Author's Note--Hooray! I got the "Teen Titans" bug again! Woo-hoo!

Cayhleenlovestowrite: Here's more, sorry it's not long, but sometimes chapters can be too long. I try to represent a complete idea or scene or related scenes per chapter.

Nikki's Evil Doppelganger: Yes, Randall! You'll see why. Thanks for reading. Keep reviewing!

bunnyaven: I know. I hear that all the time. Updating.

Kaliann:Another update for you, my friend.

Kirril:Here's hoping you have internet. Happy reading!

Chapter 10

Slade sat in a chair in front of a computer monitor, grinding his teeth in frustration. Nothing was working out the way it was supposed to! According to what he could find out, both of his apprentices were still inside Wayne Enterprises, in the holding cells, but the problem was that the blueprints he had in front of him had no area for holding cells! No, there wasn't anything on the blueprints that could be holding cells while masquerading as something else, such as storage rooms or office cubicles. No, it was all individual offices, workrooms, meeting lounges, and laboratories that were too big to be cells. Even if someone did try to disguise holding cells that large as offices or something similar, someone was bound to notice something and question the layout. It was as if the security employees at Wayne Enterprises had done something close to hiding the two youngsters in a wall somewhere!

He had finally gotten hold of his moles in the corporation, but they knew nothing beyond that two thieves had been caught within the last two days but had been dealt with by the company's security force, not Scotland Yard. There was a whisper that the two were in the holding cells, but there were no holding cells! No one in the company knew where they were, but they all knew that the building had them!

Snarling with frustration, Slade pulled up several files on the computer, all of them containing specs on the building and outlines and layouts of the internal structure. He compared, double-checked calculations of weight of materials, and even checked the amount of dirt that had been dug out as compared to a constructor's estimate. After all, there could be an extra floor belowground that no one knew about. But…there was the problem that his man on the security team knew nothing about an extra floor. Where could they have put Robin and Randall?

Besides his apprentice problem, there were other things going merrily to hell in a handbasket with a one way ticket, too. Dozens of his front companies went bankrupt and closed, and he had no revenue to save or start them up again. Those that hadn't gone belly-uphad been taken over by a company called Memorial Enterprises. Hecould find no records of Memorial Enterprises! Howcould they take over?The most damning thing was that for years now, his profits had been through the roof and had only been climbing upward. Overnight, the stocks had depreciated in value and left him with nothing. His numerous bank accounts had been frozen, and his suppliers of materials for several projects that he had in the works had disappeared. (They were projects, he didn't like to remember, that could save his rapidly-dying companies and revenue producers.) Also, somehow, someone had managed to ensure that his last several shipments of needed supplies for a lucrative contract had been shoddy, second-rate material disguised as top-of-the-line. Now, he had lost a very profitable client due to his ineptitude to make sure that his materials were what he needed. It was very, very irritating.

Time and again, Randall's words came back to him: I've taken steps to assure that my death or capture by you or anyone will have very little bearing on all of the things I've been working on. No matter what happens to me, the plans I've set in motion will continue. It was as if the boy's words had been a curse. Could he really have done all of this? Could he really take all of his power from him this easily?

He knew that such a feat was too difficult for one person to handle alone, and he knew thatit was possible the Haven organization wasinvolved, but it was the fact that Randall knew so much about him that was spelling his slow doom. He had knowledge of every front, alias, and business scheme, and it seemed as if he had kept himself informed of later developments. What Slade had seen as the perfect apprentice was now very slowly killing him financially and was sapping his power away from him. It was as if he had opened his arms wide and welcomed an enemy right into the heart of everything. He had to do something about this, but first, he had to find the two boys.

Space

Randall woke up with a crick in his neck, feeling as if his head were not working quite right. Had Slade finally lost patience with him and given him a concussion? It certainly felt like it. He was having trouble getting his thoughts to stay together, and his eyes weren't working quite right. He couldn't get them to focus, either.

He managed to work his way to a sitting position, and saw that he was stretched out on a cot in a small, bare room, and an open door led to a bathroom. He was still wearing Slade's uniform, but someone had taken his radio link. Gingerly, he raised his hands to his head and probed at what felt like an injury. Underneath a bandage, he found a small knot that was causing him agony, so he took his hands away. He licked dry lips and fought down a feeling of dizziness, wishing he could have a drink of water. Slowly, he worked his way back to a prone position, and the dizziness ebbed, leaving him feeling a little more human. Now he could think: Where was he, what had happened, and why wasn't Slade there?

Closing his eyes, he allowed his memory to come back to him. He remembered being sent after Robin, being caught, and the last thing he could get into his mind was that he had been hit. Now, he was waking up in a strange place. Okay. Evidently, he was not with Slade, and Slade couldn't find him, else he would have been there by now.

The sound of an electric lock buzzed outside the closeddoor, and with an audible snap it opened to admit an older man, looking a little tired but still kind. Something about this guy seemed so familiar, but with the way his head was hurting, he couldn't get his thoughts to focus on the problem. He was tall, dark haired, and what most girls would call a hottie. There was an air about him that breathed elegance, refinement, and good breeding, but at the same time, like a shadow, there was the feeling that this man would not be someone to have as an enemy. He was very intelligent, Randall could tell that by looking at his eyes, and he had a feeling that this man had used his intelligence the same way some people would use a gun: as a defense and an attack.

"I'm glad to see you're awake," the man said, sitting down on the one chair in the room. "How's you're head?"

Randall looked at him. "It's agony, but I'll live," he answered. "Do I know you?"

The man smiled. "Yes and no, I think. I'm Bruce Wayne."

"Ah." That explained a lot. Bruce Wayne's face was plastered on tabloid covers andin newspapers on a regular basis, but usually, he didn'tlook this...well, normal. He lookedjust like any guy. Most of the time he looked like a movie star, especially when he was in public. Then something struck Randall. "Aren't you supposed to be in Gotham?"

Wayne shook his head. "I had to come to London on business, so I decided to drop in on the office to check how things are going. Imagine my surprise when I heard about two break-ins. One was Batman's protege, and the other was you."

"Well, I was sent after Robin," Randall explained. "The same guy who was holdingRobin prisonersent me here, but trust me, I don't like having to do what the guy tells me. If it was up to me..."

"You'd have nothing to do with him, is that right?"

Randall looked at Wayne, feeling more uncomfortable by the minute. Why was he having the feeling that Wayne knew far more about this than a multimillionaire playboy should? Shouldn't he be worrying about a fancy car, watch, a date, something? Why was he so darn interested in all of this, and why hadn't he done the sensible thing and turned Randall over to the police by then? After all, a trespasser wouldn't be his problem anymore, would he? And, now that Randall thought about it, surely it wasn't usual for Bruce Wayne to involve himself in every little thing?

"Well, Randall, you're probably wondering why I'm so interested," Wayne said, smiling.

"It had crossed my...hang on, how did you know my name?" Good Lord, was Wayne in Slade's back pocket or something? Could he read minds?

Wayne, seeing his expression, threw back his head and laughed. "You should see your face!" he said, calming down and taking a few deep breaths. I haven't laughed this much since Dick came around."

"Sorry?" Now Randall was completely confused.

Wayne fixed him with a serious glance, reminding Randall even more strongly of someone he knew he knew. The only problem was, he couldn't think who it was. "Who do I remind you of?"

"That's what I can't remember. I know I've seen you recently, though."

"Maybe this will help," Wayne said, covering the top half of his face with a black-gloved hand. It looked sort of like a mask...

Randall's mouth dropped open. "Batman?"

Wayne smiled. "Got it in one."

Randall felt exceedingly confused. "I thought you were only playing Bruce Wayne in Bretagne; I never guessed you were him!"

Batman shrugged. "Eh, it's an old diversion technique. Now, have you had enough of this stuffy room? Would you like to see Robin?"

Randall nodded, but remembered Slade's little insurance policy. "Slade put a tracker--"

"It's been taken care of," Bruce said. "Don't worry. Let's get you out of here."

It was as if Bruce Wayne could no wrong, Randall saw. Without a problem, Wayne took him out of the building, down into a parking garage, and led him to what looked like a limousine. They both got into the back, and Randall leaned appreciatively into the soft seat back, feeling much better. Once they were settled, Bruce called "Okay!" and the car started up.

As they were pulling out of the garage, a panel separating the front from the back slid down, revealing a green head with a chauffeur's cap on.

"Good afternoon!" the green head said brightly. "I am Beast Boy, and I'll be your driver today. Please fasten your safety belts and sit back and enjoy the ride."

Randall's ease vanished in a moment as he felt the blood drain from his face. "You let HIM drive?" he squawked, all dignity forgotten.

"Hey, I'm a great driver!" Beast Boy protested. "I only wreck a little bit each time I drive!"

"My point exactly," Randall said dryly.

"Ah, don't worry," Bruce said, sitting back in his seat, the very picture of tranquillity. "If he wrecks, I have a great insurance company."

Randall relaxed and leaned back in the seat. "All right, then. It's your checkbook."