Author's Note: I will continue my flagship story because of the high level of praise it has received and because I want to hear more ;) Bruce shows his soft side as Gotham crumbles around him. Enjoy.

Hearts

I find recent patrols unsettling. Although city officials speak of a significant drop in crime statistics, I struggle to see the difference. The Fognini Empire and all associated operations, criminal or otherwise, have been curtailed...permanently. The loss of such a prominent figurehead in Gotham's illicit activities has created something of a power vacuum amongst the lower orders. Gang turf wars are fast becoming a daily occurrence and not just limited to the night. GCPD are managing to contain the problem in daylight hours, but the level of violence is escalating. During the past three months, Gordon has attended the funerals of five fellow policemen. At night, under cover of darkness, the ugly side of the city is chaotic. Fifteen gangland degenerates have met their end in The Narrows in the last six weeks alone. At present, I am attempting to formulate some kind of strategy.

There is no central agency to focus attacks on, no master criminal to analyse. It presents many problems. The monstrous anarchy in Gotham is like a hydra with innumerable heads; with which head does one start and where do I finish? Lately Robin and I have been targeting what little remains of the narcotic supplies in both The Narrows and Gotham Harbour. Our minor successes seem immaterial when the remainder of the city hangs on the edge of ruin. I am fortunate to have the boy; he keeps my spirits up when I feel myself slipping into despair. I believe the next logical 'industry' to target is the illegal arms trading taking place in the Upper East Side. Perhaps by cutting off the supply of firearms, Gordon and I will be able to stem the bloodshed. I still have doubts. However plausible the plan, I am unable to ward off a sense of futility in such efforts. It does not bode well.

I am at work almost immediately after finishing patrol duties. As I take my position in the command chair, a position I will no doubt occupy for the next few hours, the boy wanders over. I have dispensed with the cowl completely by the time he draws up at my side. We say nothing. We do not even look at each other. He removes his mask so neither of us can hide behind them. I know what will happen next. A moment later, Dick has laid his head against my shoulder. My arm reaches up and begins to stroke his hair. The movement is not awkward .This gesture of affection does not require much effort from either of us, but the comforting effect it generates is astounding. I feel calm when we are together like this and it is readily apparent the boy feels the same. Before the dawn comes and before the night ends, for this one brief instance, we are at peace.

Long minutes pass before Dick finally decides he has had enough of my attentions. He lifts his head and yawns.

"I trust you'll be going off to bed now, Dick?" I say looking from the screen to the youth at my side. While stroking his hair with one hand, I have still been able to type with the other and make some headway. The boy offers me one of his best smiles, the sort he reserves only for moments of real importance, and nods.

"Yeah, I am hanging out my ass here. Try to get some sleep yourself, okay big guy?" Dick replies, patting me amicably on the shoulder when turning to leave. I wait until he is halfway up the stairs before turning to look at him. I am truly fortunate to have a boy such as him in my company. His patience and energetic nature are rare qualities in any people, let alone a child of fourteen. I allow myself a small smile before returning to my work.

"Bruce?"

I turn my head from the screen to find the boy stood at the base of the stairs. He is wearing his pyjamas. I glance at the digital clock on the screen. It is eight-thirty a.m. I have been working without pause for the last eight hours. I find it therefore astonishing that I still have yet to theorize a viable solution to the problem. I believe my only progress in all this time has been identifying four groups of arms dealers and a potential meeting place in the Upper East Side for illicit transactions. I am disappointed.

"Good morning, Dick. Did you sleep well?"

"Did you sleep at all?"

Dick is concerned for my health. It is touching, but unnecessary; I have survived more than seventy hours without sleep several times before. A brief thirty-six hour period without rest is, by my own standards, rather tame. I shake my head. "No, unfortunately not." I get to my feet, finding my entire body is stiff from lack of use. The boy notes this soreness and shrugs.

"At least you're not wearing your suit. When did you change?"

I cannot recall changing my attire. I am already dressed for work at Wayne Enterprises, minus my suit jacket and tie. Somehow I have also found sufficient time to shave, style my hair and apply cologne. It would appear my ability to multi-task has reached high-enough levels to carry out actions subconsciously. It is both impressive and disconcerting at the same time. Regarding Dick's current state of dress prompts me to review the time again, using my wristwatch now I am aware of its existence.

"Shouldn't you be arriving at school now?" I ask him.

"It's been cancelled for the rest of the week."

"For what purpose?"

"The school principal was killed last night, cross-fire between two rival factions."

I must be somewhat fatigued. I have only now picked up on the boy's dejected body language and bitter expression. His tone is mostly empty, but holds some remnants of sorrow. I am aware he liked his school principal, a Mr. Daniel Kane. When he first began back at middle school, following the conclusion of business with Harvey Dent, Kane was willing to talk to him. Dick was, for a time, very depressed. Many of his other teachers did not feel comfortable approaching Dick in such a condition, but Kane was. He helped brighten the boy's outlook again. I remember I thanked him personally for his kindness with a charitable donation to his youth club program. His death is unfortunate. It is also needless. We must get the present situation in Gotham under firm control and we must do it soon. At this moment though, such actions can wait; Dick is upset.

"Shall we go upstairs and talk?" I say, already advancing towards him. Although the boy is accustomed to sealing his emotions away in this house and will function as normal in spite of any burgeoning pain or despair, he nods immediately. He would like some comfort. I put my hand on his shoulder and guide him upstairs. When we reach the library, Alfred is already stood with a tray of English tea. Clearly the old man answered the telephone from the school and had the unwelcomed task of informing Dick. I am certain he will also be responsible for directing the boy to me; Dick will have wanted to simply go back to his room and brood in silence. Alfred refuses to let the boy slowly turn into me; I am glad for his intervention.

"Would you like some peanut-butter on toast, Master Dick?" The old man offers with a comforting smile. Dick shakes his head. Alfred and I exchange glances in which I mutely inform him I would like some breakfast whilst communicating my intentions to talk with the boy. Alfred has known me since I was an infant and I, likewise, have known him since birth; before Dick's arrival we barely needed to speak at all such was our understanding of one another.

"I shall return shortly. Sirs."

Once Alfred has left the room, leaving the tray atop the window seat, Dick and I sit in the armchairs either side of it. I assume the responsibility for pouring the tea and give the boy his cup first. He enjoys sweet tea. To that end, I have added his customary three lumps of sugar and a small sampling of honey. I consider such additions somewhat excessive, but it keeps him happy. My cup contains only tea. I must admit, I do not care for tea very much. Once I am sure Dick is relaxed, I begin.

"So, do you wish to attend the funeral?"

"I don't know."

"It's fine. There is no need to make plans at this stage. What would you like to do for the remainder of the week?"

"I don't know."

"How's your tea?"

"It's good. You can actually make decent tea now." The boy gives me a half-hearted smile and sips his tea again. I smile back.

"It's all going to be alright, Dick." As soon as I finish articulating that thought, the boy understands I am not just talking about his grief; I am talking about everything, the city, the crime, the horror, everything. He leans forward.

"How can you say that? You don't know what's going to happen tomorrow."

"I won't let this city fall into ruin."

"But what if you do? What if there's no way to stop the power vacuum in the city? What if we fail to stop crime from overrunning Gotham?" I reach over and place my hand over his. I squeeze his hand.

"We won't fail. There is a solution to this problem. People like Daniel Kane will not die for nothing anymore. We WILL stop this. I promise you." There is something about the boy's doubts that makes me so much more resolute in the face of adversity. Last night, I was not confident of winning this war. Now, at this moment, seeing the despair in Dick's eyes, I am sure we will win. Because I cannot afford to disappoint this child. Because I want to see him smile again. I will make sure we defeat this enemy, because Dick deserves some good fortune given what he has endured in recent months. I take my hand back and watch the boy beam at me for my efforts.

"Yeah, I guess I was kind of being a little dramatic just now. You definitely think we can stop it?" He asks suddenly sounding hopeful of a resolution. It is a startling change in his demeanour from only a few moments ago. I suppose he just needed some reassurance to steady himself. It is remarkable he can alter his outlook with so little persuasion but I should not be surprised. I nod my head.

"I would not say otherwise if I did not believe in what I just told you. However I have come to realise I cannot find the solution on my own. If you felt up to the challenge, I would appreciate your assistance on the matter." Dick looks keen about my invitation but is noticeably hesitant in responding. He almost sounds embarrassed in giving his answer.

"I don't know Bruce. I mean, your I.Q. is like a zillion or something and you just worked for eight hours straight on the same problem and came up with zilch; what do you expect me to give you that you haven't already tried? I'm just a kid." The boy is depressed and saddened by the unfortunate news this morning and feels insignificant despite our recent efforts to maintain order. It is likely he somehow feels responsible for Mr Kane's death because of our dealings with the gangs. We cannot put them all away and we have always accepted that. Losing someone close to him has made that acceptable casualties logic hard to swallow. It is understandable and I do not feel slighted by his lack of faith. Times are difficult, but we will prevail. I gift him a smile.

"You lend me a fresh perspective on the matter Dick, something I am sorely lacking at present. And I am somewhat surprised you would stick such a bland label on your identity when you told me only the other week you were the 'greatest crime fighter's partner of all time'." Dick cannot help but grin at my last sentence and almost laughs when recalling it.

"God I've got a big mouth."

"And I'd like to hear more of it. I know it is hard losing a man as kind and selfless as Mr Kane, but I also know the best way to deal with bereavement, particularly when it is fresh, is to keep busy." The boy frowns at me.

"Don't you need sleep right now?"

"Do you need me right now or not?"

"I don't want to appear like I'm selfish." His concern for my health is touching yet again as is his apparent selflessness, but again it is unnecessary; my affections for this boy transcend any physical fatigue or inconvenient time. I am here for him because he wants me to be here for him; he's just too proud to say it out loud. I tell him as much.

"You have earned the right to be selfish from time to time. If you need me right now, sleep can wait."

There is a short silence. Dick opens his mouth to say something back, but decides against it and instead gets to his feet and crosses the short space between us until he is stood directly in front of me. He opens his mouth again and almost articulates the word 'thank' before again returning to quiet. Then he leans in and wraps his arms round my neck and hugs me without letting his feet leave the floor. It is far more powerful in its delivery than words could ever hope to be. He does not try to speak again and only squeezes me tighter to show he considers me to be as important to him as he is to me, especially in such circumstances. I reciprocate his affections immediately. I briefly ruffle his hair and then he releases me from his grip, understanding from experience that he requires little else to keep himself positive in the face of adversity. He smiles and nods his head.

"Okay, count me in, but after a couple of hours if we're not getting anywhere, you have to sleep for at least four hours. Deal?" I nod my head in agreement; it is logical enough.

"Deal."

"Okay then, let's start at the beginning again…"