Night has fallen.
It's not like Bruce to give the boys this much breathing room for this long, and Dick soon finds out why. He isn't the only one with guilt weighing on his shoulders. Bruce gave the boys a rare day off, continuing into the evening.
After a heartfelt talk and spending time with his brothers by the fireplace, Dick is troubled by a call from Commissioner Gordon. Nothing good can last forever, but, as he sets off into the night; Dick had at least hoped that it could last a day.
Dick walked past the merry sounds of laughter and conversation wafting with the scent of the fireplace from the slightly ajar parlor doors. It had begun to rain while they sat by the swimming pool, a pleasant summer downpour that Dick could hear on the walls as he walked through the house. He instead turned down a separate hallway, passed the library, and then stepped into the study.
"Bruce?"
"Dick?" The only light in the room came from the lamp on the broad oak desk at the far end of the room. Bruce stood from his chair and Dick stepped into the light, smiling a little.
"Yeah, it's me. I didn't interrupt you from anything did I?" he asked tentatively.
"No of course not. I was just looking over some of the Wayne Enterprises books… do you need something?" Bruce said quietly, pressing his fingertips to the surface of his desk as he leaned forward. His voice was deep and relaxed.
"Selina. She told me you wanted to talk to me?" Dick sat down in one of the soft leather armchairs in front of the desk. Bruce looked down and ran a hand through his hair.
Selina, dammit… he sighed deeply. "I suppose I do."
Dick watched him as he walked around the front of his desk, sitting on the arm of the other chair. Dick had always envied how elegant Bruce looked, no matter what he did. Even now, dressed in a fitted black turtleneck rolled up at the sleeves and crisply pleated gray slacks, Bruce looked classic and a bit intimidating. Waiting for him to start speaking, Dick cleared his throat.
"I'm glad to see you're healing up fine," Bruce said stiffly, gesturing at Dick's wounds. He smiled and looked down at his hands.
"Yeah. It's just the ribs bothering me, now, but I can handle it," Dick said.
"You'll have to be more careful out there now, Dick." Bruce crossed his arms over his chest.
"I know." Dick nodded.
"From the diner incident and what I've heard from the police… he knows who you are doesn't he?"
Dick looked down. "Yeah, it looks that way. I'm sorry, Bruce, you warned me against this."
Bruce sighed. "Looking back on the situation, I think the complexity took us all by surprise. There is no way any of us could have foreseen this. And despite what I thought of Harley, I don't believe she ever truly betrayed you. So I guess I am the one who should be sorry for everything I said to you."
Blinking in surprise, Dick stared up at him. "You're- what? That's… okay, that's not what I was expecting. Um, Bruce," he began, rubbing his hands on his jeans. "I know you just meant well. You didn't want to see me get hurt, and I appreciate that. Thank you for it, even."
"But you were right," Bruce said firmly, as if determined to get his point across. "I wasn't treating you fairly or as my son; only a soldier. You have the right to do and feel what you want, and you have the right to get hurt, no matter how much I want to protect you from it. Hell, even now, Jason and Poison Ivy… I want to scream at that kid to get his head straight. What is it with you boys? Still, I'm learning from my mistakes. Maybe whatever it is needs to be your problem and your problem alone. I shouldn't interfere."
"Yeah, I don't know about that relationship…" Dick looked down. "Well it didn't help that I acted like an ass about your interference. Even now, I'm sorry I've been so distant this month. That wasn't your fault, or anyone's; I just didn't know how to face you all. I mean… I deserve a huge 'I told you so'."
"Dick," Bruce said with a sad smile. "If there is anyone who understands what you are going through this month, it is this family." Bruce clutched Dick by the shoulder. "Losing someone you love isn't easy; I know. But how you choose to let it change you, is up to you. I wish I could say I did the right thing, but I hope you will."
"Thank you, Bruce." Dick smiled and stood, hugging him tight. After a long second, Bruce wrapped his arms around Dick.
"It's nothing, just something that should have been said a long time ago."
"Hey, guys," Barbara smiled from the doorway. "We are making s'mores in here. Want to come join us?" Bruce nodded to Barbara before taking a step back from Dick.
"Are you going to be okay?" he asked gently. Dick smiled and nodded.
"You don't have to worry about me," he said, and he and Bruce were led back to the parlor with Barbara. When they stepped in the door they saw that most of the furniture had been shoved to the side, save for the chairs and backs of sofas that had been left to support the elaborate blanket fort that had been built in the center of the room. Jason and Tim appeared from a flap closest to the door.
"Look, Dick!" Tim exclaimed proudly. Selina, Carrie, and Alfred sat beside the fireplace, roasting marshmallows.
"I'm impressed," Bruce commented drily. "You got a lot done."
"Isn't it awesome!?" Jason cried, grinning. Dick dove into the tent flap as Selina stood and walked over to Bruce, shoving a marshmallow in his mouth.
"It was Damian's idea," she said quietly, leaning against his shoulder and smiling. "Of course he tried to make it sound like he meant it sarcastically, but Jason saw right through him."
"Stop lying Selina!" Damian cried, and Dick found him in a cocoon of blankets, sketchbook and pencil in hand. Dick flopped down beside him.
"Can I please see what you're drawing now?" he smiled hopefully.
"No, Richard," Damian snapped, closing the sketchbook.
"Please!?" Dick whined, making a grab for it. Damian smacked him on the forehead with it.
"No."
"Fine," he pouted, crawling out of the opening to the fireplace. He squeezed in between Barbara and Alfred, grabbing a marshmallow and a poker.
"Master Richard," Alfred scolded, "if you ask, things will be handed to you."
"They were right there!" he protested, but he was smiling despite it. He shoved the marshmallow into the fire, burning it to a crisp, and then smacked it onto a graham cracker with two pieces of chocolate on either side. He reached back into the tent. "Damian!"
"Thank you," he felt it leave his hand as the boy took it.
Dick looked at Alfred. "May I have another marshmallow, please?"
"Certainly." Alfred handed him the bag. Dick smiled.
"And did you bring the-" he stopped midsentence as Alfred wordlessly passed him the peanut butter. "-what would I do without you?"
"I haven't the faintest idea, Sir."
Dick chuckled and glanced over his shoulder into the tent at Jason. "You want one?"
"I'm good!" Jason called. Dick smiled, handing the melty s'more he just made to Barbara.
"It's been forever since we've done something like this." He turned a bit. "Tim, you want one?"
"Nah, I've already had, like eight," he shrugged, rolling himself in a blanket like a burrito. Dick smeared peanut butter on a graham cracker and pressed the chocolate into it, and then added the marshmallow. He held it up to Bruce. Bruce grabbed it and took a bite, joining Selina where she was lounging against a couch cushion. Carrie watched Dick intently, her arms wrapped around her knees. He glanced at her.
"Do you want one?" he smiled politely. She shook her head, still watching him carefully. Dick ignored her. Half of the fort toppled down on where Tim was wrapped in his blanket as Jason yelled.
"Damian what the hell!?"
"Don't blame me! You fell into that chair and pushed it out!" he protested angrily.
"God! Stop being so evil," Jason snapped, clearing blankets off of himself and piling more on Tim\.
"Stop being so obnoxious!" Damian retorted, his voice coming from his still standing corner of the tent.
"Dick, can you show me to the bathroom?" Carrie asked suddenly. He shrugged, wiping his hands on his jeans and standing.
"Sure. Come on," he smiled, and she followed him out of the parlor. He pointed down a hallway. "It's the last one on the-" Dick stopped when Carrie grabbed his arm, and handed him his cell phone. "Why did you-?"
"-while we were building the tent I found it ringing in the couch," she swallowed hard. "Um, that Commissioner guy called you, he said he needed to see you right away. Emergency." Carrie handed him his phone and he slipped it into his pocket. "He said it had something to do with some girl named Joan."
"Okay," Dick looked at her in concern. "Are you okay? You seem jumpy."
"I'm fine. That guy just sounded really scared, you should go." She said quietly. Dick nodded.
"Thank you, Carrie." With a glance back at the parlor doors, he turned and left the Manor. What could the Commissioner have to talk to me about Joan?
It was dark by the time Dick had driven all the way across Gotham. The parking lot of the station was silent as soon as he killed the engine of his motorcycle. He took off his helmet and ran a hand through his hair, hurrying into the station. The officer at the front desk was asleep. Dick rolled his eyes and walked past him, through the rows of empty desks, and as he walked past the stairs to the holding cells he could see another officer slumped in a chair with a book in his hands. Usually there were more men here, but it was a weekend in Gotham. They needed cops on the streets.
Dick gripped the brass knob of the Commissioner's office door, the blinds drawn over all of the windows, and he stepped in.
"Why did you want to see me? What's the-" he halted in his sentence when he realized that no one was in the office. "Jim? Commissioner Gor-"
"-Stop me if you've heard this one."
Dick gasped and turned around, grabbing the lamp off of the desk and swinging it full force. The Joker caught it and kicked him in the stomach, and then shoved him into the desk, laughing. He grabbed Dick's throat with one hand and with the other pressed a needle into his neck, Dick tried to cry out but the Joker's hand was cutting off his air flow.
"A client of a hospital where they made brain transplantations asked about the prices," the Joker hissed, his face grinning horribly above Dick's. He slipped the needle back into his pocket, pressing Dick back onto the desk. When his hand loosened around Dick's throat, he couldn't scream. It felt like he was sinking in a swimming pool, his limbs heavy and buoyant at the same time. He couldn't move. Numbness crept up his fingers as he looked at the Joker in horror. "The doctor says, 'Well, this Ph.D. brain costs $10,000. This brain belonged to a NASA top scientist and costs $15,000. Here we have a policeman's brain as well. It costs $50,000'." The Joker let out a wheezing cackle, grinning where he bent over Dick, his hands still clasped over his throat, just enough to hold him down. He continued. "The client is confused by this. So he goes: 'What? How's that possible?' and the doctor replies: 'You see… it's totally unused'!"
Dick looked on in terror as Joker threw his head back, laughing wildly. Something was incredibly wrong. The man's green hair hung in limp curls flying askew around his forehead, where dark makeup encircled his livid green eyes. The white paint streaked down his face, and the scarlet lipstick was smeared halfway up his cheek in a terrible grin. The cuffs of his frayed violet coat were splattered with blood, and he'd abandoned the usually neatly tied ribbon around his neck; it hung loosely down his chest from his unbuttoned collar.
The numbness had reached his chest now, and the weight on his lungs caused him to gasp for breath. Dick couldn't move anything but his eyes as the Joker's laughter tapered off. "That was a good one, eh, boy? It isn't a party until the cops show up."
Joker grabbed Dick by the collar and dragged him out of the office. Dick could feel the pain from his broken ribs in his back, but he couldn't cry out. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't fight back, and desperation and panic took control of him as he felt himself black out.