He was aware this was Timothy's favourite desk. The boy had favoured this particular spot, often spending hours here doing homework or reading. It wasn't difficult to fathom why. The desk sat near a large window overlooking the backyard Gazebo and flower garden. Many a time Alfred had brought meals to him, gently admonishing the boy for his inability to remember to eat.

As he sat with palms upon the polished oak, he waged war with himself. One part was voting to leave. Bruce had crossed the line. Alfred would not speak in his defence. How could he possibly justify such as act? Just as this sentiment was certain of victory, a counterattack would wage, screaming for compassion and understanding. If not for him, Bruce would be completely unmanageable. What would become of the man if all that were left was the Bat?

It ended in a draw. For his part, Alfred was busy reasoning through each side's argument, listing the pros and cons each action may illicit. So preoccupied with his argument he failed to see the tiny body scurrying across the floor, until a small hand tapped his knee impatiently.

Startled, he realized his tiny visitor was back. Toby stood beside the desk, arms open, as he waited to be picked up.

"Young sir," Alfred said, hoisting the boy into his lap. "Whatever am I to do with you?"

To his great surprise Toby buried his face in his sweater. "I'm scared Alfred! I not want to be alone."

"You are not alone." Alfred soothed, running a hand down the trembling back. "Why are you scared?"

The child lifted his head to fix Alfred with a frightened expression. "He gone. All gone."

"Who is gone?"

"Timothy."

"What do you know of Timothy?" Alfred asked quietly. "And do not try skirting the issue."

"I don't wear a skirt."

"Do not fib."

Clutching a piece of Alfred's sweater for support, Toby met Alfred's eyes. "I not fib. Timothy gone. I'm scared that if he's gone forever and ever then I'll be gone too."

"Why ever would Timothy's absence affect you?"

"I dunno." Tiny shoulders shrugged. "I just think so."

"I see." As Alfred tried to process this odd bit of information, Toby lost interest.

With a gleeful shriek he shouted, "Peek-a-boo!" then quickly covered his eyes. "You see me Alfie?"

"I see you." The butler answered absently. His mind was whirling. He'd looked over what little information there was concerning Timothy's condition. While none was of much use to him, the paragraph regarding halo energy popped into his mind's eye. "It was psychic energy," he mused to himself. "They overloaded Timothy's brain and shut his mind down. My word, what if--"

The phone suddenly rang, forcing him from his reverie. Child in one hand, phone in the other, he picked up the receiver. "Hello, Wayne Manor."

"Alfred?" came the sharp voice at the other end. "It's Barbara."

"Miss Gordon! Tell me you have good news."

"I do. Timothy's here. Cassandra brought him."

"Oh, how wonderful! I was beside myself with worry."

"He's here, he's safe, but we need supplies. I may have a million dollars worth of hardware over here, but none of it is medical. Can you bring over some things?"

"I talk!" Toby squealed, reaching for the phone.

"No."

"No?"

"Not you, Miss Gordon." Alfred said quickly, pushing the little boy's hands away. "I was speaking to Toby. The young scallywag wishes to speak with you."

"Later." Barbara said brusquely. "Right now, we need to get Tim settled in."

"Of course." Alfred agreed. "I know what supplies are required. I shall be at the clock tower shortly."

"Great. And Alfred?"

"Yes?"

"If you-know-who shows up, don't tell him where Tim is."

"Understood, but I imagine Timothy's location is already known to him."

"Then you can tell him to stay the hell away. He's not welcome here."

"Yes, of course."

"We go bye-bye?"

"Yes young sir, we are." Setting the phone in its cradle, Alfred took Toby and headed for the infirmary.

Dana scurried after her husband, clutching the front of her bathrobe as her sleep fogged mind tried to ascertain the reason she was running around outside at three a.m. "What are we doing?"

"Timothy is here." Jack's face was set in stone. "I'm not leaving until I have him."

The wind caught Dana's hair, whipping it around her face. "Jack," her slippers slapped against the pavement as she struggled to catch up with her husband. "It's three a.m."

"Wayne will be up, probably drinking himself into a stupor surrounded by women."

"That's your martini talking." Dana yelled after him. Stopping to catch her breath, she wondered what had brought this on. "Jack! Wait a minute! Let's think this through--"

"Think what through?" Jack stopped and turned. Dana was shocked by the determination etched on his face. "You were right. Bruce is involved with Demarti, and it has something to do with Timothy."

"How do you know? I thought you said--"

"I was wrong." Striding towards her, Dana yelped as Jack caught her hand and propelled her forward, dragging her up the driveway of the Manor. "In fact, I've been wrong too many times. It's time for me to start being right."

"Jack--" Dana winced as his hand shot out to stab at the doorbell. Glass rattled as a shrill bell echoed inside the house. "Oh hell." she mumbled, "what have we got to lose?" Imagining the intimidating picture she must present in her bathrobe, she struggled to contain a giggle. She shook her head helplessly as Jack glared at her.

"This is not a laughing matter."

"I know darling," she gestured to her wild hair and slippers. "It's just..."

"What you want?"

The door to Wayne Manor cracked open. Grabbing the door, Jack threw it open, emitting a yelp from the person on the other side. "I want my son back, you son of a--" his words suddenly died. "Oh my god."

Dana lunged forward as he suddenly faltered. "What is it?"

Eyes squeezed shut, he swallowed. "It's my son."

Alfred winced as he once again lost track of his supply count. He stood amongst boxes of medical equipment sprawled across the floor of the Batcave, each pile sorted accordingly. Toby danced around the piles, half chattering and half singing. Every so often Alfred would hear a thump, as the little boy's feet entangled themselves in the over-sized t-shirt he still wore.

"One box of iv bags-nutrients... check... dressing gowns... check... two boxes of--"

"These are a lot of boxes, Alfie." Toby announced as he tried to wiggle his body atop the one containing the portable heart monitor, successfully interrupting Alfred's count. "Why we need so many boxes?"

"To keep Master Timothy well." Alfred grabbed the small boy by the collar of his t-shirt. "These boxes are not meant to be climbed, Master Toby."

Toby nodded dutifully and resumed his play. Satisfied, Alfred began his count-again.

"Two packages of syringes... check... one electric blanket... check... now where did I put Timothy's shave--"

"What's inside all these boxes?"

Alfred yelped as Toby started prying open the lid of a syringe box.

"Medical supplies." Taking Toby's hand, he pressed down on the lid the child had succeeded in peeling away. Fairly dragging the boy with him, he ignored Toby's protests as he deposited the child in a chair beside Timothy's old work desk. Fishing out a marker and some paper, he handed both articles to Toby with the instruction to draw him a picture. Smiling, Toby happily complied. Satisfied the child was sufficiently occupied, Alfred again began to count.

He was only half way through when the bell rang. "Oh drat. Whatever now?"

"That was the door, Alfie!"

"I realize that, Master Toby." He glanced at his watch. "Whoever could be calling at this hour?"

"I find out!"

"NO!" Before he could stop him, Toby had leaped from his chair. Alfred hurried after the child but caught only air, as Toby suddenly melted into the wall. "Oh dear."

Dreading what might be happening the butler raced for the stairs.

"Oh my god." Jack looked as if he'd seen a ghost. Offering a steadying hand, Dana found herself looking between the small boy and her husband, who at the moment, seemed to be engaged in a staring contest.

"Oh my god." he said again.

"Jack, what's going on?"

"Don't you see?" He exclaimed, pointing a shaking hand towards the child. "That's my son!"

Dana cast another furtive glance to the child, who was still engaged in the staring contest. "Um, darling, that little boy is three years old. Timothy is fifteen."

"What the hell is going on here?" Jack slumped against the wall. "He looks just like Timothy at that age. That is Timothy..."

"My name is Toby." Ripping his eyes from Jack, the little boy blinked up at Dana, as if beseeching her to make sense of the situation. "Not Timothy. Timothy---"

"Oh! Master Toby!"

Dana took a nervous step towards the door as Alfred Pennysworth hurried into the room, a tad out of breath. "Mister Pennysworth, my husband and I--"

"Whatever am I to do with you?" Ignoring Dana, the butler scooped the child into his arms. "You are supposed to be in bed."

"That's my son." Jack growled. "What the hell have you done to my son?"

"This is not your son." Alfred frowned in their direction. "And what are you doing in the Manor?"

"He let us in." Dana pointed feebly to Toby. "I'm so sorry to have barged in like this. It's Jack. He's upset about Timothy. Tonight, he had a bit too much to drink and..."

"That is my son." Toby burrowed his head in Alfred's shoulder as Jack pointed at him. "That's Timothy."

"It is not."

"He looks just like my son."

"This is a relative of Master Dick's."

"Dick?"

"Richard." Dana supplied helpfully. She grabbed her husband's arm and began to slowly back towards the door. "Bruce Wayne's son. Remember?"

"Timothy liked Dick." Jack mumbled. "He called him, bro' all the time."

"That's right." Dana soothed, inching them another step towards the door. "And remember when they took those pictures at the mall? Why, they looked so much alike, Mrs. Mac thought they were twins? Remember?"

"Yes." Jack nodded, sagging against her. "Timothy loved that picture."

"Why don't we go home and you can show it to me?" Dana suggested. Thankful for her time spent lifting weights, she maneuvered her husband out the door and down the steps. "I'm so sorry about this, Alfred. He gets like this when he drinks. He's still very upset about Timothy."

"Then perhaps he should be doing something productive with his distress rather than drinking." Alfred said sternly. "I should think his time would be better spent finding his son rather than frightening small boys."

Dana jumped as he slammed the door. A lock clicked and Dana found herself alone with a plastered Jack Drake bawling on her shoulder. Her slippers thwacked dejectedly against the pavement as she maneuvered them both home.

He awoke to the morning sun. Squinting against the rays, he slowly sat up. His throat protested as he swallowed, causing a hand to fly to his throat as memories of last night hit him like a ton of bricks.

"Why are you doing this?" he demanded of the wind. The soft ripple of air did little to answer his question. The wind was just the wind, after all. As the city began to stir, the Batman faced a new day.

"Alfred!" Barbara flung open the door as Alfred Pennysworth staggered inside, his arms laden with boxes. "And um... a friend." She gave a small wave to the little face peeking behind Alfred's leg. "You must be Toby."

"Toby." the child confirmed. Initial shyness gone, Toby bounded into the room, immediately running from room to room, opening cupboards and peeking into drawers. "You got a nice apartment." He informed her as he inspected the innards of Barbara's coffee jar. "No cookies though."

"Cookies are bad for you." Barbara wheeled after Alfred, but not before snatching the jar from Toby's hands. "Go watch cartoons."

"Okay!" Clapping gleefully, the child toddled for the living room, singing happily to himself. "I watch lotsa cartoons!"

"God forbid, it's another Dick Grayson." She rolled her eyes as the child scampered off. "That's one energetic mischief maker you've inherited Alfred." Wheeling forward, she began unpacking medical supplies. "Where did he come from?"

"You'll think me a senile old man, if I tell you." Alfred murmured in reply as he went to check on Timothy. His aged face became pinched as he opened the door of the guestroom. Treading quietly across the carpet so as not to disturb Batgirl, he laid a gentle hand on Tim's face. "My dear boy, I'm so thankful you are still with us."

"Robin going to wake up." Alfred smiled. One simply could not surprise Miss Cain. A costumed arm pointed to the iv in his left hand. "For Robin?"

"Yes." Alfred took one limp hand in his own and began to insert the needle. "It is all for the young sir."

"Good. Robin wake up soon." Hopping off the bed, Batgirl disappeared to help Barbara unpack the boxes. "He lazybones for sleeping so long."

Alone in the room, Alfred finished with the iv then took a seat on the edge of the bed. "My dear child, I'm so sorry for what almost happened. I lapsed in my role as your protector." A wry smile pulled at his lips. "But you knew that already, did you not? You have known a great deal more than you have been letting on. Woe to me, if I were to share my suspicions. I'm certain Master Bruce would have me undergo a psychiatric evaluation."

"Alfred!" Barbara's voice rang loudly down the hall. "That kid you brought is playing with my computer!"

A squawk followed by a burning smell. Alfred hurried from the room to see what the commotion was about. Alone on the bed, a tear slipped from beneath one of Timothy's closed eyes.

At the frayed edges of my mind I caught a glimpse of reality. At least, I perceived it that way. There's so many things left unfinished in my life. So many words I didn't say. Too many actions I never did, and those I did, I wish I could undo. Of course, life doesn't work that way, does it?

The storm front battering what's left of my brain is slowly receding. The waters are shallowing, and I wonder, do I dare stick my feet in? If I brave the waves, will they bring me closer to myself or drown me in the fragmented pieces of a life I no longer live?

I don't know.

I'm scared.

Batman finished stowing the remnants of his costume in an untended locker room in the basement of Wayne Enterprises. He'd spent too long on the roof. A new day had begun, making it too late to return to the Manor to transform himself into Bruce Wayne. Folding his cowl, he set it carefully with the rest of his gear.

He didn't like the idea of leaving his costume here. There were too many people within the building who might accidentally stumble across his well-kept secret. Security personnel, temps, CEO's, secretaries and maintenance crews were already beginning to swarm through the building. Seven a.m. may be early to some, but at Wayne Enterprises, seven a.m. meant the start of a new workday.

Which meant Bruce Wayne, no matter how flaky he might pretend to be, needed to be at his office, doing whatever it was he was supposed to be doing. Adjusting his tie with his goofy smile in place, he stepped from the locker room as Bruce Wayne, leaving the foreboding Dark Knight to brood about the troubled state of his affairs.

Nimbly hopping up the stairs, he exited onto the first floor, quickly sauntering into a crowd of chattering secretaries waiting for the elevator.

"Damnedest thing I ever seen." A red permed woman exclaimed. "I swear, I'm not exaggerating!"

"No way!" A bubble-gum popping brunette squealed. "That's too incredibly freaky."

"Tell me about it," retorted the first, tugging at her tightly wound curls. "That's the first time I ever seen the Batman."

"You saw the Batman?"

The receptionists looked in his direction and began to giggle. "Mister Wayne!" The brunette squealed, nearly choking on her gum. "I didn't even see you there! How are you, today sir? Still single, I hope?"

"Always." Charming smile in place, he tried swinging the conversation back to its original topic. "What was this about the Batman?"

The brunette giggled again. "Laurie saw the Batman. Here! At Wayne Enterprises. Is that totally cool or what?"

"You saw him?"

Laurie tugged at her curls and nodded. "Cross my heart and hope to die. I saw him on the roof. I was working late last night. Old man Ferguson on third had me photocopying a whole shitload..." Her hand flung to her mouth. "Oops! I mean, he had me photocopying a lot of papers. Some kinda report or something."

"Yes, he's a slave driver," Bruce sympathised while inwardly urging the woman to get to the point. "But, the Batman?"

"Was on the roof, shouting at the wind! Then all's a sudden, he's choking!"

"No!" Bruce said, feigning shock.

"Yes!" Laurie nodded vigorously. "He was totally spazzing. Weird huh?"

"That ain't never happened before." The gum-smacker chimed in. "Bats is, like, all scary and tough. No way he'd spaz out."

"But that's what happened." Laurie held a hand to her heart. "I swear on my mother's lima beans and ham, that's what I seen."

"Is that all?" Bruce asked. "Did you see anything else?"

"Nope. He's all flaying and swinging his arms." Laurie shrugged. "All of a sudden, the Bat's disappeared. There was all these weird noises then nothing. It was just me and an empty parking lot."

"He was gone?"

"Gone!" Laurie snapped her fingers, while the other tugged at her curls. "Friggn' weird huh?"

"Totally." The brunette agreed. "You should get a priest to come or something, Mister Wayne. Like, I think maybe this buildings haunted."

"I'll think about it." Bruce agreed. The elevator beeped, signalling its arrival. "I believe this is our ride. After you, ladies." He followed them in and frowned, trying to digest this latest news. "Strange."

"What is?"

"Oh." Bruce shrugged indifferently. "Nothing Laurie, just talking to myself."

"You seem to be doing that a lot lately." Laurie giggled. "At least, that's what the boys in the mail room said." The elevator shook slightly as it reached another floor. "This is our stop, Mister Wayne. You have a good day, sir."

"And you ladies. You shall haunt my thoughts all morning." He blew a kiss as the doors closed, shutting out the receptionists giggles. "Our conversation will stay with me." His smile turned to a grimace. "Indefinitely."

Kon stood outside the entrance of the Batcave. The jagged rock wall loomed before him. Beyond it was the batcave and inside it's hallowed walls was Robin.

He bit his lip as he stared at the wall. For the first time since the accident, he wasn't anxious to go inside. Rather, he felt constrained by the notion of being forced to sit in an infirmary when the day was so obviously begging for his presence. There were baddies to fight and chicks to save. There was an all-girl slumber party he might still be able to crash (so long as the girls had decided to sleep in) and Impulse to annoy. In fact, when he thought about it, his day was looking pretty booked up.

"You don't mind, do you Rob?" He asked softly. "It's cool with you, right man?" The wind fluttered, and he felt a warmth settle over his shoulder. "Yeah, I didn't think it'd be a problem."

Taking to the air, Kon flew into the bright morning sky. It was the dawn of a new day.

Cassandra sat on the floor next to Toby. They were watching cartoons, Powerpuff Girls, to be precise. The little boy had been glued to the tv set since he'd arrived with Alfred at three a.m. The clock on the VCR said it was already nine. Barbara and Alfred were fussing over Robin in the bedroom. She'd wanted to help but Barbara told her to go babysit Toby. Barbara was still angry that Toby had managed to dump water on her laptop. As far as Cassandra was concerned it was Barbara's own fault. She'd left the laptop on the coffee table. She was also the one that gave Toby the glass of water.

Cassandra crossed her arms and scowled. All Barbara's fault. Barbara should have to babysit, but no, Batgirl had to babysit. By herself. All night. It was biggest suck yet. Watch cartoons, Barbara had said, but no ordering pizza or eating junk food. Not that Barbara ever had junk food at her apartment. Stupid Barbara.

So she'd watched cartoons, without any junk food, for seven straight hours with Toby. Now she was hungry, bored and sleepy.

"You tired?" Cassandra yawned. She nudged Toby when the boy didn't respond. "Tired?" She asked again when he stared blankly at her. "You go sleep."

Toby shook his head in reply. He pointed at the tv. "Scooby-do on next. I like Scooby-do."

"Little boys need sleep."

"Nuh uh." Toby contradicted. He crossed his arms in front. "No sleep. Nuh uh."

"Uh huh."

"NUH uh."

"Uh HUH!" In a movement too fast for even the Flash to see, she shut the tv off. "Go sleep!"

"No!" Toby wailed. "Watch Scooby-do!"

"No." Picking up the wailing child, Cassandra headed for Barbara's room. She was tired of stupid babysitting. Tired of stupid Kon for being stupid and giving up. Tired of Batman being stupid and hurting Robin. And... she was tired. Period. "We go sleep."

Pulling back the covers, she plopped down, taking Toby with her. "Go sleep."

"No," He blubbered. "Not sleepy."

"Yes sleepy." Cassandra commanded, getting comfortable for a nice, long fourteen hour sleep. "You sleep. I sleep."

Toby stared at her for a moment. "Okay." His head cocked to the side as if he were listening for something. To her surprise, he leaned forward and kissed her cheek. "I sleep for Cassandra. We share dreams."

"Good."

Not giving it much more thought, she closed her eyes and dreamed of beating Batman's head.

Dana sat across the kitchen table from her husband, slowly stirring her coffee. Taking the spoon from the cup she set it carefully on her napkin before glancing at Jack. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Jack shook his head and stared into his coffee cup. "Nope."

"It'll make you feel better." She said, raising her cup to her lips

"That was my son."

Dana sighed. They'd been over this before. "It wasn't. It was a relative of Dick's."

"Dick Grayson is an orphan. He doesn't have any relatives."

"We don't know that." Dana rubbed her temples tiredly. "He could have been a distant relative."

"It was Timothy," Jack said stubbornly. "I know what my son looks like."

"It wasn't! For heaven's sakes! It was not... huh?" She watched Jack reach into his pocket and take out a piece of paper. "What's that?"

"See for yourself." Jack handed her the paper. He steepled his fingers and waited. "I think this will change your mind."

Dana took the paper. Turning it over, she discovered it was a photo. A little boy clutching a well-loved teddy smiled brightly at her. Blue eyes as bright as his smile shone out from beneath long black bangs. "How did you get a picture of the little boy next door? Jack, please tell me you didn't break into Wayne Manor?"

"I was drunk, but not that drunk, Dana."

"You could have fooled me."

"Work with me here." He gestured to the photo. "That's not Toby. Read the print at the bottom."

Complying, Dana's eyes trailed down the photo to the neat handwriting near the bottom. She felt the blood drain from her face as she read the inscription. "Timothy Drake, age three. My god."

"Exactly." Jack reached across the table and took the photo from her shaking hand. "Some coincidence, huh?"

"But how is this possible? You can't de-age someone!"

"It would explain why no one has seen hide nor tail of my son."

"It's not possible." Dana found herself at a loss of words. Of all the scenarios she'd run through her mind, this had never been one of them. Terrorism and international espionage seemed more likely than this. The entire notion was inconceivable, yet, there was no mistaking the uncanny likeness of the child at the Manor to Tim's baby photo. "I don't understand."

"Neither do I." Jack said wryly. "But I'll be damned if I don't get to the bottom of this."

"Jack?"

"Yeah?"

Dana bite her lip. "Last night. Why did you suddenly want to go over to the manor? You made it pretty clear earlier that you didn't think Bruce Wayne was involved. What made you change your mind?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told."

"Try me."

Jack chuckled wryly. "You'll have me committed to Arkham but, okay. Last night someone broke into our house." Dana gasped. "I think it was the same kid that wrecked the car. Anyway, I ended up tied to the chair in my study. For the next thirty minutes I was drilled on my relationship with Timothy. Every other question pertained to him. The kid wanted to know the truth. 'Tell me the truth!' he'd keep saying. It's weird, but at one point I thought I was talking to Tim. At any rate, the kid made me a deal. If I told him the truth, he'd give me a clue as to where Timothy is."

"What truth did you have to tell him?"

"That I was a bad parent. I finally admitted it. Don't give me that look, Dana. You were right, I was a bad father. Am a bad father." Jack tugged at his collar sheepishly. "I guess after that I passed out, because when I woke up he was gone, I was untied and there was this note on my study desk. It was attached to that letter we received the other day." Jack grinned. "Guess what the return address was?"

"I haven't a clue."

"It was Mark's." Jack looked triumphant. "And who was questioning me about him just the other day?

"Bruce Wayne." Dana finished for him. "You must have drunk a lot of alcohol to have imagined that, Jack."

"What?"

"Jack," Dana said patiently, taking his hand in hers. "You were passed out on the couch. I was bringing you a blanket when you suddenly woke up and began hollering about Timothy."

"That's not what happened." Jack sipped his coffee, trying to digest what he'd been told. "That's impossible. It was real. The kid was real. I felt him. He kicked me!"

"No." Dana shook her head. "You were passed out. I must have checked on you three or four times that night. If there had been a burglar I would have known."

"But the note and the letter!"

"I don't know about any note, but the letter is still in the kitchen." She jerked her head towards the cupboard. "I put it in our paper basket yesterday morning."

"I didn't dream this up!"

"I'm not saying you did."

"Then take a look at the letter!"

"Fine!" Dana went to the cupboard and began rummaging in the paper basket. "You know Jack, alcohol does weird things to people. People hallucinate, go home with complete strangers," a smile tugged at her lips. "Elope with Elvis impersonators to Vegas..."

"I didn't dream it up." Jack stabbed at Timothy's photo. "If I dreamt up the entire mess then how do you explain that picture?"

"I can't." She paused in her rummaging. "Where... oh, here it is."

"Well?"

Dana was silent. Slowly she turned, a pinched look upon her face. Wordlessly, she handed the envelope to Jack.

Jack glanced at the address. "Didn't I tell you?"

"I don't understand." Dana resumed her seat. Brown eyes were haunted as she stared across the table. "How is this possible?"

"You tell me."

"I can't."

"Exactly. You can't. No one can, yet we both know this is happening." Jack drew in a deep breath. "Dana, a lot of weird things have been happening lately. Incidents that I can't even begin to explain. So, I'm not going to waste time explaining what I can't. What I do know, is that child at Wayne Manor is my son and one way or another, I'm going to get him back. The first step is find out how Bruce is involved." Jack tapped the envelope. "I'm betting there's something in here that will help us."

Dana was grim. "Then let's get started."