The sight of the full moon shining through the clouds brought tears to her eyes. Freedom! She was giddy with excitement, running down the sidewalk as though she hadn't a care in the world. There were no other pedestrians and scant few cars out, so she dashed heedlessly across streets, stopping only after she was completely winded, nearly a mile later.

�Where are we?' she asked, looking around. It didn't look like the New York she remembered. Then again, she was from Phoenix, so maybe she just wasn't remembering the city properly; she only visited her parents there once a year, during the High Holy Days.

No such luck. �I don't know,' he replied. �This isn't New York.'

She frowned. Lost in an unfamiliar city was hardly ideal, but it beat captivity. She sat on a nearby stairwell and fished out one of the sandwiches from the bag, wondering what their next move should be.

�Get rid of the glove,' he said suddenly, the sharpness of his signs translating into urgency. It hadn't dawned on her before, but the gloves probably had tracking mechanisms in them -- she knew the suits were equipped with trackers as well as radios. Why not have it in the glove? Holding the sandwich in her mouth, she used the glove to open the lockbox, then tossed it into the flower bed beside the stairwell. Dumping the cash into the bag, she threw the lockbox after the glove. She closed up the duffel bag, stood up, and continued walking down the sidewalk, eating her sandwich as she went.

"Now what?" she whispered.

He had to wait until she'd finished her sandwich before he could answer. �We should go to a motel. We're easy targets out on the street, and once the sun comes up, they won't be able to come looking for us.'

That was easier said than done. It took another hour of wandering before they found a motel. It looked seedy enough that she had second thoughts about staying there, but he overrode her objections and marched her into the lobby.

The smallest bills she had were fifties, but she was able to remove two of them from the bag without displaying the rest of the cash. No point in escaping Wildebeests only to fall prey to common muggers. The man behind the desk ogled her as he handed her the room key, and she snatched it from him impatiently. God, she was sick of slimeballs treating her like a piece of meat! Weren't there any decent men left in this country?

Once safely in the room, she fastened all the locks, then jammed one of the chairs under the door handle. If the man at the front desk -- or anyone else -- had any bright ideas about getting in unannounced, they would have a difficult time of it.

Joseph immediately commandeered the bathroom and spent half an hour in the shower, remembering what it felt like to be clean once again. That was followed by a twenty minute soak in the tub to relax his cramped muscles and aching joints. The hot water stung as it touched the raw skin of his wrists and ankles, chafed by months of restraints, but overall it still felt wonderful.

Only after the water had cooled did he get out and dry off. A glance in the mirror reminded him that there was yet more to be done. It had been ages since he'd shaved, and his curly hair, already long, had gotten completely out of hand; the combination made him look like a refugee from the original Woodstock. Fortunately, there was both a razor and a comb among the items they had taken from Number One.

One thing they had forgotten, however, was pajamas. The ones he'd been wearing had gone straight into the trash, and he had every intention of leaving them there. Sleeping without clothes didn't bother him, but he knew without having to ask that it would bother Jessica. Especially since the room had only one bed. He pulled the underwear from the duffel bag; since they were boxers, they looked enough like pajamas to function as such.

She had had the same idea; when he entered the bedroom he could see the thin satin strap of her bra as it curved over the top of her bare shoulder. She was already in bed, curled on her side with her eyes closed, so he tried not to disturb her as he lay down on the empty half of the mattress. He debated sharing the covers, but it was warm enough that he didn't really need to, and doubtless she would feel better if he didn't.

He stared up at the ceiling, unable to sleep. Light from the streetlight outside the window penetrated the flimsy curtain, making the room nearly as bright as daylight, but that wasn't what was keeping him awake. It was the knowledge that although they were free, they weren't safe, and wouldn't be until they got back to New York -- maybe not even then. He didn't know where they were in relation to New York, though, or how long it would take them to return. It could well be academic, if the Wildebeests succeeded in recapturing them first.

Thirty minutes passed, and he was still too wound up. Next to him, Jessica stirred. A glance in her direction surprised him; she was looking at him with an odd expression on her face.

"Did you know I was awake?" she asked him suspiciously.

It was not a question he would have expected. �No,' he answered truthfully.

She sat up, clutching the covers in front of her chest. "And you still didn't try anything."

If he hadn't been confused before, he was now. �Should I have?'

"No." A bitter laugh escaped her lips. "I'm sorry, it's been so long, I've forgotten what it's like to be in the company of a gentleman." The side of her thigh was exposed, confirming his suspicion that she was bruised head to toe. He didn't usually subscribe to violence as a solution, but this once, he was pleased about what he'd done to Number One.

She brushed her hair away from her eyes, but instead of releasing her hair, she twirled the ends around her fingers. "What were you thinking about for the last half an hour?"

Probably the same things she'd been thinking about, but it wouldn't do either of them any good to dwell on that. �My parents,' he told her. �My mother must be very concerned by now; I don't even know how long I've been gone. God only knows what she thinks must have happened to me.'

She smiled sympathetically. "Mine, too. My parents are such worriers anyway, and here I've vanished without a trance and been gone nearly half a year. It must be worse for your parents; I don't know when the Wildebeests got you, but you were already there when I arrived."

They fell silent. She occupied herself with adjusting the covers, so that they would stay up without her holding them in place. Eventually, she brought up the topic that was on both of their minds. "You know they'll come after us." He nodded. �Two energy pistols and your abilities won't be enough if they attack en masse,' she signed. �They won't try to capture us; after we embarrassed Number One like that, he'll have sent them out to kill us.'

�No, they'll try to kill us. They won't succeed.'

She sighed. �I wish I had your optimism. I used to, before I got pulled into this nightmare.' After a brief pause, she added shyly, �In case I'm right, and this turns out to be my last night alive, I'd like to spend it with you.'

His eyes met hers, with a look that seemed to drill into her soul. Finally, he shook his head. �You're on the rebound.'

Laughing, she replied, �So what? You won't be taking unfair advantage of me -- not like those assholes did. If you don't want to, that's fine, but don't hold back because you think I don't want to. Trust me, I wouldn't make the offer if I didn't want to.'

Again his piercing gaze studied her face. �How much of that offer is desire and how much is apology?'

Damn the man, how could he see through people so clearly? She shrugged, embarrassed. �A little of both,' she admitted. �More desire than apology, if that matters to you.'

The corners of his mouth quirked with the hint of a smile. He caught her hand, caressing her soft skin as her long, thin fingers twined around his. Gently, his lips brushed her palm and moved slowly up her arm, until at last his lips met hers and he drew her down entirely into his embrace.

***

�And here we are,' Joseph finished explaining. �They knew roughly where we were, so it was only a matter of time before they caught up to us. But now that they know our exact location, they'll be back -- in short order.'

Nightwing stared at the spot between his feet, unsure of how to say what needed to be said. A full account of the Azarathan scenario might be more than Joseph could handle, but he had to learn sooner or later. He would find out the hard way when he saw the absence of the Tower or tried to contact one of his former teammates. No sense in prolonging the unpleasantries.

Joseph listened in tight-lipped silence as Nightwing relayed the details of the incident, ending with Raven's death. There had been more to the story, of course, but adding the machinations of Raven's evil persona to the already emotionally-trying tale would be too much information. Even the revelation that Slade had killed what they all thought was Joseph had nearly been too hard to absorb, but Joseph never interrupted him.

The silence continued long after he had concluded, but he wasn't going to be the one to break it. He was aware of Joseph's eyes on him, that intense, silent scrutiny which always seemed capable of cutting to the heart of the matter. The look had never bothered him before, but things had changed. He met Joseph's gaze, almost defiantly.

�You don't believe I'm really me.' It wasn't a question. Joseph's expression hadn't changed, but the pain in his eyes was impossible to mask. After all he'd been through, to be rejected by someone who should have been one of his closest friends was a crushing blow. Nightwing knew the feeling; Bruce had shut him out on far too many occasions. Jason's death had been tough for both of them, but Bruce hadn't been able to see past his own pain in order to help Dick. Was he now pulling the same stunt with Joseph?

He shrugged helplessly. "I'm sorry, Joey; I want to, but I saw you die. I don't know how to reconcile that with your reappearance here. People don't come back from the dead, and for the last few months, that's what you've been to everyone -- the Titans, your parents, your friends. But if you're here now, who was controlling the Wildebeest Society back in Azarath?"

"That was a clone," a woman's voice echoed from nowhere. He cast around for the source of the voice, but no one was with them on the roof. She hadn't shouted, and a quiet voice wouldn't carry from a neighboring building, so she had to be nearby.

He pinpointed her location at the same moment that Joseph rose and walked over to the fire escape ladder. Leaning over the edge of the roof, he gave her a hand up, smiling when she asked if it had been absolutely necessary to pick such a tall building. She, too, had an energy gun strapped to her leg, as well as a duffel bag slung over one shoulder. Nightwing knew who she was, but Joseph introduced her anyway.

"You heard the conversation?" he asked her.

She shook her head. "Only the last few sentences."

He frowned. "So how do you know the person I was referring to was a clone?"

"Simple," she smiled. "I created him." Evidently tired from her climb to the roof, she opted to sit on the ledge he had recently vacated. Joseph sat next to her, but Nightwing remained standing, waiting for a more complete explanation.

One she was hesitant to give. After an uneasy glance at Joseph, she crossed her arms and sighed. "Number One was unwilling to give me any more detail than he felt was essential. Not being a doctor, he had no idea what sort of information I would require, and I had to press him quite insistently for clarification. Finally, he told me that I was to alter the biochemistry of a test subject so that it would stabilize his molecular structure -- in effect, I was to counteract a natural mutation." She rolled her eyes. "I let him know that his understanding of medical science was deficient if he thought I could do something like that, but he told me to try, anyway. I figured there was no harm in trying, since I very naively assumed he had a willing test subject."

She got to her feet and began pacing, agitated by the recollection of her role in what she considered to be a profound breach of medical ethics. "After a dozen failed experiments, I confronted Number One again. I told him it was hopeless, that I would have to restructure someone cell by cell in order to change a genetic mutation. He actually listened to me," she exclaimed in amazement. "He was the one who suggested cloning. No one had ever cloned a human before, and if I was going to do it, I wanted to know why.

"That's when he told me about Azarath." She shivered, still unnerved by what she had learned. "It was some sort of collective energy being that needed a physical host to maintain its cohesion. I'm sorry, I know how that sounds, but that's what I was told. It had chosen Joseph as its host," again her gaze flicked to him, "but it wasn't able to control him. Apparently his power is both a liability and an asset; it makes him more vulnerable to possession, but it also destabilizes his body, which makes it difficult -- if not impossible -- for another being to usurp his control."

"But the clone had Joseph's powers," Nightwing interrupted. "How would Azarath benefit from an equally-unstable duplicate?"

She tapped her temple. "Clones are blank slates. If there's no mind to fight for control, then it doesn't matter if the molecular structure is less than perfectly stable."

He shook his head. "That still leaves too many unanswered questions. Why, for example, did they want the Titans as additional host bodies, if the presence of another mind prevented them from assuming complete control?"

"That was only an issue given Joseph's powers," she explained. "I suspect they could have easily overridden someone's mind in any other situation. Number One said they were made up of thousands of individuals; that's got to be more than most people can fight off alone."

"But the other question," he continued, "is why did the clone display Joseph's personality before he was killed?"

Pure horror registered on her face in the brief instant before she burst into tears. "Oh my God, oh my God," she repeated, sinking to her knees. "That wasn't supposed to happen; all the latest research indicated that a clone should be a tabula rasa, not a copy of the template. Oh my God, I can't have done this!"

Both he and Joseph moved to console her, but she pulled away from them, her eyes wild. "No! You don't understand! I'm rotsakhat -- a murderess! It's my fault he was even created; his death is on my hands!"

"I understand that you were held against your will and forced to do things you wouldn't normally do," he said quietly. "I understand that it could have meant your own death if you had refused. How does that make you at fault for what happened?"

"The same way the doctors at Auschwitz and Dachau and Buchenwald were at fault!" she retorted. "They, too, would claim they had no choice, that they would have been sent to the camps themselves had they resisted. But you wouldn't excuse them their atrocities on those grounds, would you?"

"They had no remorse for what they did," he replied. "That sealed their guilt even more than the actions themselves. You, on the other hand, wish that none of this had ever happened. To me, that makes all the difference."

"And what does it matter, if it is alright in your eyes? You weren't the one wronged."

Joseph reached out to her, his hand resting gently on her shoulder. �I don't fault you, either.'

�But -- your soul,' she protested. �He had a piece of your soul.'

�And now God has it,' he smiled. �That's where we'll end up, anyway.'

She returned his smile, but didn't meet his eyes. �I suppose.' Brushing her hair out of her eyes, she glanced up at Nightwing, embarrassed. "I'm sorry, I must sound so weak and foolish to you, but you have to understand, I'm not a superhero. I'm not hardened against threats and violence."

Extending his hand, he helped her to her feet. "You have the wrong idea of what it takes to be a superhero if you think we're not bothered by some of things we're faced with," he grinned.

�Like confronting the Wildebeest Society?' Joseph asked.

Nightwing nodded. "The longer we wait, the more time they'll have to plan a major offensive. We have to strike now and strike hard; even then, the most we can do is damage their current operations. I have a feeling they're too far-reaching for us to take them out permanently, especially since there's only the two of us."

"Three," Jessica corrected him. They stared at her, surprised. "If you're risking your life fighting them, then I should, too," she added defensively. "I may not be a superhero, but that doesn't make me a coward."

Nightwing didn't have a chance to object. The furiously paced sign language conversation which ensued made it plain that Joseph was already doing plenty of objecting. He watched, unable to follow the conversation, and realized for the first time how frustrating it must have been for Joseph to try to communicate with the rest of the team. Sure, they had all learned sign language; enough to understand him, perhaps, but not really enough to converse fluently. Not enough to follow sign language as it was routinely spoken, at the speed Joseph was signing now. After nearly three years, Nightwing felt his skill had not sufficiently improved from when he had first met Joseph in the Tower, and that bothered him.

Carefully, he stepped between them, interrupting their argument, and placed a hand on each of their shoulders. "If we play our cards right, none of us will have to go up against the Wildebeests directly." He turned to Jessica. "Describe their compound for me."

She related everything she could remember, from the main meeting area, to the personal rooms, to the prisoner's cellblock. The kitchen, the corridors, the proximity to the old subway line; Nightwing wanted every detail. Finally, he smiled. "This time, they've outwitted themselves. C'mon, I know exactly what to do."

"Um, Nightwing..?" Jessica called as he started off. He turned to look at her. "The Wildebeest compound is in the other direction."

"Don't worry, Jessica," he said, "we'll get to them soon enough. But our first stop is somewhere else." Jessica shrugged in acceptance and turned to Joseph; he phased into her and they followed where Nightwing led.

Her whole body ached by the time they arrived at their destination. Though Joseph knew how to navigate rooftops, her body had not gone through the rigorous training to which the Titans were accustomed, and it complained loudly to her of the rough treatment. She rubbed her sore legs and looked around.

"This looks like an old utilities building," she observed.

"The old water and sewer control plant," he explained. "It's abandoned now, like the old lines." She trailed after him as he descended rusting service ladders and picked the locks on doors that hadn't seen use in decades. When they arrived at the operation center, he spent a few minutes looking over the layout, then turned a couple of valve controls and flipped off a few switches. "All set," he announced.

"For what?" Jessica asked. "What did you do?"

"Like I said, the old sewer lines are abandoned. No one expected Bl�dhaven to grow into such a large city, and the original water and electrical plants didn't have the expansion capabilities to deal with it. Instead of expensive overhauls, the city opted to build brand new systems. Of course, like most government-regulated businesses in Bl�dhaven, the utilities are under the control of the crime syndicates. The businesses are legit, so they don't bring in much money, but they serve as excellent fronts for illegal operations.

"But their control of the utilities means that they know who is living where, and if you're a new criminal group in town, you don't want to attract that kind of attention. So you'd power up the old control station, set up near the old lines and use those instead, since no one is monitoring them anymore. Unfortunately for the Wildebeests, the old lines aren't maintained either, which means the system is barely operational -- you said yourself that the pipes in the cellblock were badly rusted and leaking." He pointed to the valve controls he had adjusted. "I boosted the flow to the maximum and shut off the safety valves. The pipes should burst almost immediately, but it will take a while for the compound to flood and flush the Wildebeests to the surface. In the meantime, we've got more work to do."

So saying, they were off again, back to the Wildebeest's complex on the other side of town. By the time they had arrived, Jessica could think of a dozen reasons why she would never want to be a superhero. Next time, she vowed, she wouldn't protest being left behind; she would demand it.

Nightwing walked over to where the phone lines connected to the building. Pulling a thin cable from his gauntlet, he tapped into the line and dialed a number on his mini-computer. He spoke briefly into the built-in microphone, hung up, and repeated the process with a second number. When he finished, he disconnected from the phone line and returned to where Jessica and Joseph were waiting for him.

"Bl�dhaven has no shortage of criminals, but the only two the Wildebeests would really have to steer clear of are Blockbuster and the Black Mask Gang. I just let them both know that the Wildebeests are planning a hostile takeover of the territory. If I know them, those two will trace the call and have their goons out here in force for a preemptive strike." He peered over the ledge, scanning the street for any signs of unusual activity. "Their weaponry is standard, but if we're lucky, the Wildebeests won't have had time to recover their big guns, and will have to make due with whatever they're packing in their suits." He smiled at them as they joined him at the ledge. "I think this is the first time I've ever rooted for those two slimeballs to win."

Excited, she pointed down to a shifting manhole cover. "Look! Are they coming up?"

"Like rats," he agreed. He pointed to a nearby alley. "The exterminators have arrived as well, it seems."

Bl�dhaven's resident gangs allowed a sizable number of Wildebeests to emerge before opening fire in a hail of bullets. Though heavily armored, the Wildebeests did have vulnerable spots, and several fell in the initial onslaught. Those who didn't fought back viciously; casualties were mounting on both sides.

Engrossed in the battle raging below, they almost didn't hear Number One's approach. It was Joseph who spun around, pushing Jessica into Nightwing and out of the line of fire. The blast hit him squarely and he dropped, fighting to remain conscious.

Jessica grabbed for her gun, horrified to find her holster empty. She had hit the ledge while trying to regain her balance; the impact must have knocked the gun free and sent it over the edge. It was a bad time to be unarmed.

Number One glared at her. "You should have killed me when you had the chance, girl," he snarled. "That stupid bit of altruism is going to cost you big time." Ignoring Nightwing, he turned to where Joseph was struggling unsuccessfully to get to his feet. "And you, gene freak -- before I'm done with you, you'll be begging me to kill you. You think I didn't know it was you in Jessie's body? Even if that girl had the spine to fight me, she's smart enough to know what would happen to her if she tried. I'm going to remind her what would happen to her, by making her watch what I do to you."

Impulsively, Jessica threw herself between Number One and Joseph, shielding him with her body. She balled her hands into fists in an attempt to stop them from shaking and scowled defiantly back at Number One. He would kill her; of that she had no doubt, but at least she would not die cowering in a corner, begging for mercy that would not be granted. Shema Yisrael, she recited silently, Adonai elohaynu, Adonai ehad. Baruch shem kevod malchuto la-olam vaed.

He laughed. "Get out of the way Jessie; don't make me hurt you more than I'm already going to."

She spat at his feet contemptuously. "Go to Hell, ben-zonah."

Before Number One could take aim, Nightwing launched a Nightarang at him, tangling the huge Wildebeest in the attached steel cable. It wouldn't hold him indefinitely, but if Nightwing acted quickly, it wouldn't have to.

"Bad move, Nightwing," Number One growled, snapping one loop of the cable. "I was going to let you live if you stayed out of my way. Too late for that, now." Another loop of cable broke, freeing most of Number One's right arm.

The energy blast missed him by millimeters. He didn't dare move out of range, or Number One would turn his attention back to Joseph and Jessica. With a flare in one hand and an escrima stick in the other, he attacked from the left, where Number One was still struggling with the last links of cable. Too close for the Wildebeest to fire at him, he blocked a swipe from the metal-jacketed fist with the escrima stick and discharged the flare into Number One's face.

Wildebeest masks were many things, but fireproof wasn't one of them. Howling in mingled pain and fury, Number One tore at his mask, trying to remove it before the melting circuitry seared his skin. Nightwing was at him again, not wanting to allow him time to recover, but he had underestimated Number One's stamina and determination; even half-blinded, the Wildebeest let loose a shot that found its mark with surprising accuracy.

Not usually lethal, Wildebeest blasts were still agonizing. He pushed himself to his knees, forcing himself to ignore the pain and keep fighting. His hand reached for his fallen escrima stick, but Number One's foot covered it first.

"No more games," he hissed through burned lips. "Time to die, Nightwing."

The neck of his suit exploded, and Number One stiffened as his suit's circuitry failed, immobilizing him. He swayed on his feet for another moment, then slowly toppled backward, landing with a jarring impact that sent vibrations through the roof. Nightwing looked up in time to see Joseph drop his gun and collapse, exhausted. Jessica was at his side immediately, helping him sit up. He rested against the ledge and smiled at her.

Number One was still conscious, swearing to kill them all horribly when he wasn't swearing, period. Nightwing grinned; the fact that the man was still alive was the final proof he'd needed. The Joseph he remembered would never have killed for any reason, even when most people would rationalize the act as justice well served.

Jessica was coming toward him, and he waved her away to indicate he was fine. He picked up his escrima stick and looked around for the flare he had dropped. He froze. Something was wrong. Out of the corner of his eye he saw her take aim, and knew he would be too late to stop her.

She stood over Number One, firing wildly at his face, half the shots missing entirely. Nightwing hurled himself at her and grabbed her wrist, twisting the gun from her grasp. He didn't have to check Number One; the man was unquestionably dead.

She wouldn't meet his eyes. Tears ran down her face as she stared at Number One's corpse, tears of rage, of pain, of humiliation, of purest hatred. Even so, he couldn't condone such an act.

"Why?" he asked her, more harshly than he'd intended.

End, Part Three

The Rest!