Dick slunk upstairs when they reached the cottage, his gaze fastened to his toes the entire way. Alfred offered to bring him up something hot to drink, but he just shook his head and refused quietly. Bruce went straight to one of the couches in the living room and lay with his head on the armrest, staring at the ceiling. The butler busied himself preparing a light, simple supper, determined to at least feed his charges before they continued their latest battle of wills.
"Alfred." He looked up from setting the table as Bruce said his name quietly.
"Yes, Master Wayne?"
"I feel like I'm about to make a horrible mistake."
The Englishman frowned mightily down at the forks in his hand. "What do you mean, sir?"
"…He's right, isn't he? About us. About what we do."
Well. That came about much more quickly than I'd anticipated it would. Setting the silverware down with a tiny clatter, he moved into the living room and perched on the other sofa, leaning forward with his hands between his knees. "Are you asking for my complete, honest opinion on this matter, sir?"
"Isn't that what I always ask for, Alfred?"
"Yes. But that's not always what you really want." He sighed and leaned back against the cushions, focusing his gaze on the empty fireplace. "…You are both right. And you are both wrong. That is how I see this matter."
"That's helpful," he said derisively. "'Things like this are the reason we do what we do.' Can you believe he said that?" he wondered after a short pause.
"It sounds like one of Batman's utterances."
"It probably was at some point, and he just appropriated it."
"Quite likely. It has been my experience that Robin takes virtually all of Batman's words to heart, much in the same way that Master Dick takes yours."
"That's the problem. He's getting too good. He's using my own philosophies against me to get what he wants."
"To get what he needs is more truthful, I believe. He's spent the last six years of his life soaked in the ethos of lending aid whenever and wherever possible, both in and out of costume. You take him to charity soirees to donate millions to worthy causes, and then you take him out on the streets to apprehend criminals for the greater good. As if that were not enough, he was a sensitive, generous child to begin with, and now you have provided him with tools that have increased his ability to give many times over. As you yourself are fond of quoting, sir, 'with great power comes great responsibility.' You've given him the power to make positive changes in the world; surely you are not truly surprised that he now also feels a responsibility to do so?"
"…No. I'm not. Hell, I'm proud of him for it."
"Then where does your confusion stem from?"
"He wants us to put on masks, find Gina, and solve Graves' murder. And I love that he wants to do that. There's a part of me that wants to do the same thing, because like he said, what's the point of being Batman and Robin if we don't step up in situations like this one?"
"But, sir?" Alfred asked when there was a pause, knowing the confliction was coming.
"But we can't. It's too risky. We sure as hell can't actually work as Batman and Robin here; it would be much too easy to connect the dots between two high-profile visitors from Gotham who were more or less present at a murder and Gotham's signature vigilantes suddenly turning up to investigate the same crime. Even if we came up with different alter egos specifically for this investigation, we have no equipment here, not even a secured computer that we could research from without spreading a traceable IP address everywhere we went. We have no clothing that would offer even the slightest protection were we to run into trouble. And we have a grand total of two days in which to accomplish these tasks in a town that we're completely unfamiliar with. It's not feasible, and trying to pull it off is more likely to get our identities exposed than it is to cast any sort of light on Graves' death."
"You are correct. Attempting to do anything would be remarkably dangerous."
"But?" Bruce prodded, well aware that there was more.
"But not doing anything will leave you both feeling as if you've betrayed yourselves and the ideals you fight for. It would also leave a child in the hands of who knows what kind of criminals, and would greatly lessen the odds of her ever knowing the identity of the person or persons who took her father from her."
Shaking his head, the billionaire grimaced. "My head is telling me to take the safe route, Alfred. But my heart is telling me to take the chance."
The butler chuckled quietly. "You once said something very similar to me, Master Wayne, in the midst of asking my advice. Do you recall?"
"…Yes," he whispered. It had been the night that Dick had been made parentless. Bruce had stormed home, torn, desperately wanting to take the boy in but certain that it couldn't possibly end well for any of the parties involved. Alfred had finally persuaded him, after several days, to do what felt right rather than what felt safe. Many of the issues that his brain had portended that night had ended up having to be faced down, and he knew that there would be others still, but for all that he had never once regretted going with his gut.
"And are you pleased with the way that decision has worked out?"
"Of course I am." I wouldn't give him up for the world. I've always been grateful that you convinced me to ignore logic that night. It was the best thing I've ever done.
"Then my advice remains the same as it was six years ago, sir. As clichéd as it may be, the most difficult choices are often best made with one's heart at the forefront."
"…What if it's the wrong choice, Alfred?"
"You are attempting to help a child who through no fault of her own has been made an orphan and taken hostage. How could that possibly be the wrong choice?" He stood up and shook out the razor-sharp pleats of his pants. "Dinner is nearly ready. Once you have made peace with your decision, would you be so kind as to rouse Master Dick and bring him down to eat? I'm sure he's famished."
"…I'll do that." Although the way I'm waffling we won't be eating until Christmas.
He stewed on the couch until Alfred cleared his throat and looked towards the ceiling suggestively. Heaving a sigh, the billionaire rose and made his way upstairs, taking the extra step of knocking lightly on the bedroom door before going in. "…Dick?" he ventured quietly into the dark.
There was no answer, so he slipped across the room to the boy's bed, imagining him to be asleep after the drama of the day. A few feet away, he realized his mistake. "God damn it!" he shouted, closing his eyes as he heard the butler ascending rapidly to join him.
"…He's gone, hasn't he?" the Englishman asked before he even entered the room.
"Yes. Damn it, he's going to get himself caught!"
"Perhaps he merely took an evening stroll," Alfred said hopelessly, not believing it. "Surely he wouldn't go out on an investigation without at least a mask."
"He wouldn't have to," Bruce muttered, cursing himself as he remembered giving permission for the teen to secret two masks and spirit gum in his bag. No, he self-berated, I didn't just give him permission, I fucking told him to do it.
"What on earth do you mean, he wouldn't have to?"
"Alfred, I-" Turning towards him, he caught sight of his own bed and froze.
The second mask and a tiny glass bottle lay on his pillow, holding down a note.
"…Master Wayne? Is that what I think it is?"
"Yes. Alfred, this is my fault."
"Please explain, sir," the butler requested, his voice chilly. "I appear to be a little behind."
"I told him to pack them. I know we talked about it," he said, overriding the butler's displeasured harrumph, "but he brought it up, and it didn't seem like it would hurt anything to be prepared. I thought that if anything did happen, he and I would be going out together."
"Sneaking out is not something he has ever given me reason to think he would do. I confess I'm a little surprised at his brazenness."
"…I should have seen it coming. He told me that he's been keeping a mask and a set of non-descript clothes hidden in his bedroom specifically in case he ever needed to go out in costume without you or I knowing, and I let it slide. I can't believe I didn't think about that when he came up here by himself earlier. Fuck," he swore again, sitting heavily on his bed.
"…What does the note say?"
Bruce unfolded it and read aloud:
I'm sorry.
I know it's not enough, and that when this is all over you'll probably never let me near a costume or in the cave again. I hate that thought, you have no idea how much I hate that what I'm about to do is going to lose me the most important thing in my life, but I have to do it anyway. If I don't help her, I won't feel worthy of wearing a mask anymore, and right now that seems like a worse fate than having you take it from me.
I understand why you don't want me to do this, Bruce. Please believe that I really do understand. And normally I would agree with you that it's too risky. But it's different this time, not just because it's Gina and I've got a thing for her, but because it's both of us all over again. Assuming she manages to survive and either get rescued or escape, there are two ways this can go; either she never knows who made her an orphan – your ending – or someone is kind and caring enough to find out and give her some sort of closure – my ending. Frankly, I don't think the police will even try to find out, and I don't want the not knowing to taint the rest of her life. I've seen how it haunts you, and I can't just stand by and let that same pain embed itself in someone else I care about. Not when there's even the slightest chance that I could help.
So, again, I'm sorry. I promise that one way or the other I'll be back at the cottage before it's time to leave on Tuesday, assuming of course that you don't go batshit insane when you realize I've snuck out and somehow find me before then. Which, to be honest, I'm kind of expecting that you will, but I'll take whatever time I get and use it as best I can.
As for the other mask…well, I guess I'm hoping that you'll decide to be crazy with me.
Love (and to Alfred, too),
Dick
P.S. – I'm really sorry about what I said in the car. I only said it because I thought it might be enough to get you to see things my way, but that was no excuse. I wanted to apologize when we were driving, but you didn't seem to want to look at me, and I was too chicken to push the issue. In any case, I was completely out of line, and I hope that you can forgive me. –D
Bruce stared at the paper for a long time after he finished, his hands shaking infinitesimally, teeth pressed into his lower lip. "Alfred," he said quietly.
"Yes, Master Wayne?"
"I'm afraid I have to ask you to make a run home tonight."
"Standard assemblage, sir?"
"Not our usual costumes, obviously, but plenty of gear. I want tracking devices, both of the untraceable laptops, proximity alarms…you know the rest. Do we have any armor that isn't obviously to one or the other of our outfits?"
"I can procure some in short order. I'm owed a favor in that quarter of town."
Bruce raised an eyebrow, but didn't ask. "Do it." I'm not letting him do this alone.
"And you, sir? Staying here?"
"No. He won't come back here until he has to." Snatching up the mask and the spirit gum, he stood. "I'm taking a walk."
