Alright, so since my tablet got stolen with all of my FMA story and Sandor Clegane story (My FMA story isn't too bad to rewrite, I have that saved on my laptop. But my Sandor Senpai story... sigh...) I'm going to upload this while I rewrite those.

This is a story i started a few years ago, uploaded, then removed bc... well... i hated it. I've been working on it in my free time and remember how much i loved this show! Also. there is a severe shortage in Terry/OC media and that needs to be changed. Enjoy!

The rain came down in fat, cold drops, which Rita Greyson was thankful for because it helped to hide her tears from the masses of people she barely knew. Her father's business partners, secretaries, employees. People who only cared because the paperwork, the trust funds, the money, made them care.

Slowly, Rita looked up from the ground, taking a survey of the faces around her. Each one wore a frown, what you'd expect to see at a funeral. She came to a stop on a very old man she'd recognized from pictures. She couldn't read his face. He was stoic, old, yet strong and not giving away any emotions if he could help it. He was Bruce Wayne.

Rita's eyes met his cold, hard gaze, which she held. I want him to know how much this hurts' She thought. She knew she had no reason to be angry with him. When the arbitrator had read her father's will, Bruce Wayne had been just as shocked that he was named her guardian.

Rita had to break eye contact. Bruce's cold stare was everything her father told her about. She couldn't help but resent him. She felt hands on her shoulder, patting her, gripping her, rubbing her. Rita realized the internment was over and people were leaving. This was their way of sending her their condolences, their way of saying goodbye. As she looked around at the dispersing crowd, her eyes rested on the mound of dirt that would be used to fill her father's grave.

"We have a long drive a head of us." Rita jumped at the sound of Mr. Wayne's voice, tightening her clasped hands. For a moment her eyes flickered to where he once stood, wondering how he'd moved so fast. "I hope you don't mind, I had an associate of mine pick up your bags."

"Are you sure he grabbed everything?" Rita asked quietly. She had quite a few suitcases full of clothing, none of which she wanted forgotten in her father's old estate.

"If it was packed then he would have grabbed it. I have strong faith in my employee's, Ms Greyson." Rita snorted.

"Please, call me Rita." The young girl said quietly. Mr Wayne looked at her a moment before turning away.

"This way." Mr. Wayne held his hand out to a black town car that sat parked on the road. There was a young man leaning up against it, his arms crossed, but when he noticed Rita and Mr. Wayne walking towards him, he quickly straightened up.

Terry cleared his throat and clenched his jaw shut to keep it from dropping. Behind his boss, a young girl walked. Her hair was the color of ebony and it flowed down her back in soft curls. She watched him with peircing blue eyes, studying him as she approached. Her demeanor was distant, and from the look on her face Terry wondered if she ever smiled.

"Ms. Rita Greyson, this is my associate, Terry McGinnis." Bruce introduced him. Terry held out his hand, which Rita took quietly.

"It's a pleasure to meet you Ms. Greyson. Your father was a great man." Terry said. He was talking about his time spent as Robin and Nightwing, but he hoped that Rita would find a different meaning in it. Terry offered a sympathetic smile, to which Rita merely scowled.

"Oh, You knew him well then?" The young man went rigid and Mr. Wayne opened the car door. Rita waited for just another moment before looking away. "That's what I thought." She muttered, sliding into the back seat. Terry shrugged his shoulders, his mouth agape with confusion.

"Don't let it get to you Terry, I've had plenty of practice working with a Greyson. You'll get used to her glib." Mr. Wayne slid in after Rita, closing the car door behind him.

"Jeeze. Take a pill." Terry muttered, crossing to the drivers side. "Un-schway."

Terry McGinnis pulled into the driveway of sprawling Wayne Manor. Over the past hour drive he felt himself fuming about the girl in the backseat. He wasn't sure how he was going to deal with this change. Batman is going to be retiring early if I have to see her more than once a week. Terry thought smugly as he pulled the car up to the front stairs.

Begrudgingly he stepped out of the driver's side and around to the rear passengers side door. As he opened it, Mr. Wayne stepped out, followed closely by Rita Grayson. Rita glanced up at him momentarily, before following Mr. Wayne up the front steps. Terry turned towards the back of the car, grabbing for her bags and suitcases.

Once inside, Mr. Wayne was the first to speak.

"Ms. Greyson, since you will be joining us for a while, I have set up a room on the second floor for you. It was your father's when he stayed here."

"Thank you, Mr. Wayne." Rita spoke quietly. She turned to go up the stairs when Mr. Wayne spoke again.

"McGinnis, please take Ms. Grayson's bags up for her. I'll be in my study." There was an air of secrecy surrounding the idea of his study, and Rita raised her brow in interest.

"Yeah. Sure." Terry muttered behind her. "Exactly what I want to do." He brushed past her, giving her a slight nudge on the shoulder.

The pair walked silently up the steps.

Why am I always pushing people away? Rita thought, staring a hole into the back of the boy's skull. A few doors down the hall Terry stopped, but Rita wasn't paying attention and she ran into his back.

"Ow..." Rita hissed, rubbing her sore nose. Terry smirked at the girl, gesturing towards the door in front of him.

"This is your room, Ms. Greyson." He said coolly, opening the door for her.

"Please. Please god, call me Rita." She laughed awkwardly. Her laugh was light and chime like and Terry stood dumbfounded at her sudden display. Suddenly he wasn't feeling as resentful towards her. "Ms. Greyson makes me feel old and proper..." She paused, frowning. "And I'm sorry for being a bitch earlier…" She trailed off and looked at the ground, the laughter gone from her voice entirely. Again Terry was confused.

"It's okay. Really." He suddenly found himself apologizing. "I'm sorry I was in your face about it. You're probably tired of hearing about your own dad."

"You have no idea." Rita told him quietly, walking past him into the room. "If one more suit tells me how great my dad was..." She trailed off. Rita didn't have to finish that sentence and she didn't, instead she looked up at the room around her.

The room was tall. That was the first thing Rita noticed about it. The second thing she noticed was the antique four-poster bed and armoire sitting on the far wall. The walls were a pale yellow color, and the bedding was white and floral. On the far wall sat a fire place, not currently lit. The room was bright, quite the opposite of her father's taste, and Rita found it hard to believe he once lived here.

I wonder if Mr. Wayne re-did the room for me... She thought, running a finger over the dresser, which would now be hers. She glanced at Terry who was retrieving the last of her bags.

"I'll leave them by the dresser for you. Less effort to put your clothes away."

"Thank you." She said with a slight smile. Being in the same room her father once was gave her a bittersweet feeling. Rita cleared her throat awkwardly. "So, Terry? Or do you prefer McGinnis?" She asked him coyly.

"Tch." Terry smirked. He felt himself loosening up at her teasing. He decided not to let his entire guard down though, the last thing he wanted to do was get put on ice again. "McGinnis is my slave name. You can call me Terry." Rita chuckled, shaking her head. The sound was music to Terry's ears, now he was getting somewhere.

"Well, I wouldn't want to keep your boss waiting." Rita told him, crossing to her suitcases which Terry had placed at her armoire. She unzipped them quietly, pulling her long, black hair back into a ponytail.

"Are you sure you don't need help?"

"Yeah, I got it from here." She told him, absentmindedly riffling through her suitcase. She stood, grabbing out a hanger and pointing it at him menacingly. "Unless you want to help me hang up my clothes, McGinnis?" She asked hopefully.

"As much fun as that sounds, if I keep the old man waiting for much longer he'll probably have a conniption." Terry swore a look of disappointment flashed across her face, but it was gone as soon as it appeared. "Mr. Wayne has hired a chef for dinner tonight, he says it should be ready by 6:30."

"Will you be at dinner?" Rita blurted out. As thankful as she was to Mr. Wayne the thought of having to make conversation with him by her self bored her to tears and made her feel awkward. Terry hesitated for a moment.

"I'm not sure. I'll probably have some errands to run for him this evening, so no promises." Again, Rita felt disappointed.

"Ah, okay." The pair stood awkwardly in her room before she broke the silence. "Well. I'm gonna get to unpacking I guess…" Although she'd never admit it, she didn't want to be alone. Terry cleared his throat and walked towards the door, putting his hand on the handle.

"Open or shut?" He asked, fiddling with the knob.

"Open is fine." Rita smiled, returning to her bags. She bent over, grabbing out a few items, Terry had to bite back a low whistle. Terry nodded and carefully closed the door behind him.

Once he was gone, Rita looked back at the doorway, frowning as she did. The big room was quiet, now that Terry was gone, quiet and lonely. She heaved a heavy sigh, placing one of her sweaters on a hanger.

Terry made his way down to the Batcave quickly, constantly looking over his shoulders to be sure that Rita wasn't following him. Like always, the cave was chilly and he pulled his collar tighter to his neck.

"What do we have tonight, boss? Anything?" Terry asked as he took the stone stairs. As always, Bruce sat diligently in front of his many computer screens.

"It's been quiet so far. Did you shut the clock?" Bruce asked his young apprentice, asking about one of the many secret entrances to the Batcave. Terry nodded, taking a seat on one of the nearby tables. "Good. Now that we aren't alone we need to make sure we're more careful."

"She is Dick Greyson's daughter."

"It doesn't matter." Bruce snapped. Terry frowned at him.

"I'm just saying, if she found out I don't think it would be the end of the world."

"Dick and I may have had a falling out, but he trusts me enough to place her in my care. She is to have nothing to do with the Batman, is that understood?" Bruce eyed his protege sharply.

"Yes sir." Terry muttered, frowning. While he did agree with Bruce, part of him was disappointed, It'd be nice to have a partner. Bruce stared at him for a long moment, leaving Terry uneasy, as he was afraid the old man could read his thoughts. Terry breathed a sigh of relief when his boss turned back to his computers.

"She starts school on Monday. Up until this point she's been in private school. I'd like for you to take her and make sure she adjusts okay." Bruce said matter of factly.

"You want me to baby sit." Terry scoffed, to which Bruce didn't reply. "With all due respect, I think she'll get along just fine-"

"Rita has gymnastics practice after school, I managed to pull a few strings, though it wasn't hard to get her on the team with her background." Bruce ignored him, turning to the computer in front of him. He clicked a few buttons, pulling up several clippings from an online newspaper.

"Whoa." Terry raised his eyebrow, his jaw going slack. Each clipping had a picture or two of Rita, usually clad in a brightly colored unitard. "Four time champ huh?" Terry said, more to himself than to Bruce.

"Indeed." Bruce had done his homework on his newest ward, along with the tabs he was already keeping on Dick Greyson. "She takes after her father in more ways than one." Bruce clicked another button, bringing up several more articles, all from a paper called Bludhaven Tribunal. Instead of gynamstics, all of these clippings were from Martial Arts tournaments and Terry was not surprised to find, were all about Rita.

"FMA?" Terry asked, reading from one of the articles: Local Teen Takes belt from Star City Champ!

"It stands for Filipino Martial Arts. It would seem she is also a Black Belt in Arnis." Bruce told him. Terry gave him a strang look, brows to forehead. "Eskrima, it's the national sport of the Philippines." Bruce clarified.

"Seems strange. Let me guess. What Dick Greyson mastered?" Terry glibbed. Bruce remained silent, which Terry took as a yes.

"You can see why it is imperative that she remains in the dark?" Bruce asked, eyeing Terry intensely. Terry frowned, running a hand down his face. Suddenly there was an alarm, which blared angrily through the cave. Bruce turned back to his screens, fidgeting with the mouse.

"Something for me?" Terry was feeling angsty, ready to go.

"Looks like it. Better suit up." Bruce told him. Terry nodded, grabbing his suit and cowl, and heading towards the changing room. Bruce watched him go with heavy eyes. He sighed, bringing his fingers to the bridge of his nose, trying to pinch the stress away. Slowly he looked up at the cases which lined the far cave wall, his eyes settling finally on the Nightwing costume. Bruce felt his eyes watering, but he blinked before the tears had time to fall.

Damn you Greyson. He thought bitterly. I could barely keep up with you, what am I supposed to do with your daughter? Quietly, Bruce reached into his desk, pulling out a white envelope. He flipped it over, the wax seal on the back broken. He'd read it over and over again, what felt like a hundred times.

Bruce,

It's time, pass on the mantle.

Dick

The letter arrived several days before Dick Greyson had died. Until Bruce found out about his former protege's death, the note left him puzzled. Now it was all too clear to him. Dick knew his time was up and it was his intention that Rita take up his mantle. Again his eyes fell to the Nightwing costume which sat silently in it's case.

"I'm out, boss." Terry said suddenly, pulling the old man from his reverie. Bruce grunted in response and Terry silently hopped into the Bat Mobile, gliding off into the night. Bruce turned back to his computer, eyeing an encrypted file that sat on his desktop. He sighed for the umpteenth time, crumpling the letter and tossing it into his waste basket.

"Damn you, Greyson."

Stay Beautiful y'all!