Draco Draconis

By Dannell Lites

SPIFFY DISCLAIMER THINGIE!

Nobody heah belongs to moi except Aunt Danny Fanny and if'n ya'll touch her without permission she'll rip ya'll a new body orifice. :):) Moi, OTOH, will be incredibly relieved - *urk* *Dannell jumps up and down on one foot cradling her abused, stomped upon toes* Ah mean *flattered* if'n anybody wanted to take her off'n moi's han - *eeep* *Dannell ducks a flying bowl of Atomic Chili* Tarnation! Ah mean wanted to use her in a story and appreciate her for the *fine* person she is! *Dannell wipes her sweating brow* No money is being made heah and no infringement of copyright is intended, Ah swan!

Everybody ya'll recognize likely belongs to DC comics. :):) This incarnation of the narrator, Jason Todd, the ill fated second Robin, and The Corner are all Kaylee's, though. :):) If'n ya'll abuse Jays without permission, KJ will sic Kai on ya'll who'll get medieval on ya'll's buttocks! Things could get ugly. *snarf*

Rated PG-17 for language and adult situations.

WARNING! Really, really *foul* language ahead! And frank m/m sexual theme. If'n this sort of thing bothers ya'll ... then best skedaddle:):)

This one is, once more, For Kaylee and Kael. :):) Who offered invaluable advice and encouragement!

Now on with the fic!!

Look, I'm not a fucking prude, all right? Heh. Big Freudian slip there. Now, I still don't understand how a man can wanna be with another man the way I like to be with women. But I didn't mean to be such a dumb kid about it. I was just surprised is all. Hell, you'd've been a little shocked too, trust me. It isn't everyday you can walk in and catch your best friend in the world, the guy who saved your ass from a lot of really nasty emotional crap spreading his butt-cheeks for some other guy's -

So, I'm an idiot. You got a problem with that? Sue me. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Bite me, okay? Since Dick converted the warehouse into living quarters with a loft for Garth, moved out of Clancy's place, and took up residence there, he's got plenty of room to spare. It's a big warehouse. It just never occurred to me that Garth was anything but a friend. They've been tight since they were my age and younger. I just figured Garth needed a place to stay after he cut out on Arthur and that Dolphin bitch. Jesus H. Christ on a fucking pogo stick, I never thought about it, okay? A lot of things had changed, about that time. Like me.

Christ, I just *had* to get out of Wayne Manor. It was either that or strangle to death on my own bile. You wanna know the truth? I never liked that dusty old mausoleum. Never. And after I got out of the hospital ...

"Here, let me get that for you, Young Master Jason! It's no trouble at all, I assure you ... "

"Easy, Jason. Careful. You have to allow yourself time to adjust to your new ... circumstances ... No! Damn it, don't do that! It's too dangerous!" Bruce. Cursing.

*Fuck* that shit.

Fuck *them*.

Goddamn it, I worked hard. Sure, the Joker's crowbar and that bomb messed me up good. This eyepatch isn't just for decoration. What's underneath it doesn't work, okay? I'm a one eyed ex-Boy Wonder, ex-mother's son, ex-partner, ex-back half of Batman and, ex-cute kid, ex-*person*. Live with it. What you see is what you get. What there is left of me, anyway. But shit I was trying; nobody can deny that. Hell, I was even still using the dye that turned my red hair black. You know ... the dye that made me look like an acceptable substitute for Dick. Bitter? Yeah, I was bitter. Better believe it. But I was, by God, gonna prove to those sons of bitches that Robin wasn't dead yet. That I could still make the grade. Cut the mustard. Insert your favorite cliché HERE. Oh sure. I was gonna show them all right.

Inside Aunt Danny Fanny's Tyler Texas Pitt Bar-B-Que here in The Corner there's this incredibly old, ratty jukebox with the world's largest collection of shitty country and western songs on it. I've gotten really fond of one of them.

Every time I go downtown
The boys all kick my dawg around!
Makes no difference if he's a hound,
Ought not to kick my dawg around!

Ever felt like that?

Yeah.

Sucks, don't it? And not very well, at that.

Guess, you'd have to ask Dick about *that*, though.

I sweated and I cursed and I whimpered with the pain, but I stuck with it and, eventually, I was back on my feet, ready to piss in the world's face and lick my weight in supervillains. Or at least gradeschoolers. It was a start, right? I just had to work a little harder, sweat a lot more profusely, whimper louder, and pretty soon I'd be back up to par. Right back out there on the street with Bruce. Honest to Christ it never occurred to me that Bruce might feel differently.

"No, Jason," he said in that quiet, relentless voice he uses when no further discussion is allowed. I'd rather face The Scary Voice any day, believe me. "It's just not possible, son. I'm sorry." Can you believe that happy crappy?

Goddamn him to Hell. Goddamn him *straight* to Hell. I needed ... I - I *needed* ...

Well, whatever I needed it wasn't *that* shit, I can tell you. Lousy bastard. At least Al tried. He really did. I just kept ... failing ... them is all. When Bruce wouldn't spar with me anymore, I sulked in my room for three days and broke a lot of things. But I started to figure out what I had to do. If I could just prove to Bruce ... Yeah. That was the ticket. So I started pretending to be a good little invalid boy. But you can believe that I didn't let any moss grow underneath my ass. When Al and Bruce were both away, I practiced. Every chance I got, I practiced until I hurt.

I think Al figured out what was going on. But he didn't say anything. Looking back, I guess he figured that this was just something that I had to do. So he let me make my own mistakes. Al is good like that. Smart, too. Bruce learned quite a bit from him while he was growing up, I'll bet. Too bad he didn't learn any of the important things, huh?

And then one day I was ready. Or so I thought. I shot out my grip-line, swung out, hit the mat, tucked, rolled, and bounced to my feet like a rubber ball. I yelled loudly and happily enough to be heard in Jersey, then did a little dance across the 'Cave. My right knee folded and I ended up flat on my face, but hey! I didn't care. I'd done it!

"Eat this, Brucie-baby," I thought, rubbing my knee and contemplating another practice run through. Damn it felt good. Like old times. Like I was alive again.

Like I was - was *whole* again.

I've never been so excited in my life. That evening I lured Bruce down into the 'Cave with some lie about finding something interesting in the BatComputer's databanks and waited. I had it all set up. Everything was perfect.

Everything but me.

I swung out, misjudged the distance this time, and fell like a ton of bricks. For a minute, I thought I'd done something really stupid like cracked a rib or broken my fucking leg, it hurt so much. I couldn't breathe. Just before I began, I thought I heard Bruce cry out a warning. Damn him! Made me lose my concentration, yelling at me like that. It wasn't the goddamn blinded eye. It *wasn't*.

Before I knew what was happening, I could feel Bruce's hands all over me, gently probing, checking for injuries with skilled fingers. The only thing I could do was lie there in his arms gasping for breath like a fucking landed fish. Pretty apt that. You don't get much more helpless than a landed fish, do you? Gasping and dying and out of its element. Nope. Not much more pathetic than that.

Unless, of course, you're Jason-fucking-Todd, ex-Boy Wunderkind.

But I was okay. Just had the breath knocked out of me was all. If Bruce hadn't broken my fall, though, with his own body, I could've been seriously injured. Don't try that at home, kiddies. It's really, really stupid is the name of *that* tune. It usually winds up leaving the heroic savior, which in this case would be Bruce, in worse shape than the poor dumb-ass savee. Which would be me, in this case. Again. Damn him!

His voice trembled with anger (had to be anger, didn't it? Couldn't be anything else. Couldn't be ...) when he sat up and shook me like a rat in the jaws of a terrier. "Don't *ever* do that again!" he cried. "For the love of God, Jason ... Never! Do you hear me?" I was the one who was shaking like a leaf, right? Not him. The Batman never shakes.

And when I reached out and clutched at him, burying my head on his chest in pain and despair, it was only a reflex. I was dizzy, okay? Had to have something to hold on to or I was gonna ... I was gonna ...

And my eyes were only watering from the pain, you got that? I was *not* crying in his arms. No way.

"Goddamn ... goddamn ... goddamn ..." I choked over and over again.

I think I heard him say my name, but I'm not sure. I wasn't really listening. When he tightened his embrace it was probably only to keep me from running away before he could lecture me. He always had to have the last word. Well, not this time.

Scrambling to my feet, I fled. I ran away from him and his pity. From him and his whole, perfect face and body that I could never, ever have hoped to equal even before the Joker crippled me. I left him alone, sitting in the Batcave in his torn Armani suit, soaked now with my tears and humiliation, watching my flight up those endless stairs out of the 'Cave.

The next day, I washed the fucking dye out of my hair and left Wayne Manor for good. [Permanent dye couldn't be washed out, so I'm assuming this is the store-bought temporary kind, which takes something like twenty-eight washes (from first application) to rinse out. I don't think anyone would even raise an eyebrow at this, but I mention it because I got a mental image of Jason washing his hair over and over again, scrubbing 'til his scalp was sore. Don't know if you'd have any desire to put it in, but thought I'd share. :)] Al was out shopping. Bruce was at a civic luncheon or some damn thing. Ask me if I care. But I gave him a parting gift.

I left it all in a huge pile right outside his door. He couldn't miss it and Al wasn't going to be able to clean it up before Bruce saw it, either. Everything Bruce ever gave me all in one neat collection. In pieces. I left Shakespeare and Rimbaud's poetry torn and bleeding the way he left me bleeding, their fragile, friable pages ripped and shredded in frenzy. Like me. I strangled Mozart in mid-aria and broke Telonius Monk and Louis Armstrong with my hands. Gucchi silk and fine linen from Ralph Lauren and Polo would make great dust rags for Al, now. I took off the $5,000 Phillipe Patek watch on my wrist and slaughtered it beneath my heel, then threw its corpse onto the pile.

And on top of it all, a colorful banner waving in the breeze of my righteous anger, I left the Robin suit, like a cross on a grave. The grave of something once very important to me. But not any more. I left it whole and intact. Hell, I even pressed and ironed it to save Al the trouble. All nice and neat and ready for the next Robin to come down the pike. Only fair. After all ... I'm a nice guy. No hard feelings.

On my way out the door, I tossed the $2.85 of Bruce's money that I had in my pocket into the fireplace and watched it burn. Then I walked and hitched all the way to Blüdhaven. Took me most of a day. I'm not really sure just how I ended up in front of Dick's door, empty and aching. I just put one foot in front of another until I was there. Running on instinct, I guess. He didn't say a word. Not one. He just pulled me inside, feed me gooey oven-fresh chocolate chip cookies washed down with chocolate milk, tucked me into bed, climbed in beside me and held me until I fell asleep.

Dick thinks massive doses of chocolate are the answer to everything; including the eventual heat death of the Universe. Maybe he's right. Worked for me.

But I guess you can see that I might not have been at my best for the first few weeks I lived with Dick. I was kind of distracted. So when I accidentally walked in on him and Garth fucking like minks, I wasn't prepared for it, okay?

I flung open the door like I owned the place, bawled, "Hey Dickster! You here - ?" and looked around for Dick.

And there they were; the two of them, Dick Grayson, Nightwing, and his Titan buddy Garth humping away at each other. My stomach lurched and I was just damn lucky I didn't spew my guts all over that polished hardwood floor.

I honestly don't know which was worse. The fact that Dick was there at all ... or the fact that *he* was the one on his belly.

"Jesus bleedin' Christ!" I hissed and was out the door so quick I'm surprised I didn't take most of the oxygen in the damned room with me. Running on instinct, I stumbled to the front door of the converted warehouse, fumbling blind for the door handle. I don't think I was crying. It's easy to forget how *fast* Dick is, you know that? Lots of people make that mistake. Once. I'm not usually one of them, but I was still surprised when he laid a gently restraining hand on my shoulder. Didn't need to hear his voice to tell me who it was, though.

"C'mon Jays ... please ... " he began.

I figured that was enough of *that* noise; so I hit him. I don't even think I meant to. At least I don't like to think I meant to hit him. I told myself it was just an instinct, you know? My body told me I was being attacked from behind by some piece of street slime and ...

The first thing I knew about it, my hand was smashing into Dick's face, he went sprawling and I sucked on my skinned knuckles.

"Goddamn," I whispered and told myself it was because of the pain; that it was only my knuckles hurting that made me speak and only the pain that took my breath away. Had to be, right? Had to be.

Jesus Christ ... Jesus Christ ... how *could* he ... ? "Dick," I thought despondently, " I goddamn *worshipped* you, man! Goddamn it, all I ever wanted to be was just like you. Hell, I wanted to *be* you ... And just look at what you *are*."

Dick's voice was still rough and hoarse when he spoke to me again. Like he was still yet crying out for Garth. And he was still naked. Shameless bastard hadn't even bothered to cover himself before he came after me. Christ. Naked. I don't *do* naked. Not anymore. Probably never again. Wide-eyed, I backed away from him, trying futilely to distance myself from sex and all its mysteries that I would never know.

"Jays ... Jays?" he said. "Are you okay? I - I should have told you, I guess. I thought ... I didn't mean to hurt you. I never meant to do that." I guess he must have seen the way my face twisted in disgust. And I completely missed the look of pain and anger in his. "What the hell is *wrong* with you, Jays?!"

Startled , the ugly words were out of my mouth of their own accord before I could stop them. "Y-you, you're a damned *fa - fag*...!"

Dick's expression fell cold, dark, like stone on a high windswept mountain and I swallowed hard. But I had gone too far to back down now. I watched him pull himself agilely to his feet and stare at me. "Jays," he said carefully ... so very carefully ... "you'd better be really glad right now that I love you ..."

I'm pretty sure I turned pale at that last. My eyes widened further and my chest tightened until I was certain I couldn't breathe. That I was gonna pass out right there. "*Love* me, Dick?" I thought, horrified at the sudden image that rose unbidden in my mind. I was the one on my belly, squirming and grunting while Dick poked and thrust at me, invading my body ... "Like you love Garth? Is that why I'm here, Dick? Is that what this is all about? Are you... grooming... me to, to join you and Garth in that... in that... GodGodGod... I truh, I *trusted* you! And, and you were just *using* me like everybody else!"

Dick just stood there naked, still smelling of sweat and *sex* and Garth and ... and ... passion. All those things I was never going to know about. Love ... desire ... Desire for *me*? I couldn't help myself. I just reacted automatically to the sexual tension in the air. My stomach heaved and when I felt the flesh between my legs rise and stir, the world turned red and I guess I just exploded.

Hell, I figured I was only going to get one shot at this so I'd better make it good. Dick scrambled to his feet and I drew back my fist for another hit.

That never landed.

In a flash Garth was standing in front of Dick, shielding him with his body. And holding my clenched fist still in midair. He didn't push me away or squeeze my hand. He just ... held it. When I tried to move, to push *him* away and jerk my hand out of his, I couldn't. Anger sparked in those weird purple eyes of his like striking lightning in a brooding sea storm.

"No."

That was all he said. Just ... "No."

Look, I'm not afraid of Garth, okay? Let's get that straight right here, right now. I am *not* afraid of him, got that? Good. Glad we settled that. I mean, Christ, who could possibly be afraid of Garth? He's like no taller than I am and so quiet he's damn near invisible when he wants to be. Which is most of the time. His English sounds funny and he *lives* in that freaking shower, man. He's ... he's ... he's ... a Titan. Who's strong enough to bend steel with his bare hands. Yeah, yeah. So what?

And all that bs about magic is a load of crap, if you ask me. *I've* never seen him do anything more serious with his so called "magic" than warm up a cup of herbal tea. Whoopie. I'm, like, really, really trembling here. Move over SuperDude! Here comes Microwave Lad. Dick says Garth has pretty much complete control of water temperature. And since 90% of the human body is made of water ... he could flash freeze or par-boil your ass with a gesture. Well ... maybe. But *would* he? Ha! Not! So it was only my respect for Dick, what little there was left of it, that made me back off.

Dick didn't even bother to wipe the blood from his streaming nose before he ripped into me. He looked me right in the eye. We're all three about the same height. They *can't* look down on me anymore.

At least not physically.

"You sanctimonious, hypocritical little prig! Where do you get off, Jays ... ? What gives *you* the right to judge me? I don't think God has bitten the big one quite yet, so you're gonna have to wait to fill *that* position, kid." To my utter humiliation and anger, Garth frowned and touched Dick gently on the shoulder. Dick's furious glance flickered in Garth's direction then softened into something damn close to an apology if I was reading him right. Dick immediately lost the brunt of the rage that was building in those bright blue eyes when he looked at Garth. For what, I wondered? Garth's smile was a tiny thing. I almost missed it. But Dick didn't. For a moment I was alone, isolated; an outsider.

"Dick," Garth said in that soft voice of his, "this isn't the way ... " Dick lowered his head and it began to look as if he was about to agree with that Atlantean sicko.

"Fuck you!" I cried before I quite knew what I had said. "I don't need your help here, Sea *Queen*, Jr." My eyes narrowed in contempt and [what I tried to tell myself was] righteous wrath. "How long did it take you, huh? How hard did you have to work to get what you wanted, I wonder? A long time? Or did you just go for the gold and throw him to the ground and - "

That's when Dick slapped me. Hard. But not as hard as he could have. Eyes stinging and watering, I stepped back, nursing my abused cheek. Damn him! He was letting me know *exactly* what he thought. In more ways than one. You *slap* a child. You *hit* another man.

"Bruce should have taught you better manners, Jays," Dick said levelly. He hasn't got a Scary Voice. Not like Bruce does, anyway. But what he's got works just fine, I can testify to that. Damn, he knew just where to hit me, too. He should. After all, we've got a lot of the same vulnerabilities, don't we? At the mention of the name of my former father my lips curled back in a snarl and my teeth ground themselves together audibly. "Dirty pool, Dick," I thought, enraged. "Bruce is off limits for fighting and you know it. Waaaay off limits."

"For your information," Nightwing said, voice as cool as an Arctic breeze, "*I* was the one who seduced Garth. I followed him to the beach at Montauk Point, stalked him, and practically ripped his clothes off. I took his dick in my mouth and licked and sucked until he came like a gushing oil well, Jays. And then you know what, Jays? Then I rolled over and let him - "

"Shut UP!" I shouted at him as if the sheer volume of my voice could cow him. I just barely stopped myself from covering my ears to blot out the sound of the high pitched pleading in my own voice. "Just shut the Hell up!" I'd never heard Dick talk like that before. I guess I always figured that he knew the words, but ... Use them? Dick is, like, Mr. Prim and Proper. Once I got away from Bruce I developed a real case of sewer mouth. Kind of a rebellion thing, I guess. Dick hates it but he's never said anything. But Dick? Christ Almighty.

Garth turned roughly the shade of his new uniform. But he didn't say a damn word.

"What's the matter, Jays?" Dick jeered at me. "Can't handle the truth? Sorry to disappoint you, little boy, but I'm not required to live my life to your expectations. Been there with Bruce. Done that that with Bruce. Hated the tee-shirt." I damned near hit him again. When Dick turned back to face me again he was a lot calmer. Wish I could have said the same.

"You wanna tell me what the problem is here, Jays? Talk to me, for God's sake!" He tried not to look hurt, I think, he really did. But it stabbed me like a knife in the gut anyway. "I love you, Jays," he said again, as if that were the solution to everything.

"Oh yeah ... you *love* me all right, Dick," I growled, hoping it sounded menacing and not like some puling, whiny kid or something.

Dick's face stormed over and his eyes darkened almost black with sudden fury.

"Like a *brother*, Jays!" he spat. "I love you like a *brother*. Damn you! Do you have to turn everything into some sort of perverted -"

"Hey, buddy," I spat right back at him, smug in my indignation, "*I'm* not the pervert here!" Dick broke into the nastiest smile I've ever seen on his face before.

"No, Jays, you're not a pervert. You're not much of anything are you? Except a sixteen year old virgin who's never likely to know the first thing about love."

I couldn't help myself. Against my will my hand virtually flew up to my face and touched the patch over my left eye. All the blood drained from my face so fast that it made me dizzy for a second. The last thing I heard before the door slammed at my back was Dick's voice calling out to me.

"Jays, wait! I didn't mean ... Jays!"

####

I jumped off the freight in the Yards just on the outskirts of The Corner. It's kind of risky, 'cause that's where the railroad bulls check the cars and chase out the stowaways. The Corner is a good place for that kind of shit. Believe me, no one there is gonna ask any questions or care what happens to a bunch of runaway kids or bums. People have shown up dead there in the Railroad Yards before. And nobody said word one.

When I started out, I just wanted to put as much distance as possible between me and Dick and his little Atlantean butt-buddy. I was already on the freight headed for Gotham before I realized exactly where I was heading. But when I settled back, relaxed and started thinking about how to get from the Corner to Gotham Towers in South Gotham, I couldn't fool myself any longer. I was headed directly for Babs like a guided, heat-seeking missile.

Babs lives farther South, more toward Blüdhaven, so I was gonna have to hoof it a more than a few miles or hitch but I could handle that. I checked. I had about ten bucks in my pocket. Hey! Maybe I'd splurge and take the bus or the subway Downtown. Okay, Babs, here I come.

Only ...

Only ... what the hell was I gonna say to her, anyway?

"Hey Babs! It's Jays! I'm here because I just caught Garth balling the crap outta Dick and I'm in a major funk here. Got a spare couch?"

Shit. That was gonna float like a lead balloon. Babs knows better ... Babs knows. Of course Babs knows. Babs is like Bruce. She knows everything. Oh Jesus. Now wasn't that just a peachy keen-o thought? Babs has probably known about Dick and Garth from the beginning. Bruce, too. It was starting to look suspiciously like the only one who didn't know was poor, clueless little Jays. Son of a bitch. I needed to catch my breath and think. But ... where?

Hunkering down, I slipped past the patrolling bulls and made my silent way out of the Yard. Lounging causally on a street corner, I looked around. If the evidence of my eyes was any clue, the Corner hadn't changed much since I was a kid. Inland and just slightly to the North was Crime Alley and I practically grew up there. Used to come to the Corner with other street-brats from my neighborhood to raise a ruckus where no one called the cops. My stomach sort of growled at me and I knew, then, exactly where I was headed. My favorite restaurant in the world. Shamefaced, I realized that I hadn't been there since I moved in with Dick in Blüdhaven. A hundred and twenty miles is a long way to travel for a bowl of chili.

The Atomic Chili at Aunt Danny Fanny's Tyler Texas Pitt Bar-B-Que has got to be the hottest, the greasiest, the most mouth puckering stuff this side of the Mason-Dixon. A truly awesome concoction that will curl your nose hairs at fifty paces and give you the Montezuma trots for a week. I love it. But that wasn't all that brought me there that day.

See, I hate country and western music. And I was, by God, in a real mood to masochistically abuse myself. Shut up. That *isn't* what I meant.

When I walked in some redneck on the jukebox was wailing about all his ex's living in Texas. "That's why I hang my hat in Tennessee!" he explained. I smiled and sauntered over to the juke. Let's see ... two for fifty cents ... I fed two quarters to the musical demon, kicked it soundly, and pressed the letter/number code for "Thank God and Greyhound She's Gone." Since I didn't see the sequel "But The Devil And Continental Trailways Brought Her Back," I was sort of at a loss for my next selection, if you know what I mean.

Until my eyes fell on just the right song to match my shitty mood.

Humming to myself, "Please Mr., Please ... don't play B-17 ... " I punched B-17, waiting anxiously for the twangy strains of "Drop Kick Me Jesus Through The Goal Posts Of Life (Neither To The Left, Nor To The Right)" to fill the air.

"Lord God a mercy!" exclaimed Aunt Danny Fanny, coming from out of the back, shaking her salt and pepper head in awe. "Ya'll are in a mood fit to be tied, and that's Gospel!" Sympathetically, she handed me a cold bottle of Sugar Bubble Cola as if I hadn't been gone for over a month and I smiled. "Ya'll act like ya'll's best friend just died and went to that Great Bar-B-Que Pitt Down Under, Jays Sugah."

"Worse," I admitted, sadly. "I just caught him doing the dirty deed with *his* best friend ... "

Let me explain something. Before she moved here to Gotham in the Corner, Aunt Danny Fanny was the best whore in the Best Little Whorehouse in Texas. But when they moved The Chicken Ranch to Nevada, she put her foot down and refused to budge.

"No decent Lady," she declared with a derisive sniff, "would evah live near all that consarned *gambling*! Ah swan! Why, Ah never heard the like in all my born days! Ah don't hold with it!"

The Corner hasn't changed Aunt Danny at all. It just sort of *intensified* her is all. I have no idea how old she is. Never had the cajones to ask, frankly. Maybe five feet tall at her most stretchable, I think she might weigh about ninety-five pounds or so. Soaking wet. Holding a big pot of Atomic Chili.

But Aunt Danny is one of the few merchants in the Corner who've never been successfully robbed. She doesn't bother with a "silent alarm." That polished antique Colt .45 she keeps under the counter is damn near bigger than she is, but she hasn't missed yet. I was eight years old the first time I met Aunt Danny.

"Son," she asked me softly, regretfully, "ya'll want to explain why ya'll are trying to steal from a nice little ol' southern belle like me?" I think I wet myself before she put the gun down.

"Mercy sakes alive," she smiled later, feeding me baby back ribs and steak fries thicker than my fingers, swimming for their spudly lives in ketchup, "if'n ya'll ain't a sight."

I spent a lot of time at Aunt Danny Fanny's when I was a kid, to tell you the truth. Hey! It was a damn sight better than the street, okay? Or being alone. When my Dad just kinda ... disappeared ... the Pitt was a good place to crash and there was always lots of food. I never went hungry while Aunt Danny was around. Lotta people like that in the Corner, I discovered. At the time all I knew or cared about was that when it got dark and the real predators came out ... it was a good place to hide. I think Aunt Danny knew about the stealing. But she never said anything. Not sure why.

After Bruce took me in, I still dropped in on Aunt Danny from time to time. Never told her about the Robin gig. I introduced Dick to the place and he was a biiiig hit. Smiling and blushing, he endured about a thousand jokes connected with his name and learned to crack right back.

About six weeks after I got out of the hospital, I limped cautiously into Aunt Danny Fanny's after being away in rehab for almost a year. I was sweating, still kinda leaning on that damned cane, scared to death at what I was bound to find in my second home. For a moment, I remember hoping that they might not recognize or remember me. But when I saw the looks of pity and shock on their faces at the cane and the eyepatch the rest my heart took up residence somewhere around my tottering ankles. They remembered me, all right. If I'd had the strength I'd probably have left right then. But the door was a hell of a lot further away than the nearest stool at the counter, so I aimed my shaky legs in that direction, lumbering through the silence and the grief.

I sat down on the stool and waited with lowered head for the tide of pity to carry me away in it's inexorable wash. Pretty soon someone was gonna say it: "Jeezus, Jays! What in the name of Christ happened to *you*?" "Are - are - you all right, boy?" Goddamn it, I was not gonna cry. I refused. Fortunately, I didn't have to.

"Well, you look like ninety miles of bad road," said Aunt Danny Fanny. "Where in tarnation have ya'll been, Jays, Sugah? Shame on ya'll for staying away for so long. Why, if'n ya'll weren't already so consarned busted up, Ah'd be tempted to take a switch to ya'll!"

"OOO!" sang Harvey Beeson, the world's best known masochist, "you promise, Aunt Danny?" Snickers abounded.

"Hush up ya'll lot!" cried Aunt Danny, waving a fly swatter from beneath the counter in dire threat. "Dad-blamed mannerless Yankees!"

"Yes Ma'am!" came the responding chorus and I burst out laughing. I might not have been here in almost a year, but things hadn't changed a lot at Aunt Danny Fanny's Tyler Texas Pitt Bar-B-Que. Thank God.

In fact, I laughed so damned hard that my eyes watered and before I knew what was happening, I was face down on the counter, the cold formica chill against my cheek, sobbing my guts out. Aunt Danny stroked my hair with soothing fingers.

"It's all right, Jays, sweetie," said Aunt Danny softly, "ya'll go right ahead and cry. T'aint against the law. Something bad happened, that's Gospel. Ah reckon when ya'll are ready ya'll will tell us about it."

Eventually, I did. Or at least as much of the truth as they could handle. It helped. A lot. The rest of my life might be going down the tubes with Bruce being such an asshole about the Robin thing ... things at Aunt Danny's were copasetic ! A-Ok.

Back in the present, Aunt Danny ladled up a big bowl of Atomic Chili with a side order of pickled jalepaños, fresh chopped onions and enough sharp cheddar cheese to bind your bowels for at least a week, and pushed it in front of me without being asked.

"Sounds to me like ya'll have quite a problem there, Jays," she opined. She replaced my Sugar Bubble Cola with a new, cold one, looking thoughtful. "Ya'll decided yet what ya'll're gonna do about it?" The muscles of my jaw tightened and I shook my head.

"You can always come home, Jason," said a sofly accented voice from the screened doorway.

"Close the damn door," I told the waiting Garth, roughly, "you're lettin' the flies in." Obediently, he closed the door and stepped inside my no longer inviolate sanctum. Turning to face him, I said, "And now that you're inside ... get the Hell out." Aunt Danny clipped my ear a good one.

"Ow!" I protested, rubbing my now sore, abused appendage. "What was *that* for?"

"Mind ya'll's manners, Jason Todd!" Aunt Danny smiled. "The nerve! Chasing away my customers! Ah've a mind to take a switch to ya'll's behind. Humph!" Reaching into her back jeans pocket, she studied me and then Garth for a moment before tossing me a familiar key.

"Jays, sweetie, take it out back to the Quiet Room. Ya'll know the Rules. No loud fussin'. Ya'll have got to talk."

Damn. The Quiet Room. As opposed to the Rowdy Room. Just my rotten luck. I sure as Hell didn't want to talk to Garth. But those were the Rules. About the third or fourth time two jamokes busted up The Pitt fist-fighting and Aunt Danny had to replace all the glass and furniture in the place, she laid down the Law. Any arguments, serious or not, could go one of three places: out the door, to the Quiet Room or to the Rowdy Room. The Quiet Room was for peaceful negotiation and discussion; it was full of cold beer, soda, and left over Atomic Chili and ribs. All the comforts of home. The Rowdy Room, on the other hand, was for fist fights and serious knuckle dusting. No weapons allowed. It was full of lots of empty space and breakable junk furniture, courtesy of the Salvation Army.

Strange how fast the idea caught on. The regular customers began to police themselves and then the newcomers. Before you could say "Mahatma Gandhi" peace and good will reigned in Aunt Danny Fanny's Tyler Texas Pitt Bar-B-Que.

The Quiet Room is well ... quiet. It's not very big but the furniture all matches in a pale, soothing pastel blue, like the walls. Soon as I stepped inside, I snapped on the stereo and didn't quite manage not to smile when Garth grimaced and didn't quite manage not to cover his sensitive ears. I'd lived with Garth long enough to know that he didn't like loud noises or most surface music. Too damn bad. I was in a musical mood. Ignoring him for the moment, I turned my back and stuck my head in the fridge and rummaged around. Without a word, Garth throttled Pearl Jam in mid-shriek. I let it pass.

"You hungry?" I asked, pulling out a slab of ribs and heading for the microwave. I hadn't finished my Atomic Chili and I was still hungry. Garth seated himself at the table quietly.

"Perhaps," he admitted. "Are there any vegetables in there?"

Since Garth is a strict vegetarian, I wasn't surprised. He's made a lot of concessions to living here on the surface. Eating meat isn't one of them, though. I've never seen him eat anything higher up on the freakin' food chain than a cucumber. The guy takes on superbaddies in his spare time and won't eat a cow. Go figure.

With a grunt I tossed him a chill bottle of mineral water. Garth also doesn't drink alcohol or sugar. Might pollute his precious bodily fluids or somedamnthing, I guess. Guy's a real tight ass. I grimaced to myself and bit my lip, unseen. No pun intended. Real life of the party kinda mook, Garth.

"Lemme look," I snorted and stuck my head back in the fridge.

Son of a bitch. Who'd a thunk it? But there it was, all neatly labeled in the chicken scratch that blithely passes for Aunt Danny's handwriting. Vegetarian Atomic Chili. It was almost sacrilege. Christ. If there's anything in the world more useless than Diet, no caffeine, no goddamn flavor, cola it's got to be meatless chili. I mean, Jeezus; what's the fuckin' point, anyway?

It was *perfect* for Garth, of course.

Grinning, I grabbed the bowl and headed back to the microwave. I sniffed delicately and my eyes watered. Whoa! It might be meatless but this was Atomic Chili, all right. My grin spread itself even wider. Heh. This was going to be interesting. I checked the fridge again, just to be sure. Not a drop of milk anywhere. Heh, heh. I scoured the cabinets for safety's sake. No crackers, either. Heh, heh, heh.

PING! went the microwave and I pulled out my ribs. For a moment I contemplated the waiting beer lurking in the fridge like a trap, then reluctantly decided against it. All I needed was for Aunt Danny to smell beer on my breath and toss my underage ass out. Shit. I really wanted that beer.

I stuck a spoon in the Atomic Chili, pushed it under Garth's nose and flopped down into the other chair, biting into my ribs. Ribs are great, aren't they? I mean, chewing and gnawing on rib bones is so *primitive*, so barbaric, so ... so ... *surface* ... But, I ask you, what else you gonna do with ribs, hey? When Garth totally ignored my tearing and slurping noises, I was pretty pissed. Son of a bitch was about to get his comeuppance, anyway. Eyes sparkling with anticipation, I watched him stir his Atomic Chili in listless silence with the metal spoon that was probably in severe danger of melting in that Atomic mass.

When he reached for the bottle of mineral water and raised it to his lips, I bit back a curse. C'mon, c'mon ... eat already ... Back the spoon plunged into the Chili and my shark-like grin sharpened. Watching his mouth open and his lips close over the spoon was pure ecstasy. Subtly, I moved back in preparation for the Atomic explosion to come. Garth's eyes flew wide open as the taste hit his [delicate/sensitive Atlantean] palate.

Yes, yes!

"That's ... extraordinary ... " murmured Garth, his spoon quickly diving for more.

"Extraordinary?" I returned weakly. "That's all you've got to say about it? 'Extraordinary'?"

"It's quite tasty," he enthused, shoveling more into his mouth. "Very ... ah ... zesty ...! " He didn't even break a sweat, damn his eyes.

I pushed my no longer appealing ribs away in a huff, sulking. Everybody hates me, did you know that? God hates me. A large clump of unruly red locks fell into my eyes and I tried to blow it away with an exasperated breath. My goddamned *hair* hates me.

Not sure how long we sat there, neither of us saying a word into the awkward, screaming silence. Could have been a long time. At least long enough for Garth to finish his bowl of Atomic Chili and he eats only slightly slower than kudzu grows. When he was done, he rose to politely place his dish in the sink.

"You forgot to lick the bowl," I said casually.

"Pardon?" Garth blinked rapidly in confusion.

"Old Texas custom," I explained with a completely straight face. "Let's your host know how much you liked the food. You're supposed to lick the bowl. And a burp wouldn't be a bad thing either." It wasn't all a lie. Burping *is* considered good manners ... in Saudi Arabia. With any luck the next time Dick and Garth ate out, Garth might order chili then lick the bowl and burp. In public.

"Ah!" said Garth and obeyed, licking the bowl with innocent relish, eager to please as always.

I was tempted to lay my arms on the table and bury my head in despair. This was just too damned easy. No challenge to it. Abusing Garth was kinda like abusing a trusting puppy. Waaay shitty. And just no goddamned fun at all.

When he sat back down at the table, I rested my chin in my hands and stared at him for a really log time. He held his silence and didn't so much as twitch a muscle. After about the first five minutes or so, I started to squirm in my chair. By the end of the first fifteen minutes I was drumming my fingers rhythmically on the table in a steady tattoo. Less than five minutes after *that* I was about ready to crawl outta my goddamned skin. Why didn't he say something?

Anything.

"Just tell me one thing," I finally demanded out of the blue.

"If I can," came Garth's cautious reply. He wasn't going to be betraying any trusts here. Okay. Fair enough. I could respect that.

"Were--were you the first? For Dick? I mean - um - there weren't any other guys, were there?" I ran unsteady finger through my hair and studied the tabletop with its brightly patterned red and white checkered cloth until my head swam. Garth sighed. He didn't answer me right away and my heart clenched.

"Yes," he admitted, "there have been others."

"Sweet Jeezus," I thought. "This just gets better and better, doesn't it?" I was suddenly glad I hadn't eaten much today. I gritted my teeth and plunged onward. Something inside me just had to know. I wasn't proud of it, but there it was.

"How many?" I hissed. "How goddamned many?" Garth frowned.

"Does it matter?" he asked softly. I jumped up from the table, sending the chair flying away behind me.

"Goddamned right it matters!" I burst out. "How *many*?" Garth shook his head in sad denial.

"I do not know. I have never asked," he said simply.

"Bullshit!" I snarled. "You know! W-who?" I closed my eyes and my lips moved but it was several moments before I could perform the Naming of Names and say the Unspeakable.

"B-Bruce?"

He didn't curse me or tell me what a pervo I was for even imagining such a thing of Dick or Bruce. I think he wanted to. It was in his eyes. Garth is slow to anger. He's like Bruce that way. You have to really work at making him mad. But when you do ... you'd better run like Hell and pray because you do *not* wanna be around for the festivities. In the end, Garth gave the question all the consideration it deserved.

"No," he said.

I discovered I could breathe again. I also discovered that I felt roughly like that purple slime you occasionally see on a baboon's ass. Carefully righting my discarded chair, I sat back down, not meeting Garth's eyes. "T-then w-who?" I asked, trying really hard to keep the accusation from out of my voice. "It's important - I - "

"Why?" wondered Garth. "Why is it important to you, Jason? So that if you know you may judge him promiscuous? A - a - what is the charming English word? Ah, yes. A slut. Forgive me. My English is usually good, but that word has no Atlantean equivalent, so I frequently forget it."

Have you ever been just too tired and sad to argue and fight anymore? I was getting there, real quick. It had been a hellish day and my knee was starting to ache. Anger will only sustain you for so long. Then it cools and what's left is damned ugly ... but it's quiet. I shook my head.

"No," I denied Garth's gentle accusation. "It's - it's not like that. Honest. I guess ... " I closed weary eyes. "I guess I was hoping to find out that there *hadn't* been a lot of others. Christ, I don't know!" He didn't answer me for many moments. I am here to testify that time can pass really, really slowly when your world hangs in the balance. Was Garth right? Did I just want to know that Dick had to be like every other ... gay ... guy I'd ever heard about? Was I just lying to myself? I didn't like to think so.

"There has only been one other that I know of," Garth finally said. I swallowed hard and looked up to meet his eyes. At least I could, now. Not proudly, but I met his gaze evenly and I guess he saw the question lurking so desperately in my face.

"There was Joseph," Garth said. "When Dick's world was falling apart ... when Bruce's fear made him tremble and take away Robin ... when Kory could not understand except to condemn Bruce ... there was Joseph. Who understood. Who asked no questions and demanded nothing." I blinked back astonishment. Why, I'm not sure. I remember the damned questions about Jericho; the speculation. Is he ... or isn't he? I was still Robin back then and I remember a lot of things people thought I was too young to notice. But there're things I've never understood about their relationship, then or now, and I'd assumed that was just something else I wasn't meant to know.

My eyes widened as one particular memory pushed its way to the forefront of all the others.

<"I - I just wanted you to know, Bruce. I didn't want you to hear it from somebody else."

The muscles of the Batman's jaw tightened and he studied the Batcomputer's keyboard for long moments. When he replied his deep voice was barely audible. "No," he said, "I ... wouldn't have wanted to hear it that way." Dick's next words had been painful, very painful, like lancing a boil.

"Bruce, I'm sor - " He never finished the sentence.

"Sorry for what, Dick? Being who you are? For loving someone ... " His voice trailed off for a moment but when it returned it was strong and almost warm with absolutely no hesitation in it. "Are you happy, Dick?"

"Yeah," he breathed, "I am. Very happy." Dick's father pushed back his cowl with sure, steady hands. Standing exposed before his son, Bruce Wayne shook his tousled head, his midnight hair shining in the dimness.

"I'm glad," he said.

On the view screen, I remember watching Dick close his eyes, hearing the soft whisper of his voice.

"I love you, man ... "

I saw Bruce nod. Since he was facing away from me, I couldn't see the expression on his face; the look in his eyes. But Dick could. Silently, Dick laid his hand on the screen, the only way he had of reaching out to Bruce; of touching him. Slowly, like a rusty hinge, long neglected and ill-used, Bruce reached out and covered Dick's hand with his.

Yeah ... poor clueless little Jays was definitely the last to figure it out. God, I hate being so stupid. It can ruin your whole goddamn day.

"Love is where we find it," said Garth. "We do not choose it." I had to work pretty hard not to lash out at the compassion I glimpsed in his gaze when it fell on me. "Is it such a strange thing to you?" he asked.

All my life I've been waiting to hear those words. I love you. My step-mother said them to me. Before she died. I waited for Bruce to say them and when he couldn't I rebelled and went looking for someone who could. I went looking for my mom. I mean, she *had* to say them, right? A mother loves her son, right? To spite Bruce I went looking for her and when I found her she didn't tell me that she loved me. She told me something, all right. Without ever opening her lying mouth. But it wasn't that she loved me. Nope. She left me beaten and half dead in a grungy warehouse with a ticking bomb about to explode in what was left of my face. If the Joker hadn't forgotten to lock the damned door, I'd have been toast. She left me behind.

Again.

Not much room for misinterpretation there.

No, no one ever told Jason Todd they loved him; not his father who abandoned him, not his "father" Bruce Wayne, and for damn sure not his mother; no one -

"I love you, Jays ... " I heard a familiar voice in my head say and stab me through the heart.

Oh Christ.

I began to realize then that I might, just might, mind you, have shat big time on one of the only people to ever say the actual words to me.

"I've loved Dick since I was thirteen," Garth said in his softest voice. I almost missed it. "He was always there for me. When - when Tula died, I - " he took a deep, calming breath and, after a moment, his eyes quieted. "I thought that I should have died with her. I wanted to. I think Arthur tried ... but the currents of our lives had taken us too far from one another. I thought there was no one. I thought I deserved to be alone that it was my fate. But I was wrong. There was Dick. He did not leave me."

I swallowed hard. Oh God ... Oh God ...

"Look, kid, I gotta go," I heard my father's voice again. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

"And when Dolphin returned to Arthur's bed from mine, I thought she had taken the last good part of me with her ... the part that could trust and love. The child, she was careful to explain to me, was not mine. Dolphin is Queen of Atlantis now, as she always wished. And Arthur has a new son, born of his body, as *he* always wished." He studied the tabletop for a long moment, then smiled.

"And again there was Dick. Always Dick. Since I was little more than a child. I cannot remember when I did not love him." He turned those violet eyes on me and I almost quailed. But not quite.

"And what about you, Jason? Was he not always there for you also?"

I stirred uneasily in my chair and looked away. "Yeah ... " I managed not to stammer. "I guess ... " He kept *looking* at me.

"When he gave you his Robin costume and told you that you were worthy of it ... that was Dick Grayson who entrusted you with such an important part of his life. It was no sexual deviant who did that. That was no 'faggot.' And when you fled from Bruce and his guilt, it was Dick Grayson who comforted you and understood you. Dick Grayson. Your brother, under the skin. Not a 'queer.' Not some 'pervert.' Dick." I was having a hard time breathing ... as if he'd hit me right in the old solar plexus with his fist instead of just his words.

"You understand about love, Jason. It's no great mystery to your heart. Love is no stranger there." He paused and then hit me again. A real low blow this time. "You love Barbara," he said.

Damn him! All right, I guess I've never made a secret if it, have I? Poor scarred Jays pining away for something he's never gonna have. Sad enough to make a statue weep. Yeah, right. Weep tears, all right. Tears of laughter. My hands spasmed into fists. Why did he have to rub it in like that? Never woulda thought he could be so cruel. Dick has all this shit you're never gonna have on your best day. Love. Love of all kinds. Bruce ... Babs ... Garth ...

"The way you love Barbara ... That's the way I feel about Dick. He lifts me above myself, makes me strive to be more than I am ... and when all else is chaos and confusion I know there is a calm, unquestioned center to my world and his name is Dick Grayson." He rose.

"And Barbara loves you, Jays. Never doubt that." He didn't say any more. On his way out the door he laid a hand on my shoulder in comfort. Only for a second ... but I forgot to flinch and that says something, doesn't it? Barely disturbing the air, I heard the sound of the door shutting quietly and I was alone.

The only question was ... did I want to be?

Babs ... Oh God ... what wouldn't I give ... what wouldn't I *do* ...? Unrequited love is such a bitch, isn't it? Unbidden, I began to remember things. ... things I hadn't realized I was noticing. The way Dick smiled at Garth ... the laughter in his voice ... All Garth had to do was walk into a room or speak to him and some basic part of Dick Grayson caught fire and he glowed. I'd seen that look before, of course.

Oh, yeah. All I had to do was look in a mirror any time I was within a hundred feet of Barbara Gordon and I recognized that look, all right. Oh, yeah.

Slowly, I rose and followed Garth. At first I wasn't sure what I intended to do. But by the time I was back in the main dining room of Aunt Danny Fanny's I'd pretty much made up my mind, I think. Dick's presence caught me by surprise, though. But there he was sitting on one of Aunt Danny's counter stools just like old times.

In more ways than one.

"So, Garth Sugah," said Aunt Danny Fanny, "Ah hear ya'll like ... Dick ... " Solemnly, the Atlantean mage smiled with sunny innocence.

"Oh yes," he replied. "He's quite a stimulating companion."

My eyes narrowed in suspicion. Could it be ... ? Was Garth The Ever Clueless, perhaps *not* so clueless, after all ... ?

The unfortunately named Dick Grayson choked, gargled and nearly spewed Diet Sugar Bubble Cola over all and sundry.

Aunt Danny thumped Dick soundly on the back as he coughed.

"Easy there, Dick, sweetie," he smiled. "It's not as ... tasty ... as somet things, Ah'll grant. But it's not that bad is it?"

Red faced, Dick lowered his head to the counter, buried it in his arms from the sight of mortal man and whimpered.

*******************

Sitting in my car now, watching the entrance to Dick's warehouse loft, I smiled. Five years is a long time. Lotta things can change in five years. Even me. Here we were. It was a new year. Hell, it was a whole new Millennium. I shook my head at the memories. Hard to believe I was ever that dumb; ever that blind. Hey! I've got an excuse. I was only sixteen, right? And I got better, right?

Don't answer that.

In the elevator on the way up, I glanced at my watch. Timed it just right, I thought smugly. Just in time for the Pre-Game show. The first Super Bowl of the twenty-first century. And for the first time in over a decade, the Gotham Knights were playing in the Bowl. 'Course, they were gonna get their pansy asses creamed by the Metropolis Giants ... I grinned, unabashedly. And I was soon gonna have twenty bucks of Dick's money to prove it.

Clutching my packages, I threw open the elevator cage and tossed the six-pack of Bud to Garth, who stowed it in the fridge with a smile. The beer was for me. I still hadn't managed to corrupt Dick or Garth into polluting their precious bodily fluids with the demon brew of alcohol, but I kept trying.

"Pretzels?" I inquired, briskly.

Dick popped open a large economy sized bag of Rold Gold Unsalted (the man has *no* vices!), dumped them blithely into a large clear plastic bowl, and rattled them in answer.

"Check!" he intoned, solemn-voiced.

"Popcorn?" I demanded.

At the stove, Garth shook the large iron pan experimentally, then lifted the lid, releasing the wonderful aroma of popping corn and hot butter to waft through the air. Not to mention a few stray kernels of popcorn making good their explosive escape from doomed captivity. Quickly, Garth replaced the lid.

"Momentarily," he assured us. Dick frowned.

"Ah - check!" Garth amended with tolerance. Dick beamed at his lover.

I lobbed Dick a large, flat package wrapped in grease-stained brown butcher paper, grinning from ear to ear.

"Ribs, drowning in Atomic Sauce!" I informed him. "With fries!" Dick smacked his lips in anticipation as if he could already taste the cumin.

Clutching my last package tightly to my chest like a football, I faked to the left, made an end run around Dick's right, and sent the package sailing over Dick's head into Garth's eager, waiting hands.

"Vegetarian Atomic Chili!" I cried. "With deep-fried jolly penis peppers!"

"Thank you!" Garth smiled, heading for the microwave to the musical accompaniment of the merry plink! plink! plink! of popping popcorn. Dick lowered his head in sadness and humiliation.

"Where did I go wrong?" he moaned. "You love them and try to train them and - " he choked.

"Check! Check!" laughed Garth.

I stiff-armed myself over the back of the sofa, bounced, then settled my [nearly] 5'11" frame into the comfortable cushions as if I owned the place. I'm taller than either of them now. Tim, too. Still not as tall as Bruce ... but then, Jeezus ... is anybody? I glanced at my watch again. Speaking of Tim ... our baby Robin Bird was gonna be late if he didn't shag ass.

Bruce ...

Bruce wouldn't be here. "Crime never takes a Holiday," he said quietly when he politely declined Dick's invite.

"Yeah," replied Dick, shaking his head sadly, "and I guess neither do you ... " Bruce said nothing.

Yeah. That's Bruce all right. Me too, sometimes. It's Dick that keeps me from being totally lost.

"Fabulous sixty-inch surround sound HDTV?" I wanted to know.

"Check!" called Dick, tossing me the remote. Damn. Now that's real love. When a guy gives up the remote for you. "You owe me, Jays. You know how much that thing *cost*?" Dick said, casting me the Romany evil eye. I waved my hands in carefree dismissal.

"Take it outta the money you're gonna owe me when my Metropolis powerdudes stomp your Gotham pussies," I told him. Dick snorted hot derision.

"In your ear!" he shot back, smiling. "Traitor!"

"Hey!" I exclaimed loudly in my own defense, "I'm entitled! I live the Crotch of Gotham ... I *know* what I'm talking about, here!"

I gusted a contented sigh, watching Garth pop popcorn, while I argued with Dick and crossed my hands behind my head, likewise smiling.

There's no place like home.

=30=