He let me sleep too long. I knew he would, so it's useless to be annoyed, but I am anyhow. Dick tries—is trying?—hard to lighten my mood, though I don't think I'm acting particularly traumatized. Alfred does the same in his own way. He hasn't made a cheeseburger pizza for me in almost a year.
I want to scream at them, tell them that it's not necessary, but it wouldn't stop them. And the pizza is very good. I can survive.
Stretching out in the Cave is absolutely necessary. Unfortunately, there are some parts of the human body that no amount of stretching can get to.
My skin feels too tight and the air is too thick. I'm constantly checking the clock, and sundown seems to take forever. Usually I can be patient with the best of them, but not this time. Not when I keep thinking about how badly Bruce will have twisted his head over this. Honestly, I'm doing a pretty good job in that department as well.
So I breathe. I work on the uneven bars and use the physical exertion to center myself. I need to be detached if I'm going to be objective. Easier said than done, of course.
There is something very soothing when we finally get into costume and take the bikes out. I'm not disappointed that we don't find him right away. That's pretty much to be expected, seeing as he is Batman. There is still a lot I can learn from him in terms of stealth. But as midnight approaches, it's hard not to become disheartened. At least I can keep my feelings from showing. Dick is under enough stress as is.
We have a plan. In theory. I'm reasonably sure Dick will stick to it, but one never knows. Sometimes he can be hot-headed—especially when his family is involved. Still, even he has agreed that for this to work, I need to be the one to talk to Bruce.
Of course, to implement the plan, we first have to find the man.
We actually have a lot to keep us occupied as we search. Since we are patrolling in a meandering pattern, we run into all kinds of situations that call for our specialized brand of attention. Gotham is a dirty city that seems to breed its own kind of hell, but at the same time, it is home to some very strong people who survive all the city can throw at them and more. Is it egotistical to think I'm part of the reason for their resilience? That we are?
When I started my tenure, I'd thought of being Robin as a temporary thing. I would do my time, then retire and have a normal life. But that was the foolish thought of a terribly young mind. Even if Bruce fires me as Robin for betraying him in the Cave, I won't be able to give it up. I don't think I can give up on Bruce either. I can give him space if that's what he needs, but I can't let go. Not completely.
I love him. No, it's more than that. He is a very large part of my life. Perhaps even bigger then I realize. If he pulled away permanently, a part of me would be lost. I can't let that happen. Somehow I have to make him understand. It doesn't matter if we are never more than friends and colleagues, but I can't handle him being withdrawn and distant. Well, more withdrawn and distant than usual—as if his feelings for me, for what we shared, are something to be ashamed of.
Those concerns are the farthest thing from my mind as I see the explosion. We'd heard the call go out over the police band and are almost at the park when it happens. That can't be a good thing. No, don't think about it. Not now, not when we have a gang war to put down. Fast.
It feels good to work with Dick. We know each other; we know how we move. We are brothers and more. A small part of my mind revels in that, even as I work through the crowd that is now doing its best to take me out of the game.
The job is never effortless, and yet there is something about it which feels like it is, even as the unexpected happens. Like seeing the Bat off to one side, doing his own job. Later, Right now, I have to think about how to survive long enough to talk to him. Did I really just think this was effortless?
Fights, even large scale ones, never last long. Drawn-out showdowns are the stuff of movies. Here it's one hit and down. Sometimes two, but any more than that and I'm not only doing something wrong, I'm getting my butt handed to me. By the time we have things wrapped up, I'm sweating, maybe even breathing a bit hard.
Securing the assorted punks is a must. So I get down to that. There's no need to worry about the various weapons, the Bat is on it. And Nightwing is conspicuously handling the thugs nearest our mentor. I love my big brother, but subtlety is not his strong suit. A little smile makes my own lips twitch. It's good to know that I can still smile even as I want to scream.
No sooner am I ready to head over to them than Batman shoots his grapple line for the nearest building—just when I thought he might be willing to be sensible for a change. I really shouldn't grind my teeth. My dentist has a hard enough time given my Zesti consumption. The first of the police cars is just pulling up as Nightwing and I follow Batman's lead.
Even before I was Robin, I watched people and learned how to read their body language. To anyone else, Batman probably looks perfectly normal. To me, he looks ready to snap. Yet he's not making it hard to follow him. And this is where my plan starts. Talking to Bruce, telling him how I feel, doesn't really count for much, not with him. The man can rationalize his way out of pretty much any explanation that doesn't fit his version of reality, especially when it comes to his family. We have to show him. Oh there will be words, but first must come action. Thus far, Nightwing seems willing to go along with that. It's a good thing.
So we follow. No, not really follow. Move with. It's almost a normal patrol, except for how rare it is for it to be the three of us together.
Something is off and it has nothing to do with Batman. It's just a feeling, but I go with it. Yes, there—movement in a darkened apartment that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. The feeling is, unfortunately, vindicated by a woman's scream. The three of us move as one. It's easy enough to deal with the two perps who thought home invasions were a good career path. The pair of senior citizens that the skells tied up and beat is another story. The Bat is leaving; I know he expects one of us to stay with the traumatized victims. Such is protocol. One big reason Batman has a sidekick is because Robin is actually personable, rather than fear-inducing. But I can't this time. Dick knows that and motions me after Batman. I know he'll handle it, just as I know that Bruce has already called it in.
It's not hard to catch up to Batman, which is a bit of a surprise. He seems almost indecisive, as I land next to him on the rooftop. For a very long moment, it's as if time stops while we stand there, him with his back to me. As close as he is, there is an impossible gulf between us. Unless I do something fast, he'll be off again. I seize the chance. Now, it's time for words.
"There is no blame. Not for you," I say calmly, trying to show him with both pitch and posture that I mean it. I do mean it. If anyone is to blame, it's me and I accept that. Now if only Bruce will see that and stop running.
He turns to look at me and I know he doesn't believe me. Even with the whiteout lenses down on the mask, I know. I'm not surprised, but I'll admit to being disappointed. I'm not going to give him the opportunity to rationalize, though.
"I made a choice, Batman. You can't take the blame for that." He's considering, or perhaps I'm letting wishful thinking get the better of me. Whatever he's thinking about, it involves leaving. I can't let him do that. "I need you to listen to me," I say, taking a careful step closer. "Do that for me if nothing else." And that hits the mark. Batman gives the barest nod, which is my signal to continue. "I'm not a child. I haven't been one for a very long time; way before I meet you, even. I've worked hard to be your partner, your equal. Don't slight me by thinking I can't make my own decisions."
He's shutting down. I'm losing him, damn it. No, I can't give up. Another careful step forward. "You didn't screw up. I did," I explain to him, trying to hold his hidden gaze with my own. "I allowed my wants to override my better judgement. *I* put you in this position and I'm sorry." There, it's out, and I wonder how much he'll hate me for it.
I won't find out at this moment, since Nightwing shows up and everything goes cold with the Bat. I understand, as much as he's family, Dick is an outsider when it comes to what happened between Bruce and me. It's a reflex for us both to shut down and not allow the outsider in. It's one of the bad habits we share.
Nightwing isn't happy. A blind man could see that. And I doubt it has to do with the couple he just left with the police. I need to defuse this now. So I say the first thing that comes to mind: "Where to next?" If we keep moving, keep ourselves busy, then at some point it will be enough and we can head home. At least, that's my hope.
And it is definitely the wrong question, as far as the former Robin is concerned. Bugger. Well, Dick is just going to have to work on his patience if this is to be anything other than a disaster.
"South, to Robinson Park," the Bat says and I nod, because that's what he needs.
Over the course of the next hour I learn what Batman is after. Names. Apparently, he's gotten it into his head that tonight is the best time to track down the ringleaders of a new syndicate trying to make inroads into Gotham. And if he gets those names, I have no doubt that his next move is going to be to go and pay them a visit. And if it takes a couple of days to find him, that's probably what he'll do, not bothering with such irrelevancies as sleep.
Nightwing has other ideas. After all, the names will still be there in the 'morning.' He claps his gauntlets together in the universal gesture of being done. "Well, that's a good night's patrol," he announces with forced cheerfulness and an unvoiced threat. I know what he's thinking. We call up our bikes, instructing them to home in on our signals. But before they arrive, Batman is flying. Again. Okay, now I'm losing patience. But I bottle it up; we have to stick to the plan.
So the night continues. We track down information on the three names in very old-school ways: by working informants and threatening our way through the ranks. It's not really necessary; we could have learned it all through some basic computer work. No doubt that's why Nightwing's temper breaks near 4 am. He's been patient with the plan thus far, but there is a limit. I can't really disagree.
When Batman moves to point his grapple at a convenient gargoyle, Nightwing is there, one hand firmly over the device. To use it, Bruce would have to risk taking off several of Dick's fingers, and even he is not that far gone.
"Batman. Enough," I hear Dick say, and I watch as he moves to stand in front of the man. Determination is in every line of his body. Batman goes still and the air is positively electrified as a silent battle of wills is fought.
"Move," comes the gravelly order.
"No." Dick is right in Bruce's face now, damn damn damn. "And if you try to take off again, the tranqs come out." It should be funny; it's the kind of comment that should result in smiles. It doesn't because it isn't. Dick is serious and we all know it.
I move closer. I have to do something, but I have no idea what. It's up to Bruce; he has to be the one to decide that he's going to cooperate or none of this will work. Yes, we can knock him out and get him back to the Cave, but that's really not going to help anything—no matter how cathartic it would likely be for Dick and me.
I look to Batman and there is the faintest shift in the quality of his stillness. I want to celebrate when he nods. Dick is already calling up the bikes. This is going to be awkward, since the car is gone and Bruce will have to double with one of us, because there is no way giving him a bike to himself is a smart idea. Well, too bad. I've had enough; I need to go home, I need sleep. Actually, I need to scream at something, but I'll settle for sleep. Sleep, and part two of the plan Dick and I came up with. Not in that order.
We're down in the alley long before the bikes pull up, and it's tense. More than a few times, I catch Batman scanning the area. I know what he's thinking, but I also know that he won't leave now that he's agreed to end patrol. No, I hope he won't.
When the bikes pull to a stop, Nightwing swings up on his and revs it. Batman just looks at mine. It might be that he's only then realizing what has to happen. Right, time to take charge.
"You can drive, I'll ride behind you," I tell him.
There is a moment of indecision, but then he's getting on the bike and I swing up, under Nightwing's watchful glare. The Bat tenses when I put my arms around him, but then forces himself to relax and takes off, heading for home.
It takes forever and I'm not sure that we're really going to get there. Part of me is expecting Bruce to veer off, to find something else that needs his attention. Yet by some miracle, it's all calm and finally, we're back in the familiar damp darkness of the Cave. I can't express how relieved I am about that.
Dick pulls up beside us and his face is determined. "I'm getting a shower, and if either of you are anywhere but in the Cave or in bed when I get out, you're not going to be conscious for a week." I'm pretty sure Bruce and I have identical raised eyebrows, as we watch Dick stalk off to the change room.
Now what? I suppose we talk, not that Bruce wants to do anything of the kind. He stalks to the computer. Well, that's predictable. But he stops just beyond the console. I know why; the memory is so raw for both of us. We stand there in a silent tableau for who knows how long; then I make my legs move. Walking over to him, I put a hand on his shoulder.
"I meant it. I don't blame you."
Bruce isn't disposed to actually talking about his feelings. So when his quiet words come out, I take them for what they are: a victory. "No. It's not right."
"No, it's wasn't right. I didn't want it to happen because you were under the influence of sex pollen." It's best if I stay calm, if I carefully measure my words, but I don't dare let him have a chance to talk over me. I keep going. "I did want it, Bruce. Do you understand? It doesn't matter if it never happens again, but you are not allowed to beat yourself up about this," I say firmly.
He sits there for a minute, maybe two, digesting the words. I use the time to grab the solvent and take off my mask. We are both spared from having to say anything else by Dick's reappearance. That has to have been the shortest shower my older brother has ever taken. Usually it's twenty minutes or more, but not this time. He's dressed in a bathrobe, but the legs of his pajama bottoms (dark blue, of course) can be seen underneath.
"I'm going to bed," he announces curtly. "And I expect to see both of you at the breakfast table in the morning." Then he's mounting the stairs as if he holds them personally responsible for the entire emotional mess that is our family. We both watch him leave, almost afraid to look at each other.
Since Bruce never made it to the computer chair, I sit in it, prudently not letting my thoughts drift to the recent memories. "Go get a shower, Bruce, I'll do the reports."
I'm a bit surprised when he just stands there without arguing, then silently turns and takes himself into the change room. That area and the attached showers can easily handle twenty people with elbow room to spare, but there is no need for us to be in there together. That would be far too awkward and likely too much to ask at this point.
No, stick to the plan. And there is a plan. Dick should be doing his part already—well, setting up his part. Mine will be about timing. It's hard to focus on doing the reports when most of my attention is on the possibility of Bruce sneaking out of the showers unobserved. But somehow I manage. I only write up the parts that the three of us did together, and only those parts which are pertinent to the patrol itself. All the rest will go into my personal notes, but I can do those later. Right now it's sheer will that is keeping me awake—something I'm less than happy about, given how much sleep I had earlier.
I feel some relief when Bruce comes out in a robe. Usually he's naked underneath, preferring to change in his room, but not tonight. It's going to be like that, then; I can't say I'm surprised. Only a fool would assume everything would go back to normal so quickly.
It doesn't matter. I get up. He's keeping his distance, so I back off, making room for him to take the computer chair if he wants. But Bruce just stands there looking at the console like it might bite him. "My turn for a shower," I say, watching him. He just nods, not looking at me. It's a leap of faith to head over there and leave him. I fully expect him to be gone (hopefully upstairs) by the time I get out. This is why my shower takes less than three minutes.
But when I get out—dressed in my own robe and peejays—I find Bruce sitting at the computer, going over my report and making his own additions. I wait, standing to one side and behind him. Hopefully Dick isn't getting too impatient, not that there's any help for it if he is.
Of course, Bruce ignores me. No suprise there. I clear my throat, but that too yields no result. "I'd rather not be tranquilized," I say to him. That gets a marginal response. His blue eyes flick toward me. "Dick will, you know. And probably enjoy it far too much." I mean it as a joke, but it falls flat.
"He doesn't have to be here," comes the curt reply, as if that solves everything. And in Bruce's mind, it probably does. One more blind spot.
"Yes he does, because he's family, Bruce." I wonder if I sound as tired and frustrated as I think I do. "We all are, and when one of us is hurting, family comes together. Or it should. You," and yes, that's an accusation, "prefer to run away. You know that Dick won't put up with it. And I won't either. You don't have to bare your soul to me, but you do need to head up to bed."
I can see the stony set of his jaw. I'm losing him. "Just go. Please Bruce. I'll help you track down those people in the morning." I hope mentioning his latest obsession isn't a bad idea.
"Hn."
I suppose it could be worse, he could have said nothing at all. "Bed," I reaffirm. "Even if you can't sleep, go and pretend that can. Then Dick will sleep and we'll have breakfast together so that no one gets tranquilized."
I can see that he's thinking about arguing. And I'm running out of things to say fast.
"It is time that you seek your bed, sir," comes the cool, firm voice with its cultured British accent. Alfred is there, just coming out of the shadows as he heads towards us. "Or Master Dick will be the least of your concerns." The voice isn't angry, nor is the body language anything but calm. Yet there is steel there that speaks of dire consequences if that voice is not obeyed pronto.
Of course Bruce doesn't give in, not obviously, not right away. He gets up and cinches the belt of his robe tighter. He says nothing to me or to Alfred as he goes past and heads for the stairs.
Alfred is a miracle worker. Before I can smile my thanks to him, he is standing close, a gentle hand on my shoulder. When I look up I see a world of understanding in his wise gaze. Then he nods toward the stairs. Yes, of course, the plan. I follow Bruce up.
(END)