What is life like for everyone else? This is a question that had plagued Bruce Wayne since he was a child. Growing up extremely wealthy, being orphaned at a young age, foregoing his adolescence to strive for physical and intellectual perfection, prowling the streets of Gotham City… There hadn't been a moment along the way where he felt even remotely normal.

For most people that might be a good thing, but Bruce had often yearned for an ordinary, predictable existence. Yet he had realized long ago that there was one thing that kept him from settling down: His complete inability to let go and move on. His parents' deaths drove him through a decade of relentless, self-imposed torture, then onward into his crusade as The Batman. The departure of Dick Grayson from Wayne Manor, the death of Jason Todd, the maiming of Barbara Gordon, the retirement of Jim Gordon, and on and on and on.

He knew that life outside the shadows could easily be worth living again if only he could manage to put these things behind him. He just couldn't. For years he thought it was because of guilt; that because he held himself responsible for so many tragic events, he owed it to the world to make amends. Tim Drake changed all that, proving through sheer determination and desire that one need only want something badly enough to make it a reality.

Why then? Responsibility? Duty? Honor? What kept him from casting aside his veil of darkness?

Dick, Jason, Barbara, Jim… What happened with them really had been his fault to a certain extent. It was his parents. The one life-shattering event that he always knew had been completely beyond his power to prevent; the one he truly could not blame himself for. Finding the man who killed them would surely bring him peace…

Wouldn't it?

"Why won't it end?" The Batman whispered to himself.

Nightwing started. Batman had been silent for a full minute. He appeared lost in thought. "Bruce?"

Batman shook his head. "Nothing. What makes you think…that… How did…"

"Hadley never took a life he didn't get paid for. The first guy on his list in '72, Roger Maitland, was clean. He was a textile worker, no arrests, nothing in his medical history to suggest a violent disposition, no connections to organized crime, no relation to anyone with a serious criminal history. He had a wife and two kids, all of whom remember him fondly." Nightwing took in the sight of his former partner. Batman was processing the information, but Dick could tell he was rattled.

"What else?" Batman asked in curt response.

"The other three on the list before your parents…all clean like Maitland, more or less. Freddie Baxter made book about ten years before, but he was out on his own, no mob connection. Then came your parents," Nightwing said with some hesitation.

Batman nodded, weighing Nightwing's words carefully. He turned away and peered out at Gotham's skyline. "Go on."

"The guy Hadley killed after your parents was the first mob hit I could tie him to. He was working for Dino LaRossa. Jim Gordon took the LaRossa family down on his way to making commissioner, and Dino died in Prison in '91. His nephew, Frank, got out in '96, then you put him back in two years ago. I went to see him and pressed him hard, Bruce. Really hard. There's no way he lied…"

"And?"

"Frank LaRossa knew Hadley. He was just a kid when your parents were killed, but he was neck-deep in his dad's business by the time he was sixteen. The way he tells it, no one really knew how his dad found Hadley, but he swears on his life that Dino had absolutely no dealings with your folks. He had no reason I could find to want your parents dead."

Batman turned back to Nightwing and spoke plainly, "Another dead end then."

"I don't think so, at least not completely. You've dug into this case a thousand times over the years, Bruce. You knew the second I mentioned his name that LaRossa had nothing to do with your parents' deaths. But you were specifically looking for anyone that had a motive," Nightwing said.

"What's your point?"

Dick moved closer to his mentor and looked up at him. "You didn't have Hadley or his connection to LaRossa. If Dino didn't stand to gain anything from your parents' deaths, then it stands to reason that Josh Hill was the first hit he contracted Hadley for. Hill, as you probably know, was in the city council. He fought for a legitimate union workforce in Gotham because he'd made his money in manufacturing, meaning a lot of construction and waste and, therefore, a lot of union jobs. Dino didn't want to lose his fat city contracts, so Hill had to go."

Batman narrowed his eyes. "So you're saying that there is some hidden connection between LaRossa and my father."

Nightwing shrugged. "It's possible, and that's what I thought at first. Hill wasn't as rich as your dad, but they were both active in the community in philanthropic ways. That lead goes nowhere though, so I started looking at it the other way."

"Meaning?"

"I only had one established pattern; that Hadley's first four hits were clean, upstanding citizens with no connection to one another. Then there's a supposed connection between your father and Josh Hill. Nothing concrete, just similarities. Going with that supposition, I got nothing but dead ends, so I turned it on its ear. What if your parents were the last people killed in the first pattern?" Nightwing hesitated a moment, then turned and began to pace.

"Josh Hill had a high profile and he knew he was rubbing bad people the wrong way. He had pretty solid personal security, his home was a veritable fortress, and you'd think he was pretty well protected on the job…"

Batman fell into a familiar intellectual rhythm with his former student at that moment. Were the matter not so personal and pressing, he'd have to admit that it had been far too long, and he missed it. "I see where you're going. If you're LaRossa, you'd want to bring in an outside man for a hit on someone with that type of profile."

Nightwing nodded his assent. "Exactly. And if Hill's protection was that formidable, you'd need a professional; someone bold enough to do it, yet smart enough not to get caught…"

"…and with enough ice in his veins and money in his pocket to keep his mouth shut if he did," Batman finished.

"If that's the case, then the earlier murders couldn't have been random. The first six victims, including the Waynes, have no connection to one another, but they might have all crossed paths with someone with the money and motive to contract their murders," Nightwing continued.

Batman furrowed his brow, then went wide-eyed. "And if you put my parents into the first pattern, a new pattern emerges… Three of the first six were women, yet only…," he trailed off, trying to recall the contents of the files he read hours earlier.

"After your mother, Hadley only killed two women in his entire career. One was collateral damage, the girlfriend of a rival mobster, and the other was Angelina Fulbright, an assistant DA." Nightwing stopped pacing and met Batman's eyes forlornly.

"All this time…," Batman said quietly with a mixture of surprise and disbelief.

Dick closed the distance between them and put a comforting hand on his adoptive father's shoulder. "You had no reason to think your mother was the target, Bruce. There were hundreds of reasons that someone could have wanted your father dead, and you only consider them if you get past the fact that it looked like a random robbery in every conceivable way.

Bruce considered Dick for a moment, then pulled away slightly. "When you came to this conclusion…"

Dick lowered his head. "It was too late, Bruce. I could have come to you at that point, but I went to the source instead. By the time I got to Hadley, he was surrounded by Ghost Dragons… I was that close to finding the truth, and I blew it. I failed you."

Batman was silent for a time. Dick needed comfort at that moment, and he'd certainly earned it. Somehow, Batman just didn't have it to give.

"You didn't fail. It could have been handled…differently. Coming to me…that…that wouldn't have been the right thing to do."

"You could have handled it, Bruce. With my help, you could have handled it."

Batman felt a sharp pain and looked down at his hands. He was almost surprised to find them clenched into fists. Learning the name of his parents' killer, discovering the connection that had eluded him so many times, knowing that the person ultimately responsible was still out there…it was too much. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest and the blood pumping through his veins.

He forced himself to relax, then looked directly into Nightwing's eyes. "Trust me when I say this, Dick. I would have been useless to you. I only would have made things worse, perhaps irrevocably so."

Dick wanted to protest; to assure his father that he wouldn't have lost control, but then thought better of it because he wasn't so sure. "What now?"

Batman pulled his grapnel gun from his belt and motioned for Nightwing to follow suit. "Now we pick up where you left off. We may still be on our way to the truth."

"Alfred."

Bruce knew for a fact that he'd startled the older man, who stood with his back to him, minding a tea kettle on the stovetop in the kitchen of Wayne Manor. Yet Alfred stood stock still without so much as a flinch. During his years of training, Bruce had mastered all forms of stealth and awareness. But this, the art of practiced stoicism despite fear or surprise, he had most definitely learned from the butler who raised him.

Alfred turned slowly and took in the sight of his charge. Bruce was dressed in a sweatsuit, which usually indicated his intention to return to the streets of Gotham after a short stop at the manor. Bruce's demeanor was tentative, and the look on his face was unmistakably apologetic.

"Has Master Dick returned with you?"

"Yes, he's downstairs with Miss Troy," Bruce replied quietly.

"Is he well?"

"No worse for wear. He's lost a bit of weight, but I'm sure you'll take care of that," Bruce answered. "And you were right, of course. I shouldn't have doubted him."

"No. I would think by now you would realize that doubting Richard's actions and intentions is ill advised, especially where your welfare is concerned," Alfred said evenly.

"I'll try to keep that in mind." Bruce hesitated for a moment, hoping that Alfred would take the next step in the conversation. The scornful look bearing down on him made it clear that wasn't going to happen. "About earlier… The things I said, the way I behaved." Another pause. "I'm sorry, Alfred."

"As you should be. Sit down, Bruce," Alfred replied, motioning Bruce into a chair at the kitchen table. Bruce obeyed somewhat reluctantly, and Alfred took a seat opposite him.

"A few months ago, I saw Master Dick on the evening news. It was days after your disappearance with the rest of the Justice League at Atlantis. I had seen him the previous morning. The news of your 'death' shook him to his core, yet he assumed the position you asked of him without question or hesitation, putting his entire life on hold to honor your request."

Bruce hung his head a bit and continued to listen intently.

"Despite the years we have spent in one another's lives, I can count the number of times I have seen Master Richard in action on one hand. His Justice League was called upon to quell a raid on Boston by a united front of villains who felt the League's demise signaled an opportune moment to strike.

"Richard assembled his team along with his Titans allies and fought back the invasion in ninety minutes. A ragtag team of League replacements largely at odds with one another, coupled with a young team of heroes often scorned by the public. Nowhere near as powerful or respected as the team they collectively replaced, yet, to my eyes, just as effective, and likely more so. He led them as masterfully and effortlessly as a symphony conductor, all the while performing physical feats of his own that left my mouth agape." Alfred paused and snapped his fingers. "Look at me."

Bruce raised his head and looked Alfred in the eyes.

"On that day, I witnessed at long last the man that you and I raised. In my many years, I have met heroes and royalty; people of limitless grace, ability, and spirit. Yet I am proud to say that Richard Grayson is by far the finest man I have ever known."

Alfred shifted slightly in his seat, then continued. "He has you to thank for so much of who he is, Bruce. The smile, compassion, and hope? God knows where they came from. But the skill and training and determination; he gave up his youth at your request, and in return you gave him the tools he needed to become an amazing young man. But then there's the rest, Bruce. The way he doubts and tortures himself, his inability to commit to his heart's desires, the distance he keeps from his friends and family, the mindless obsession… You did that to him, as well.

"I applaud you for the hero you helped create. I thank you for the man you raised so much in your image. And I blame you for never showing him the love and respect he deserves."

The words hit Bruce square in the chest, but he held Alfred's gaze.

"For two years now, I have allowed you to treat me with disregard and disrespect. I allowed it because I know when this crusade of yours is over and done with, you will look back on it with regret. I know that somewhere inside you there still beats the heart of a boy whose smile once lit every room of Wayne Manor. I know that despite what the future may hold, there exists a bond between us that only we can break.

"I am here to tell you that it's breaking, Master Bruce. I can tolerate your dismissive attitude no longer, because it has now extended to Richard. I will NOT allow you to treat him in a similar fashion. I have long imagined that I will grow old in your charge, but I will leave if it means protecting whatever is left of the family we once were. You must quit focusing on honoring the dead and begin appreciating the living. Do you understand?"

"Yes," was all Bruce could offer in response. He knew Alfred was right on every count; that the rift between them had grown far too wide of late. He didn't know how to repair it, but he did know that now wasn't the time.

"You didn't come here to apologize," Alfred stated matter-of-factly, sliding his chair back.

"Please don't get up, Alfred," Bruce said with a look of concern. "I need to ask you about my mother…"

Far beneath the surface of Wayne Manor, Dick Grayson sat at a large computer console, munching on some finger sandwiches. He was still tired and somewhat withdrawn, but was beginning to believe there may soon be a light at the end of this hellacious tunnel.

"They've been talking for a while," Donna observed, making an effort to break the silence.

He looked up at her, still finding the air between them uncomfortable. Over the years, Dick had many "best" friends. The bond between him and the likes of Wally West, Joe Wilson, Tim Drake, and Roy Harper was unbreakably strong, but Donna was the one with whom he was never truly at odds. Even in their darker moments, they would lash out at one another in frustration and anger brought about by things completely beyond their control. It was never personal, though it sometimes felt that way. Donna Troy is simply his closest and dearest friend, and the strain his current dilemma was putting on that friendship only added to the mountain of guilt he already felt.

"Trust me, they have a lot to talk about," Dick replied.

"Are you angry with me for coming here? For telling Bruce and Alfred?" Donna asked cautiously.

Dick turned to her with a sympathetic look. "No, of course not. I was in a bad way and you helped me the only way you could. If anything, it's on me for putting you in the middle of all this."

"You can always come to me, Dick."

And there it was. That compassionate, sympathetic smile that always spoke volumes to him. He looked at her for a long moment then hung his head slightly. In truth, there was always a part of him that carried a torch for Donna. He'd never taken it all that seriously, but his love for her was one of the few certainties in his life. It wasn't romantic or passionate in nature, but rather adoration. She represented an ideal to him; a sense of intangible perfection. He would never feel worthy of her and didn't truly believe that anything more between them could be more special to him than their friendship already was.

So while he'd never really been in love with Donna, the prospect of falling for her always felt imminent. Maintaining that perspective was very much a high wire act and, lucky for him, he was perhaps the world's greatest acrobat. However, that still doesn't change how important she is to him, or how much he values being the man she believes him to be…even when he doesn't believe it himself.

"I know. I can explain all of this later, but for now, I just need you to know that I didn't kill Simon Hadley. It's a long story and I don't come off too well in it, but I didn't kill him," he said, eyes pleading.

"I didn't think you did. Not even for a second," Donna replied.

"But…"

Donna interrupted with a wave of her hand. "We were just investigating all of the possibilities and weighing the evidence we had. Hmmmm…I forget. Where did we learn that?"

"Nightwing," an ominous voice spoke from behind them.

Dick nearly jumped out of his skin as he stood and turned to face his mentor. That's the downside to Donna's affect on him. He feels so at ease around her that he often tunes the rest of the world out. "We ready?"

"Yes." The Batman watched as his former ward smiled warmly at Troia and gave her shoulder a comforting squeeze as he made his way past her to the car. Alfred then descended the staircase and joined him in front of the console.

"It appears Master Dick will be just fine," Alfred casually stated.

Bruce glanced back at Dick and nodded. "Alfred… 'The smile, compassion, and hope? God knows where they came from'?"

"Yes?"

"There's a mirror in the study. You should take a look on your way back upstairs." With that, Batman nodded in Troia's direction and joined Nightwing in the Batmobile. They were gone seconds later.

Donna looked at Alfred skeptically. "Was it me, or did Batman just say something sweet?"

"Write down the date and time, Miss Troy. Such instances are indeed rare," Alfred replied as he began to climb the stairs once more.