Disclaimer:I own nothing.

A/N:Here is the final chapter!

"There will be time, there will be time

to prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;

there will be a time to murder and create,

and time for all the works and days of your hands

that lift and drop a question on your plate;

time for you and time for me,

and time yet for a hundred indecisions

and for a hundred visions and revisions,

before the taking of toast and tea."

-T.S Eliot "The Love Song of Alfred J. Prufrock"

Solitude

-DG-

Although it's been over a year since I've been here, I still know my way around Gotham. As soon as I step out of the building I know exactly where I am. Patrolled this area for years. I pop my collars and avoid eye contact with passerby.

Instead of hailing a taxi I walk all the way to the graveyard. Walking is nice. Losing myself in the rhythm is easy enough to do. Sometimes mindless, repetitive activity is nice after training with Slade.

Within a half hour I make it to the graveyard, a place I haven't visited in over a year. No one recognizes me as I sweep past the graves. Most of them are too wrapped up in their own grief. Rain pelts the gravestones, though I make no move to shield myself from it.

Everyone seems to be nowadays, I think, Bruce with his parents. Me with mine. Slade with his son.

I hate relying on Slade. Pity is something people assume that I want. People assume that because of my oh-so-tragic backstory that they should pity me. Pity is the last thing that I want. It belittles me, embarrasses me, and even if people don't realize it it makes them seem pretentious. Slade assumes that I want his help. Maybe I need it. Maybe I don't.

Having second doubts, Grayson?

Grinding a palm into my forehead, I groan and look towards the gray sky. Gotham had never been a cheerful place. It isn't now. In a way it's paradoxical. I grew up here, and some of my fondest memories lie here. Yet at the same time a dark shadow lies over them, the fact that Gotham is a dark place festering with crime. Some might argue that Batman attracted more crazies, saturating Gotham with even more evil.

Compared what others have done here I'm nothing. Just an amateur. One kill is nothing compared to the hundreds other villains have killed.

Water and mud soak the knees of my pants as I kneel on the wet grass. The horrible, silent weight of guilt presses down on me as I think about everything I've done and said over the past year.

"I'm sorry."

I'm not the person they wanted me to be. Who knows what they wanted me to be? Their wills only said so much. As a child I performed alongside them because it was the only thing I knew how to do.

And now you know how to kill. Well done, Grayson.

Shame floods through me. I'm sure that they would have wanted me to be happy, to be a good person. Not a murderer. I have other skills. I could do something else with my life.

It's not the end of the world. Go back to the team.

It'd be so easy to go back, yet at the same time difficult. People would recognize me as soon as I walk into Wayne Enterprises.

Resentment clouds my thoughts. Why couldn't the clowns have adopted me, just as they wanted? Why did Bruce have to take me in? None of this would have happened if my parents hadn't died, if Bruce hadn't been so persistent...

Then again, would that have stopped Slade?

A twang of uneasiness rings through me. Whose fault was it, really? The choice to join Slade had been mine, yet I understand that he manipulated me. I understand how he tricked me. How much of my thoughts are my own I can't say.

You can still walk out, Grayson.

Easier said than done. Like I said before, I understand how Slade plays the game. It's strange to think that I was aware of his manipulation the whole time, but I still played along. I still fell for it. Walking away from Slade would be just as hard—perhaps even harder—than walking away from Bruce had been.

The option to leave was always there.

Was it, really? Or did Slade create the illusion of free will? There's no telling how much damage he did to me.

But in the end you chose to stay.

I did, didn't I? Blaming Slade could only go so far. A glance at my watch tells me that it's time to go. Lost in my thoughts, I wander downtown. Weave in and out of the growing afternoon crowd. Avoid looking at anyone. Keeping a low profile is pretty much second nature to me. As I lift my head to scan the crowd a familiar face arrests me.

"Alfred?"

Time slows. Surreal, as if I'm walking through a dream. Alfred's mouth drops open in astonishment. "Dick..." Alfred drops his packages and comes towards me, holding out his arms. "It's good to see you."

Before I can move away he pulls me into a hug. It's been a long time since I've been hugged. For a few long moments we stand there awkwardly in the middle of the sidewalk. Alfred hugs me tightly, afraid to let go. Afraid to lose me again. Without hesitation I hug him back.

Are those tears in his eyes?

"Here, let me help you," I say, bending down to pick up the dropped packages.

"They're nothing important. Don't bother—"

They are already in my arms. As I stand there I realize that I've grown. I'm no longer looking up at Alfred. We are nearly the same height. Alfred takes a step back and looks me over, noticing my height. He brushes dust off of my jacket and fixes the collar.

"Don't look like a slob. I thought I taught you better."

"You taught me fine."

Heh. No one can top Alfred's cooking. Not even Wintergreen.

A small smile plays on my lips as I think this. Similar Alfred and Wintergreen may be, but Alfred is more of my friend than Will. Alfred moves to take the packages from me, but I hug them closer to my chest.

"It's fine. I can carry them for you. Let's walk."

Still carrying his things, I walk alongside Alfred. He acts as though nothing has happened, as though I'm still with my friends and the team. We walk in companionable silence, simply enjoying each other's company. After a few minutes Alfred speaks.

"Master Bruce is still in Blüdhaven."

"Oh."

So, Bruce had no idea that I was here. Unless Alfred already tipped him off, then Bruce is still wandering like a lost hound. Suddenly frightened, I move away from Alfred. I'm not certain why I feel afraid—I just am.

"I haven't told him where you are," Alfred said, "please don't go away."

It's hard to disobey Alfred. Not in the way it's difficult to disobey Bruce or Slade, no, it's difficult to disobey Alfred because he was more of a father to me than Bruce. Alfred was always the one who cared, the one who made a huge impact on my life after my parents died. He was always the one who comforted me when I felt down, treated my wounds when I stumbled into the Bat Cave. Always there for me in Gotham, even when no one else was. Yes, I understand why Bruce left me alone, but it still made me angry.

You can't be angry with Alfred, though.

"Can you at least stay for a little while?"

You can't say no to Alfred. I couldn't say no. After giving him a near heart-attack with that stunt on Wayne Enterprises a year ago I should talk to him.

"Sure."

He leads me to a tea shop. Last place Slade would expect me to be, I'm sure. After ordering our drinks we sit down at an empty table. We speak hesitantly about the weather, searching for a safe topic. Finding none, Alfred ventures into more dangerous territory.

"Are you still working for him?"

"In a matter of speaking."

Avoiding clear-cut answers is my specialty. Besides, I couldn't lie to Alfred. It's hard to lie to him. In a way, I sometimes felt worse when I disappointed him. The strangest and most arbitrary things disappoint Bruce, but Alfred is more of a realist. He would always be there for me despite my failures.

"Are you happy?"

"Does that matter?"

"It matters to me."

I swirl my cup and become fascinated with its contents. It's a simple question, isn't it? A simple question with a simple answer.

But nothing about this is simple.

No answer. Can't come up with one that will fool Alfred. Unhappiness effuses every atom in my body. Lying would only make my unhappiness more evident. It would only make Alfred more upset.

"It hasn't been the same without you, you know," Alfred said. "Master Bruce is getting better now, I suppose, what with Jason and—"

"Jason? Jason who?"

"Jason Todd. Bruce caught the boy stealing the hubcaps off of the Batmobile."

A smile spreads across my face. Who would do a thing like that? Little punk. At the same time I feel my heart sinking. Did Bruce do what I thought he did?

"That's bold."

"To say the least." Alfred returns my smile. "He's more hot-headed than you. Well, before..."

He trails off. No matter how hard we try to avoid it, the conversation eventually slides back to Slade. His name is not spoken aloud, but it hangs over our heads like an ominous black cloud. A sip of tea warms me.

"So what about Jason?" I ask.

"Well, Master Bruce is working something out with the GCPD. Turns out that Jason is an orphan as well."

"Is he going to take my place?"

My voice, sharp and unexpected, punctures the air. Obviously surprised by my question, Alfred averts his eyes and shakes his head.

"As far as I know...I don't believe that is the case."

You're not being replaced.

What if Jason needed a home? What if he was like me? What if he could be my friend? Dismiss those thoughts, Grayson. You don't have any friends. Not anymore.

"Hopefully he'll turn out better than I did."

"Don't talk like that."

For a moment all I hear is the soft music playing in the background. The murmurs of costumers as they sweep by, completely unaware of this awkward encounter. It's amazing, really, when you think about it: a masked vigilante may walk by you and you will never know who is hiding under the mask. That's the beauty of it, I suppose.

"Please come home."

My guilty conscience would force me to bend to the law's will. Slade's training didn't rob me of all my conscience. He didn't force me to become someone I was not. That's not to say that he didn't come close—because he did.

"Did Bruce tell you what happened last night?"

"No, he did not."

"I killed a man."

Silence once again consumes us. I wait for a reaction—any kind of reaction—but Alfred sits there quietly. Contemplating. Judging. I can't tell.

"It was in self-defense," I say, avoiding his gaze, "if that matters to you."

"I didn't say anything."

How strange...to be sitting here peacefully, talking about murdering people in broad daylight. Part of me half-expected Slade to lecture me over the communicator. He certainly won't be happy when he finds out that I talked to Alfred.

"It was sort of an accident, but I—"

"That doesn't matter," Alfred says, catching my wrist, "we still love you."

"Even after everything?"

"Always."

Sudden tears clouded my vision. I didn't deserve this. I stand up, expecting Alfred to stand up with me in protest. But he stays there, unmoving.

"Aren't you going to try to stop me?"

"I care for you very much, Dick. You know that."

Out of love they would hunt me down. Out of love they would force me to turn back to the "right side." But right now I'm not sure whose side to be on. Did I have to choose a side? Are things so black-and-white?

"I have to go, Alfred."

It is so very difficult to let go. Thirteen months ago I convinced myself that the only way to save my friends was to let go of them. Slade didn't have to blackmail me to make me do that, though I suspect that he had a backup plan similar to that.

"Dick—"

I leave a generous tip for the barista, place my cap back on my head, and leave him. Alfred doesn't bother to chase me. Even amongst a crowd of people, of Gothamites, I still feel utterly alone. Wondering how many minutes I have before Batman is notified, I melt effortlessly into the writhing crowd.

Regret is an emotion I can't afford to feel right now. Perhaps one day I'll make a good decision. Maybe there is something better in my future...and if not then I'll make sure that Jason's future turns out better than mine. If there is anything I can console myself with, it is the fact that I now have the skills to destroy anyone who tries to hurt my former friends. Slade is right: love for someone you've cared for a long time erodes slowly. Like how his love for his wife (wringing the exact details out of him is an agonizing task) still haunts him, so the Bruce and Alfred and the Titans' will haunt me.

I disappear into the crowd and go my solitary way.

THE END

A/N: Gah, I'm really tired right now. Again, with big fics like this I ask that you list something you like, something you dislike and if you dislike something then tell me why you didn't like it. Also leave a suggestion on how I can be better.

I did need to get this out of the way because finals are nigh. The NS sequel will be posted in May (I haven't thought of a title yet) under the Batman and TT crossover category. Note that it is not an apprentice story (yes the events of NS are the backdrop but it features Dick as Batman.). I regret to inform you that I am not writing any more apprentice stories, but I am still writing fanfiction. I feel as though I have contributed enough to the fandom. However, I will still offer advice for apprentice stories.

I want to write other characters and other stories. Please check out the NS Sequel for characters I have hardly written before (fun fact: DC characters who are supposedly dead stay alive in this timeline XD). I am obtaining help for completing the Blorgthog Project. I cannot juggle two big fics this summer because I'm interning and completing summer homework.

Thank you for reading!

~Hanna Sedai