Title:
Exit
Author:
Simon
Pairing:
Dickâ€and I don't want to give it away
Rating:
PG-13.
Summary:
Dick's plane is down.
Warnings:
Deathfic/slash (but not much). Angst o'rama.
Disclaimers:
These guys aren't mine, they don't belong to me, worst
luck,
so don't bother me.
Feedback:
Hell, yes, have at it. Baeden2020y...
This
is just another little AU of an AU. It's a stand alone, I
suppose.
Hey it's been raining all weekâ€it's depressing,
y'know?
Exit
The
word had gone out quickly throughout the community; by
communicator,
by phone, by word of mouth.
The
Titans, the JLA, the JSA, the various police forces who had
reason
to know who he was, all were quietly informed. Interpol was
told,
the FBI, the CIA, the KGB and M5. They were all notified and people
ateach place were saddened by the loss, but not surprised.
He
had been so young, so talented and so very good at what he did,
but
it was so dangerous that what had happened was really just a
matter
of time. It was inevitable, sooner or later if you thought
about
it. It was bound to happen sooner or later, the way he worked
and
lived and did his job. He'd been one of the good ones, though;
there
was no getting around that.
Reckless,
of course, but then they all were when you came down to
it.
It was practically part of the job description. And impulsive.
It
had to happen
There
would be no official announcement, but everyone would
know.
Nightwing
was dead.
One
by one his friends, the people he'd worked with and the
criminals
he'd fought learned the news.
He
was dead. Gone. Killed.
It
was official, or as official as these things ever were. It
was
definite;
there was no mistake, no trick. It was real.
The
man was dead.
Jim
Gordon heard the news while reading through the next year's
budget
report. His secretary had stood at his office door, telling
him
there was a call on three that sounded important. It was his
daughter
and she sounded upset.
He
had picked up the receiver to hear crying and the anguished,
"Oh,
Daddy"
Barbara
had told him, her voice breaking, how she had been talking
to
him on the radio while he was piloting his private jet to
Europe.
He'd
been telling her that he was on his way to visit his
grandfather,
that he missed the old man and hadn't seen him in
almost
six months. He was planning on surprising Papa for his
seventieth
birthday, laughing about the look he'd have on his face
when
his grandson walked in as cool as ice as though he'd just
walked
around the corner instead of having flown half way around
the
world.
They
had joked back and forth, he had told her that he'd be back by
the
end of the week and they'd get together Friday, maybe have a
night
on the town. In fact she should buy herself a new dress—no,
he
meant
it. They'd go out someplace really nice. It would be great,
maybe
catch a show while they were at it. She should look through
the
listings then get tickets to whatever she was in the mood for,
he
was easy. "I know you are." No. Really, they'd do
something
special,
just the two of them, they were overdue. Besides, he'd
missed
her birthday last month and he owed her one. He was laughing
Then
Dick had said something, Barbara thought it sounded like
"Oh,
shitâ€Fuck!"
And the line had gone dead.
That
was it. Nothing else. Not another sound, not another
word.
Silence.
She
had immediately called up radar and accessed the trace that
was
always
on one of the family' planes. The radar had shown hundreds
of
small objects where there should have been one large one and
the
trace
was coming up malfunction'.
The
plane was gone. Period. Just like that.
She
had called for help, of course. She had sent out an urgent call
for
Clark who had responded in seconds. He had gone to the last
known
position to check and then flown directly to her tower. He had
told
her, gently, that there was debris both on the surface of the
ocean
and on it's way to the bottom. He'd found an emergency
parachute
almost intact and undeployed. It hadn't been used. There
apparently
hadn't been time.
There
was no indication of any kind of foul play, no trace of
explosives
or shells or bomb parts. He had looked through
everything.
There was nothing. He'd found temperature gauges
indicating
that the engine may have been running hot. As far as he
could
tell, in his opinion, his best analysis indicated simple
mechanical
failure.
The
plane had exploded violently and with almost no warning.
Dick
must have died instantly. When she had asked he told her, as
kindly
as he could, that there wasn't enough of him left to recover
then
he had called Dinah to stay with her so she wouldn't be
alone.
Barbara
had been given sedatives and Oracle was unavailable for
almost
a day and a half. It was unprecedented.
Next
Clark had gone to the League and broken the news to J'onn and
Diana,
the two on duty. They'd tell the others, make the
announcement
so that Clark could get to Gotham. Some thought that
Bruce
should have been he first to know but Clark had just said that
he
wasn't ready to see the look on his face when he got the news and
he
needed a few minutes to think about what he would say.
The
reaction at the JLA was that of stunned acceptance or
denial,
depending
on whom you spoke to. They had all known Nightwing for
years;
most of them had known him as the original Robin and Dick
Grayson
as well.
Without
exception they had liked him, respected him both personally
and
professionally and a number of the members had watched him grow
up
in front of them. He'd developed from a precocious, traumatized
and
talented kid into a trained crime fighter able to hold his own
with
any of them—and in many cases, surpass them.
He
was a good comrade, dependable and unfailingly reliable, plus
he'd
been fun to have around, upbeat and usually cheerful while
getting
whatever job was at hand done as well it was possible to do.
He'd
been one of the best and most of the JLA had assumed that he'd
be
a full member one of these days. In fact, all he'd have had to do
was
say the word and he'd have been in. It would have been a lock.
He
was an asset anywhere he went; to anyone he worked with and they
all
knew it. All he had to do was tell them he wanted to join and
that
would have been it.
Clark
had broken the news to Bruce right after he had left the
League.
No one else knew how to do it and was reluctant to try.
The
relationship
between Bruce and Dick had run too many gauntlets of up
and
down and was so convoluted and unresolved that it had seemed
likely
it would never be completely sorted out—and now, of course,
if
never would.
Diana
had called Clark an hour later, asking how he'd taken the
news,
was there anything they could do to help him? No, there
wasn't,
but thanks for asking.
Evidently
Clark had gone to the offices at Wayne Corp, interrupted
some
big board meeting and had been allowed in when Bruce was
finally
told who was there to see him. Clark wouldn't do anything
that
brazen if it wasn't urgent.
They
had gone to his private office and Clark had told him directly
and
simply. Bruce had taken a breath, nodded, thanked him and turned
to
look, unseeing, out the window. Clark knew he was dismissed and
had
let himself out. Bruce hadn't contacted anyone since then and no
one
was surprised, though a number of his friends tried to call.
They
were told, politely but firmly, that Mr. Wayne wasn't taking
any
calls, thank you, but they were welcome to leave a message.
The
Titans were hit almost as hard by the news when Clark stopped by
the
Tower next. It was more personal for them since the original
members
were still the closest of friends. They still shared
adventures
and adversity and pizza and supported one another through
problems
with their various guardians and mentors and their own
individual
crushes and love lives, just like they had done since
they
were twelve or thirteen.
Whether
they were actually working together or not, they were
constants
in one another's lives.
They'd
each lost a large part of themselves and they knew the gap
was
unfillable.
He
had been the heart and the soul of the original group and they
all
knew it. He was irreplaceable.
They
each handled the loss in their own way. Roy, who still credited
Robin
with saving his life with the intervention he'd staged back
when
heroin was the problem of the day, reverted to his roots. First
he
had held Lian for a long time, playing with her, reading to her
and
needing the closeness. Finally, when she fell asleep and had
been
put to bed, he chanted and prayed as he'd been taught to do
when
he'd lived among the tribes out west and it seemed to bring him
some
peace.
Wally
had run until even he couldn't run anymore, exhausting himself
and
then had gone to Dick's apartment to make sure that there was
nothing
which might cause any problem or embarrassment when the
place
was cleared out. There wasn't much. Dick lived a pretty clean
life,
of course, but there were a stack of private letters that had
been
tied with a purple satin ribbon and a half used box of condoms
along
with a few toys that had probably been purchased near Times
Square.
He had tossed them and the box in a dumpster several blocks
from
the apartment. He was going to throw the letters away as well,
but
after reading the top letter on the pile, had quietly tucked
them
in his jacket pocket.
Donna
had done what she could to help the others. She had lent and
ear
and a shoulder when it was needed and had done everything she
could
to help Alfred arrange the service, telling him about Dick's
music
preferences and the charities he supported. She cried, of
course,
feeling that she had lost a favorite brother and wondered
how
things might have turned out differently if they had ever given
in
to the attraction that had been between them for years. They
never
had, but they used to joke about and knew they were only
half
joking.
Garth
dealt, as he tended to, by drawing within himself. He went for
long
solitary swims and wrote for hours in his quarters. By the
second
day, unable to stand being in the tower any longer, he had
gone
back to Atlantis and stayed there. He resigned his membership
in
the Titans electronically and let them know he would be there if
they
needed his help, but he couldn't be there anymore without
Robbie
around. The silence was too loud. Knowing how deeply and how
long
he had grieved after Tula's death, they had let him go but told
him
they were still his friends. He just said that he knew that,
it
wouldn't
change, but he couldn't bear to be on the surface now.
Alfred,
who had apparently been told by Bruce later that first day,
had
made the call to the Bludhaven precinct where Dick had worked.
He
had identified himself as Officer Grayson's grandfather and
most
deeply
regretted, what he meant to say was that the young officer
had
been killed while on vacation. Yes, they were all quite upset,
as
you could imagine. No, the arrangements hadn't been made, but
he
would
be sure they were informed as soon as he knew more. Thank you,
yes,
he had been so very special to them all, to everyone who knew
him.
No, there was really nothing they could do. No, no flowers,
please.
There would be a charity named where donations could be sent
in
Richard's name. If they would forgive him, he really had to go.
There
was so much to do.
Bruce,
of course, had obsessively done everything he could to find
the
cause of the plane's destruction. He'd called Arthur Curry to
recover
the wreckage and eventually spent months in the cave going
over
each and every part. He'd run every test that could be run, run
every
computer simulator he could get his hands on and in the end it
all
came down to Clark's original conclusion. The jet had gone
down
because
of simple mechanical failure. A part had snapped, the engine
had
jammed and become overheated and then it had simply exploded.
It
couldn't have been predicted, there was no way to foresee
it
happening
and there would have been nothing Dick could have done
once
the crisis had started. There would have been no time to
jettison
and nothing that could have saved the machine.
From
the moment the warning light flashed on the control panel, Dick
had
seconds to live.
Bruce
emerged from the cave to attend the memorial service and once
in
a while he'd go into the office, but that was rare and becoming
less
and less frequent as the weeks went by. Batman seemed to have
gone
into a grief induced seclusion as well, and Alfred despaired.
Nothing
he said or did made any difference and he began to worry for
the
master's sanity. It frightened the old man and he begged Bruce
to
stop or back off to no effect.
The
Memorial service was held for Richard John Grayson at
Saint
Catherine's
Catholic Church near to the Manor. That had been the
faith
his parents had raised him in and though he rarely went to
church,
those were his basic beliefs. Well, as far as anyone could
tell,
anyway.
No
one who was asked could ever remember him ever talking
about
religion,
so they just sort of assumed.
His
parents had been buried with a high Mass and so Bruce had
requested
the same for Dick.
There
had been a few times after he'd gone to live with Bruce, not
many,
when Dick would sit in the back of that church, not really
taking
part in the ceremony, just quietly taking it in and would
usually
come back to the manor calmer.
That
morning the old building was crowded with standing room only.
No
one was surprised. It's always a shock when a young person dies,
of
course, but when it was someone like Dick with friends and
coworkers
from almost everywhere, it was to be expected.
He
was given a full Police Honor Guard from both Bludhaven and the
small
town where the manor was located. They lined the street and
the
kilted bagpiper's played a dirge.
There
was no coffin because there was no body.
After
the Priest was finished friends got up to talk. The memorial
was
for Dick Grayson so that's who was eulogized and the speakers
went
on for over an hour and a half. Everyone from old classmates
to
Lucius
Fox to some of the Haley Circus people who had come to say
goodbye
got up to speak about the young man they'd known. They told
stories
about how he'd been the first person in the United States to
turn
a quad when he was only eight and they talked about his late
night
teenaged outings in high school. One friend talked about
his
fearlessness
on a ski slope and another about his devotion to his
grandfather,
making the trip to Europe at least twice a year. Lucius
said
how he'd been looking forward to the day Dick would take his
place
at Wayne Enterprises and Alfred, dry eyed, told about how
bringing
a young boy into his home was the last thing he'd wanted
and
the best thing that could have happened, muddy footprints and
loud
music aside.
Afterwards
there was a reception at Wayne Manor. It was in perfect
taste,
of course, because Alfred had made the arrangements. Food and
drinks
were served and there were a couple of old family picture
albums
starting with his childhood with his parents at the circus
and
ending with his graduation from the Police Academy. In every
picture
he was happy and smiling.
Bruce
stood and accepted the condolences and the hugs and the
promises
that people would call, knowing that they wouldn't.
Someone
even said, slightly too loudly and was overheard, that it
was
bound to happen. Take in a blue-collar orphan, try to help him,
do
right by him and class will win out every time. The kid
took
everything
Wayne could give him and then got himself killed for his
pains.
He probably couldn't handle an expensive piece of equipment
like
a jet and should have just bought a ticket on Lufthansa
or
something.
Bruce
stared at the woman, barely refrained from saying anything,
turned
and walked upstairs.
Alfred
handed the woman her coat and suggested, somewhat forcefully,
that
she was no longer be welcomed there. No one had ever heard
Alfred
border on rude before and no one blamed him.
The
reception ended shortly after that.
Later
that night there was another memorial service, this one
for
Nightwing,
nee Robin.
It
was held at the Tower and everyone in spandex showed up for what
was
as close to an Irish wake as they could get. The Titans, old
and
new were there, the entire JLA and the JSA showed up and a few
others
as well. There was music and too much to eat and drink and
everyone
told stories about the departed guest of honor and it
continued
for hours, finally winding down just past dawn. About the
only
one not there was Tempest. Arthur made his excuses, explaining
that
he was simply too upset to come, but that he'd honor Nightwing
in
his own way.
Everyone
understood. Poor Garth, he was such a gentle soul when you
got
to know him.
Donna
and Kory cried the hardest and Barbara, determined to be
stoic,
finally broke down as well. The jealousy that used to just
simmer
below the surface between the three women was pointless now
and
they gave in to reminiscing about his attributes and talent'
where
women were concerned—which were considerable to hear them
talk.
The conversation passed x-rated and the boys were all ears.
That
was a side of Nightwing they may have suspected but hadn't
known
for sure until now.
Roy
and Wally traded stories with Clark and Diana about catching the
two
older heroes making out at some Christmas party and producing
the
previously secret pictures Robbie had managed to sneak.
Wally
hadn't told anyone about the love letters he'd found and
guiltily
read. He'd had no idea that Dick had been involved with—no,
no
one knew as far as he could tell. He'd burned the damned things.
It
was nobody's business.
Bruce,
slightly drunk for the first time anyone could remember,
told
everyone
that Robin saved his life more times than he could count
and
not just literally. If the boy hadn't moved in when he had,
Bruce
might have become obsessed and out of touch with the
common
man.
They
had all known that for years.
No
one said anything but the ones within earshot wondered just how
low
the Bat would have gone if Dick hadn't decided that making
Bruce
laugh
on a daily basis was one of his goals in life.
The
party was a good one and Dick would have had a great time. They
all
knew that, just like they all knew that they had all lost a
good
friend
and a major player and one who's passing wouldn't be shuffled
under
some rug. He wouldn't be forgotten.
Robin,
later Nightwing had been one of the best.
In
a large room that was part of a private suite in the royal palace
of
Shayeris the newly crowned king lay with his lover. They could
be
together
now without the complications and secrecy which had made
their
lives together almost unbearable for the last few years.
Their
lives had revolved around security and secrecy. They had
felt
constrained
to live a lie for the sake of international negotiations
and
the treaties that had to be finalized and signed and after
some
subtle
questions it was made clear that Atlantis' liberal policy
toward
personal relationships would not be appreciated on the
international
stage. Dick had also believed that if his private life
were
made public—as Dick Grayson—Bruce would be adversely
affected.
Wayne
Corp would suffer and he would be compromised as a potential
future
CEO of the company. He also had come to believe, despite
Garth's
protests, that if Nightwing became known as the Gay Hero,
he'd
lose his effectiveness.
They
had begun planning this over a year ago. It had taken that long
to
get all the pieces in place and everything arranged and despite
their
misgivings and concerns, their second thoughts and deep regret
about
the pain they'd be causing their closest friends, everything
had
worked out exactly as they had hoped.
The
two men were deeply sorry that some of their friends couldn't be
told
yet and that they had caused the people they loved pain, but
they
would grieve and then they would move on. In time everyone
would
be told, but for now this was for the best. The fewer who
knew,
the less change that the secret would be broken.
Garth
was still a national leader and becoming more important as the
world
became smaller. He was still needed to bridge the gap between
the
Atlantis and the surface. He needed to keep his reputation
without
trivia getting in the way.
Dick,
unable to just disappear without a backward look, had left
Alfred
a letter that would be delivered in a couple of days. It
explained
what had happened, begged him to forgive them and made it
clear
that Dick had been so hounded that he felt there was no other
way
out. Besides, he had thought about it for a long time and the
truth
was that he was frustrated with what he was doing. He'd been
in
the life since he was ten and, try as he might, he couldn't see
that
he had accomplished anything lasting.
They
fought year after year and never seemed to gain any ground. He
wanted
time for himself now. He wanted to do what he wanted for once
and
if he didn't make the break now he likely never would.
He
had learned that his and Garth's relationship was going to
be
featured
in several tabloids soon. He had tried to stop the editors
from
running the story but they had refused. It was too good a
scandal.
With him dead and Garth back home, they'd taken the teeth
out
of it. Please tell Bruce and his grandfather that he loved them
both
and would be in touch when he could.
He
wanted to tell them sooner, but they needed the reactions to
be
genuine
if they were going to make this work.
The
arrangements had been made for their marriage to take place next
week
and they were quietly satisfied about how everything had worked
out
even better than they had hoped. Without Clark's and Arthur's
help
it would have been too complicated a plan to even consider but
with
good friends, they had carried it off perfectly.
Shayeris
needed her king in place. The King needed his lover to
function
happily and well. His lover had tired of the role-playing
and
lies his life demanded and equally needed to be with his
heart's
soul.
The
kingdom was secure, they would be together. They would make
this
would
work for now.
7/14/04