Chapter 3

oOo

The first time Dick Grayson entered the Batcave, he was just under eight years old, and he stumbled across it completely by accident while exploring the mansion late at night. He had wandered around its echoing chambers, staring at everything in awestruck wonder- at least until Batman had appeared out of the shadows and the boy had nearly jumped out of his skin.

Since then, Dick has spent an untold number of hours there; training, studying, researching, recovering, living. It's a home to him, more so that his apartment in Bludhaven. It's as much a home to him as the circus and Mount Justice used to be.

Therefore, it is impossible for him to just slink into the Batcave. Because it is his home, and he totally has a right to be there. And if he does seem to be sticking to the shadows, well, that's just good practice, right?

At the very least, he manages not to look guilty when a slightly shocked voice says, "Dick?"

"Er. Um. Hey Batgirl," he answers, sheepish. He tries a smile on. "How are you?"

"Fine," Barbara says, staring at him behind her cowl. "You?"

He shrugs. "Fine."

"Right," she says, with just the slightest edge of sarcasm to her voice. Then she goes back to restocking her utility belt, like she had been doing before she noticed him out of the corner of her eye.

He hangs there, awkward. He had been expecting more than that.

"Um..." he begins.

Barbara turns to look at him. "What?" she asks flatly. "Were you expecting a lecture? Or for me to pepper you with questions about what you've been doing these last two months?"

"Kind of, yeah." (It was kind of why he'd been hoping to bump into Alfred or Bruce, first, not her or Tim. Alfred's learned not to both asking questions, and his guardian rarely bothers.)

She sighs. "Well, I'm not. You needed your space, and I get that." There's a pause. "Though it would have been nice to hear from you occasionally."

"I kept Kaldur updated," he protests. Not to mention, he's sure that Batman's been keeping tabs on him, if not Batgirl and Robin personally. She knew enough to be sure he was safe.

She steps closer. "Not the same as hearing it directly from you," she says in a low tone, her voice filled with concern and affection. Then she switches gears, becoming more professional. "How'd the gang bust go?"

"Finished it off a few nights ago. Police are taking it from here." It had been good, satisfying work. A job well done.

Batgirl finishes re-stocking her utility belt, and the two of them walk towards the main hub where the Bat-computer sits. The screens are filled with the usual assortment of case files. Dick glances between them, the mug half-filled with tea by the monitor, and the costumed Barbara. "What are you doing here? I figured you'd be with the Team."

"New base is still under construction," Barbara says with a shrug. "Besides, I've been running a lot of patrols here lately."

He hadn't even known that hey were constructing a new base- last he heard, the Team was just going to share the Watchtower with the rest of the League- but he files away that knowledge for later. Instead, he focuses on the other thing Barbara had said, and the odd tone in her voice. "Where's...?"

"Business trip. Big tech expo in Hong Kong. Wayne Industries is an important partner." You can't see it behind the mask, but Dick knows her well enough to tell that she's raising an eyebrow.

"I haven't been paying much attention to the news lately," Dick says, but he should have predicted this. Bruce had been off-world for months, and in that time, responsibilities had piled up, both as a civilian and a super-hero. While he was gone, Dick had done his best to run regular Gotham controls in the bat costume, just so none of the criminals caught on to the fact he was missing and started to run wild. He'd just assumed that with Batman back, things would have returned to normal; but of course, sooner or later, Bruce Wayne had needed to go on a business trip, leaving just Batgirl and Robin to cover for him.

He feels a pang of guilt; they could have used his help. But- no. He needed some time on his own, and he got it. If they had really needed him for anything, they would have found him.

Besides. "I'm back now," he says. "I'll probably head back to the Team in a few days, too, once I've checked things over with Aqualad and the others. But for now...I'm all Gotham's."

A smile twitches at the heroine's face. "Well, then. The police have been giving us some tips about a few mysterious incidents that seem to match the Scarecrow's MO. They'll probably be turning on the Bat-signal in an hour or two, and my dad's been getting a little suspicious about the fact that only Robin has shown up the last two times."

"Well them," Nightwing says in a menacing growl that is a very good approximation of Batman's own. "I had better ease Commissioner Gordon's concerns." He begins to stalk off towards the costume cases, but pauses, switching back to his normal voice, and over his shoulder says, "You know, you're gonna have to tell him eventually."

"Glass houses, Wonder-Wing, glass houses," Batgirl teases.

Dick's grinning ear-to-ear while he changes costumes. His two months of sudden seclusion are beginning to seem sillier and sillier in retrospect. He had missed this.

oOo

With nothing else to do, he starts running again.

As he runs, he thinks. He has to have a name. He has to.

He searches his mind for something, anything. Eventually it comes to him; Wally.

"Wally?" he mutters to himself. "Really?"

But that has to be it. He can feel it in his gut. Besides, out of all the cool names in existence, there's no way he'd just choose one as pathetic as Wally , unless it really was his.

So he has a name. But isn't he meant to have others, as well? Most people do, he thinks.

Wallace? His mind suggests.

"Not what I meant," he mutters again. He's pretty sure Wallace is his name too, but come on, it's even worst than Wally. "I mean, a last name, or a middle name. Initials, maybe."

None are forth coming.

"Just great," he says. He realizes that it's probably not healthy to talk to yourself like this- but then, it's definitely not healthy to wake up with amnesia.

Because that's what this is, right? Amnesia? Retrograde, just like a TV character or something. Wally knows about that, though of course he hasn't a clue how or why of the condition. Apparently retrograde amnesia does work like on television, wonder of wonders- people can have all personal memories related to themselves wiped clean, but they still remember everything else, like how to talk and the names of objects and shit. Which is pretty lucky, he supposes, because otherwise he would be screwed.

Lucky. Ha. Right.

"Well, complaining isn't going to help," he tells himself.

What will help? People. Maybe they'll be able to work out what happened to him. Maybe he can check into a hospital and be cured. At the very least, they'll give him something to eat. He's starving.