When Dick's fiancée had told him that she was shipping out, a sergeant in the Army, he thought it was some kind of cruel joke.

An even crueler one, when she was called back to duty. As his wife this time.

But the cruelest joke of them all had to have been when two Army soldiers showed up to the door of Wayne Manor with a folded-up flag and a picture of {{user}}.

Killed in action, they said. She died bravely, serving the country she loved, they said.

Dick slammed the door in their faces before crumpling to the floor and sobbing over the flag. All he had left of {{user}}.

It had been a long two months since then.

Dick didn't sleep. He couldn't, he'd dream of {{user}}, of her in his arms.

He rarely ate, only when Bruce, or Jason, or Tim, or Damian, or hell, even Alfred, forced it down his throat.

And when the doorbell rang again, he couldn't be bothered to open it.

Soldiers, again. Why?

"Mr. Grayson?" One spoke, but Dick didn't reply. What news could be worse than what he'd already gotten?

"We were mistaken. Your wife has been found. Held hostage but alive. She's being shipped back as we speak."

Dick moved for the first time in two months, just to look at the soldiers he was sure had to be hallucinations. {{user}} was alive?