Interlude 3: Snapshots of perspective.

Ver. 1.1

by Nikoru-chan

Disclaimer: None of the characters portrayed herein belong to me. They are the property of DC, Warner Bros. and whomever else. No profit is being made from this work of fan fiction.

Special thanks to Charlene for beta-ing.

YOUNG JUSTICE     

            Nightwing's wish for a reunion was granted sooner than anticipated, though not precisely in the manner he'd planned.

            A few days after his breakdown in the diner, and subsequent breakthrough in the Cave, Robin rejoined Young Justice for a second attempt at a friendly meet. The hope was that it wouldn't go as badly as the first. And it didn't. At least, not quite. (However, as Superboy observed, a 'good' Young Justice meeting was rapidly being reclassified as one where nobody died, was seriously injured, or threatened another hero with death/destruction, a definition that rendered this reunion a resounding success.)

            The intention was to start on Saturday, with Nightwing once again transporting Robin to a designated location (in this instance, after consultation with the rest of YJ, the hotel that served as their base was considered the best option. That way at least, the only people Robin could perforate with batarangs would be his team-mates, not the still healing and still very miffed Titans.)

            But good intentions often go awry, and thus it was not surprising that Nightwing's arrival at Wayne Manor on the Saturday morning was met by an elderly butler, and no one else.

            "The young master is not here, I'm afraid."

            "Eh? He's gone?"

            "I'm afraid so,"

            "That little - !" Under the stern eye of the man he considered a father, Nightwing nobly refrained from using some of the more colorful vocabulary he'd picked up over the years. "Why?! He knew he was going to see Young Justice today!"

            "As I understand it, Master Dick, that is still the plan. At least, the plan as it was communicated to me by the young master before he departed for his rendezvous."

            "Huh?" Dick asked, intelligently.

            "He left some time ago, when that . . . contraption . . . from Young Justice arrived. The Super-Cycle I believe it's called."

            "Yeah? Did the gang come and get him? How'd they know where to find him?" Anger forgotten, Dick perked up, interested. Odd, they told me not to arrive with him  for a few hours yet. That they wanted to get the place ready.

            "Not at all. The cycle arrived alone."

            "Oh." I must talk to Tim about that. Outfitting a machine with a remote tracking device is a good thing if it means you can find it, but the reverse. . .

            As it was, it would have been impossible for Nightwing to devise a way to render Robin untraceable to the 'machine'. The Cycle, having taken exception to having its rider absent himself for nearly a year, had upon the return of said rider, promptly encoded a New Genesis dataprint onto the boy. Undetectable by normal, earthly means, the print nonetheless registered the youth as 'belonging', enabling the Super Cycle to now find, and go to, Robin at any time. The only regret the Cycle had was not taking the step earlier.

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

SUPER CYCLE

            This One was pleased that the Rider was back. Even though the Rider had changed substantially, underneath it all This One could still be sure that the Rider was The Rider.

            This could only be a good thing.  Confirmation that the Rider remembered This One was also heartening, though he remembered none of the Others.

            That the Rider had been damaged was unquestioned.  This One had caught the subtle hint of New Genesis technology laced through the Rider's brain and nervous system the minute This One had laid sensors on him, but rather than causing joy, it caused This One concern. This One knew it's own parent technology, and saw that in application to the Rider it had been warped, hybridized in an uncanny, and malign way. This One knows that the technology has been subverted to a use it was never meant for. It would have smacked of Apokalyps-style meddling, but there was a purpose to it - other than sheer pain and suffering - that This One detected immediately.

            This One would have very much liked to start repairing the damage then and there, but other matters had come to a head. This One could not abandon the call of an Other in dire peril, even though the rescue eventually failed. After that, This One and the Rider had been separated for several time-periods.

            So when This One had, on routine sensor sweep of the Headquarters of the Rider and the Others, ascertained that the Rider was to arrive that designated time-period, This One had opted to take matters into it's own tires and collect the Rider a few chrono-units early.

            The Rider had been disposed to co-operate, and This One and the Rider had promptly departed.

            Uniquely attuned to the Rider's emotions, This One detected a subtle, unspoken wish within the other life form.  The Rider desired a side trip. That suited This One just fine. Extra time spent alone together would allow This One to work its own special brand of healing in peace. Rescues of life forms in dire straits did not always involve charging in dramatically. Sometimes This One was required to employ other measures.

            Following the gentle guidance of the rider's legs and mind, This One set a course for a middle-sized mountain on the main landmass of an island chain.

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

            Due to time differences, the afternoon was lengthening to sunset when they arrived, just in time for Robin to hurriedly change, and then obtain a spray of fresh pine from a closing vendor.  The old woman in the colorful checked head kerchief looked him up and down, and then simply gave him the fresh-scented sprig, waving off his heartfelt thanks and offers of payment.

            Determination in his gait and the Supercycle invisible at his heels, Van walked into the mist of the mountainside. Winding his way among the fresh monuments to the older areas where moss-soaked stones made walking treacherous and tall, straight pine trees dropped a heady carpet of needles to deaden all sound.  It was cool under their branches, and sunset had long since passed into dusk by the time he found what he was looking for. Well-cared for, the monument in question none the less exuded age. Rather, an ageless serenity, Van thought, his heart lightening. A rare, genuine smile graced his face as he carefully slid the pine he'd brought into a carved jar designed for that purpose. And I hope they'll forgive my temerity, Kaze, Yuki. Your ancestors, that is. But visiting you here was something I just had to do. I'm so glad I did. This just feels . . . right somehow. It's not the end of it, not by a long shot. But I think perhaps it's a beginning. And I'm going to live that beginning, all the way though the middle and to the end. I just thought you should know. Beyond surviving, I'm going to actually, honest-to-god live. For myself because I can, and for both of you, in honor of what you gave to allow me to do so, I will live!  The atmosphere of the place had been eerie, but somehow with his offering it became accepting, even caring.

            The Mireba family shrine had found - and acknowledged - one of it's own.

            He hadn't realized quite how long it was that he spent standing there, lost in his own thoughts, until with a start he discovered it was too dark to see the characters carved on the stonework, their inky darkness melding into the hazy black of the night.

            But the night was an old friend, and Van slipped though it with comfort and grace. Beckoning the now-visible cycle, he quickly changed back to his costume. If he didn't hurry, he'd be late. Late for a meeting with what might very well be the future.

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

            As it was, he and the cycle arrived just in time to phase into the rec room of the new headquarters and watch as Superboy and Impulse bickered over who would get the last two penthouse suites (the girls had put dibs on the other three, and neither of the two boys were suicidal enough to contest their choice.) Briefly, Robin considered sending the cycle for popcorn, but then Cassie noticed him.

            "Hey! Robin! How'd you get in here? Oh, silly me, we haven't gotten the surveillance equipment up and running yet, so you could have just walked in. . .Where's Nightwing?"

            "Not here." Robin shrugged. If they couldn't figure it out with the cycle parked right behind him purring like a contented kitten, then he may as well use the opportunity to add to the bat-mystique.

            "Rob! Buddy! I think you and I need to move into our suites!"

            "Hey!Waitaminuteoneofthosesuitesismineflyboyandyouaren'tintheother!"

            Sensing that the impending brawl, while amusing, would none the less wreck the newly-refurbished headquarters, Robin cleared his throat. "There are two remaining suites, yes?" he asked rhetorically, having already memorised the floor plan.

            "Yeah."

            "The answer is simple, then. You two take them, I'll make other arrangements."

            "But. . . But one of them has to be yours!"

            "Why?"

            "Um. . ." Looking around, Robin noted the sheepish expressions on nearly everyone's face, along with their inability to meet his eyes. What the? Oh. A sudden flash of insight. They want me to 'stake a claim', because doing so means I'm committed. That I'm here to stay. But then isn't this what this is all about? Kaze . . . I don't know what to do. Should I commit? Can I afford to? Can I afford not to? Do I have the right to trouble these people with my own problems, my own challenges as I try to live as best I can?

            Shelving the problem for later perusal, Robin opted instead to ask for a tour of the place. While he knew the schematics as well as he knew anything, he none the less suspected that the others would have made certain alterations.

            It was in the room that had been the ballroom that the first big change was apparent. 'Alterations' was too mild a term; the chandelier had been removed, to be replaced with a set of trapeze swings. Below gymnastic equipment of all shapes and sorts dotted the floor. Looks like the JLA watch tower got generous with their second hand stuff. A lot of this would be useful only to metas.

            But it was the small room just behind the ballroom that caught Robin's breath. Designed as a music room, while all the instruments were long since gone, the acoustics remained impeccable.

            "Enough tour!" Superboy yelled with forced gaiety, obviously mistaking Robin's thoughtfulness for a frown, "let's hit the pool!" With that he flew off, rapidly returning with a set of shorts he handed to the Boy Wonder.

            "Borrow these. I've got some stuff here, but you haven't yet." A further whoop, and he shooed everyone to their respective suites to change.

            Mind elsewhere, Robin slid into the shorts. Leaving the room he'd dressed in, he caught sight of himself in the mirror.

            Scars marred him. Faint, faded whip marks slashed across his chest. Nearly invisible lines traced along his nerves and bunched into obvious white marks the length of his spine. Coarse bands of tissue strapped his wrists and ankles, the rope-burn leaving an ugly patination. Wig and make-up removed for swimming, the healed gun wound on his temple stood out lividly.

Somehow he'd thought - illogically he knew - with his decision to not only survive, but to live, that the scars would magically disappear. They hadn't of course, and the revealing shorts were unforgiving indeed. The others will see. . . and they'll ask. And I'll have to think about it all over again.

With a sob he turned back the way he'd come, towards the music room. He had some serious thinking to do, and he knew just how to do it best.

Turning to the discarded costume, Robin decided against changing again. What he planned on doing could be done just as well in what he was wearing now, and the feel of his hair whipping in a ponytail rather than wrapped around his head under a wig would be . . . freeing, or so he hoped. Deftly opening several of the compartments in his belt, Robin retrieved a plain white box with the Mireba family crest watermarked on it.

Inside the box nestled a few simple items. Brass chimes on strings of varying length, a strip of opaque cloth, and a CD. Robin, with the help of a ladder, hoisted himself to string the chimes from the ceiling. The same dusty cupboard of the room that had housed the ladder yielded an old, yet still functional CD player, and the Boy Wonder was in business. This is going to be vastly superior to the cave for this sort of activity. Better acoustics.  Tying a blindfold over his eyes, he hit 'play'.

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

            It was Secret, water-phobic that she was, who first noticed how long the Boy Wonder was taking to change. Leaving the pool with no little relief, she wafted off to find him. Superboy noticed her departure, and hurried after her.

            "Where you headed?"

            "I just thought Robin was taking an awfully long time. Maybe he got lost or something."

            "Robin? Lost? He probably knows more about this place than we do. All those bat-types love their research."

            "I'd agree with you if he was a hundred-percent our Robin, the Robin we used to know, but he's -" Catching herself, Secret trailed off, embarrassed. They floated uncomfortably together, then Superboy gently patted her on a misty tendril.

            "I know, Suzie. I know. But that's what this is about. We get him to rejoin the team, and then, somehow we - I dunno - get him back or somethin'. The real him." Secret was spared the need to respond by the soft ringing they both caught echoing down the hall. It sounded like . . . bells?

            Following the faint chiming, the two found themselves outside the door to the music room. Once abandoned, it was now occupied by a single boy wonder, one who sat blindfolded on the floor, listening intently to the belled melody that rang from an antiquated speaker.

Superboy frowned as he peered through the slightly ajar door. Whatever we heard earlier, it sure wasn't coming from that dinosaur. How the heck did Robin - he got his answer as the piece finished and the youth in question rose liquidly to his feet, and in a single continuation of the move, leapt straight up.

            With minutely controlled force, hand flashed out to one side, a bo staff to the other, each impacting with small bells that Superboy suddenly realised were strung at varying points from the ceiling. In a perfect rendition of the melody just played on the CD, Robin leapt, spun, and kicked his way around the room, bouncing off walls and floors, tumbling and somersaulting through the musical maze of swaying bells. The sound was incredible. Each blow, struck with precision, a note. Each note, timed impeccably such that the swinging arc of the free-hanging chimes allowed Robin to either ghost past the bell in question, or ring it again with fist, staff or foot, flowed seamlessly into a glorious harmony.

            The Boy Wonder was also blindfolded, Secret noticed, as Superboy unwittingly leant on the door, pushing it further ajar. Robin's face snapped around at the sound, slight though it was. His body followed his head with the speed of thought, and a bo staff lashed towards Secret as Robin landed and pirouetted into a high kick.

            "Rob!" Superboy had an instant to switch off the telekinesis he'd anchored himself with, and brace for the impact. He hits me with that amount of force when I'm fully planted and he'll break his foot!

            But the expected blow never came. Opening one eye, Superboy regarded the bare foot held millimeters from his neck. To one side, the bo staff was also rigidly still, though it protruded through the misty outer tendrils of a startled Secret.

            Using his free hand, Robin deftly removed his blindfold. His eyes widened as he noted the slack-jawed expressions on the faces of his 'intruders'. Breaking off his gaze, he turned away from them, arms wrapping around his shoulders protectively.

            "Don't," His whispered, lowered voice a heart-felt plea.

            "Don't what?"

            "Don't look at them. Please, just . . . don't look at me!" Futilely, Robin's hands raked over his scars, unsure which of them to cover first, unable to hide them all. Superboy stood, for once unable to come up with anything to say.

            So, of course, he shot off the first thing he thought of. "Is this why you wouldn't come swimming?" As Robin flinched, Secret recovered enough from her surprise to salvage the situation.

            "Robin," she smiled gently, wafting around him in a loose, foggy embrace, "they don't matter to us. They don't make you mean less to us, and they don't make you ugly."

            Superboy snorted. "They do make us wish we could pound the crap outta a certain somebody, though."

            His back still turned to them, the tension in Robin's shoulders eased slightly. Encouraged, Superboy continued, "You're still our buddy, oh Fearless Leader. You pulled the blows, didn't you?" It wasn't really a question. "You heard me shout and you pulled the blows." He smiled softly. "Despite everything, you're still our Robin."

            A long moment later, a moment characterized by the baited breath of Superboy and the cloudy fidgeting of Secret, and Robin's head lifted.

            "Well, then. It's decided. I'd better get changed, hadn't I?"      

            "Huh?"

            Turning, the Boy Wonder faced them. "I need to get used to your sounds again, the noises everyone makes when they move, so I can work effectively with you guys." Hesitantly, as if still rusty despite recent practice, Robin's face cracked into a faint, lopsided grin. "I don't want to hit my own team-mates. At least, not by accident."

            "Hang on a minute . . ." Scarcely able to believe either his eyes or his ears, Superboy stared at the other boy. Next to him, Secret beamed.

            "Out, both of you. Go get the others and set up the VCR while I dress, then we'll watch some of that Wendy show you said you liked."

            "Did you just say -"

            " I said 'out'," the grin widened, a slight, grateful twinkle even going so far as to reach Robin's eyes. "This is my room now."

            Beating a hasty retreat, Superboy and Secret shared a jubilant high five. Robin had staked his claim. He was coming back, and this time he intended to stay.

            It's going to be alright. It really, truly is going to be okay!

END INTERLUDE THREE

Notes:

1.   In case it isn't clear, the parts which are narrated by 'This One', and refer to Robin as 'The Rider' are told from the Supercycle's point of view. Near as I can tell, no one has written a fanfic from its perspective, but I've wanted to do so for a very long time. The thing I really wanted to do with it didn't fit in too well in this fic, so it'll crop up in another.

2.   I got the basic concept for Robin's special training from reading Deep Space Planet Future Gun Action Trigun. In the end story of the third book, Vash does this nifty speed-draw thing with an egg balanced on his gun, and I think somewhere else he practices using coins and a wineglass. I expanded on the idea and made it more of an auditory thing. As for the whys, hows and wheretofors that bring Robin to use this training method, all I can say is, Stay Tuned **grin**

3.   All of YJ saw Robin's scars during the events of Wind and the Snow, when Impulse shifted the boy wonder to the infirmary following the part where Kaguya nearly gutted him. Robin was unconscious during this, and rather agitated immediately afterwards, so it's not unreasonable to suppose he hasn't realised that.

The 'Wendy show' refers to Wendy Werewolf Stalker, a popular show in the DCU. Gee, I wonder what it could possibly be based on.**grin** After all that, I suspect this will be the last interlude ficlet for a little while. Robin's had his 'time to heal', at least to some extent, and has patched up a couple of relationships. I'm itching to get back to the action and start chucking him off buildings again. So, next fic, another big story arc starts.