Disclaimers: These guys aren't mine, they don't belong to me, worst luck, so don't bother me.
Archive: Fine, but if you want it, please ask first.
Feedback: Hell, yes.
You Can't Go Home Again
"So it could be another two months until I get my posting?"
"Two or three, but you could get lucky."
"But..."
"Hey kid, look. I know guys who would kill to be in your position. You have at least two months; go home, take a trip, hang out with your girl, write a book, play with your dog—whatever. Have some fun while you can."
"...'Sounds great." Dick Grayson, new graduated from the Bludhaven Police Academy pushed down his frustration and wondered what he'd do now. It wasn't that he didn't have ways to fill his time, no that wasn't it. The question was what he'd actually decide to do; he could work with Bruce at Wayne Enterprises which would make Bruce happy but likely bore Dick stiff. He could work with the Titans or Outsiders or even the Justice League and might well do that if anything interesting came up.
Or he could take the new Ninja across country, maybe fly over to Europe and do some visiting while he was at it.
He could sit down and actually write out his journal, fill in the blank pages he'd been putting off and get closer to his vague idea of someday writing his memoirs if he lived that long.
He could clean his apartment, that would take a while.
Nah.
He could make a call and take up that offer to train with the US Gymnastics team out in Colorado for a few weeks. That might be fun and he hadn't really concentrated on his moves for a while now, just pure movement without throwing in dodging bullets Movement for movement's sake.
Maybe.
So—what did he want to do? That was the question. Sure, he could work cases either with or without some of the others in the community but, well, he could really use a break and who knew when he'd get another chance to kick back and see where the winds took him?
He rode the bike back to his apartment, avoiding Clancy on his way in, let himself into his place (and he really liked having his own place), tossed his jacket on a chair, toed off his shoes and threw himself onto the old couch. A few minutes later, Chinese food ordered and expected in twenty minutes or so, he—as his mother would say—put his thinking cap on.
He turned on the TV, catching the middle of the local evening news.
There it was.
The answer.
It was like a sign from God. Or something.
It was obvious the second the first image came on the screen. He had his answer and he knew it the instant the background pictures came on. The circus was in town for a week with shots of the elephants walking down the street to Knights Sports Arena.
This was it. It was perfect and as soon as the decision was realized Dick wanted this with all his heart and soul. He wanted to tour with the circus again, spend the summer flying for a crowd, listening to the music and the crowds, smelling the sawdust and the popcorn and the animals.
God—yes! This was it. He just had to make a couple of calls; the Grayson name should be enough to at least get him in the door and once he was there he could hold his own with anyone riding the roped, anyone in the world.
"Hi, I'd like to speak to the production manager, please. This is Dick Grayson calling...thanks." There was a pause while the woman came to the phone. "Hello, Brenda? Dick Grayson...Fine, good, in fact and you?...That's great, twins this time? You're incredible; you still on the road or...Working from the main office, sure 'makes more sense...So, look, I was wondering if you could use another flyer for the summer?..No, just me but I can work with anyone who'll have me...Of course, I understand, no problem, I can be in Detroit Tuesday...Really? Fantastic! This'll be great...Money? We can talk about that but I can't see any problem on my end with that side of things...Agent? No, not anymore, but if you want I can get one...I though so—save the ten percent...Fax me the contract and I'll get it back to you...Right, til about Labor Day then I have something else happening...Brenda, this is...No, I owe you...Okay, we'll see how much when I get the paperwork and I'll call you if there's anything that doesn't work for me but I'm sure it will be fine...Thanks, Brenda, see you soon."
It was that easy.
Tuesday morning he rode his Ninja to the Joe Louis Arena, the current set up. Barnum and Bailey would be spending the week there then move on to the next stop on the tour. He'd decided on a road trip to get there and now Dick was meeting the show's top trapeze act, old family friends, The Amazing Amigo Brothers. They weren't brothers, their name wasn't Amigo and they'd been performing together—or various generations of them— for thirty years.
"Amigo Dick, damn, you're a sight for sore eyes! We were wondering when you'd see the light and get your butt back to where you belong; welcome home, man." The two men hugged, Bill had worked with the Flying Graysons a dozen years ago, helped with the rigging and was almost as good a catcher as John Grayson. "'Shame you let yourself go to pot, though kid—you living on a diet of funnel cake and popcorn like you did when you were one of the rats hanging around?"
"And pizza, you got it. Give a couch and a TV with a six pack and bag of chips and I'm good."
Laughter. "'C'mon, meet the rest of the crew and let's get you up to sped with the routine. You still do the quad or are you too old and fat for that now?"
"I can do tricks you never dreamed of, old man."
"Sez you—okay, put your money where your mouth is, kid."
Inside the huge space the roustabouts were finishing the main put-in but no one, no one ever set up an aerialist's ropes and rigging but the performers themselves. It was like trusting someone else to pack your parachute for you. It just didn't happen. The rigging looked set, a couple of men, obviously p[art of the act, were swinging back and forth, testing to make sure that everything was right and as it needed to be to minimize risk.
Bill lead the way then whistled up into the rafters, the aerialists looked down, dropping into the safety net. "Meet the boys."
"Jim, Mario, meet Dick Grayson, he's the one who's going to be spending the summer with us and I'm guessing that he'll be able to show us all a few tricks we should be able to use."
They shook hands around, smiling, making initial judgments and forming instant opinions about one another. These two members of the act looked like they were somewhere in their early to mid-twenties. Bill was late thirties or maybe forty and clearly had the experience chops. They all seemed friendly enough and probably had the usual reservations and concerns about a newcomer walking into an established act; trust and balance between the personalities were key, knowing who would be catching you, understanding their timing and knowing—without any margin for doubt—that they'd be there for you when you pulled out of that sommie or flip—your life could depend on it and it had to be certain or you could die.
Dick knew that they were sizing him up just as he was getting a read on them. If anyone had any doubts, now was the time to raise them.
Jim, the blonde one, spoke first. "So Bill here has been telling us that you started when you were like four or five or something, you keep up your skills?"
"Three, actually and yes, I have. 'Tried to, anyway."
Mario was appraising him. "'You still turn a quad?"
Dick nodded. "I'll turn it if one of you can catch me."
"'Sounds good, get changed, warm up and let's get started; we have a show at seven. 'You need to work into the act."
"Bill talked me through it last night on the phone but it's been a while since I've performed so, yeah, let's get to work."
Three hours later any doubts about the new kid were laid to rest. The quad was in the show but with the safety net in place and Dick had been given a matching costume for opening night. He had the lay of the land backstage, knew where the men's dressing area was, where the food was and could find his way to the showers. He'd be given his berth on the Circus train later, when they were finished for the night and he kept to himself the butterflies in his stomach caused by his excitement at being in front of a paying audience again.
He'd been greeted like the prodigal when word went around that he was back with a show. The Flying Graysons had been one of the good acts, one of the greats, nice people and John and Mary's names still brought a sad silence to a conversation, usually followed by 'What happened to their boy? Is he all right, where's he living now?' which was followed by,'Wasn't he something? I saw him turn that quad when he was just a little codger and I swear, John would just about bust his buttons when he did it, every night.' 'And Mary would just about take his head off every night about it, too—I swear, I never saw a mother as careful of her kid than Mary.' 'Now, come on, they both doted on the boy, you just had to look at them to know how much.'
When Dick walked into the cafeteria you'd have thought that he'd returned from the war. The ones who remembered him, remembered his parents and their act surrounded him, slapping his back, squeezing his shoulder, hugging him and making him know that he was home and was never to consider leaving. It was all he could do to keep from tearing up when Tattoo Tessie almost smothered him; she'd been like a favorite aunt to him when he was little, always having five M&M's for him when he went to visit her. Five and no more—'You don't want to end up too fat or you'll break those ropes of yours, no more today, now.'
God, this was going to be fun, just like old times if you got past the fact that it was a different circus company, his parents weren't here and he was twenty years old now and not a novelty draw as a wunderkind.
None of it mattered, not right now, not tonight.
Sitting backstage, listening to the relaxed talk in the dressing room, smelling the greasepaint, sweat, animals and dinner, watching everyday people transform into clowns and animal trainers was in his blood and something he'd been suppressing since he moved in with Bruce, put it in the back closet, shoved into a drawer and hit it under his new life.
The hairs on his arms stood up and he felt the prickle of excitement as they were called to line up for the opening parade, feeling like he was home again.
Soon enough it was time... "Ladies and Gentlemen and Children of all ages, If you direct your attention to the center ring I present for your entertainment and edification the Amazing Amigos, Trapeze artists extraordinaire."
Sequined caped removed, the members of the act climbed the narrow ladders or scaled the roped to the platforms, threw a few simple passes as a warm up then went through their regular routine. It was good, very good and the applause showed the audience's appreciation but then:
"And now, Ladies and Gentlemen, a special treat; the Amazing Amigos will be accompanied by this evening's guest artist, the Last of the Flying Grayson's, who will excite and thrill you with his death defying execution of the world's most dangerous aerial stunt. He will turn, for your pleasure, the next to impossible quadruple somersault, four and a half complete rotations in mid-air, a feat so difficult and so dangerous that he is the only person on the planet capable of such a feat. Due to the extreme danger involved in this attempt, we ask for your complete silence."
Dick climbed up the rope, the glitz on his costume catching the stage lights, stood on the small platform while he rubbed the chalk on his hands, grabbed the bar and flew back and forth two and then three times, building speed and height. At the apogee he released, tucked and spun too fast for the human eye to count, straightened and slapped his hands around Bill's wrists as his own were grasped in an iron grip. Landing softly back on the platform he'd just left, he raised an arm , acknowledging the cheers then, taking his urn, grabbed the bar, swung out a couple of times before letting go and turning three layouts on his way down to the safety net.
Bouncing up to his feet, he waved again, flipped down to the ground, smiled and exited off stage with the rest of guys to be surrounded again backstage by well wishers and old friends welcoming him home.
Later, on the train, settling in for the night, Jim spoke across the darkness. "So, is it like you remember?"
He smiled a little. "Pretty much, yes."
"Get some sleep, we have three shows tomorrow."
"Okay, g'night." It was the same as he remembered. His parents weren't here, of course and that was huge, but so many others were and so much was the way he remembered. God, this was so the right thing to do with the summer. He didn't want this forever, but for a couple of months? Oh yeah.
Across the way both Jim and Mario wondered to themselves if the new guy, the new guy who had more experience than both of them put together, would really leave after Labor Day like he was supposed to or if they'd be playing backup to the fair haired boy from now on. The business was tough enough without dealing with that garbage and if he got nosy and started asking questions about...well, two months wasn't forever. They could pay it close to the chest that long.
TBC