The Last Laugh
Chapter 2: Trouble at Wayne Enterprises
By, Frank Hunter

When Tim returned to Wayne Manor later that afternoon, Alfred was there waiting for him. The old butler greeted him at the door, pulling it open and letting him into the enormous house that may as well have been his home since he was just a boy.

"Good afternoon, Master Drake," Alfred said as Tim trotted in past him.

"Heya, Alfred," Tim answered. He stepped in through the foyer and, wasting no time, through to the lounge in the organ hall. The hall was decorated, as was the rest of Wayne Manor, with the most elegant adornments and hangings imaginable. The grand piano for which the room got its name was more expensive than most people's homes.

Tim heard the heavy front door shut behind him and Alfred's carefully placed, regular steps follow him back into the organ hall. He pulled his arms from his jacket one at a time, and laid the jacket over the bench behind the piano. "Everything go alright today?" he asked the butler.

"I'd suggest you confer with Master Wayne for details," Alfred answered. He walked right up to Tim, picked up his discarded jacket, and draped it over one arm. "I believe there were some unexpectedcomplications."

"Aren't there always?" Tim answered. "Where's Bruce?"

"Downstairs, as per usual," Alfred said, nodding his head toward the bookcase in the corner of the room.

"Figured as much," Tim smirked. He leaned over the piano and struck three specific discords in succession. When the third was played, a loud click emanated from behind the bookcase where, Tim knew, a latch had been released. He would be able to swing the bookcase back on its hinges now, revealing the stairwell behind that would lead him on. Downstairs.

"You ever tell him that the sun won't kill him?" Tim asked. He walked over to the stairwell.

"Tirelessly, young sir. Perhaps you'll have better luck."

"Right," Tim laughed. He pushed open the bookcase, stepped onto the first step, and closed the door behind him. The latch caught once the door was closed, sealing Tim inside.

Tim descended the stairwell, the warm light of the manor giving way into the cold, sterile white of fluorescent bulbs that lit the way down here. Everything aboveground was for show. For fashion. This? Function, and nothing but.

The stairs let out into an enormous, stone cavern that spanned almost the full breadth of the expansive mansion, and as Tim stepped into it he was hit by the familiar wave of warm, humid air. It felt like a swamp and smelled like the swarms of bats that made their home in the dips and cubbyholes of the ceiling. The musky smell always reminded Tim of damp, stale corn chips, not disgusting but very pungent and invasive.

Of course, he would never suggest that they get rid of the bats. That would be utter insanity. Alfred might kill him for it.

Spread across the human levels of the underground cave were countless oddities, trophies, accessories and facilities that came into play throughout Bruce and Tim's secret life. At that moment, Tim could see Bruce making use of the cave's expansive computer terminal, set down another flight of stairs and directly across from this entrance. He was still wearing the business suit Tim had seen him in that morning.

Tim approached his mentor and came up behind him, checking out what Bruce was looking at on the screen. There were a number of documents and photographs of different people and events. Almost everything had one logo present on it: a circle with a design inside it that was supposed to resemble an open, helping hand. Tim recognized it as the logo of Life 2.0, the company that had held most of Bruce's public attention for the past several months.

"The merger went well?" Tim asked.

"It wasn't a merger," Bruce answered. "It was an acquisition."

"Alright," Tim responded, not really caring about the distinction. "That went well?"

Bruce's fingers were busily typing some sort of information into the computer. "Yes. All the transitional paperwork is done. The press conference was a success, and the employees of Life 2.0 are getting settled into their new offices at Wayne Enterprises."

"Then why do you still look stressed out?" Tim asked.

Bruce grunted. "Because somebody decided to perform a cyber-attack on our company servers while Wayne Enterprises was preoccupied with the transition."

Tim raised an eyebrow. "Your company got hacked?"

"Not quite," Bruce said. "They tried. They didn't get in."

"Lucius's security systems are pretty top notch, huh?"

"They are," Bruce agreed. "But it's disturbing that someone would try."

"Any idea what they were after?"

"No, they didn't get far enough. But I've told Lucius to keep his eyes open. Any further activity, he'll let me know."

Tim nodded. "What is it Life 2.0 does again?"

Bruce's tone lowered and shifted into mono, the obvious indication that he had discussed this a hundred times already and his patience was being tried. Tim did his best to ignore it.

"The company is involved in several advancements in biotechnology and nano-robotics. They've come a long way toward developing inexpensive and effective methods of organ cloning, as well as developing nanites that can be introduced into the bloodstream to promote cellular health and regeneration."

"They can heal you from the inside?" Tim clarified.

"Something like that," Bruce confirmed.

"Well, now I see why you're so interested in it. That kind of tech would be useful for the night job."

"How long have you known me?" Bruce asked without looking up. Tim thought on it and deflated a bit. Realistically, Bruce would never consider injecting himself with something that could exercise control over his body. He took too much pride in his ability to control it himself. And they both were well aware of the issues around tech security. If someone ever took control of the nanites…

"It's all still prototypical anyway," Bruce went on. "Still in development. But it's important it gets developed in the right environment. Life 2.0 is fully philanthropic. Their CEO is something of a new-ager. But if the development ever fell into the wrong hands, the military applications of technology like this could be terrible."

"So you really took over the company to make sure you can keep an eye on their R&D? That's noble of you," Tim said.

Bruce didn't bother answering. He just continued plugging away at his computer problem. Tim took the opportunity to begin undoing his tie and shirt and made his way over to the cases on the wall that contained their real suits. As he slid the glass panel aside, the eyes of his domino masked seemed to bore into them from where it was displayed in the case. An overwhelming sense of pride always rolled over him as he reached out and took hold of the Robin costume. His Robin costume. There were still days when he couldn't believe that this was his life.

Lost in a daydream, he didn't hear Bruce's question when the older man finally spoke up again. He just caught the tail end of it and realized that he had been speaking.

"What was that?" Tim asked, closing the case with the costume now in hand.

"I asked how the hearing went," Bruce called out. "Is Quinn showing progress?"

"Yeah, about that…" Tim trailed off. He took a few steps back toward the computer so he wouldn't have to shout. The sweat was beading up on his bare shoulders as he stalled putting the costume on. It really sucked in the cave during the summer.

"Quinn's getting released on parole," he said.

He could have anticipated the reaction. Bruce's fingers went still, distracted finally from whatever it was that he had been doing. With a stare that would have frozen vodka, he darted his eyes up at Tim and all but snarled the word, "What?"

Tim nodded. "Two weeks and she'll be out."

Bruce pushed away from the computer with a grimace on his face. He made for the rack of costumes himself, his own case containing a suit much larger and darker than Tim's.

"I take it you wouldn't have pushed for that?" Tim called after him, finally pulling his arms into the Robin suit.

"I sometimes wonder if those doctors are completely disconnected from reality," Bruce called back.

"You're one to talk," Tim mumbled, soft enough not to be heard.

Bruce went on. "They put so much effort into the care and treatment of their patients, but no thought into the consequences of letting them back on the street prematurely."

"You were the one who told me that Quinn was showing progress," Tim replied. "Isn't that what you said?"

"Progress is one thing," said Bruce, already snapping on the yellow utility belt around the black Kevlar of his outfit. He had this costume thing down to a science. Tim finished stripping off the lower layers of his suit and hurried to climb into the rest of his own nighttime ensemble, afraid if he lagged behind he might be left behind.

"You need more than just a little progress for release," he went on. "Too much can go wrong on the outside. Too many ways to revert."

Tim felt himself beginning to get a bit fed up with his mentor's response. "You weren't there, Bruce," he snapped, a little too testily. "You didn't see what she was like today."

Bruce stopped now, just short of the cowl, and glanced back over at the boy. Tim could see the gears turning in that very sharp mind of his.

"You voted for release," he said. It wasn't a question.

Tim shrugged. "Yeah. I did."

Bruce scowled turning back away from him. At some point Alfred had silently made his way down the stairs and Tim noticed him setting a pitcher of black coffee and two cups down on the computer console. Alfred could always be counted on for the necessities.

"I shouldn't have trusted you to go for me," he said.

The words felt like a knife between Tim's ribs. Shouldn't have trusted him? If he'd proven anything over the years of their partnership, it was that he was trustworthy. That his opinion was always informed and his actions were well thought out. How could he really feel that Tim couldn't be trusted?

Bruce seemed to recognize the mistake in his wording a moment after he said it and tried to backpedal, but Tim lashed out without waiting for an apology. "It wasn't Quinn, Bruce. Not the Quinn we know. I know her as well as you do. Hell, probably better. Whenever you're dealing with the Joker, I'm dealing with Quinn. I've heard her lie. I've seen her cheat and steal. I've seen her hurt people. And I'm telling you, she was doing none of that today. That woman was not the Harley Quinn we know. She was a person who recognized her mistakes, clearly, I might add. Cogently. A person who needed a chance to let the healing begin." Tim threw his hands up. "I mean, if you don't want to let them even try to reform, then why are we wasting the time it takes to lock them up?"

Bruce looked like he wanted to start gunning right back but he held his tongue, perhaps realizing that this was only an emotional outburst due to the insult he'd unintentionally thrown Tim's way. But before he could find his words, Alfred spoke up.

"If I may, Master Bruce?" he said. "Considering the conversation we were having just this morning…"

"Don't, Alfred," Bruce warned him, but the old butler just trudged on.

"…where you had told me how proud you were of Master Tim's accomplishments as of late, and where you said you were humbled by the man that he had become. And in your words, sir, that his 'spiritual strength and sense of moral character were the embodiment of everything you were trying to accomplish in the Batman.' I would suggest that maybe his judgment in the matter of Dr. Quinzel's rehabilitation isn't as flawed as your instinct would tell you, and that maybe you should consider his point of view."

Tim looked from Alfred to Bruce, and back, stunned and speechless. To go from such an insult to such a glorifying compliment…he was taken aback. Alfred could always be counted on for the necessities.

"Thank you, Alfred," Bruce gritted through clenched teeth.

"Any time, sir."

He stalked over to Tim, working palpably to calm himself and remain civil, to keep in mind the butler's advice. Tim stood as tall as he could, which was still a few inches below the older man, but just stared into him with all the confidence he could project.

"When Quinn gets out," he instructed, "you will have eyes on her like a hawk. This is your responsibility, Tim, so you make sure nobody has to get hurt because of your decision. If she so much as blinks in the wrong direction, we bring her down immediately and turn her back in to Arkham. Do you understand?"

Tim gave him a quick nod. "That's fair," he said.

Bruce exhaled, releasing whatever was left of his temper, and worked to push his mind through into the details of the night. "Be ready in five," he said, disappearing back up into the house. Alfred followed after him, leaving Tim alone in the cave with the tray and a single, knowing smile.

Tim reached for one of the coffee cups and couldn't keep his own smile at bay as he drank. The "embodiment of everything he had been trying to accomplish with in the Batman." Wow. Just, wow.