Author's Note: Because of the epic brilliance of Batman: Arkham City, I cannot help but lend a few geographical references for the city to go with my story. Apologies if offended.
Escape
It is midnight in the city. I have completed my normal patrols. Everything is quiet. It has been for the past several weeks. Criminals are afraid again. But they are not afraid of me; now, they fear the wrath of the GCPD. Gordon has finally weeded out the corruption and the inefficiency plaguing his police force. The GCPD have emerged from behind a tarnished reputation and taken back the streets. The Narrows have never been so silent. I cannot help but express my gratitude for Jim's work and that of his entire department. There is a dawn now approaching this darkness, perhaps even the possibility of the city outgrowing the need for The Batman's presence. I pray for such a day, but cannot allow myself to be blinded by fantasy. Presently, Gotham still needs my assistance and I will try to always be there.
I am currently stood atop of the Solomon Wayne Courthouse situated in Park Row. Below me are a group of vagrants huddled round a burning oil drum, trying to stay warm in the winter. There is no sign that any criminal activity is about to take place and I do not anticipate any occurring in the near future. I am just here to reflect. This is where Harvey Dent conducted his last case. Following the Maroni incident, the courthouse was closed down indefinitely. It now stands as a grim monument to the death of a promising career and the birth of a notorious murderer. I fire my grapnel and leave this place.
I am atop Wayne Tower, overlooking the financial district. My father conceived the tower's design but never lived to witness it's completion. The tower dominates Gotham's skyline and stands as the city's most recognisable landmark like Paris' Eiffel Tower or Rome's Coliseum. I miss my father. He had such visions for this city, such wonders to show the world. Although I have brought the majority of my father's documented ideas for Gotham to fruition, I cannot help but speculate on what ideas existed only in his mind. If my father had lived, how different would Gotham's skyline be on this day?
I am in Crime Alley. I find myself standing on the very ground my parents bled to death on some twenty-five years earlier. There is still a bloodstain. It is faint now, blending further into the filth and grime around it with each passing year, but it is there. My father fell first, trying to defend his family. My mother followed him some two seconds later. She died with her eyes open. Then it was meant to be my turn. I remember it clearly. The gunman brought the barrel level with my forehead and went to squeeze the trigger. Then they heard the wail of closing sirens. Then they fled. The whole incident lasted less than a minute. The gunman had taken two lives and destroyed another in less than a minute. They were never brought to justice. The bitter taste has yet to leave my mouth even to this day.
I am on Gotham Cathedral's tower, crouching amongst its gargoyle protectors as snow starts to fall. From here, I can see everything. Park Row is to my east, Crime Alley northeast, the courthouse to my west and Wayne Tower to the south. I can also distinguish Gotham Docks and the industrial district at the furthest point north of my current location. It provides the perfect position for over watch of the city.
"I thought I'd find you up here, Boss."
I look over my shoulder. Robin is stood upright on the gargoyle to my immediate left. Despite being almost two hundred feet above the ground, the boy shows no fear of falling.
"Do you not have school tomorrow?"
"Yeah. Alfie sent me out looking for you. It's like four in the morning; you have to go to work in less than five hours."
I have lost track of time. Reflecting on Gotham's past often has this effect on me. This place holds many memories for me, too many to recall in one single night. I nod to my partner. "I see. Perhaps we should return home." I consider. "How did you get to the city?"
"I took my bike. It's not like Alfie's going to drive me all the way out here on a Friday morning just to save me a trip. Come on, big guy, let's go." The boy responds, beckoning me toward him with a single finger. He does not seem irritated by his task because cavorting round the city in the dead of night is not a chore for him; Dick loves this kind of freedom. It comes from being in the circus, I would suppose. It is his very love of this particular activity that brings me to find his motives suspicious.
"Did Alfred really ask you to retrieve me or did you simply decide to?" I inquire; it is a rare thing indeed for the old man to worry about my lengthy absences. I have, on occasion, disappeared for three whole days when out on patrol. Alfred is more than used to my eccentricities to not link such lax timings with danger. The boy grins sheepishly.
"Any excuse to fly around the city in a cape and shorts, big man, you know me."
"I would prefer you wear the arctic variant of your costume in this inclement weather."
"Nah, the leggings chafe my thighs. Plus I'm not that cold after chasing you round."
Dick proceeds to casually leap from his gargoyle to mine. He dangles off the edge of it supported by only one hand and looks up at me. The boy is in no danger; he will not fall with his grip strength as powerful as it is. "How was your patrol anyway?" He asks me.
"Uneventful."
"So how come you're still out here? You should've been back by one at the latest if it's really that 'uneventful' out here." Dick pronounces the word 'uneventful' in a mocking, but accurate impersonation of my voice. He fancies himself something of a comedian. I know Alfred considers his Jim Gordon impression to be uproariously funny. I offer him a small smile.
"I was just thinking about things." The boy scoffs.
"You're ALWAYS thinking about things. Do it at home."
"Sometimes you have to be a certain place to think about a certain event."
"Know what I'm thinking?"
"That you've grown cold in the last few minutes and now want me to hold you on this gargoyle?"
"Mind-reader."
I grab hold of Dick's wrist and hoist him onto the head of my gargoyle. I then straddle its body before leaning back against the brickwork. The boy completes a one-hundred-and-eighty degree turn of his body so that his back is now facing my front before shuffling himself into my body. I then pull my cape around both of us so that, besides his head, the rest of Dick's body is hidden from sight. He leans back against my chest and relaxes. "You didn't have to, Boss-man. You could've said no." The boy informs me.
"We don't need to be professionals all the time, Robin. Sometimes it's beneficial to simply enjoy one another's company."
"Yeah. I missed you tonight, at dinner and stuff, you know."
Whenever I forget the boy is only just fourteen, Dick is more than happy to remind me of his youth with displays like this. His behaviour is not inappropriate and I will not chide him for coming out so late on a school day either. It would be wrong to punish Dick just for wanting my company. It is rare we find ourselves sharing such intimate moments in costume in the city anyway. When one such moment does happen, I am thankful for its existence. The boy helps me bury my disgust and contempt for Gotham with his energy and affections. I do not feel as haunted by the past when he is with me. He is a…blessing and someone I can no longer live without. We sit together in silence for several minutes.
"Wanna hear about school?" Dick says looking up at me. Underneath my cape, my arms wrap themselves over his and pull him closer to me.
"Of course."
The boy's cheerful tone cuts through the still night air as he regales me with all the major events of his entire day. He talks about his History class and how he's enjoying learning about Colonial America. He laughs about one of his classmate's getting detention for breaking wind in English. He blushes slightly when informing me about his latest crush on a girl in his French class. Sometimes he goes off on a tangent, talking about basketball when he started with gym socks. Sometimes he forgets what he was saying altogether and starts again. Sometimes he just ceases to be comprehensible to my ear. Regardless, I sit and listen to everything he has to say. The boy is interesting and so is how he spends his time. Eventually though, we have to go home.
"It's nearly six in the morning, Dick. Are you sure you will be okay to attend school?" I ask once we are on the road back to the manor. The boy shrugs his shoulders.
"Yeah, of course. I had seven hours before I came out."
"And did you manage to complete all your homework assignments before sleeping?"
Absotively."
"Hhnn. I trust Alfred has checked your work?"
"Yep."
I am pleased the boy has such good organisation. It makes my relationship with him so much less…controlling when I do not need to manage his affairs for him. It is a clear sign that, although still a child, Dick is maturing. He never ceases to impress me with his growth.
"Hey Bruce?" The boy says suddenly when we are only a mile from the cave.
"Yes, Dick?"
"What's it like, being you?" It is an unusual query and one I have no real prepared answer for. Regardless I reply without any hesitancy.
"I don't know, Dick. It is a question I am seldom asked."
"I'd think it was really hard work, being Bruce Wayne and Batman."
"It's no different than being Dick Grayson and Robin."
"But it is. Sometimes I think you're really unhappy with your life." Somehow I sense the boy has wanted to discuss this issue with me for some time; he had great difficulty articulating his words just now, as if unsure whether they were appropriate. I respond without really thinking.
"I'm not unhappy, Dick. I enjoy my life very much. It is simply that sometimes I wish I could escape."
"Escape what?"
It is a hard task explaining twenty-five years of self-inflicted darkness and its accompanying wounds to a child, even one as intelligent as Dick. I have always struggled to express my negative feelings verbally. These are the sensations that weaken my resolve, the sort that are best kept hidden and silent. However, I want to give the boy a definitive answer. I consider my reply carefully. After a moment, I speak.
"Escape my doubts. Sometimes I think Gotham is beyond saving. Sometimes I think it would have been best to die with my parents. Sometimes I doubt the credibility of my own existence, both as Bruce Wayne and Batman. I always overcome my doubts, push them down, but I never break free of them entirely. So sometimes I wish I could escape." In the wake of such a powerful statement, there is an inevitable silence as the boy considers what next to say.
"Is there anything I can do to help?" This is typical of Dick's character; he is forever trying to be accommodating and helpful. He is lucky to be so good-natured; it comes far harder for others.
"Just be yourself. That always helps me." I say. There is a brief delay before I add something further. "Thank you for coming out this morning, Dick. I appreciate your company."
"Anytime, big guy." The boy pauses before adding something himself to his reply. "I love you." Dick has no trouble with such enormous proclamations. They have come increasingly easier to him in the past few months and I am grateful he is so open about his feelings. I nod in appreciation.
"Thank you Dick. I love you too."