Summary: Prequel to Rose Petals.

Warning: Sad fic alert!

Big thank yous go to Kat for reading this for me and her wonderful feedback. Thanks, Kat!!! :))

// denote thought. Hope you like. ^_^

“It is sweet to mingle tears with tears;
Griefs, where they wound in solitude.
Wound more deeply.” - Seneca Agamemnon

Her darkly tinted sunglasses hid Barbara’s puffy eyes from the rest of the mourners, but did little to protect her from the harsh sunlight reflecting off the shiny black surface. //It’s not fair,// she thought bitterly while hugging her arms closer to her body. A deep coldness clutched at her skin despite the sun’s hot rays. //Why does the sun get to shine so happily when Dick can no longer feel it?// Barbara sniffled and raised a hand to brush away a few stray tears, but only succeeded in further smearing her black mascara.

She looked down to the red rose held in a white-knuckled grasp. //My fear kept us apart... my fear of weakness.// Barbara’s eyelids fell shut as she remembered that night less than a week ago. Dick sat next to her on the balcony and proposed, the rose and ring in his hand. She could still see how his eyes had dimmed when she had told him that she could not. Barbara bit her lower lip and thought of how he nodded slowly and placed the ring back in his pocket. He left quickly after that, his breaths becoming heavy, but not before asking her to keep the rose anyway. A few days later, she stood staring at the rose in a crystal vase on her nightstand. She had decided she would marry him, but would never be able to tell him.

Barbara took a deep, halting breath before she wheeled up next to the casket and ran her fingers against the sleek texture. She could feel the silent strength of her father behind her. Walking past, he placed his own white rose on the casket. Barbara, however, carried her own red rose and reached up to place it alongside the other white ones. “I don’t want to be alone... I love you Richard Grayson.”

A few feet away stood Alfred and Tim. Both could see the pain etched beneath the young woman’s sunglasses. Alfred longed to sit down; his back ached, and he felt so tired. A ghost of a smile danced upon his lips as he remembered a bright little boy practicing acrobatics in the huge hallways of Wayne Manor. //Master Dick, even when you grew up, I still saw you as that sweet little boy. I hate death. I’ve seen too much of it in my life. I have to wonder sometimes who will be next. I never thought it would be you. Sometimes I wish it were me. That may be selfish. But I don’t know if I can witness another of my family go before me.//

Tim looked to the lush, green grass growing at his feet, but could not keep the memory from playing across his vision another time. We saw Batman lift his big brother’s broken body from the Batmobile. Well not truly his brother, but he had always thought of Dick as such. Tim had never seen the Batman so gentle with anyone as he did carrying his son. He stood there, watching Batman silently going through the motions of placing Dick’s still body on the bed.

Tim, himself, seemed frozen in place. He could not believe it had actually happened. None of it seemed real. Sure, Tim knew the work was dangerous; he knew the second Robin had died fighting the good fight. However, he never truly believed Batman or Nightwing could die. He had looked up to them for nearly all his life. They were untouchable--Bruce and Dick, Batman and Robin, the original Dynamic Duo. Tim stared back at Barbara placing her rose. //It just doesn’t seem real.//

Tim had to look away, feeling as though he was intruding somehow on a private moment. Surveying the crowd, he saw many of Dick’s closest friends (many of whom were Titans), several members of the JLA, including Clark Kent, some members of the BPD, Clancy, and even some of the friends Dick had met while in New York... but he could not find the man who should have been there most of all. “I can’t believe Bruce isn’t here,” he said, shaking his head.

“He’s here, Master Timothy. He’s here,” Alfred said softly, lifting his chin slightly to indicate a direction. Tim followed the butler’s sad eyes to reveal Bruce standing alone a distance away. Nearly completely hidden in the shadows of a large tree, the boy could see his mentor’s silhouette before the man turned and moved away.

Bruce fell down onto his mattress with a soft thud. He sat there, shoulders hunched, and for a long time simply held his head in his hands. When he looked up, it was to gaze at the ceiling in an effort to stop threatening tears. He was not used to this--not used to being so close to the edge of his iron control. Inhaling a deep, ragged breath, he looked back down to the ground. Lightning shone in from the huge windows and seemed to dance at his feet. He tried to concentrate on the soft rain pelting against the window, anything to drown out this deafening silence.

The house seemed too quiet, despite the late autumn storm outside. It somehow felt darker--almost as if the darkness itself was alive, prowling, stalking, waiting... waiting to take him. Or was that guilt that threatened to crush him from the inside out. A soft rumble echoed off in the distance. Bruce felt tired, so tired, and lay down his head on the fluffy white pillow with both hands clutching as if it were is only lifeline.

Finally, Bruce let go. Though, no one could have heard his cries. For instead of tears, it came in silent sobs ripped from his soul, from the place he tried so disparately to keep hidden. But it was too much--finally too much.

Bruce pounded the pillow with his fist. //I swore I would never let it happen again. When Dick was shot by the Joker, I promised his parents I would make sure that he’d be safe.// He pounded the pillow again. //I promised!// Then he whispered softly, “And I failed him again. I failed, Dick. I failed Jason. I failed your parents, and I failed you. Please forgive me.” Shutting his eyes so tight he felt a throbbing build behind his temples, Bruce waited several minutes before finally allowing himself to succumb to the darkness. //Please forgive me.//