Previously, in Shatter Me: Dick Grayson met a waitress, Devon Wakeman, and was immediately attracted. Rebuffed by her, he began watching her through her bedroom window, dressed as Nightwing. Upon discovering him, Devon made it clear that she was interested, and they became nighttime lovers, with his identity remaining unknown. After several weeks, she put together clues that led her to discover Nightwing and Dick Grayson were the same person. They began a relationship and were soon in love. Unbeknownst to Dick, however, Devon led a double life – she was somehow beholden to Sportsmaster and Lex Luthor. Luthor, aware of the Batfamily's real identities, forced Devon to give him information about Wayne Industries and Bat activities. Not long after becoming involved with Dick, Devon discovered that she was pregnant, and Dick asked her to marry him. She accepted, and they were happy – although Devon harbored great guilt about her role in Luthor's game against the Batfamily. Not long after the discovery about the pregnancy, however, Devon miscarried...

Gotham City

Late That Night

February 5th

"It's okay, you know."

Devon pulled herself from her reverie, quickly wiped her cheeks, and looked over at Dick. He had a small, sad smile on his face, and, with his free hand, he reached out to grip both of hers.

She gave a weak smile of her own before looking down at their joined hands in the shifting light coming through the car windows. Illuminated and then thrown into darkness by street lights as they passed, their skin seemed ghostly pale.

"What's okay?" She asked.

"We – we can talk about it. About the baby, I mean. Or –" he frowned, "we don't have to talk about it, if you – don't want."

She kept her eyes down and shook her head. "Not right now."

He nodded and looked back at the road as he steered the car towards home, and they remained silent for the rest of the journey.

When they had reached home, and the garage door had closed behind the car, he released her fingers. He retrieved her bag from the back seat, and came around to open her door.

She gave a small sigh when he offered his hand. "Dick, I won't break."

He shrugged. "I know. I'm coddling you. And I'm going to continue to do so, whether you like it or not." He paused. "If it's okay with you."

She took his hand. "It is. I guess."

"Good." He brought her hand to his lips, and, then, tucking the same hand into the crook of his arm, escorted her solicitously up the stairs.

He flipped a switch and the kitchen was illuminated in harsh light. "Um, are you hungry? I can – make some soup. Or – or order pizza."

She shook her head as she withdrew her hand and headed for the stairs. "I'm not hungry."

He frowned at her back. "You have to eat. All you've had all day was some crackers and a popsicle after the surgery."

She gave him a distracted look. "I'm okay. I'm just – not hungry. Maybe later." Her lip curled. "I really want a shower. I need to wash the hospital off me." And the memory of this day.

"Sure. Of course." He nodded emphatically. "Here, let me –"

She held her hand up to forestall his words. "You don't have to help me up the stairs, Dick. I'm fine."

"But the doctor said –"

"– To rest. I know. But climbing the stairs and taking a shower aren't strenuous. I'm showering, not doing calisthenics."

He considered this. "I suppose not. But at least let me make you some chicken noodle soup."

She blanched. "I can't stand chicken noodle soup. It reminds me of being sick."

"Um, okay. Tomato? Is that okay? And maybe a grilled cheese sandwich?"

"If you make some for you, too."

He gave the first genuine smile of the day. "When do I ever turn down anything with cheese?"

"Never?"

"Never." He gathered her in his arms and she allowed herself to lay her head on his chest before pulling away.

"Shower now." She reminded him.

He smiled and dropped his arms. "Canoodling later. I'll have dinner ready by the time you come back down."

Devon walked slowly into the bedroom. She had dreaded this – knowing that the baby's nursery was just there, a few steps away.

How could she see it – how could she look at the things that she had chosen for her baby – for Dick's baby, and know that none of it would ever be used – that her child would never sleep in the crib, that she herself would never change the baby's diaper on the changing table, that Dick would never sit in the rocker and rock the baby to sleep?

How could she live while her baby did not?

She took hesitant steps to the nursery to find it – empty.

She took a ragged breath. Everything was gone – the crib, the rocker – everything. Dick must have cleared it out.

She turned away with a frown.

Devon could smell the faintly acrid smell of burnt toast as she descended the stairwell to the main level of the house.

She found Dick pouring soup from a saucepan into two bowls at the kitchen counter, and a small pile of burned sandwiches next to the sink. A griddle on the stove had two more sandwiches on it, browning nicely.

He looked up at her and smiled. "Dinner is served – uh – after a couple of false starts," he indicated the pile of discarded sandwiches.

She returned the smile, albeit weakly. "Smells delicious."

"How was your shower?"

She gave a long sigh. "I couldn't wash the grossness of the hospital off fast enough."

He replaced the saucepan back on the stove. "Well, you're home now." He grabbed the handle of the griddle and slid each of the sandwiches onto a plate. "Safe and sound."

She scoffed and turned to the refrigerator. "Yeah. Safe and sound." She said quietly.

He did not seem to hear her. "Hey, grab us a couple of grape sodas out of the fridge?"

She nodded and opened the utility drawer for a bottle opener, and a wave of bitter nausea rose in her throat.

She reached a shaking hand for the scan of the baby that sat within.

"Dick?" She held up the scan for him to see. "Why is this in here?"

He paled, but didn't answer.

"So – what? It's garbage now?" She asked, her face twisted by grief and anger. "The baby's dead, so you just shove the scan in the utility drawer? With the take-out menus and rubber bands?"

Dick's face was slack with astonishment. "No! Dev, no! I – I just..."

"You just what, Dick?"

"I didn't want you to see it."

"Why?"

He looked flustered. "I didn't want you to see it and – be upset. Or sad."

She threw up her hands. "Right. Out of sight, out of mind. Of course I'd only be upset if I had a visual reminder of the baby, is that right? Is that what you think?"

He ran both his hands through his hair in agitation. "No, Devon, of course not! I didn't think that!"

"And is that why you cleared all the furniture out of the nursery?! So I wouldn't see it?"

He nodded and moved towards her, but she stepped away, her hands up as if to ward him off.

"Dick, believe me, I think about the baby constantly. I don't need a scan – or – or a crib – to remind me! Every second – every single second, I'm reminded that, because of me, our baby is dead!"

"Devon, stop it! That's not true!"

"Really? It's not true? It's not my fault? My body didn't," she waved her hands around impotently, "expel the baby or – or destroy it – or reject it or – whatever?!"

"It's not that simple, Devon!"

She jabbed her finger on the countertop. "No, no, it is that simple, Dick! It's that simple! And I'm going to be upset about it whether you hide the baby things or not! Can't you understand that? I'm not going to forget about it just because I can't see it. I live with it now – constantly!" She turned away from him, her arms over her chest.

"Don't you think I do, too?"

She whirled to face him again. "I don't know, Dick! Do you?"

"Are you kidding me?!" His voice was raw. "This is the worst thing to ever happen to me – and that's saying a lot!" He slammed his open palm on the counter.

"Yeah, Dick! It happened to you! Not because of you!"

He held up his hands in defeat. "We can't keep going around and around with this, Devon."

Her face was red. "Right. Let's forget about it. Both of us. In fact, I'll just hide away the scan of the baby and you'll forget all about it!"

He fisted his hands. "My God, Devon! Why are you torturing yourself?"

"Because," she stopped to draw in a deep breath and closed her eyes before speaking. "48 hours ago, we were – a family – the three of us, and now we're – not. And no matter what you say," tears gathered in her eyes, "I feel like it's my fault. And I never won't."

"Dev..." He came towards her, arms open, but she shook her head and backed away.

"No. I – can't. I – just – I need to be alone." She turned and fled up the stairs.

Dick took a step after her, then stopped, thinking better of it. She had asked to be left alone, and he needed to respect her wishes.

He raised his fists to his head and pounded his skull in frustration. He felt so helpless, and he hated the feeling. He had become Robin, all those years before, because he had hated feeling helpless in the face of his parents' murder, and becoming Robin had given him a feeling of control. But this situation, from the moment that he had discovered that Devon was pregnant, had stripped away any semblance of that. And he hated it. He hated being unable to save the pregnancy, and he hated that he couldn't comfort Devon when she needed comfort more than anything.

He pulled his phone from his pocket and brought up Bruce's contact.

The call was answered after one ring.

"Dick, what is it?" Bruce's deep voice held a note of concern, and a wave of relief washed over Dick.

He leaned against the counter and squeezed his eyes shut. "It's – Devon."

"What is it? Is she all right? Did you call 911?"

"No, no...not like that. She's – fine. Physically. But we had a fight – about the baby. And she told me to leave her alone." Dick's voice was barely audible. "Bruce, she's so – broken, and – and I – I don't know how to fix it."

There was a long silence on the phone, and Dick almost wondered if the connection had dropped.

"Dick," Bruce finally said, "I know that this – losing the baby – has been hard. Very hard. For both of you. But it's not your job to fix Devon. The truth is that you can't. She has to fix herself; she has to deal with this on her own – in her own way. She has to grieve. And you can't do it for her."

Dick shook his head, dismayed at Bruce's words. "But this is what I do, Bruce – I help people. And, if I can't help the woman I love, what the hell good am I?"

"I'm not saying you can't help her, Dick. But realize that what you think is help may not be helping her." There was silence again, and Bruce continued. "Maybe you need to put a little distance between the two of you."

That raised Dick's ire. "What?! No! I'm not leaving her!"

"I'm not saying to leave her, Dick. Just leave her alone for a little while. Give her a chance to work this out for herself. To come to grips with it."

Dick covered his eyes with one hand. "All right. Yeah. I guess so. What do you think I should do?"

"I don't know. Go work out. Maybe take a run."

Dick nodded. "Yeah. That's a – good idea, I guess. Running always clears my head."

"You'll get through this, Dick. You're strong, and so is Devon. You'll make it."

"Thanks, Bruce."

"You're welcome. And – Dick?"

"Yeah?"

"You have to grieve, too."

From the nursery, she heard the front door close and the sound of feet running down the driveway. Dick was gone, obviously – maybe on a run.

Hopefully, on a run. Or a walk. Or a visit to Wayne Manor.

Hopefully not gone forever.

Maybe you scared him off, being such a bitch, her critical side whispered.

She had been horrible to him – that much was true. But seeing the scan in the drawer had been like a gut punch. It was as if the baby was only a footnote to his life – something that no longer existed, and, therefore was no longer important.

But that was not how Dick was. It was not his personality to forget things that meant a lot to him. If anything, he felt things too keenly, too deeply.

How could this tragedy have happened to them? She had been careful during the pregnancy. She had taken pre-natal vitamins religiously. She had started getting more sleep. She had stopped working. She had done everything that she thought she was supposed to do while pregnant, and, still, she had lost the baby.

Why? Why her?

Other questions that she had been carrying loomed in her mind, and she picked up her phone to call the only person who might have answers.

Her grandmother answered after several rings.

"Hello, Grandma." She sounded dead, even to her own ears.

"Devon! Where are you? Are you in the hospital? How are you?" There was anxiety in the older woman's voice.

"How am I? How do you think I am? I just had a miscarriage!" She sounded harsher than she had intended.

"I know. I'm sorry. Do – do the doctors know what caused it?" The question was leery.

"Do they know?! Of course they don't know! Do you?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that I'm not exactly normal, am I, Grandma?"

There was a long pause. "Of course you're normal." She scoffed.

"Right. I'm normal. So, all the experiments that my loving parents did on me was because I'm normal."

"Devon,you know..."

Devon cut her off. "Please don't start with excuses and explanations. I've listened to them my entire life, and I'm done."

"What does that mean?"

"That means that I want to know if my condition made me miscarry."

"Well, how are we supposed to find that out?"

"You have their papers. I know you do."

"Some. I have some."

"Well, some is better than none."

"So – what? I'm supposed to read all that scientific – gobbledygook – and come up with an answer on why you had a miscarriage?"

"No, Grandma. You're not going to read it. We are."

Gotham City

Later That Night

February 5th

Dick paused at the open door to the master bedroom and peered into the dark. With tentative steps, he entered, the moonlight illuminating his path.

"In here." Devon's voice, flat and emotionless, came from the nursery.

She was seated on the floor under one of the windows, and he leaned against the door jamb, watching her warily.

"I won't bite." She sounded sheepish, and it gave him the confidence to walk into the room and settle down next to her.

There was a long silence until she broke it. "You were gone a long time."

He gave a shrug, although he was heartened by her willingness to talk to him. "I went for a run." He pointed to his sweatshirt. "Can you tell?"

"You sure you don't mean, 'can you smell?' "

He gave a small laugh and started to rise. "Fair enough. I'll go shower."

She put a hand on his arm. "No. Wait."

He did as she asked, and turned towards her.

She looked ready to speak several times before she actually did. "I'm sorry. For earlier."

He stayed silent, sensing that she was not done.

In the dark, it was somehow easier for her to apologize, and to explain what she had been grappling with for the past several hours.

"I – took it out on you. And I shouldn't have."

He shrugged again. "It's okay. I can take it."

"But you shouldn't have had to. I – didn't even really believe what I was saying to you. I was just so – hurt. Not by you." She hastened to add. "By the situation. I didn't know how to deal with losing the baby. I still don't. But freaking out and yelling at you was not the answer."

He touched her hand lightly, and she allowed him to take it.

She continued. "I just don't know what to do or what to say or how to move on. Dick, the baby was everything to me, and everything we've done – it revolved around the baby – preparing for the baby – and, now – there's no more baby..." She trailed off.

After a long pause, she went on. "We got engaged because of the baby." He opened his mouth to speak, and she forestalled him with a raised hand. "I know that you're going to say that you wanted to marry me anyway, but you wouldn't have asked so soon."

He thought about it. "Probably not. Although I do not regret asking you. For the record." He added.

"And I gave up working at the diner because I was pregnant."

"And slept late on the weekdays for the first time in years."

"That was nice. But – look. You bought a house because of the baby."

"A sound investment." He pointed out.

"You are being infuriatingly pragmatic."

He gave a small smile. "I am known as the pragmatic one in the family."

"I'm pretty sure that's Tim." She pointed out.

"Huh. You're probably right. What am I known as?"

"The emotional one, I think."

He laughed. "Couldn't you have said the handsome one?"

"That goes without saying."

There was a comfortable silence until Dick spoke again. "Devon, losing the baby was the worst thing that's ever happened to me, but having the baby was the best thing that's ever happened to me. And I don't regret it, either."

She was silent for a long time. "I don't know how long it's going to take me to get over this."

He shook his head. "Me either. But we will. Don't get me wrong – it'll be hard, and – I think there'll always be a little hole in my heart after this. But we'll make it through." His words echoed Bruce's. "I know we will." He squeezed her hand.

Devon leaned her head on his shoulder. "I hope you're right."

"I am. We'll do it. Together."

Gotham City

The Next Morning

February 6th

Alfred watched as Talia's private jet taxied to a stop.

Before the boarding stairs were brought up, the aircraft door was flung open, and Damian appeared. He peered around the airfield, and, catching sight of Alfred, waved vigorously.

"Pennyworth!" He yelled. "Bring the car over! I'll jump!"

Alfred was aghast, and ideas on how to dissuade the youngster ran through his head. Improvising (with which he had great experience), he put a hand up to cup his ear, pretending that he could not hear the request. Even from a great distance, he could see Damian's scowl.

"Bring the car!" Damian mimed driving a car.

Alfred broke into a wide smile and mimicked him, then pointed at the limousine and gave a thumbs up.

Damian gave an aggrieved sigh and began to gesticulate more wildly.

"Not in this lifetime, young man," Alfred muttered, and waved back with what he hoped looked like merriness and blissful ignorance.

Damian finally remembered his phone and pulled it from his pocket. He held it to his ear in an exaggerated way, hoping that Alfred would take the hint.

The butler's phone rang just as the stairs were being driven up.

"Oh, hello, Master Damian." He answered the call. "How was your flight?"

"Pennyworth! Didn't you understand what I was telling you to do? And the flight was fine."

Alfred ignored the first question. "Ah, glad to hear it. The stairs will be in place soon – there they are! And we'll get on our way."

"How is Grayson?"

Alfred frowned. "As well as can be expected. We'll speak when you're in the car."

"Which will be in one minute." Damian ended the call and bounded down the stairs.

He ran the short distance to the limousine and threw himself into Alfred's arms. "Hello, Pennyworth."

Alfred gave a small smile and hugged Damian firmly. The boy returned the squeeze briefly before pulling away.

Alfred stepped back with a nod. "Do you have luggage?"

"Of course." Damian sniffed. "Apparently, however, I'll have to retrieve it because the flight attendant is nowhere to be seen. I'll have to talk to my mother about that dereliction of duty." He zipped back across the airfield to the jet, where he disappeared up the stairs again. He returned immediately, a backpack slung across his shoulder.

He darted back to the car and dove through the rear door that Alfred held open. "Let's go, Pennyworth. Grayson needs me."

As they drove from the airfield, Alfred glanced back at his young passenger, who had opened his backpack and was rifling through the contents.

"Seatbelt, Master Damian?"

Without lifting his head, Damian pulled on the chest strap of the seatbelt to show the butler that it was engaged. "I got Devon a souvenir from the Bahamas. Do you think it's okay to give it to her?"

"Well, I suppose that depends on what it is."

Damian pulled out a small jewelry box, opened it, and held up a bracelet for Alfred to see in the rearview mirror. "It's a souvenir charm bracelet." He leaned forward to eagerly describe it to the butler. "You see that there's a Bahamian flag charm, and – and a conch shell. That's one of the national symbols. Also, here's a turtle," Damian touched one of the dangling charms. "This symbolizes the sea turtle that I swam with. And this one is a hibiscus. They grow all over the islands. Do – do you think that I can give it to her?"

Alfred smiled. "I don't see why not."

"Will she like it?"

"I'm certain that she will."

Damian gave a happy grin and sat back. "I purchased something for Grayson, too." He searched around in his backpack and pulled out his gift for Dick.

"Look!" Damian held it out towards Alfred. "It's an orangutan playing a saxophone. It's carved out of a coconut. I thought that it would appeal to Grayson's plebeian comic tastes." He looked at it critically. "I may wait to give him that."

"I'm certain that he shall love it – whenever you decide to give it to him."

Damian nodded and sat back. "I bought something for you and Father, as well."

"Thank you, Master Damian. That's very kind of you."

Damian gave an embarrassed shrug. "It was nothing. Hey!" He changed the subject. "Are we going directly to Grayson's? I would like to shower first."

"No, Master Damian. Your father thinks it best you wait until later. It is still relatively early, and Miss Devon may still be asleep."

Damian crossed his arms and pouted at Alfred's back. "I came back to seeGrayson and Devon, and I intend to see them immediately."

"I understand, Master Damian, but Miss Devon had surgery yesterday, and she may very well be asleep."

Damian was quiet for a very long moment as he looked out the car window. "Fine. I'll see them later. Can you make me pancakes when we get home?"

Author's Notes: That's right! I'm back. You probably thought that I fell off the edge of the Earth! Anyway, I hope you enjoy the chapter – more to come soon!