Author's Note: Sorry for the ages long delay—besides the fact that life got fairly complicated and busy, for some reason I had severe writer's block for this chapter. Sure, I knew what was supposed to happen and, in fact, I had been looking forward to this chapter for AGES (I think you'll see why), but now that I was finally here... it was just really difficult to write. Finally made it through, though, and I hope you fans are happy! Things get, um, interesting here...

Some warnings:

a) I'd say this chapter is rated PG-15+ (sexual content, folks! Both past and present and more than just a bit implied...)

b) This fic no longer perfectly lines up with possible Batman Beyond or RHatO comic canon. I knew it was going to have to split at some point, but now that Jason/Bruce have "hugged it out" and there's memory loss in the Batman comics and in B.B. Dana knows Terry's identity and things are getting weird… well, I'm just going to continue to work with the world in my head.

That being said? I somehow managed to call Damien's death way earlier in this fic (!). The reference Jason makes to Batman's sidekicks dying from things like crowbars, power tools, or swords was a reference to Jay's death, Steph's semi-death, and my hypothetical future death of Damien… which apparently came true. Huh… am I magic? That'd sure be neat…

This is also the final section of the 2-part Interlude. More action-packed final arc next! We'll see what fate has in store for the Hood and the Bat...

Enjoy! ~ Tsuki

…

I don't own any characters mentioned in this story. The rights belong to DC comics, Bob Kane, etc.

…

Darkness Cannot Drive, Part 18/? (Interlude 2)

Terry takes a deep breath as he finishes zipping up his jacket and turns to face Jason, eyes sharp and determined. "Now… let's talk."

Jason curses to himself, but outwardly just shrugs, thankful that his expression of trepidation is hidden under his helmet. "What's there to say? I'm a jerk and an asshole—oh yeah, not to mention evil. Blah blah blah, feel free to hate me forever. Now, can we get to the inn and out of the cold, please?"

Terry frowns. "You're not evil. And... look... Jason... I just want an explanation."

"Can't always get what you want, junior. Now, again, can we just get going?"

Terry's eyes are a cold blue flame, his cheeks burning red both from his anger and from the cold winds. "Slag it, Jay! Do you know what the hell it felt like to walk into that empty apartment? That was fucking cruel. I didn't even deserve a note? Or—even better—a slagging explanation face-to-face? What was so damn important that you had to rush off like that?"

Jason feels his hands tighten into fists. "I just realized it was a bad idea. Okay? That's it. End of story."

"What about it was a bad idea?" Terry's voice is softer, honestly confused sounding. He sounds young and trusting and hurt, and Jason can't help but curse to himself.

"How long of a list do you need, kiddo? One, you're a bat. I don't really have a good track record with that. Two," Jason holds up his fingers as he counts, his voice getting sharper, harsher, "you're barely eighteen. I'm old enough to be your pop, pretty face under this mask or not. Three, you're an eighteen year old who is barely out of high school and lives at home with his mom. How do you think that's gonna work? 'Hey, Mrs. McG! Can Terry come outside and play, and then can I snog him silly?' And that's not even counting Bruce finding out. Or Barda or Supes, because that would be fun—I've always wondered what my spleen would look like outside my body. And last but not least: I'm a fucking villain, you idiot. As far as the League is concerned anyway, not to mention your boss. You saw me cut off Stan's hand, didn't you? And you still want to cuddle? Don't be naïve."

Terry is silent for a moment, his eyes narrow and cold. "Wow," Terry finally whispers, "you really thought of everything, didn't you?" Jason frowns at the flatness of Terry's tone, almost a hint of sarcasm below the surface. He hesitates for a moment before Terry continues: "And, when you thought of all of that, did you actually think about what it was that I actually was asking of you?"

"What—"

Terry cuts Jason off with a snort and a wide gesture with his hand, like throwing an invisible batarang. "I mean—Jesus, Jason, it's not like I was asking you to go steady or take me to the prom. If you think about it, I wasn't asking anything at all from you. All that bullshit you just spouted? That's on you. Guess what? You're hot. We kissed. All I thought was that we could kiss some more, maybe fool around a bit. That's it. I didn't buy you a slagging ring, you commitment-phobe!"

Oh. Right. Jason wants to bang his head against something really hard right now. He can almost hear Ducra's elderly chuckle in the back of his head. "Silly child," she would say. "You hear what you want to hear. Instead, hear what is real..."

"... It still wasn't a good idea," Jason says. The statement sounds lame and petulant even in his own ears. "But... look, I..." he takes a deep breath and grits out quickly— "I'm sorry, okay?"

Terry sighs, a bitter half-smirk ghosting across his lips. "See, was that so hard?"

Jason coughs out an almost-laugh, the sound echoing in his helmet. "Harder than you'd think. Alright—we've talked. Now can we get out of the cold?"

Terry nods and they walk together in silence. When they reach the bottom of the cliff and Jason climbs on his motorcycle, there's only a moment of hesitation before Terry slides onto the bike behind him. As Jason revs the engine, he feels Terry's chest pressed against his back and thinks, without any shadow of a doubt: Yeah, I'm screwed.

.

.

The inn, Terry discovers, is a simple concrete building with shutters painted orange and blue. When they enter, Terry is met with a burst of warmth as a fire burns in the main room, the heat spreading outward and embracing his cold face and limbs. There is an older man with tight wrinkles and warm eyes who speaks quickly and fondly to Jason, who is helmet-less now and who responds equally quickly in a language that Terry finds he can't quite place. The old man hands Jason a key and gestures toward a hallway. Jason laughs and smiles in return.

"There's a bit of dinner," Jason explains, gesturing in the same direction the old man had. "Hungry?"

Terry nods and follows the Red Hood down the hall and into a wide sitting room. Through a large window, he sees that the sun is setting behind the mountains, the sky a blaze with red and orange. "Wow..." Terry finds himself whispering.

"Yeah," Jason agrees. "You know, I always loved Gotham, but the grey and the clouds mean that sunsets aren't anything like this. It's something else, isn't it?"

"I'll say," another voice chimes from the doorway. Terry turns to see a grinning and bespectacled Clark Kent—or "Kal" Kent, as his driver's license now states. Clark, after all, was supposed to have been dead ages ago. Kal, if anyone asked, is a younger relative, just old enough now to have hints of grey in his hair. If anyone who had known Clark noticed that "Kal" has the same taste in plaid shirts and casual jeans that Clark used to wear on the weekends, no one (so far) had said much of anything at all.

"You're back," Terry forces a smile. "Get everything you need?"

Kal nods, his glasses shimmering in the sunset light. "All in my overnight bag. Sorry it took me so long—I noticed a cargo plane that needed a hand as I flew over Illinois. Hmm, what smells good?"

Jason gestures casually at the spread of plain white plates. "Carrots and potatoes, peppers, and yak tongue. There's usually spiced tea in the kettle too."

"Yak... tongue?" Terry tries not to show too much horror, but clearly he fails because Jason's face lights up in a taunting grin.

"Come on, superhero—can't take a little weirdness in your diet? Live a little; don't be a scaredy bat."

Terry raises his eyebrow, his own grin matching the taunting look. "Oh don't worry. I'll try it—what's the worst I could do? Freak out? Run off without a word?"

Jason's grin falters slightly and the two Bats find themselves in a tense silence, scooping soft strips of food into plates and not meeting each other's eyes.

"Um... did I miss something?" Kal asks, his voice dipping slightly deeper, into Superman territory.

"No," both Terry and Jason say in unison.

The three men eat in silence, Kal occasionally speaking up to ask Jason about the prayer flags on the wall or the average height of the surrounding mountains. The sun has set completely by the time their plates are empty.

"Here's your key," Jason says, tossing a key on a strand of string to Superman. "You're upstairs. There's a loft. The curtains here are thin, so if you want to get some sleep, you should head to bed soon."

Kal raises a very Clark-Kent-like eyebrow. "And you?"

Jason nods toward the window. "I think I have to take care of one more thing before hitting the sack. Terry—borrow you for a sec?"

Terry doesn't meet Superman's searching gaze as he follows Jason out the door and into the blisteringly frigid night air. "Ah, cold, cold, cold..." Terry winces and rubs his gloved hands against his arms. "Why are we out here?"

Jason opens his arms out wide. "Take a shot."

"What?"

"I said, take a shot. You're obviously still mad. So, kick my ass. If you think you can, that is."

Terry scowls. "You really think me beating you up is going to fix things?"

"You're a Bat. So yes, it usually seems to help."

"I'm not just 'a Bat.' Just because Bruce and Grayson and Drake and, heck, Gordon can't communicate their feelings doesn't mean..."

Terry barely sees a ghost of a smirk dance across Jason's lips before the Red Hood dips low and goes for a sweep of Terry's legs. The Batman gasps and jumps back, swiveling forward to block Jason's following punch. Two more punches follow before Terry grits his teeth and answers with an upper-cut of his own. Jason blocks low, and Terry hears a chuckle as he charges forward.

The minutes dance by in a blur. Punch. Block. Kick. Parry. Terry throws an elbow, which Jason grabs into a loose lock, allowing Terry to hook his leg behind Jason's and push them both down into the snow. Terry hears the wind escape from Jason's lips in a rush. He flips over and pins Jason's limbs, pressing them down into the snow—the impression of his body making a wingless snow angel.

"Feel better?" Jason half-gasps and half-laughs.

"Actually," Terry sighs, hating to admit it, "yes." The cold bites at his face and his breath escapes in visible puffs, mixing with the breath visibly panting from Jason's lips. They're both silent for a moment.

"You're right, you know... I shouldn't have left." Jason's voice is hushed, but it still seems deafening in the silence and the dark.

"Yeah?" Terry whispers back.

"Yeah."

"Well... if you want, you can make it up to me."

"Yeah?" Jason's tone matches Terry's, strained and subdued.

"Yeah."

The kiss is hard and desperate, nearly bruising. Terry's lips are chapped from the cold and he can feel the skin of his bottom lip split as Jason pulls him closer, as if to swallow him up, to fuse themselves together at mouth and hip. Terry hears the snow crunch under his gloves, feels the wetness as some of it melts into Jason's hair. He pulls away, panting. "It's really, really cold out here. We... uh... we should get inside..."

They go back into the inn, hands nervous and constantly brushing against arms and legs only half by accident. Jason unlocks his room and before they're even both through the door their mouths are locked together again, tongues slipping past lips, now gloveless hands searching under sweaters and pushing off jackets. Terry buries his face against Jason's neck breaths in the smell of him—underneath the cold is sweat and soil and the faintest hint of cigarette smoke.

"Fuck, Terry..." Jason's hands are on his hips now, pressing their bodies together in a way that makes Terry moan in the back of his throat.

"I'm not asking anything of you," Terry reminds him, pressing his lips to Jason's ear. "Just... ugh... I just want you. Now. Yesterday. Months ago. I just..."

Jason shuts him up by kissing him again, fingers tangling hard in Terry's hair. "You sure, Baby Bat? Besides the very-real reasons this is a bad idea that I mentioned earlier, well, you do realize that there's a certain someone with super-hearing upstairs, right? Might be a bit awkward at the next Justice League pot-luck..."

"Uhhh," Terry half-gasps and half-laughs as Jason bites lightly on his neck, "are you seriously trying to talk me out of casual-no-strings-attached sex? Because, I mean, if you don't want to do this, that's one thing. But I'm all for it, so..."

There was no more arguing after that. Just hands and mouths and skin and heat—the room filling with the sounds of gasps and moans, two bodies pressed against each other, forgetting the cold.

.

.

As the morning light pours through the window, Jason finds himself staring at the dark haired boy curled against his side and realizing how strangely unexpected his revelations over the past few hours have been.

Revelation 1—any expectations that Jason had of Terry as a blushing and sexually innocent teen were quickly shattered by the unmistakable fact that Terry clearly knew what he wanted and was quite vocal about it—bossy even. In fact, just in general, (Revelation #2) Terry was a talker when he was turned on. Yes's and Please's and God don't stop's and right there's and fuck's, as well as a few other things that made Jason's face burn slightly and his breath speed up just thinking about them.

Which, perhaps, leads to Revelation #3... the fact that, despite his earlier panic, Jason finds that he doesn't want to go anywhere right now. The heat of Terry pressed against him, the feeling of breath against his neck, his fingers light across his arm...

"You're thinking so loudly, I feel like I can hear it," Terry mutters, sucking the tiniest amount of drool back into his mouth as he rubs his face against what he clearly has claimed as Jason-the-human-pillow. "What's up?"

"Hmm, just going through instant replays," Jason chuckles, threading his fingers through Terry's tussled hair. "And trying to not get too much of a complex over the fact that you have clearly had a more fulfilling and interesting sex life in eighteen years than I've had in about fifty... yeah, that's definitely mildly depressing."

Terry lets out a chuckle deep in his throat which morphs into a yawn. "I've just been lucky to have a few passionate and talented partners. Quality or quantity, you know?"

"Hmm. One of those being the illustrious Dana?"

Terry nods, shrugging one shoulder. "Yeah... with her it was always really intimate and close. We were good together. I really did love her, you know?"

"I bet," Jason sighs, trying to convince himself that jealously is both idiotic and useless in this context. "But some of those tricks I doubt you learned from Dana... not unless she's hiding something very specific under those skirts of hers."

"Ugh, not a mental picture I needed," Terry laughs, half-grimacing. "Is that your subtle way of saying that I suck dick like a pro?"

"I was being subtle?" Jason smirks, sitting up slightly to look more easily at Terry's face. "But yeah—Dana seemed to imply awhile ago that you'd had a boyfriend?"

Terry hesitates, a dark expression flashing across his face for a moment. "Let's just say that didn't end well."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Curiosity pokes at Jason's tongue: "Come on, Baby Bat," Jason mouths against his hair, "You tell me yours, I'll tell you one of mine."

"Hmm? Uh, well... okay." Terry pushes himself up on his elbows and closes his eyes for a moment, taking a moment for a breath, as if he needs the extra air to get through whatever it is that he'll be explaining. "His name was Charlie. I was fifteen when we met—he was seventeen. You see, I was sent to the principal's office for fighting, and Charlie was there for skipping class. We hit it off—Charlie gave me some tips about how to play on the principal's sympathies so I didn't get in too much trouble. He was crazy good at that... and no one at the school knew that Charlie hadn't just been skipping class; he had been out of school specifically to rob houses—the nice ones out near Garden Court. You know that area?"

Jason nods, remembering Dana's eerily casual comment: I don't know why you make me think of him—just a weird vibe I guess."Yeah," Jason admits. "I know Garden Court. I used to boost cars from there when I was about fourteen or fifteen."

Terry raises an eyebrow. "No kidding? It's a small world after all..."

"Don't you dare. That song will get stuck in my head."

Terry laughs, his smile thinning into a slight sadness as he continues. "Well, I kept seeing Charlie around and he kept paying attention to me. He said he liked my spirit—the fact that I wouldn't take shit from anyone and held my own in a fight even though I was so much tinier than half the guys I took a swing at. He started calling me 'Tiny Terry' and teased his other friends, saying that tiny little me had a bigger heart than all of them put together. He started bringing me along on jobs—some car thefts, some break ins. It was exciting, and Charlie just had a way of making it seem like nothing could go wrong. Like we were pirates or bandits instead of low-life punks—he had a real charisma to him. It was almost magical."

A heavy sigh pushes through Terry's lips now. A strange instinct causes Jason's hand to move suddenly, to thread his fingers through Terry's hair and brush softly down to the back of his neck. He can tell this story is going somewhere hard for Terry and he feels oddly compelled to make such a gesture of comfort (which, Jason realizes, the compulsion itself is mildly unsettling. Terry might not have asked anything of him, but here he is, getting attached...)

"After awhile," Terry continues, "Charlie's friends started teasing us. Charlie and I were always going off together after jobs—just to talk or hang out at the park. But the guys were clearly confused and pissed that Charlie kept wanting to hang out with me. They felt like I was stealing their friend, you know? And I was just some kid. So, they'd call me a little fag and ask if Charlie and I were 'boyfriends.' And they clearly meant the latter term to be as much as of an insult as the first. But, instead of insulting them back, Charlie just said, 'Yeah? So what if we were? It'd be none of your jerks' business.'"

Terry lets out a breath of a chuckle and bites his lip. "I was pretty shocked, you know? Later, I asked him why he'd said that. He just explained that the guys weren't going to shut up if he'd acted offended. 'Why waste the time and energy giving them fuel for the fire, you know?' So... then I asked if we were actually boyfriends. And he just smirked that infuriatingly knee-melting smirk of his and said, 'Why? Do you want to be?'"

The blush spreads across Terry's cheeks now like the memory of a wave, rushing in then waning back. "It's kind of a blur of days and weeks after that. I lived with my dad at the time and he worked late, so Charlie and I spent a lot of time at my house in my bedroom when we weren't getting into trouble. I have a lot of really great memories from that time... it was new and scary and fun and exciting. But Charlie always had his mind on something else—something bigger. He heard of the T-Gang and their electronic hauls, how some of them occasionally walk away with six digits in creds. He decided that kids breaking into houses was small time and he wanted to join a 'real' gang. He asked me to help him with the initiation... and we were arrested immediately after we broke in. I was just turning sixteen, but Charlie was eighteen by now. He pretty much testified that I had nothing to do with it, that I was just some dumb kid he'd convinced to help him. I got a few months in juvee, and Charlie got three years in a full-fledged prison."

Jason sucks air through his teeth, remembering his own youthful fear of lights and sirens. "Damn."

"Yeah... we still wrote emails to each other and I'd stop by to visit at holidays, but... God, it was hard. Charlie told me that I needed to get over shit and just be a normal kid. Not long after that, I started dating Dana. And then my dad died... and I met Mr. Wayne. My life was totally different by the time Charlie got out, you know? I tried to help him as a friend, even got him a job at Wayne-Powers. But it took him only a couple weeks to use that job to try and pull a heist at the a Cerestone lab."

Jason raises an eyebrow. "Cerestone? That stuff is..."

"Dangerous and causes insane mutations? Trust me, I know. A canister broke and fell on Charlie. He turned into this giant, hulking thing. It's kind of my fault, he's more of a criminal than ever now, and the worst part is that he's happy about it."

"Wait..." Jason sits up, frowning. "Your ex-boyfriend is Big Time?!"

"Uh, yeah? Wait—you've met him?"

"Shit. Yes. He was working for a mob group in China last I heard. We tangoed once. Let's just say it wasn't my best fight—nothing like shell-hard skin and super-strength. God, I hate fighting metas. Jesus... that's... well, congrats, kid. You are officially a real Bat—ex-boyfriend mutated into a super-villain is definitely Bat-qualifying baggage."

Terry chuckles, snuggling back against a pillow. "Yeah? Glad something good came out of it, then. Do I get some sort of Bat-Baggage accolade? I think I'd like to hang some sort of certificate on my wall."

Jason laughs. "I'll get right on that for you..."

"So what about you?"

"Me? Well, I think that story probably tops most if not all of mine."

"It's not a competition. What was your first kiss?"

Jason sighs, eyes floating up ceiling-ward. "Teen Titans. Roy Harper. He was Green Arrow's sidekick, but they were already broken as a team. Roy... had some demons. I think we connected on that. I was about fifteen too. Guess we have that in common."

"Yeah? Okay... how about first blowjob?"

"Giving or receiving?"

"Either." Terry's grin is teasing and sweet, a kid at a slumber-party. Jason hesitates now, wondering what exactly to reveal.

"He went by the name 'Mozzie,' but I don't think that was his real name," Jason finally says. "My dad owed him and his boss money, but he was either back in jail or dead—I was never sure—and the guy had started harassing me and my mom. We didn't have much money, and what little we had she was mostly putting into her arm or up her nose. But the guy didn't care—he made a few veiled threats. Made it pretty clear he didn't have a problem with hurting her. So... yeah. I was about thirteen."

Terry is tense, silent. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked..."

Jason shrugs, not meeting Terry's gaze. "Don't worry about it—it was a long time ago."

They are both quite for a few minutes before Terry snorts, laughs. Jason looks over at him, an eyebrow raised in confusion. Terry just grins. "Do you want an award too? We can both get one."

Almost despite himself, Jason laughs. And then he laughs harder. And Terry is grinning and laughing too. And then they're kissing again, softer than they had the night before, more searching than passionate, more understanding than frantic.

This time, Terry isn't all that bossy. In fact, there's very little talking at all as they cling together, each breath and touch and movement a quiet comfort in the morning light.

.

.

Terry tries desperately to keep the very-obvious hickey out of Superman's eyesight, but it's probably no use. The man has super-vision after all. His only hope is that, at least for now, the Kryptonian's eyes are fixed in ponderous confusion on the bowl of porridge in front of him. "What...?"

"It's Tsampa," Jason explains. Terry is only feeling slightly hateful that Jason sounds nearly chipper after a night of nearly no sleep and no coffee seemingly anywhere in a fifty mile radius. "Nomad food. It's filling—and not bad at all. There's butter tea as well."

"Ah. Great." Kal grins, his smile bright like the sun. "I did say that I wanted to try something new. The dinner last night was delicious—I may have to come back here some time."

Jason makes a non-committal noise as he sips his tea. After a moment of silence, his eyes slip sideways over to Terry. "I need to continue searching for those killers. I promised my acquaintance in Japan."

Terry nods, hearing all that is unsaid underneath that sentence. "Good luck. I think the Bat-Wing is fixed by now anyway..."

Jason hides a smirk behind the tea cup. Terry sees the questioning look on Superman's face and wonders briefly if the hero is using his x-ray vision.

The three men leave the quiet inn and trudge through the snow, the morning sun making the air slightly more tolerable than it had been the previous night.

"I'm not coming back to Gotham. Not any time soon," Jason whispers, his tone the same flatness and hidden implication that it had been at breakfast. "But I'll let you know... if I'm ever nearby."

"Okay," Terry whispers back. "It... It was good seeing you. Take care of yourself. And I hope you don't have to fight any metas soon."

Jason snorts. "No kidding." He grabs his bike and gives a half-sarcastic salute to the Man of Steel before he roars off, his bike steaming exhaust into the frigid air. Terry lets out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

"So..." Superman's voice is soft, but there's a slight edge to it, "was the Bat-Wing actually broken?"

Terry winces. "Uh... define broken?"

Kal lets out an exhausted sigh. "You know, you didn't have to lie. You could have just said..." he trails off for a moment, frowning.

"Yeah, that's kind of why I lied. What exactly was I supposed to say?"

"I'm not sure," Superman admits. "But it would have been nice to have some warning. You're lucky I figured out what those noises were—I was a fraction of a second away from bursting downstairs and through the door because I thought Jason was hurting you."

Terry's face lights up in a brilliant blush. "Uh... thanks for not? I was, uh, fine."

"Yes. I did gather that after a moment. You're quite vocal." Terry didn't think his face could get any redder. Nope. Not at all. "By the way, you did use protection, didn't you?"

"Oh, geeze!" Nope, apparently his face could get redder. A lot, in fact. "Yes! Ugh, God, that is officially on the list of 'things I never wanted to hear Superman say. Ever.'"

Kal's lips purse together in what is a near-smirk. When he speaks, his voice is light and teasing. "Are you going to be okay flying the Bat-Wing home? That's a several hour trip, even at top speed. Several hours of sitting."

"You're actually enjoying messing with me, aren't you?"

"A bit," he admits. "The situation put me in an awkward position. This teasing is just slightly returning the favor. And speaking of awkward…" Superman's eyes turn serious again, his jaw set—Terry is momentarily grateful that this doesn't seem to be a set up for a "position" joke. "Just so you know, I won't lie to him. We're friends and there's a lot of years of trust between us. I won't necessarily offer information either, but if Bruce asks anything…"

"I know," Terry sighs. "Don't worry. I won't be lying either. We've done that dance—if Bruce asks about anything directly, I'll be honest."

"Okay then," Kal sighs, slipping back into a smile. "So… you and Jason?"

"Not really," Terry sighs as he clicks the security code to open the Bat-Wing's roof. "It was just… a connection. Nothing deep or serious. We just have some things in common."

"I see." Superman looks out at the mountains for a moment, the sun glistening on the snow. "It really is beautiful here, isn't it?"

Terry follows Kal's gaze, trying not to let his eyes linger on the tracks that Jason's bike has left in the snow. "Yeah, it is."

Superman nods. The snow swirls beneath him as he starts to hover, his boots leaving the ground and dispelling any illusion of his normal mortality. "Travel safely, Terry."

"You too," Terry says as he slips into the cockpit. They nod at each other one more time before the windows close and Terry is enclosed in black lines and red lights.

[[Terry?]] Bruce's voice crackles over the newly turned on computer. [[That took longer than expected. Are you okay? Did you find Luthor?]]

"Yeah, Bruce," Terry sighs, thumbing the controls. The engine hums, warms. "We didn't get much from Luthor, but…" Terry spares one more glance out at the sun and the snow. "Everything's fine... I'm coming home."

.

.

The man known as Doctor Geboren adjusts the frequency of the nano-scope, watching with bated breath as the seconds tick by. Another two minutes, and the bots will have bonded to the sample DNA for a record time of three days and seventeen hours. It's nowhere near enough, but it's a start. The Wayne-Tech and StarLabs nano research is clearly advanced—far beyond what any other research company has created and studied—but it is still not enough for what the master needs.

Behind him, Geboren hears the hollow, whistling sound of the master breathing. It sounds sickly, almost ghost-like in it's empty faintness. The master doesn't have long for this world—not if Geboren can't do what he was asked to do, not if he can't work a medical miracle.

There... two minutes have passed. The nano-tech stays bonded.

"It works..." the voice sounds like crinkling paper, dry and brittle. Geboren nods.

"As much as it can with an incomplete sample. To go further, I am going to need the boy that you've chosen."

The master nods beneath his cloak. "I will send a team to Gotham to retrieve him. You will have him on your table within a week, doctor."

"Yes, m'lord." Geboren watches as the frail man who once moved mountains and destroyed empires trembles slightly. The cloaked figure makes his way toward the lab's large glass window. The sun is high over the Himalayas and the snow is shockingly white, and—for a moment—he stares out over the mountains like the ruler he once was, as if everything in his view is for the taking. Then the figure coughs, doubles over, and presses thin and decaying fingers against the glass. My poor master, Geboren thinks. There is not much time left. He must work his hardest and make the nano-technology bond.

After all, Ra's Al Ghul must be returned to his former glory.

.

(END OF INTERLUDE)

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