John Doe

Epilogue

Things remained as they were for the next two years; Dick Grayson had signed on with another troupe of aerialists, old family friends was a headliner touring first the European and then the US circuit with Barnum and Bailey, making a point of checking in every few weeks to let everyone know that he was all right, happy and enjoying himself back in his childhood profession. He also made it clear that he still considered the Manor his 'home' and would be back when he could, but for now, he was content.

"It's just like I remember it, Alf. It's incredible how much it hasn't changed—I mean, sure, the acts come and go but that's the nature of the beast. The feeling of being here, hanging around backstage, eating with everyone all together, seeing the kids growing up here, just like I did; it's like I never left."

"So I take it that you're making friends and taking care of yourself?"

"Well, yeah, no problem. You know how it is, 'one a carny, always a carny'. It's like riding a bike or something, you never forget. Hey, are Bruce or Tim around?"

"I'm afraid that they're 'out' but I'll be sure that they know that you called and were asking for them."

"Okay, great. Take care of yourself, and I'll call soon."

"Please be sure that you do and be careful."

"'Always am, 'later."

The calls always left Alfred a little sad. He knew Dick seemed genuinely happy but, aside from simply missing the lad, he couldn't help but wonder of he ever regretted walking away from the life he'd had in Gotham and later, Bludhaven. But it was the boy's choice to make and so there it stood.

"Good evening, sir. Master Dick called earlier, he sounded well and will be in touch."

"Where is he this week?"

"Santa Fe, then Phoenix."

Bruce nodded. In fact he knew Dick's touring schedule but Alfred expected him to ask and so he obliged.

"Is anything new on his end?"

"Not that he mentioned, no, aside from one of the elephants delivering a healthy son. I believe the mother was that old elephant he was so fond of when he was a child."

Bruce nodded, leave it to Dick to have a favorite elephant and keep up with her over the years. "Did he say anything about where he plans to spend the holidays?"

"It didn't come up in conversation, but he did say that he'd be calling soon. I do hope that..."

"I do too, Alfred and he knows. He'll do what he can."

"Yes, of course he will."

* * *

Inevitably Nightwing's disappearance raised questions. As soon as his absence was noticed the media took hold of the story like the proverbial dog with a bone and refused to allow it to die. There was an initial flurry of stories and articles asking where he might be, whether or not he was alive or dead then finally whether or not he might still be active under a different alias and wearing a new costume.

No one officially commented one way or another and so the questions remained as the months and finally the years went by.

The articles weren't as frequent as in the beginning of is absence but they were still a regular feature in some of the more prurient parts of the press community.

"Wanted Dead or Alive: Nightwing"

"Two Years Still Missing"

"I'll Always Love Him"

"Nightwing Sighting At Graceland"

"Why The Coverup?"

Every year when the season of his disappearance rolled around there would be another flurry of attention, only to have it die down as soon as the next lurid headline came along. The people who mattered knew and as for the rest, they didn't need to know.

It was time for the questions to come around again and they'd be ignored this year like they had been all along. Nothing would change and in a few days they would die down again. It was predictable and expected.

* * *

Relaxing backstage after the three o'clock matinee, the last Flying Grayson was sitting in a folding chair, his feet resting on bale of hay, reading a magazine.

"Hey, Dick, how's the shoulder?"

"Hey Greg, it's okay. How's your wrist?"

"Getting better. 'Any plans for the hiatus? 'Goin' down to Florida?"

"'Probably going back to Gotham for a while to check in and then, I don't know, maybe hang out with some friends."

Greg and Dick had been kids together back in the old days with Haley, back when Dick was part of his parent's act and Greg was still still learning the ropes of being a clown. They'd lost touch after, well, after what happened and Dick left but had picked up their friendship the same afternoon he showed up to fly again. It was a good thing and right now they were in Tucson, Arizona, the last stop before the winter break, which was also a good thing. They'd have two months off before training and rehearsals started for the Spring Tour which would take some of them through a sweep of Canada and the rest over to Europe.

"'You hear the rumors that a bunch of dates have been cancelled? They're blaming it on the crappy economy. 'Not good."

No, it was bad. "You know how it is, whenever money is tight the first thing to get cut are the arts—museums attendance goes down, shows can't fill the seats, no one buys paintings. It'll pass, it always does."

"Yeah, well I don't know how many of us are going to be able to hang on until this turns around. I heard they're talking layoffs and cutting pay. Damn, it's not like any of us are getting rich doing this and if they cut back..."

Dick nodded; the circus was hurting and he'd heard the same rumors and more; he'd been called into the office a couple of weeks ago, asking if he would accept a twenty percent pay cut. He knew it wasn't a bluff or management just being cheap, he could see the unsold seats and the audience sections going begging for customers, the schedule was lighter than usual, fewer shows and not as many stops on the tour. The circus was hurting.

"Wait and see, I guess, it's all we can do."

"I guess. C'mon, let's get some food."

"'Sounds good."

* * *

Dick spent Christmas at the Manor, happy to be back with the family and to have some time to see the Titans, now scattered and only coming together when there was a case or something which they all needed or wanted to be involved with.

There was the usual pile of presents and the usual round of parties which he attended with less annoyance than was his custom, perhaps verifying the old adage that absence makes the heart grow fonder.

Finally, the evening before he was due to leave, he walked down to the cave, a place he'd been avoiding. It was odd, he'd spent more hours than he could count there over the years but now he felt like a stranger, a feeling he didn't have up in the house itself.

Bruce was working at the computer, Tim was at a movie with his friends, Alfred was out with Leslie Thompkins and the night was a quiet one.

"Everything going all right?"

"Yes, great, in fact. We have some new ideas for the new season and it should be a good tour."

"Europe this time, right?"

Of course it was and Bruce knew it but, "Yes, we kick off in London and then four months around most of the continent." A silence descended, not surprising, but unnecessary. "What is it you're not asking me?"

A moment then, "Is this really enough for you?"

"Performing? It's why I was born."

"You didn't answer my question."

With great patience he answered with an even voice and no sarcasm. "Yes, it's enough, at least for now. I'm doing something I love and which I'm good at. Yes, it's enough."

Bruce accepted the answer, at least on the surface and without further probing but he'd heard what Dick hadn't said and it concerned him.

* * *

Time rolled by Dick saw the Titans in New York, feeling a little like the same uncomfortable interloper he'd been in the cave then flew down to the winter circus community in Florida to work on new tricks and take some meetings with management to discuss some ideas he'd had.

The conversation he'd had with Greg before the break was a common one in all the various areas of the arts; illustrator's jobs were being supplanted by cut and paste photos, musicians found their work being replaced by recordings or single instrumentalists instead of groups, shows from New York to London to Paris closed for lack of audience and museums were forced to cut the number and size of their exhibits or close on certain days to save salaries.

Barnum and Bailey cut stops on their tours and asked the performers to accept more pay cuts. Office staff were let go and everyone was worried if not outright frightened.

Finally the letter went out to all the members of the extended circus family;

"As you as all aware, these are challenging times for our industry...

...After much thought and consideration we've decided to make some fundamental and exciting changes to our view of entertainment and of how to showcase our talented performers. We've asked a member of our own to help us in setting a new path for the great tradition we're all proud to be part of and which will be incorporated into our productions in the coming months.

This is an exciting time for us and we look forward to beginning rehearsals next month."

Opinions regarding the new directions ran the gamut from disbelief to head shaking to sighs of relief and heartfelt 'Thank God' and 'Finally!' Whether or not it would help or hinder was still up in the air but would be known in a few months..

* * *

Three months later they were finished playing Berlin, the last show of the weekend was over and the roustabouts would be mid-strike by now. Circuses no longer used tents, or rarely, unless the show was a seriously small scale affair; they performed in sports arenas for the most part, the larger the show the larger the venue. Currently they were playing 5,000 to 10,000 seaters and, on a good date, selling around fifty thousand tickets for a week's run in the larger cities. It was decent and the changes in the production seemed to be a large part of the reason. As soon as the train was packed they'd on their way to Munich for a week and hopes were high that the box office would stay busy.

There were grumbles that they were channeling Cirque du Soleil but the proof was in the money and it was better than they'd seen in years.

* * *

The figure, wearing solid black, harlequin mask in place, was perched on a gargoyle watching the men loading boxes into a truck in the alley below him. Shooting off a jump line he surprised them and, with that advantage added to his martial arts ability, had the seven contained in minutes, the art theft thwarted. An anonymous call to the local politzei and the matter was closed.

* * *

"I can't believe this, he's actually happy just being a circus performer. Christ!"

"Master Bruce, must I remind you that it was what he was doing when you first discovered him and is what he was born to."

"Oh, for the love of God, he was nine years old—after everything he's been trained for, all the things he could be doing."

"It's his life and his choice, after all."

"Maybe he'll get over it."

Alfred knew better than to let the tirade build. "Yes, perhaps." The young master was happy, fulfilled and that was more than enough.

* * *

In Munich the crowds were, again, good. Word of the changes to the show, the addition of a kind of , sort of storyline involving the acts to help move things along, the lighting effects, the new costumes and music made a tremendous, upgrading the modernizing the show. Granted it was more Vegas than traditional, but it was getting the crowds to come and that was the bottom line. Without revenue they'd have to downsize or close, by embracing the realities of what the audience wanted to see they could stay alive.

Their run was extended two extra days, the most they could squeeze out and still, barely, make their next date in Salzburg.

"Damn, it's good to be popular!"

"Like that's ever been a problem for you, Greg."

"I'm not just talking about my social life, Grayson, I'm talking about butts in the seats."

"Yeah, the houses have been looking pretty healthy lately."

"It's a good thing and, y'know, the word's out about how most of this was your idea."

"Not really."

"Uh-huh."

"Greg..."

"'Drop it', I know. Mister Light Under the Bushel, an odd trait for someone who grew up in a circus but, whatever. So, I was thinking that I might take in some of the sights this afternoon, check out the place, 'wanna come?"

"Sounds good for a while but I have something lined up for tonight."

"'Meeting the local frauleins, are you?"

Dick didn't actually roll his eyes but somehow gave the impression anyway. "I stink from rehearsal, I'm ready as soon as I take a shower."

"'Sounds like a plan."

Later that night, around two in the morning, a man dressed entirely in black and wearing a small mask prevented some local thugs from stealing the week's payroll from the restaurant on top of the hill which overlooked the city. Die Schloss, located in an ancient castle and known for it's terrible and overpriced food geared to the tourists, it was a landmark.

An anonymous call to the local police let them know that the would be thieves were subdued and ready for transport.

* * *

Another month of touring passed without incident and the show was playing Barcelona. It was a good run, ticket sales were good and on opening night King Carlos and Queen Sophia attended with their grandchildren as part of a charity fund raiser. The show went well and afterward the main performers were introduced to their Majesties backstage. It was, despite the fun of the occasion, a standard end to a work day for the cast members and one they were, for the most part, more than happy to be done with. It had been a long tour and everyone was tired; making time for yet another royal meet and greet meant that it would be at least an extra hour or so before they could call their time their own.

"Hey Dick, Jacques and Fred and I are going to an after hours club, you in?"

"Maybe next time, Greg, I'm beat."

"You don't know what you're missing."

"No doubt. 'Later."

It was 'later' that the man dressed in black spandex prevented the kidnapping of Queen Sophia and the theft of her diamond tiara and matching necklace.

Leaving Her Majesty's bed chamber and landing lightly as he scaled the palace wall to leave, he was just mounting his motorcycle when his way was blocked.

"I was hoping that I would run into you while you were working."

He didn't bother to dodge at being found out. "Hello Kal." Nor was he surprised.

"You're doing well, making things work for you. I'm proud of you."

Whoa, the lecture he'd half expected wasn't happening. He smiled, always a little disbelieving when he received praise from Superman. "Thank you."

"Everything under control?"

"Yes, everything's good."

"Does he know?"

"I appreciate if you wouldn't tell him—hey, he really doesn't know?"

"'Hasn't said anything to me or anyone else in the JLA."

"Really? He knows everything."

Kal's turn to smile. "He likes to think he does, anyway." He prepared to leave. "If you're all right, I've some things to do."

"Go, I'm fine." Then, "Hey, Kal, don't say anything to him, okay?"

Superman contained a quiet laugh. "Mypleasure. Take care." Flying back home, crossing the Atlantic he let the laugh out. This was too good; Bruce could stay in the dark until Dick was ready to tell him; if that ever happened. In the meantime, he'd keep an eye on the young man.

4/4/10

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