Chapter One

The door was unlocked; an unusual disturbance in what Wallace West would call a completely mundane day. Gray rain fell in sheets, the dreary mist blurring the line between the drab London streets and the foggy horizon. People ambled down the streets, bulky in their winter coats as they scrambled to once again find warmth from the never ending howl of the rain. To the average citizen, the sight of a tall man in a long gray trench coat and kidskin gloves standing on the step of a house would have been nothing special. A bowler hat cast shadows over his face, a glimpse of fire red hair visible at the nape of his neck. He paused for a moment, bright green eyes narrowed at the sight of the unlocked handle.

This never happened.

Pushing aside any doubts, he slowly opened the door. It seemed the same as normal. There was not a speck of dust out of place. The wood flooring seemed polished and new, the grandfather clock swung silently in the corner. He carefully closed the door behind him, draped windows letting in a minimal amount of light.

He cocked his head, impatient already. Wally liked to get things done, and get them done now. He was fast, and liked the end result, not the multi-step procedure that was necessary to reach that point. Deciding that as nothing was on fire or visibly ransacked, he would proceed up the sweeping stairs. The house was silent except for the click of his shoes, one thing out of place in this orderly cage. At the top of the stairs was a door, one of many, but one Wally had not crossed since the last time he had been here. The last time, when their entire friendship had fallen apart…

No. He had to focus. That was why he was here, in part, but he had to keep his wits among him. It was the only way to accomplish his goal. He tentatively went into the room, eyes scanning over the room. Rows upon rows of bookshelves lined the room, a desk sitting center. It was seemingly unorganized and messy, but Wally knew from sitting across from it in the wing backed chair for hours that everything had a place. He walked over to the desk, fingers trailing across a row of letters written in a neat scrawl. He eyes briefly scanned the words, immediately noticing that the loopy cursive was not familiar.

The ink seemed old, at least a month, but the paper in pristine condition, as if someone had kept it neat and perfect, a preserved memory. He frowned at the signature, at the familiar name. Clearing his throat and tearing his eyes away from the paper, he peeked around one of the bookshelves.

Wedged between two shelves and the wall, was a large stuffed chair. It faced the wall, which was covered in a large map with printed ink and various notes that leaked onto the wall. The floor was littered with bottles and pieces of shattered glass. Over the top of the chair, he could barely make out the form of a slumped over person. He smirked, going to stand behind the chair.

"You know, it isn't nice to lurk." A male's voice cut through the silence, British accent sharp.

Wally spun, turning to face the sound behind him. There, stood an eighteen year old man, with a small smirk on his face. He had pale skin, but Wally knew that it didn't change even when under the sun. A tangle of black hair fell into the brightest blue eyes Wally had ever seen. He slouched over to the chair, grabbing a fistful of hair of the figure and lifting up a dummy, dressed to the tee.

"A little paranoid, aren't you?" Wally asked teasingly. He was ignored as the other male dropped into the now vacated chair. His white dress shirt was unbuttoned to reveal a toned chest, black trousers rumpled. "Oh, come on mate, don't be like that." Wally prodded.

"I'm not being like anything." Came the sharp reply instantly.

Wally grinned, going to stand in front of the map so he could make eye contact. "You know Dick, it's okay for you to admit that you missed me."

This elicited a frown. "Don't be ridiculous. I haven't had time to miss you. I've been busy nonstop with cases."

"Ah," Wally nodded. "That would make sense, except no one's seen you in months. One fellow asked if you went to America."

"I am a man of privacy." Dick replied.

Wally laughed. He had missed this, the eccentric ways of his best friend. "I know I haven't seen you much since the engagement, but Linda-"

"-How is Miss Parks?" Dick cut in.

"She's lovely, ready for the wedding."

Dick frowned in disdain. "Oh yes, you and your silly need for attention on a more vulnerable level. You don't have to go through with it you know."

"Of course I don't." Wally pulled off his bowler, playing with it nervously. "I chose to propose to Linda. There's nothing wrong with settling down."

"Until you lose yourself." Dick snorted.

"I'm not losing myself." Wally corrected. "I love Linda, and I'm the same as always."

"Your trousers are pressed, and your gloves are kidskin." Dick said casually. "Combine that with the suspenders holding up your pants and the fact that you have a long coat, I can infer that she is changing you."

"And why is this?"

"The pre Linda Wallace never wore trousers, not because he was a fan of low bottoms, but because suspenders irritate him. You find kidskin gloves impractical, you can do things better without them and you find long coats too heavy to move quickly in." He smirked. "Plus, you would never press your trousers yourself. It's easy to see that the missus likes a clean gent, and as she is your dame you have no choice but to dress the part."

Wally laughed. "Grayson, you never fail to amuse me."

"There's nothing amusing about being observant."

"But you also changed the subject. What's wrong with you?"

"I am an introvert." Dick said simply. "I've been studying many important things."

"More like the inside of a bottle. You've been drinking again, haven't you?"

"I enjoy an alcoholic beverage as much as the next fellow."

"Bruce said himself that you aren't to drink." Wally chided.

Dick sneered. "And who is he to tell me not to drink? It's where all my greatest discoveries come from!"

Wally chuckled to himself. "He's your father. Even as your adopted father he holds some sway. Come on Grayson, you are the son of Wayne and heir to the biggest empire in London, don't waste away here by yourself."

"I don't need anyone." Dick muttered. "I am a genius in my own right." He looked to Wally. "But you didn't come here to get my act together."

"Would you like to offer an off kilter conspiracy before I tell you?" Wally offered.

Dick kicked a bottle over with one foot. "You want me to be the best man at your wedding. Your new slave master forces you to interact with her humdrum friends, but you only feel comfortable with the one who knows you best taking the job."

"My god Grayson," Wally smiled. "You're still sharp, even for an alcoholic bum. So, will you?"

"No." Dick replied curtly. "I will not. I won't be there when you sell yourself."

"Oh, come on Dick, you're a charmer with the women, you must get it."

"I will not. My heart is a beating organism, not something to be trifled with."

"Not even by Barbara Gordon?"

For just a half a second, Wally could have sworn he saw something like sorrow pass his friends face. Barbara Gordon, the lovely constables daughter had always made Dick lose that unshakeable exterior. Dick pursed his lips and looked away. Wally leaned in.

"Is something wrong?"

Dick ignored him, pushing to his feet and marching to the desk, Wally following. He picked up the stack of papers, handing them to Wally while he paced the room. Wally himself perched on the edge of the desk, flipping through the pile he had glanced at earlier.

"Dick, these letters are a month old." Wally frowned. "Why the sudden stop in contact?"

"At first I thought that perhaps she was busy, or she found some man to busy her time. But then I realized that was not the case. Check the last letter." Dick ordered.

Wally obeyed, eyes quickly dancing over the page. "She was being followed. By who?"

"I don't know, not yet."

"So is this your newest case?" Wally questioned.

Dick stopped. "No."

Wally leapt to his feet. "How drunk are you? This is your best friend- after me- since you were nine. How could you not look for her?" Dick remained silent. "Listen, I don't know what's messed you up, but this is serious. You have to find her."

Dick seethed. "She's the daughter of James Gordon; she has many enemies through association of her father. Speaking of which, Inspector Gordon hasn't even tried to contact me. She was being followed, but that could be it."

"We both know that isn't true. You've been hiding Dick. Hiding in a bottle from Barbara, and hiding from me. But I'm going to change it." Wally resolved.

"You're retired." Dick spat.

"Not anymore. Being the hopeless romantic she is, Linda will be sensible enough to understand that this case is important." He paused. "Now go change, you smell like mildew."

Dick smirked slightly, turning to leave the office. On his way out his paused by the doorframe, not even looking at his once again partner. "I suppose we're to go the Gordon residence?"

"The best place to start." Wally could almost hear his chuckle in his voice. "Welcome back, Wallace."