I am both in mourning and in relief now. I hope that the conclussion to this story is satisfactory to my readers. I feel that it has done some justice but perhaps not its full potential. You'll have to tell me what you think.

Disclaimer: If you really need to read this after twenty posts, there is no hope for you. If you really don't get the message yet then, yes; I own Teen Titans. The idea was mine from the beginning and I am filthy rich and writing this story incognito.

The End

Richard was looking at Rachel, thought it was hard to tell. Machines maintained a constant vigil over Rachel's motionless form. Each one threw beeps, clicks, or whirs into the air in time with the line patterns that were being drawn next to her. A tube was inserted into Rachel's mouth and Richard knew that was all that was keeping her alive: Rachel no longer had the ability to breathe on her own.

Rachel's hair, once so sleek and full of life, had been reduced to the texture of crumbled asphalt. Her skin had been bleached of color so thoroughly that it was not hard to entertain the notion that she was coated in flour. Rachel seemed to be sleeping and for a while Richard tried to convince himself that was all that was wrong.

Richard wasn't sure how long he stood before Rachel. It could have been ten seconds or just as easily ten years. There was no traffic, no movement, down this hallway. The only thing Richard was aware of was a motionless Rachel.

Richard had struggled to walk out of his room, even with Garfield's help. Now that he had reached Rachel's room, Richard felt a little stronger. That strength had a cost and Richard was just beginning to feel the sting.

Garfield hadn't said anything. He knew that his input would be useless and only serve to anger Richard. The two private investigators stood side by side and, for Richard, it seemed as if life had stopped around them. The hallway they were in felt as if the walls were breathing.

A thick pane of glass separated Richard from where he wanted to be and he leaned heavily against the transparent barrier. This time it didn't look as if he could force his way through and fix everything. Richard stared intently and willed Rachel's eyes to flutter or her brain waves to fluctuate. Neither happened and Rachel remained in the same comatose state she had been in since entering the hospital.

Richard had a vague memory of Garfield urging him to return to his room. Sometime after that, Garfield must have left – Richard had no idea when. Eventually a lone attendant came and ushered Richard back to bed. It was far from an easy task. Richard didn't fight; it was as if he no longer had the energy, or the motivation, or the ability, to care. All he did was refuse to move. He did not get back up when accidentally pushed down nor did he do anything to indicate that he was alive. For all intents and purposes, Richard was with Rachel, just like he wanted to be. Motionless, thoughtless, true, but, at least, for a brief moment, they were together.

Richard was discharged from the hospital within a week of his visit to Rachel. There was an absence to him, though. He did not feel complete nor could he discover how to fill the void. Rachel had become a part of him, a confidant, a friend, but above all else, somebody who he could be honest with: somebody who he could be human around without the fear of being mocked (as was the usual case when dealing with Garfield). And now she couldn't help him nor him her.

Life continued for Richard Grayson and Garfield Logan. They continued to get cases in Jump City and continued to work together as always. Richard visited Rachel every day. It didn't matter what else needed to be done or what job they were on, Richard would take a little work and watch Rachel. Often times he would bring work but then not get anywhere on it. Richard visited every day for a month, then two. Over time, his visits became less frequent and his hope that Rachel would sit up one day and ask what time it was dwindled. Richard refused to leave Jump City; their vacation had been indefinitely extended. Richard couldn't leave without Rachel.

ooooo

In the early summer Garfield bounded into their office and tossed a notepad to Richard. The notepad landed on the desk but Richard didn't bother to look up. Jotted down on the paper in a hasty scrawl that only Garfield could produce was a phone number. "It's right on there, Dick," Garfield sighed in his euphoria at having finally retrieved the information. The number, even if hard to read, was the cell phone number of Randolph Shawn, known pedophile and drug dealer.

"Shawn's number?" Richard asked for clarification without looking up from his book, an article he'd salvaged from the remains of Rachel's room. It was a large encyclopedia-like collection of gods and demons. Rachel had mentioned her interest in mythology and other such areas but Richard had never suspected it ran this deep.

Garfield stopped bouncing as Richard just shrugged off the new information. He had been a royal pain (more so than usual) for weeks now, always insisting that both of them work until they couldn't see straight and now that Garfield had managed to get a crucial piece of information Richard was ignoring it.

"Um, Dick?" Garfield approached the desk and glanced at the open book. It was the same book Richard had been reading for months. Reading and re-reading until he probably had the whole thing memorized. "Are you going to look at that thing or what?" he finally asked.

Richard looked up, his trademark sunglasses now absent. "I'll get to it Gar," he snapped. "I'm in the middle of something right now, just in case you can't see."

Garfield thought about being offended but decided against it. At least one of them had to be rational and Richard hadn't been doing very well in that department recently. "You've been reading that book forever, dude. It can't be that good."

Richard continued to ignore Garfield and turned a page slowly, almost lovingly. "I said I'd get to it, Gar. You just need to worry about how you're going to get on Shawn's good side when we finally make contact."

Garfield gesticulated wildly at the notepad only inches from Richard's hand. "The information for contact is right there! Dick, you need to get your head out of the clouds. We have work to do."

"My head is perfectly attached," Richard responded calmly, almost dreamily, as his eyes traveled across the familiar pages in a caress.

"I don't think so," Garfield whispered to himself. Out-loud he just uttered; "Whatever you say, Dick. Whatever you say." Garfield crossed back to the door and yanked it open. The frame shook as it was slammed behind Garfield. Richard just sat in his chair reading.

Episodes like that continued. Richard pushed both Garfield and himself harder than ever and they started turning out more and more successfully closed cases. But Richard would sometimes just lose interest and float in his own head. He'd be on stake out and forget to care about what he was looking for. He would be researching and find himself drifting from what he needed to do back to Rachel's books.

Richard could tell that Garfield was trying to help him let go. He'd set Richard up on blind dates more than once. Richard had stood the people up each time. He wasn't interested in letting go of Rachel. He wanted to bring her back. He'd wait if he needed to but Richard was as determined as he could be. He would either get Rachel to come back to him or go to her himself.

Richard's visits became less frequent but what they lacked in frequency they made up for in length. Richard would go see Rachel for hours at a time. He would talk to her. Richard would ask questions and provide narrative about what he'd been up to. Rachel never gave him the courtesy of responding.

It went on like that for years. Garfield and Richard worked together and helped reduce the crime rate in Jump City while being all but assimilated into the police force. Life went on but, to Richard, it seemed a mockery of what it had been and a hollow shell of what it could have been.

Richard Grayson, Dick between friends, is retired. He has been for some time now. In his prime, Dick was a private investigator with his long-time partner and friend, Garfield Logan. Usually people called him Gar because he hated that he shared a name with an animated cat. Dick wasn't quite sure what had become of Garfield. They had been slowly drifting apart for years, tracing back to his first day out of the hospital.

Now that Dick is retired he writes. Not a lot, and never under his real name, preferring instead to use a pseudonym. What he writes are his more…unusual… adventures as an investigator. This one took the cake, at least for Dick.

Dick has written a few books now, seven to be exact, all under the same name. For most of the world, the detectives Richard Grayson and Garfield Logan are fictional characters. Barely anybody realizes that the stories and the characters are real. That's fine for Dick. Rachel Roth was the real story here. The Raven, the portal, the mystery; those don't matter that much in the grand scope of things. They might have then but not now.

In the lonely hours when the sun has yet to cross the horizon, on nights when Richard wakes up covered in cold sweat and can't fall back asleep, every time the darkness presses in on him, every time he sees a flashing red light, every time there is a windy storm, and worst of all, every time he sees a young couple brimming with affection and energy and life; Dick is forced to reflect that while only one life was claimed that night, two had been destroyed.

Sighing heavily Dick closed the manuscript. He'd sent it to his usual editor and it had been accepted. Within a week the book would hit the shelves. This would be the last one he would ever write. Forcing himself from the rigid chair Dick groped for his cane. The sturdy wood in his hands, Dick hobbled out of the old office. Logan and Grayson hadn't operated there for near two decades now, but there were memories here that needed to be set to rest.

Dick moved toward the stairs, cursing all the while that he'd never gotten over his fear of elevators; the six flights of stairs before him would be murder on his hips. Dick set out of room 666, walked down Hellion Way, and headed to the hospital. He wanted to see Rachel one last time.

Next Update: Is it mean to include this section this time? There will be no more posts added to Of Gumshoes and Moonlighters. I want to take this time to extend my gratitude to everyone who has read this story. To those who were with me from the beginning, and we both know who you are, thank you so much. To those who were on alert, it means a lot that you were invested enough to want an email for each update. For those who granted me the honor of favorite, thanks to you as well. Really, free advertisment. In all seriousness, thank you.

Moving away from thank you mode, I wish to issue a last challenge to you all. There are a few formatting tricks sprinkled throughtout the story and if you see them, now that we have finished, point them out please. They are strange indulgences of a mildly OCD individual.

There will not be a sequel to this story. No way; no how. If I am certian about anything it is the open ended feel of the last post. What happens in the end? The reader has to interpret it as they see fit. I don't want to ruin that. I may do a prequel of sorts about when Garfield and Richard first become friends but I'm not certain.

Wrestling season will take a lot out of my ability to write but, for those who are interested in any future works, check my profile page. I have decided on one of two stories and am having difficulty making up my mind as I find both very promising.