Author's Notes: On the advice of my new betareader, shells210, I revised chapter 1 to include more detail. Please go back and read it – it's not long, so it shouldn't take more than 10 minutes or so...
Gotham University
Three Days Later
Dick closed the book with a snap and ran his hands through his hair, leaving it standing in spikes. "My eyes are killing me." He said to no one in particular, and rubbed at them with his knuckles. He had been studying in the library for over three hours, poring over old books about the early history of computers, none of which, ironically, were available on the internet.
He lifted his arms and stretched, and cracked his neck. At that moment, his stomach chose to growl, and he rubbed it absently. It must be lunch time. He looked at his watch. Nearly twelve. Time for a break. However, he was not up to getting something out of a vending machine. But he definitely did not want to eat lunch alone. He sighed, and looked at his phone. Who was nearby? Wally? No – he and Artemis were in Central City, visiting Wally's parents. Conner? No. To be honest, even after knowing Superboy for over eight years, he was still not exactly the chatty lunch companion. Mal? Eh – why not? Dick called him.
"Hey!" He said, as Mal came on the line. "I'm at the U. Want to get some lunch?"
"Yeah, okay. You want to meet somewhere?"
He shrugged, although Mal couldn't see it. "There's a diner on Elm I've wanted to try." Dick smiled.
She noticed the young man when he sat down with his friend. Handsome, with black hair, a fine, chiseled face, and straight, white teeth that he showed when he smiled at his companion.
She came to their table and put two menus down. Rich – he was rich, too. She could tell by the expensively tailored clothes and sleek wristwatch.
"Welcome, gentleman. Our special today is a tuna melt. Comes with fries and a pickle spear. Soup of the day is chicken noodle."
Dick smiled up at her, noticing her name tag - Devon. "Thank you." She was dressed in a typical waitress uniform – white top and skirt that came to right above her knees, with a red and white gingham collar and sleeve cuffs. Although it would have been looked dowdy on most women, it was form-fitting enough on her to emphasize her curves.
She smiled back. He had beautiful blue eyes – the bluest eyes she had ever seen. She looked into them for a long moment, then cleared her throat self-consciously. "Uh, I'll let you look at the menu. Be back soon." She turned and walked away, and Dick craned his neck to watch the sway of her hips.
Mal stared at him. "Now I know why you wanted to try this place."
Dick turned back to him and grinned. "I hear they have great burgers."
"And buns."
His smile grew. "Yeah. Nice buns."
She came back a few minutes later, her order pad in her hand.
"What will you have, gentleman?"
Mal ordered the special, and then it was Dick's turn.
"I'll have," he scanned the menu, "the All-American cheese burger."
"What kind of cheese?"
"American, of course."
She smiled. "French fries okay?"
"Yeah."
"How do you want it cooked?"
"Oh, definitely some pink in the middle. And a diet soda."
Mal laughed. "Diet soda?"
She looked at Mal. "Oh, yeah. I get it. Save calories where you can."
"Exactly." Dick smiled triumphantly. He turned the magnificence of his smile on her, and she blinked, then smiled back. "Oh." He said, handing her the menu, "and extra mustard."
"You've got it." She took their menus and was off.
After she left, Mal smiled at Dick. "I think you've got it, too. Bad."
She brought their meals quickly, and set them down on the table before them. Dick surveyed her as she bent over him. She was even more beautiful close up – creamy skin, dark, shiny hair, and, with a brief, stolen glance, he saw the swell of ample breasts. He dragged his eyes back to her face. "Do I know you from somewhere?"
She smiled as she straightened. "I don't know. Do you go to Gotham U.?"
He smiled. "Yeah. Third year."
"Me, too. What's your major?"
He gave a sheepish grin. "Haven't quite decided yet."
Mal broke in. "He's on the six-year plan."
"Thanks." Dick's eyes narrowed slightly at Mal.
"Any time." Mal picked up a fry.
"So, what are you studying?" Dick asked her.
"Science."
"Just general science?"
"Biology."
"Sounds interesting."
"If you're a science geek, yeah."
Dick shrugged. "Not so much. More like a computer geek."
"Hey, Bill Gates. Your food's getting cold." Mal already had a good portion of his own sandwich consumed.
Dick blushed, as did Devon. "Yeah. Right. Sorry. I shouldn't have kept you talking. Enjoy your meal." She smiled, stepped back, and was gone.
He turned to Mal after she left to wait on other tables. "Not cool."
Mal laughed.
When Dick finished his burger, he threw his napkin down on his empty plate. "That was good."
"I can tell." Mal took out his wallet.
"I'm getting your check." Dick waved away the bill that Mal extracted. "After all, I invited you."
Mal smiled. "No need. I pay my own way."
"Well, you're a cheap date."
Devon brought their checks and collected their plates. "Liked the burger?"
Dick grinned at her. "It was great. My compliments to the chef."
She laughed, and a thrill went down Dick's spine. Wow, she has a nice laugh.
"He's not so much a chef as a cook."
"Still. Nice."
"I'll let him know."
After she had gone, Mal laughed. "Dude, get her number."
Dick shook his head. "Nah. Too soon. Thrill of the chase, my friend." He rolled to the side, pulled out his own wallet from his back pocket, and extracted a twenty dollar bill. "Thrill of the chase."
Devon watched as the two young men left. That slender one was – yummy. And a bit of a smooth talker. Perhaps too much. But she did love a quick-witted man. It was icing on the cake, in his case.
She picked up their checks and the money they left behind; a ten from the tall one, and a twenty from Mr. Smooth. She looked down at their bills. The cute one's bill came to nine dollars and twenty-four cents. Twenty dollars was way too much.
She started after them. They were already outside the diner, on the sidewalk.
"Hey! Mister!" She hurried after them, but he did not react. "Hey! Gotham U.!" Nothing. "Rich guy!"
Dick heard her voice behind him. "Rich guy!" That was him. He turned to her as she rushed up to him, clutching his check and his money.
"I think you left too much money. Your check was less than ten dollars." She held out the twenty dollar bill.
He smiled. "No. I meant to leave that. Keep the rest as a tip."
"That's more than a hundred percent."
"I really enjoyed the service."
"Well, then – thanks." Her cheeks reddened.
"No prob. See you around."
"Yeah. See you around."
She watched him walk off, a small smile on her face, enjoying the view.
Bludhaven
That Night
Dick whistled as he entered his apartment. He tossed his backpack and keys down on the counter, along with containers of takeout Chinese food. Kung pao chicken was the best. He had a couple of hours before he had to go out on patrol. He wasn't sure if he should go to Gotham or stay in Bludhaven. He hadn't seen Bruce and Damian in days, or Alfred, and he wanted to swing by the Batcave and catch up. He was particularly concerned about Damian – not that his little brother was in any imminent danger of anything, but he was such an odd little boy, and Dick liked to keep an eye on him. Like Bruce, Damian was prone to fall into brooding, and, also like Bruce, he denied it and tried to ignore it until he was in a deep funk. Of course, their father, although able to recognize Damian's similarities, did not know how to counter them, much like he did not know how to counter his own dark tendencies. It frequently took Dick, with insouciant good humor, to pull them back – and he knew both of them better than anyone, and even better than they knew each other.
However, he had some research to do online before he went anywhere.
He booted up his laptop and pulled up the university's secure site. With just a few keystrokes, he was past their "impenetrable" firewall, and into student accounts.
At the search screen, he typed in the name on the girl's name tag. D – E – V – O – N.
There were three hits. One was a male. Dick could obviously discount that. One was a freshman. Obviously not her. The last, Devon Wakeman. He opened his dinner and broke apart the disposable chopsticks, pouring the chicken and vegetables over the rice.
Dick clicked on the file, and her student identification photo popped up on screen. He smiled around a mouthful of kung pao. "Bingo." He looked down at the container of food. It was good – just spicy enough to hurt.
She was a junior, like him, and from Gotham. Went to Gotham Central High School. Hmm. A hometown girl. She lived – at the same address as the diner. Maybe above the diner, he thought. Interesting.
Her next of kin was a Marie Wakeman, at the same address. Mother? Maybe.
Devon was majoring in biology, with A's in all of her classes, except the last semester, when she got B's in two of her major classes. Weird. People usually do better in their major than in the requirements.
Her tuition was paid for in full every semester, by check. Odd. She doesn't look like the type who can write a big check every semester.
He fished the last bits of chicken and vegetables from the container, leaving the sauce-tinted rice behind, and pulled up university's student financial records. The money came from a trust fund, called the Wakeman Family Trust. He would have to look that up. He copied the account number and opened a new window. He pulled up his banking information site and pasted the number in.
While the machine was processing, he finished the rice and wiped his hands on his jeans. The screen flashed, and he peered at it. The trust was a relatively small account, set up apparently years ago, in Washington state. Its only deposit was ten years before, in the amount of $250,000. Since then it had grown, thanks to interest, and was being withdrawn from twice a year for two and a half years – with all payouts to Gotham University. The fund's executor was Lawrence Cramer, with an address in San Francisco.
So, apparently, she had a trust fund that was set up, he guessed, with an insurance settlement of some kind, and was being used for her education. Very normal.
But whose insurance was it? Father? That would explain the emergency contact being only one person; a woman with the same last name.
He went back to the university website and copied her Social Security number. There was one place he could find out the information he wanted, but he didn't like to hack into the federal computer system if he could help it. One too many times to the well, and the feds would pay attention, and then everything could come crashing down on his head.
As he pulled up the government site, he wondered why he was going to so much trouble for this girl. She was just a girl, after all. Nothing special.
Liar, his inner voice told him. You haven't been able to get her out of your mind since you saw her.
Just then, there was a knock on the door, and he got up to answer it. After looking through the peephole, he let Wally in.
"Hey, dude. How's it hanging?"
Dick shrugged. "It's hanging."
"I'm here for the crème brulee torch. Why is it you have a crème brulee torch? Considering," he gestured at the empty food containers on the counter.
"Hey, you can't live with Alfred all those years without picking up some skills." Dick smiled.
"Yeah, okay. Where is it?"
"In one of the drawers. And try not to break anything opening them at light speed, please."
"Worrier." Wally zipped around the kitchen as Dick sat back down to his task.
Soon, Wally was standing behind him. "Whatcha doing?"
"Just a little research."
"IRS? Nice."
"Yeah." Dick was busy typing.
Wally read over his shoulder. "Davon Wakeman? Who's that? A new bad guy?"
"Devon." Dick corrected, and shook his head as he read the information. She had six years of income tax returns, all from employment at the diner, but, due to her income level, had never ended up paying any taxes, and she seemed to have no other income. Otherwise, the website was unenlightening.
"So, spill. Who is it?" Wally asked.
Dick logged out of the IRS site and pulled up Social Security. This should provide a lot more information.
While it was loading, Dick clicked back to the university site and showed Wally the picture.
"Oh." Wally breathed. "Really? You're doing a background check on the girl I ran into? Creepy, much?"
"What do you mean?" Dick scowled at his friend.
"Dude! You're doing a background check on a hot girl. Does that seem healthy to you?"
"I'm just interested."
"Obviously. But can't you just ask her for her phone number instead of pulling up her tax returns? And," he looked at the Social Security screen, "her vital statistics? What are you trying to find out?"
Dick shrugged. "Just information. She gets her tuition paid by a family trust. Usually a trust is set up as a result of a death in the family."
"So? So someone died. Big deal. You don't have to investigate it. Every death is not a mystery."
Dick made a displeased face. He didn't like to have his judgment questioned. "Yeah. Yeah. I guess."
"Do you suspect her of anything?"
"What? No! No. Nothing like that. It's just..." He trailed off, not knowing what to say.
"It's just that you're a little bit of a control freak and you want to know everything about a situation before you go into it."
Dick sighed. "Bat doesn't fly far from the roost, does it?"
Wally laid a hand on his best friend's shoulder. "If that's your way of saying that you're a lot like Bruce, you should try saying it a little simpler."
"Yeah."
"Anyway," Wally squeezed his shoulder before releasing it, "thanks for the torch. If Artemis doesn't burn down the building, I'll bring it back to you tomorrow."
"Take your time. I don't use it that often."
"Yeah, I bet. I'll let you get back to your – stalking."
After Wally left, Dick tapped his fingers on the edge of the keyboard.
Was Wally right? Was he stalking Devon? No! Of course he wasn't! He was just trying to get some more information on her. He had never actually dated a girl not in the life, except Bette Kane – and he had known her from Gotham Academy. Zatanna, Raquel, Barbara – they were all familiar to him – he had worked with them all, sometimes even lived with them. But this girl, Devon, was an unknown quantity. And Dick wanted to know more about her. So, it wasn't stalking. It was – information gathering.
He copied her information into the Social Security database, and waited for its response. It appeared she was born in Chicago, and her parents and one sister died in a house fire – nearly twelve years before. That explained the trust, and told him that Marie Wakeman was probably her grandmother.
Dick closed all the computer's windows but the one with her picture on it, and stared at her face on the screen for a long time. She was ridiculously gorgeous, no matter what Wally tried to pretend. She had dark, dark brown hair that fell to below her shoulders, and laughing, deep brown eyes, as well as full lips and high cheekbones.
Dick drew a deep breath and shut the last computer window, leaving him looking at a blank screen.
Gotham City
Later That Night
He came into the Batcave to find Bruce at the computer screen, cowl pulled back, and Damian sitting at the wheel of the Batmobile, sulking.
"Hey, Birdboy, how's it going?" Dick deliberately used a light-hearted tone, and leaned on the closed door on the driver's side.
Damian scowled at him. "Grayson."
"What are you doing sitting there?"
"Father won't let me drive the car."
"Well, you are only ten."
"How old were you when you started driving?"
"Uh..." Tread lightly, Nightwing. "At least thirteen."
"Tt. That's because your reflexes and eye-hand coordination were underdeveloped."
Dick frowned. "No, they weren't. World-class acrobat here, kid."
Damian threw open the door, and Dick demonstrated those skills by jumping back.
"Let me know when Father comes to his senses." He stomped off, and Dick watched him leave, sighing.
He walked over to Bruce and stood behind him, watching the images flicker on the screen. "Was I like that when I was his age?"
"No." Bruce's voice was clipped. There had obviously been an argument prior to Dick's arrival.
Dick shifted his jaw to one side. He would get no more information out of his father unless he did more prodding – which he wasn't certain he wanted to do.
"So, what's new in Gotham?" Crime was always a safer subject than family relationships.
Bruce squinted. "A gang war seems to brewing on the docks."
"Who this time?"
"The Sprang Bridge Soldiers and the Escabedo Cartel."
Dick frowned. "The Sprang Bridge Soldiers? Didn't Tim tangle with them recently?"
"Yes. I've sent for him."
"Anything I can do?"
"Not really."
Nightwing's brows rose behind his mask. "Anything for the team?"
"Not right now. I'll have something soon, though. It appears Billy Numerous has been stealing diamonds, and only diamonds, up and down the east coast."
"Billy Numerous? I haven't heard that name in years."
"He's been off the radar. But he's back in a big way, and I want to know who he's working for."
"You don't think he's stealing them for himself – uh, selves?"
"No, I don't."
Nightwing nodded. "I can get Blue –"
"No need right now. I'm not ready to pass it off."
Dick looked at Bruce for a long time. He was in a bad mood – worse mood – than usual. The argument with Damian was clearly bothering him.
"He's a good kid, Bruce."
Batman sighed, and leaned back. "It seems like we are constantly at each other's throats. Whatever I say, he wants to do the opposite."
"Growing pains. For both of you."
"I hope you're right."
"I am."
There was silence for a long while, until Bruce broke it. "How is school?"
Dick shrugged. "Okay. Little bored this semester."
"Declared a major yet?"
This was a bit of a sore spot between them. Bruce thought that his son was dragging his feet, something that would only delay his degree.
"Not yet. Probably computer information systems." He leaned against the console and crossed his arms, facing his father.
"Speaking of computers, I noticed that you accessed both the IRS and the Social Security databases."
Nothing got past the bat.
Nightwing was slow in answering. "Ye-es." He made the word multi-syllabic.
"It's not for checking out your dates, Dick." Bruce kept his eyes focused on the projected screen, which somehow made the rebuke more humiliating. It was as if Dick did not even merit eye contact.
Nightwing blushed. "No. I know."
"I trust you won't do that again."
Even though he knew he was in the wrong, he was slightly miffed that Bruce was keeping tabs on him. Still, he knew that he should not have been using Bat resources for personal reasons. "No. I won't." He looked at his father, who refused to meet his eye, and sighed, pushing off the console. "I'm going to see Alfred."
"He'll be glad to see you."
"At least someone is."
At this, Bruce sighed, as well, and stopped typing. "I'm always glad to see you, Dick. You should know that."
Dick stopped a few feet away, his back to Bruce. "You don't show it sometimes."
Author's Note: I hope that you are enjoying this, and I hope especially that the characterizations of the DC characters (Dick, Wally, Bruce, Damian, etc.) are believable.
I also wanted to establish a family dynamic with the Bats – although Bruce and Dick have a good relationship, for the most part, in the comics, it is a father/son vibe that is, in my opinion, still a little rocky, as father/son relationships often are at this stage in the son's life, when he is trying to make all his own decisions and trying to establish his own identity. Add to that the fact that the son is inextricably entwined with the father in the "family business," and the fact that the father is somewhat distant, PLUS a difficult relationship between the youngest son and the entire family, and sparks are bound to fly! By the way, I DO know that Damian is NOT Robin in YJ (Tim is), but, for the purposes of this fic, Tim has graduated to Red Robin. I hope this is not confusing! Please review and let me know what you think!
