Tim wins the stalking contest, always.

I see the stars, they're in your eyes
A playful kiss, can you tell I'm excited?
A fast escape in the nick of time
If you lost your wish, can I help you find it?

-Angels and Airwaves, "Start the Machine"

Now.

They walked for a long time in silence. Tim had ultimately needed to direct Steph to the exit (how anyone could live in that huge mansion without getting lost was beyond her), but had been completely quiet since. He let her hold his hand tightly as they traversed the sidewalk though, dragging desultory feet along and wandering without any real direction in mind. Though her brain burned with so many yearning thoughts, things she desperately wanted to say – to say "sorry" and "thank you" for – she waited patiently to see if he would speak first. As the time ticked by though, he remained almost disturbingly reserved, until at last she couldn't contain herself anymore and was about to finally open her own mouth – when he stopped all of a sudden in front of a worn fence. She backtracked, tracking his view to the old, rusty gate. …Behind it appeared to be an abandoned theme park.

Imagining the kind of upsetting imagery such a site would entail, she attempted to move forward, to lure him away from the fairground – a breeding ground for clowns – but he surprisingly stayed put. After a moment, she asked:

"Did you want to go inside?"

He simply nodded. Doubtfully, she tested the entrance, which turned out to be conveniently unlocked, aching joints swinging open on their hinge with a tired creak. (So much for security.) As they snuck through and strolled amongst the stalls and stalled rides, she tried to envision how the carnival must have been in its heyday – bustling with children and chatter – carefree laughter. …Such innocence and excitement seemed so far away now.

Tim stuck close to her tail, squeezing onto her palm – like a little duckling afraid of getting lost. They eventually came upon a cubic castle, brash and clashing colors catching her eye: a leftover moon bounce, sagging slightly but still intact. Steph brightened as an idea occurred to her.

"Hey, let's have some fun."

She hopped onto the inflatable, tugging lightly to try and coax him after. He wavered with reluctance.

"I'm not a kid," he stated almost indignantly, contradicting his behavior up to now.

"…You haven't been since that time, right?"

Tim wordlessly declined his head.

"Just humor me for a bit," she implored as she reached for the rest of his appendage, nearly yanking him inside. Within the safety of the net, she took both his hands and jumped gently at first, gaining momentum. Springing higher and higher, striving towards the stars up above. As they rose together, Tim recalled how, once upon a time, he would've been busting out backflips and aerial somersaults all over the place. Now his legs felt like lead, and his hands stiff as ice. …Hers were warm though, and didn't let go, raising him up to her level. Like being attached to a blazing rocket, lifting off and flying free into space. Escaping the stratosphere to soar for one more glorious night through the galaxy, leaving the insignificant speck of earth and its inhabitants behind. The smallest of fond smiles formed on his face at the notion.

They couldn't go too far though. He was forever grounded, chained to the weight of his heavily burdened and burned out soul. A fallen star. As the realization sank in, he slowed down due to gravity, landing with a flop on the spongy material as it rippled and undulated like waves underneath him. His partner followed suit, descending dutifully back to the launchpad to recline next to him, and they lay there, staring up at the cosmos. …The universe seemed so vast, full of infinite possibility. And here he was, a tiny and trivial grain of dirt who had nothing more to offer it, nothing even left to give, let alone aspire to anymore. Who was sorely reminded after tonight that he didn't deserve these past few months of happiness. Who had, against his better judgment, fallen in love – comfort – complacency – with someone all over again – and let himself be loved in return – when he knew he shouldn't. …Who had hurt the person beside him as much as she hurt him.

"I'm sorry… I never came back to see you."

He spoke up softly at last. Steph swiveled her head, regarding him with a mix of tremendous relief and understanding.

"So you do remember," she whispered. "I was afraid you'd forgotten."

"Of course I remember." (There were many things he remembered, even if he wanted to forget.) "…I also remember the bread."

"Bread?"

At her puzzled tilt, Tim took a deep breath as he further pried open the can of worms.

"Punk kid comes around stealing milk, practically consumes everything in the fridge, breaks a glass bottle on the street with a Batarang, and almost convinces a girl to run away from home – sound familiar?"

Her pupils widened in shock as she matched all the scattered jigsaw pieces together, the last one fitting finally into place.

"That was you?"

She had, admittedly, considered the (un)likelihood based on coincidental context clues, but the odds seemed so far-fetched, like a fairytale. Thus her subconscious dismissed it as mere wishful thinking.

"…It's funny how fate works, huh?" Tim mused in half-entertainment, half-resentment. "One of the first things I did as Robin was find out where you went. I – I wanted to do more, something to help improve the situation, but your uncle was dead, and your dad wasn't committing crimes at the time, and without credible evidence of abuse or neglect Protective Services wouldn't be able to legally act. If anything, once they investigated they'd likely take you away from your mom too."

His knuckles balled, berating himself for not seeking a better solution sooner. Rescue at least one life that was worth it. But his own history with social workers and authority figures had made him skeptical of the so-called "justice" system, although he'd learned to rely on the Commissioner for reinforcement at least – especially when the two were forced to collaborate to keep crime at bay by themselves in Batman's abrupt absence for a few weeks. (Quite frankly speaking, sometimes it seemed like he was the only competent cop in Gotham.) Stephanie shifted her fingers to wrap forgivingly around his.

"It's okay, Tim. Just the fact that you cared is enough." As the implications of what he just told her began to fully absorb, she reflected back in amazement. "Wait, so does this mean – all this time – you knew…?"

Tim awkwardly averted his gaze. "Why do you think I was always watching you?"

"So… You were watching me."

An embarrassed flush dyed his visage as he hastily endeavored to deflect.

"N- not in a weird way. I was just… worried about you."

She rolled over onto her elbow, propping her jaw with a coy smirk as she studied his red complexion.

"So it's not because you thought I was cute?"

"Yes- I mean no. I mean, it's because – because…" He stammered unsuccessfully, before respiring. "It's because you were always smiling. No matter how bad things got."

She gripped his wrist encouragingly.

"It's thanks in part to you that I was able to keep a positive outlook, you know. Knowing there was someone out there who cared, even if it was just some stranger. I always… wondered what happened to you after that. I mean, you just disappeared." She exhaled, contemplating off into the distance. "…Now I know why."

Tim mutely traced her perception, still uneasily mum on the subject. Steph thus continued on, hoping that baring her own heart would help persuade him to share.

"After you left – the first time – my uncle – he did try to…"

As she trailed off, Tim looked straight at her in horror, sympathy welling in his eyes.

"Oh God. Steph, I – I'm so, so sorry."

She shook her head.

"It's nothing compared to what you went through."

It was Tim's turn to clasp her hand consolingly.

"This isn't a competition. It's not about who has the bigger scars."

Steph sniffed, tears seeping through despite herself. "You'd still have me beat though," she snorted wryly. "But that's the real reason why we couldn't carry on my piano lessons. I demanded to quit, since I couldn't deal with my instructor anymore, even though he'd done nothing to me. I became so scared of men I couldn't stand to be alone with any adult males at all for a few years, even just for a short period."

Tim nodded in empathy.

"It took Dr. Thompkins a year to get me back to anywhere near resembling 'normal'. …And even then I knew things would never be the same. Hell, I could hardly stand to be around myself, let alone others. I didn't know who to trust anymore."

She clutched his cold skin back compassionately, appreciative at his willingness to admit that much.

"I tried telling my dad what had happened, but he didn't seem to believe me. Later though, I found out about my uncle's death – the timing and the cause – and I couldn't help but wonder if… my dad had killed him. If so, was it because he messed with me, or because by messing with me he messed with my dad – with his 'territory'?" She spat the words bitterly. "I had finally made up my mind to ask him about it, once and for all, but then he 'died' too… And I didn't know what to do."

Regret filled Tim's conscience.

"I'm sorry I couldn't have been there for you."

"It's not your fault," she insisted, dabbing at the corners of her eyes with her sleeve. "None of it – was your fault. You were just a kid. But… If you were really aware this whole time… How come you never said anything?"

Tim bit his lip with a conflicted countenance.

"It's not like I could just go up to you and confess everything, now could I?"

Stephanie sat up into a cross-legged position, resting her chin into her palm as she cast a coquettish glimpse towards him again.

"And what exactly were you planning to confess?"

She teased, poking playfully at his cheek as it blushed deeper.

"…I think you know by now."

"I want to hear you say it."

He elevated as well, lingering on her hesitantly for a second, before inclining forward to – finally – kiss her.

It was their first time despite it being several months since they started "seeing" each other, and he seemed nervous and new at it, but the shy, inexperienced gesture felt nice in its own way. Like they were suddenly young and giddy grade-schoolers again, rediscovering what that warm, fluttery feeling in their chests meant. His touch was tender compared to the coarse way all the guys she'd been with before treated her, and she took care not to be too rough with him either (somehow it seemed like slipping tongue at this stage might startle him unnecessarily; set him off like a delicate, frightened deer), letting him take the lead and decide when and how much was enough. It turned out to be little more than a quick peck, but it left her smiling and satisfied. Calm. Content.

"I love you," he declared as lips pulled gradually away from contact, timidly extending out to tuck a strand of her bangs behind her ear. Grasping her fingertips firmly with his other free limb, as if anxious she might disappear if he didn't, float far off into the atmosphere without him like a balloon. "I don't ever want to lose you. Not again."

Steph cupped his mug in reciprocation.

"I'm not going anywhere."

His vision diverted, scanning the horizon.

"I still have them. Nightmares – of everything he did to me. But now – sometimes it's you. I picture you – getting hurt, or… worse." He swallowed, struggling to articulate. "And it scares the hell out of me."

She observed the stressed and sleepless circles under his sockets, massaging mildly.

"Thank you, for always looking out for me. But you don't have to be concerned about me anymore. It's over now, I promise."

Tim released her, severing connection in order to comb a hand through his own hair, ironically acknowledging how their roles had seemingly reversed.

"You always could take care of yourself, couldn't you? I bet you would've been fine even if I hadn't come along. Hell, you're a lot stronger than I am. You probably didn't actually need me to save you. In the end, it's not like I ever really did anything to help…"

"That's not true. I was really lonely too, you know. It meant a lot to me that you listened, you have no idea how much I needed someone like that. I mean, why do you think I keep a diary?" She drew her knees up to her breast, hugging them close. "I did try calling you once, afterwards. …Batman hung up on me."

Tim surveyed her sorrowful stance.

"I'm sorry."

Saltwater started to stream down her features again.

"What the heck-" she sniffled, burying her forehead in her borrowed jeans, "-are you apologizing for?"

"I'm sorry."

He reiterated, as she burst into shuddering sobs. At length though, she began to giggle intermittently between hiccups.

"We're… a real mess, aren't we?"

She gasped, wiping ineffectually at her leaking ducts, smudging cheap mascara over her lashes. Tim managed to join her in a weak chuckle.

"Yeah. We sure are."

She scooched towards him, huddling and cuddling close, relaxing affectionately against his heat. He enveloped an arm around her, nestling back as she snuggled and settled, welcoming warmth. They stayed supporting each other like that for a while, marveling at the Milky Way, counting constellations and parallel pulsebeats.

"Hey," Tim cleared his throat at last. "…You want to get married?"

"…What?"

He scratched the back of his neck, praying she wouldn't make him have to repeat it.

"You heard me."

She removed her dome and rotated, scrutinizing the seriousness of his demeanor.

"Tim Drake, are you actually proposing to me?"

"Yeah. I guess I am."

She gaped in awe at his audacity, almost amused by it.

"You really are crazy, aren't you?" She shook her head in disbelief.

"…Is that a 'no'?"

Grinning widely, she bopped his crown with a cheerful chop.

"Of course I will, you idiot. But," she put a pointer to his lips, shushing before he could reply, "We're gonna do this the 'normal' way. We'll study hard, graduate, both get jobs, work to save up for a proper wedding ceremony, and invite all our friends and… family."

Tim gulped as another consequence of his impulsiveness crossed his mind.

"Are you going to tell your mom – about all this?"

"…Only if you want me to."

He paused, before putting on a determined air.

"She does have a right to know too."

Steph clamped his clenched fist reassuringly. Though it was curled with bold resolve to take responsibility, she could tell the owner was still trembling in terror.

"We'll tell her together, when the time is right."

She got up, stretching her hand out for his. He took it with a bashful beam, and they departed the fortress. On their way out, they passed by a number of ramshackle game booths – most of them boarded shut, but a few were still set up and apparently operational. Steph halted at the Ring Toss.

"Hey, do you mind if I give the Batarang a go now?"

Tim delayed his answer out of instinctive disinclination, but saw no excuse to deny her at this point.

"Sure," he shrugged. "Why not."

He fished out the weapon, handing it gingerly over to her. She took careful aim at the pins, and let it loose, succeeding in knocking over one of the bottles on her initial effort. Her audience clapped, genuinely impressed by her raw, unrefined talent. Perhaps, with some polishing and practice, plus further fine-tuned training under a real skilled expert's supervision, she could've measured up evenly to their standards…

"Man, you might've made a good Robin."

"Thanks," she murmured as she bent over to pick up the projectile, "But I guess it's not my thing after all. I just always wanted to try it once, as a kid. It looked so cool whenever Batman did it."

"Yeah," Tim muttered dully in response. "I thought the same."

"But," Steph sighed as she toyed with the tool in her hands, before presenting it back to him. "We're not kids anymore, are we?"

He accepted the item, stowing it without a second glance.

"Maybe… The two of us were never meant to be."

He leaned against the counter, hands shoved glumly in his pockets. She approached and benevolently bumped his shoulder.

"It's not too late, you know. We can start over, from the very beginning, and maybe – do it right this time."

He examined her earnest expression.

"I'm not… the same person as I was back then. You may not like me as I am now."

"It's okay. I want to get to know the real you – all of you. Even if you've changed in some ways, you're still the Tim I fell in love with. And I'd do it all over again, no matter what. So…" She offered out her palm. "What do you say? Want to give it another shot?"

He blinked, before tentatively taking the proposition. She shook gleefully in greeting, relishing the opportunity for reintroduction.

"My name's Stephanie. Stephanie Brown. Nice to meet you."

"…Tim Drake. Nice to meet you, Stephanie."

As they headed back to campus, hands tied together in a sincere knot, Tim felt something bubbling to the surface from deep within, an emotion he hadn't experienced – embraced – in so long. It had been building up, bit by bit, but now that the darkness had been fully exposed he could see the light clearly shining at the bottom. While his companion's curiosity had uncovered the lid of Pandora's Box, unleashing all the evil within – revealing reviled demons he'd strained so hard to suppress – she had also awakened another dormant, divine entity. Heaven's merciful final blessing – one more chance at achieving bliss. A goddess – nay, an angel – hero – who took pity on someone as pathetic as him, pardoning his sins. Rekindling a faint spark of faith and flame, that discarded dream he'd already long ago given up, granting him something to treasure – to fight for again – a sensation of finally looking forward to the future for once. Beyond his own blemishes and blunders.

For even as a ruined sculpture (judged to be a flawed product perhaps from foundation), he'd found someone: a kind and kindred confidant, who still deemed its inner core – raw ore – precious. Who saw past the chinks in the armor – the true value in preserving, faults and all. Who pledged to help pick up the shattered shards of his broken spirit, try to patch and bond and fix, if not restore to former glory. …Bravely facing a fresh dawn for both them, peaceful and protected in the knowledge that neither of them was alone anymore, in the endless uphill battle against this hideous, savage world. Unearthing something beautiful – a hidden jewel – amidst all the cruel, ugly carnage, pain and despair. A mutual vow – for better or worse, richer or poorer, in sickness and in health – to stand by each other to the end, that everything would be all right.

And maybe…

Just maybe…

That's a thing called "Hope".

I'm on my knee, just one to start
A fresh new start, don't be undecided
If love's a word, that you say
Then say it, I will listen