"Dick Grayson, whatever is the matter with you?"
Eyes wide with disbelief flashed with fire as Princess Koriandr of Tamaran reigned in her warriors spirit, resisting the urge to strike back as she had been trained. The weapon of choice would have been words. Vile words. Hateful words. Words sharp as the sword of betrayal he had just plunged into her already aching heart. Words harsh because they were true. At least in part. She could call him a coward. Cry that he had lost all sense of what it meant to be Dick Grayson. Tell him that he would never measure up to that vile creature he called his mentor. Never be as good. She could, if she wanted, wound him to the core. But she did not want to. In spite of everything, she loved him still. So, with the determination it would have taken to restrain one of the Warlords of Okarra, she held back the words she so longed to speak knowing they could not be taken back. Once loosed they would hang about him, gathering strength, feeding the monster of insecurity that had clung to him like a second skin ever since they had returned from Zandia and the rout of the church of Brother Blood. Even now, she knew it was that monster talking and not the man she loved.
"How could you say such a thing?"
His chin fell to his chest and he sighed. She resisted the urge to reach out and caress the jet-black locks that framed a gaunt face, grey as paste. She could see he was trembling, though whether from anger or shame she couldn't tell. He had spoken without thought, as a child, and he knew it. He was right to be ashamed. She was ashamed for him. Where was the proud spirit she had fallen in love with? What had happened to the young man ~ no, boy then ~ who had taken command, forging a team unparalleled in this world or any other? Where was he?
As she watched, a spasm rippled through his taut muscles. A nerve near his lower lip twitched and he grimaced as though in pain. Abruptly he stood and moved away from her, knocking over the cup of cold coffee he had been fingering. He stopped just short of the thin metal railing that separated the balcony they occupied from the sky and stared into space, his knuckles white against the cold blue metal. For a second she feared he might leap over it and took a step toward him, but then she fell back. He was not that far gone. He was Nightwing, leader of the Titans. Dick Grayson, the man she loved. He was strong and no matter what had been done to him, he would survive.
"Dick," she began tentatively.
"Kory," he whispered between clenched teeth, "just leave it. Leave me."
She took a step toward him and held out her hand. His back was to her and he didn't see the gesture. Biting her bee-stung lip she shook the mass of red tresses that fell about her shoulders to the floor. No. Not now. Not here. Not her. "Dick," she began again, "You aren't yourself. You haven't been since we came back from Bloods place. You need help. Let me get Raven, maybe she ~"
He spun so quickly he was a blur, almost as though he might vanish in a millisecond the way Wally used to ~ gone before he arrived ~ but then instead of disappearing, he raised his head and squared his shoulders and faced her, as if she were an enemy he was about to confront.
"Koriandr," he began, sweat beading on his cheeks, his breath coming rapidly. Too shallow. "You have to understand. For years now." His face was contorted as he spoke, his eyes distant as though he saw something she could not, "For years I haven't been in control of my own mind. Brother Blood invaded my mind all those years ago when I was still a kid in short green pants. He planted things there suggestions, insinuations that effected everything I have ever done everything I have become. How do I know that I chose to remain the leader of this group maybe he wanted me to. How do I know I chose to become Nightwing? Maybe this costume." He pulled at the taut fabric that covered his heaving chest and twisted it in anger, " maybe this was his idea."
She took another step toward him but he held out his hand to stop her, coming to her instead. She could feel the heat of his skin as he drew near. Smell the sweat that covered him and the fear. Familiar blue eyes, clear as ice but twice as cold, fixed on her. He licked his lips and raised a trembling hand toward her voluminous hair, fingering one of the Tuscan locks. He pressed a feverish hand against her golden cheek and whispered, "How do I even know that I chose you? We didn't become serious until after the time on Tamaran after Blood fooled with my brain. You remember, I was a mess loving you went so against everything I ever stood for. You are violent savage sometimes." He hesitated as he watched the color drain from her golden skin and tears kissed the corners of her wide innocent eyes. "Kory," he pleaded, "I don't want to hurt you."
"Why cant you just accept"
"I have to think this out," he drew a breath and stepped away from her, "You know me"
Tears spilled down her perfect cheeks and she whispered, "Do I? Do I?"
His face fell and he almost stopped breathing. "God, Koryif you don't, how can." He hesitated and pivoted so he faced the dark sky splintered with the red and yellow of a dying day. Strong hands ran through hair black as midnight, tearing at it. When he spoke, it was quietly, in the voice of confession. "It is just that I don't know who I am anymore. Can you understand? I need you to un~"
He had turned toward her, his hands raised in supplication intending to plead with her to give him some space, to leave him alone just for a little while so he could sort things out.
She had anticipated his request.
Koriandr was gone.
************ It was well after midnight, nearer dawn than dusk. Joe Wilson sat on the bare wooden floor of his apartment listening to the gentle song of the wind outside his window. Suddenly his blond head bent to one side and he laid long fingers aside the guitar strings that echoed with the remnants of a tune of his own devising . A mute since the unfortunate accident that had robbed him of the use of his vocal chords, his hearing was acute, and even though the sound was soft and seemingly far away, he knew it was real, and he knew someone was in distress. Unlike the mysterious woman Raven, Joey wasn't an empath. The powers bequeathed him by his fathers selfish choice could not draw the pain from another and place it in his own strong silent frame, but there was much he could do to help a friend, and help he would.
Laying the guitar aside he rose to his feet and walked to the large window that fronted his latest apartment and leaned across the cushioned seat beneath it. Sticking his head out the window he flashed a smile that soon died on his lips as he noticed a figure huddled on the sharply angled roof, fearless as a bird. As the clouds shifted and the moonlight bathed her long solid form, he watched her tremble. Not from the cold, but from a pain soul deep. Extending his hand, he brushed her warm flesh and she flinched. Eyes red with tears turned toward him and she murmured, full lips parting to speak but then falling silent. He answered with his own elegant hands and told her to come in out of the cold. For a moment she hesitated, not wanting to intrude, embarrassed that he had heard her, but he held out his hand and coaxed her in through the window. Once inside she drew herself together and smiled a wan smile, opening her mouth to utter some excuse he wouldn't buy. He placed a finger to his lips and stopped her. She stood in the pale moonlight within his room looking like a goddess and it took his breath away. Judiciously he backed away from her and signed , "How can I help?"
She started to answer that she didn't need any help. She had just been passing by. But her heart betrayed her and she began to sniff, tears beading in the corners of her great green eyes. She took several quick breaths attempting to regain her composure.
It was a battle she was doomed to lose.
Joey met her eyes and read in them a deep sorrow. He raised his pale yellow eyebrows in a gesture he knew she would understand. Instead of signing, he opened his arms and beckoned her. She sniffed twice more and then shattered like ice under a boot. Trembling, she fell into his embrace and sobbed as though her heart was broken.
Which it was.
Joey was a little taken aback by the intensity of her emotions but remained as he was, letting her cry until the tears subsided naturally; the violent storm of her emotions relenting quickly. Soon only the signs of its passing remained: A catch in her voice. Red-rimmed eyes. Glistening golden cheeks. He reached up and brushed away a tear that trailed the length of her heart-shaped face and then asked again gently, his fingers flying with concern, "Is there anything I can do to help?"
Her eyes closed and she took a deep breath, shaking her head. No.
He touched her shoulder and she gazed into his fathomless eyes. "Are you certain?"
The warrior princess looked away to glance out the wide window behind her and sighed, laying her copper head aside the ancient wood. She paused a moment and then turned to face him, sitting on the seat beneath it, running long fingers over the threadbare cushion ""Can you heal a broken heart? Or a broken mind?" She glanced up at him and smiled wistfully, "Unless you can do one or both I'm afraid you cant help."
He nodded and signed. "Dick?"
Pain crossed her face as though she had been struck. She nodded. "You've seen it too?"
Even if he hadn't, it wouldn't have taken an empath to guess the source of her pain. Koriandrs heart was all too transparent. "He has lost himself," he stated simply.
"Yes. And I am afraid I will lose him." She turned away as the tears came again, fighting for her dignity and pride, though the face that stared back at her from the darkened glass showed she had lost that long ago. She closed her eyes and crossed her hands over her breasts. "Oh Joey, I hurt so, here inside. I want to help him ease his pain and he wont let me. He wont let me near. He wont let me in. Its as though he has closed a door within him. I knew all that Blood had done to him wouldn't leave him unscathed., but I thought I." Her voice trailed off and her hands hung limp at her side. "I thought I would be enough to make everything all right. I'm not. Not nearly." She turned and met Joe Wilson's large eyes, emerald green reflections of her own. "Joey. He has lost faith in himself. I'm afraid. I'm afraid he may go mad."
Joe Wilson crossed the short distance between them and knelt, taking her hand. She tossed her head, red locks flying and took a deep breath. In the moonlight he looked angelic, his blond curls gently framing a pale round face sculpted with sensitivity and care. Again he asked, "Is there anything I can do to help? You need only ask."
Her green eyes lit with the first hope he had seen in them and she laid a warm hand atop his. "Well," she said slowly, remembering why she was here, "I did think of one thing."
************ Dick Grayson's fingers were stiff where they clutched the steering wheel of the expensive car he was driving far too fast toward the old cemetery at the edge of town. His mouth was set in a thin line. He was furious. Furious with himself for having spoken to Kory as he had. Furious with her for leaving before he had a chance to apologize. Furious with Donna for sending him on this fools errand to track down Joey to give him a message whose contents were a mystery to him, and furious with Joe for having forgotten to take his communicator along with him which made the whole trip necessary in the first place.
He was supposed to have been in Gotham already. Bruce was waiting, probably watching the clock and shaking his head in that way he had that could make you angry and awed all at the same time. How did he do it? Perfect. Always perfect. Perfect control. Perfect timing. Perfect. Perfect. Perfect. Thinking about it only made him more furious. In fact, the state of furious seemed to be where he was living right now. Of course, his saner self realized that when he was angry ~ red-hot, beat the bad guys to a pulp and pretend you don't enjoy it when you really do angry ~ he couldn't dwell on the other emotions that warred within him, threatening to consume him. Concentrating on his rage allowed him to ignore the quieter beasts, the ones who bore names like confusion, fear And shame. A grim smile lit his handsome face as he took a corner ten times too fast. Perhaps the cemetery was just the place for him right now. Everything. His ambitions. His relationship with Kory. His hopes and dreams Everything was dead. Deserving of burial. He realized he had failed miserably. Not failed Bruce or the Titans or even Kory as he had been led to believe all of those months he had labored under Bloods insidious influence, but worst of all, failed himself. He didn't have what it took. He hadn't been able to withstand the torture and the questions, to endure the drugs and the constant, never-ending pain
A spasm wracked his lean frame as the shadow of the Confessor fell upon his wounded soul. Trembling, he pulled over, gripping the leather-bound steering wheel until his knuckles were bloodless. No one knew the true extent of what had been done to him. He wasn't even certain of it all, there were hours missing maybe days. But what he could remember was beyond description. He knew it would have killed a lesser man. But he wasn't a lesser man. He was Nightwing, leader of the Titans, heir-presumptive to the mantle of the Bat, and he had to be perfect. Anything less and he might as well hand in the towel.
Catching his breath he looked up and snorted. Without realizing it, he had reached his destination. Row upon row of grey sentinels guarded their rotting charges like predators after a kill. The grass green sea in which they swam was tidy and well kept, but the blades were long enough here to move with the steady breeze that rustled through them as well as the myriad leaves above his friends bowed head. Startled, he recognized the spot through the eyes of the past. He had been here several years before, in the days before he had come to know the young man who sat quietly strumming his guitar on the crest of the hill beside the grave of his eldest and only brother.
Most of the fury that had consumed him melted away as he listened to the wordless tune borne by the breeze. Here they had laid to rest the Ravager. Grant Wilson. Joes only brother. Slades other son. He had tried his best to kill the Titans, dying in the process; leaving behind a legacy of hate that would compel his father to attempt to fulfill the contract young Grant had signed; leaving behind a legacy of grief and the bitter wine of waste that would drive his younger brother to become a hero who would join them in order to stop him. Such were the winds of fate. Such the ties of family.
He opened the door of the car and closed it gently, stepping onto the grass and moving with stealth so as not to disturb his friend. But even mouse soft on the wet grass Joe heard him moving. His looked up and his smile was like a summer sun breaking through storm clouds. Its effect was to lift Dick Grayson a little way out of the roiling rage he had voluntarily embraced. Chagrined, he sat Indian-style beside the other man, spreading his long dark coat on the ground beneath him as Joe Wilsons fingers left the cold metal strings to caress the four inch letters carved into the dark granite of the stone before him.
Dick nodded. His voice broke and then he began again, "I'm sorry, Joe. We would have saved him if we could have. I should have~"
Joey shook his head. "His choice", he said, "his alone."
Without warning, Dicks mind flashed back to Joe Wilsons brother. Just a kid at first, angry that they had inadvertently stumbled into his life. Pouring out his venom on first his girlfriend Marcie, and then Kory and Donna.
Kory. God.
Her sweet face rose before him, red with tears, hurting like Marcie's. Like Grant Wilson he had raged at her when the person he was really angry with was himself. Guilt and shame flooded through him as he recalled the last words he had spoken to her and his fair cheeks burned crimson. He had hurt her deeply. He knew it. Still, even though he had treated her cruelly, his motivations were true. He didn't know what he felt anymore. His thoughts had belonged to someone else for so long..
Joes hand touched his shoulder and he looked up. "Forgive."
Dick frowned, the outer tips of his black winged brows meeting his unruly bangs. "I ~ what?" Was Joey forgiving him for Grants death. "Joe ~"
His friend laid one hand on his heart and signed. "Forgive yourself. It is not your fault."
"Not my."
"Not any of it."
The two men stared at each other in silence until Dick finally looked away, embarrassed. Then, suddenly, he drew something from his pocket and handed it to the mute. "Here. Donna wanted you to have this." As the other man took the envelope, his detectives eye couldn't fail to note the paper was expensive, hand-made and scented. "I don't know what it is. She just said it was important." He rose easily and stretched, walking away to give his friend some privacy. As he did, he found himself approaching a small family mausoleum guarded by a greater than life-size angel fashioned of stone. He glanced at Joe where the other man sat reading, his brow furrowed. Forgive? Forgive himself? For what? For Grant Wilsons death? For Terras? For hurting Kory or allowing himself to be used by Brother Blood? For almost killing them all? Several times? He glanced at the face of the mausoleum and winced. The name on it was Greystoke. Not that far from Grayson. His name. His parents. And that was the greatest pain of all, wasn't it? All those years ago, long before Kory or Joey or any of the other Titans or even Bruce had existed, he had failed his parents. He had let them die.
No. That wasn't fair. He was a child then. Children often feel guilty for things over which they have no control. But Still He should have done something. He just didn't know what. The weight that had rested on his shoulders for the last few months suddenly seemed impossibly heavy, too much for even Superman to bear. Dear God, what had Blood done to him? Could he ever believe in himself again?
Joe Wilson came up behind him silently and tapped him on the shoulder, pointing toward the shiny black car that glistened in the noon sun. "Can you take me back to my apartment?"
Dick fought his way back from where his thoughts had taken him. "I thought you were going home to visit your Mom."
The mute indicated the letter. "She had to go elsewhere. I will be alone this weekend while everyone is gone."
Dick glanced at the grave where Joe had left his guitar and realized that even though his friend still had his parents, he was a sort of orphan. Slade Wilson was a mercenary, not the kind of Dad you went fishing with, and Adeline. Well, you wouldn't bother taking her a corsage on Mothers Day She would probably be spending it overthrowing a foreign government or orchestrating a coup.
"Would you like to come home with me?" He asked suddenly. "Alfred's cooking is wonderful and Bruce and I had planned to do some hiking on the estate. You've never met Bruce officially, have you?"
"Would he care?"
"What's to care? You're my friend. You'd be as welcome as me."
*********** "Its not often I question your judgment, Dick, but do you think bringing him to the Manor was wise?"
Dick closed his eyes and clenched his fists for a moment before replying. He had thought his anger under control, but now the familiar scenario, the familiar put-down was causing it to rise in him again like a thing alive. Bruce's attitude just fed it and made it almost impossible to ignore. Still, calling on the training this man had force-fed him as a child, had bred into him along with how to sit and how to stand and how to shake hands with the mayor, he fought the beast down and closed the door on the dungeon, in control once again. The trouble was, Brother Bloods extensive tampering had eroded the foundation of the goal and right now, even with the control mechanisms firmly in place, he felt about as calm as Kory on a really bad day.
"Bruce," he began, "Joe is different. He's ~"
"He's Slade Wilsons son. He's the brother of the man who tried to eliminate your team. Tried to kill you. I've followed his exploits. And his mother, well, she may not be a mercenary per se ~" Bruce paused, his hand on the lighted counsel of the computer array, the blinking red and gold lights highlighting the patrician bones of his pale face. His mask was off and the keen eyes that had watched him so closely for nearly twenty years were boring into him, challenging his decision. "But she is a killer, plain and simple. Willing to do whatever it takes to get the job done. Are you certain her son is any different? What has she ~ what have they taught him?"
He might have guessed Bruce would have known everything there was to know about Joey from what brand of diaper he wore as a toddler to how he liked his tea. If nothing else, the Batman was thorough, sometimes too thorough.
"For one thing, they taught him honor." There wasn't a lot he could say beyond that. Joey was definitely his own man, not the one his parents had intended him to be. "Bruce," he continued, trying not to sound as if he was justifying his actions, " it was my decision as leader to let him in the Titans. I trust him and need him. He's talented and a good fighter"
His guardians eyebrows went up and he remarked dryly as he turned away, "That was never in question."
Following him, Dick snapped louder than intended, "Then what is? His loyalty? Joe is a friend. A good friend." Better than you've ever been, he added silently, feeling tears well behind his eyes. He would never understand this man. He could be so cold sometimes. Callous and unbending. And yet, there was something.
Bruce turned unexpectedly and they stood face to face. Deep-set ice blue eyes fastened on their lighter, more open twins. Dick suppressed a shudder. This close his very presence was intimidating, even to someone who had shared his home for more than a decade. No wonder he scared the hell out of criminals. The Batman hesitated and then spoke quietly, his words short. "You are a grown man. You have to make your own choices ~ right or wrong. It is just." He stopped, his eyes fastened on his ward, but the words wouldn't come. Couldn't come. "Just be careful."
Dick drew a deep breath. Bruce was worried about him. Concerned. Even afraid. But for some reason, his continuing inability to acknowledge the special relationship they had shared ~ closer in some ways than father and son ~ filled the young man with an unreasonable fury. Instead of nodding his head in agreement and leaving the cave with his tail between his legs, he snapped, biting each word off, "What the hell are you accusing me of? What do you think I am? Careless? Or do you think I deliberately choose people I cant trust to be in the Titans?"
Bruce didn't say a word, but leaned back and crossed his arms, pursing his lips. Dick felt the accusation in his eyes.
"No," he almost whispered, "don't you dare. Don't throw Terra
in my face. We were all fooled by her! She wasn't sane. Nothing you taught me
prepared me for her. And besides that, she was being manipulated anyway ~ "
"By Slade Wilson, I know," Bruce finished for him quietly. "So do
you."
Suddenly Dick felt trapped. The lofty recesses of the Batcave with their hidden inhabitants and monstrous stalactites seemed to press in on him and the air about him became thick and fetid. He couldn't see. Couldn't breathe. He knew he had to escape before he lost control. Before the man who stood before him had his worst fears confirmed and spoke words that would condemn him even more than the ones that came from within his own soul.
Trembling, ghostly pale, he turned on his heel and left the cave.
The absence of his presence left a hole the man who leaned against the computer console found hard to fill. He busied himself for a few moments checking experiments in progress, glanced at criminal records and took a bite out of the sandwich Alfred had left for him, but it was useless. Minutes later he stopped and simply sat in his chair, his hands dangling limply against the dark fabric of his costume. He stared at them, wondering what had happened to the little boy he had brought to this cave not so many years ago, the dare-devil child who had laughed and jested his way into his heart, managing to make this bleak hole ~ for a while ~ into a home. Behind him a sound alerted him to the fact that a transmission had been received on his personal channel. Glancing at the readout, he saw the other party was awaiting a reply.
He picked up the headphone and said simply, "Yes."
He listened intently for about a minute and then replied, his words clipped, his tone shadowed. "I see what you mean. It is worse than I thought."
He waited again, weighing words only he could hear.
"I will reserve judgment on that," he said at last, a frown creasing his pale brow. "Until tomorrow then."
The light winked off. He set the headset down and ran a hand across his stubbled cheeks. He suddenly felt very tired and old. This twisted like a knife in too recent a wound. But the moment lasted no more than a second, and then the cowl was in place and the legendary Batman possessed his strong body once again and was ready to do battle. The mask fit firmly over his handsome features and he reveled in its strength ready to face the night.
It was a good thing Jason was away this weekend. This would be too much for the boy, too familiar, and it would have been hard to keep him out of it. The boy was young determined. Stubborn.
He laughed gently as he pulled on his gloves and headed for the Batmobile.
He sure knew how to pick them.
"I don't know, Joe. He just makes me boil sometimes." Dick stared at the mug of hot chocolate in his hand and shook his head when Joey offered him one of Alfred's white chocolate apricot biscotti. "No. No thanks. I'm not really a big sweets fan, its just." His eyes grew dreamy and far-away, "its part of the ritual. I'm home. I have to drink cocoa. It was one of the few times when Bruce and I would sit down and share I mean, really talk about well, life, love loss." He stopped and sighed. Somehow all of that seemed very long ago. In reality it had only been a few years. "I guess I miss him it."
Joey remained silent, sipping his herbal tea, observing his friend.
"I don't know what happened. I guess I grew up. Maybe he wasn't ready for it. I moved on and became the leader of the Titans and suddenly things were different."
Joey tapped the table, drawing his attention, and then signed. You moved on. He remained behind. That is not easy.
Dick frowned and set his cup down, staring at the chocolate ring it had left on the mahogany table. "He didn't care. His world went on. He has Jason now. He doesn't need me." He glanced at his hands and whispered softly, "Its a good thing he doesn't need me. It seems like all I can do is screw up lately."
Joe moved to where he could lay a hand on his friends shoulder, forcing him to look up.
"Oh, sorry Joe, I'm not trying to avoid you. Really. I was just thinking."
You do too much of that.
Dick Grayson laughed, a genuine sound of delight. "You sound like Kory. She always says that." He stopped short then and a pained expression wiped away the smile. "God, Kory I cant believe what I said to her." His voice rose in pitch as he remembered how much he had hurt her. "I know I love her At least," he hesitated, " I think I know." He rose quickly, upsetting Joeys tea and with the strength of a titan cast the earthenware mug to the floor, shattering the black clay and sending the remains of the gourmet chocolate spattering wide across the tile floor. "Damn Blood and damn his experiments! How do I know, Joey? How do I know?" Real tears were threatening to spill from his eyes and his hands were clenched in fists. "I could handle it if I knew. If I knew I had just missed it with Terra. If I knew that I had chosen this path. If I knew I had chosen Kory If I knew, but damn it, Joe, I will never know. Do you know what that is like? Can you understand? How can I live with the uncertainty? How can I go on as leader of the Titans when I don't know who I am anymore?"
Joe Wilson stared at his friend, deeply troubled. He drew a breath, even though his vocal chords were useless, and then let his fingers speak. How do you know Blood did anything more than make you doubt yourself? Perhaps you have done the rest of the work for him. You have always been too introspective. All you have to do is believe in who you are and you will be that person. His jaw was set. His dark green eyes earnest. You have to let it go.
Dick stared at him for a moment and then sought out a dish-cloth and began to wipe off the legs of the table. Beneath his feet the hand-thrown clay crunched, shattered and broken, never to be restored. Like his life. Or so it seemed.
"Joe, I don't know if I can. When you guys needed me, I was useless. A limp body on the floor. Damn it, Jason was of more use to you than me. Fran. I left Donna in charge when she wasn't ready. I sold out to that madman." He tossed the dish-cloth in the sink and turned to meet his friends eyes. "You almost died."
None of which was your fault. You seek to blame yourself when no one else does. Joe paused and placed a hand on his friends shoulder. It was shaking. We are not Bruce, he signed, we do not expect you to be perfect. We just expect you to be you.
Dick waited, uncertain. Pieces of the warm clay bit into his bare feet, but he ignored them. Joey was nodding, as though he sensed something. He was right. Moments later, Dick said quietly, "Can I ask a question?"
Joe inclined his blond head. He knew what was coming.
"What was it like with your Dad? I mean, Bruce isn't my Dad, but"
In spirit, he is more than your Dad. He is your mentor, your friend. As Dick scoffed, he continued, My father was none of these. He was my teacher and my tormentor, the worst nightmare I could imagine. I could not please him. I would not become what he wanted me to become.
"And what was that?"
Him.
Dick nodded. "I know we've talked a little before. I know you rejected his path."
I have walked my own path. So must you. You will never please the image of him you hold in your heart. Perhaps Slades disapproval released me from this desire. Joe paused and then said suddenly, Think of your father. Tell me this instant what you see.
There was no hesitation. "A tall man. Strong. Invulnerable. Cloaked in shadow. A terrifying form descending through the darkness. A demon that at first terrified and then saved me." He swallowed and then added, "His grim face reflected in candlelight as I swore to follow his path no matter what."
A child's vision. A child's vow.
"Yeah. So what?"
You have grown up. You must let go of the child. You should not fear him anymore.
"I don't fear him." Dick said quickly, moving to toss the shards of pottery in the trash. "I love Bruce."
Then let him go.
"What?"
"Master Dick?" Alfred stood in the doorway, a concerned expression on his solicitous face as he noticed the chocolate stripes adorning his once clean floor. "Have we been redecorating?"
Dick glanced at Joey and then suddenly realized he was weary beyond words. "Sorry, Alfred. I dropped a cup. Ill clean it up in ~"
"Nonsense, Master Dick, you look exhausted. Show your friend to his room and go to bed. Your peace of mind will rest this old heart if not these old knees." The English butler who had practically raised him smiled gently, "Tomorrow will dawn brighter than today, Master Richard. Please, go to bed."
Joe looked at Dick shaking his head. I know the way. There is something you need to do. He tipped his head, signing the word phone.
Dark brows drew together. Dick Grayson smiled sheepishly. "Okay. You go ahead. I can apologize to Bruce tomorrow, not that hell acknowledge it, but it will make me feel better. And don't worry about me, Joey, Ill be all right. Bloods treatments just unnerved me. And as for you, Alfred"
The butler stopped tying his penny and looked up.
Dick gave him a quick hug. "Thanks."
"All in the line of duty, Master Richard."
As Alfred resumed his work, Dick grinned at Joey and signed Really, I will be all right.
Joe Wilson nodded. I know you will. Now, you believe it.
Dick nodded and watched Joey leave, then he moved into the lushly appointed living room and sank his weary form into a feather-soft wingback, tossing his feet over the arm. Picking up the cordless, he dialed a familiar number, praying she would be there.
On the other end of the line a sleepy voice murmured, "mmm-Hello?"
"Kory, were you asleep?"
Her warm tones murmured something about 2 am.
Glancing at the clock Dick swore softly. It was late. Still, he had to try or he wouldn't get any sleep. "Kory, honey, I'm sorry."
"What. Dick? Its okay. I just went to sleep"
"No, its not okay. Nothing is okay. Kory, I am so sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me. I thought once everything ended in Zandia Id be all right, but its just the opposite. I think I just need some time." He hesitated, just listening to her breath. "Can you be patient with me?"
The Tamaranean laughed, a low husky sound. "It is my chief virtue."
Dick laughed too. God, it felt good to laugh. Maybe Blood had just been playing with his mind. Maybe he had awakened the fears of the child and placed them on the man and that was what made them seem so out of place and unsettling.
"I love you, Kory."
"I know. Now, go to bed." Her voice trembled slightly as she added, "I wish you were here."
"Me too. See you tomorrow maybe?"
"Ill fly over. Warn the Bat. Or better still, fumigate." She laughed at her own joke and then finished, "Good night, Dick."
" Night, Kory."
Wayne Manor fell silent. In the morning Joey found him asleep in the great wing-back, the phone still clasp tightly in his hand.
Moments after she had hung up. Koriandrs hand lingered on the receiver. She had had time to think, laying alone in their bedroom, staring at the ceiling, counting the spiraling rings of decorative plaster work. What if she what she had thought of back-fired on her? Joe had raised some very convincing arguments. Maybe she was being childish, not allowing Dick time to work out his own problems. It was just that she was so concerned.
Lifting the receiver again she dialed a now familiar number and waited while a deep voice prompted her to leave a message. He wasn't home. What a surprise. She doubted the man ever slept.
"Br - Batman, its Koriandr. About tomorrow." She paused, unsure of how to continue and then quickly finished. "Ill be there as planned."
She returned the phone to its cradle and sighed, pushing a deep red hunk of hair out of her reddened eyes. No. Even if her initial idea was a few cards short of a full deck, he needed to know what was going on. This was his ward. His son who was hurting. Maybe he'd have an idea. According to Dick, he was never without one.
Sitting on the edge of the bed she sighed again and hugged herself against the lonely solitude of the room.
Shed be glad when Dick was back home.
************ "What do you mean Bruce isn't back?" He and Joe exchanged puzzled glances. They had just rolled in after an exhilarating day of cave exploration and hiking. Covered with dirt and smelling of sweat, they had parked themselves in Wayne Manors spacious kitchen and raided the refrigerator. After the night before, Dicks spirits were lighter. He felt refreshed, renewed, and while they laughed and talked, their hands flying faster than lightning, they shared the cold supper Alfred had prepared and left waiting for them in the fridge. They had been there ten minutes at best when Alfred rushed into the kitchen, his Windsor knot askew, his lean narrow face a portrait in anxiety. At first Dick had assumed he was making a pretense that he cared that his black and white tile floor now looked like advertisement for Spic and Span, but within seconds he knew that wasn't it. Bruce had left the night before in the Batmobile, shortly after they had traded words, and he had never come back or made contact. It had been over twenty-four hours. He hadn't called or left any of the usual signals that he was engaged in a case and would be out of contact for a while. It seemed he had simply vanished, as though the earth had opened up and swallowed him whole without a trace.
It had to be serious. Alfred was worried.
So was Dick, even though he wouldn't admit it. Something was wrong. Bruce was the most disciplined man he knew. A creature of habit. You could count on him to do the right thing at the right time and the right way. Besides, he tried not to make Alfred worry. The Englishman wasn't getting any younger and the stresses and strains of butling for a crimefighter were more than enough. If Bruce was going to be out of touch, he would have let Alfred know. Somehow. Dick rose and crossed to him, taking him by the shoulder.
"You checked the cave thoroughly?"
"Yes, Master Dick, there is nothing. No sign. No word. He has simply vanished. I hope you do not think I am unduly concerned. It simply isn't like Master Bruce at all."
"No, it isn't." The black-haired youth pushed past the older man, signaling for Joey to follow him. "Don't worry Alfred, well find something. Come on, Joe."
"Master Dick, do you think?" Alfred Pennyworth looked at Joey and then toward the old grandfather clock that masked the entrance to the cave. He said no more. Always the soul of propriety, Alfred.
Dick sighed. So Bruce had acquainted him with Joes history or at least with his own suspicions. Fighting down the burn that sought to overpower him, he ran a hand through his dark locks and smiled crookedly. "Well, he isn't here to complain, is he? Come on, Joe."
As they moved the clock aside and entered the darkened stairwell, beginning the long descent to the cave, Dick grew uncomfortable with his friends silence. "Joe," he began, "I'm sorry Bruce is so prejudiced against you, it isn't fair. I don't know why ~"
Joe stopped him. He stood a step or two lower which put them eye to eye, and as Dick opened his mouth to speak, he put a thin tapered hand against the thick rich fabric of his friends sweatshirt, drawing his attention. Then his hands flew. He has cause. If I had a son, I would worry about who he associated with, especially if they were known to be acquainted with criminals. Grant was an assassin. My mother kills without concern, almost without thought. And my father ~" Joes eyes clouded with regret. His hand went to his own throat and the pale scar thinly traced across his larynx. This is how much he cared. Bruce loves you."
Dick swallowed hard and moved past him. "I know. He just has a funny way of showing it."
Joe Wilson watched as his friend descended the last few steps into the famous Batcave. It was his first time and like anyone else, he felt like a tourist, gaping at the trophies, in awe of the technology and the massive complicated machinery. But even as he noted the giant penny, the dinosaur frozen in mid-strike, and the huge Joker card leering at him like the face of madness, his mind was elsewhere, thinking of fathers and sons. His father had pretended not to, but had rejected him outright, unable to understand how his superior genes had produced such a weakling, a child whose preference for art and music, light and love seemed to condemn his own fascination with strength and military might. He should have hated him, but he didn't. In a curious way he pitied Slade Wilson for all he had missed, for the blindness that kept him from enjoying a sunset or the subtleties of a poem. And in an even more curious way, he loved him deeply. But it did not take Slade Wilsons love to make him the man he was, nor Slades approval. He was who he was. But then he had had his mother throughout his childhood and she had told him that it didn't matter what he did, the important thing was ~ who was he inside? Somehow Bruce Wayne had failed to communicate this to his ward. Dick was still going through the paces, seeking to prove his worthiness, craving his mentors approval like a love-starved little boy. He badly wanted his fathers blessing as sons through the ages had. But from Bruce Wayne, who had never received a blessing of his own, it would never come. His friend would have to find it in others and in himself, and only then would he be whole. In a bizarre fashion, Blood had done him a favor, forcing these feelings to the surface where they had to be faced. If it just didn't drive him mad ~
Quietly, he took his place behind his friend, facing the mammoth Cray that filled one wall of the Batcave. Dick was busy recalling all of the messages that had come through the computer since the evening before, hoping to find a clue to his guardians whereabouts. There were several from the Commissioner and one chatty one from Jason who was having a blast at his God-Uncles, and another from an informer Bruce had told him he used frequently these days ~ a woman ludicrously known as Steel Sal. She was a Gulf War Vet, homeless, involved with the street trade in Gotham. The stainless steel plate that filled a fist-size hole in her cranium had earned her name. Her dependence on drugs, picked up in the Gulf, had earned her a place on the streets. Still, due to her training as a reconnaissance officer in the war, she was good at what she did, making it her business to know everyone else's business. Bruce trusted her as far as Bruce trusted anyone. Dick grimaced at the thought and then lifted a thin finger to toggle a switch, letting the message play aloud, glancing at Joey as the woman's husky voice filled the still air of the cave.
"For the Bat, a warning. The white fox is on the prowl. Better watch your back. He's a contract player and the word is that you who dwell in caves are on his list."
Dick pressed the switch so the message looped and played again, and then he remained motionless, his finger white against the flickering red light.
The crimefighter's face was grim. His narrow lips tight. Joe knew the answer, but he had to ask. The white fox do you know who that is?
His friends blue eyes narrowed. He looked at Joey, held his dark eyes a moment and then looked away. His pale hand moved and he pressed another switch. Immediately the screen in front of him flickered into life bearing a legend in bright green letters and the image of an older man, white-haired, grim-visaged, handsome but hard. He wore a black patch over one eye. Joe Wilson read the words, white fox, realizing it was the code name by which the woman Sal had marked him.
The young man's jaw tightened and his eyes grew black.
Slade Wilson. The Terminator.
Continued in Chapter Two
Continued in Chapter Two