Sorry for the late update, everyone! But with two finals yesterday, and my last this morning, I've been pretty swamped. Ugh, education. Once summer vacation is here, however, I promise to get my butt in gear!
Until then, enjoy this chapter hot off the presses!
"One night, Richard. That was the deal. I specifically told you not to grow attached."
"Well, I wouldn't say I'm too attached per se," Dick slyly replied. "Timmy is the one I'm truly worried about."
"Tim?" echoed Bruce disbelievingly.
"Yes, he's become quite fond of Conner over the past week. Would be a shame for his heart to break at such a tender age. Criminal, really."
"Speaking of which," Bruce interrupted, a steely note entering his voice, "I have some news regarding your new friend."
Dick could tell by the tone that he was using the term loosely.
"Were you aware of his past?"
"You did a background check?" Of course he had. The man was Bruce freaking Wayne. But Dick tried to at least appear indignant towards this information on Conner's behalf.
"Conner has a criminal record," Bruce relayed stonily.
His stomach dropped into the sole of his shoes. Had this been what he was most afraid of? That the boy he knew—presumed he knew—was just as low as people assumed? Did Conner do something so terrible he was undeserving of redemption?
Stop it, Dick ordered himself, chasing the doubts away. You've talked with him before now, you know where's he coming from. Your record isn't spotless, either.
Bruce went on, "After reviewing the files, I am a tad more sympathetic to his situation. But that doesn't erase what he's done."
Piquing with suspense, Dick curiously inquired, "What did he do?"
"It isn't my place to say," his guardian stated sternly, ensuring that whatever it might be, Dick would never hear it from him. "Privacy is pivotal when it comes to personal records."
"Unless they pertain to you," Dick deadpanned sourly.
The corner of Bruce's mouth quirked up. "Now you're learning."
His mirth disappeared as a serious expression tugged at the aged lines of his face.
"I just thought you should be aware of what you're getting yourself into." He frowned in his surrogate son's direction. "I worry, Dick. What I do I do out of concern. And we have enough on our plates without having to get entangled in more drama."
Certainly, Dick understood what his adopted father was saying. Being a billionaire playboy and his son didn't leave much room for anonymity or privacy, at least not when it came to their public lives. Each appearance at a restaurant could be splashed across the front page of a tabloid the next day, construing tales of fact or fiction.
Limelights were fun on stage, Dick'd learned, but otherwise? Yeah, they'd been involved in plenty of drama or 'sticky situations' before. Bruce had a very sane reason for avoiding them.
"I understand where you're coming from," he remarked appreciatively. Here, Dick grinned. "And I'm glad to see you have my back." He forced his features to sober slightly. "But won't you agree, Mr. Wayne, that sometimes the outcome is well worth the drama?"
Referring to, of course, the field day the paparazzi had so many years ago, when a particularly popular playboy decided to take in a small, traumatised circus orphan. He saw a sliver of recognition shift within dark blue eyes.
"It can be," Bruce acknowledged. He warned one last time, "But this is your grave to dig, Dick. Be prepared. Taking in a stray holds a lot of responsibility."
Dick blinked.
"He's not a dog, Bruce," he stressed. "Though while we're on the subject—what's Alfred's rule on house pets, again?"
His guardian arched an exasperated brow.
Turned out, Alfred's ruling on house pets was fairly lenient; providing they stayed outside. Which actually worked swell, since Conner insisted that enclosed spaces didn't bode well for the massive furball he called Wolf.
A name that suited the dog's ferocious stature.
But looks can be deceiving; Conner was the living proof. Like his owner, Wolf was perfectly friendly to anybody he deemed safe. Timmy already treated the mutt like a giant, cuddly puppy.
Although Dick may have been laying it on thick when he told his guardian that Tim would be devastated by Conner's absence, it hadn't be utterly unfounded. The two of them played well together, despite the massive difference in size. Tim taught Conner complex card games and showed him his latest video consoles—most of which Conner had never touched before.
It was pretty laughable to watch an oversized teenager fiddling with the tiny buttons and screen settings on a his little brother's DS.
Likewise, Dick also made an enormous effort to spend as much time with Conner as possible. After all, if this arrangement was going to work, they'd have to find more than just a common ground, right? So between studying and tutoring and gymnastic practice, Dick introduced Conner to his favorite activities, whilst encouraging Conner to reveal his own.
For a big guy, Dick discovered Conner enjoyed the simple pleasures in life most. Walking in the park with Wolf. Swimming in Wayne Manor's complimentary pool (Wolf was unjustly banned from this part of the mansion, as per Alfred's rules—apparently the pool cleaner could barely stand human hair clogging up the filter, let alone dog fur). Sketching out scenes on miscellaneous sheets of paper. Had a knack for it, too, prompting Dick to make a mental note of finding him a proper notebook to draw in.
Of course, there were some boundaries. At times, when Conner holed himself up in his room and wished to not be disturbed, Dick respected the distance required. After all, their tentative friendship was still new, so it shouldn't hurt to be blocked out like so. On the contrary, Dick had darks days of his own, when neither the presence of Wally or Tim or even Bruce permitted a sense of peace.
He understood, which became apparent as the very foundation their budding relationship was building upon.
Though like all new things—cars for instance, for the sake of this analogy—bumps in the road were bound to be hit. For example, an overbearing father figure intent on dishing out the third degree to frequent guests...
Predictably, Bruce was present for dinner that first evening. No way was Conner being granted entrance into his household without a proper serving of the third degree.
Luckily, Dick had given Conner fair warning in advance. He failed to mention the part on how Bruce probably knew most all the answers to the questions he was asking, and therefore would be fully aware of when Conner was lying or replying incorrectly. Some aspects of the Wayne family initiation were better left unsaid.
"So, Conner," Bruce began, signaling the onslaught of questions to come. Oh, no, Dick sighed, setting down his fork.
Hands steepled in front of his father's face, marking the transition into business mode. "Where are you originally from?"
"Metropolis," answered Conner. Concise, correct, and gratifying.
Wow, Dick mused, wondering why these inquiries had escaped his own scope. He's pretty far from home.
"How long have you been living in Gotham?"
Broad shoulders shrugged. "About a year."
Less short but more vague. Still. So far, so good.
Here comes the kicker. "Where are your parents employed?"
Instantly, Dick anticipated the trouble this question would bring.
Because this reply emerged much slower than the rest, as if Conner was unsure of how to say what he wanted. "My mom...worked at LexCorp for a bit. Before she quit."
Quit—indicating she worked somewhere else now. Or more likely, nowhere. And as anyone could have reckoned, Bruce pressed the matter. "Presently?"
A minute passed and then another. Conner was hesitating. Dick's spirits started to fall.
"I..."
"I can't blame her," Alfred announced, entering the dining area with a pitcher to pour Tim a fresh glass of juice; who thanked him around a mouth full of potatoes. Faithful butler in the nick of time, slicing a string of salvation in Conner's direction. "Lex Luthor is not the sort of man I fancy myself to associate with."
Snorting, Bruce hardly disagreed. He despised Luthor entirely, yet was unfortunately forced to do business with the slithering, snake of a man.
Before he exited, Dick swore Alfred sent him a wink of encouragement. He could barely hide his smirk.
"And your father?"
For a second, a shadow fell over Conner's countenance, darkening his face in a way Dick had never seen before. "I never knew him," he expressed bitterly.
Touchy subject, Dick inwardly hissed, and Bruce's instincts were also keen enough to leave it alone.
Usually, that would have been it. To be frank, Dick felt relieved, as well as impressed. Not many handled themselves so calmly up against the intimidating I-can-make-you-disappear-with-one-phonecall Bruce Wayne.
So happy with these recent developments, Dick nearly missed the last, unexpected query.
"Have you joined any extra-curricular activities?"
Eh? That seemed a tad off script.
Equally perplexed, Conner answered with a blank, "None."
Dick had never pegged Bruce as a shady person, but his next choice of words were downright suggestive. "You've never considered participating in sports? For instance...football?"
Slowly, the Superboy shook his head.
"Alright," said Bruce flippantly, posture relaxing. As if the entire interrogation never happened. "So, Tim," he began casually, moving on to more lighter topics.
Later, when the other occupants of the table were both distracted, Dick leaned over and whispered, "Intend to make an athlete out of him?" all the while eyebrows raised.
Shrugging, Bruce gave a vague response. "He could certainly pass for one." Which really didn't answer anything at all. Then he continued, around a long sip of wine, "Seeing the state of things, it definitely wouldn't kill the kid to get involved in something that might get him a college scholarship."
Though Dick felt he should defend the brutally honest remark, a small, traitorous part him realized it was true. As of now, Conner had a dog, the clothes on his back, and secrets. Lots and lots of secrets. None of which would help him earn a brighter future.
Taking in a stray means responsibility, Bruce had warned, and huh, it was starting to really sink in for Dick. Maybe simply understanding wasn't quite enough anymore. Like him, Conner had no parents. Unlike him, Conner had no Bruce or Alfred or Wally or friends to watch his six. Nobody to ensure a good quality of life.
Until now, because now, the fate of his future rested in the confused but well-meaning hands of Dick Grayson.
Short, yes. Kinda. But other than that...
Good? Bad? I had a wee bit of trouble deciding what to do with this one. Reviews would greatly help! Wouldn't want my muse to starve, would you? *puppy eyes*