Epilogue

The weeks passed slowly for Richard, the recovering man having spent his days within a simple, but comfortable room, having been moved out of the medical bay a few days after he had awoken. His body was still weak, having just started his physical therapy, but he no longer survived on liquids, and he rather enjoying the feeling of solid food in his stomach. Still, even though he kept himself busy, working his muscles or mind, he was restless, waiting for the day he could stand on his own two feet, the day he would leave the Watchtower. He was still unsure where he would go, but he had confidence that he would figure it out.

While the Watchtower housed hundreds of people, heroes and civilians alike, he got rather lonely; the daily visits from one of the doctors overseeing him lasted only a few short hours, and, while he was visited by a few of the heroes stationed within the Watchtower, those who knew his civilian identity, the company was short, the life of a Leaguer busy, and few could relate to the wounded man, unsure what to say or do, besides ask the obvious questions after a simple greeting. Surprisingly, or perhaps not, Hawkgirl was one of the few who remained longer then a few moments, whenever she was able; it was odd to Richard, in the beginning, as she wouldn't speak much, just give her greetings and take a seat in his room, either watching him or pulling out a book to read. When he finally asked, as politely as he could, why she just hung out in his room, she told him that she knew how it felt.

"How what feels?" replied Richard curtly, doubtful that she had woken up from a near-death coma before.

"How it feels to loose one's self." She said calmly.

It then made sense to the recovering man; with gentle prodding, Richard was able to coax Shayera to speak of when she had given up her life of crime-fighting after the invasion, of how she had spent many months in seclusion, questioning herself and her actions. The greatest thing Shayera did, however, was share this part about her without asking for anything in return, not once prodding the young man about his own destiny, or future. Richard came to enjoy her company, even if most of the time there was nothing but comfortable silence when she visited.

Besides the Thanagarian's long, but rare, visits, the only other person to keep in steady contact with Richard was Alfred, the gentlemanly butler who the young man considered to be his grandfather in all but name, who would either speak with the young man over a video phone or, using his master's teleportation gate, visit his younger ward, often bringing gifts of Richard's favorite foods. Richard was content with these two reliable presences, for they made the ache of the absence of his friends less heavy within his heart.

It wasn't long after he had been moved to his new quarters that the Titans left the Watchtower, for good; Superman's visits to Jump, the city still rebuilding, could no longer keep criminals at bay, and the city's protectors were needed once again. The farewells were tearful, with many hugs and promises to keep in touch, but contact with his friends were far and few between; Richard understood, he knew how busy it would be down there, so he felt no anger or disappointment at the lack of communication.

So, relatively alone, and with little to occupy his time, he pondered and thought, his questions echoing within his head, not even heard by Raven, the connection the two shared dimmed by the great distance that separated them, so faint Richard could only vaguely sense the empath. So the day's ticked buy, Richard, stubbornly if he must admit, unwilling to express the turmoil within his head and heart, of the small doubt that shadowed over the man. While both of his companions had offered their ears for when Richard was ready to speak, it was the unexpected arrival of a new guest that finally got the young man to talk.

The day had started out just like all the rest, Richard waking early, according to the digital clock by his bedside, as it was quite difficult to tell time in space; he had done his morning routine, stretches and rotations, starting to bring life back into his thin limbs, focusing primarily on his left, heavier arm more than his right, before breakfast was brought to him by one of the medial aids, an elderly woman by the name of Martha, who fussed over the young man before leaving him to enjoy his meal. While Richard could support himself, he still had difficulty walking, and was advised against going to the mess hall for meals, and Richard didn't argue; he knew the limitations of his body, and was humble enough to know when to take it easy and follow orders.

After a long shower, the warm water soothing to the young man's still blotched flesh, Richard powered on the small computer within his quarters, and, after checking his email, a daily habit for all people his age, he turned on some music, classical today, and settled into the large armchair in the corner of the room, often occupied by Shayera when she visited, opening up the novel he had started. It was a mystery thriller, and Richard was enjoying the book, resisting the urge to figure out the killer on his own, but the story still provided plenty of mental activity to occupy his time. He was mid-chapter, and at a rather good spot too, when a light knocking on his door pulled his attention away from the book; surprised, as he knew neither Shayera or Alfred were able to visit today, he placed a thumb in the book, calling, "It's open!"

With a small hiss the door parted, and a man that Richard had not seen in weeks ducked into the room; dressed in simple slacks and a black shirt, Superman stood a step within the doorway, casually glancing around the room through his spectacles, his gaze resting on Richard and the book clutched in his hands. With a smile, he said, "Of course it's a mystery novel, why does this not surprise me?"

Richard grinned, reaching for his bookmark and placing down his story, replying, "Because you know I can't resist a good puzzle, Superman; what brings you here this morning? I wasn't expecting anyone until lunch."

The man of steel grinned, gesturing to his outfit, saying, "As you can tell from my clothes, I'm of duty, so it's just 'Clark', if you'd please." After a quick nod from Richard, the young man's eyes cheerful, Clark answered his question, settling himself in one of the other armchairs, "I've been meaning to visit you sooner, but..." the older man shrugged, and Richard smiled in understanding, "you know, busy times. However, I do have a few hours before i meet Louis for a date, so," he spread his hands, "here I am."

"Thank you, Clark." Richard said, his voice warm, happy to have the older man's company, as, being the most powerful and recognized hero of the world, Clark's visits were less common then Bruce's; the thought caused his face to sour for a moment, and the Kryptonian noticed, clearing his throat to grab Richard's attention.

"Besides to check on my favorite, unofficial nephew, I wanted to ask…" his voice was kind, but serious, "are you ready to talk about it?"

Richard gave a deep sigh after remaining silent for a few moments; he knew, instinctively, that Clark was not speaking of his recovery, but of his dismissal, and, looking into the face of the man who was the closest thing to an uncle Richard had, he found himself speaking, "It was… well… I knew it was coming, some day, I think we both knew it was inevitable." He frowned, "Still…it hurt more then I thought it would… I suppose it was harsh, the way he did it, when he did, but…" he shrugged, averting his eyes, keeping his voice calm, "I… know he did it because he cared, cares for me. I don't hate him, I can't hate him, he's my…" he cut off, swallowing, "It was the right thing to do, he did the right thing for both of us, and I'm ok with it." He turned his gaze back to Clark, his face firm, "I'm ok."

The older man nodded, slowly, believing the young man, thinking that, perhaps, the rift between the two would now, in time, close, "So… what now?"

Richard hesitated for a moment, "Honestly… I don't know." He shook his head, frowning at himself, flashes of memories resurfacing, "I feel…" he scrounged for a word, unable to find one and settled for, "…odd."

Clark raised an eyebrow, "Odd?"

There was a light blush from the younger man, "I can't really explain it. I should feel… lost, but I don't…"

"Really?" the elder man asked, surprised, "I know that I would, given your situation." He paused, than asked, "Why aren't you?"

Richard paused, thinking, remembering, and spoke, "When… when I first saw him… saw Doomsday rising up out of that crater… I was so frightened, terrified… I didn't know what to do, how to handle it, but…" he shifted, "seeing them, my friends, my family, it kicked-started my brain and… I had a choice." His gaze locked into Clarks, "I chose to sacrifice myself, I told myself that I was going to die… and then… I accepted it. Even though I had so many things left to do, even though," color shadowed his face, "I never told her how I felt, I accepted my choice. It was then, when I allowed that reality, truly admitted my fate, that I knew no fear. It was as if… as if God, or the Gods, or... whatever, had waited for me to grasp this destiny, as if they had thrown that monster in my path for this purpose. It was then that I knew I would die, without a doubt; I knew that I would not live to see the day after."

There was a moment of silence as Richard's mind whirred, "And… and it came true. Robin, the part of me that was Robin, did die that day. I think it was when I relinquished my uniform, something that was so difficult, yet at the same time felt instinctively right, that I realized that I wasn't just Robin, like Bruce is Batman, but that Robin was just a stage in my life, and this is my metamorphosis." His voice became strong, "I don't feel lost because I'm still Richard, and that is who I will always be. But…"

"But you feel incomplete, like something's missing," Clark finished wisely, staring intently at the young man, "and you need to find that part of you." A pause, "Only you can find it, Richard, you forge your own destiny, even if challenges cross your path, divinely inspired or not, you always have a choice; so ask yourself, do you wish to retire, give up the life you lead to settle down, blend into the civilian life, or will you punish your body and soul more, throwing yourself into danger, risk your life for others?"

Richard entertained the thought of civilian life for only one heartbeat; that life was impossible for the young man. Flying through rooftops, leaping from buildings was in his blood, part of who he was, and he could not, would not give that up, "No… I'm not giving up this life, giving up who I am. I want to do this, not for revenge, or for duty, but because… because this part of me. I want to help others; I want to protect the weak, my friends. I think… I think Bruce dismissed me in an attempt to turn me away from this path, a path he blames himself for putting me on." His jaw became firm, his face determined, and Clark saw, for a moment, the man Richard would one day become, "This is who I am; I won't give it up."

"Good." Clark said simply, "You make an old man happy to hear those words. Don't sell yourself short, Richard, you're what the world, what the League needs. I'm waiting for the day that we may fight side by side again." Clark fell silent as Richard smothered his embarrassment, overcome by the Kryptonian's words; it was a few long minutes before Clark spoke again, his voice almost playful, but curious, his eyes twinkling, "So… did you ever tell her?"

Richard flinched, having hoped Clark had missed that part, the young man having spoken his mind without editing his words; seeing the older man leaning forward, obviously not allowing the topic to drop, Richard sighed, muttering, "No… I couldn't." he hurried on as he watched Clark about to respond, "It's not that I didn't want to, but... it would have been unfair, cruel to say... things... to her when I don't even know myself anymore; I need to find that missing part of who I am, become complete, before I can concentrate on others, or lead a team again."

Clark laughed, his voice warm, sighing into the air, "Ahhh, young love!" and ignored the dirty looks Richard was throwing at him. A few more minutes of silence passed, allowing Richard to dissolve his embarrassment yet again, Clark grinning the entire time, before the older man spoke, suddenly, and, apparently, randomly, "The Kryptonians have a story, one passed down from generation to generation, one I heard only recently as I continue to investigate my father's crystals. It originated many eons ago, when my planet was overthrown by a cruel dictator, a man driven mad by his hunger for power; for long years the people were oppressed and subjugated by this tyrant and his followers." He paused, noticing Richard listening curiously, obviously wondering where this trail of breadcrumbs lead. "However, tyranny never breeds obedience, only defiance, and one man defied the dictator; against overwhelming odds and great peril, this sole rebel stood against the overlord, fighting to protect the weak and downtrodden." Another pause, Clark's eyes catching Richards, "He was like you, Richard; an ordinary man who had a boundless will and limitless determination, who fought because he could make a difference, because he wanted to help, because he loved his fellow man."

Richard nodded slowly, the hairs on his arms standing up, the feeling of something important about to happen, a beginning after the end, and he asked, "What… what did they call him?"

Clark grinned, "Nightwing."

~Fin~

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Author Notes: I have pondered a sequel to the story, but do not have anything planned as of yet. I think it would be fun to explore Richard's evolution into Nightwing, through these circumstances I put him through, and do already have a vague plot for it, but I'm still on the fence. Maybe if there is more appreciation of this story, it will prompt me into a second.