Disclaimer: Sadly, Dick Grayson isn't owned by me. DC has that privilege. DC owns all of the characters in this story. All I own is the distinctive way the story unfolds, the specific dialogue and unique situations. (g) No money is being made from this. Please don't sue. It wouldn't be worth your while.

Thank you: All who have sent support, encouragement and feedback. It is very much appreciated. Special thanks to Teri H, for not letting me give up on my writing.

Please note: I do write with an Aussie accent. wink This is based on a story I wrote in another fandom.

After Him

10:00 pm.

Dick jogged along the corridor to Roy's apartment, his breathing slightly elevated due to concern. He'd had an odd phone call from his friend a few minutes earlier. Roy was drunk, Dick had been able to ascertain that, but Roy Harper had insisted 'they' were after him.

Ahead, Dick noted Roy's door was ajar. The dark haired young man had been on a date when the call had come and so wasn't in 'uniform'. Carefully Dick eased up to the opening. His nerves tingled on edge as he peered inside. The room looked like a bomb had hit it – not that that was entirely out of the ordinary for Roy's apartment.

There were sheets of paper everywhere. A moan caused Dick's back to stiffen.

He stepped inside, sweeping his alert gaze around the room. "Roy?"

"Ohwwhwwww." The moan was mournful. Dick turned toward the sofa. Roy was sitting on the ground leaning against it, a bottle of whiskey sitting beside him. The pungent smell filled the apartment.

Dick relaxed. It was as he'd expected. Roy's voice had lacked that particular tone his Titan's partner recognised when his friend was truly in trouble. "Speedy, what the hell's going on?"

"Robbie…Robbie, my friend, they're after me. And they've got me."

Dick smiled down at the bloodshot eyes. "What on earth are you going on about? Come on. Let's get you to bed, bud."

Roy waved Dick off, reached for the whisky bottle, missed it, tried again, and finally grasped it. He tipped the bottle to his lips, but nothing came out. Lowering it, he held it close to his left eye and peered inside. "Damn. They've come and taken my whisky, too."

Dick crouched in front of his friend, his face twisting as Roy breathed out in his face. "Man, you could fly the Concorde on that smell alone. What's going on? What's her name, Roy?"

"Her?" Roy seemed to rouse. "No doubt about it. That's what it will be!" He leaned on the chair and with Dick's help, got to his feet, before toppling and landing heavily on his backside in the middle of the sofa.

Dick shook his head, unsure if he should be annoyed or amused. His date had been annoyed. "What, what will be?"

"There'll be a woman at the bottom of it, Dick. I've pissed off the wrong woman." His voice slurred.

Dick shook his head and then turned to survey the room. There were documents, files and food everywhere. "You spring cleaning?"

Roy dragged his miserable gaze to Dick. "You makin' fun of me?"

"Ain't hard to do, Speedy. Look at the state you're in. Come on. Bed. We'll talk about it tomorrow."

Roy shook his head sadly. "No. They're after me, Dick."


"The tax office. I'm being audited!"

Dick's brow furrowed. "The tax office made this mess?"

"Huh? I was lookin' for all my receipts."

"Well, if you've got them you haven't anything to worry about."

Roy shook his head so vigorously he fell onto his side. "Haven't filed a tax return for three years."

Dick rolled his eyes. "Relax. I'll call Alfred in the morning and he'll sort it out."

Roy struggled to sit up. "No need. I've dealt with it."

Dick pulled his friend upright. He eyed Roy tentatively. "Dealt with it?"

"Yep, I sent 'em an email."

Dick shut his eyes briefly. He could only imagine what it had said. "Roy, you really don't want to get on the wrong side of the IRS." He strode across to friend's computer and opened the 'sent' folder. The email to the tax office was at the top of the list.

Dick blinked and before he knew it, tears were streaming down his face and his laughter was echoing off the walls.

The message?

"Dear Tax Office.

I am writing to you to cancel my subscription. Please remove my name from your mailing list!"