Hey.

Yes; you guys can shoot me now, if you want, and get it over with. I know that I'm pretty much on the verge of smacking myself upside the head right about now. I should never have taken this long to update on this story—much less all the other fics that I have going—and I feel terrible. This is never going to happen again. Well, as a way of making it up to you all, this chapter is extra, extra long…actually, it's probably the longest chapter I've ever posted so far, in my entire time on this site (which has at least one year, according to the record, although that's really not all that long—is that all its been? Wow…time flies when you're having fun, eh?) Please feel free to yell at me in your reviews; I have no problem (partly because I deserve it, partly because most of what you say is probably going to be true). If you guys feel like it, you can check my bio, and see the new stuff that I have in store. It'll be coming soon. Thank you for tolerating me. I'm sure this author's note is as long as it needs to be, so I'll stop talking now. I'm really sorry.

Chapter Eight: Hello Again (it'll make sense later…I think)

I have to get out of here, now, Robin thought frantically, as he dashed down the hallway, heading for his locker. He should have known that there would only be more terror in store for him after last night—and just now, he'd paid the price for his lapse in awareness, by that unusual secretary with the gun. That was a slip-up on his part, but he refused to let himself to be caught in a situation like that ever again.

Knowing Slade, he figured that the secretary was probably not the only thing that would be waiting for him throughout the day; and if it was going to be like that, then at least Robin preferred it to be outside of the highschool, where he could be free to fight back without the risk of someone seeing him.

The teenager whipped around one last corner and skidded to a halt in front of his locker, sneakers squeaking in protest at the sudden stop, and smudging the linoleum floor. Robin only paused a moment to allow himself to wince at the sharp noise—man, how he hoped that the surrounding classrooms were all too busy to hear it—before quickly entering the combination on his lock, and ripping open the door. Papers and textbooks came tumbling out hazardously, and the boy allowed them to settle around his feet, shoving money, and a few other possessions that he would truly need into the pockets of his jeans and backpack.

It was then, as he was thoughtlessly tossing old homework over his shoulder to clutter the hallway behind him that he discovered his sunglasses were missing. Normally, it shouldn't have been a big deal: Things were stolen out of people's lockers all the time, whether it was because of material value, or if it was out of pure, idiotic spite. But after everything that happened to him, and after all that he had experienced while battling Slade with his team for several years, Robin knew the significance.

He's been here…

The teen bit his lip and, reluctantly, shouldered his backpack and took off down the hall, feet thudding and screeching as he headed for the exit. He felt awkward and naked without some sort of way to disguise his identity from the man's spies that haunted the streets.

God, did he wish he had his mask…

Robin was almost to the front doors, mind still reeling with half-attempts at trying to formulate some sort of plan, when a firm hand reached out and grabbed his arm; the teen gave a violent twitch, expecting the worse…

"Mr. Grayson, I've had enough of this!" Mr. Smith hissed venomously, turning him around so that they were face to face; the teacher was practically purple with frustration and disbelieving rage as he gave Robin's arm a slight wrench and pulled him back from the doors.

"This behavior is completely unacceptable! Frankly, I refuse to let this go on any longer. I will not stand by and permit you to do as you please; now, I don't know what kind of school you attended prior to here, but I will have you know that it is not Gotham Public Highschool! We have strict rules here, and they are meant to be either followed…"

He went on and on with his lecture, but Robin was no longer paying him any attention. His eyes, constantly darting towards the door in his desperation of fleeing, had been drawn to a dark car parked in an alleyway across the street, and the two strangers that were leaning patiently on the hood.

"…so you will simply have to adapt, or else suffer the consequences that I have mentioned. I can hardly take you to Mr. Daniels just after your meeting. Therefore, you will return to my classroom until the period is over—yes, Mr. Grayson, I was suspicious of your actions, and was forced to leave my class completely unsupervised, all because of you—and then I will accompany you to his office. Perhaps we can even convince your father to come in, to attend a meeting regarding your future. Now…come along…"

Mr. Smith took a firmer hold on his arm, and began to pull Robin back along the hallway where he had come, towards his classroom…the Boy Wonder was still squinting, trying to get a better view of the strangers—

One lifted his head at that precise moment, and returned the boy's stare with narrow, inhuman eyes.

That was all Robin needed to motivate him. With a sharp twist of his arm, he managed to pull from Mr. Smith's grip, and flew off down the opposite hallway, heading towards the back of the school.

"Drones," he grunted beneath his breath. "I knew it…"

Smith was far behind him, yelling his head off for him to get back here, and for someone to stop him. A second later, though, there was a loud bang—ringing out like a gunshot in the quiet atmosphere of the school—as the front doors were blown apart by the two drones, bolting after him. Robin gulped down air and ran even faster.

"STOP HIM!" roared Mr. Smith, the last words the dark-haired teen heard him utter, before he screeched around another corner, and the teacher's voice faded away…unlike the pursuing footsteps behind him that seemed to grow only closer and closer, the harder he ran.

Robin, taking hold of the wall at the end of yet another hallway, practically flung himself around the corner, stumbling only once as he noticed the long flight of stairs that loomed before him; and then he leapt forward, grabbing hold of the railing and sliding down it easily. He landed softly at the bottom, to avoid causing too much noise and cast his gaze this way and that…

The old janitor's room caught his eye, and he tiptoed over to the door, opening it just a crack before slinking inside.

What now! C'mon, think…

There was a collection of grimy mops and brooms propped in one corner. Robin chose one broom that looked particularly battered, and positioning it carefully, brought the ball of his foot down on the end of it, snapping the handle cleanly. It wasn't as good as his old bo-staff…but it would have to do for the moment…

The two drones had come to the staircase now, and Robin crouched down just beyond the door's opening to watch and wait for them, the broom's handle clutched tightly in his sweaty palms. They descended cautiously, heads swiveling this way as they searched for clues to where he had gone to, all the while growing dangerously closer and closer to the closet.

One of them reached out a hand towards the handle…

And Robin burst forth, surging out of the dust and darkness, taking them by the surprise as he swung the handle at their bodies with lightning speed. It took him only two swings to remove the heads from their bodies. Unfortunately; it was also at that time that a young freshman had excused herself from class to go to the bathroom. She had set barely one foot in the hallway when she caught sight of Robin standing over the decapitated robots with part of a dirty old broom in his hands. He stared at her, alarmed by his sudden audience.

Please don't scream…

The girl took a deep breath and began shrieking hysterically at the top of her lungs. Robin cringed, and backed away.

WHAM! WHAM! WHAM!

Door after classroom door was thrown open by surprised or aggravated teachers, with their students crowding around behind them to see what the problem was, each of them staring at Robin in turn with a look of bewilderment plastered on their faces. He did the only thing he could do, for he knew that pandemonium was about to erupt throughout the school; he dropped the broom handle and fled, navigating his way towards the back of the school. There was a staircase he knew of there that could take him up to the roof, which, at the moment, looked to be his only possible way out.

At least there were no more drones…

Yet.

--------------------------

There had been a lock on the door at the top of the stairwell, most likely placed there to prevent "problem students" from using the roof as a place to stir up mischief; however, the metal was rusted and would have been easy to pick for any of the troublemakers in the school. It only took Robin a leisurely round house kick to smash the lock open, and slip through the opening; he used a piece of scrap metal that was lying along the roof to slide through the handle, to hold the door against anyone who might be following him.

As he strode along the rooftop, Robin could only begin to imagine the scene that was taking place below him; plenty of his peers, all crowded around and craning their necks to try and get a better view of the drones that were sprawled across the floor…the girl that had found him was probably in the teacher's lounge or something, being comforted by her best friends and gulping down mugs of cocoa as some teacher constantly pressed her, trying to learn more from her about what had happened…someone was bound to call the police to come and investigate the scene…geez, when Bruce got wind of this (and Robin had no doubt in his mind that the Knight would), he was going to have a field day.

The police…that reminded him of the British secretary with the gun…he almost wondered what was going to happen to her, if the cops found her out. While he hadn't exactly taken an immediate liking to her (the gun being jammed in his face probably had something to do with it), he still certainly appreciated her letting him go, and promising not to turn him into Slade—although what was the promise of a criminal anyway? Besides…maybe it had all been according to plan, to warn him, and then to let him go, so that the two drones could find him.

He had reached the end of the roof by now, and had discovered, much to his dismay, the lack of a fire escape.

"Shoot…"

He had warned himself not to expect one, but to be prepared for whatever obstacle might place itself in his way this time…still, he'd rather been hoping…it would certainly had made his life easier.

Robin took a step back and examined the distance between the school's roof, and the next building's; it was a few feet at least, but…the Boy Wonder peeked over again, noting how distant the ground below seemed.

The door behind him rattled.

Teachers? He wondered grimly, or something else?
From the way that the handle was being shaken viciously, almost as if whoever was on the other side was trying to break the door off its hinges, he had a fair idea of what was on the other side. Robin turned back to the rooftops.

There's really no reason to start being scared now. Honestly, the height's not that bad, he tried to tell himself. You've handled much worse before. This should be no big deal...

"MOM! DAD!" He screamed, as his parents fell to the ground…only for them to drift back up into the air, so that he could watch their deaths repeat again and again.

Why was he thinking of last night, why!And at this time, too? All he should be concentrating on now, as far as he was concerned, was exactly how he was going to get away this time… and the only possible way of leaving looked like jumping to the next rooftop…and the next one after that, and the one after that…

"Just take a deep breath," he told himself firmly. "Just suck it in—"

What if I fall like them? What if, what if…?

—"MOM! DAD!"

"—and do it."

The door to the rooftop burst open, the piece of metal he'd used to block it breaking in half, and, just as he had been expecting, two new drones stepped out.

Robin backed up a couple steps, shooting a brief look over his shoulder at the robots, before he screwed his eyes shut…and hurtled forward, flinging himself out across the open space, and landed on his hands and knees, tearing his jeans and leaving scrapes and bruises on the impact areas. He barely paid any attention to these, and, without looking back to see if they were following or not, began sprinting over this next new roof, and jumping forward into oblivion, landing just as roughly on the next building's top.

--------------------------

After what felt like hours of laborious panting, of sweat trickling down the back of his neck, and of leaping between buildings, constantly searching for some way down, Robin had the luck to stumble across a fire escape. The drones were still behind him, but he had, fortunately, put a fair amount of distance between him and them—and he intended to keep it that way.

The Boy Wonder promptly grabbed a hold of the railing and, propping his feet up on the slick metal bars as well, slid down the entire length of the escape, ignoring his burning palms and the several times he'd come close to slipping, letting go, and hurtling down to the ground below.

As soon as the soles of his sneakers made contact with pavement, he sprinted off, without even a backward glance to see if he was still being followed.

Outside the alleyway, he was met by a loud, blaring intersection; the streets were dominated by speeding cars, with screeching breaks and blaring horns, and the sidewalks were crowded with people of every shape and size; Robin was bustled along by the multitudes of people, pushing and shoving him this way and that. No one would pay attention to some stupid, punk teenager looking like he had been up to no good recently—especially in Gotham City…

…Although if that certain stupid, punk teenager was being chased by a bunch of menacing strangers that were ruthlessly pushing their way past people to get to him, then there might be a few citizens that would be alarmed.

Why won't they give up already? Robin thought, teeth gritted in aggravation and mounting anxiety, as he bolted and shoved his way past people to get to the crosswalk (his only hope for escape at the moment, it seemed). No matter what I do…darn it, how could I have been so dumb, not to be expecting them, and after Crane too!

The end of the curb was drawing close now, and, to his devastation, the lights showed no indication of changing soon. There was no way to turn, and no way to slip through to escape…except if…

Robin stumbled to a halt and looked over his shoulder, at the drones that were about fifteen feet away now; the tips of his sneakers just barely extended over the edge of the concrete sidewalk, and he swayed there for a moment, feeling the crowd pressing in on him, and hearing the shrill, startled cries of civilians behind him, mind racing, debating, as his reason began crumbling under the impending force that was his resolve.

"I really am an idiot," he mumbled, before he took a deep breath…and jumped off the curb into the center of intersection.

Cars and trucks rushed by, the wind tugging at his hair and clothes; horns from every which way blared at him, and tires screeched and skidded as their drivers tried their best to avoid hitting him. Robin glanced over his shoulder, and, sure enough, the drones were still on his tail, watching him from where they still hesitated on the sidewalk, while people went scurrying away in fear…

And a moment later, they began to follow him, wading through traffic to where he stood at the middle. The Boy Wonder gulped, and tore off in one direction, leaping right and left, as he dodged the vehicles speeding toward him; he focused all his will on removing himself from danger's way, just at the very last minute, being as reckless and stupid as possible as his body and reflexes would permit him, trying to throw the drones off of his trail…but he didn't dare look back to see if his plan was working or not.

Almost automatically, he wondered what Bruce or Alfred, or the Titans would think if they could see him at the moment. Poor Alf would probably have a heart attack.

I wonder if Slade's watching me…

That thought particularly disturbed him, and he glanced up at the buildings that lined the crammed street—almost expecting to see the masked man observing his every move—and paid for his waning concentration by getting brought back to reality with a semi's horn raging in his ear as it headed straight for him.

Robin didn't even have time to calculate what would be the safest, or the most practical way to avoid getting plowed over; he raced right for the front of the truck and, at the last minute, brought one foot up to plant itself the grill at the head of the semi; and then pushed forward, launching himself into a graceful somersault through the air, and landing neatly on the truck's roof, as if it was a daily occurrence for him to go flipping over cars.

There was a metallic crunching noise beneath the truck's tires, and the teen didn't bother to suppress a self-satisfied smile at knowing that at least one of the drones had not been able to avoid being destroyed…although that grin soon faded when he saw three robots clambering up the back of the semi, empty eyes locked onto him.

Robin slowly got to his feet, while all the time, the drones crept closer and closer, pressing their bodies to the roof of the truck, to keep themselves from losing their balance and being blown backward onto the street again. The Boy Wonder remained patient, waiting until he was perfectly steady on his feet (for the truck was swerving this way and that slightly, no doubt caused by the driver's panic) and then turned and dashed forward, and over the edge of the truck; the ball of his foot connected with the windshield, and sent him flying forward, landing in a crouch position. He immediately rolled off to the side—relieved that he had landed on the median—and watched, tempted to give a mocking wave goodbye to the drones that were still trapped on the semi as the truck sped away down the road.

Once he'd crossed the street, he began bolting forward, no destination in mind, and in no particular direction. He just had to keep running, and, in the process, perhaps find some refuge to rest in.

His breath was coming shorter, harsher, and his lungs were burning as he kept jogging, only vaguely aware that he was heading into a darker, less occupied part of town. Maybe…maybe there would be some musty old building that he could duck into, wait, and watch to see if there were any other drones following, or some secret street opening that would lead to further evasion.

The first alleyway that he saw, he turned into. He had barely taken three steps into the entrance when he noticed, with a sinking heart, the tall, chain link fence that blocked his way. And only a moment after that, he heard the familiar, hollow footsteps in the distance. From the sound of it, there were many more robots this time…and after relaxing and hiding for a month, he was no longer confident of his abilities, should their encounter become a fight.

Robin bit his lip, before he took hold of the fence and began scaling as fast possible; behind him, he heard the troop of drones that were pursuing him arrive, and he tried to climb faster, the metal cutting into his sweaty palms, and slicing his flesh. And, just as he halfway up, and about to deal with the problem of the barbed wire at the top—

A clawed hand shot up, fingers closing around his ankle, dragging him back down to the ground. The Boy Wonder gritted his teeth and hung on for all his might, pulling against the robot's grip, while his hands became slippery with his blood. He couldn't let go, if it was the last thing he did; if he gave up, they'd…they'd…

More and more hands flew up, latching onto both of his legs now, wrenching him downward…there was one more vicious tug—and then he released the fence, unable to take the agony any longer.

He fell back, back to the earth, back slamming against the hard ground, the blow knocking all the wind out of him and making him cough and sputter for air. He tried his best to fight them off, but there were too many…at least nine or ten, all smothering him, holding him down, or dragging him to his feet…he felt blows against his body…

Robin was yanked up into a slouching position, two robots holding his arms still on either side. He struggled, but they held tight, and one backhanded him across the face; just as Slade would have done. Another one's fist sunk itself into his stomach, causing him to double over. God…was he so useless, and so out of practice, that he couldn't even fight back against Slade's drones? He had to try…he had to try and fight.

They continued to beat on him, hitting, or kicking him mercilessly, while he weakly attempted to defend himself, lashing out with his legs to either drive them backwards, or block their attacks. They kept…striking his head for some reason, their blows so powerful that multi-colored bursts of light were erupting before his eyes, temporarily blinding him…he had to keep driving them backwards, or he was going to be knocked out soon…

And then he realized that was exactly what they wanted.

"No…no, no, NO!"

Please, he thought hopelessly, slipping further into the growing darkness. Please…don't let them take me back to him

Another vicious punch struck the side of his scalp, and he couldn't see straight for a second, but he pushed on, straining to keep his consciousness.

Somebody, somebody…anybody; please help me…

--------------------------

Dear Ms. Canter,

I'm terribly sorry to trouble you with this, and at such short notice, but I was wondering if you would be willing to allow Rose to miss school for a month or so, and fly back to Chicago to stay with us. I know that it will be stressful for her to catch up in her studies, but I also know that she is a diligent student, and I have great faith in her that she will pick up quickly on what she has missed during her absence. I thank you for your patience, and your understanding.

Sincerely,

Margaret Madison.

With slow deliberation, Ms. Canter, the principal of Gotham's Boarding School for Young Women, set the note down upon her desk and surveyed the tearful student seated across from her.

"This is certainly unexpected news," she announced emotionlessly, though from the way her gray eyes squinted behind her thin glasses, it revealed that she was not caught off guard in the least. "I would hate to pry into personal business, but could you explain to me why exactly you need to miss school for an entire month, Rose?"

Rose Wilson-Worth, for it had been stated for the record the first time the girl had arrived at the school that she preferred to go under her biological parents' surnames, gave a dramatic sniff, and wiped away a tear that had been trailing down her cheek.

"M—Margaret's mother is ill, and in the hospital. She and Mark are worried about whether she may make it or not—" Rose's voice cracked with grief, but Ms. Canter simply continued to stare.

"—And I know she's not my actual grandmother…but she's been so good to me, and I couldn't bear the thought of her dying, and I missing my chance to say goodbye and that I love her one last time…"

At this point, Rose was so swept up in her explanation, that she could not go on any farther, but rather rest her head in her hands and weep silently. Ms. Canter only raised an eyebrow, and shifted in her seat.

"Is that so?"

The girl heaved a sigh and nodded her consent.

"I see…"

Ms. Canter closed her eyes and laced her fingers together to rest her chin upon them.

"And your foster parents truly wish you to return home?"

Rose, who had withdrawn a conveniently placed handkerchief from her pocket, blew her nose loudly, as an answer.

"I see," Ms. Canter said again. "Well, I wouldn't want to go against their wishes; and I certainly wouldn't want to deny you the opportunity of visiting Mrs. Madison's grandmother, if it truly looks to be the last time you may see her again. Are you leaving today, by the way?" She added, and at this last question, she hunched forward in a manner remarkably similar to that of a vulture regarding a dead animal as its next meal; her slate-gray eyes remained hard and unconvinced.

Rose sniffed, and nodded her head.

"Mark and Margaret don't want to leave home, in case they might be needed. They told me to take a cab from school to the airport, and that one of them would meet me back in Chicago. I have the airport ticket that they sent along with the letter." The girl extracted the three o' clock flight ticket from California to Chicago from her pocket and laid it on the desk, as if presenting a piece of evidence in a courtroom to a skeptical judge. Ms. Canter's gaze flicked over to it for only a second, to confirm its authenticity, before she returned her drilling stare back to her student.

"Very well, then. I suppose you'll need to be leaving for the airport soon, then? Yes; then I'll make a call to the teachers that were to have you in their classes today, to alert them that you will not be attending. We wouldn't want them to think that you were skipping school, would we?" Canter gave a pinched, humorless smile, and Rose returned it with a watery and equally insincere grin of her own.

"I'll just go get my things from my room and locker, and then I'll be on my way," the girl stated, getting to her feet and smoothing the wrinkles out of the pleated skirt that was her uniform; Ms. Canter mimicked her, and offered her hand in a sign of farewell.

"Goodbye, Rose. We shall miss you while you are gone."

"Goodbye ma'am. I'll…uh…miss you too," Rose stuttered out, and left the office. Ms. Canter glared after her for a moment or two, waiting until the sound of the girl's footsteps had completely faded down the hallway, before she sank into the armchair behind her desk and picked up the phone, dialing slowly and deliberately…

--------------------------

Rose, however, did not head to the dorm room that she shared with the four other girls at the boarding school to begin packing up her possessions, but instead to her locker, tossing her ivory colored hair carelessly over her shoulder as she shoveled the contents into her backpack. Then, with a quick glance around to make sure that the hallway was completely deserted, the teenager dashed over to the cluttered, abandoned janitor's closet across the way, and shut the door behind her with a quick snap. She ducked down, behind the shelves stocked with containers of cleaning liquids, and assorted clutters of brooms and mops, to where she had stashed her duffel a few nights earlier, and withdrew her cell phone from its front pocket—just as it began to ring. Rose cleared her throat once, took a deep gulp of air, and answered.

Right on cue.

"Hello?" She asked, in a near perfect imitation of Margaret. "Margaret Madison speaking, who is this?"

"Hello, Mrs. Madison, this is Ms. Canter: The principal of Gotham's Boarding School for Young Women, where your daughter Rose is attending."

"Oh, yes, yes," Rose responded, adopting a polite and warm tone that her foster mother used so often, "how are you? How's our Rose doing in her studies? That is, I'm assuming that's what you're calling about?"

"No need to worry," Canter said smoothly, and her voice suddenly sounded a bit nasally, as if she were starting to come down with a cold; the sound her voice always took on when her principal was about to lie. Rose had listened in to many a phone conversation when she had been home in Chicago to visit with Mark and Margaret, and had listened, barely stifling snorts of utter disbelief, while Ms. Canter had gone on and on about how Rose was a model student, and how her grades were amazing (when in fact, the girl was constantly pulling different pranks on her teachers, occasionally delivering black eyes to one of her prissy, fellow students, and her grades were quite poor—mostly because she just didn't bother applying herself), and feeding her adoptive mom a bunch of crap, just to sound impressive and important.

"Actually, I was calling to say that I have no qualms about Rose's long absence from school, and that she is on her way to pack for the trip" Canter answered smoothly and slyly. "Oh, by the way: How is your poor mother?"

Rose resisted the urge to burst out cackling triumphantly, and quickly pretended to choke on a sob.

"M—my mother? She's…she's been sleeping for awhile now. I'm so glad that she's been able to rest, after all the long examinations that she's been going through…they'll be operating in a day or two…did Rose explain the situation to you?"

Ms. Canter coughed, and the teenage girl knew that she had been thrown off, just as she had been expecting.

"W—wha? Oh, err, yes. She told me that the prospects do not look too, um, good. I'm glad to know that she's comfortable at the moment. I sincerely hope that everything turns out well."

Not a bad recovery, for a tough, stingy old bird, Rose admitted mentally to herself, as she settled into a more comfortable position on the dusty, concrete floor.

"As am Mark and I…is Rose on her way?"

"She should be."

"You—you have called her teachers, haven't you? I wouldn't want them to think that she was purposely trying to avoid class or anything horrid of the sort—"

"No, no, Mrs. Madison. Rest assured all has been taken care of. You have no need to worry. Just be with your mother at the moment. I hope Rose has a safe journey. Um, have a nice day."

"Yes, you too. And thank you. It means so much, to know that you take such good care and interest in your students and their family life," Rose said quietly, shoulders shaking with giggles begging to be released. She could only begin to imagine Canter, sitting in her uptight, cramped office, face flushed red with embarrassment at the insinuation of being a busybody.

"Well, goodbye."

"Yes, goodbye."

Click, went the other line.

Rose flung her phone into her backpack and, leaping to her feet, pumped her fist in the air in silent celebration. She could hardly believe her luck—that nosy, stuck up principal of hers had bought every single word!

Half skipping with elation, Rose picked up her duffel with one hand, and her backpack with the other, and burst out of the closet, heading for exit cheerfully. She should have been at least a little bit relieved, or even the tiniest bit nervous. After all, so many things could have wrong: When she had hacked into the school's system, to change her foster parent's cellphone number on the contacts list to her own, security could have denied her the authority to do so; Canter could have refused to release her, without leaving a message on the answering machine at home, wanting even more proof, or she could have insisted that someone chaperone her; she could have compared the forged signature on Rose's note to other documents that Margaret had signed, and noticed the small imperfections and mistakes in the recent note that did not appear in the other samples of handwriting.

But that was the best part of it all, the peak of the thrill of getting away with something: Knowing the many risks…and doing it anyway.

Rose kicked the front door of building open and walked outside, where what was sure to be a beautiful day awaited her.

--------------------------

Fifteen minutes later, Rose was emerging from a restaurant nearby the school; she had dumped her "prissy uniform," and promptly changed into a leather jacket, heelless black boots, a pair of beat up blue jeans, and a white T-shirt. With a fresh bounce in her step, Rose held her head up high and strolled down the street, admiring how much fresher the air smelled that morning, now with the promise of freedom.

An entire month to do what ever she pleased…

Man, she was going to have some fun.

She was already planning out her schedule for the remainder of the week, when a pair of motorcycles went speeding by, motors roaring each time they were revved. Rose watched them go, blue eyes alight with awe, and envy at the reckless riders. She'd always dreamed of owning a bike…Rose had been saving money for ages, in the hopes of being able to buy one someday, even if it wasn't the greatest model in the world…yet somehow, for every five dollars she put aside, fifteen more had always slipped through her fingers…

Oh well; she'd visit a bike shop tomorrow to walk around and examine different motorcycles. Maybe she'd even be able to get a job there. Of course, more important things came first, like finding a hotel room to stay in during her break from school.

As Rose wandered down the sidewalk, she couldn't help thinking of Margaret and Mark—what would happen to her, should they ever find out she'd ditched. Somewhere, a tiny kernel of her mind was guilty at going around behind their backs, and forging their signatures. She knew they had sent her to a good school in Gotham, just so she was able to get a good education, and here she was, throwing it to the winds to make way for more interesting ways to pass time, than reading text books and learning mathematics. She was taking advantage of their trust, because they had expected her to be responsible without their constant supervision...

But it was only a month: It wasn't as if she was going to miss anything terribly important, and she'd catch up with no problem when she came back.

At least, that was what she kept telling herself.

Rose shook off her guilt and slowed her pace to a relaxed stroll, admiring the architecture of Gotham as she moved along, and pondering hotels she could go to that wouldn't question her checking in by herself. If she had to, she supposed she could always lie—a big, dramatic sob story always seemed to do the trick—and then top it off with a wad of cash from her bank account to make sure nobody said anything…

The girl was almost a block away from her school, and shadier looking buildings and shops were becoming more frequent now. A few homeless men leered out at her from side-streets, yet Rose remained unconcerned.

Let them try, she thought with a small smirk. She continued to walk by proudly.

…Presently, however, she began to hear noises from an upcoming alleyway; small, at first, and she first assumed that it was a scuffle between a couple of animals. But, as she drew closer, she began to hear grunts, and the sound of blows being delivered between several people.

"It's not my problem," she grumbled to herself, "not my fight…"

Yeah, right. Rose could never turn away from a brawl, and she crept up to the alley; then, taking a deep breath, she peered around the corner, expecting to see a couple of gang members screwing around. But…instead—

Rose let out a gasp that made the fighters freeze, and swivel their heads to face her, but she was so shocked, she could have cared less.

"Oh my gosh," she whispered in shock. "Richard?"

Raven-

"For the last time," Raven explained with a hint of anger in her voice, "I already told you. I'm fine. I'm not sick, I'm not going into a meltdown, or anything like that. I'm perfectly normal!"

Cyborg crossed his arms over his massive chest and stared down at her doubtfully.

"You were screaming. You call that normal?"

Raven bit her lip.

"Look, I don't know what that was all about. But does it really matter? I am all right now, and there's no need for you to be concerned. For all we know, this could be like Starfire and her zit; maybe I'm on the verge of discovering some sort of new power I have? Trust me, the whole incident was harmless. Now, let me through."

Raven tried to sidestep him, and Cyborg moved to block her, now frowning. The Goth let out a tiny groan of exasperation.

"You shouldn't be so weird about this," she complained. "I feel perfect."

Cyborg let out a snort.

"Then you obviously don't remember last night."

His words made her hesitate and Raven took a step backward as she asked uncertainly:

"...What happened to me last night?"

Her friend shook his head and sighed.

"After you collapsed on the porch, Beast Boy and I put you up in your room, with Starfire hovering near by. We decided we were all going to take turns watching you, so that when you woke up, you wouldn't be alone, and someone could explain everything. Star was going to watch first, but then, BB and I weren't five seconds out of the door, before Star started screaming her head off; we came rushing back in, and you were lying on the bed with your back arched, your eyes completely blackened. And from the way you were screaming, someone might have thought we were killing you."

Raven was staring at him, her expression blank.

"Somehow, we managed to tie you down to the bed with the sheets, even though you kept jerking, and shrieking, and making the furniture throw itself all over the room; it was pretty hectic. Beast Boy kept dancing around, trying to run for cover, and Starfire just went on staring at you, horrified. She never saw you act that way before, Rae. So…after that…you calmed down a little bit, and stopped moving so much, Beast Boy gave up our room to Star, and slept down on the couch…and I stayed with you."

He cocked his head to one side, and demanded, almost in a jeering sort of way:

"You still think you're feeling perfect?"

Raven had no retort to throw back at him.

"For today, you're going to stay in here and rest," he ordered, heading toward the door. "I'll be right outside if you need anything. Just relax. You're not missing out on anything."

Flashing a warm smile, Cyborg pulled the door closed behind him; it shut with a loud snap, and Raven heard, with a twinge of aggravation the sound of a lock clicking after it; she stared hard at the door, half considering whether or not she should try blowing it to smithereens, and then flung herself on to her bed with a huff, and a shake of her head. Her three friends were being stupid; how could they think there was anything wrong or bad going on with her? Even if she had lost it slightly last night—it wasn't as if she questioned their honesty or anything like that—, if she had gotten over it by this morning, it shouldn't have been anything particularly severe. But, of course…after Holocaust and Slade's brutal attempts on their life last month, all of them had been a little jumpy when another of their team was even the tiniest bit injured. And, with Robin not being with them, and instead completely isolated in an entirely different city…

Raven got to her feet and crossed to the window, resting her forehead against the cool panes of glass, her deep, intuitive eyes scanning Jump, and the very edge of Gotham, far in the distance.

Dark laughter, inhuman in every aspect, drifted lethargically through her mind—a black reminder of past events that she wished, with all her heart, would just erase themselves; as if they had never happened in the first place. To forget...to forget…

Last night…she remembered that cackle from last night…Raven's brow creased, and she sank to her knees, until her chin rested on the window sill, body slumping forward, dragged down by her weighted emotions. Why had she heard that…? There was always an explanation for these things…and…she remembered something else…those premonitions, that had followed that dreadful sound…

The Goth withdrew from the window to sit back on her heels, now suddenly aware of a heavier presence coating the air that morning; of the dark clouds far off along the horizon that she hadn't noticed before, the sign of an imminent thunderstorm later that day.

Omens, she thought with a twinge of apprehension.

Everything is happening all over again, just like before.

Beast Boy-

"I am concerned, for friend Raven," Starfire stated nervously, as she and Beast Boy picked their way over the wreckage towards the bonfire that had been burning the heaps of garbage they'd collected over the past week and a half; Cyborg had asked them to stop by, before they proceeded to the city to see what the other workers were up to.

Beast Boy paused, grunting as he yanked at one of his crutches that had gotten trapped in the muck, before he freed himself and nodded in agreement.

"Yeah, I know what you mean; seriously, she was totally freaking out last night. I wonder what got to her."

Starfire sighed.

"Ever since our home was destroyed by Slade, I have felt nothing but weary. Perhaps Raven's actions were…caused by this?"

The changeling was silent for a long while.

"We've all been kind of stressed, Star. 'Sides, you might be right about Rae; we all know how her emotions kind of make her flip sometimes. But, I don't know. I think it might be something else."

The alien girl looked fascinated at this offhand remark, and she drew closer to her green friend.

"What is it, do you think?"

"Well," he began, discomforted by her penetrating and wondering stare. "Back in August…well, I mean, you were in the hospital when all the weird stuff happened…um…well, back in August, Raven sort of started having little vision thingies about the future in her dreams—what was going to happen to all of us, and…stuff like that…I'm still not sure about what happened with her last night, and if she was having another vision, or something. But…" He didn't speak for a long time, and his eyes glazed over and stared off into the distance. It was too much for Starfire to bear, and, at length, she prodded him gently.

"Friend Beast Boy? What is it?"

The changeling blinked, and stared at her for a moment, as if he had never seen anything quite like her before.

"Oh…I…just thought it was weird. The bonfire for the garbage is already out. There's so much junk, I…I thought it would be burning longer."

Starfire looked in that direction.

"Should we perhaps inspect the cause of its delay?"

"Yeah…c'mon; we'll talk later."

The two Titans struggled over the hills of wreckage and trash, until they came to the fire's area…but the sight that awaited their eyes was not what they had been expecting in the least.

Policemen from Gotham were swarming the scene, and two coroners were sighing in regret, as they drew two bodies onto stretchers and carried them to a nearby helicopter…the corpses were the two men whose duty had been to oversee the burning.

Beast Boy and Starfire approached one of the officers in charge, who was barking out orders to inspect the scene.

"Pardon," Starfire interjected, and the policeman turned; from the look on his face, it was obvious that he was relieved to see them. "But what has taken place?"

"We're not really that sure," the man admitted, wiping his face with a grimy hand and covering a yawn. "We've got up here early this morning, because a worker thought that there had been a problem when the fire went out early. We found those two—" He nodded at the departing helicopter. "—dead; burned up to so bad a crisp, we were hardly able to identify them. At first, we thought it was an accident…but there looks like there was nothing wrong with the bonfire last night, so we're thinking some loony-bin might have come by and attacked—hey! What are you doing?"

Beast Boy paid no mind to the yelling directed at him, but struggled towards the junk pile and began digging and sifting through it as best as he could, all the while muttering, "he's not here…where is he, he's not here…"

"Friend Beast Boy?" Starfire called anxiously to him. "Is there something that is troubling you?"

The changeling turned to face her with wide, frightened eyes and pale hue to his cheek, and the alien girl was taken aback by the sudden change that had come over him.

"Is there something troubling you?" She repeated urgently.

"He's…he's not here…he's not here…I—I have to go!" He called over his shoulder to her, and, before she could protest, he released his crutches and morphed into a hawk, flying off into the sky. Starfire could only watch him go.

Amelia-

What with all the commotion going on in the hall about two odd, mechanical strangers barging in, only to get their heads whacked off in a very brutal manner by one of the students, Amelia had figured it best for her to make her escape before anyone actually needed her that day, or noticed that she actually existed.

Amelia briskly swept about the miniscule office area, throwing several papers off the desk in search of the few possessions she brought with her on the job; the gun that she used to threaten the kid with, she tucked in her skirt pocket.

And, finally, the finishing touches: A long coat that swept down to her ankles and a pair of sunglasses to keep people from recognizing her and dragging her back to the school for questioning. Amelia knew how police's minds worked; if she had been one of the last people to see him, they would bombard her ridiculous questions, half of which weren't very important in the first place, and half of which she wouldn't even have an answer for. One slip up and they'd drag her, kicking and screaming if they had to, down to the station, and accuse her of some idiotic charge, like she was part of a drug circle they'd recently been investigating, and she'd kidnapped or killed the boy because he found out all about her, and…

Blah, blah, blah.

As much as she wanted to help the kid, to get even with Wintergreen, he wasn't worth that much trouble…

Still.

The British woman felt the tiniest pang of guilt as she remembered the boy's reaction after she had given the small spiel that Wintergreen had ordered her to say. He seemed, if not stupid, stubborn, and a bit bratty, like a nice kid, and she hated thinking about what might be in store for him next.

When she'd drawn the gun and told him who she was working for…

Amelia ran a hand through her hair, a bad habit of hers that she'd been trying to break for some time now. Even though it had been her strict policy for many, many years to only "look out for number one," she quietly promised herself that if she ever stumbled across him again, she'd try to help him…but mostly just because she knew it would annoy William Wintergreen and his…secretive employer…

"So, if you hate Slade so bad, why are you helping him?"

"Who's Slade? I was talking about Wintergreen—?"

"Who the heck is Wintergreen? Aren't you helping Slade?"

Hmm…

She knew that she should just forget about it and take off, and try to relax and enjoy her day before she had to meet up with Wintergreen that night…after all, this whole mess really wasn't her problem, and there was no need for her to get more wrapped up in it than she already was…but her curiosity was such a powerful force, and Amelia sank back carefully into the chair behind the desk.

Her fingers trembling, out of excitement and the fearful unknown of what she might be about to discover, Watson opened a search engine on the computer and typed in:

'Who is Slade?'

Slade-

The tip of a silver needle on the table before him shimmered briefly as it was cast into light, before falling back into the shadows along with everything else; Slade, comfortably reclining in his chair, tilted the syringe this way and that, looking on with vague interest as the liquid within floated up and down.

It seemed only yesterday, when the first injection had pierced his skin…had first flowed through his veins, infecting him with the gift and curse that he now bore…

There was a light step behind him, followed by:

"What is that?" Came the clipped British tone behind him, voice edged with wonder and curiosity, and Slade smiled behind the mask and lifted the syringe above his head, just enough that it could be made out in the thin light from the panels that stretched across the wall. The grin widened as he heard the expected gasp from Wintergreen.

"Is that…?"

"Yes. It is."

"But how—?"

"My dear friend, I have my ways."

Wintergreen snorted.

"That, I don't doubt. But…I thought…perhaps the army was still in possession of them?"

"All but a few; during the time I was supposedly 'dead,' I spent some time collecting necessary items that would be key to my plan, and storing them here."

Slade reached under the desk and withdrew a small black suitcase, which he handed to Wintergreen.

"These were some of them."

William, still somewhat dumfounded, bent to place the case on the floor, undoing the latches to peer inside.

"You have three, though," he announced, frowning, as he shut the case. "What on earth are you going to do with them?"

"All in due time, my friend," Slade replied complacently, and took the briefcase to place the third syringe snugly inside.

"Things need to be taken in moderation. Concentrate more on the events that are taking place now, even as we speak…"

On cue, the screens flickered to life, and both villains turned to watch, through the eyes of one of the drones that Slade had deployed, the struggle taking place in one of the backstreets of Gotham.

The one-eyed criminal, in spite of himself, couldn't help but lean forward slightly as Robin came into view, and give a reminiscent chuckle as the boy continued to put up a valiant, but, in the end, utterly useless fight. It seemed as if even the Boy Wonder knew it himself, for though he was on the verge of blacking out, the two bright blue eyes were still struggling to stay open…

And, just then, at his moment of triumph, everything came crashing down.

"Oh my gosh…Richard?"

A voice, its owner just outside the drone's range of vision: It was young and female, and interestingly so, as the tone was light in nature, but with darker, underlying emotions disguised beneath—like the owner was doing her best to hide away past grievances; it was also painstakingly familiar.

Slade watched, eye widening more and more as the drone shifted its gaze from the struggling boy it was attacking, to a solitary figure with startlingly white hair standing at the entrance of the alleyway.

Rose.

And a split second later, to his utmost horror, the drone began to charge, bent on annihilating the sole witness to the event.

--------------------------

Robin was still sagging in the drones' grip, jaw slack as it hung open, and a dazed expression on his face; he…he had almost forgotten that time, even thought it had only been little over a month since then, when he had posed as another average teenager to interrogate Rose on what she knew about her father…

His eyes met hers for a split second, and he immediately felt exposed, like all of his secrets were written all over his face, and that she knew the truth.

He pondered vaguely exactly how he was going to keep up the little lie he had told her about being the son of one of her deceased mother's friends after this.

The next thing he knew, however, was that one of Slade's drones that he had been fighting with was advancing on her, gaining speed with every step it took, as it prepared itself to charge her…and probably kill her.

And Rose was just standing there blankly, in as a much of a daze as he was, as if she hardly was sure if she was dreaming or not. There was no way she'd be able to fight off one of Slade's sinister robots. He had had enough trouble as it was, just trying to shake them now and, after at least two years of battling them, he still hadn't succeeded in escaping. If that thing got her, there was no doubt that it would—

Don't just stand there, help her! SNAP OUT OF IT, YOU IDIOT!

"Rose!" Robin screamed, voice cracking in his feeble attempt to wake her up, and she turned her head in his direction, blinking rapidly in confusion.

"Look out!"

The drone was only a few feet away from her, now.

--------------------------

At the exact time that Robin called out with his warning, Slade leapt to his feet in his lair below ground, one massive fist swinging down to pulverize the table before him, and breaking it in half.

He snatched up the communicator that he used to transmit orders to his drones, and, jamming it on, roared out:

"NO!"

--------------------------

Rose swung her gaze back to see the drone drawing back its fist, ready to send her flying with a powerful hit; she opened her mouth, almost as if to scream, but no sound came out, and she took a step backward—

The drone jolted abruptly to a halt, its actions so awkward to the only two human onlookers, that it almost appeared as if its mechanical joints had frozen on the spot, right in the middle of its charge; it lurched forward, thrown off balance by its clumsy stop—

The girl wasted no time, and used its dive forward to her advantage; as it swung towards her, she took another step backward and, altering the position of her feet so that she could keep herself upright, brought her leg up and smashed the drone's head off with a powerful tornado kick; her retaliation was so automatic in nature,

Robin felt his mouth drop open a few more inches, if that was even still possible.

Rose stood stock-still for a few minutes, most likely shocked by the fact that her would-be attacker's head had just exploded in a shower of sparks. And then she met his stare again, and, oddly enough, seemed to become more empowered after her small victory. An eager, battle-thirsty smile creased her lips, and a challenge glinted in her eye.

Three of the other drones started shuffling toward her, and she calmly assumed a fighting position, knees bent in anticipation; they flung themselves at her, and she rushed to meet them, twisting lithely to avoid their blows, and destroying them one by one with remarkable skill.

"Hang on, Richard!" Rose yelled, voice quivering with amusement and fury, as she drove a hole through one of the drone's head with a well placed punch. "I'm coming to help you!" Robin could only watch, mouth opening and closing wordlessly, too astounded to do anything. He had certainly not given Rose enough credit; all along, he'd been under the impression that she was a mature, intellectual girl, but still just an average kid. These techniques that she was using, and the ferocity that she showed in a fight…well—

Rose gave a fierce cry and, vaulting over a heap of garbage, gripped another drone by the neck and twisted it swiftly and efficiently, snapping the head off from the rest of its body.

Oh yeah. He'd totally underestimated her.

One of the drones that had been beating him up while he was helpless had edged away from the group, slinking backward into the shadows until it had circled around behind Rose, in the hopes of striking her off guard, and she had no hope of noticing it in time.

Robin didn't think twice when he saw the danger she was in, but found himself gripping the arms of the robots on either side of him and twisted viciously, snapping their limbs off with ease, and freeing himself.

"Rose, watch out!" He called, and bounded forth a few steps, attracting the attention of the pair of drones closest to him. But as they reached for him, he felt the instinct of the fight rush back to him, and as their hands drew nearer, he took hold of one, and flung it over his shoulder into the wall, before grabbing the other one and ripping its arm off; he impaled it on its own limb, and then lunged for the nearest opponent, allowing his frustration and rage to control him for now.

There was a yell off to his right, and Rose was sent flying his way, though she twisted in midair to avoid hitting the ground, and landed in a crouching position; she would have toppled sideways, but Robin grabbed her arm and pulled her up next to him.

The two of them retreated steadily, until they were back to back, pressed against the fence while the drones formed a semi-circle around them. Robin, briefly wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, turned to face her, and she stared back, cheeks flushed, and that same excited gleam in her eye.

"You think we can take 'em?" He asked her, giving her a confident smile, and held up a fist suggestively.

Rose blinked at it for a moment, before grinning back at him.

"Definitely."

They turned to face the rest of the drones.

Slade-

The screen went blank as the last drone was demolished by Robin, and returned to its typical white, the light emanating it illuminating the otherwise empty, cold lair. Slade felt his body trembling violently, and against his will, as he sank down into his chair.

Rose, Rose, Rose…

He'd been looking for her, perhaps even secretly hoping that he would find her amidst the scum that was Gotham City; he wasn't going to bother to deny that…but he hadn't prepared himself for the shock of seeing her face—actually seeing her!—after so much time had passed. The last they'd been together she'd been so young…she'd still been reeling from Lili's assumed death. He remembered…remembered turning to look at his little girl, and seeing her tear-streaked face and loathed Wade even more for causing Rose such pain

Rose…

Wintergreen was still standing at his side, sputtering and shaking his head, as shocked as he was.

"I…I don't believe it! Was that—it was…"

"Rose…"

"I…" Wintergreen was staring at him now, though whether it was because he also did not know how to respond to the shocking circumstances, or if it was because he was curious as to Slade's reaction.

Deathstroke was barely aware of this, thoughts fogged and chaotic, and he leaned forward to rest his head in his hands; it was a position that indicated weakness, he knew, but he felt, for the first time in a long time, out of control of the events taking place…his plans, the plotting that he had spent so much time and precision on, so perfectly orchestrated before, now seemed on the brink of being dashed to pieces….why couldn't he get a grip on himself? What was wrong with him…?

My Rose…

Why…why did, after years of cold, distant apathy, there were sharp pangs of emotions that he couldn't name coursing through him? Why…was he reacting to her appearance like a complete fool?

Rose…my sweet, poor daughter, Rose…

Robin-

Robin sighed, and gave a long whistle as he examined the damage they had done, wondering what the cops would think when they found the drones' body parts scattered all over the alley.

"You sure know how to fight," he remarked dumbly, still feeling a little thrown from all the insane things that were happening to him that day. Rose returned his compliment with another wide smile, and gave a small, modest laugh.

"Uh, thanks…I had…an interesting childhood…" A flicker of emotion passed her facial features, before she brightened, and continued. "Heck, it wasn't just me, you know. You did a lot of damage yourself."

"Thanks."

"So…" She rocked back and forth slightly, and gave a sheepish chuckle. "Long time, no see."

Robin nodded, and absently kicked one of the drone's scattered limbs.

"Well…I did promise I'd see you around, didn't I?"

"Yup…some reunion, isn't it?" She added, dryly, and Robin couldn't help it; he burst out laughing helplessly, and had to brace a hand against one of the alley's walls to hold himself upright.

"You can say that again…gosh, I'm so tired…these creeps have been chasing me for blocks."

Rose raised a quizzical eyebrow, and stepped lightly around one of the drones, drawing slightly closer to him.

"Geez, you must have seriously pissed them off…whatever they are." Rose was half tempted to ask him what exactly he'd done in the first place to get mixed up with such a whacked-out crowd, but held her tongue. Instead, she asked casually, "Say…what are you doing out of school?"

"I was about to ask you the same thing," Robin informed her, swiftly looking her up and down. "I'm pretty sure that's not the uniform I saw you wearing the first time we met."

Rose blushed, but smiled again, all the same.

"Grandmother's sick," she explained, giving him a wink. "My foster parents are so concerned, that they want me to fly back to Chicago for a month. You?"

"I was in school, up until these weirdoes busted in and began chasing me over half the city. Matter of fact," he said, shoving hair out of his eyes, and keeping up the lie that he had told her the first time they had met, "I better get back, now that everything seems to be okay. I bet the teachers are freaking out, and the cops are there, and everything…I wouldn't want to worry my mother…"

It was at this point that Rose's smile began to fade, inch by careful inch; Robin noticed this with concern.

"Your mother, huh?" She repeated, and there something in the way that she said it that made Robin's heart lurch nervously. What was wrong? Had…had he said something earlier that had given him away? But…how could she know? And more importantly: If she knew, then he was in for a hell of an explanation.

By this time, the girl's grin had disappeared entirely and, frowning and looking him up and down with doubt in her eyes, she announced,

"You're not real, are you?"

Robin blinked.

"Huh?"

"You lied to me, didn't you?" She insisted, now backing away from him, one finger pointing at him in accusation. "You can't be Richard Grayson, so who are you?"

"What the heck are you talking about?" He demanded, utterly lost.

"When we first met," she explained, voice quivering as she sought to control her panic, "you told me that you were Richard Grayson, and that your father knew my mother. And just now, you said your mom would probably be worried about you leaving school. But that's a lie, and we both know it—I know all about Grayson. His parents were murdered when he was eight, and he was adopted by Bruce Wayne. So you can't be him…so, again, who are you?"

(A/N: Remember, in "Face to Face," that one scene in the chapter "Pride Comes Before A Fall," where the perspective was from a question mark? That was Rose, looking up police reports on Robin's past, 'cuz she was slightly suspicious of him. That's what she's talking about. Hope I didn't lose you there, or anything…)

Robin bit his lip and cast a long look about their surroundings, before he stepped close to her; Rose tried to back away again, but he caught her hand, holding her there.

"Look," he whispered. "You've got to believe me—I am Richard Grayson. I…I did lie, when I told you that my dad knew your mom, but I had to."

"…Why?" The girl asked slowly, eyeing him shrewdly. Robin wrestled mentally with himself for a moment.

Crap…do I tell her, or…? Is there any other way to answer, but…

"Well…" he said drearily. "Come here."

He pulled her close and, cupping one hand around her ear.

There was a long silence.

When Rose pulled away this time, it wasn't out of fear, but in awe, and her eyes glowed with new emotion as she regarded the boy before her.

"No way," she said hoarsely, shaking her head.

"Way."

"Oh my gosh…oh my gosh! A—are you serious? You're not just pulling my leg, right? You're…you're…actually…" Rose made several frantic gestures with her hands, as if barely able to utter the words, lest they be false. Robin nodded dully, now berating himself for being so stupid. Great; just absolutely fantastic. He'd just told his worst enemy's own daughter about his secret identity. If the two of them ever met, he was officially screwed.

Rose, in the meanwhile, was pacing frenetically in circles, mumbling.

"You…you and Batman…so, then, you and…" She stared at him quizzically.

"Bruce Wayne."

Crap! The words had come tumbling out of his mouth before he'd even had a chance to consider how serious they might be. Now Bruce's cover was blown too…he should just go off and quietly shoot himself in the head, before he messed up anymore.

Quite the contrary, his female companion seemed to become even more excited after this new, astonishing piece of news, for Rose resumed circling, cheeks flushed bright red.

"Bruce Wayne! As in, the Bruce Wayne? The billionaire? Unbelievable! This is just unbelievable. I—I can't believe this is happening. It's remarkable…who would have thought it? I—I—"

She stopped and turned to Robin again.

"You swear you're not just playing with me?"

"Why would I?" He asked, face perfectly serious, and he met her gaze levelly, until she became uncomfortable, and turned away, muttering to herself again.

At the same time, Robin began noticing how their little fight with the drones had begun to attract a crowd of homeless, and unpleasant looking men; he took Rose by the elbow and started escorting her out of the alleyway, clearing his throat and nodding politely at those they passed.

"Excuse us, please, coming through…"

They made a peculiar couple, striding up the street and back towards the safer part of town. Robin's bottom lip was split; a cut stretched from his cheekbone to past his shirt collar, and faint traces of bruises were just starting to appear on his skin. His jeans and shirt were torn in different areas. Rose was no better, with her pure white hair standing out like a beacon, and her own ripped and mud-covered clothing.

"We look like we've been run over by a bulldozer," Robin remarked darkly, as yet another passerby glanced warily at them.

"Or that we're members of a gang or something…" Rose added helpfully, this comment sending two elderly women scurrying off in the opposite direction in absolute terror.

Robin figured that they had better get off the streets soon.

The bright, fluorescent sign of a diner jumped out at him, and with a light tug on Rose's arm, they crossed over to the doorway and entered.

The noises and scents of a bustling restaurant struck them the instant they stepped inside, and the two of them warily crept around the customers that crowded the front of the diner, taking extra precautions not to step on anyone's toe, or upset the strangers in the least; they approached the counter where middle-aged waitress sat casually, watching the dining customers with boredom.

"Um, excuse me," Robin began, to guarantee that he had her attention. "Could we get a table, please? Maybe…in the corner over there—" He nodded in the direction of the table he was describing. "—where we can talk in private?"

The waitress, who, prior to this statement had been lazily examining her inch-long, hot pink nails, now looked up to give him a sly grin, winking mischievously.

"Ooooh, I gotcha. First date, eh?"

Both teenagers turned bright pink, and began babbling, hardly daring to look at one another out of pure embarrassment. The woman only chuckled under her breath, and seated them where they had requested, handing them two glasses of water and a pair of red plastic menus. And, giving them a final smirk that deepened Robin's blush by several shades of red, she turned and left, heels clacking noisily.

They sat at their booth in total silence, simply staring at one another.

"I…I never thought I'd actually get to personally meet a hero," Rose finally told him, still flushed. "I mean…those kinds of things only happen in comic books and stuff…have I mentioned just how incredible this is?"

"About a dozen times," he informed her, and she offered a timid laugh. He brushed past this and got to the point right away.

"How much do you know about me?"

The girl blinked, before shrugging in an offhand manner.

"Um…I dunno…I hacked into the police files the night of the day when you found me. It told me mostly about what…what Zucco did to your parents. And for you, it just said that, a couple days after their murder, you were adopted by Bruce Wayne—there were adoption records that I found…uh…why do you ask?"

"Curious, that's all," he said, picking an excuse at random. Beneath his calm exterior, though, he felt weary and utterly out of sorts. This was all so screwed up, and everything was happening so fast, so far out of his control…God, why did it have to be Slade's daughter that knew everything about him? Imagine the possibilities that Slade would have, should the two of them ever meet—something that he intended never to take place. He really didn't need this right now…

Robin sighed, and resisted the urge to place his head in his hands. The uncomfortable silence returned, and Rose occupied herself with staring intently at the menu she had received. The waitress stopped by only once more, to refill their glasses and ask them if they were ready to order; upon hearing no reply, she merely shrugged (she'd served weirder customers in her lifetime), and left once more.

It was only when they were completely alone again that Rose cleared her throat.

"Can you…" she started, and then went pink and returned to her menu again. The Boy Wonder, weary from being chased over several city blocks, and with little patience remaining, narrowed his eyes and snatched away the menu that was obscuring her face to look her dead in the eye.

"What? Just say it—what's the worse that could happen?"

Rose blush deepened a few shades and, tracing the rim of her glass, mumbled something inaudible.

"You'll have to speak up," he said irritably, glowering at her. The girl shifted in her spot as she repeated the question, and Robin heard it this time around.

"Can you…you know…tell me more about yourself? It's just…I just want to know about what kind of experiences, or lives you guys have…unless, of course, there's, like, something that forbids you from saying too much to nobodies like me!"

She chuckled nervously, and, from the expression on her face, probably wished that she had her menu back to hide behind. The idea was so comical, that he laughed as well, in spite of himself, and handed it back.

"There's no rule that says I can't tell you anything," he said, raising an eyebrow at her remark, and she waved him off sheepishly. "But…I also can't tell you too much. And whatever I do say is strictly confidential, got it?"

"Oh, totally!" Rose looked almost offended at him even suggesting that she might tell somebody else. "Trust me, I value privacy. I had enough trouble at school with that—with you guys, it must be ten times worse. I can still relate, though."

Robin gave her a long look, sizing her up from head to toe. There was a voice at the back of his mind, firmly convinced that he shouldn't say anymore than he already had, and what he had revealed was bad enough. But there was another part of him…another part telling him to trust her, and to give her a chance as a human being. She may have been Slade's daughter, but it didn't mean she was anything like him; and he refused to make judgments of people before he had gotten to know them better. Besides…it had been so long since he'd had the chance to spill all his emotions and secrets and opinions to somebody, that it was eating him up from the inside…

"Well," he started, hiding a smile as Rose leaned forward in eager anticipation, ears pricked to catch his every word. "You're probably wondering what the heck I'm doing back in Gotham, after splitting with Batman—you heard the story, right?"

She bobbed her head to show that she had indeed.

"All right…so, after I left Bats and Gotham behind, I went to Jump City. It was actually pretty crazy, how me and my friends all met up—my friends being the Teen Titans. See, the first time we got to know each other, was when Starfire came to Earth. Believe it or not, there was an actual alien invasion and…"

There was…one thing that he realized he was doing, even as he retold the stories and adventures of the Teen Titans, and of his and Bruce's, and of the adventures of the Justice League that his father had told him…he never mentioned any incidents with Slade, even if it was only the tiniest reference to the masked man, but chose to steer clear of all information regarding her father.

While he wanted nothing more than to give her a chance…well, you never could be too careful. And besides: He was sure that he'd tell her later, when the time was right…

Maybe.

Raven-

She was pacing when the rattle at the window came.

Raven, shaken abruptly from her thoughts, immediately went to slide up the glass barrier that separated Beast Boy and her, and the bright green bird tumbled in onto the floor, the changeling halfway through morphing back into his usual form. She didn't even have a chance to speak, though, to wonder what he was doing here, before the words spilled out of his mouth in a frightened jumble.

"He's gone. I can't find him anywhere."

Something in the region of the Goth's stomach gave a sickening lurch, and she dizzily took a step backward, to settle on the bed. Her suspicions had been confirmed…and to think that she had actually told Cyborg that everything was fine with her.

"Are you sure?" She whispered, throat having gone dry.

"Positive," he said bleakly, and took the space on the bed beside her. "As soon as Star and I saw the cops and the coroner's truck, I went digging through that entire garbage pile. No sign of him."

"But…how? How is that possible! He died—you and I both saw his body. He was clearly deceased! How could he—" Raven's controlled tone broke, and she fell silent, still shaking her head in horrified disbelief, even though her mind was telling her that she ought to have been expecting something like this…

"You said that…" Beast Boy started, unsurely, and Raven glanced at him.

"Well, you said that he wasn't human, when I first found his body on the beach, right? Maybe that's why he wasn't burned…maybe he even…"

"I had a vision last night," the empath added; it was now her turn to avert her eyes from her companion, and she shifted guiltily. "At first, I…I wasn't sure what had happened…I just remembered a lot of pain, and someone laughing; I didn't bother to assign any kind of value to it. But, after awhile of being locked in here by Cyborg…I got to thinking about it and realized that…"

She faced the changeling, and stared at him with unwavering focus.

"The past is repeating itself, as it tends to do when we fail to learn from its lessons. Holocaust's return can't just be simple coincidence; it's part of a larger, grander chain of events, just waiting to take place. Something's going to happen: I can feel it. And I'm worried about Robin…he's alone over in Gotham, cut off from everything going on in our world. He and Batman need to be warned, so they can be on the look-out for anything unusual."

"First things first, though," Beast Boy announced stubbornly, "I'm going to find Holocaust. He's bound to be roaming around Jump somewhere, if he's really come back. I mean…just because his body isn't there doesn't really mean that he got up and started breathing and walking around again. Somebody could have stolen it as a prank…" Despite these plausible suggestions, the boy didn't sound convinced himself.

"I just want to make sure that we're not jumping to conclusions here, before we start going around and telling everybody to be on their guard. I…" He cleared his throat and murmured:

"I don't even think we should tell the other Titans yet…we…we don't want to scare them…"

They sat quietly for a few minutes, letting this concept sink in; Raven personally didn't like it. The team had always promised to let each other in on information…to not keep secrets from one another, especially when it regarded important instances like this one…but, in the end, what other choice did they have? Cyborg was still convinced that she was exhausted, and slightly out of it. Plus, he hadn't been present for her visions the last time they had fought the lethal fire-thrower; he wouldn't exactly be inclined to listen. And Starfire?

"So…" she said finally, "what are we going to do?"

"I already said," Beast Boy informed her, and steadily got to his feet, balancing precariously on his better leg. "I'm going to fly out through the city and look for him. If I find something that I think isn't right, I'll let you know, and we'll tell the team and everybody over in Gotham. If not, then we're both over-reacting—"

"Or he's just temporarily hiding," Raven grumbled under her breath.

"—or we need to look harder," the changeling finished, flushing at being interrupted. "Don't worry," he added, overcoming his slight embarrassment to give her the tiniest of smiles. "If anything's out there, I'll find it. I'll be back as soon as I can."

Raven bit her lip, as he prepared to leave, and then made a decision completely on impulse, barely giving any thought to the consequences it might have in store for her.

"Wait," she cried, as he began to trudge towards the window again. "Let me see your leg for a second."

Beast Boy limped back to her, as she had requested, and watched her patiently, if not a little bit puzzled, as she turned the broken limb this way and that in precise examination.

"Okay," she murmured under her breath, as if speaking to herself more than to him. "I think I can heal this…"

The changeling's eyes widened, and he yanked his broken leg away from her as best as he could, hobbling backwards with one hand placed against the wall for balance.

"No, Rae," he said sternly. "If you heal it, you're going to be totally wiped out for days, maybe even a week. That's why I wouldn't let you do it the first place! And now that Holocaust is out there, and I don't want you to be too weak if you have to fight him off. I won't let you do it."

He raised his fists suggestively, as if to emphasize his point; unfortunately, though, his threat wasn't nearly as effective as it might have been, because as soon as he let go of the wall, he began to tilt backwards, and would probably had fallen had not Raven caught him with her powers and set him back up.

"Don't be stupid," she said simply, and started to cross over to where he stood. "You're the one that's going to try and track him down. If you're handicapped, he'll probably break all your bones all over again, if he doesn't kill you this time around. Besides," she added gently, and gave him a tiny smile as she placed a palm—growing a bright blue hue—on his thigh, "I'm not going anywhere. I'll be fine."

Raven's powers shimmered and slithered in fluid motions up and down Beast Boy's leg, sometimes sinking past his flesh and maneuvering its way through his body to begin repairing the bone, and strengthening the muscles that had not been used in so long, sometimes coiling itself like a snake around the thick white cast, tightening and releasing the limb.

The changeling gave a sharp exhale…and cautiously pulled his once wounded leg out of Raven's slack grasp and, transforming one of his hands into a bear claw, slashed past the cast, and began testing it.

"Just like new!" He exclaimed, before lowering his voice as he remember Cyborg was right outside. He passed around the room twice, one time walking, the other skipping, before he turned back to Raven, ready to thank her…

But the Goth was already past asleep, body huddled on the floor in an S-shape. Beast Boy sighed, and, picking her up tenderly so as not to disturb her, carried her over to the bed and tucked her under the sheets.

"Thanks, Raven," he whispered to her, before crossing to window; and, in a moment of squawking and fluttering feathers, he was gone; only the faint outline of a emerald colored hawk vanishing amidst the thickening, onyx clouds showed any sign that he had been there in the first place.

Bruce-

"I'm worried about Dick," Bruce stated flatly, as he lay sprawled over the couch that morning, a hot water bottle placed on his forehead, and a thick woolen quilt wrapped tightly about his shoulders. Alfred eyed him with a mix of doubt and alarm, as he balanced an enormous bowl of steaming soup of a tray on his lap.

"Whatever you do you mean?"

"Just…him…being alone, in that place…anything could happen to him, and we wouldn't know about it until it was too late."

"But nothing's happened," Alfred interjected, and thrust a spoonful of broth underneath his employer's nose; Bruce wrinkled his face, but the British man ignored him. "You called him yourself this morning, and he told you he was fine; and it's been almost a month since there' s been any talk of unusual going-ons, aside from Crane breaking out of Arkham last night."

"Damn him," Bruce grumbled, and let out a raucous sneeze; he'd caught a miserable cold during his investigation of the asylum last night, and the illness had restrained him from attending to Wayne Enterprises and—more importantly—his crime fighting.

"My opinion is that you need to give him some more credit," Alfred finished, and jammed another spoonful into his friend's mouth. "He's going to be twenty in five more years—and then you're going to have to let him go. He'll be an adult, and you'll no longer be able to make decisions for him, or fight his battles…it's best if you learn to let go, little by little, before that difficult time comes."

"Yeah, I know," the Dark Knight said wearily. "I know…"

"I'm sure," the British man murmured under his breath, and received a filthy look from Bruce, just as the telephone rang.

"One minute," Alfred said to him apologetically, and went to the kitchen to pick up; the instant he was gone, Bruce grabbed the soup and tipped its contents into the nearest potted plant.

"Gotham Public Highschool calling for you, sir," Alfred informed him as he returned, handing a cordless phone to his employer. "They said it's urgent…"

The Dark Knight took the telephone reluctantly.

"Bruce Wayne, speaking, who is this? Mr. Daniels…no, I'm sure this is about Richard, again. I just wanted to say that I am so sorry about this constant streak in behavior during the last month, and that whatever he's done this time will not go without severe punishment. I—"

Bruce fell silent as he listened, and his face darkened. Alfred, who had been contemplating the empty soup bowl with immense suspicion, now was watching his friend with alarm.

"I will. I'll be there immediately. Goodbye."

He hung up.

"What was that?" Alfred said, eyebrows raised. "You look dreadful…"

But Bruce paid no attention to his butler's questions, instead choosing to fling off the blanket and make his way swiftly towards the stairs. Alfred pursued him, bombarding him with questions all the way up.

"What is it?" He demanded with concern, wheezing a bit and jogging after his employer, as Bruce took the stairs two at a time. "What's wrong?"

Bruce paused on the landing, and turned, one hand still clenching the banister so tightly, that his knuckles were white.

"That was the principal of Richard's school on the phone, just now," he said stiffly. "He told me that Dick's just run away and the last person that saw him, his Social Studies teacher, says that he was being followed by two odd-looking men. He's missing, at the moment."

The Batman moved to continue up the stairs, and then glanced over his shoulder at Alfred, who was practically doubled-over, out of breath.

"You still think I shouldn't be worried?" He threw at the butler sarcastically, and disappeared into his room to prepare to leave for the highschool at once.

To be Continued…

Whew! Done—I told you it was long! I'm actually quite proud of the length. I hope you guys liked this (was the action okay in this chapter?), and please don't forget to review…I feel a little burned out after writing this entire thing…well, I just want to say again that I'm really, REALLY sorry that I am such an incompetent slowpoke, and that things are definitely going to be turning around regarding updates and such. Have no fear. More on Rose's past in the next chapter or so, I think, to help sort out some of the fuzzier details…

So, I'll be seeing you guys with a brand new update, real, REAL soon, okay?

Have a nice day (or night!)

—Rebel