applicable to the situation and for our defense.

Unfortunately, I had become wrapped up in telling how mean Batman had been that I forgot the most important part: that we had nabbed the perp. Batgirl tried to talk, but her voice came out muffled, more so than usual. It was then, that she provided the straw that broke the camel's back.

She reached up to remove her mask, of which released a flow of brackish water that spilled down her front and onto the arm of a white couch. In utter horror, I watched as she shook her head a bit to dry her hair, and my eyes followed a small drop as it transcended the air and promptly landed on Barbara's glasses.

Cass wiped her face and continued, "We got him, though."

Bad move.

Really, bad move.

"Move!" Barbara screamed as she managed to navigate the chair and shove us down the hall. We did our best to keep from getting run over and sought refuge from her onslaught as soon as we reached the bathroom. Barbara growled for us not to move as she left briefly and returned with an arm full of clothes and garbage bags, then shoved me aside in order to toss the clothes onto the counter.

Before she slammed the door in our faces, she commanded that before we even thought about opening the door again, that we be showered, changed and that the bathroom be spotless. Or else.

Unfortunately, she waited until I had slam dunked my sodden gloves in her wicker hamper before calling out that our dirty suits were not to touch her clothes hamper.

V

After the door slammed, I shrugged and pulled my cape off. Having lived with Barbara as long as I had, I had an appreciation for her affinity for keeping things neat and clean. I recalled one time, that was after she had drilled into my mind that I was never to leave a toilet roll empty. And the one time I did replace it, I had set it so the paper came over, instead of under... It wasn't pretty.

"Do you think she's really that mad?" Tim asked after he removed his mask, the skin beneath strikingly clean compared to the rest of his face.

I tried not to laugh at how funny it made him look and replied, "Last fall, there was a green towel next to a blue one. She reorganized the whole linen closet, made sure the towels would match every time you pulled a new one out."

"So she's uber-pissed. Great, wonderful." As he retrieved the gloves from the hamper, I took my own gloves off and set them in the corner of the bathroom. I then kicked off my boots and unlatched my belt, "You can go first," I said as I nodded towards the shower.

It was as I began to pull off my sticky tunic that Tim spoke up, "Um, I'll just..." and I smiled to see him blush slightly before bee-lining it through the shower door. After he turned the water on, his tunic, belt, tights and boots came flying over the door, "Heads up," he called out, his tone altered with an awkwardness I couldn't place.

I had stripped off the rest of my suit and proceeded to put everything in the garbage bags and set them in the corner. After wrapping up in a towel, more so because I was cold, I leaned against the counter. I mentally counted out five minutes and felt my impatience surface, "Done yet?"

"Um, not quite," he said, nervously.

I sighed, Men. They took so long to get ready sometimes.

Cold, wet and wanting nothing more than to go to bed or at least get something to eat, I dropped the towel, opened the door and said, "Move over."

Tim gasped, dropped the loofah and made a desperate attempt to cover himself. I put my back to him and turned the hot water up before bending over and retrieving the sudsy loofah. I was amazed as I scrubbed my skin and rinsed at how dark the water ended up being. I could already picture the drain clogging up.

All the while that I rinsed off, Tim had been standing stock still, eyes quenched shut as he stood in the rear corner of the shower. I turned around to better rinse debris from my hair just as he opened his eyes the tiniest fraction and then spread them wide open before looking away, swearing quietly.

"What?" I asked, "Need shampoo?" After pouring a good amount in my hair, I squeezed some out onto my hand and spread it on Tim's hair. He jerked when I touched him and mumbled something about having soap in his eyes. As he put a hand up to cover his eyes, he reached for the shower nozzle and adjusted the water temperature. To cold.

As he maneuvered back to his corner, his hip bumped into mine and he nearly jumped in the air. Withholding my laugh, I said, "See, that's too cold," as I returned the water to its original warmth. After lathering up my hair, I rinsed it thoroughly and then added a bit of conditioner to remove and lasting grimy feeling. The shampoo I had spread on Tim's head had gone untouched.

"Going to wash up or not?"

"Well, I hadn't planned on..." he began as he opened his eyes partially. I gave him credit for trying to focus on my face. Tim was always trying to be a decent person, even in the most difficult of situations.

Well, it certainly was difficult for him, that's for sure.

I watched as he partially mixed the shampoo and then moved by me to rinse. I watched as he made a move to change the water again, and reached out and touched his wrist, "I think it's better hot."

He audibly gulped air and stared at me for a moment before managing, "Okay."

Having tortured him long enough, I stepped out of the shower first and dried quickly before donning a pair of shorts and a long sleeved shirt. Over the water, I heard Tim mumbling to himself and when I listened carefully, I could tell he was listing the states in alphabetical order.

I set his clothes just outside the shower door on a towel. Actually, they were Dick's clothes, left here from before they had broken up and gotten somewhat back together. I really liked him, he and Barbara seemed to get along so well, like it was meant to be. That seemed to be the way it worked for Batgirls and Robins.

I cleaned up most of the bathroom, mopping up the dirty water and cleaning off the counter and floor as best as I could. The only thing I really couldn't clean was the grime that had landed on the cover of a Cosmo magazine that had been on a shelf above the toilet. That and droplet of slime on the ceiling.

When the water shut off, the bathroom became absolutely silent. Then Tim's hand peaked out and barely moved the shower door before it proceeded to quickly grab at the towel and clothes before retreating and shutting the door. His embarrassment coming off in waves, I sighed and told him, "I'm going to the den, help Barbara clean up."

He spoke quietly, "That's fine. I'll... I'll be out in a few."

After exiting the bathroom, I returned to the den and saw that she had already doused the carpets with stain remover and had wiped down the window we had soiled. There was a note on the coffee table next to the uneaten bowl of popcorn. I grabbed a handful of kernels and picked up the note: When you read this, please leave. No making yourselves at home, no quick snacks, nothing. I mean it, I have Eyes Everywhere! Cassandra, you are to stay at Bruce's, Tim drive her up there before you go back to school.

I chewed the popcorn and went to my room. When I emerged a few minutes later, dressed in jeans and a sweater, Tim was walking out of the bathroom, dressed in the most peculiar garb. The shirt wasn't too bad, black with white lettering listing things not to say to a policeman. The shorts however.... Black silk with red shimmering letters. Lots of letters saying the same thing every other inch of the boxers. Spelling out Dick's name over and over and over.

Tim shrugged, "You don't happen to have a pair of men's jeans do you?"

I shook my head and told him to wait there. I stepped into Barbara's room, rummaged her dressers and retrieved a pair of black wind pants. He donned them as soon as I handed them over, thanking me profusely. I showed him the note afterwards, and he shrugged, "What now?"

After a low growl rumbled in my stomach and thinking back to watching the Commissioner and the detective have their late night snack, I half-smiled, "Boy, all that running... Are you as hungry as I am?"

V

By the fourth time I rang the doorbell, a sliver of my anger had been replaced with concern. Dad should have answered by now, where was he? Shower? In the basement? Then I glanced at my watch, ten after one. Of course, he was asleep.

I knocked hard and then rang the bell again.

Finally, the clatter of the door being unlocked and then my father's form, "Barbara, what are you doing here?"

He stepped back and I made my way through. As I passed him, the stench of sewer that had been with me since Batgirl and Robin had showed up at the Clocktower was temporarily replaced by the spearmint tingle of liniment. Before I could ask about it, he said, while relocking the door, "Something happen?"

I shook my head, "Nothing." And then, "They trashed my apartment."

"Who?" he asked as he led the way to the den.

"Tim and Cassandra. They chased a suspect into the sewers and Bruce told them to come clean up at my place. Now I need it fumigated."

We ended up in the living room and after he took a seat in his favorite recliner, I moved up onto the old brown couch after setting my small overnight bag on the floor. Once settled, I began to knead the life out of a pillow. Before I resorted to pulling the stuffing out, he spoke up with a half-smile on his face, "Hmm, that ties into something that happened earlier this evening. When I called into headquarters, Steve Hoffman, he's in charge of the cell blocks on the night shift, he had reported a request for fumigation in the cells, he must have ended up with the suspect they had chased down."

My brow crinkled as my temper grew, my voice lowering to a growl, "At least their clothes hamper wasn't covered in raw sewage...."

"What's that?"

I shook my head, "Nothing. Listen, can I crash here tonight?"

"Of course," he rose slowly and then stiffly walked to the hall closet. He seemed to be sore all over, moving stiffly and wincing every other step.

"You okay, Dad?"

"What? Oh, yeah, I did a bit of pursuing myself tonight. Pushed it a bit too far, though. I'll pay for it in the morning." He returned with a pillow and a few blankets, "Hope you don't mind the couch, the guest room's packed full of boxes still."

"Still," I joked. We had been planning on unpacking his belongings for over a year now, the move from the big house to this smaller one had been for convenience and practicality. It was the settling in part that was a pain in the ass, according to him.

We talked a bit more, but it wasn't hard to see how tired he was. I feigned a yawn and he was up in an instant, yawning himself, "Well, I better get to bed. I'll cook breakfast in the morning," he walked over and kissed my cheek.

"No you won't, I will."

He smiled, "Of course you are. Good night, Barbara."

As he made his way to his room, I called out, "Night, Dad."

After his door had shut and the lights had gone out, I retrieved my laptop and searched a few cleaning specialist sites before narrowing it down to two or three companies. I had always been able to fend for myself, but there were actually jobs out there to big for even me.

I logged onto the basic OraCom linking system and pulled up the GPS tracking systems. Tim and Cass were a few blocks away from the Clocktower and upon closer magnification, I saw they were at Late Tony's, a pizzeria catering to Gotham's nightlife. Nightwing wasn't even registering and Batman was already logged off and back in Bristol. He had been irregular in patrols recently, either punishing himself until dawn or cutting it short to get home, leaving Robin and Batgirl to handle the city. Odd, but then again, Bruce had always strayed away from being predictable.

I checked the time and was surprised to see it only a little after two.

Not too late to ream Bruce a new one.

I dialed the private line that was for Bruce's quarters, a number Selina had given me years earlier, shortly after she had moved in during Bruce's recovery. Being a pair of night owls, we had shared many late night talks as Bruce slept, talking on anything from how nervous she was about the baby or to what Bruce and she had done that day. Even still, if he was out on patrols and if Mattie was in bed, I would get a call from her, asking how everything was.

This time, she was going to be my shoulder to lean on.

V

"How's that?"

His reply was a low moan and then a wince as my fingers pushed a little too hard on his back.

Bruce had been home for not even twenty minutes and had somehow managed to shower, grab a bite to eat, check in on Mattie and had even conned me into massaging his back and shoulders for him. Talk about your multi-tasking. He was laying face down on the bed, dressed in a pair of flannel pants and doing his best not to fall asleep as I kneaded the tight, lower lumbar muscles.

"Christ, Bruce, like steel..." I complained.

He shook his head and moved his arm back, pointing a finger at me, "Don't even say it."

I grinned as I leaned over, placed my lips behind his ear, "Like the man of steel."

He rolled over and sat up, "Not funny." The scowl on his face said not to push it, but the glimmer in his eyes said he was more hurt than angry. He was the only one who had not taken kindly to Mattie's costume. And it didn't help that I had forwarded the digital pictures to Clark and Lois, who in turn and had printed and posted copies of them at the Daily Planet.

I kissed his cheek, and was about to speak when the phone rang. As I stood and walked over to get it, I said to him, "Now let's not have any superhero envy. Besides, if she had been in a Batgirl suit you would have keeled over right then and there." He mumbled to himself as I answered, "Hello?"

"Selina, it's me," Barbara's voice replied. I could sense her anger, but more so, the overlaying tone of practiced control. She obviously had no intentions of killing the messenger.

"What's wrong?" I asked, as Bruce moved under the covers behind me.

"Oh nothing, aside from the fact that your husband sent two sewage soaked teen heroes to come to my place to clean up," she stated, her voice growing angrier with each word.

I paused to look back at Bruce who had rolled over on his side and shut off his bedside lamp. I spoke loud enough to draw his interest as I asked, "When did this happen?"

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed him stiffen and then slowly turn to face me, doing his best to act nonchalant. The same way he did when we were at odds at one another. Or even worse, when Mattie had found herself in trouble. One of the many traits Bruce had passed on to our daughter.

After a deep breath she spoke quietly at first, but her tone growing increasingly louder and angrier with each word, "Tim and Cass ended up chasing down a suspect into the sewer, proceeded to get completely soaked in whatever was down there, caught the guy, returned to the surface and then him! That oh so brilliant husband of yours, told them to come to my place to get cleaned up! So now my once beautiful, white, clean, sparkling living room is covered in human muck!"

By the end of her rant, she had grown to be so loud that Bruce looked up at me, his calm face already showing a hint of uncertainty. When our eyes met, he asked who it was and instead of answering him, I simply told Barbara to hang on a second while I handed her over to him.

The second I aimed the phone at him, a great cacophony of angry, four lettered words interrupted the room's silence. He sat up quickly, eyes wide, with a look of shame and terror quickly replacing any sign of dignity. I did my best to retain my laughter as he stared directly at the source of the screaming. After a moment, I drew back and calmed Barbara down with a few quiet words.

After assuring her I would talk to him about it, I ended with, "Bruce will be over in the morning to help take care of things."

When I hung the phone up, I turned and glared at him, "How could you?"

"How could I what?" he responded, his voice strong but the body language was saturated with worry. He was in trouble and he knew it, for it was harmful to aggravate one woman of this family, but after pissing off two of them, you were dead meat.

"You know what I mean," I pointed at the phone, "Why did you tell them to go to Barbara's?"

He opened his mouth slightly, closed it and then chose a softer tone, "I didn't tell them. I was looking at the Clocktower to see what time it was, they misinterpreted my gesture." He paused and the shrugged, "Besides, I couldn't let them in my car like that."

Not one to resort to violence, I grabbed the nearest pillow and hit him square in the face with it. His quiet chuckle did little to ease my anger. He took the pillow from me and set it back down on the bed, "Come on, Selina..."

Ignoring him, I shut the lamp off on the nightstand and pulled back the blankets. As I slipped under the covers, I shook my head, "No," and then moved on my side to face him, "Did you even think about what you did? Barbara's apartment is ruined, Bruce. Ruined. And you are going to do everything she asks to make it right."

He reached over and touched my arm, "I will."

I let his hand stay there as I continued, "And you'll pay for everything. New furniture, carpets, the works."

As his hand found its way to my side, he whispered, "It's the least I could do."

I scooted closer to him, "And help her out more. Take her out to lunch. Stop that sneaking up on her crap, too."

A pair of lips and rough stubble met my neck, "Of course."

I pinched his side and he retreated. "And one more thing."

His eyes reflected a sliver of moonlight and I could tell they were aimed directly at mine.

"You have to do this, I don't want to find out that you put Alfred up to this."

I saw the faintest of smiles before, "Thought never crossed my mind."

V

Although I usually managed to work well at my desk amidst the other detectives, after six hours of secondary interviews with family members, neighbors, teachers and friends, I needed to be alone.

At the Bludhaven Police Headquarters, there was an entire floor designated solely for ballistics, crime scene analysis and fingerprint identifications. On the third floor, there was a small cement blocked office that held every piece of bagged evidence of the Wallach girl's murder. It wasn't much, but after scouring the alley and the household she had once lived in, it was all we could find. After a stop at the men's room, I was somewhat refreshed with a damp face and an empty bladder. Eight to ten cups of cheap coffee a day was doing my kidneys in, but I needed every last drop to keep charged.

As I passed through the hall towards the stairs, I received a few nods and weak smiles. The majority of the detectives, especially those who were working light caseloads, had done nothing but slave at the case. Wallach's funeral had been a week and a half ago, and since she had been laid to rest, we had come no closer to finding the man who had taken her life.

The third floor was much quieter and cooler than upstairs. Also, less populated. Glass walls separated large pieces of the floor into individual research rooms, where lab techs buried themselves with DNA and fiber samples. As I walked by, I smirked to see them hunched over microscopes, mentally picturing countless nights where I suffered cabin fever as Bruce analyzed evidence.

Just as my watch read noon, I reached a brown metal door near the left rear corner of the floor, I paused, drew a breath and entered, averting my eyes from its sign: Evidence Examination 2. Inside, the room was a little over twelve by ten, dominated by a broad stainless steel table with a few metal stools. After flipping on the light switch, the table gleamed amidst the countless bags labeled "Evidence".

I retrieved a pair of latex gloves from my pocket and pulled a stool out from under the table. Over the last two weeks, I had found myself reviewing the collected evidence whenever the paperwork piled too high or if my energy bottomed out. As I sat at the table, my hands spread out on the cool steel, I stared down at a bagged pair of dirty sneakers.

How many miles had been skipped in those sneakers? How many games of Tag or Kickball? How many times had she had to tie them each day, the frail laces unraveling through a day of activity?

I pushed the shoes aside and retrieved the packaged green turtle neck, dried to a soft hunter color, with exception to the mottled bloodstains. I took it out of the package and held it up to my nose, drew in a breath and then set it back down on the table, spreading it out. No tears, old stains, not even faded. A fairly new shirt, probably for school. The blood had been typed and matched that of the victim.

Alicia.

In my years as Nightwing and even as Robin, I had been trained for this, to remain objective even in the most drastic of cases. I couldn't even count the number of dead bodies I had seen, children abused, or families destroyed by whatever evil-doers had reared their heads in the night. I kept telling myself this was no different, just another senseless act committed for no other reason than sick pleasure.

But it was different.

After two weeks of nearly around the clock searching, evaluating, interviewing and documenting, we were no closer to solving this case than when we had started out that rainy morning. Detective pow-wows and morning briefings had fueled possible scenarios, but none of them backed by the hard evidence we needed, only theory and speculation.

The pathologist, a great by the name of Dr. Alex Rhodes, had done a thorough autopsy and had revealed what we had known and little more. She had died of asphyxiation by way of strangulation, probably from a towel given the broad bruising on the throat. Also, she had suffered some internal hemorrhaging from a few blows to the abdomen in addition to sexual penetration, resulting in severe trauma and associated bleeding. From there, the time of death had been guestimated, an uncertain craft given the recent cold weather and moisture content in the air, at twelve to fifteen hours prior to discovery.

Twelve hours, lost to the salvation of police and doctors.

"Hey, Grayson, figured I'd find you down here."

I looked up from the green shirt to see the door way filled by the tall lanky form of Hank Garvey-Reeds, dressed in his standard blue pinstripe suit, white shirt and pale blue tie. A trained eye would see the slight bulge his .38 made at his hip, but anyone else would place him as a bank assistant manager, especially when he wore his thick-rimmed glasses.

As I folded the shirt and returned it to its proper bag, he approached me, eyed the piles of evidence and then looked back at the open door briefly before looking down at me, "Been a bitch, hasn't it?"

Quite the poet.

I nodded and stood before pushing the stool under the table, "Just looking things over."

"Yeah, good to be thorough. Hell, not much to miss on this one though, Grayson. Wasn't much to start out with."

I winced as he mentioned missing something, an idea that had been plaguing me since the very beginning. Even with an outside homicide, the evidence should have been there, staring up at me. And if I had not picked up on it, it was now gone forever. That single hair or partial thumb print or even sweater thread caught on a fire escape.

In a rare sign of support, he rapped down on the table quickly, "Don't sweat this redball, kid. Happens to the best of us. You can't find what's not there."

"Yeah," I commented quietly.

He sighed, cleared his throat and made his way back to the door, "Hey, when you go back to the family's house, if I'm free, I'll go along."

After a nod of acknowledgement, I said, "Yeah, it won't be until this afternoon."

He nodded as well and then headed out.

I hadn't gotten two steps to the door before a lab coat wearing genius by the name of Aaron Graff appeared. His red and yellow hair was in its usual gravity defying style and his wire rimmed glasses were just on the verge of slipping off his nose, "Hey, Dick, you got a call on three."

"Thanks," I offered a half-smile and followed him out the door and to his partial cubicle where a light flashed on his phone. I depressed it and picked up, "Detective Grayson."

"Oh, Hi, Dick."

Despite the fatigue and frustration, I felt a sudden and faint bit of happiness at the sound of Barbara's voice.

I took a seat on the corner of Aaron's cluttered desk as he whispered, "I'll be right back, got a Hot Pocket in the microwave down in the lounge."

When he had left, I replied, "Hi. Aren't you up early?"

"Hardly," she laughed, "You will never believe what happened last night."

A slight increase in my blood pressure, "What, something bad?"

"Oh, no one died, unless you count my new sofa as a fatality."

"Hunh?" I responded.

She laughed and for a moment all the troubles in the world didn't matter. "Well, let's just say that this is one Robin story you can't even top."

V