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Absent
"Alfred, I need you downstairs, please."
"Of course, on my way, sir."
Alfred heard the faint note of worry in the voice coming from the intercom, which was enough to let him know that the problem was with the Young Master and that it was serious.
Down in the cave the Batmobile was parked slightly off its usual mark, both doors left open and the medical gurney a few yards away in a bright pool of light—evidence of the haste in which it was parked.
Robin, his costume opened as far as his navel was torn and edged with blood, the boy slightly writhing in pain and unmistakably moaning. Bruce, his cowl thrown back to expose his matted and sweaty hair, was starting the oxygen, the mask already in place on Dick's face.
Not wasting time asking questions, Alfred moved to see what he'd be dealing with and whether or not Leslie needed to be called as Bruce filled him in. "Knife wounds to his chest but they don't appear to have hit any major organs or arteries. 'Probably severe sprains to his shoulders and back, possible tendon and ligament damage."
Alfred nodded, yes, so it seemed. "The bleeding has almost stopped, at least external bleeding at any rate. His blood pressure is low but stable and he's breathing on his own. Please gown yourself and assist me. X-rays first then we'll do what we can." Bruce helped him on with a sterile gown and gloves. Dick, in obvious pain and equally obviously trying to be stoic, watched his face as he spoke, trying to tell how badly he was injured. Pitching his voice low so that Dick wouldn't hear, he turned to Bruce; "Call Leslie, I'm concerned about internal damage."
Bruce nodded and crossed the cave to make the call without upsetting Dick, hearing Alfred say; "You'll be as good as new before you know it, now not to worry and bear with me as I lull you to sleep, Master Dick."
"I'd rather be awake, I hate anesthesia."
"No doubt, but I prefer my patients not talking back and second guessing if you don't mind, now off to dreamland with you."
Leslie arrived twenty minutes later, giving Bruce a look that used to make him cringe when he was younger and could still reduce him to a six year old caught doing something unforgivable. There would be questions later and he's have a lot to answer for.
The surgery took over two hours as the numerous damaged muscles, veins and a nick to Dick's spleen were repaired.
"Seven stab wounds—how could this happen? Wasn't he wearing a vest under his costume?"
"Of course he was..." Alfred started—as always—to come to Bruce's defense then stopped. "How could you allow him to go out without one?"
Bruce hesitated, embarrassed. "He always complains that it's heavy, hot and restricts his movements." The other two looked at him in disbelief. "I know, don't say it. I know."
This could have been avoided. This was his fault.
"He'll recover but it's going to be at least two weeks before I'll allow him to get out of bed—tie him down if you have to but I suspect that won't be a problem for the first week, at least. He'll need an antibiotic IV drip and no solid food until I say so. And he's going to need PT for weeks, probably months before he can even think about going 'out' again and that's nonnegotiable, is that understood?"
Bruce nodded.
Leslie picked up her coat and fixed Bruce with a look. "I hold you completely responsible for this, do you understand? This is inexcusable, completely inexcusable. Do I actually have to remind you that Dick is barely sixteen years old and you're supposed to be the adult in this relationship?" She shook her head. "I'm disappointed in you, Bruce."
"Yes, of course I understand but I'm afraid that he may be absent for at least a week and likely a bit longer…of course, yes...he was rather lucky, indeed. It was quite a frightening accident and when we saw that the car had actually rolled over the embankment...no, not at all, no problem in the least…I'd greatly appreciate if you could, yes…thank you, sir."
Alfred replaced the handset into the phone recharger and considered what on earth they were going to do about this. The cover story about Dick crashing a car on the estate property would hold up and the wrecked BMW Z would satisfy anyone who insisted on seeing for themselves. The Master hadn't cared about the car, there were bigger issues at stake than a replaceable machine.
Tutors; the school was insisting that Dick be tutored while he recovered and it didn't sound unreasonable considering that he was in his junior year of high school. This was the year grades would receive the most attention from the various colleges that he would be applying to in due course. The principal had also mentioned that while Dick's grades were good, he had missed quite a lot of school and, well, he couldn't afford to fall behind.
* * *
Mr. Tabor stopped his car at the ornate gate, the one guarded by a couple of what seemed to be larger than life sized marble rampant lions and pushed the talk button on the electronic keypad.
"Yes?"
"Jeffrey Tabor, I have a tutoring session with Richard Grayson at ten."
"Of course. Please follow the main drive to the house." The disconnected voice clicked off, the gates silently swung opened and he rolled through the entrance in his nine year old Honda civic, the gates closing solidly behind him.
He'd seen pictures of the 'main house' on Google last night but they didn't completely prepare him for the reality. First of all, the driveway was over two miles long; he clocked it on the way in. Then the house itself, such as it was, was massive and not in the McMansion kind of way or the the way tacky giant houses are when built by throwing huge amounts of money randomly to impress the peasants. This was—there was no other word for it—stately. It had class, roots, it had weight and in a good way. You could imagine giants of industry, leaders of the free world, Nobel prize winners working and relaxing in the safe confines of the place. It felt real.
Ignoring several forks and side roads leading to god knew what areas of the estate, he stopped his car in the circular parking area near what could only be the front door and got out just as a young woman came running around the corner of the building, shrieking with laughter and followed by Bruce Wayne himself, both clad only in wet bathing suits.
The woman, blonde and pneumatic, allowed herself to be caught on the front terrace, squealing and submitting when Wayne straightened up, arms still around the woman and looked straight at his visitor.
"'Help you?"
"...I'm here to tutor Richard..."
"Dick? He's inside, c'mon, he's expecting you." The two led him through the door, unconcerned about their semi-clad state. "Alfred? The teacher is here." Wayne looked at Jeff, "'Sorry, I forget myself sometimes. I'm Bruce Wayne and this is Chrissie." He held out his damp hand to be shaken.
His hand in Wayne's, Jeff tried for cool. "Jeff Tabor, 'how do you do?"
"Great. Say, when you're done, if you want to take a swim..."
"Thanks but I think I'm good. Richard?"
"Alfred will show where he is. 'Good to meet you." Followed by Bruce and Chrissie disappearing through another door which was soundly slammed shut behind them.
They were replaced by a liveried butler. "If you'll follow me, sir." Jeff did as requested and they walked up the main staircase, a curving, massive mahogany creation with carpeting which threatened to sink them up to their ankles. A few corridors and turns later the butler lightly knocked on a closed door then opened it, gesturing Jeff inside.
"Master Richard, Mr. Tabor is here, if you'd be good enough to give him your attention."
The young man, strikingly good-looking with dramatic coloring—dark hair, tanned and with striking blue eyes but in obvious pain, maneuvered himself off the bed. Wearing jeans and a sweater which could have only been cashmere, he managed to get himself upright with the aid of crutches and a slight tightening of his lips then held out his hand to be shaken. "Thanks for coming. I'd really hate to fall behind."
Jeff gave him a hard look to see if the kid was being sarcastic but couldn't find anything but sincerity and noticed the edge of white bandages showing above the v-neck opening. "Would you like to work in here?" He glanced at the desk as the boy nodded then pulled up a second chair. "Okay, let's start with history, okay?"
"Sure, whatever."
The butler softly coughed. "Excuse me Mr Tabor, would you care for some coffee or a soft drink, perhaps some juice?"
"I don't want to be any trouble, thanks."
"It's no trouble, I assure you."
"Coffee?"
"Black, thank you."
"Master Richard, slippers, please, no point in catching a chill." Kneeling to help the young master be shod, he easily straightened, nodded and left.
"Don't let Alfred get to you, he's all right, just a little stiff sometimes." Richard smiled in private amusement at his discomfort. "It took me a while to get used to this, too."
Jeff risked a smile in return and relaxed a little, the kid seemed all right, thank god. "Okay, it looks to me like this should be simple enough for you, your grades are good across the board and you haven't missed too much yet. History, you were working on a report about the Nuremberg Trials—how's that coming?"
Dick tapped a few keys on his computer and showed Jeff his notes and the beginning of the twenty page paper. It looked like it could have been done by a grad student. They went over the research, the rough outline and the initial few pages then moved on to Dick's English term paper, a dissection of the symbolism in Moby Dick. The paper was finished and Jeff was impressed by the maturity of Dick's thoughts and articulation; the kid was as bright as he'd been led to believe and would have no problem staying up with his classes.
After two and a half hours they took a break, Dick making his way painfully down to the small dining room, apologizing to Mr. Tabor ("You might as well call me Jeff.") for the formality. "I usually eat in the kitchen when I'm just having lunch but Alfred insists on maintaining his own standards when someone's here, sorry."
Lunch was a perfectly prepared poached salmon with a side of new potatoes and a garden salad fresh from the greenhouse.
There was no sight of Wayne and his companion.
"So how did you get hurt? The school said something about a car accident, was that it?"
Dick nodded but didn't say take it any further or offer any details. Closed subject, apparently.
The silence went on a minute or two then verged into awkward. "...Do you just do tutoring or do you have regular classes as well?"
"I'm working on my doctorate and this helps pay the bills. I met one of board members over at Brixton through an old college friend and he hooked me up so I've been doing this for a few months for kids like you, ones who are sick or injured or something."
"What's your doctorate in?" The kid was clearly just being polite and didn't care.
"Marine Biology. My specialty is mid-range siphonophores and invertebrates."
"So what are you doing in Gotham? Shouldn't you be in California or Florida or Hawaii or someplace like that?"
"Massachusetts, actually. I want to work with Woods Hole, but I need money and—no offense—but this pays pretty well for now and I can work on my dissertation at the same time."
"'Nice to know I have some value, I guess." Dick's not quite hidden smile let out that he was joking, thank god. He was also thinking that if he was in the mood to be really nice and if this guy turned out to be okay, maybe he could also get hooked up with some Atlanteans and ace that job up at Wood's Hole. Maybe. No reason to jump the gun on this, he could wait and find out if he was a jerk or not.
Time would tell.
"Finished? We might as well get the math out of the way." He stood up, making clear that he was ready to move on and was done with the small talk. The rest of the day went well, Richard was bright and a good student, though he was clearly tired by the end of the session. "Would it be easier on you if we met for a shorter amount of time?"
"Of course, but the work needs to get done; I'll be fine. 'Tuesday?"
Jeff nodded, "'See you at ten."
TBC