Dick was sitting at his computer staring for the thousandth time at the last e-mail message.

> I am as ready as I'll ever be. I'm waiting. He'd written.

Understood. Bruce had replied.

So where was he? How much more clear could that be? What else did he expect Dick to say? Had Bruce lost his nerve? Was he just putting him off?

"I said NO one word answers, Damnit!" Dick pounded his fist on the table which held his computer. He wished he'd taken his computer desk from his room at Wayne Manor, but it wasn't as if he'd had time to pack. His departure had been rather abrupt.

He still couldn't quite figure what had gone wrong. He'd returned to see the 'replacement Robin.'
He was a cute kid, too bad he'd gotten himself wrapped up in the dark world of Bruce's psychosis. The night had been going well, though. Bruce had looked good, relaxed and happy. Tim must be good for him. And Alfred, God it had been good to see Alfred again. Even Barbara had been there. They'd adjourned from the Cave to the kitchen and had broken out the cake and ice cream. There they'd sat, smiling at each other, joking, talking; the Batbeauty, the Batbaby, the Batbutler , the Batboss and the Batboomerang, the whole Bat-freakin'-family. It could have been a painting by the Bizarro world Norman Rockwell.

Gradually everyone else had dispersed to their various beds, and they had been alone. In the doorway of Bruce's bedroom. And Dick had felt good. And Bruce had looked good, damn good. Dick had had to check to make sure he wasn't dreaming. It had become a familiar theme in his nighttime fantasies, he and Bruce, alone, in Bruce's bedroom. Bruce had had that look in his eye, the look from the dream. He had been feeling it too.

The moment came, and Dick had taken it. He had gone right for the liplock, no room for half measures. Bruce had responded. He had taken Dick in his arms and pulled him close. Close enough for Dick to have felt against his thigh just how in synch their thoughts were.

From nowhere had come this force sending Dick halfway across the hall. Bruce's voice - no, Batman's voice, "This didn't happen. This isn't happening. No."

"WHAT?!" Dick had demanded.

"No." Batman had repeated. He had even been wearing the mask, a face devoid of any emotion whatsoever.

"What do you mean, NO?! NO, those weren't your arms around me? NO, that wasn't your tongue in my mouth? NO, that isn't a BAT in your POCKET??!!!" Dick had been furious.

"DICK! Keep your voice down!" Bruce had ordered.

"I will NOT! Who the hell do you think you are! Talk to me, damn you!"

"Richard, you are upset, you'll wake the house. Go to your room and calm down." Bruce had turned dismissively to walk into his bedroom.

"WAIT!" Dick had shouted. "You can't tell me you didn't enjoy that!"

Bruce had turned back to him. "Dick, it's over. We won't talk about it again. Now go to your room."

Dick had stared at Bruce. How could he possibly reject him this way? What could Dick say to convince him? Then he had realized that there was nothing he could say. There never had been. There never would be. Bruce controlled everything, even whether or not what had just happened had happened. Dick had felt the rage harden his mouth and narrow his eyes. He had shot Bruce a look of pure hate, the last look ever, he'd thought, then had turned and with slow measured steps, walked away.

He had gone straight to his old room, to grab anything he wanted to keep, as he would not be returning. He'd taken most of his possessions when he'd gone to college, but Bruce had argued when he'd tried to take the circus poster off the wall, and when he'd tried to take the pictures of himself with Bruce or Alfred, when he'd tried to take a few childhood treasures. Always the same argument.

"They're safe where they are, Dick, just leave them. It isn't like you're leaving forever."

But this time he was. He had grabbed everything he could stuff into his pockets, and then had grabbed the framed poster off of the wall. It would be difficult to carry it all the way to his loft on his bike, but he sure as hell wasn't leaving it behind. Besides, he could imagine Bruce's face when he saw that blank wall. Then he would know that he'd never see Dick again. It would be a tiny bit of revenge, and it had made Dick feel at least a tiny bit better.

He'd walked out the front door without saying goodbye, and he'd never returned.

So here he was in huge cavernous room in a huge cavernous warehouse, staring at the screen of a second or possibly third hand computer, which sat on a thrift shop table, wondering what he should do.

Then he heard a noise. He froze. He felt rather than heard a silent step, and then he knew who it was.

"Please, feel free to sneak in through my window, Bruce," he said, without turning around. "Developed a fear of doors or something?"