Queen Residence, 2007

A warm glow reflects off the dangling crystals of the grand chandelier as the young man moodily enters the ball room. Each guest at the charity function looks at place with the surrounding luxury. Roy drinks the scene in. An elegant woman in a stark white dress takes dainty sips of red wine from Bordeaux stemware. An up and coming entrepreneur schmoozes with an elderly gentleman of a vast media empire. With a purposeful stride, a servant maneuvers gracefully through cliques of guests to reach the beckoning host of the party. The host is none other than Queen Industries' Oliver Queen.

The young man scowls as the host catches his eyes from across the spacious room. Queen blinks away from the boy and returns to amusing the assorted guests clinging nearby him. Roy folds his arms and leans against a priceless vase. He would do anything to be anywhere but here.

He'd rather be at home with Dinah at her condo. He'd rather be at home on the reservation with Brave Bow. He'd rather be at home living with his dad far way from Star City. He can't be at any of these places. Not since Dinah and Ollie made up yet again. Not since Brave Bow's illness caught up to him. Not since Dad died in that fire. Roy knows he is stuck here with Ollie until the four years that will make him legally an adult pass.

He smirks at his legal guardian. At the moment, Ollie is doing a beautiful job of pretending he isn't bothered that Roy is one false move away from cracking the porcelain vase. It's probably a Ming, or a 18th century Qing, or a 'who the hell cares as long as it's expensive'. Roy grows bored with his mind game as he sees Queen begin to move away from his guests and make a beeline for him. Queen is stopped by throngs of people along the way, his journey pain painstakingly slow for such a short distance. Roy has time to make himself scarce.

Roy approaches the nearest guest and introduces himself. He nods along with the woman's blathering pleasantries. She rolls her brunette curls around her red press on nails as she explains how excited she was to come and how much she owes Bruce for letting her be his plus one. Bruce?

"Wait, you came with Bruce Wayne?" he asks her. Her grin gleams with pride.

"Oh, yes. Me and Brucie are inseparable. When we met at that art show last April, well, I knew he'd call me back..." Roy tunes her out as he watches Queen extricate himself from a boorish gentleman with a constantly waging finger. Roy needs to move more quickly or else he'll find himself talking with Oliver. He'd rather not talk with him right now. He'd really rather not.

"Miss Chase, could you direct me to Mr. Wayne? I know Mr. Queen would love to have a chat with him," he tells the prattling brunette. Her face falls. Roy smiles. "Queen would love to speak to you both, I mean. He's always the proper host." Roy laughs. "And he has impeccable taste in conversationalists."

Miss Chase pauses as she unwinds her pointer finger from her ringlets. Suddenly taciturn, she frowns as she looks for the right words to say. "Mr. Wayne is...looking for that little boy somewhere. I honestly haven't seen Bruce for over an hour," she admits with great reluctance. This wasn't part Roy's plan, but he is flexible.

"Someone is missing? How terrible. Look, here comes Mr. Queen. You explain the situation to him and I'll go see if I can find Mr. Wayne or..."

"Richard. He's eight I think. About this short. Dark haired," she offers. Miss Chase rubs her lips together. "He's very...small." Roy wants to ask who this kid is and why Bruce Wayne brought him to their party. Spotting Queen a few yards away, Roy dismisses himself without asking her his questions.

Roy, as he rounds the corner to the balcony, catches Miss Chase pulling Oliver aside by the arm. Ollie's green eyes reluctantly leave Roy and reach the hapless brunette. Roy lets out the heavy sigh that he didn't know he was holding in.

There is one benefit of being stuck in Ollie's estate over the years: he knows all the good hiding places. Roy, when he was younger, found each of the the oddly roomy closets, out of sight corners, overstuffed storage rooms, dusty libraries, and unused nooks and crannies.

The redhead walks down the shadowed corridors that lead to some of his favorite hiding spots. Roy, finding nothing and no one on the first floor, makes his way to the next.

Although Roy would never admit it, he fondly recollects the days when he was ten and Dinah Lance was six-teen. Dinah was one hell of a baby-sitter. Unlike Ollie (who would give up after fifteen minutes and would let Roy stay hidden until he realized no one was coming for him), Dinah always kept looking for Roy no matter how long it took. The only person better than Roy for finding Bruce Wayne's lost kid would be Dinah.

Unfortunately, Ollie likes Dinah enough to not force her to come to these mind numbing affairs. Roy figures that if he was a woman, not to mention legal in the state of California, then he'd have a better shot wriggling his way out of coming too.

Roy opens the door at the end of the twisting hallway. He ducks his head inside the room. Rows of furniture are covered in painting tarps. He ignores looking beneath the covers; instead, Roy walks over to the heavy draperies and pulls them aside to reveal a bay window which overlooks a wooded area. Outside the window, small bats swoop down to pick berries from the bushes or eat moths from the skies.

The little boy sitting on the window-seat watches the animals wearily. Richard lids his eyes and lays his head against the window. He speaks to Roy in a small voice.

"I thought Bruce would find me first." Roy shrugs as he takes a seat beside the raven haired boy.

"I'm just that good, kid." Richard looks up and snorts. "Okay, fine. Mr. Wayne doesn't have my years of experience with this estate. He would, understandably, take a longer time than me," Roy reasons. He pulls his feet up onto the window-seat and draws his knees close to his chest the way Richard has.

"Why are you hiding, kid?" Roy asks.

"I'm not hiding and I'm not a kid," he says desperately. He blows heavily onto the window and draws pictures in the steam. "My name's Dick and you're Roy."

"Yeah. How did you know that?" he asks. Dick clicks his tongue against his cheek.

"Magic," the younger boy claims. Roy lifts an eyebrow.

"Sure, whatever. Not that I disbelieve you, Dick, your magical abilities aside, but the definition of hiding is when Bruce doesn't know where you are and can't find you in an hour. So you're hiding." Roy blows his own cloud of steam onto the windowpane and draws an outline of a bat.

"Also, drawing is for kids, not to mention running away. That makes you a kid, kid. So you've lied about two things so far. I'm going to assume the magic isn't true as well," Roy says flatly.

Dick doesn't respond at first. He looks to Roy's crude depiction of the bat signal symbol and then to Roy's upturned brows. Dick breaks out laughing. Roy doesn't know why the kid is so suddenly overcome with giggles, but finds that Dick's brand of laughter is particularly contagious and joins in. The two boys laugh until they are red in the face and stop to take choked breaths.

"Why are we laughing, Dick?" Roy gets out between hasty gulps of air. Dick just shakes his head.

"You. Bruce. Everything. I don't know." He sighs. "I am hiding. I thought I'd feel better if I could just disappear. I guess that's a really juvenile thought, huh?"

"Nah, Dick. Sometimes you have to think things through without everyone else getting in your way. I'd know the feeling. Why do you think I've come looking for you instead of staying at the party?"

"I guess you're right. I just feel like I'm being silly," Dick whispers. He clears his throat and raises his chin. "I wanted Bruce to know I could handle something...challenging. Bruce, well, he doesn't realize how bad I need this. I can't be protected like a baby anymore. Not after what happened. I won't let other people fight my battles." His eyes flicker towards the fading outline of a bat on the windowpane. "I won't let Bruce fight my battles," he pointedly asserts.

Roy grabs Dick's small, tight fists and pulls apart the curling knuckles.

"I know that there's a time when your guardians are wrong and I know that there's a time to channel your anger, Dick," Roy tells him as he lets go of his hands. Richard stares at his opened palms. "But I just hope that you don't have to be angry with Bruce instead of whatever you're truly fighting."

Dick chokes on a bitter laugh and buries his face his into his hands.

"Why does it have to be so hard, Roy? What's the point of knowing...what I know... if I can't help?"

"I'm not an optimist, kid. The only way to get what you want is to prove it to yourself. Everyone else will face the truth then; at least, if they have any sense. That's how life works."

Dick wipes his nose on his sleeve. Roy notes the pricey attire but doesn't scold the gloomy boy.

"How old are you, Dick?"

"I'm nine," he says. "Does that make me a baby? Huh, Roy?" Dick's blue eyes waver.

"I'm fourteen, so, yeah, I guess it should in my eyes." Roy unfolds his legs. He pulls himself off the seat and stands tall. "That's not what I think, though." Dick's eyes flash with hope.

"It's not?" Roy shakes his head. He holds out one calloused hand to Dick. Dick takes it and pulls himself to his feet.

"I think you are one of the strongest people I know," Roy reassures. "For all my bravo, I don't know what to do with myself. Dick, if you're sure of what you want, then I'm positive you can do it."

"Roy?"

"Yeah?"

"You're a good friend," Dick all but whispers. Roy smiles, perhaps the first time genuinely all night.

"Right back at you, Dick." The stay standing, comfortable remaining silent together. Eventually, Roy wants to ask the question left unsaid.

"Dick?"

"Yeah?"

"What are you fighting?" Dick clenches his hands.

"Powerlessness."