DISCLAIMER
: I do not own any of the characters. Nightwing and all of his friends belongs to DC comics. I'd be a happy woman if Dick belonged to me...but no such luck. I have not made any profit out of writing this, so please don't sue me. It would not be worth your while.Author Comment
: This was the third Dick Grayson story I ever wrote. Thank you to my wonderful beta, Jean whose comments force me to examine my writing. There are a number of spelling, grammar and punctuation differences between Australia and the USA... please forgive me for writing with an accent. (g)Special Thanks
: Thank you to all those people who have left such wonderful feedback. Some of you haven't left your e-mail addresses so I haven't been able to thank you. I just want you to know that your kind words mean so much. So, thank you to Ivy3, Bessie 1, Jenn, Jenn11, Jill, Becky, Ghostninija, trecebo, leahblueeyes, Shan, rammbo, kris, BBfan, FickleFemale, artemis 79, Teri, Tazzy, Anon, annie, JosiahGirl, Robyn7459, Fortex... and anyone else I've missed who took the time to make my day. I'm in your debt.Protesters lined the private road that lead to the Manor. Dick couldn't help being amused. All of this over rats. He guided his bike to the huge double gates that were being guarded by a troop of rent-a-cops. Dick frowned. This wasn't Bruce's style. He had never laid on security like this. Maybe there was more to the death threats then just some disgruntled racoon lovers.
"Do you have an invitation, Sir?"
It took some time before Dick was cleared to enter the huge grounds. Grayson rode up the long driveway, passing the guest car park which was brimming with vehicles. For the first time in years, the Manor was lit up like a Christmas tree. As Dick pulled in close to the front door, he stared up at the mansion that had been his home for most of his life. It was four stories high and that only took account of what was above the ground. The labyrinth of caverns below, which held Gotham's most technologically advanced room, was the size of a small city. The house above contained fourteen bedrooms, six bathrooms, library, ballroom, conservatory... and the list went on. When Dick had first arrived he had thought he was in a hotel and had asked how many people were staying there.
The sound coming from the Entertainment Courtyard on the opposite side of the house, pinpointed it as where Bruce was hosting the function. The football oval sized courtyard had been specially designed for large parties. Dick remembered attending many business functions when he was young. He had found them boring and had hated the simpering looks people had given him. He resented their whispered and pointed fingers - the unfortunate orphan. Sometimes, people took it upon themselves to tell him just how lucky he was that he had been taken in by a millionaire. Most of all he had hated watching Bruce play the part of the rich playboy. It didn't suit him and was so far from who he really was that it was almost laughable. Others, however, believed the act. Perhaps that was the greatest resentment of all. Bruce Wayne was an intelligent and complex man, not the halfwit playboy many people took him for. Something deep down inside Dick felt the need to defend the man who had became a surrogate parent to him.
As Dick had got older, he'd still found Bruce's business functions boring. It was something of a disappointment to Wayne who had assumed his ward would go into the family business. Actually, from the age of fifteen, a lot of decisions Dick had made had disappointed Bruce. He hadn't meant to hurt his guardian, but he couldn't live a lie. He had tried for Bruce's sake but it wasn't who he was. He had needed to become his own man and running Wayne Corp hadn't been part of his future vision. Than again, neither had becoming a cop and yet, that was what he was training to do.
Surprisingly, Dick encountered no other security. He let himself into the Manor and headed straight for the library. Despite the considerable noise coming from the outside courtyard, Alfred's irritated voice wafted above it from the kitchen.
Dick paused, watching as the elderly man reappeared muttering under his breath, two waiters following him. Alfred, despite his apparent subservient role as man-servant was anything but. He was Bruce's right hand man in many ways. Pennyworth ran the estate almost single-handed and manned the Batcave each evening when Bruce was on patrol. Of course, there was also a deep and caring relationship between Bruce and Alfred. Perhaps not quite father and son, but damn close.
Alfred spotted Dick and his stressed face lit up with true joy. "Master Dick. What brings you down here?" He dismissed the two waiters with a curt nod and strode down the long hall toward the young man he had helped raise.
"I'm after a book."
"I take it leisure is not the motivation."
Dick smiled. Alfred stopped in front of the younger man and without thought, hugged him briefly. "I am sorry about the misunderstanding. I should have ignored him and telephoned you."
Grayson shook his head. "I shouldn't have reacted the way I did. I just..."
"You were angry and hurt, both appropriate reactions considering our thoughtless behaviour." The pair stared at each other. Alfred's voice dropped. "I wish you could visit more often, son. The house is empty without you. I miss you... and so does he."
Dick sighed. "He's as busy as ever. I doubt he has time to miss anything." For a moment there was silence as both men reflected sadly on the statement which rang with truth. "Look, I better not hold you up. I take it he's got you co-ordinating the entire function?"
"I should think so." Alfred's voice rose sharply. " He was going to bring in some 'professional' to do so. I do believe he used the words, 'a man of your age'. Needless to say, I gave him a piece of my mind."
"I'll bet you did," Dick chuckled. "I'll get out of your way. By the way, what's the deal with the rent-a-cops on the perimeter?"
"Mr. Lucas hired them. Master Bruce wasn't impressed. They were stationed all over the gardens and courtyard area, but the moment Master Bruce saw them he dismissed the majority to the other side of the fence." As Alfred spoke, a deep frown formed on his face. Lines of worry folded on his brow and his expressive grey eyes clouded.
"Alfred?" Dick asked, curiously.
"I know he's had death threats before, but never so many. He's only got a handful of men out there watching for trouble and after the attack on Tuesday, I tried to talk him into more, but..."
Dick nodded his understanding. "If you're worried, why don't you just order some of the hired security back inside?"
Alfred's eyes flashed with mock surprise. "Such as suggestion! As you well know, Master Dick, 'I' do not have the authority to order Wayne Corp. employers around." The inflection of his voice rose at the end and hung enticingly.
Another grin invaded Dick's lips and his head titled to the side in amusement. "Go on."
"As a silent executive on the board, it would seem to me that you would not only have the authority, but a responsibility to ensure the safety of the company chief executive."
"Okay, okay. I'll go out and take a look around and if it looks like a few more bodyguards are needed, I'll organise it. You realize that when he finds out, he'll want my guts for garters."
"What's new?" Alfred asked with apparent seriousness.
Dick winked, spun around and headed for the Entertainment Courtyard. Despite the light-hearted banter, Dick could tell Alfred was genuinely worried, though Grayson guessed that his former guardian had everything under control. Bruce always did.
As the young man who had once despised parties like this stepped out into the function area, a band started playing. Dick shook his head. Bruce really knew how to lay it on. Dignitaries from all over Gotham were present, including a frowning Commissioner Gordon.
"Evening Commissioner," Dick greeted as he walked past.
"Dick? What on earth are you doing here?"
Grayson paused and smiled. "SOS from Alfred. Apparently there isn't enough security."
"Exactly, but Bruce Wayne is the most stubborn man I've ever met, perhaps with the exception of Batman."
"You don't get any argument from me," Dick laughed.
"Son, I really don't think he'll listen to you."
"I wasn't going to give him the opportunity to argue." Dick bounced his eyebrows and moved through the crowd, his experienced senses taking in every corner of the courtyard. Peter and Mal, Bruce's regular bodyguards were standing a few feet behind Bruce. There were five rent-a-cops around the perimeter of the area and one sniper lying well concealed on the roof of the mansion. Dick made his way to the guard wearing the highest ranking security insignia.
"Sir, I would ask you to move on," the man muttered, sipping his coffee.
Grayson frowned. "And just how much is Wayne Corp. paying you to stand there drinking coffee?"
The security guard's face flooded with puzzlement.
"I'm Dick Grayson, Mr. Wayne's personal assistant on security matters. Considering the death threats Mr. Wayne has received, I'd have thought you'd have been on your toes." The stern rebuff saw the coffee cup disappear and the bodyguard swallow. "How many threats to his life are we talking about?"
"At last count, sixty-seven."
Dick frowned. "And do you always give such information to complete strangers? You didn't ask for any ID. For all you know, I'm a reporter looking for a story."
The man's eyes grew wide.
"Lucky for you, I'm not. I'd like..." A muffled shot of sorts rang out. Dick spun around, searching for Bruce, but he instinctively knew that the sound hadn't come from a gun. All faces in the courtyard were raised. The sky above exploded with light and the musicians began to play, the volume so loud that conversation was impossible. "Fireworks!" Dick roared. "You approved fireworks after the death threats he's received?!"
The hired security chief nodded. "What's wrong with..."
"I want them stopped. Now. IMMEDIATELY! "
The man nodded and began barking into his cell phone, all the while keeping an eye on the pacing man beside him. Dick watched as Mal and Peter moved closer to Bruce; Wayne, too, looking annoyed. Fireworks could mask a gunshot making it impossible to locate the direction of the shooter. There was no way Bruce had authorized this. Something was very, very wrong.
"Well?" Dick demanded as the security chief lowered his phone.
"It's all connected. Once the fireworks start, they can't be..."
"Get the rest of your men to move in and tell your sniper to keep his eyes peeled!" Dick ordered as he started through the crowd toward his former guardian. He needed to get Bruce to safety. None of this felt right.
"Sniper? What sniper?" the guard called after him.
Dick's heart missed a beat. He spun around to look at the security guard horrified. Before he knew it, Dick was running, forcing his way through the awed crowd who were watching the fireworks and deafened by the music accompanying them.
"BRUCE!" Dick bellowed, shoving people out of his path. The essential warning was swallowed by the combined noise of fireworks and music. Dick's eyes honed in on the shooter. As he watched, the sniper turned his weapon toward Bruce. "NOOOO!" Dick Grayson lunged forward and leapt up onto a table watching helplessly as the shooter zeroed in on his target. Without his suit... without his weapons, he was powerless to stop this. The assassin began to apply pressure to the trigger.
Time slowed. Dick Grayson reacted in the only way he could. He launched himself through the air, somersaulted and landed on the stage in front of Bruce, using his own body to shield Wayne. "Get dow...!" Dick was catapulted forward, slamming into Bruce. The two men tumbled to the ground, an ice sculpture behind them exploding as a bullet struck it.
Mal and Peter reacted immediately. One grabbed Bruce, dragged him to his feet and began to shepherd him to safety. The other threw himself over Dick. Bruce was forced off the stage and behind an overturned table. Only a few of the guests appeared to notice that anything out of the ordinary was happening, most mesmerized by the fireworks. The music continued for a few more seconds before the musicians were distracted by the movement on the stage. In confusion, they stopped. The fireworks echoed out and the guests turned to investigate.
"Everyone remain calm!" Mal shouted. Security men began to enter the crowd with weapons drawn, those who had been dismissed beyond the gates now pouring back into the grounds.
Bruce Wayne allowed himself to be manhandled, for tonight he was Bruce Wayne, not Batman. However, he couldn't help searching the roof top for the shooter. His guests were all racing for safety, their high pitched voices and shrieks bringing Alfred outside to investigate.
"There!" Bruce yelled, spotting the sniper. Mal immediately radioed the suspect's position to other members of the security team who began closing in.
Bruce stepped out from behind the table as the shooter disappeared. He'd seen the man on the roof earlier, but had assumed that he was part of the rent-a-army Lucas had hired. Wayne cursed. This was an unacceptable breech of security. Innocent people could have been injured. If Dick hadn't arrived, there was a good chance that the ice sculpture's fate could have been Wayne's own. A split second before Dick had materialised in front of him, Bruce had seen a blur arcing toward him and had realised it was his partner. No one could move like that except Grayson. He owed Dick his life... again. Of course, the fact that Grayson had been throwing himself around in a way only Nightwing could was something Bruce would have to take up with the younger man. Dick had risked revealing his secret identity through his actions - that wasn't acceptable no matter what the circumstances.
"Mr. Wayne, we need to get you inside," Mal ordered. "Your guests will be taken care of. Commissioner Gordon has called for police reinforcements."
Bruce continued to stare up at the roof for several seconds, his anger boiling. The protesters had just crossed the line. Now, Batman would deal with this.
"Sir?"
Wayne acknowledged the bodyguard with a nod. He straightened his tie and turned, but something on his hand caught his eye - a crimson smudge covered his palm. Puzzled, Wayne lowered his eyes to the front of his shirt. A fist sized spot of blood met his eyes. Blood?
"Sir, you've been hit!" Mal cried.
Bruce Wayne's breath caught in this throat for he knew that wasn't the case. He hadn't been hit.Wayne's head snapped back to the stage where Peter was leaning over someone.
A strangled whisper was wrenched from Bruce's soul. "Dick?"
© June 2004 Aussie Nightwriter. : This relates only to the creative property in this story. The distinctive way the story unfolds, the specific dialogue and unique situations are mine. I acknowledge that some of the characters and settings belong to DC comics. (g) No infrigement of copyright was intended and no profit has been made from this story... so, please don't sue me. It wouldn't be worth your while.
