A/N Read on, fanfiction warriors! Read on.

Disclaimer Still can't remember what goes here. My doctor calls it selective amnesia.

Chapter 18

The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.
....
— Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love)I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

- Elizabeth Bishop

A harried looking clerk with three pencils sticking out of her messy bun scribbled on the top sheet of a triplicating carbon form, then tore off the first page and handed it to Rick. "There's your temporary license for the car." She repeated the process on a nearly identical form. "And there's the one for the motorcycle. Your permanent license will be mailed to you in two to four weeks. Until then, make sure you have these whenever you're operating a motorized vehicle. Any questions? Good. Next!"

"Perfect scores on both tests," Rick reminded Bruce as they walked out of the DMV testing center to the parking lot. "Can't I ride the bike home? Pretty please?"

"You know the deal. Motorcycle inside the Manor grounds only until you're eighteen."

Rick groaned and rolled his eyes dramatically. "That's majorly ridiculous. Alfred is acting like an old lady."

"He's just worried about you. He's got all kinds of frightening statistics about teenage motorcycle accidents."

"Perfect score," Rick reminded.

"No. Wouldn't it be sad if he killed me on your birthday?"

"Yeah, yeah," Rick grumbled. "Can I at least drive the car home by myself?"

"You seriously expect me and Frank to double up on the bike? You can drive your new wheels to school all by yourself."

"Right," Rick sighed, unlocking the doors of the Lamborghini he'd used to take his test. He knew he should feel more excited about his new car, the Ferrari California was a sweet ride, but he'd been daydreaming about riding with the wind in his hair, and although the Ferrari had a retractable roof, he'd look like an idiot driving with it down in February.

At home, Alfred had lunch waiting, and Bruce waited until they were done eating before flourishing a camera and declaring, "Ok, let's go unite the birthday boy with his birthday present!"

Rick obligingly led the little procession out to the garage, privately wondering what Bruce was so excited about. They'd picked out the car together a couple of months earlier, so it wasn't like it was a big birthday surprise or anything. He wondered just how many pictures he was going to have to pose for.

Frank met them in the covered entryway that separated the garage from the house. "All ready?" Bruce asked eagerly.

"Yes, sir."

Bruce pulled a scarf out of his pocket. "Ok, it was too big to wrap, so I'm going to blindfold you."

"Bruce. I've already seen the car, remember?"

"Just humor me."

Rick groaned, but allowed himself to be blindfolded and led into the garage. Bruce led him several steps into the familiar smells of wax and rubber then nudged him slightly to the right before announcing, "Ok, you can look."

"Hmmm, let me guess what I'm going to see. Could it possibly be … a blue Ferrari?" He jerked the scarf from his eyes, and then his jaw dropped. The California was there, its midnight blue paint glinting sharply in the overhead lights, but it wasn't the machine that was pinning his attention. Right in front of him, a gleaming red and silver, rested a brand new Buell Lightning SB9SX, whose cut down design made it perfect for his lighter weight and perfect for Gotham's city traffic and in general just … perfect.

"But Alfred …" he stammered, and then he realized the butler was smirking at him. "You've been playing me!" he realized. "You've been playing me for months!"

"Well, it was more fun that way," drawled Bruce. He clicked a button on the digital camera and held up the screen. "Check it out, you look like a fish! I'm putting this in the next press release."

"At least I'm fully clothed," Rick said mildly. He couldn't be even slightly upset when there was that much steel perfection a mere five feet way. And it was all his. Bursting into a grin, he pulled his guardian into a bear hug. "Thank you!"

Bruce laughed. "Hey, watch out for my ribs, there, would you? Happy Birthday, kid."

"Thanks, Alfred."

"Happy Birthday," the butler returned as he accepted his hug, but then he added, "In all seriousness, you will drive responsibly?"

"I'll be an angel," Rick declared.

"Not the most reassuring promise when you're riding a motorcycle."

Rick rolled his eyes. "From heaven, Alfred, not the other place."

Bruce handed over the key. "Ok, get out of here. I promised the school you'd be back before the end of the day, so don't dawdle too much on your way to class and don't forget to show up for your detention."

"Scout's honor," Rick swore, holding up two fingers. He pulled on his new jacket and helmet, slung his book bag across his chest and climbed on, taking a moment to savor the feel and balance before he switched on the engine. It roared into life, a big howl for a relatively small bike, and he had to grin—someone had already tricked out the exhaust for him.

"Ready?" Frank shouted.

Rick shot him a thumbs up, and the garage door rolled upward. One more moment spent catching the rhythm of the power throbbing beneath him, and then he shot out of the garage like a bat out of, well, the Batcave.

He took the long route to school, not really wanting to get into any bigger trouble than he was already in, but unable to resist taking a few extra minutes to play with his new baby. She shook a little at the lowest speeds, but once he ramped up, the ride became liquid smooth. The bike took the tight turns like she'd been made to do nothing else, and by the time he pulled into the Bailey parking lot, Rick was head over heels in love. It wasn't quite as good as flying The Plane, but it was very, very close.

"Where is who, David?" Mr. Davis asked, his voice astonishingly calm. He stepped slowly toward the boy, his hands outstretched soothingly. "If you'll just put the gun down, I'm sure we can find—"

"Stay back!" snarled David, swinging the rifle muzzle around to point at the teacher. "Where is Richard Grayson?"

"He's not here," someone said, sounding very calm and controlled, and to her astonishment, Amanda realized it was herself. "He left school to take his driving test. He's not back yet."

David swore and swung the gun around again to point shakily at her. "Don't lie to me, bitch. Where is he?"

"David, Richard really isn't here," Mr. Davis began, taking another step toward the boy.

Unhesitatingly, David swung the rifle back and pulled the trigger.

Somebody screamed as the shot exploded, and Mr. Davis, looking mildly surprised, put a hand over the crimson flower that blossomed on his shirt front, before sinking slowly to the floor.

"Stay in the room," David hissed, pointing the rifle a final time at the class, "and nobody else gets hurt." He backed out of the doorway and then ran down the hall. There was a shout and then another shot exploded.

Amanda bolted from her chair toward the door, but she was stopped short by a hard grip on her arm.

"Where are you going?" Barbara demanded, her face pale and her green eyes blazing.

"To warn Rick, I just saw him in the parking lot!" And jerking her arm free, she started to run.

Alfred set down his teacup and stared abstractedly at the leaves swirling in the bottom of the cup. "He should be at the school by now, don't you think?"

"Cut him some slack, will you? He made one tiny screw up, not a Unabomber confession. He'll go to school. Although at his age, I doubt I would have been able to resist ditching."

"You know he's going to shave those corners too fast."

"He's alert, got excellent reflexes, and a great machine. Plus, he got perfect scores on two driving tests. How many kids can do that? He'll be fine."

"No doubt," Alfred murmured, taking his cup over to the sink.

Bruce rolled his eyes at his butler's back. "Look, mama hen, I didn't have time to test all the modifications I had R&D put in the Ferrari. I'll take it out to make sure everything's working ok, and swing by the school to double check that the bike is in the parking lot."

"It couldn't hurt," Alfred said firmly.

"You know, I think you worry more about him during the day than at night."

"At night," Alfred returned calmly, "he's with you."

Bruce scowled. Some guarantee, he thought but he didn't say anything more before heading for the garage. Out on the road, he was pleased to note that his technicians' tinkering didn't appear to have affected the car's performance any. The car was actually a prototype for a new biometric security system that Wayne Enterprises was developing. Such systems did already exist, but their equipment was in general too inflexible and bulky to make them suitable for a streamlined sports car. The goal was to make it so fast and invisible that the driver wouldn't be aware of what was happening, even as fingerprint and facial recognition scans, as well as weight and height gauges, meant that engine would only start for drivers registered with the car's computer and also that a car key was obsolete.

And if we can make it affordable, he mused, we're far enough ahead that we'll corner the market, and make a killing. Better way to do it than designing missiles.

He was about eight minutes from Bailey when his phone rang.

Amanda Irving twisted away and darted out to the hall, and Barbara let her go, hoping she would be able to warn Rick in time. There was a part of her that was still dazed, wondering whether this could really be happening, but the rest of her had shaken off the paralysis and was hurrying to the teacher's desk and kneeling beside Mr. Davis. He was bleeding heavily and his pulse was erratic and faint. Barbara didn't know if pressure on a bullet wound like this would help or not, but it was the only thing she could think of to do. Yanking off her school blazer, she pushed it against the crimson stain. "Scott, come here!" she barked, skewering a guy in the front row with her eyes.

He hurried forward, tripping slightly over his own feet, and dropped beside her.

"Hold this," she commanded.

"I … I don't …"

"Do it!" she shouted, taking one of his hands and pushing it against the blazer before springing up and running back to her bookbag. Pulling out her phone, she dialed 911. "This Barbara Gordon at Bailey Prep. We have a shooter on the premises. One teacher has been shot in room 103, and he's in critical condition."

"We're sending units immediately," the dispatcher promised, and Barbara snapped her phone shut. Glancing around, she found everyone staring at her, terrified but as though they were waiting for something. "What should we do?" someone gasped out.

Barbara stuck her phone in her pocket and made her decision. "I'm going out to see if I can help. As soon as I'm gone, barricade the door until the paramedics come." She ran out of the room and heard the door slam behind her. At least someone in there has some sense.

Double checking that the security system was on and giving a final, loving pat to the front chassis, Rick tucked his helmet under his arm and hurried toward the front entrance. If he hurried, he could still check in at the office and make the second half of Life Skills.

The halls were very quiet as he pushed through the front door. He could see Miss Aylmer through the glass wall of the office. She looked up and smiled at him, gesturing that he should come on in, and he had his hand on the doorknob when two shots rang out, followed by screams.

Instinctively, Rick dropped his helmet and sprinted down the hallway, picturing the school in his head, trying to figure out exactly where the sounds of panic were coming from. He turned a corner and ran headlong into Amanda. She clutched his arms to keep from falling and looked up in relief that immediately dissolved into terror.

"Rick, you've got hide, he's looking for you!"

"Who?" he demanded. "What's happening?"

"David's got a gun and he shot Mr. Davis and he said he was looking for you. We have to get out of the school," she sobbed, grabbing his arm and trying to pull him back toward the front door. "He shot somebody else, too, a student, I ran past her in the hall."

"Where is he now?" Rick demanded, resisting her attempts to pull him down the hallway.

"He's back there, the way you were going! Don't you understand? He's going to kill you!"

"Where exactly back there?" Rick shouted, grabbing her shoulders and shaking her. "You have to tell me exactly where David is!"

"Right here!"

Rick looked up to see David Stern ten feet down the hallway, leveling a rifle at them, his eyes wide and his hands shaking. He looks terrified, Rick thought, even as Amanda stumbled around in front of him, throwing her arms wide as though that would somehow ward off a bullet.

"No!"

"Get away from him!" David screamed.

"It's ok, Amanda. It's ok." Rick pushed her gently to the side, out of the line of fire. She tried to resist, but was crying so hard that she no longer could. "I heard you were looking for me?" he said calmly, stepping toward David, ignoring the gun and focusing on his wild eyes.

David nodded jerkily and gestured with the gun down the hall. "Move. That way."

Rick obeyed, trying to scan the hallway to see how many people would be in danger if he tried to take the gun. There were too many: Amanda, at least five other students standing petrified as he walked toward them, and then Miss Aylmer's frantic voice calling, "David! For God's sake, what are you doing?"

"Shut up!" he screamed. "Anybody talks, anybody moves, I'll kill him!" Rick started to turn, to see where the gun was being pointed, and felt the barrel rammed into his back. "I said move!"

At least if it's in my back, I know where it is, he thought, grimly aware that if this shot came, there was no protective armor to ward it off. And then, Idiot, he suddenly thought and jammed in the button on the side of his watch, holding it down to make sure it caught. It was his panic button, the one he'd been carrying ever since he'd been kidnapped at age eight, the one that he'd never used because it was only for extreme emergencies. I think this qualifies.

Bruce maneuvered the phone out of his pocket and stared at the screen, his blood chilling. It was a number he had memorized a long time ago, but had hoped he would never actually see. Looking up just in time to swerve around a braking pickup, he hit the accelerator and called Alfred.

The butler picked up immediately. "I know, Master Wayne, I'm on my way down. It will take about five minutes to get preliminary coordinates."

"Damn it," Bruce muttered, weaving in and out between an SUV and a trailer. Why hadn't he made immediate access to that program a priority? Five minutes at his increased speed could get him to Bailey, but if Richard wasn't at school …

"Master Wayne, police dispatch just got a call about a shooter. Shots fired, at least one wounded."

Bruce swore again and dropped the phone so that he could drive with both hands. He fishtailed slightly as he turned onto the ramp, but pulled out of it and two minutes later was skidding to a stop right in front of the school.

"Alfred?" he demanded snatching up the phone before jumping out of the car and hurtling toward the front door.

"Another minute, it's searching for the coordinates."

"How many shooters?"

"Just one reported. A student."

David marched Rick down the hallway at gunpoint, made a familiar turn, and Rick suddenly realized where they were going. No other people in the basement, he thought hopefully. Bad light. I could have a chance. He opened the door with the faulty lock and started down the stairs, urged on by the rifle muzzle.

"David," he tried as they made their way through the dim and damp passages.

"Shut up," David snarled, prodding him on more quickly.

They came at last, as Rick had thought they would, to the doorless room deep in the recesses of the basement. But where before it had been filled with an eerie orderliness, it was now in chaos. The masks had been violently ripped from the wall, the desks were overturned, and candles rolled everywhere underfoot. David pushed him forward until his nose was practically pushed against the moldy plaster. The photograph he had seen before was nailed there now, one nail through each face.

"Do you know who they are?" David whispered.

"Your mom and your grandpa," Rick said slowly.

"I killed them."

There was a girl lying halfway down the hallway with Ms. Simpkins kneeling beside her, tying a scarf around her bleeding leg.

"She ok?" Barbara asked, dropping beside the whimpering student.

"I think it's only a flesh wound," the math teacher replied grimly, "but we need to get her out of the hallway."

Together they lifted the girl and pulled her into a nearby empty classroom.

"Wait!" Ms. Simpkins called, catching Barbara's arm just as two more shots echoed down the hallway.

Barbara tore away and started running again. "Barricade the door!" she called back over her shoulder.

The next people she saw were standing in a huddled group by a bank of lockers. Some of them were sobbing. "What happened?" she demanded.

"He sh-shot at us," one of them gasped, and Barbara saw the two gaping holes blown into the lockers.

"Is anybody hurt?"

They all shook their heads, so she started herding them toward the nearest door. It wouldn't open, and she pounded on it. "Let us in! Please!"

She heard furniture scraping on the tiles, and then a teacher cracked open the door. "Come in, hurry!"

Barbara shoved the hysterical students toward the opening and started down the hall again.

"Wait!" somebody shouted after her, but she kept running.

Rick shook his head. "No. You didn't kill them."

"Yes, I did. I lost the house key, and I didn't tell anybody. The police said there wasn't any sign of forced entry, so that must have been how he got in. I could have told, they could have changed the locks. But I didn't want to get in trouble."

A wave of pity washed over Rick. "You didn't kill them. The guy who pulled the trigger, he did that."

"No. I used to think that, so I tried to ask, I asked for an answer. But they wouldn't talk to me. It's too late. Sit down," David ordered suddenly, pulling Rick away from the wall and using the rifle to direct him to an overturned crate.

Rick crouched on it, his mind immediately spinning out a plan. The minute David's trigger finger so much as twitched, he was going to dive left. He marked out potential weapons and decided on the angle to use to disarm him. It might not have to come to that. David already seemed less violent in the presence of the photograph, and help was on its way, but Rick didn't count on it. The guy was almost incoherent and clearly not logical.

Bruce listened for a moment outside the door of the school, but hearing nothing, he pushed his way in. The hallway was deserted, and no one appeared behind the glass wall of the office, but in the distance he could hear sobbing. Running forward, he rounded the corner and saw the school secretary with her arms around Amanda Irving. Footsteps sounded on the other end of the corridor, and he snapped his attention there, tensed and ready to attack, but it was Barbara Gordon, her hands empty and her face white. She stared at him, startled, and then Amanda broke free of the secretary's restraining arms.

"Mr. Wayne! Oh Mr. Wayne, he's got Richard!"

"Who has Richard?" Bruce asked, trying to sound calm, not to frighten her more than she was already.

"David. He has a gun, he took him away."

"Where?"

"I don't know!" she wailed.

Bruce put the phone back against his ear. "Damn it, Alfred, I need a location!"

"Preliminary coordinates show he's underground."

Bruce looked at the secretary. "How do I get to the basement?"

But it was Barbara who said, "I'll show you."

She led the way rapidly through the hallways to a door that gaped wide open, dark stairs descending beyond it. She started in, but Bruce caught her arm and pulled her back. "You stay here."

"I can help you! Two of us have a better chance."

She looked determined, and considering whose daughter she was, he doubted she'd give in easily. "We can't give him another hostage."

"If you go by yourself, you could become a hostage," she said fiercely.

He shook his head. "I don't matter. Listen, someone's got to stay up here and tell the police where to find the wounded."

That apparently was the right thing to say, because she finally nodded and backed away, pulling a vibrating phone out of her pocket. "I'm fine, Dad," he heard her say as he darted down the staircase.

"Alfred?" he demanded.

"I've got exact coordinates matched with a map of the school. Go right at the bottom of the stairs."

Bruce did and found himself in a dim hallway full of locked doors. "Now what?"

"There's another staircase. At the bottom you should be able to go straight forward toward Richard."

Bruce jumped down the stairs and almost collided face first with a brick. "Alfred, there's a wall here!"

"They've done renovations, I'm looking for a newer map. Got it. There should be a door ten feet to your right."

There was, and it was open. Bruce ran through two rooms.

"You're very close. Left and then another short left."

"Why did you bring me here?" Rick asked, hoping to start a conversation that would maybe relax David, get him to stop pointing the gun at Rick's chest.

"A month and a half since they died, just a month and a half," David said slowly. "And you're the only one who even remembers it happened. You understand."

"Yeah," Rick agreed. "I do. My mom died eight years ago, and sometimes it seems like it was only yesterday. But you didn't kill her. You have to believe me."

David only shook his head. "I'm a killer, Richard."

"You're not."

"You understand what it's like."

Rick hesitated, not sure what the right answer was this time. "I think so," he finally said cautiously.

"Then you know what I have to do."

Somewhere ahead of him a shot exploded.

Bruce dropped the phone and ran, hurtling through the flickering light, slipping on dust, swinging around a corner.

His heart stopped.

Richard stood there, frozen, staring down at the crumpled body of David Stern. The boy lay with half his face blown away, his hands still curled around the stock of his gun.

To Be Continued

A/N Ufta! THAT was a lot of writing, my friends! Thanks so much for reading it!

Here's the deal with the bonus scene: If you've already reviewed the last chapter, write your review for this one, and at the end of it put something like, "Second review, send extra." I will be checking to make sure you reviewed both chapters (yes, I'm THAT kind of teacher, hee hee), but that will help me make sure I don't miss anyone by accident. Also, make sure you're signed in so I can send you the scene in a PM. (If you don't have an account, you can leave your email address in the review, but make sure to put spaces between the and the . com because otherwise the site will delete it.)

Cheers and thanks again for reading! It's lovely to be on vacation!