August 17, 0005h

	Tim shifted his feet, resettling himself.  He'd been watching the silent 
docks for three hours without a clear sense of why.  He suspected it was because 
somewhere in Bludhaven, Batman was shaking down various players in Blockbuster's 
operation and did not want his partner's disapproval.  *Or maybe he just can't 
look at the suit.*  Tim shook his head and tried to refocus.
	A soft chime sounded in his ear.  "Nightwing, you there?"
	He winced, realizing the voice was talking to him.  "Yeah, Oracle?"
	Pretense.  He knew he was talking to Dinah.
	"Is Batman with you?"  Hushed tones.  A sense of worry, even through the 
electronic masking.
	"Negative, Oracle.  He won't answer his com?"
	"No."  A pause. Expectant?  Or uncertain?
	"Do you have info for him?"
	"About the case?  No."
	"Oracle?  Is everything okay?"
	Silence.  "No."
	"Do you need me back?"
	More silence.  
	"Do you need me to get Batman?"
	"Will he come back with you?"
	"No."
	More silence, then a sigh.  "He's worse."
	She didn't need to say who.  Tim stared blindly at the docks, trying not 
to think too hard about it.  "What's the situation?"
	"Infection.  High fever."
	Tim closed his eyes for a second.  "Prognosis?" he whispered.
	Pause.  "Uncertain at best."
	"Understood.  Nightwing out."
	He hated to cut the conversation so abruptly, but what else could he say?  
He ached to go back, but if the unthinkable happened, Batman was right - they 
were too close to breaking Blockbuster - Dick had been too close.  To let the 
opportunity go would be to dishonor his life.  Still, Batman should know, should 
be informed...
	He took a deep breath, prepared for the cold anger that would surely greet 
him across the comlink, and activated the narrow emergency channel that would 
get Batman's attention.  He'd just pressed the button when a soft rustle caught 
his ear.
	He whirled, his bo barely deflecting the descending machete as Batman's 
voice answered his signal.
	"Nightwing, report."
	Tim twisted his wrists, cranking the bo to an angle that caught the one-
two swipe of blades.  He lost his small space of retreat as he backed with the 
blows - his new position left his right heel over empty space.  He thrust his 
weight forward, ducking and rolling to the side.  "He's here!" he hissed into 
the comlink.  No sense warning his attacker that he had Batman on the line.
	"I'm tracing your signal."  Impossible calm tones as the large man now to 
Tim's right somehow chose not to strike.  
	Instead he spoke.  "Impressive.  But you are not the man I killed."
	Tim remained cautiously on the balls of his feet, his bo balanced in his 
hands, and inspected his foe.  Tall and broad, like Batman.  Clad in black, 
clothes cut loose enough to hide the dimensions of the man.  Face unmasked, 
goateed but smooth cheeked.  Perhaps thirty.  Dark eyes, piercing, glittering 
with intelligence.  
	"I fight for him," Tim replied, using *the Voice*.
	A dark eyebrow quirked in amusement as the machetes disappeared into 
sheaths across his back.  "So you do, Youngster.  But I do not kill without a 
contract."
	"Bastard," Tim hissed, lunging at the smiling villain.
	His thrust was casually deflected by a suddenly unsheathed again machete. 
"Someone taught you to use that rage this way.  Sloppy.  Sloppier than you are 
capable of."
	Tim attacked again, the image of Dick's bloodied body flashing in his 
mind.
	"This is not a fight I want, Youngster."
	Suddenly Batman's *Voice*, cutting through everything.  "ROBIN!  
DISENGAGE!"
	"NO!" Tim yelled in frustration, but his training wouldn't let him attack 
again.
	A chuckle from the man once again sheathing his machete.  "Your mentor 
knows how to create good soldiers," he remarked before turning to drop from the 
roof.
	"NOO!" Tim cried again, knowing how quickly Dick's attacker would elude 
them.
	"Robin!"  Batman again, at his side, not in his ear.
	"He's gone!  I had him!"
	Batman followed Tim's gaze.  "He'll be back."