EPILOGUE
LUMINA

WHEN you tell someone you're moving to New York, they think of the blinking lights, rowdy crowds, constant traffic, and the list goes on. That's because they assume you're talking about New York City, and only a crazy person would do that. Iris Kingsley wasn't crazy, and decided to move to one of the many towns surrounded by the City that Never Sleeps: Delaware, New York.

It didn't take long to move out of Detroit and find a new place. Iris hadn't even planned on moving to the east coast, but Angeles assured her that her best bet at getting another police position was going somewhere small and remote, and she couldn't agree more. Delaware had a population of 2,670. How much more remote could you get?

"There's a lot of work down there, especially in Dutchess, Delaware, Sullivan," Angeles had explained while typing a recommendation email for her. "Your new ... uh – affliction might make it a little hard, but there's always room to move up. In little towns like these, they tend to bend the rules if they like you. They might look over your half-blindness and promote you back up to Detective. For now, you might have to deal with being a dispatcher."

Iris rubbed at the one eye she couldn't see out of.

"But if you are promoted," Angeles continued, "and you earn a good reputation, don't accept any more outside offers. Gotham is right around there, and they need all the help they can get. Last thing you want is to work in Gotham."

She had bitten her nail down to the nub and flashed the Chief a quick smile. "Right, right."

Dick helped her pack up, but he wasn't present as she drove away in the big moving van, headed right for Delaware. He didn't know that the Delaware PD had offered her a dispatcher position immediately. He didn't know that she already had a place settled there. He didn't know anything, and maybe that was a good thing. Dick Grayson didn't need their last memory to be a goodbye. He was only left with what little good times they shared together.

She was in a better place now. She – surprisingly – liked her new job. She liked her new apartment. She was getting used to the "being half-blind" thing. Everything was absolutely great. She didn't need anything else. But then ... Iris Kingsley got bored. And when she got bored, she tended to go off the rails. A part of her dignity was taken after the showdown with the Coatls, and she wanted it back. Between maintaining her job and having somewhat of a social life, Iris used her boredom for her own selfish desires.

Yes, she had wanted a new life, but it's hard to forget trauma when it's the only thing you see when you close your eyes at night, when you wake up screaming because you think your arm is still chained to a sofa. Ignorance is bliss ... but only for a little while, and Iris was going to make Nick Patli pay for what he did.

The last memory she had of Nick was watching him run off through one hazy eye. He escaped, but that didn't mean he was lost forever. When Dick had reported their fight with the Coatls, the case had become so big that it was sent to the FBI, meaning that all of Nick's information was filed into a worldwide database – including all of his known locations. Although Iris wasn't a detective with the Delaware PD, she was granted access to that information. All it took was a little flirtation and pretty pleases to get the dumb Detective Archie to give her the password to his computer, and Iris compiled all the info she could get on Nick's whereabouts. While most people liked to relax and binge-watch on their day offs, Iris now spent her free time hunting down the man who once held her hostage.

It didn't take long to find him, although it felt like years to Iris. In about three months, she was able to track him in Gotham, which was, weirdly enough, two hours away from her new home. He was trying to start up a new following within East End of Gotham City, and Iris was determined to get to him before he could get too powerful.

Iris traced him to Crime Alley, which seemed almost too good to be true. Their eyes had met, and she was greeted with that salacious smirk once again. Within seconds, they were tangled in each other's grips, trying to punch the living daylights out of each other. They were surrounded by a group of people, which Iris could only guess was his new batch of followers, but they didn't move to defend him. Instead, the group egged him on, screaming, "FINISH HER!" Little they all expect that she would get the upper hand.

Grabbing a hold of his right arm, Iris had twisted it back, eyeing the fire opal that was still sat delicately in his bracelet. With a rough tug, the bracelet split in two, and she whipped it across the alley, rendering him powerless. Iris finally placed her lit hand over his chest, burning his heart from the outside. She clenched her fingertips, curling them over his peck, until Nick stopped fighting. With one last cackle – like something you'd hear at the end of a horror movie – he fell limp on the ground.

Iris hardly had time to celebrate. The Gotham Police had shown up in no time, arresting both her and Nick's group of goons almost immediately. After just a few hours of her booking, Iris was sent to Gotham State Penitentiary and charged with first-degree murder and voluntary manslaughter. She was prepared for this fate and explained her reasoning in court, as well as her police badge. The jury of the Gotham City Courthouse had heard stories of this before – of a hero trying to exact revenge on the kidnapper – and they were tired. They weren't easily swayed when they were presented with Nick's autopsy results. He might've had a history of crime, but murder was murder, and Iris suddenly knew that she wasn't leaving the penitentiary anytime soon.

How did life get so messed up like this? She once had a good life, a great job, a guy who loved her ... and it all got fucked up once this necklace came into her world. On the other hand, she probably wouldn't have gotten to know Dick Grayson without the necklace. They would've never worked on the case together ... he would've never stayed over her apartment ... checked if she was okay ...

But she also wouldn't be in jail too, and that fate kinda outweighed the good things.

Regardless, she was trying to make the best of the situation. There were many ways to escape, but maybe this was what she deserved. Her two roommates were quiet and had permanent frowns plastered on their faces. Iris learned early on that they had been sent here for killing the man who wrapped them into a sex trafficking ring when they were kids. They definitely weren't that bad, and she was thankful. Iris liked to spend most days on her bed, speeding through whatever book Steven, a guard who roamed their wing often, loaned her for the week. Another inmate sold her a pack of American Spirits if she gave him her lunch every Thursday. She ate the mush that was served to her. She worked out three times a week at the gym. Iris was making the most out of it.

But that all came to a sudden end one fateful evening in June.

It was blistering hot. The small circular fan in front of her bed was the only thing keeping her alive. Iris tried to keep her attention on the ripped copy of Franz Kafka's The Trial that was currently resting in her hands, but it was so hard when she was hit with waves of humidity and scorching heat. Her roommates had left for the gym just over an hour ago, so she was left to bear this weather all on her own.

Turning to the wall on her right, Iris sighed at the tally marks she placed every night. The plaster was crumbling and taking off her hard work every day, but she still kept at it. Plucking the piece of chalk from her bedside, she drew one more tally mark on her calendar, completing a set of five. It had been two hundred and forty-three days since she came here. Only twenty-one more years left to go.

She bent over and threw the chalk back on her table, but it jumped off the surface before she could grab it. Iris raised a brow, hopping down her bed to pick it up again, and then noticed the entire building was shaking. Officers began to run by their cells, panic expressions on their faces. Iris approached the locked door and wrinkled her nose. She peered through the window, hand on the doorknob, and out of nowhere, the door became unlocked.

She stepped back and held her hands up, wondering if this was some kind of trap. Once the door swung open, she heard officers calling, "Evacuation! We're evacuating!"

Iris blinked, "Since when do jails have evacuations?" When in Gotham, she guessed.

Before she could take one step outside her cell, the wall at the end of her corridor exploded, leaving a huge, gaping hole in its wake. Crumbles of plaster flew through the air and skidded across the floor. Inmates and guards ran past her, coughing from the immediate smoke. Iris jumped back and held onto the doorframe. She couldn't find it in herself to move as the dust settled, and the last thing she expected to see was a familiar face.

Standing just a few feet from the explosion, dressed head-to-toe in a chiseled black and blue suit, was Dick motherfucking Grayson. He was leaning against that infamous silver Porsche, twirling a crackling black baton in one hand and a smoke bomb in the other. Iris padded over to the large hole, eyes bugging out the second she recognized Dick. It had only been nine months since she last saw him, but she never realized how different a new suit would make him look. (If she were being honest, he looked even better than before. While Iris was dressed in a dirty jumpsuit and covered in sweat, Dick looked like a carved Greek statue. She was practically frothing at the mouth.)

Glancing over her shoulder, Iris held her breath and stepped through the explosion. The cloud of smoke evaporated around her as she stood feet away from Dick, tilting her head to the side. "New look?" She asked, scanning him up and down.

Dick chuckled, "You could say that." He paused and eyed the Gotham State Penitentiary stamp on her clothing. "You were a bitch a find. The last thing I expected was to find you in Gotham of all places. I'm surprised you never broke yourself out of here."

Iris shrugged. "I did some bad shit. Might as well do the time." She tucked a few strands of hair behind her ears, licking the edges of her lips. "I tracked Nick to Gotham and killed him. That's how I ended up here."

"Not anymore," Dick said, taking a cautious step towards her. "I need you."

"Isn't it like against your morals to break a prisoner out of jail?" Her brow shot up. "And I thought we agreed to spend time apart? You know, I go off and do my thing –"

"You also said that we'd see each other again," he noted, holding up a finger, "which is now. Titans need you, Iris. I need you."

She couldn't stop one side of her lips from curling. "Titans?" She whispered. Screams echoed from inside the prison. "Sounds like you've made something of yourself while I was gone."

"Don't try to change the subject." He approached her, wagging a finger in her face. Soon enough, they were inches from each other, chests practically touching, and Iris was pretty sure she could feel his heartbeat hammering through the armor on his torso. "I know you're tired of running away from your problems." His eyes flickered towards the chaos happening over her shoulder. "And according to the mob that should be coming this way, I would say that you have about ... two minutes to make a decision."

She smirked, and they're eyes met. The caramel color never ceased to make her feel all warm and gooey inside. "Is this you saying that you miss me, Grayson?"

Hesitantly, he raised a hand, running his fingertips over her cheek. Iris instinctively leaned into his hand, holding it there for as long as she was able. Dick grinned big and brushed his nose over hers. His breath fanned her cheeks. "Like hell," he muttered, and attached his lips to her own.

The kiss only lasted for a mere moment, but it was enough. Kissing Dick Grayson, no matter how short, felt like a lifetime. His touch was always burned her skin, just as much as her lights did to him. His embrace felt like home. Iris Kingsley was totally in love with a guy who twirled around electric batons and wore a spandex suit for a living, and that would never change.

Once he leaned back, Iris reached up and ran a hand through his dark hair. Arching a brow, she replied, "You make a mean proposition, Dick Grayson."

He opened his mouth to speak, but she was already unraveling herself from his hold, skipping over to the passenger side of his Porsche. He spun around to see her waiting by the door. "Well?" She asked, holding her hands up. "You said we only have two minutes. Are you coming?"

He smiled, "I guess so." Clicking the unlock button on his keys, Dick approached the Porsche and quickly whipped the driver's side open. Iris opened her own door, but found herself casually leaning against the frame with a quirking brow. Dick paused his movements when she asked, "So what do you call this new getup?"

"I don't know," he quipped, shrugging nonchalantly. "Nightwing has a nice ring to it."

Iris lifted her head towards the sky. The sun beat down on her skin heavily, already causing more sweat to appear on her hairline. She exhaled as the rays pulsed and called out to her power, almost reminding her of the light that came from her own hands. A smile made its way to her lips.

"Nightwing, huh?" She turned back to him with a smirk. "Then call me ... Lumina."

THE END