I don't know why I'm doing this.  I'm not even supposed to know who he is.  But 
he needs to know what's happened, and there's been no answer from his civilian 
persona– I can't even bring myself to say his name– in the past few hours, and I 
know he hasn't caught any news because he's been focused on the Taylor 
kidnapping case.  It's cold so that I can see my breath as I wait on the rooftop 
for his response.  I'm wearing my usual tan trenchcoat and I've got my hands 
stuffed in my pockets.  Have I mentioned it's cold?  Maybe it's more what I know 
I have to tell him when he gets here.

"What is it?  You know how busy I am."  I spin and jump involuntarily.  I really 
wish he wouldn't do that, but the world would end before he would come to the 
roof from the direction I'm facing.  

"I know.  I'm sorry.  But something's happened that I thought you should know, 
and I didn't think you'd see it."  I know he sees that it's bad news.

"Something related to the kidnapping case?"  As he asks it, I sense he's not 
allowing himself to believe that it is.  If only it were.

"Um.  Well it involves the police."  Here it is.  I've got to say it.  "It 
happened in Blüdhaven."  I watch for a reaction, and I can see it in his eyes.  
That's the only place to look if I want to see anything from him.  I look to the 
ground, and I can feel the tears forming as I try to say the words, "A young 
rookie cop has been critically injured in the line of duty.  His name is Dick 
Grayson."  I look up.  

He's looking at the ground, weighing something.  I doubt it's the fact that I 
just revealed that I know his identity.  I've been in his shoes.  Finally he 
speaks.  "How bad?"  I pause, looking at the ground again, trying to place into 
as few words as possible the information.  I know he's too impatient for 
anything else.

"Bad," I start.  "He's been shot in the back, and the bullet hit his spine."  I 
pause again. "It happened a few hours ago.  They've said that if he hadn't been 
in such excellent physical condition, that he would have died on the scene."  I 
mention that in hopes that he might consider that it's his training and 
influence that has Dick in such excellent condition.  Though truthfully, I doubt 
it will ever occur to him. 

"They've been trying to contact his.." I stumble, "next of kin." I think he 
catches that I used this meeting as a last resort.   I'm having trouble keeping 
my emotions in check now, because I remember exactly where I was when I heard 
what he's about to hear, "They don't expect him to ever walk again."

**

I'm here with Barbara.  Coming here with my daughter makes the daily thirty-
minute commute from Gotham a little more bearable.  She could only stay a few 
minutes by Dick's bedside before she started to cry uncontrollably, and she said 
she was going to the chapel of the hospital.  I offered to go with her, but she 
said she wanted me here with him; that she didn't want Dick to be alone.  I 
think though she wanted to be alone, which is ok.  Sometimes solitude is 
necessary, and one of the most important jobs for a parent to master is to know 
when his child needs to be alone.

I'm leaning back in a chair next to Dick's bedside.  My eyes rest on the 
displays monitoring Dick, but I'm not seeing them.  I can't bring myself to look 
at him for more than a few seconds.  I'm used to seeing him young and vibrant 
and full of energy, but now we're in the ICU, and, connected to the myriad of 
life-supporting machines through tubes and wires, and wearing a mask that is 
helping him to breathe, he looks one step from death.

A few Blüdhaven cops have been here already, and some of the older ones knew 
me.  I think they were impressed that I was here, although the younger ones who 
had to be told who I was seemed to think I was here because Dick is the son of 
Gotham's leading philanthropist.  It doesn't matter to me what they think; I 
know why I'm here.  It was clear by the expressions and support who Dick's 
partner is, and he vowed right here to get the guy that shot Dick.  Of course 
the other cops supported him immediately.

I hear a sound, and my eyes avert from the monitors to the doorway.  He's 
standing there looking at his son.   I see an inner fire in his eyes–like he's 
going to make his son well through simple will–that I've always known to be 
there, although now it seems to stand out more.  Maybe it's because I've finally 
allowed myself to acknowledge who he is at night.  Or maybe he acknowledges that 
I know so that he doesn't feel it necessary to mask his true personality like 
I've seen him do so well.  Or maybe he's just exhausted.

He doesn't smile as he nods his head in greeting and says, "Jim."

"Hello, Bruce," I say sympathetically, making my observation of him obvious.  I 
know he doesn't like it.  I turn my attention back to Dick and provide a 
progress report, "The doctors say he's doing better today, and if things go 
well, they hope he'll be conscious by the end of the week."  God forbid things 
don't go well.

He cuts off my next word, "But no more progress on the paralysis?"

I pause for a minute, wishing better news wouldn't be a lie.  Finally, I admit 
quietly, "No."  He pauses for a moment, and then steps up to his son's bedside, 
resting his hands on the side rail of the bed.  I watch as he watches Dick 
silently, and I wonder what's going through his mind.  I have a good guess.  If 
he's anything like me, he's running through his head what he could have done 
since birth–or in Dick's case, age 9–to prevent these turn of events.  I know 
now that nothing could have prevented this, but I also know he needs to find 
that out for himself.  I just hope to God that he does.

It's been about two hours since Barbara left this room in tears, and I think 
it's time for me to see how my little girl is doing.  Now that Bruce is here, I 
feel more comfortable leaving Dick.  Besides, during a time like this, Bruce 
needs to be alone with his son.

I excuse myself and head down to the chapel.  I find my Barbara in the back just 
staring at the altar in front of her.  I step quietly up behind her and rest my 
hand on her shoulder.  She looks up and me, and, although her eyes are still red 
and puffy from tears, her eyes are dry.  I move around her and sit in the pew 
next to her.  I sit a moment, leaning forward with my elbows on my knees and my 
hands clasped in front of me. I look at the simple cross in front while I figure 
out the words to say.  Finally I simply ask, "How are you doing, sweetheart?"

After a moment of silence, I turn my gaze to my daughter, and I can see she's 
trying hard not to cry again.  Finally she gets her words out, although her 
voice is a little shaky, "I don't want him to have to live like this." I know 
she's referring to her chair.  "It would kill him."  I notice that although his 
life is still in danger, she doesn't even bring that up.  I find myself 
wondering if it's because she thinks living in a wheelchair would be worse than 
dying, or if she simply can't bring herself to even consider that possibility.  
Needless to say, I hope it's the latter.

I nod and say, "He's strong, Barbara.  If that's what life gives him, he'll make 
it.  He has too much of Bruce in him."

"No," she protests, "You don't know how important activity is to him.  He 
wouldn't know what to do."

I look at Barbara in her beautiful green eyes, and I say seriously, "I do know."  
I know my daughter knows their secret, because I know she held that same secret.  
I hesitate, trying to find the words, and then I relay the events of last night, 
"I was the one to tell Bruce.  At night.  On the rooftop of the precinct." I 
look to see if she understands my meaning, and I see that she does.  She looks 
at me in disbelief, and then just nods.

We sit in silence for a moment, and I see out of the corner of my eye that her 
tears are starting to flow again.  She says quietly, "Daddy, I think I love 
him."

**

Dick's been here a week, and I've been here most of the time.  I'm here mostly 
for Bruce, because I know he's still obsessed with finding the Taylor boy, but 
of course he wants to be here too.  I think knowing I'm here helps him to cope.  
It's very quiet in the tiny room Dick and I occupy, and I'm reading the daily 
reports my men have been bringing to me.  They don't understand why I'm so 
insistent on staying by Dick's bedside.  To them, like the younger Blüdhaven 
cops, Dick is a rich man's son who decided to try his hand at police work and 
almost paid with his life.  

I'm here for my own peace.  Both Dick and Bruce have done so much for Gotham--
and Dick for Blüdhaven--both during the day and at night.  They both deserve all 
the support I can give them.  But of course I can't tell my men how much the 
father and son team have done and how much respect they deserve from us.

I try to concentrate on the words before me when I hear something rustle.  I 
look up and don't notice right away, but then I look at Dick, and realize he's 
starting to wake up.  I immediately put aside the reports and go by his bedside.  
I push the nurse's call button as I watch Dick start to struggle for 
consciousness.  I put my hand on his arm and say, "Dick?  Can you hear me, son?"

I watch as his eyes flutter open, and he tries to puzzle out his environment.  
After a few seconds, he looks at me and weakly asks, "Bruce?"

"No, son," I say gently, "It's Commissioner Gordon."  I figure I'll let him 
think for now that I'm here in a professional capacity.  "Bruce will be back 
shortly."  Truth was I wasn't sure when he'd be back, but as soon as Dick got 
settled again, I'll call him.  

"Commissioner?"  The word is almost too long for him to say, and he trails off 
near the end of it.  "What happened?" 

I start an explanation as the nurse comes into the room.  Before I start, she 
says, "Good!  You're awake!   I'll go get the doctor!"  She leaves the room, and 
I notice that even in his weakened state, Dick looks relieved.  I imagine he 
doesn't want to deal with anyone he doesn't know, especially if that someone is 
artificially cheerful.  He always did hate that.  He turns his head back to me 
expectantly.

"You were shot in the line of duty while trying to stop a robbery.  Your 
precinct has had someone here every day so far to check up on you.  They caught 
the guy that shot you a few days ago."  

I'm about to say more when he interrupts with another question, "Shot where?  It 
hurts all over."  He pauses a moment, as if he's mentally checking himself, 
"Except my legs."  He's puzzled, I can see it.  

"Shot in the back," I start, and I hesitate.  "The bullet grazed your spine.."  
I can see panic start to set in, and I know I don't have to tell what's happened 
to his legs.  I do say quickly, "The doctors point out that the bullet didn't 
actually penetrate your spine, so it may be simply bruised and need time to 
heal.  There's no saying you're paralyzed for life, son."  He seems to accept 
the words, or maybe it's simply that he has no energy for further panic.  He 
closes his eyes as though he's trying to black out the thought of what's 
happened to him.

I tell him, "I'm going to call your home, your precinct, and Barbara, ok, son?"  
Eyes closed, he nods consent, and I proceed with delivering my good news.  Of 
course I call Bruce first and I get his butler Alfred Pennyworth on the phone.  
I deliver the news, and he relays relief in his proper British accent and a 
promise to tell Bruce.  Next I call the captain of Dick's precinct, and I hear 
cheers as he relays the message to the room.  Lastly, I call my little girl, and 
she insists on coming immediately, so I offer to go get her.  Dick will be 
sleeping now anyway.

**

It's been a few weeks since Dick regained consciousness, and two weeks since he 
was moved out of the ICU.  His recovery process has been amazing.  I think 
Barbara has been the best medicine for him to date, and she insists on coming 
every day.  Bruce comes when he can, but not as often as one would think a 
father would come for his son, and I think Barbara doesn't understand how Bruce 
can choose the Taylor case over his son.  But I think I can.  It's just 
something about making sure the young innocent citizens of Gotham stay safe.  
Especially if you've suffered such a tragic loss yourself as a young boy, and 
Bruce knows that Dick is getting support from us.  But I also think he doesn't 
realize how important his presence is to Dick.

To Dick's credit, he seems to be taking his condition relatively well.  It's 
hard to tell though what he's feeling inside; he's more like Bruce than I think 
he knows.  I suspect that he's putting on a good show for Barbara.  He's even 
kidded about having a chance with her now.  Apparently she's always used her 
disability as an excuse not to have a relationship with him. 

I can tell he's being careful not to hurt Barbara's feelings--God, one would 
think it would be the other way around--when he talks about not giving up.  I've 
heard him swear to all that will listen, myself included, that he will walk 
again.  But he's afraid that he'll hurt Barbara--that he'll make her feel as 
though she didn't try hard enough. If that happens, I'll be there to assure my 
little girl that that's not true.  I was there, and I know she and all who love 
her tried their damnedest.

"Commissioner?"  I hear my title, and realize it's Dick calling me.  By his 
tone, I can tell he had been trying to get my attention.   Since the last time 
Bruce was here, he has stopped questioning my presence.   It was amazing to 
watch the conversation under the spoken conversation.  When Bruce started to 
present Dick with a case to work on--not the Taylor case, by the way--Dick gave 
him a kind of warning look with a furrowed brow and glanced at me.  Bruce 
acknowledged his look with a nod and a meaningful glance to me and continued.  I 
could see Dick got the message loud and clear, and didn't hear a word Bruce said 
afterwards for the shock he was feeling.  Maybe now he understands the loyalty I 
feel toward him and his guardian.

I break the daze I didn't realize I was in and look at him, "I'm sorry, Dick.  
Did you say something?"  With the help of a back support and lots of 
painkillers, he's sitting up in bed looking over some casework that a couple of 
Blüdhaven cops dropped off a few hours ago.   If it were anyone else, I'd think 
the painkillers would keep him from thinking straight, but I've seen Dick in 
action–both as himself and as..at night.  When the Blüdhaven cops were here, I 
noticed that Dick seemed to be uncomfortable, but I guess I would be too.  
People who know you only as an able, hard-working person because you've fought 
hard for that image now seeing you disabled in a hospital bed.  I think that 
would be hard for anyone.  

They claimed that they brought the cases because they were stuck, and they hoped 
that Dick could see something everyone else missed.  Normally, I'd think that 
was an excuse to keep Dick's mind off his body, but in this case, I think 
they're telling the truth.  On the force only a few months, and already Dick has 
a reputation clear into Gotham for excellent detective skills.  But who's 
surprised.  He was trained by the best. 

"Yeah.  Can you put this in the VCR, please?"  

He has a video tape?  Oh, God, he's looking at the Taylor case.  I heard that 
case got expanded to Blüdhaven last week because the kidnappers were thought to 
be on the move, and he must have asked the cops to bring that case.  Can't be a 
coincidence.  I answer, "Sure," I get up to retrieve the tape from him.  As I 
put it in, and with an attempted casualness, I ask, "This the Taylor case?"  He 
nods.  I ask, "What made you chose this case?"  Although I already know the 
answer.

He shrugged.  "Seemed like a tough one," he says.  Yeah, you could say that.  If 
Batman hasn't cracked it in 3 weeks, it definitely qualifies as tough.  I can't 
help thinking that he wants to show Bruce that he's still capable.  Still the 
son that Bruce knows.  Which is fine.  Especially if he cracks the case.  I know 
that we've both noticed that Bruce hasn't been here as often as one might expect 
him to be, but I know that a visit from Tim Drake informed Dick of this case and 
how obsessed Bruce has been with it.  Perhaps Dick has it in his mind that if he 
cracks the case, Bruce's full attention will be turned to him.   I hope he's 
right, because frankly, Dick needs it.

I stick the tape in and push play.  I've seen the tape before, so it's no 
surprise.  It's a taping of the Taylor boy to show us that he's uninjured.  I 
watch Dick as he mentally scours the tape for even the tiniest clue.  It comes 
to the part that the guys at the station always seemed to get a kick out of.  
When the kid, who's been moving around the whole time trying to get away, 
wiggles out of view of the camera, and it takes an accomplice off-camera to get 
the camera man to move to follow the kid.  To my surprise, Dick rewinds that 
part and watches it again.  I watch as his face scrunches in thought, and I can 
almost see his mind working.  He sees a clue, I can tell, but he's not sure what 
it is.

Suddenly I see a thought occur to him, and he asks me, "Does something like that 
happen again? Where the videographer zones out?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, it does.  About three more times, and the tape is 40 
minutes long.  The best we could come up with is that the guy has a really short 
attention span."  As I finish my sentence, Dick is shaking his head and looking 
more and more excited.

"No!"  He says, "I think the guy is epileptic!"  I don't think I've ever seen 
him so excited, but then, I don't think I've ever seen him work out a problem.  
At least not without a mask.

I furrow my brow as I ask, "Epileptic? Isn't that when the person starts 
thrashing around on the ground?"

Dick explains excitedly, "That's a grand mal seizure.  Epileptics can have 
petite mal seizures too, when they just blank out.  Just like that guy!  Why 
don't you have the detectives check local pharmacies for a script of Dilantin or 
some other drug for seizures.  Check for a new patient, and check surrounding 
areas too.  If they're moving, maybe they left a trail of scripts. Even with the 
added stress, which adds to the probability of having a seizure, with seizures 
that close in proximity they've got to be going through scripts like candy,"  
Man, this kid's good.  Bruce must be proud.  I know I am, and he's not even my 
son.  He pauses a moment, and his brow furrows. He questions, "Has Bruce seen 
it?" I nod. "Strange that he didn't catch that.  It seems kind of obvious to 
me."

"Well, in his defense, I think Bruce has had a lot on his mind.  The tape came 
in the day after you were shot."

He shrugs, "So?  A case is a case, and Bruce can block out any distractions."

"Dick, Bruce may be good, but when your only child is critically injured, no one 
can think straight–not even Bruce. I was the one to tell Bruce that you had been 
hurt, and the night you were shot you almost died.  Trust me, he was 
distracted."  He solemnly thinks a moment, then nods.  

Suddenly the somber mood was interrupted, "Hey!  Quit looking so serious!  
You're both scaring me," Barbara says cheerfully as she wheels herself into the 
room.

I can't help but smile broadly at my little girl as she looks at me.  "That's 
better.  How about you?" She asks Dick.  I think she's right; that she really 
does love him.  I see him look into her smiling eyes and get caught in her mood.  
He returns her smile, to which she responds, "Much better!" as she blows him a 
kiss.  She asks, "How's PT going?"  

Dick shrugs, and his smile shrinks a notch, "Nothing yet," he answers.  I see 
him look at my baby for hope.  And she delivers.

"Don't you give up, Grayson," she says in mock toughness.  "I know lots of 
people who have succeeded, including Bruce.  Like father, like son, right?"  My 
God, Bruce?  That's right, the supposed car accident years ago.  Around the same 
time when Gotham got a new Bat... Dick's smile returns to its full size and he 
nods.  "Speaking of Bruce, where is he?"

"Right here."  Ever notice how Bruce has the ability to appear whenever he's 
asked for?  "How're you doing, Dick?"  His concern is obvious, but I know he's 
lightened by his son's smile.

"I'm doing ok, Bruce.  I'm glad you're here.  Take a look at this,"  He rewinds 
and plays the tape, and I notice Bruce seems a little surprised, although if I 
hadn't been watching him, I would have missed the reaction completely.  Dick 
lets the tape play and shares with his father his theory.  

Bruce nods thoughtfully and says, "Good work, Dick."  I watch as Dick seems to 
positively glow at the complement.  Bruce thinks a moment more on what Dick has 
presented and nods thoughtfully.  This case is cracked, I think.  After a  
moment he turns to his son and asks what Barbara asked a moment ago, "How is 
physical therapy?"  

Dick hesitates a moment.  He doesn't want to have to tell Bruce that he's been 
having no success.  I almost think Dick has it in his mind that Bruce would be 
up and doing a jig by now.  He simply shrugs and breaks eye contact with Bruce, 
looking at the papers in front of him and bringing his right hand up to 
fidgetfully play with the papers.  I'm watching Bruce through this exchange, and  
I see some disappointment that his son won't answer him, but I also see 
determination.  The kind of determination that demands success.  

"I take it no success yet."  I notice that 'yet.'  Not everyone would have put 
it there.  "Mind if we try together?"  I see Dick taken by surprise at the 
question, not so much because Bruce wants to try, but because he asked Dick, 
rather than told him.

"I'd rather not..." Dick starts, but he gets stopped by Bruce's expression.  The 
kind of expression that asks if he's given up already.  Dick sighs and nods 
resignedly.  Barbara wheels herself next to me so that she can get a better view 
of what Bruce is going to do.  I put my hand on Barbara's shoulder and squeeze, 
meaning to give the message that I'm there for her, and she turns and gives me a 
smile.  I'll always be there for her.  We watch together as Bruce uncovers 
Dick's feet and legs to the knee and begins to massage.  I watch what he does 
carefully, and I don't understand it, but it's very methodical, as though it's a 
well-practiced, ages-old traditional form of medicine.  Dick is watching too 
with an impassive look.  I know he can't feel the massage, and he's probably not 
letting his hopes get too high.  

After about ten minutes, Bruce stops and tells Dick, "Ok, try to move.  Use 
Master Jinsu's meditation technique."  I have no idea what that means, but Dick 
doesn't even hesitate.  He gives Bruce an expression mixed with hope, 
frustration, and pain.  Not physical pain, but the kind of emotional pain one 
gets after being disappointed again and again.  Dick sighs again, but not a 
resigned sigh this time, more of a relaxing sigh.  As he lets the breath 
release, he closes his eyes, lets his hand drop from the tray in front of him, 
and rests his head on his pillow.  I think after a moment that I see a blue glow 
surrounding him, but I must be seeing things.  

Watching Dick fall into his meditative state, I forgot that I should be looking 
at his exposed legs, but I jump a moment later when Barbara exclaims excitedly, 
"There! Did you see it!?"  I shift quickly to match her gaze, but whatever she 
saw is gone.  But Bruce is wearing an amazing smile; I didn't ever know he could 
smile like that; and Dick has opened his eyes, looking at Bruce.  I think Dick 
doesn't know that he succeeded except for his father's and my daughter's 
reactions.

"You did it, son," Bruce congratulates, continuing to wear his winning smile.  
Dick mirrors his smile exactly, so that you'd think there was no way the two of 
them couldn't be biologically father and son.  "This proves that you'll be 
walking again soon." As I share in the moment, I think the most important 
component of this event was not that Dick successfully moved his legs, but that 
he did it with Bruce's help.

**

"Leave me the hell alone!"  That's Dick yelling at his physical therapist.  
We're in the hospital's PT room, and having just arrived to pick up my baby, I'm 
watching Dick be frustrated, and Barbara try to be supportive while at the same 
time trying to dodge Dick's outbursts.  She's sitting on the far end of the mat, 
leaning against a back support, and her chair is abandoned for the moment.  
Dick's dressed in gray sweats, and his sweatshirt proudly declares itself the 
property of the Blüdhaven police department.  The outfit was a gift from his 
precinct.  He's sitting on the floor mat with his legs out in front of him and 
with his hands behind him to support his weight. His therapist is on her knees 
beside him currently trying to keep her patience.  

"Come on, Dick," she coaxes, "Try again.  I don't have to tell you you're not 
going to get anywhere if you don't keep trying.  I know you're frustrated."  
Dick glares at her.  "But you can't let your leg muscles deteriorate.  I can 
tell you care about the shape you're in."

I know that comment reminds Dick of his nighttime pursuits, and he sighs and 
prepares to try again.  He glances at Barbara, and she nods to him supportively.  
He closes his eyes in concentration, and a full minute goes by before he opens 
his eyes again, and releases his breath in a rush.  He shakes his head and 
starts, "I can't.  I just can't.."

Barbara speaks up, "Come on, hon, I know you can.  Just remember upstairs."

Dick argues dejectedly, "That was just luck."

"I don't believe that for a second,"  Barbara argues back.  Her Irish spunk is 
starting to show itself as she counters, "I've known you too long, Grayson.  I 
know you can do this."

"I'm telling you, I can't!"  His depression turns to anger again, and Barbara's 
pursed lips and narrowing eyes make it clear that she's trying not to take his 
shouting personally. He gets ready to yell something else when he catches 
himself and drops his head, shaking it.

"Ok, Dick," the therapist starts to run interference, and I'm willing to bet 
she's used to this kind of scene.  "Why don't we call it a day.  I'll come back 
tomorrow and we can try again."

"Don't bother," he mumbles, and I notice that Barbara looks like she's trying to 
hold back tears.  

**

It's been two months now, and after his initial frustrations, Dick had some 
major successes so that now he's even able to stand for a minute without 
support.  He has been moved to a rehabilitation hospital in Gotham.  The 
location was a compromise; Alfred and Bruce wanted Dick to come home and go 
through his rehabilitation under Alfred's watchful eye, and Dick wanted to keep 
his independence.  Both parties agreed that they could live with admitting Dick 
in the Gotham hospital.  I think that it's certainly more convenient as I'm on 
my way to pick up Barbara after an afternoon spent keeping Dick company.  His 
back wound is healed, and he is having trouble keeping himself from climbing the 
walls.  Unfortunately, not literally. Yet.  The Taylor case has long been 
solved, so Bruce has been spending more time with him, and I feel that I can 
come more infrequently.  Both Bruce and Barbara have said that he's much more 
positive than he was two months ago, so that all he wants to do is practice what 
the therapist gives him.  The reports from the therapist are optimistic.  She's 
amazed at Dick's progress, but considering the peak shape he was in before the 
accident and his incredible determination, it's not terribly surprising.  

I start to step off the elevator, when I'm almost run over by a wheelchair; my 
only warning is an exuberant "YAHOO!"  After only a split second of mental 
rewind, I realize that it's my daughter that almost ran me over. I quickly step 
back and look in the direction the chair came from.  Which is good, because Dick 
is following close behind at breakneck speed and with a huge grin, not worrying 
about who he might run over in the process.  I let him pass me, and as he says, 
"Hey, Commish!" in greeting, I almost hear the Doppler Effect.  I watch the pair 
race away from me, and Barbara does a wheelie to turn a corner and races out of 
view.  Dick struggles through the turn, but once through, he continues with as 
much vigor as his leader.

I go to Dick's room to wait for the racers' return.  As I enter the room, I see 
a handsome red-headed young man sitting laid-back in a chair, and I greet him 
with a smile and a nod.  "How are you doing, Roy?" I ask.  

He returns my smile and answers, "Not bad."  He seems more relaxed than other 
times we've been together which is often in these past few months.  Dick 
formally introduced us soon after he was able, so Roy knows that I'm Gotham's 
police commissioner and Barbara's father.  That information seems to make him 
nervous, but Dick once told me that most adults have that effect on his friend.  
Although all of Dick's friends have visited him regularly, I notice that Roy 
seems special in his dedication to supporting Dick.  I once asked Barbara about 
it, and she told me that when they were teenagers, Dick really helped Roy out a 
tight spot.  By her tone and the fact that Roy seems to be the kind of person 
that usually doesn't take things seriously at all, I'm guessing that 'spot' was 
the difference between life and death, and not like the normal 'spots' that 
costumed heroes find themselves in.

"They should be back soon," I offer, "I just saw them racing down the hallway."  
That produces a grin from Dick's friend, and as if on cue, Barbara and Dick come 
wheeling in, laughing hysterically. In response to Dick's laughter, Roy's smile 
gets broader.  He stands up to greet Dick with a high five, which Dick returns 
enthusiastically.  "Hey, Roy," he greets.
 
At the same time, I'm greeted with Barbara's amazing smile as she says, "Hi, 
Dad! Sorry about that at the elevator." 

I find her laughter infectious and I smile back, "That's ok, hon. It's good to 
keep an old man on his toes.  How are you doing, Dick?"

After a moment catching his breath, Dick answers, "Not bad, sir."  After two 
months of almost daily contact, he still calls me sir.  I'm not sure if that's 
because I'm the commissioner of police, because he was trained since youth to 
respect his elders, or because one day he hopes to have my favor in dating 
Barbara.  If the case is the latter, he doesn't need to worry at all.  "Babs has 
been training me for the wheelchair Olympics."  As he says it, he turns his 
glowing smile to Barbara which she returns.

"Don't you get used to it, Mister," Barbara mock threatens, "You're going to be 
walking soon."  As she says it, I get the feeling that Barbara doesn't feel 
sorry for herself.  "He's doing really well, Dad.  Just today he took his first 
step!" She beams at Dick.  It's occurred to me more than once that through this 
whole process Barbara hasn't once seemed to reflect on Dick's success and wonder 
why it couldn't be her.  She seems nothing but happy for Dick, and even seems to 
be feeding off his success.  A sign of love if I've ever seen it.  I wouldn't be 
surprised at all if I'm in the presence of my future son-in-law.  

Roy responds first with, "Great!  You'll be back to chasing skirts in no time!"  

I notice Dick blush at Barbara's praise even as he gives Roy a warning glare. 
Barbara chooses to pointedly ignore Roy's comment.  Roy looks at his friend, and 
then at Barbara, and says half to himself, "Oops."

After ending his visual assault on Roy, Dick adds modestly, "It was with support 
though.  I still have a long way to go."

"But you're getting there. Gotham wasn't built in a day."  Barbara points out.  
"You'll be..flying..in  no time."  We all understand what she means.  

Dick's demeanor changes as he says almost apologetically, "Babs, I.."

Before he can finish, Barbara is shaking her head and cuts him off, "Don't you 
dare, Grayson.  This is about you, not me.  One out of two ain't bad, and if you 
get to be the one, that's ok.  Given the choice, I would give it to you anyway."

Dick looks down at his hands, and I can tell Roy and I are forgotten.  "Problem 
is, I want to give it to you."  Barbara reaches over and puts her hand on Dick's 
knee as she starts to tear up.  I notice with interest that Dick moves his leg 
nervously as he glances at me, and can obviously feel Barbara's touch. 

The moment is broken by Roy,  "Hey, hey!  No soap opera stuff!  I get enough of 
that with Donna!"  

"So Donna's still talking to you?" Dick lightens his mood as he teases Roy.  
Last time Roy was here, he said that he and Donna were fighting.

"Yeah, she can't resist me."  Roy delivers his devil-may-care smile, and Dick 
and Barbara both shake their heads resignedly, although only Dick is still 
wearing a smile.

"So, Ba..Dicky-Boy," Roy glances sideways at me.  I know what he was about to 
call Dick, but he doesn't know that I know Dick's secret.  "What are you doing 
two weeks from this Saturday?"

"Work."  Dick says matter-of-factly.  He means working on his physical therapy.

"Aw, come on, Dick.  You can't work all the time." Then he amends, "Well..yes 
*you* can."  He continues, "There's a benefit for D.A.R.E. that I'm helping to 
organize."  I notice Barbara look up at Roy with a surprised expression.  I have 
to go to that benefit, and I'm willing to bet Bruce will be there too.  I didn't 
know Roy helped to organize it; knowing that makes me wonder if that 
aforementioned 'spot' was drug-related. "Think you can break out of here for it? 
I can use all the support I can get.  You can bring a guest." He winks at 
Barbara and she rolls her eyes, although her attitude towards him has seemed to 
lighten.  

Dick smiles, and says, "Well if you put it like that, I'd love to go."  His 
smile makes its way to Barbara.  "By that time, I think they'll kick me out of 
here anyway. " Dick sighs.  "I'm going to have to let Alfred coddle me."  His 
tone indicates that it's something he knew was inevitable.

**

It is the night of Roy's fundraiser, and Barbara and I have just arrived at 
Wayne Manor.  I haven't been here since dropping Barbara off more than 10 years 
ago to baby-sit a much younger Dick Grayson.  But Barbara wanted to meet 
beforehand, arriving at the fundraiser together.   Although Sarah is going to 
the fundraiser, she said she'd meet us there because she had some last minute 
things to do at the station.  My wife the workaholic.

Alfred greets us and, after assuring us that Bruce and Dick would be with us 
momentarily, hurries away.  On afterthought, I think Alfred looked fairly 
ruffled–well at least as ruffled as I think he ever gets.  Barbara notices it 
too, because she says to me, "I hope everything's ok."

A moment later, Alfred returns and informs us that our presence is requested in 
another part of the house.  We follow him through a series of hallways and 
before reaching our destination, I can hear shouting.  It seems odd to me that 
Bruce or Dick would ask us to come to them if they're arguing, unless one of 
them thinks we can help to resolve the issue.

"I'm not going!"  Dick shouts as Barbara and I enter the room.  Alfred gives us 
an apologetic glance, as though he's sorry we have to witness the tantrum of his 
younger charge.  Dick is sitting mostly-dressed in his wheelchair; his tuxedo 
shirt is unbuttoned, and of course he has yet to put the tie on.   His hair 
could also use a good brushing, but I'm sure Alfred fully intends to brush it 
himself if he has to.  Bruce is the target of Dick's yelling, and is standing 
sstraight in front of his son, looking him forcefully in the eye.  I recognize 
the chair as the one Bruce used after his accident.

"You *are* going because you gave Roy your promise.  I won't have you sitting at 
home feeling sorry for yourself.  Besides, Barbara can sympathize with you."  
Ahh, now I see why we were asked to come here.

Dick looks at my daughter with what starts out as a glare left over from 
confronting Bruce, but by the time his eyes rest on her, his expression has 
softened, if only a little.  "Barbara's never had to put up with your idiot 
social peers before her chair, let alone after.  It's bad enough they all think 
you took me in because you felt sorry for me, but now they've got this damn 
chair to fuel their petty little fire!"

Barbara speaks up, helping Bruce's defense, "Since when do you care what those 
people think?  We all know they're a shallow, selfish group.  It will be ok, 
Dick.  Consider that you'll be walking again someday soon."   Dick is actually 
able to walk with assistance now, but not far, and he gets tired quickly, so it 
was decided that he would use the chair for this event.  Barbara's words make 
Dick look in his lap shamefully, and Barbara pauses for effect, "Or consider it 
an exercise–a study in me.  See what I have to put up with every day of my 
life."  She's starting to get a little short with him, which I think is 
certainly understandable, although that last suggestion seemed to make a dent in 
Dick's stubborn barrier.  He always did like to study the experiences of others, 
and I think my baby is an especially interesting 'case' for him.  

He looks up at Barbara, and I can see the intrigue in his eyes.  His stubborn 
countenance melts away as he gives Barbara an apologetic smile, and says, 
"You're right.  I'm sorry."  He starts to button his shirt, "I'll be ready in a 
minute."  As expected, Alfred, who had been quietly standing the doorway 
watching the scene disdainfully, steps forward and starts to fuss over Dick.  
Initially Dick pulls away like any child would do to his parent's fussing, and 
then resigned, lets Alfred get him ready.   Bruce gives a satisfied nod to his 
son, and then leads us out of the room, knowing Alfred will have Dick ready in a 
couple minutes.

**

We got out of the house and to the fundraiser without many other problems.  
These fundraisers are probably the one thing I hate most about this job.  But at 
least I get to be with my little girl and my wife–Sarah was waiting for us when 
we arrived.  Roy pulled some strings and has us all sitting at the same table--
Dick, Bruce, Barbara, me, Sarah, and Bruce's date Bambi.  Roy is here helping to 
make sure all goes smoothly, not surprisingly as a member of security, and once 
in a while he'll catch our attention and wink.  The women of our table have 
already commented on how well he cleans up if you dress him up in a tux and comb 
his hair.

Earlier I saw Bruce greet Dr. Taylor, and I know he was asking the doctor about 
his son.  Even at these events, Bruce is working.  By their body language, I 
could tell that all is well with the boy, although I didn't see Mrs. Taylor.  My 
guess is that she chose to stay home with the boy, because I'm sure the boy is 
still traumatized by his experience.

Dinner occurred without much of a problem, and now there's dancing.  I don't 
think Dick would want to dance if he could–in fact the chair saves him from 
having to dance with the flaky women that attach themselves to him–but he still 
looks like he's feeling sorry for himself.  He has his chin resting in his hand, 
and from across the table he's absentmindedly watching Bruce put on his bachelor 
socialite play.

Bruce gives an almost ridiculous giggle, "Oh, Bambi, that is so funny!"  His 
date is a young princess of another millionaire citizen of Gotham, and is seated 
between Bruce and Barbara.  It's clear that Bambi's looking to get her claws 
into him, but Bruce is just playing along, as though for the moment Bambi has 
his complete, fluffy attention and he's clueless to her wiles.  It's absolutely 
amazing how Bruce can cover his personality with all that frivolity.  Knowing 
his true personality makes me almost embarrassed for him, but on further 
reflection, I think he sometimes enjoys playing the part.

Dick looks like he's trying hard not to roll his eyes, and Barbara's watching 
him carefully.  Sarah's watching the dancing, and I'm sure I'll be coerced 
later.  I've seen Dick play the millionaire's son almost as well as Bruce plays 
the millionaire, but obviously tonight he's in no mood to act.  Suddenly I see 
him start to blush, and I see Barbara's small wicked smile.  I notice that her 
hands are not visible, and I try not to imagine what's going on under the table.

I'm aware of a voice at an adjoining table, and before I know it, I'm 
eavesdropping.  The voice is a woman's and sounds as shallow as Bambi's, "That 
poor man!  It's not enough that he save that boy from a migrant's life, now he 
has to support a cripple!" I hear someone else agree in a low scandalous voice, 
"Yes, and he couldn't just accept his good fortune; he had to go work for the 
police in such a dangerous city!"   I try not to make my glance obvious as I 
look carefully at Dick, and it's clear he heard it too.  His expression is one 
of anger mixed with hurt.  I've noticed that over the years his expression to 
those kinds of comments has become more and more angry and less and less 
hurtful.  I look at Bruce look at his ward as his own expression is slowly 
wearing away the frivolous mask.  Both Sarah and Barbara become aware of what's 
transpiring, but Bambi is clueless--looking at something in the distance.

The slanderous remarks continue as suddenly Bruce's eyes dangerously narrow and 
he stands and spins, for the people speaking are behind him.  His quick movement 
attracts his audience's attention, and he says heatedly, "He may not have my 
name, but Dick is as much my son as John is yours! I'm proud of his 
accomplishments, and of his career choice!  Yes, he has to use a chair now, but 
he's going to be ok, not that you care.  I do not feel taken advantage of; I 
feel lucky that my son wasn't killed!!"

I look at Dick and Barbara, and see their mouths hanging open which makes me 
realize that I'm wearing the same expression.  I don't think Bruce has ever 
broken his carefree mask in public, but I guess every man, even Bruce, has his 
breaking point. I think I see evidence of tears in Dick's eyes, and I don't 
think Bruce has ever been so forceful to someone else about his love for Dick, 
let alone to Dick himself.  Both Sarah and Bambi look more surprised than 
shocked, which makes sense because neither one knows Bruce's true self.

Before Bruce could explain his outburst, our attention is drawn by a commotion 
at the other side of the room.  I look over to see a masked gunman and for a 
second I just hang my head in resignation.  Why do these things always happen 
when I'm here?  Do I attract crazies?  Thinking a moment, I'm willing to bet the 
same thought is going through both Dick's and Bruce's minds.

None of us make a move.  First rule: learn the situation before you act.  We all 
know that rule very well.  I notice that Bruce is still standing, and has turned 
a quarter turn to the right, focused on the gunman.  The gunman addresses us, 
"Everyone keep quiet and no one will get hurt!  Now, nice and slow, put your 
valuables on the table.  And if anyone knows Nightwing, call him up.  We're not 
leaving until he gets here."  

I try to be discrete in looking at Dick, and I see his puzzled expression as he 
looks at Bruce.  Bruce is mirroring his expression to a degree, and he steals a 
glance to his son.   I think they're wondering why this yahoo is looking for 
Nightwing in Gotham when everyone knows that he operates in Blüdhaven.   I can 
see Dick's mind working; obviously he can't appear as Nightwing now, and he's 
trying to figure out how to resolve the situation.  

Suddenly our attention is drawn to the gunman again as we hear him cry out.  I 
see a steak knife sticking out of the hand that was a moment ago holding the 
gun, and he's holding his hand painfully.  After a quick glance around the room, 
I see Roy standing defensively not far from the antagonist and holding another 
knife.  "Bring it on, man," I hear him say.  "You'll have to settle for this 
Titan, because my buddy is out of town." Definite argument for a public id.  The 
guy obviously didn't do his homework or else he would have known that a Titan 
was working here.  Or else he did know and he figured Nightwing would be here to 
support him.  

I look around our table again; I'm at the side of the table facing the 
antagonist, so that I have to turn around to see my companions; and I see Dick 
looking restless, and Bruce giving him a warning look telling Dick to sit still.  
Dick knows that's what he should do, but like any of us in law enforcement, 
especially when we're named as the cause, he wants to go into action.

The antagonist, tamed by Roy's marksmanship, quickly gives up and other security 
people move in.  Convinced that the scene is over, Roy steals a questioning 
glance at Dick from across the room. Dick acknowledges his look with a quick nod 
and turns to the table.  By the glance he gives Barbara, I suspect she's holding 
his hand under the table.  Bruce speaks next, "Well!  That was a bit of 
excitement!  Good thing we had one of those Titans here!  Who would have thought 
one of those famous kids would be here!"  His tone of voice almost makes Dick 
crack a smile, which I suspect was part of Bruce's objective.

After only a moment, Roy comes up to our table with a big grin.  Bruce gives him 
a warning look, to which Roy responds with a look that seems to say, "I *know*" 
He starts out playing the host, standing behind Dick and putting his left hand 
on Dick's right shoulder, "So how are you all doing this evening?  I hope that 
little incident didn't frighten you."  His tone is almost patronizing, as though 
he knows the kind of role Bruce and Dick are forced to play when in these 
circles.

"Oh! How wonderful you were!" Bambi bubbles over, and I think we all have to 
keep from busting out laughing.

Roy moves around the table, smiling charmingly at Bambi.  When he reaches her, 
he takes her hand, says, "Anything for you, fair maiden," and kisses her hand.  
Bambi responds with a giggle, covering her mouth with her other hand, and a 
blush.

Dick grins, and he tells his father, "Bruce you'd better watch it.  When Roy 
moves in, he moves in for the kill."  Knowing Dick's sense of humor, I'm certain 
that was an intended pun.

Not moving, and still holding Bambi's hand, Roy looks up and returns his 
friend's grin and then grins to Bruce.  I think Roy's enjoying having Bruce 
'trapped' so that he has to play along.  "Oh, no, Mr. Harper, your ways will not 
take my Bambi away from me!"  His words are playful, but if you look carefully 
in his eyes, you'll see a different kind of mischief.  Like Roy will pay later.  
I know Roy notices, because he visibly swallows and then returns to his grinning 
countenance.  I see that both Dick and Barbara are enjoying the exchange.

"Well I'd better go before I get into trouble," Roy says, still grinning.  I 
think he's purposefully vague on whether he'd get in trouble here or from not 
being at his post.  He excuses himself with, "Ladies," a cavalier bow to Sarah 
and then to Barbara, and a wink and a grin to Dick.  He leaves us all either 
smiling or grinning, and some of us are shaking our heads.

I know I should wait, but curiosity is killing me, so I say supposedly half to 
myself and rhetorically, "I wonder why he was looking for Nightwing.  Everyone 
knows Nightwing is in Blüdhaven."

Dick picks up on it, and shrugs, "Probably because last time Nightwing was seen, 
he was seen in Gotham."  He adds almost as an afterthought, "The police try to 
keep tabs on him.  We don't want to stop him; he does too much good; but we want 
to know what he's up to."

I nod thoughtfully.  Dick is pretty good at talking about himself like he's 
someone else.  I continue to wonder out loud, "Wonder why he was looking for 
him."

Dick shrugs and says, "I wouldn't worry about it.  Nuts are always out looking 
for guys like that.  I'm sure they can take care of themselves."  He shrugs 
again, "Roy never seems to take threats like that seriously."

Barbara speaks up, "Roy never takes anything seriously." Both Dick and I let out 
a little laugh.  Barbara's observance is certainly true.  Although Dick sounds 
like he's talking about someone else, he really doesn't sound concerned at all, 
so I guess I shouldn't be.  I'm pulled away from further conversation when Sarah 
whispers in my ear a request to dance.  The dance floor is relatively empty now; 
most people were apparently frightened out of a dancing mood.  But not my wife; 
she wouldn't let a little thing like a gunman who's been disarmed stop her from 
having a good time; that's just one thing I love about her.

**

It's about two months after Roy's fundraiser, and Dick is able to walk without 
support, although not as quickly as normal.  It's a warm Saturday afternoon and 
I'm standing outside Barbara's apartment waiting for her to answer the door.  We 
made plans to go to the park together and watch the kids play baseball.  I would 
have thought it would be the opposite, but ever since my little girl was 
confined to a wheelchair, she has been more interested in watching the 
activities she can't do anymore.

The door opens, and my baby is looking at me smiling and asking me to come in.  
I enter, and I can tell she's excited about something.  Before I can ask her 
what has her in such a good mood, she says, "Hi, Daddy!  Come look at this!"  To 
my surprise she leads me to her workstation she uses as Oracle.  Soon after that 
day in the hospital chapel when I revealed to her that I know who Batman is, she 
reveal to me that she is Oracle, and honestly, I had a good idea that she was 
behind the information guru.  

Suddenly she stops.  "Wait..you know who Bruce and Dick are..do you know who 
Robin is?" 

She has a look like she's afraid her surprise is going to be spoiled, so I'm 
happy I can answer her, although I have no idea why she's asking.  I look at 
her, puzzled, and answer,  "Tim Drake."

Her bubbly mood resumes as she continues on her path and exclaims, "Good!  Look 
at this!"  We reach her workstation, and she points to a monitor.  I see Dick 
and Tim; I've met Tim only recently while he was visiting Dick in the hospital, 
so I recognize him without his mask; and they look like they're underground in a 
cave of some kind.  Must be the infamous Batcave.

I realize that we're looking a surveillance camera's output and I ask, "Should 
you be spying on them like this?"

Barbara waves her hand dismissively and says, "Oh, he knows."  I'm not sure if 
she means Bruce or Dick, but I guess it doesn't matter.  "Watch!"  She says 
excitedly as she turns up the audio output of the camera.

I focus on the surrogate brothers.  They are standing next to a trapeze rigging 
that I'm guessing was put up a long time ago when Dick first came to live with 
Bruce.  I listen as Dick argues, "Come on, Tim, I just want to do a few basics.  
It won't take long."

Tim argues back, "That's not the point, Dick.  You know you're not supposed to 
be doing anything like that yet.  I don't want to be responsible if you get hurt 
again.  Not to mention that Bruce would kill me."

Dick's voice almost takes a whining quality as he continues his defense, "I've 
been doing this stuff before I could walk—the first time I mean.  I know how not 
to get hurt.  Come on..just a few minutes."

Tim sighs, and I can see that he's given in.  "Ok, but just a few minutes.  And 
just the basics, ok?"

Dick nods in agreement, and he gives a huge smile. "Thanks, man,"  he says as he 
pats Tim on the back.  He heads for one side of the rigging and starts to climb 
enthusiastically.  I noticed that even though he doesn't seem to climb as easily 
as he probably did before the shooting, he doesn't have that hard of a time 
getting up.  After a moment of shaking his head, Tim heads for the other side.

Dick reaches his platform first, and he's out on the swing holding with his 
hands while Tim prepares.  I ask, "Tim knows the trapeze too?"  I know of course 
that Dick came originally from a circus family.

Barbara answers, "Dick's taught us all a little of the trapeze.  Even Bruce."  I 
nod as I turn my attention back to the scene before us.  What I imagine would 
have been trivial for Dick before the accident gives him trouble as he has to 
try a couple times before he's able to get his legs up and locked around the 
swing.  He releases his hands from the swing as Tim times his first swing out.  
Dick goes back into flying position—hands grasping the bar– as Tim mimics Dick's 
previous position, which I know from Dick talking about flying as a child, is 
the catcher's position.

I hear Dick ask Tim if he's ready, and Tim answers, "Yeah."  One more swing 
back, and Dick releases.  He tries a lateral half turn and Tim clasps his hands 
without a problem.  I hear Dick signal, and they release, Dick returning to his 
own swing.  

The brothers return to their platforms and  Dick grins, "No problem.." He 
continues,  "I want to try a somersault.  Ready?"

"You sure?" Tim asks.  He looks nervous which I think is extremely 
understandable.  Barbara's so excited to watch her love doing what he loves that 
I'm trying hard not to comment on how dangerous what Dick is doing really is.  

My attention goes back to the monitor as Dick says, "Yeah.  I'm used to being 
able to do four at once.  I think I can handle one." His voice is almost 
sarcastic.

I get the impression Tim caught the sarcasm as he responds, "Yeah, but you're 
not used to getting shot and not being able to walk for six months.  And I'm not 
used to worrying about if I'm going to lose the most important person in my 
life."

Dick bows his head at Tim's acknowledgement.  "I'm sorry about that, Tim," He 
says solemnly.  "But the sooner I can get going, the sooner we can go out 
together.  You know the doctors don't know how quickly I recover.  They're too 
conservative."

"Yeah, well, sometimes I think you're not conservative enough."  

Dick laughs.  "Aw, Tim, now you're just bein' a mother hen," he teases.  "One 
somersault, I promise.  Then I'll quit."

Tim sighs again, and I get the impression that Dick is constantly talking his 
'younger brother' into trouble.  "Ok.  *One.*  But that's it, ok?"

Dick laughs again and grins, "Cross my heart."  He traces an x on his chest.

Dick jumps off his platform and starts swinging.  After rolling his eyes and 
sighing yet again, Tim follows.  They move into position, and after Tim signals, 
Dick starts his tumble.  As I watch, I see that Dick can't seem to get his legs 
tucked in enough so he can't spin fast enough.  I hear Barbara gasp as he misses 
Tim's catch and falls into the net below.  Fortunately he has no problem falling 
safely and for a moment he lays dejectedly  in the net, letting it oscillate him 
for a few seconds.  Finally he moves to the edge of the net and easily flips 
himself to the ground.  Tim follows soon after, releasing in a controlled 
descent and quickly joins Dick.

Tim takes one look at Dick's disappointed look and says, "Hey, give yourself a 
break.  First try in six months after being in a wheelchair for four of them?  I 
say that's not bad at all."

Dick shrugs and says, "Yeah, I guess.  But I should have been able to do that in 
my sleep."

Tim returns the shrug and says, "Man, don't worry about it.  You'll be flying 
again in no time."

I see Barbara bow her head in disappointment, and I step forward so I can place 
my hand on Barbara's shoulder.  I say quietly, "Tim's right, sweetheart."

**

It's cold as I wait for my partner on the rooftop.  As I contemplate, I realize 
that it's the year anniversary of that terrible night.  It's probably just as 
cold as it was a year ago, but somehow it doesn't seem as cold as I consider the  
year's events.  I think we all learned important lessons in this past year, and 
I'm sure Dick has learned to be much more careful, not that I don't think he was 
careful before.

"Commissioner." I hear my title, but it's not sudden, and it doesn't surprise 
me.  I am pleasantly surprised as I turn to see Nightwing standing before me 
wearing a triumphant smile.  I return Nightwing's smile, and say, "It's 
wonderful to see you.  Is this your first night?"  I'm careful to keep my 
knowledge of his dual identity unspoken, not because I think anyone's listening, 
but because if I don't speak it, maybe I can now go back to convincing myself 
that I don't know it.

Still smiling, Nightwing nods and says, "Yeah, it feels great too.  I'll be 
going back to Blüdhaven soon."

I smile and answer, "Good.  You're alone?"

He shakes his head, and says, "No, Batman is waiting.  I asked to come to you 
alone first because I want to thank you for all you've done."

"Oh, it's nothing," I try to brush off his thanks modestly.

"No, it's not," he corrects me.  "I'm grateful for what you've done for me, but 
I'm more grateful for what you've done for Bruce, Tim, and Barbara.  You really 
helped to keep us thinking straight.  I'll always owe you for that."  I'm taken 
by surprise at how easily he refers to his civilian persona.

I pause, looking at the ground, and then I nod, looking up again.  I simply say, 
"You're welcome."  I pause again.  As I'm absorbing the moment, Batman arrives 
and nods his head in greeting.  I nod silently in return, and start the 
briefing.  They get to business quickly, asking me questions in turn and showing 
their ability to work as a seamless team.

Finally, we exhaust the information exchange, and Batman moves to the edge of 
the roof.  Nightwing starts to get his jump line ready, but he doesn't move from 
where he's standing.  I look at him questioningly as he looks solemnly at his 
jump lines as he prepares them without hurry, and with apparent disregard to his 
partner.  Right as I think he is going to move, he looks up at me, and I can see 
the tell-tale glisten of unshed tears through his mask.  He simply says, "Thank 
you."  He joins his partner, and together they swing out of sight.


Fin.