Chapter 8

Chiiirip! Chirrri-ip!

A lone cricket-like fly creaked and chirped into the night air, its beady eyes flickering this way and that in the large, grassy field. The large mansion near the forest's edge stood silent, a single light on the bottom floor illuminating a small patch of manicured grass. The wind rustled the treetops, interrupting the Shattered Moon's reflected light. There was a slight nip in the still night air, heralding the approaching winter.

A fog of breath. A swift shadow. Quiet. The soft shwiff of grass parting. The blurred outline of black cloth. Silence.

Chirrripp! Chir-Chiiiirrip!

A glass eyeband stared out at the large building from their comfortable cocoon of green stalks. The eyeband suddenly slipped off, revealing soulless blue eyes, empty of emotion. The wry figure stood up in the middle of the field, as if suddenly uninterested if anyone saw.

Chiiirip!

Without warning, the blue eyes flashed golden. The soft night was suddenly interrupted as the ground began to shake violently, the thin figure watching with brilliant, yellow apathy. An enormous spout of shockingly orange-red suddenly burst from beneath the mansion, eating a hole straight through its middle. A blast of heat flashed outward, ruffling the now-illuminated girl's yellow hair. Apparently satisfied, she turned from the melting inferno and into the wood's darkness.

A brown and black man stared at the soulless assassin as she made her way towards him through the trees. "One less benefactor for the Scaccarium faction. What do you say, dear girl?" Terra said nothing, her blank eyes staring through the dark man. "That's what I thought, my pretty little puppet." He fiddled with a small computer on his right arm, watching as Terra began walking, almost mechanically, forward. "Let's go home, where I can tell you about all you just did." He chuckled lightly to himself, his voice forever smooth.

And somewhere in the dark, the small insect had stopped singing.

"They took out Max Clyde, Nightwing." Wayne's voice vibrated with barely-controlled anger over the cyber-chip connection. "They found a mini-volcano where his house was. Luckily, the press attributes it to a freak accident of nature."

Nightwing flexed his once injured arm, before beginning pull-ups in the gym. "They finally made a move. Clyde was a big supporter, wasn't he?" He spoke inwardly, not bothering to speak audibly to his chip.

Wayne seemed to calm down a bit. "Yes, he poured millions of dollars into our research departments, special project funds, and other areas. We lost someone very valuable to our practices. I still have no idea how the Slade faction figured out where he lived."

Nightwing grunted softly out loud while pulling his chin over the shiny metal bar for the twentieth time, as he continued to speak to his benefactor. "I'm thinking we have a mole in the system."

Wayne was silent for a moment. "Possibly, but I doubt it. There is something else at work here. I can feel it in my bones."

Nightwing smirked to himself. "You sure it isn't your old age?"

Wayne chuckled. "My doc says I have a life-expectancy of three hundred. I don't think that's it."

Nightwing grunted again. "Lucky you. The way I'm stressing my body, I'll be lucky to live to two hundred." He lifted himself again, mentally counting fifty. "What do you want me to do? I just healed up, so I'm good to go."

"Great. I heard about your red-haired beauty of a nurse as well. I'll bet you enjoyed that."

Nightwing scowled as hard as he could, as if Wayne could see it. "The worst two weeks of my life. She was surprisingly quiet though, besides the constant nagging to drink more medicine. Wonder why?"

"Hmm, sounds like you're getting used to her. Don't forget to send me a wedding invitation. I'll bring you a nice, golden muzzle as a gift." He chuckled, actually being able to hear Nightwing grind his teeth over the connection. "I'll call you when I have a need." The connection terminated, leaving a voice thanking him for the use of their company.

Nightwing counted one hundred as his chin passed the bar again. Dropping to the ground, he grabbed a towel and wiped the sweat off of his face. Staring at the floor for a moment, he scowled and headed for the exit. "Fan-freakin'-tastic," he muttered to no one.

The dark assassin stepped into the apartment, running a hand over his forming stubble. He'd have to shave. He sighed heavily, letting his breath filter out slowly, as if reluctant to let it go.

Then he heard it. Gentle sobbing. Irregular gasps of air. Shuddering cries. Nightwing threw a glance to the bedroom door, which stood slightly ajar. No light penetrated any further than the doorjamb.

Instinctively, he rose to his feet and padded to the door, leaning in to listen. Nothing but the steady crying. He began to pull away from the door. It wasn't really his business at all. Why should he care if his prisoner was crying?

And yet, he found that he did, in a distant, detached way. He did care…and it scared him. Nightwing pushed the door open slowly, letting the light filter in on Starfire. She was not on the bed, but on the floor, bent over double, her face almost touching the ground. A large, wet spot had formed on the ground below her face. She looked up slowly, her normally amber face ashen. Her green eyes were rimmed with light, unnatural red. The hands capable of lifting a bus glistened in the pale light, covered in a film of salty tears. She was weeping.

For a moment, they simply stared at each other, interrupted only by rattling sobs and hiccups. What was there to say? Nightwing stood still, forever hard as rock. She stayed bent, only her head turned towards him as the immaculate portrait of anguish and suffering. Her lips moved up and down, as if speaking inaudibly. His eyes flickered beneath his dark lenses.

"Why…"

Nightwing watched as Starfire rose to her feet, not bothering to wipe her face. He waited for her to continue.

"Why do…y-you torture y-yourself?"

The dark man stood still, his face slowly hardening into impenetrable rock. "What?" he almost hissed.

"W-why do you b-beat yourself on the in-inside?"

"Is that why you are crying?" he asked sharply. He did not regret his tone. "I told you before and I'll tell you again. Leave…me…alone."

Starfire did not waver. "Wh-why do-"

"SHUT UP!" roared Nightwing. He crossed the distance between them and slapped her.

Starfire's head snapped back, but her expression did not change. Another tear rolled down her face, but it wasn't because of her pain. "What could have happened to you?" Her voice was now clear, solid.

Nightwing's emotionless mask fell into anger, his whole face twisted in anger and rage. His entire body shuddered as he spoke. "Could I have been any more clear, girl? I told you to stay…away…from me." His voice shook slightly, denoting his distress. "Cry for yourself. Whine about your captivity. Scream for your pain. Leave me out of it."

Starfire glared at him. "No."

There it was again. Clear defiance. Nightwing growled low. "I know you have enough to cry about," hehissed."I've read your medical files. I've read your history. I know you have so much to weep about. I know all of it. Your parents handing you over to the Psions and their experiments, your rouge sister, your harrowing arrival. I know about the Base's brutal 'tests' and their exploitation. I know it all. Cry for the tests, your sister, your family, your abuse, torture, and anger. For your nearly broken sanity. Cry for that. Not for me. NOT FOR ME!" He breathed heavily. "I DO NOT DESERVE TEARS!"

Starfire twitched at the memories. "You deserve far more than tears, Nightwing. Oh, so much more." She reached a hand towards him, trying to touch his face.

Without warning, he grabbed her wrist and threw her into a wall. She simply let herself slam into the imposing plaster and slide down. Not even a small moan of pain.

Nightwing shuddered and fell to his knees, his eyes wide behind his glass band. "The tears. The blood. The anger. The pain. It…It never changed anything. It never changed my father. It never changed my mother's death." He swallowed hard, and continued to speak deliriously. "It t-twisted me. Twisted my sanity t-to its breaking point. Snapped it. I'm not a man. I'm a shell. A-a monster. My soul…is dead. My life has left me and will forever be gone. And I do not want it back. Not to see this soulless, bloody thing."

A pair of thin arms suddenly wrapped around his shoulders. And he did nothing. Not cry. Not speak. Not live. The arms shuddered as the alien girl cried for one who could not. Who never would. His tears had dried long ago.

Merciful darkness enveloped them both.

Angsty, no? Hmm, I think I'll have to change the genre. More like forced to. With all this freakin' crying business, it's not like I really have a choice.

Um, sorry about the length of this chapter. It could have been longer but it wasn't. I just didn't really want to break the mood. I'm kinda wondering what the next chapter should be about, so don't hold your breath on any quick updates. Maybe during the summer, but not now.

As for the chapter content, I hope it gave you an inkling to what happened, what will happened (that's hard to catch though), and why everyone likes being weepy. I'm stuck on that, yeah. Anyway, thank you reviewers.

Razvanor