There once was a beautiful mansion. It stood atop a great hill far from its neighbors. It was handed down to the eldest son of the most prestigious family of the nearby city. After generations of prosperous ventures and philanthropy, the family led the city to new heights of industrialization and innovation.
The mansion faced toward the city and could see the tall buildings touch the sky. It was far enough that at night, the building's lights looked like solid lines across the horizon. The large trees and the hilly terrain areas surrounding the incline of the mansions exterior kept it so separate from the city, but there retained some veined connection.
Inside the mansion was a small training room. It had a matted floor mirrored walls and high arched ceilings. On two opposing walls were hidden doors, one was an exit while the other was a large walk-in closet holding gis, dulled weapons, weights and other various training equipment.
Two men trained their whole lives in that room. They sparred for hours… one of them winning practically every time. They'd been apart for years and hadn't sparred nearly as often, but when they did, it was less for training, and more for pushing the limits of their abilities.
One of them stood holding both hands open palm and relaxed wrists in front of him. One hand was inches below chest level and the other just beyond eye. His stance was tight for a long leap or pounce. The other had a solid defensive stance. His legs were far apart, his right shoulder facing his opponent. His right arm was extending his back defense and his left arm was in front of him to parry attacks to his front. Both his arms were fists.
The Dick could never break Bruce's defenses. Every time he came close, he found himself on the floor. He's been studying his stance for three minutes… patiently observing where his stance might be weaker for an unanticipated strike. Dick decided to use an old technique that almost won once… confusion. He leapt to Bruce's legs planted his hand on the floor. Bruce feinted the obvious sweep and lifted his knee to his chest. With incredible speed and strength, Dick stopped mid sweep and pushed off his planed hand. He posted on the sweeping left leg and was able to raise his right heel high enough to catch the back of Bruce's head. There wasn't enough force to do any damage, but it got the hit in and that was enough to brag about. Surprisingly, Bruce beat away the weak attack with his left arm. Dick was able to use the momentum to swing his elbow just onto Bruce's shoulder. Dick immediately lifted his pivoting leg to see Bruce's right leg try to sweep it. Continuing the momentum, Dick swung his pulled both his legs together and use centrifugal force to knock Bruce off balance and fall on his face. Bruce was able to roll with his fall, but Dick was more than able to lock a chicken wing arm lock as Bruce tried to rise to his feet. With more strength than he liked to show to his opponents and allies, he lifted Dick off the ground through the lock flipping Dick onto his back. Dick didn't anticipate the sheer strength of lifting a human body from such a low stance, but was able to laterally roll out clutching Bruce's wrist. Dick stopped the roll out halfway through escape and reversed the wrist lock to hyper extend the wrist. At first, the pain forced Bruce to wince in pain. He had twist his arm bend his elbow and roll out, even though he knew Dick had his left leg in position behind his shoulder. Bruce rolled bent the elbow getting his arm locked in a reverse twisting arm bar. Dick pushed up from the ground, held Bruce's hyper extended wrist with one hand and rolled out on top resting his other free elbow on the back of Bruce's neck.
"This would be one of the proudest moments of my life if I believed for one second you were actually trying."
After a moment's pause and two grunts from Bruce, Dick relinquished his hold.
"I wasn't expecting you to feint."
Dick didn't know what to say. He'd fought Bruce a thousand times… he almost always feinted his first attack when Bruce took a defensive stance.
"Fine. Don't talk about it. I'm sure you won't mull about it for years, plan for every conceivable way of preventing it from happening again and then allowing those plans to cause a huge mistake that'll threaten the world only to then realize that it could have been avoided if you just talked about it."
Bruce stared Dick down this time with his stoic unfeeling face.
"I'm just saying that confiding in someone might help you."
"Dick, don't ever say I need counseling."
"For crying out loud. I'm not saying you need to say something about this to me to see a new perspective or advise. You've probably analyzed every aspect of the situation and preplanned a couple of contingencies. You don't need anyone to help you and no one can stop you."
Bruce grabbed a nearby towel and started wiping sweat off of his forehead. He'd broken attention from the "new age" logic Dick was throwing at him. As great a friend he was, not even he could understand.
"I am here to listen, Bruce."
"You stopped being my soundboard a long time ago Dick."
"That's not what this is about is it? This isn't one of those 'Rethinking your life and having hang-ups about how we broke company' things, is it?"
Bruce lowered his head and shook it. "No… we've been through that so many times, it's become a cliché. I'm just upset you've not done more for yourself since."
"You didn't hear? I've got one win against the Batman under my belt."
Pride struck Bruce at that instant. "You won a sparring match against Bruce Wayne… there's a difference."
"Not to me." Dick left the room first with a smirk across his face.
Bruce thought to himself how lucky he was that Dick was gone… he might have caught Bruce cracking a smile.
If only for an instant.