Warnings: unhappy ending and that's all I'm saying
Disclaimers: These guys aren't mine, they don't belong to me, worst luck, so don't bother me.
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Feedback: Hell, yes.
Full Circle
"Master Richard, please move with a bit more dispatch, you'll be late for school."
Dick slipped the sweater over his head and looked around for his shoes as he spoke to the intercom. "Sorry, 'be right there." The device's light went off. "I told you I didn't have time this morning—later, okay?" A second later he nodded to the air. "'Later."
Picking up his backpack, he headed down to breakfast, a normal morning at the beginning of a normal day.
* * *
A couple of weeks later Dick was quietly sitting in the school library, just looking out the window towards the parking lot and the line of trees beyond, the fall colors bright in the afternoon sun.
"Mr. Grayson, I assume from you lack of doing anything that your assignment is finished?"
Dick nonchalantly turned toward his teacher, a private smile flickering across his face before being brought under control. "It is, yes. Would you like to check it?"
"If you don't mind." Dick slid the papers across the table, the teacher glancing at them. "What is this?"
"You said to write about whatever we did last weekend." His voice was mild, stating the obvious.
"I said to write about what you actually did last weekend, not..."
"That's what I did." He was definite, his body language a little tense.
Dinner at the White House, seated at the same table as Superman? Well, he did live with Bruce Wayne, anything was possible, right? "Nicely descriptive work."
"Thanks." He turned his attention back to the trees outside.
* * *
Bruce was sitting in the lounge of the Club. He'd just finished eighteen holes with James and was putting in his required time as a pointless waste of space. He'd flirted with the waitress, spent a few minutes over on the terrace with the ladies who lunch and was now waiting with a glass of iced tea for James to finish his shower.
Last night had gone well, even better than he'd would. They'd heard that Joker would be trying to interfere with the relief supplies about to be shipped out and so had simply done what they always did; they stopped the maniac.
The stake out at the airport was worth the hours spent in the cold rain to arrest the gang who'd been targeting the emergency medical supplies. He and Dick had managed to save over fifty tons of donations from being stolen, Dick playing an even larger part of the collars despite being briefly caught and held by Joker himself. Bruce had been worried that perhaps the Joker had done something, somehow harmed the boy but it looked like he was all right when they'd finally gotten home. A well timed and powerful knee to the groin had been Robin's escape and the local cops had made short work of the underlings; it was another feather in Batman and Robin's caps.
The boy was putting everything he had into the work the last few months and deserved a real reward, an acknowledgment of well he was doing and how much of a help he was. His forensics were starting to surpass even Batman's in some areas and his athletics were—though it killed Bruce to admit it—head and shoulders beyond what he could do. It had to be the early training the kid had gotten from his parents. That, along with his incredible natural talent were turning him into one of the premier athletes in the world, even at only seventeen.
Jesus, when he reached his physical peak he'd be untouchable. No one would be close to being able to pull the tricks he did with such ease and grace.
The boy was a phenom, no question.
Maybe a couple of weeks at the Aspen place over Christmas; Dick would like that. No pressure, no scheduled workouts, no stress, just a good time. Maybe he could even bring one of his friends—so long as it wasn't Roy, for the love of God. Yes, he'd talk to Alfred later about making the arrangements.
* * *
Another month went by and Alfred was bringing the young master a study snack, a plate of fresh baked cookies and a glass of cold milk; classic but always welcomed. He paused before knocking, hearing Dick on the phone, evidently speaking with one of his friends.
"I know, But it's not that simple....I'll see...Of course I want to but...All right, all right, fine, But it may take a few days for me to...No, no, you're right. I know you're right. I will."
The silence then extended long enough for Alfred to reasonably assume that the call was finished, he gently knocked and entered. "I thought that you might appreciate a break. 'Homework finished?"
Dick looked over from his desk chair, not happy about something. "Yeah—sorry. Yes, I just finished."
The books were closed and sitting in a neat pile. "Well then, indulge yourself for a task well done." Odd, the phone was on the nightstand by the bed, across the room.
* * *
Ms. Smythe, the AP English teacher was giving the final instructions for the class's essay, the one she expected on her desk next Wednesday, proof read and as perfect as the students could make them.
"Just so we're all clear on what I want; you're to write a profile about which ever one of your parents you choose. I want an objective description of the person you decide on, not a fawning love letter to Mom or Dad. Be honest both pro and con and don't worry—I promise that they'll never see these unless you put them on the fridge at home yourself. Questions?"
No one raised their hands, the bell rang and the students left the room.
During sixth period Ms. Smythe was in the cafeteria getting herself an apple when she saw the Grayson boy and called him over. "Dick, I just want you to understand that if you'd rather, you may write about Mr. Wayne or some other person who's been instrumental in your life."
He was completely at ease with his answer. "Thanks, but I'm okay with writing about my real father. It's not a problem."
"If you're sure you won't feel awkward or...whatever."
"No, it's all good." Dick smiled to reassure her. "A lot of the time I still feel like he's still around."
She relaxed and nodded. She'd been afraid she'd brought up painful memories for the boy, not wanting him to be hurt by something as trivial as a school assignment. He really was incredibly well adjusted after everything he'd been through, poor thing. Everything the other teachers said about him were true, he was remarkable, one of those students who made coming to work worth while.
"Besides, he won't mind."
Ms. Smythe was a little confused for a moment—it seemed for a second as if Dick was speaking about his real father in the present tense. Silly; he had to be referring to Bruce Wayne..
* * *
Five-thirty AM and Dick wasn't down in the gym yet. "Alfred, please invite Dick to join me, if you don't mind."
The tone and timbre of his voice let Alfred know exactly how irritated the Master was at being kept waiting again as he climbed the stairs and knocked loudly on the boy's door, entering without being asked.
"Master Dick, I fear you're rather late this morning, if you would please make haste..."
"I'm coming." The tired, sleep raspy voice, face turned towards the wall came from under the covers.
"Dick, come along now."
"Five minutes, Dad. Jus' five, please."
Poor lad, exhausted and not fully awake after the past evening's patrol. "Just five but I'm going to stand here and wait for you."
One eye half-opened. "Alfred...Oh crap. Sorry...Okay,'coming."
* * *
Christmas rolled around again and, as usual, Dick was at a loss as to what to get Bruce and Alfred as presents. There were only two real options, either make something adorable and touching or spend like money was no object (which was true) and get them stuff they probably had or could get for themselves. Whatever, he wasn't ten any more, it had to be something high end from some high end store. To this end he was walking through Hermes to find the perfect something, thinking he was a long way from sawdust and circus crowds.
Ignored by the sales people because of his age and unfortunate choice of non-designer jeans and a hoodie, he finally saw some possibles. "Excuse me, may I see that watch, please?"
The salesman, saying nothing but exuding attitude, removed the item from the case. It was a sports watch, dials and gauges on the face with some kind of synthetic, rubberized strap.
"Does this come in any other colors?"
A catalog was almost but not quite tossed on the counter with complete disdain. "Other colors would have to be special ordered, two month wait, minimum."
"There's no way it could be done in time for Christmas?"
"No."
Damn. "In that case may I see that sweater?" Cashmere, v-necked, twelve hundred dollars. The man reluctantly placed it on the counter, Dick running his fingers over the soft yarn. Yes, this would work as well as anything. "I'd like one in black, extra large, one in navy blue in medium and one in red in large. Gift wrapped, please."
The salesman gave him an annoyed look, not liking having his time wasted by smart-ass kids playing games. "And how will you be paying for these?"
Dick handed him the black Ammex card with Bruce Wayne embossed on the bottom. "You're Bruce Wayne?" The man raised one eyebrow but restrained the sneer.
"I'm on the list to use this, you can call them. The number is on the back."
Five minutes later Dick's purchases had been approved, the salesman was offering him a soda, to get him a car if he needed one, made sure that the gift wrapping was on the house and hoped like hell the kid wouldn't say anything to the manager.
Christmas morning Bruce nodded in approval at the black sweater while Alfred remarked several times of the beauty and quality of the blue one selected for him.
A couple of months later Alfred asked where Dick had gotten the new sweater he was wearing, the red cashmere v-neck.
"It was my dad's, he gave it to me."
Though he refrained from commenting, Alfred thought that was an odd thing for Dick to say. In the immediate confusion after their unexpected deaths, no personal belongings from Dick's parents had been recovered or saved for the boy. And, from all he'd heard about the Graysons, cashmere sweaters weren't in their budget—at times dinner was barely in their budget.
Odd.
* * *
It was a routine conference with his guidance councilor, Brixton scheduled one at least once a year for this students. In this area and with this student body expectations were high when it came to higher education and the parents demanded a lot.
"So Dick, have you given any thought to where you might like to go after you graduate?" College was a given; over ninety-seven percent of the student body went on to further study.
"Some, but I've been thinking that I might work after I'm finished here."
"Work?" Oh dear god no, Wayne would have a coronary. "Really? And what might you like to do? What sort of job would you be interested in?"
"I'd like to do the same stuff as my parents; I'd like to work with them."
Jesus, he couldn't be serious. "You mean you'd like to work with a circus?"
"Right, like when I was a kid." He was smiling thinking back to when he was seven or eight, it was written all over his face.
"But Dick, forgive me for saying so, but you know that it can't be the same without your parents there with you."
The boy made a face. "Yeah, right."
After he'd left the councilor picked up the phone but then hesitated. He was going to call Wayne but thought better of it. What would he say, that his ward wanted to run away and join the circus? Knowing what an imbecile Wayne was reported to be he might think it sounded like fun and decide to join the kid. Besides, it sounded like a kid wanting to grow up and be an astronaut or a super hero—he'd grow out of it and settle down.
They all did.
* * *
Alfred, behind the wheel of the Bentley, waited in the circular driveway of Brixton Academy to pick up the young master who was late. Usually he was so prompt but this afternoon most of the other youngsters were on their way home and yet still no sight of the boy. Sighing to himself, he walked into the school, peering into various classrooms without success until he saw two adolescents in the library, sitting on a table, talking.
"There you are, I was about to call out the hounds after you."
"Sorry, Alf, we kind of didn't notice it was getting late—'didn't mean to keep you waiting."
"No harm done. And whom might this be?"
"Oh yeah, sorry. Alfred this is Lindsay Thayer, Lindsay, this is Mr. Pennyworth."
Handshakes and 'how do you dos' were exchanged. "Now, the pleasure was entirely mine but I'm afraid that you're expected at home this afternoon, Master Dick, if you don't mind."
Smiling just enough to not embarrass himself and saying he'd see the girl Monday, Dick dutifully did as asked.
Later that evening as Alfred served Bruce his decaf coffee, "Have you noticed that Dick's seemed a bit distracted the last few months?" There'd been several times when he knew Robin simply wasn't paying attention to what Batman was telling him to do, almost as if his mind was somewhere else. And that was dangerous.
"A bit, perhaps. I shouldn't worry though, Sir, you know what a young man's fancy turns to in the Spring."
Bruce came as close as he ever did to a grin, "Good Lord, I hadn't even considered that—you mean Dick has a girl friend?"
"I don't know if I'd quite go that far."
"Who, Donna?"
"I was introduced to a charming and rather pretty young lady named Lindsay this afternoon at school whom he seemed intrigued by."
"I'll be damned, good for him. That's all this evening, Alfred, thank you." His mind at ease as to what may have been on Dick's mind, Bruce relaxed; mystery solved.
But he meant to say something just for safety's sake...a plan which was forgotten when Dick seemed to settle down a bit, possibly after a word to the wise from Alfred.
* * *
Bruce heard Dick on the equipment as soon as he walked down the stairs to the cave. The boy was going through his early evening workout, a warm up to the night's patrol and was going back and forth on the trapeze that had been set up for him when he was eleven years old. It was one of the few actual requests Dick had ever made, said hesitantly with embarrassment and with averted eyes. He missed flying, missed the release, the flight through open air and the security of a solid catch.
Getting closer Bruce heard laughter and Dick's voice, happily chatting as he worked. He was working out with someone tonight, one of the Titans perhaps?
"That was great...remember when we did that at the Garden? I thought they'd never stop applauding!...and Mom—she was amazing, I had to punch some a-hole who was saying stupid stuff to her...you know what, the usual garbage...What? Oh, I know, I know..."
"Dick? Who are you talking to?"
"Uh, no one. I was just going over a monologue I have to do for English. Hey, I was going to throw a couple of quads, you want to catch me?"
"Sure, just give me minute to get some grips and chalk up."
* * *
"But I need two more tickets, you don't understand."
"Richard, I do understand but the problem is that if I give you two extras then I'd have to give everyone two more and we simply can't, we don't have room for that. It would be a nightmare for us, you have to see that."
"But this isn't me just wanting...I mean, this is important, they haven't seen me on stage in years and they're finally going to make it and I can't tell Bruce and Alfred to stay home—c'mon, please?"
Dick was standing in the main office at school, begging two more tickets for the school production of Our Town. He'd been cast as George Gibbs and he needed two more tickets, so far without luck. The auditorium wasn't all that big and each kid was allotted two tickets and no more. Period.
"But..."
"Dick, I really am sorry, but it's simply not possible. Maybe you'll be able to find another student who doesn't need both of their tickets but that's the best I can do. You know what a mess it would be if we're accused of favoritism, it would open a can of worms and I just can't." The bell rang for the next period. "Now I'm sure you have a class to get to."
Sighing in frustration, Dick left. Dammit. The idiot just didn't get it. No one did.
* * *
"Alfred, have you noticed that Dick seems distracted again?"
"No more than any young man might be this time of year, why do you ask?"
Bruce didn't answer. If Alfred hadn't seen anything odd then maybe it was just his imagination. Dick was the most focused kid he'd ever met and juggled Robin, leading the Titans, school and his own identity as Dick Grayson with more aplomb than any three people. It was probably nothing or, at worst, a phase. Or maybe he was spending too much time with his mind on that girl Alfred had met a while back; the boy had every reason to be attracted to someone but still...
It wasn't worth mentioning quite yet, it would probably pass and if it didn't he'd have a talk with the kid.
* * *
Patrol. The end of patrol, to be exact.
It was a normal night, nothing unusual, nothing exceptional, nothing unexpected; just Tuesday. It wasn't either hot or cold, it wasn't raining, there was no wind.
"Robin, c'mon, let's head back to the Batmobile and get home. It's a school night."
No answer.
"Robin?"
Nothing.
Batman looked around the rooftop he was standing on. There was a half moon and he could see just fine between that and the ambient light from the city lights below them.
"Robin, report." No response but from the corner of his eye he caught movement on the roof, one building over. Robin had just shot a line and was poised to jump, a look close to ecstasy on his face.
It looked like a simple enough jump with plenty of possible landing sites but something was off, not right. There was no reason for him to be headed west when the car was parked two blocks east. Maybe he'd seen something, seen someone, heard something suspicious...
"Robin, stop. Wait for me to..." But the boy wasn't paying any attention, didn't seem to be listening and was having his own conversation.
"I'm ready and I've got the timing. It's just like back in the Garden, hear the crowds, Mom? Okay? You're set? One, two, three... catch me, Dad." The boy flew, eyes shining with excitement, a happy grin on his face, loving the freedom,unmindful of anything other than free flight.
Free flight.
Jesus, he wasn't holding his line but he could still shoot another one off, catch another building, a hand hold or something. There was time—only seconds but Dick cold do it, all he had to do was reach, grab the launcher and fire it.
That's all he had to do. He'd done it a hundred, a thousand times.
Free flight with the quad—he was turning the quad between skyscrapers, stretching out his body, reaching for the catch, a smile of pure joy as he reached for the hands to catch him, to prevent his fall and to keep him safe like they always had before.
Stretching out to his catcher, his father, the man who'd died eight years before. The man who wasn't there and would never be there again.
Batman tried to fall faster than the boy, his body forming a bullet, tried to catch him, tried to wrap him in a jump line but Robin was too far ahead of him.
Still smiling, he landed on the pavement thirty-seven stories below.
2/21/10
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