A/N: Thank you to everyone who commented on the last chapter and I'm so sorry I didn't get to respond to everyone personally. I've just been so busy with settling back to college that I'm not online much, but I really, really appreciate all of your wonderful feedback. :)

Now, a few people were a little unclear on Dick's speech patterns in the last chapter, so I'm just going to give a quick note on aphasia to clear up any confusion other readers may be having on that subject. Aphasia is a disturbance of the understanding and expression of language caused by a neurological deficit or dysfunction in the brain. It's not just about being unable to understand language or say words, but about being able to verbalize the context a word is used in - its not uncommon for aphasia sufferers to get words mixed up (i.e. use 'me' instead of 'I'). And just because one word is more basic than another doesn't make it easier to say. Expressive aphasia is particularly frustrating in that sufferers often understand language and can hear themselves making mistakes or using irregular sentence structure, but they can't help it. That's why it's called 'expressive' aphasia (there are other types). Hope that clears up any confusion people might be feeling. Enjoy your weekends. :)

oOo

Saturday morning found a very anxious Dick Grayson twisting his blankets between his fingers as he watched Margaret Elliot set up a video camera. His speech had steadily improved over the last two days and he was now able to communicate properly with the people around him. He was also able to walk unaided as the weakness pervading his limbs had lessened considerably. He still tired very easily, but the other improvements had been enough to get him moved out of the ICU, meaning Dr. Philips had finally given the go-ahead for CPS to interview him.

Dick had been prepped for a second time last night by Batman, but he was still nervous. What if he forgot something? What if he couldn't convince her? What if his speech failed him? It was still a little limited and he was inclined to stumble over words when he got upset.

From the corner of the room, Dr. Phillips gave him a reassuring smile and Dick returned the smile weakly. He trusted the doctor and had asked him to stay while he was being interviewed. The doctor had agreed at once.

"Alright, Richard, I'm all set up," announced Ms. Elliot briskly. "Are you ready?"

Dick nodded. For some strange reason, 'yes' was still one of the words he couldn't say.

"Take this pen and paper," she said, handing the items to him. "If you're struggling to say anything you can write it down. And if you get tired at any stage, let me know and we can stop the interview, okay?"

Dick nodded again, knowing there was no way he would stop the interview. He just wanted this over with so he could be reunited with his family.

"Let's start with your current injury, Richard," Ms. Elliot said, pointing to his arm. "Can you tell me how it happened?"

"I went camping with Bruce in Colorado. Went…" With difficulty, Dick scribbled caving and showed it to his social worker.

"You went caving?" Ms. Elliot asked.

Dick nodded.

"Who went caving with you?"

"Bruce. And guide."

"What was the guide's name?"

"Oliver…" Again Dick scrawled the word and showed it to his social worker.

"Benson," she read off the notebook. "So you're saying the guide's name was Oliver Benson?"

Dick nodded, but jeez he was getting tired of it.

"Okay. So you and Mr. Wayne went caving with Mr. Benson. What happened in the caves?"

"I fall into hole. Bruce…catch me and I hurt my arm."

She raised an eyebrow. "Mr. Wayne broke your arm and dislocated your shoulder just by grabbing you when you fell?"

Dick nodded. It was slightly easier to lie about this since he couldn't clearly remember the true story of what had happened with Mammoth. "I fall very fast and Bruce…grabbed me. My arm…twisted and got hurt."

"So Mr. Wayne caught you too hard?"

Dick glared at her. "No. I fall too fast. He…saved me."

She sighed. "Very well, Richard. What happened then?"

"Bruce bring me to the hospital. He didn't mean to hurt me. It was…accident. He feels bad."

"Let's move on to your other injuries, Richard. Can you tell me how you broke your other arm?"

"I was ten. Fall off horse. I hurt my arm and rib."

Ms. Elliot frowned and Dick didn't know if it was because there was some flaw in his recounting of the events, or whether she was annoyed that his story matched Bruce's. "Richard, did you know that you had two other broken ribs?"

"That didn't…happen on the horse. I was in car…crash and hurt my ribs. I hurt my head too."

Her eyes narrowed. "Where did this car crash happen?"

"Chicago."

"And what age were you?"

"Seven."

"Did you go to the hospital?"

"No. Free clinic."

"And what was the name of the free clinic?" she asked, writing something on the clipboard she was clutching.

Dick shrugged his good shoulder. "I not remember."

"Richard, this is important. You need to give me that name."

Dick looked at her in exasperation. "I was seven. I not remember."

"Alright, Richard. Can you tell me what you meant when you said you hurt your head and your ribs?"

"I break ribs. And I think I break head. It was very sore and…doctor was very serious. I not…allowed in the air." Dick swallowed. There was an element of truth to that statement; his mother hadn't been able to perform for several weeks after the accident. And it hurt him to have to use it as part of a lie.

She looked confused. "What do you mean you weren't allowed in the air?"

Dick refrained from rolling his eyes because he thought that was fairly obvious. Instead he wrote down the word trapeze, then held it up.

"Trapeze," she read off the notebook. "You mean you weren't allowed to perform?"

Dick nodded.

"I see." She consulted her notes. "What about the fingers you broke when you were eleven, Richard?"

"I make tree house. I hit my fingers with…" Dick flushed and mimed using a hammer. He didn't care what Bruce said, that excuse was just flat-out embarrassing!

"A hammer. Was Mr. Wayne okay with you using the hammer?"

Thank God Batman had added an excuse for that to the rundown last night! "He didn't know I take it. Didn't ask his…" Dick wrote down the word permission.

Ms. Elliot raised an eyebrow as she read. "You took it without his permission?"

Dick nodded.

She pursed her lips. "So the hammer wasn't locked up?"

"It was. I…picked the lock."

"You can pick locks?" She looked discomfited. "Who taught you how to do that?"

"Clown at the circus." At least that much was true. Dick had been able to pick locks before he ever met Bruce. Gordo had taught him when he was eight and Dick had picked it up immediately. He'd always been a quick study.

"Right." Still looking unsettled, she consulted her notes again, and Dick thought he saw a smirk cross her face. "Can you tell me about the cigarette burns on your arm?"

He tried not to swallow. This was the injury he was most dreading having to account for. Minor as they were, Batman had been right when he pointed out that there was no feasible excuse for something like that on Dick's arm. Dick prayed she would believe the rubbish he was about to spew at her.

"Not…not…" Dick strained to say the word cigarette before trying a different tactic. He mimed smoking and hoped Alfred never saw this footage. Anything involving cigarettes was completely taboo in the butler's book, even something as harmless as miming smoking. Dick sometimes wondered if Alfred had considered them so taboo before Joker had burned lit ones into Robin's skin.

Ms. Elliot raised an eyebrow. "You're telling me those aren't burns from a cigarette?"

Dick nodded, his neck starting to protest from the constant nodding. He really hoped the next word that returned to his vocabulary was 'yes'.

"Richard, I'm sorry but that's a little hard to believe. If they're not cigarette burns then what are they?"

"Burns," Dick answered, then wrote down the rest because he didn't trust himself to say it. Burns caused by sparks. We had bonfires at the circus and I got too close to one.

"Bonfires," she said when she finished reading. "You were burned by sparks from a bonfire, is that what you're telling me?"

He nodded, doing his best to hide his nerves.

She shook her head. "Richard, do you really expect me to believe that?"

His heart was pounding from nervous adrenaline, but Dick did his best to keep his eyes wide with innocence when he nodded again.

Her eyes narrowed on his face, studying him intently. Eventually she sighed in what appeared to be frustration. "Fine. What about those scars on your right thigh?"

Dick shrugged his good shoulder again. "I fall…climbing tree. I…scrape leg."

"And that's it?" Her tone was dripping with disbelief.

Dick nodded. You've got your answers, lady. Now stop asking questions and let me see Bruce!

"Richard, you're going to be asked these questions in court," Ms. Elliot reminded him. "Did you know it's a crime to lie in court?"

"I not lie!" he told her indignantly.

"Ms. Elliot," Dr. Phillips spoke up from the corner. "Richard has answered your questions. It's not his fault they weren't the answers you wanted to hear."

She glanced at the man in cool displeasure. "Dr. Phillips, might I remind you that you are here in a support capacity only? Disrupt the interview again and I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

He scowled at her but didn't argue. She returned her attention to Dick. "Richard, I know you care about Mr. Wayne. But if he's been hurting you, CPS can protect you. You don't have to be afraid."

"Bruce didn't hurt me."

"Richard, I can't protect you if you won't let me."

"Bruce. Didn't. Hurt. Me," he ground out in furious irritation.

She sighed. "Alright, Richard, we'll leave it there. But just so you know, if you change your mind or you need to talk to me about anything, you can contact me. I'm going to leave my number with you, okay?" She slipped a card onto his nightstand before standing up and turning off the camera.

"I see Bruce now?" Dick asked hopefully. Surely they couldn't continue to keep them apart now that Dick had answered all of CPS' questions.

Ms. Elliot pursed her lips. "We'll see."

Dr. Phillips spoke up. "Ms. Elliot, I was under the impression that Mr. Wayne would be allowed to see Richard once you had interviewed him."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "And just where did you hear that?"

"Mr. Wayne's lawyer informed me when I was speaking to him regarding my testimony for court," he replied coolly. "You've now interviewed Richard and he's accounted for all those injuries that you're investigating, and none of them are Mr. Wayne's fault. Isn't it time to let Richard see his father?"

"I'll see what I can do about organizing a supervised visit sometime in the next few days."

"Next few days?" Dr. Phillips repeated angrily. "Ms. Elliot, Richard hasn't seen his father in over a week! If CPS really does have his best interests at heart then I'm sure they'll find a way to organize a supervised visit for this afternoon. Otherwise I think I should contact social services to confirm exactly what the difficulty is in organizing a simple meeting."

She flushed at the thinly veiled threat. "Dr. Phillips, there is no need for that. CPS is doing everything we can to help Richard."

"Excellent. Then I can tell security to expect Mr. Wayne this afternoon."

Checkmate. Dick watched his social worker's eyes widen in pure fury. She was trapped and she knew it. If she refused to organize the visit for this afternoon, Dr. Phillips would ensure that her superiors would start looking at why. Dick flashed a smile of pure gratitude at his doctor and the man gave him a surreptitious wink in return.

"Fine," she spat. "I'll contact Mr. Wayne and see if he can be here at three pm this afternoon."

Dick's heart soared. He knew there was nothing in the world that would stop Bruce from being here at three pm.

oOo

When CPS had contacted Bruce to say he could visit Dick that afternoon, he'd cancelled everything to ensure that he and Alfred were outside Dick's room at three pm on the button.

Margaret Elliot was already waiting for them. "Mr. Wayne," she greeted him, her tone suggesting she was less than pleased to see him.

"Ms. Elliot," he replied, making sure to keep his tone civil. "Thank you for organizing this."

She gave a tight nod, then pointed at the bag Alfred was holding. "What's this?"

"I brought some of Master Dick's belongings from home," Alfred answered politely. "I have also brought some homemade chocolate chip cookies. I hope I have not overstepped my boundaries, madam?"

She eyed him warily. "I'll need to check that bag for anything suspicious."

Bruce had to bite back a retort because for Christ's sake! What did she think they were trying to smuggle in? "Would it be possible for you to do that while in the room, Ms. Elliot?" he asked, indicating towards the door. "It's just that it's been over a week and we're both anxious to see Dick."

She looked as if she wanted to disagree, but eventually bit out a "Fine. Follow me."

Nodding to the security guard, she pushed open the door to Dick's room and entered. Bruce followed quickly, his heart thumping with happiness. He was looking forward to seeing Dick as Bruce and not Batman. He could be more emotionally open as Bruce.

Dick was sitting up in bed, a grey-haired man in a white coat standing beside him. "Bruce!" Dick shouted joyfully as soon as Bruce entered.

"Dick," Bruce breathed, going straight to the bed and enveloping him in a tight hug, too overwhelmed with happiness and relief to care who witnessed it. "I've missed you, kiddo."

"I want to go home," Dick whispered, clinging tightly with his good arm, and Bruce knew only part of that was an act for Margaret Elliot.

He closed his eyes and leaned his cheek against the dark head buried against his chest. "I know, Dick. We're working on getting you home as quickly as we can."

Dick nodded.

"C'mere and let me look at you," said Bruce after a minute, pulling back while keeping one hand on Dick's good shoulder. Dick smiled at him and Bruce could see relief in his eyes. "How are you feeling, kiddo?"

"Better," the boy answered, and Bruce surveyed his face. The bandage had been removed from his head, revealing a mass of dark bruising around the left temple. Some stitching was also evident beneath Dick's hairline.

Bruce winced and gently brushed his hand against the injury. "Does this hurt?"

Dick shook his head. "Not anymore." His eyes slid past Bruce and his smile widened. "Alfred!"

"Hello, young sir," said Alfred softly. "It is very good to see you."

Still keeping his hand on Dick's shoulder, Bruce moved a little so Alfred could come closer and grasp Dick's hand in greeting.

"I do believe that's the first time I've seen a genuine smile on your face all week, young man," commented the grey-haired man on the other side of the bed. He was smiling at Dick, and Bruce couldn't help but feel a little dart of suspicion. This man seemed a little too friendly...

"Bruce is here," Dick replied happily, grinning at him.

Bruce could tell at once that Dick liked and trusted this man, which alleviated his suspicions somewhat. So he held out his hand. "I'm Bruce Wayne. And you are…?"

The man shook hands with Bruce. "I'm Dr. Phillips, Richard's neurologist."

The last of Bruce's suspicions fled upon hearing the name. This was the doctor who had contacted Kevin Green, who was willing to speak up for them in court. He smiled at the man. "It's nice to meet you, Dr. Phillips. Can you tell me how Dick is doing? CPS told me there was swelling in Dick's brain which caused him to lose his speech."

The doctor nodded. "There was swelling of the brain in the region responsible for language, and it caused something called expressive aphasia. That meant that Richard could understand language, but he couldn't use it. However, as you can see, that problem is rectifying itself as the swelling in Richard's brain goes down. Another few days should see his speech return completely."

"And is that normal? For his speech to return just like that?" asked Bruce. He knew the answer to that, having read everything he could on expressive aphasia as soon as he'd found out what was wrong with Dick, but he couldn't be seen to be too smart. Not to mention that it wouldn't hurt for Margaret Elliot to see that he was genuinely concerned for Dick's welfare.

"Perfectly normal," said Dr. Phillips. "It's called spontaneous recovery and it's very common in cases where the injury to the brain hasn't resulted in permanent damage. Don't worry, Mr. Wayne, Richard's had a bit of a rocky week but he's come through it admirably. He's quite the fighter."

You have no idea, thought Bruce. "Dr. Phillips, will there be any future complications?"

The doctor shook his head. "Richard may suffer from headaches for a few months, and he may feel a little weak physically for a while, but so long as he's monitored carefully, those things will gradually resolve themselves. I suspect he's quite an active young man, but I'm sure he won't engage in any strenuous activity until I've given him the all clear." He raised an eyebrow and smiled at Dick.

"I'll be good," the boy promised.

The doctor winked. "Atta boy. Now, before I leave you all to have some time together, do you have any other questions, Mr. Wayne?"

"No. Thank you, Doctor." Bruce smiled gratefully and shook his hand again.

"You're most welcome," he replied. "Richard, I won't see you before I leave today, but I'll see you on Monday, okay?"

Dick smiled and nodded.

Dr. Phillips left, shooting a look of disgust at Margaret Elliot as he did so. Bruce could guess why; while they were talking, the social worker had been pulling everything out of the bag Alfred had brought. She was now carefully examining each item. It was insanely over the top. What did she think she was going to find?

"Ms. Elliot," Alfred spoke up, "may I give Master Dick some of the cookies I brought?"

"You bring cookies?" said Dick at once.

"Yes, Master Dick. I brought chocolate chip, your favourite."

Dick beamed at him.

The CPS agent picked up the cookie jar she had placed to one side and opened it, peering in suspiciously. Bruce felt his hackles go up. It was such an outrageously insulting action that even Alfred stiffened. Did she think they were going to poison Dick or something?

Eventually she handed Alfred the jar, then resumed searching through Dick's clothes.

"Thank you, Ms. Elliot," said Alfred politely. The social worker ignored him.

Bruce knew Alfred was appalled by such rudeness, but he gave no sign of it as he turned back to Dick and smiled warmly. Removing three cookies from the jar, he handed them to Dick. "Now, young sir, I want you to eat all of those, please. You are terribly pale and I do believe you have lost weight. Are you eating?"

Dick looked at him guilty. "A little."

"A little is not enough, Master Dick," chastised Alfred gently. "You are convalescing and that means you need to eat."

"But the food here is bad," Dick protested, biting into a cookie. "I can't eat it."

"Then I will see about organizing to have more edible food delivered," said Alfred. "But you must–"

"That won't be necessary," Margaret Elliot interrupted him, finishing her search of Dick's belongings.

"I beg your pardon, madam, but what won't be necessary?" asked Alfred politely.

"Organizing food for Richard. He won't be here for much longer."

"What do you mean he won't be here?" demanded Bruce.

"Richard is being released from the hospital next week," she replied.

"I can go home?" asked Dick hopefully.

She shook her head. "You'll be going to your new foster home, Richard. Remember, I told you about it the other day?"

Bruce felt sick to his stomach. They were sending Dick to another home?

Dick was looking at Margaret Elliot in horror. "Why can't I go home? I tell you everything. Bruce didn't hurt me."

"I know what you told me, Richard, but I still need to check a few of those things."

"But…I want to go home," Dick whispered miserably. Bruce immediately put his arm around him and glared at the social worker.

"Ms. Elliot, you've interviewed Dick. Surely you know by now that I'm not hurting him? Why can't he just come home?"

"Mr. Wayne, kindly don't presume to tell me what I know," Margaret Elliot told him coolly. "Richard is a ward of the state until the dispositional hearing in two weeks time. That means I am responsible for him, and I am not about to place him back in a home where I don't believe he is safe."

"Bruce didn't hurt me!" Dick told her desperately. "Please! I just want to go home."

Bruce could feel Dick trembling and pulled him closer. He himself was aware of an anxious knot tightening up his insides. "Ms. Elliot, isn't there some way we can move the date of the dispositional hearing up?"

"That is not for me to decide."

"But there has to be something you can do," Bruce insisted, trying to keep his anger in check. He understood why the social worker was so suspicious, but that didn't make this any easier to bear.

"Mr. Wayne, what I can do is my job. And my job is to look out for Richard's welfare, which means he will not be returning to your care unless the courts are completely satisfied that you are not abusing him. Now, you have over an hour left of this visit so I suggest you don't waste it by arguing with me."

Dick looked up at Bruce in despair and the billionaire pulled him into a tight hug.

"It's not fair," he heard Dick whisper into his chest. "I want to go home, Bruce."

Bruce tightened his hold on the boy. There were no words he could say that would comfort either of them right now.