Gotham City
That Night
Devon ran upstairs and into the kitchen, where her grandmother was unloading the dishwasher.
"Why are you in such a rush?"
Devon gave Marie a shadowed look. "I have an assignment."
Her grandmother looked puzzled. "So go to your room and do it – I can finish filling the sugar shakers."
Devon gave a small groan of exasperation. "Not that kind of assignment. A Larry-kind of assignment."
"Oh – oh!"
"I have to be at Seventeenth and Court in an hour. And I'm so exhausted I can barely hold my head up."
"I think I can help you with that. Go get the gun. "
Devon gave her grandmother an uncertain look, but did as she was told. She went to her bedroom, closed the door, and drew the curtains over the closed window. It would not be a good idea if Nightwing saw her getting ready for a sniper job.
She dressed all in black, and grabbed a ski mask that she had taken from the warehouse the week prior, as well as the taser she had gotten. She stuck a small pocket knife in her boot, a flashlight in her pocket, and retrieved the gun from beneath the floorboards, making certain that the boards were replaced properly.
She rushed back to the kitchen, the gun, disassembled and in a backpack, over her shoulder.
Her grandmother held open her palm to reveal three small, yellow pills.
Devon looked at them suspiciously. "What are they?"
"Caffeine pills. They should kick in within a half hour."
Devon shrugged. "Why not? Between the adrenaline and the caffeine, I should be alert." She threw the pills into her mouth and swallowed them without water. "Yuck. The coating tastes terrible."
"Another reason to take them with water."
"I don't want to have to pee in the middle of trying to shoot someone, Grandma."
"Good idea." She straightened the collar on Devon's black shirt. "How are you getting there?"
"Walking. It's five blocks over and two blocks up."
"Is it safe?"
"I'm an assassin. I'll be fine."
"Why aren't you wearing a thicker jacket?"
"I won't be cold."
"Hmmph. How do you know?"
"Because I know. Now stop worrying. I'll be back as soon as I can."
"Do you have gloves?
"Yes."
"Got your phone?"
"In my pocket."
"Okay, then. I guess you're ready. Do you want to take a snack along?"
"Really? Grandma, this is not the first day of school."
"I'm entitled to be worried and ask stupid questions. Be careful."
"I will."
As Devon left the apartment, she reflected upon what she had told her grandmother, and wished that she felt the sort of confidence in this mission that she had projected to the older woman. The truth was that Devon was worried – how could she not be? She didn't want to do this, and she certainly held no misconception that she was a trained assassin. She had spent a lot of time, in her younger years, training under Larry and his ilk, but she had always hoped to avoid putting the training into practice, and she had, for the most part, gotten her wish for over six years. Now, though, it seemed her luck had run out.
She opened the outside door and, craning her neck around it, peered up into the tree. She couldn't see anything, so she flashed a light into the branches. Not very subtle, but effective.
There was no one there, and, with a quick sweep of the light around the area, she determined that she was alone, and, switching the light off, she ventured outside.
It was cold out, and Devon immediately regretted not bringing a warmer jacket, but shrugged off her discomfort. The walk would warm her up enough, she was certain.
At almost eleven at night, the entire downtown was deserted, and Devon saw no one during the ten-minute walk. She stopped before she reached the assigned corner, and stepped into an alley.
Just then, the text alert on her phone sounded, and she pulled it from her pocket. Larry's number was displayed, and she tapped the screen.
First National Bank of Gotham building
Devon looked around her and saw the structure in question, which was under renovation. Scaffolding wrapped the lower floors, and plywood obscured the first. She approached the building, and, as she did, another message came in.
Door in the back unlocked
Someone was watching her. Her eyes narrowed, and she typed a response.
Alarms? Cameras?
Disabled
"Fine." She mumbled, and walked around the building, past a large dumpster with a construction chute, until she reached a scuffed door. She wisely put gloves on, and, with a glance around her, she slipped inside. It was dark, and she turned her flashlight on.
Another text came in.
Go to the roof
She was being closely watched. The thought did not bring her comfort.
She found the stairs and made her way up twenty-three floors, which she counted as she passed.
The door to the roof was unlocked, and she emerged onto it, sliding on the ski mask before she came in sight of any cameras that might be trained on the building. Lights from taller buildings illuminated the area, and she switched off the flashlight to walk to the edge. She could see the sidewalks beneath her, and the facades of the other buildings.
Opposite sidewalk, north corner. Be ready
She sighed and began setting up the gun, assembling it, loading it, and attaching the bipod. After inspecting it all, she sat back, and looked around.
Time to wait.
Gotham City
Earlier That Night
Dick and Damian stood behind Bruce as he sat at the Batcomputer, Dick with his hands on his hips, Damian with arms crossed on his chest.
Both were in uniform, masks in place, while Bruce was still in his civilian clothes.
"So you think that Billy Numerous will show up here?" Dick leaned forward to peer at the screen.
"The odds are good." Bruce gave his oldest son a brief glance.
Dick squinted at the screen. "You don't play odds."
"Not usually, no, but this case is – frustrating. Besides, I had a tip."
Dick straightened, and glanced at Damian, whose eyes betrayed the tiniest flicker of uncertainty.
"A tip?" Damian dropped his arms.
Bruce stood, pushing his chair back. "The store just had a delivery of $60 million dollars worth of diamond jewelry."
Dick gave a low whistle, and Damian scowled.
"Why should they have so much jewelry on site?" Damian asked.
"Christmas is coming. They expect to sell it."
"That's a hell of a haul for Billy, if he's able to pull it off. That's a hell of a haul for anyone." Dick scratched the side of his head.
"Yes. If Numerous is really involved, it would make him quite a bit richer." Bruce qualified. "I'm going to get dressed. Double check the car, please, Dick."
Dick nodded. "Sure thing." He watched Bruce walk off, and he turned to Damian. "Want to help, Little D?"
Damian gave his older brother a look of disgust. "More likely that you would help me, Grayson. After all, I have a PhD in Engineering and Industrial Applied Mathematics." Even so, he turned to follow Dick to the car.
"What is that – piled high and deep?" Dick smiled at him as he opened the door to the Batmobile.
"Your sense of humor is pitiable." Damian opened the passenger door and leaned in to look at the dashboard.
"And your sense of honesty is..." Dick fumbled to find an eloquent rejoinder, but failed, and blew a heavy breath through his lips. "Whatever." He waved a hand at the youngest Wayne. "You know what I mean."
"No, I do not."
Dick leaned on the car. "I mean that you can cut the crap with me, Damian. I'm not impressed with your degrees, or your training, or your knowledge –"
"That would mean something if you had more degrees, training, or knowledge than I do."
Dick popped the trunk open and walked around to it. "I know you only have one PhD, kid, and that's in economics – supposedly. I've never seen the diploma, so it's probably not true. How does a nine year-old kid get a PhD in anything?"
"I was eight, and my mother may have threatened the president of the university – although that was never proven!" He pointed one gloved finger at Dick and opened the hood. "You're just jealous of my intellectual superiority."
Dick finished his inspection in the trunk and closed it. "Who pissed in your cocoa tonight?"
Damian looked at him sharply. "Do you think someone urinated in my hot chocolate? It did have an odd taste." He slammed the hood. "It had to be Pennyworth. That disrespectful, old fool! I'll have his head."
Bruce walked up to the car, glorious in his uniform. "You'll have no one's head. Pissing in something is just an expression. Have you checked the caltrops?"
Damian glowered at Dick. "I was going to." He moved to follow his father's order.
"Well, do it." He walked over to the driver's side.
Dick chuckled, and came around the car to pat Damian's shoulder, who shrugged it off peevishly. Dick leaned down close to Damian's ear. "Shotgun," he whispered, and fit his mask over his eyes.
Damian whirled around, glaring pugnaciously at Nightwing. "I sit next to Father."
From within the car, they heard Bruce's voice. "Get in the back seat, Robin."
Damian shot Dick a look that promised future retribution, and put his own mask on. "It may not be very wise to sit with your back to me, Grayson."
Dick pointed at his mask and grinned. "Nightwing. And I can take care of myself, so do your worst."
"Nightwing, stop baiting him and get in the car."
Robin climbed into the car, followed by his brother, who was trying, unsuccessfully, to hide a smile.
The car began to move, and Bruce addressed them both. "We are only going to surveil Baker's Jewelry – only surveil, unless we see something out of the ordinary. Robin – did you hear me?"
"Yes, I heard you, Father." His sullen voice came from behind his father.
"Bruce," Dick began.
"Tt. Batman." Damian tacitly reminded Dick about the use of names in the field.
"Batman," Dick repeated, "did you consult Catwoman on Numerous? She's had the most experience with him."
"Yes, but she really couldn't add much more than we already know."
"Huh. Okay. You know, this sounds a bit like Catwoman's usual targets. Sixty million dollars worth of diamonds is a lot of money..." Dick trailed off.
"She's not involved." Batman said emphatically.
"It wouldn't be the first time." Dick continued. "Where did you get the information about the diamond delivery?"
"I repeat, she is not involved. Case closed."
Dick looked at his mentor for a long while, but, as usual, the Batman's facial expression, or lack thereof, gave away no clues as to the man's feelings. Dick finally shrugged. "Okay." He turned to look out the window as the streets of Gotham slid by.
Selina Kyle had long been a sore spot for Bruce Wayne – and for Batman. She was one of the few people in the world who knew that the two men were one and the same. She was also one of the few people in the world who could identify all the members of Bruce's family, and, for that reason, Dick had always felt uneasy about her. Bruce, however, had been involved with Selina off and on for the better part of ten years, and, although he was not unaware of her faults, the chief of which was her alarming tendency to steal expensive things, he often showed her a level of leniency that he would never dream of extending to other criminals.
For her part, Selina seemed to enjoy tempting Bruce – tempting him into intimacy, and into complacency, and frequently, into unwitting collusion. She was, in fact, not only a sore spot, but a blind spot in Bruce's life, and Dick hoped that this was not another one of her schemes. She could easily have tipped Bruce off to this possible heist
so that she could more easily gain access to the Baker Jewelry store, or as a red herring to distract him from another job that she might be pulling. Either way, it was a bad situation, and Dick hoped that Bruce was right – that she was not involved – in any way.
Bruce pulled into an alley and turned to his sons. "From here we swing."
Devon rubbed her hands together and hunched her shoulders in an effort to warm herself against the cold November night. She wished again that she had brought a thicker jacket, as her grandmother had advised.
"Stupid, wise grandmother." She whispered to herself.
She brought her hands up to blow on them, through the gloves, but her breath did nothing to ease the aching coldness that was setting in. She changed position once, and again, and then tried sitting on her hands, although they were painfully crushed between her body and the rough surface of the roof, and she pulled them out again.
She felt so – agitated, and she did not know why, until a thought hit her. The caffeine pills! How many had she taken? Three? Wasn't that a triple dose? She held out her hand and looked at it, and thought that she could see a faint trembling.
"Damn it." She cursed softly. The last thing she needed was the jitters from too much caffeine. Crap. Crap. Crap. Crap. Crap. Crap.
She cradled her head in her hands for a moment. How accurate would her aim be if she had the caffeine shakes?
There was a hissing sound below her, and then a sound of something metallic hitting the concrete of one of the nearby buildings. She dropped down under the level of the wall and, cradling the gun against her body, she curled into a ball in the shadows.
She lay there for several minutes, the only sound the thudding of her heart in her ears. She wanted to raise her head to see what was happening, but the sound of a commotion interrupted her thoughts.
She heard brakes squealing, the sickening crunch of metal, and the shattering of glass.
She gave into desire, and lifted her head to peer over the side of the building. A car had crashed into the corner of the building opposite, and, with the building's alarms blaring, three figures swooped through the air below her and landed on the ground next to the vehicle.
Devon nearly dropped the gun in her shock. Shit! Batman, Robin, and Nightwing approached the vehicle.
Damn it! Really? What the hell were they doing here?
She pulled her phone from her pocket and typed a text to Larry's number.
Batman is HERE
It took only a few seconds for a response to come in.
He's the target
What? I am NOT shooting at Batman
The response was almost immediate.
Take the shot
She shook her head, cursing her incredibly lousy luck. Her damn target was Batman? She had to shoot at the most feared and vicious superhero – the one that scared all the bad guys? And what the hell was Nightwing doing here? Did it have something to do with him hanging around her building? Did he know who she was, and what she was doing?
No, Devon, calm down. He can't. He just can't. It's a coincidence – that's all it is.
Another text came in.
Take the shot
Devon glanced at the phone briefly, then shoved it back in her pocket and set up the gun.
She saw Batman in her scope, but allowed herself to sweep towards Nightwing, resplendent in black, his arms corded, his thighs strong, his backside incredible. Shit, he was beautiful.
Focus, you horny idiot! Now is not the time!
She trained the gun on Batman again, and concentrated on keeping the gun steady. She intended to shoot wide by about a foot, above his right shoulder. She took a deep breath, tried to ignore hands shaking from an excess of caffeine and nerves, and with a quick prayer skyward that she would not accidentally kill someone, squeezed the trigger.
Just then, Robin stepped forward, and in a split second of horror, Devon was certain that she must have killed him. In fact, she let out a strangled gurgle – and the bullet passed between Batman and Robin and embedded in the shattered wall behind them.
She let out a sigh of relief. "Thank you, God."
She reflected, for a moment, that an assassin had no right to expect answered prayers, but she was grateful nonetheless.
She took a glance over the parapet, and saw Batman, Nightwing and Robin had all sought safety out of range. They would be after her soon enough.
She had to disappear – very, very quickly.
She began disassembling the gun, intent upon putting as much distance between herself and her targets as possible.
Suddenly, there was the sound and flash of an explosion, and open mouthed, she stared at the trunk of the car spinning crazily into the air above her.
Huge, angry flames and smoke were billowing into the air, and then, simultaneously, she heard the sound of sirens in the distance.
She gripped the wall and leaned over it, looking desperately for the silhouettes of the three heroes, although she saw nothing other than the shell of the car quickly being consumed.
"That wasn't me. That wasn't me, was it? I didn't do that!" She whispered, and drew back.
She really had to disappear now.
Gotham City
Earlier That Night
Bruce shot out his jumpline, followed by his sons, and they made their way quickly over the streets of Gotham. Once or twice Dick glanced over at Batman, and tried, unsuccessfully, to suppress a smile. When he was with Bruce, like this, he never wanted to give up being a hero. He never felt as alive as he did when he and his father were flying over the city, and having Damian with them only made things better, despite the youngest Wayne's churlish attitude.
They reached their destination, the roof of a tall building that faced the jewelry store, and Dick flicked his wrist to release his line.
The could see the jewelry store, in the corner of the building opposite, from one side, and Damian touched his mask to increase the optic zoom.
Dick leaned on the parapet. "So what are we looking for?"
"Anything out of the ordinary."
"And we'll wait until then?"
"Yes. We'll wait."
They did not have to wait long. A car came careening down the street, and came up over the sidewalk, heading for the jewelry store directly. A squeal of brakes was followed by the vehicle crashing through the front windows of the store, setting off the alarm.
"That's out of the ordinary." Dick noted, but Bruce and Damian were already gone.
"Fine. Don't wait." Nightwing grumbled, and swung down after them.
By the time he reached the pavement, Batman and Robin were already investigating the wreckage. Batman approached the driver's door and wrenched it open to reveal – no one. The driver's seat was empty.
Dick peered into the back windows. "No one back here."
"I don't like this." Bruce's voice was more gruff than usual.
"Father, I didn't take my eyes off the car for a second. I swear – no one jumped out!"
Bruce's lips thinned.
"Could he have run away?" Dick asked.
"He's not fast, he's numerous." Damian sniffed. "Is it possible he's hiding?"
Dick, stung by Damian's sarcasm, responded in kind. "He's not tiny, he's numerous."
"If he was here at all. If anyone was here." Batman leaned inside the car.
Dick put his hands on his hips and circled the car from behind. "So why would someone send a driverless car into this jewelry store?"
"A distraction." Damian said confidently.
"Maybe." Bruce reached inside and pulled back the steering column cover. "It's remotely controlled."
"But why do it? To gain access to the diamonds?"
"Maybe. But, if that's the plan, why isn't anyone here to make a grab for the diamonds?" Bruce stroked his chin and walked around the car.
"Yeah, why aren't we covered in Numerouses? Numerous Numerouses, in fact?" Dick asked.
Robin followed his father around the back of the car. "Ha, ha. Very funny, Nightwing. Your sense of humor is pathetic."
There was a sudden, small impact in the wall of the jewelry store behind Batman and Robin, and Bruce turned, his mouth agape in fear.
"Robin!" He tackled his youngest son to the ground while Dick, realizing that a shot had been fired, dove over the hood of the car and slid behind the wreck, putting the vehicle between him and his partners. Batman dragged his son inside the rubble of the jewelry store, and peered into Robin's face. "Robin! Are you hit?"
Damian shook his head. "N – no. I'm fine."
"Nightwing! Are you hit?" Bruce called out to Dick.
"No! How's Robin?"
"Fine. Can you see the shooter?"
Dick touched his mask and his zoom optics, along with his night vision, were activated. He scanned the tops of the buildings nearby, and thought he saw movement on top of the First National Bank of Gotham building. "I think I see him." He started to launch a jumpline, to get to the assassin, but a sudden, insistent beeping diverted his attention. Crouching, he followed the sound to the trunk, and, still behind the car, pushed up the bent and crumpled trunk lid. He saw, attached to the exposed spare tire, a digital clock display – a display quickly counting down to zero!
"Bomb!" Nightwing cried out, and sprinted away from the car as Batman grabbed Robin's arm and ran in the opposite direction.
The explosion was deafening and powerful and hot, throwing Dick forward onto his knees. He skidded several feet, and was glad for his suit's protective joint coverings. He rolled onto his back and looked up into the sky to see the car's trunk flying dizzily into the air. A fireball shot up, and he scrambled to his feet, looking for Bruce and Damian.
They, too, had been thrown clear, and Dick reached them as they were getting to their feet.
"Are you okay?" Nightwing asked.
"No thanks to whomever sent us that bomb. Did you make the shooter?"
Dick heard sirens in the distance. "On the First National building."
"Go after him!" Bruce ordered.
"But –"
"That's an order!"
"Shit. You're sure you and Damian –?"
"Go!"
Dick did as he was told, and, ignoring the flaming wreckage, shot into the air, launching his jumpline to swing up to the roof of the bank building. It was deserted, as he knew it would be, but he found a spent shell casing and picked it up, looking at it for a moment before pocketing it. He would have it analyzed, later, at the Batcave. Right now, he had to find the piece (or pieces) of shit who had tried to blow up him and his family.
And God help them when he caught up with them, because they were going to need divine intervention.
Devon disassembled the gun and packed up the pieces in her backpack. She had to get the hell out of here before anyone came after her, and before the police came. She must not be caught. She must not! All of her plans, all of her hard work, would be for nothing if she was
She took the stairs down from the roof two at a time, but knew that she could not run down all twenty-three flights quickly enough to escape the Batman or his Robins.
She remembered seeing the construction chute against the east side of the building, and diverted from the stairwell. Dodging drywall and saw horses and piles of two by fours, she found the window obscured by the wide yellow tube.
Without thinking too much about the dangers inherent in hurtling twenty-odd floors down a plastic tube into a pile of construction debris, she jumped feet first into it.
The descent was instantaneous, and she spread out her arms and legs to halt her speed, so that, by the time she hit the open dumpster, she had slowed down considerably, although landing on a pile of discarded drywall was still painful enough that she saw white in her vision.
She lay there for the moment, the wind gone from her, and, finally, groaned. "God. That was a bad idea."
God was quiet as she sat up.
She rubbed her side. It hurt an unbelievable amount, and she struggled to her feet. She would deal with her injuries later.
She lifted the edge of the chute and looked around, and, not seeing nor hearing any pursuit, waded to the side of the dumpster. After making certain that no one was nearby, she flipped out and ran away down the alley, trying to ignore the pain in both her torso and her leg, the latter causing her to limp.
She wondered, as she ran, whether Nightwing, Batman, or Robin had been hurt, and prayed fervently that they had not. It was not as if she would have been responsible, anyway, she reasoned. She didn't have anything to do with the explosion. But, if she hadn't fired at them, they wouldn't have been so close to the car.
Please, please, please let them be okay. Please. She wasn't sure who she was begging, though.
She ran on for three blocks, frequently looking behind her, and, once, forced to press herself to a wall as a police cruiser shot by, sirens screeching and lights flashing. She finally stopped to catch her breath and, leaning against a wall, she pulled off the ski mask to assess her injuries; the ribs on her left side felt like they were on fire, and there was a blood around a hole in her jeans – probably from a nail. Thank goodness she was up to date on her tetanus shots.
Starting off again, she finally reached home, and, after checking to make sure that no superhero lurked in the shadows, she let herself in.
She dug her phone from her pocket, sat down on the stairs, and pulled up Larry's contact to type a text message.
No one ever told me BATMAN was the target
It took several seconds before a response came in.
You are on a need to know basis
Well, I need to know if there's a chance I might be KILLED
You were in no danger
You tried to blow him UP! I'm not going to be involved in ANYONE'S murder.
You will do as you're told if you and your grandmother want to continue to breathe
Devon slammed her hand on the stair next to her, and ended the conversation. She put her head in her hands. How did she get mixed up in this madness? And, more importantly, how was she going to get out of it?
She gave a weary groan and stood, and limped slowly upstairs.
Her grandmother was pacing the kitchen when she walked in, and Devon desultorily threw the backpack on the table.
Marie rushed over to her granddaughter. "Are you all right? I heard sirens!"
Devon shrugged off her jacket, noting that her arm now hurt, as well.
"There was an explosion."
Marie gasped. "Were you hurt?"
Devon winced as she bent over to pull up a pant leg. "Not too much. I had to jump out a twenty story window, though."
Her grandmother gasped and put her hands to her mouth.
"It's not as bad as it sounds. I slid down a construction chute." She crossed her right ankle on her left knee to examine the back of her calf. There was dried blood near a small puncture wound. "I think I landed on a nail."
Her grandmother examined it. "It looks like it's healing already."
"At least I'm good at something." Devon gave a wry smile.
Marie patted her leg. "You're good at a lot of things. I'm sorry I don't tell you that often enough."
"Thanks, Grandma." She allowed herself to be folded into an embrace for a moment. "Is the news on yet?"
"I don't think so."
Devon nodded. "I'm going to take a shower. Call me when it come on."
"Why?"
"Because I want to find out if anyone was hurt in the explosion."
"Did you cause it?"
Devon shook her head. "No." She stood and, as she did, she gave a small gasp of pain.
Marie's brows drew down. "What's wrong?"
"I think I may have done something to one of my ribs."
Marie frowned. "Sit down."
Devon waved her off. "It's not a big deal. Really. I can deal with it."
"It may be cracked." Her grandmother argued, running light fingers over the affected area.
Devon pushed her hand away gently. "It's okay."
Marie gave a worried smile, and nodded. "I'll call you when the news comes on."
"Thanks, Grandma."
Devon dragged herself to the bathroom and undressed slowly, trying to guard her injuries. She examined her naked body in the mirror, and noticed dark bruises already starting to dot her skin, and abrasions on her back and legs.
She sighed, turned on the water, and stepped into the shower.
The warm water felt good on her exposed skin, warm and healing and cleansing. She lathered herself and her hair, and let the water run in rivulets over her face so that it mingled with her tears.
She returned to the living room just as the newscast was starting, and sat on the arm of her grandmother's chair as she watched the top story: a driverless car ran into a jewelry store and exploded, luckily injuring no one.
The heroes were not mentioned, and Devon breathed a sigh of relief. Surely, if they had been hurt, the news would have reported it.
""I'm going to bed. It's been a long day."
Her grandmother nodded. "Oh, I almost forgot to ask. Did the caffeine tablets work?"
Devon smiled slightly. "They were great, Grandma. Thanks."
Author's Notes: I hope that you liked the chapter. I have REALLY been in the mood to spend more time with Dick and Devon, and so I have been writing A LOT about them. They are fun to write, as are the rest of the Bat family. We will be seeing a LOT more of Jason in the coming chapters, as well as Damian. I particularly like writing for Damian - he's such an odd kid, and the words just flow for him. I know that he is a polarizing figure in the comics - people either love him or hate him. I am obviously one of the former - I love him! He is the perfect emotional foil for Dick - they are polar opposites in the family; Dick is fun-loving and affectionate, and Damian is a little bit sour and aloof. I love to put the two of them together because Dick wants so much to see Damian happy, and the only way he knows to do that is showering him with affection. If you are interested in reading some (canon) Dick/Damian interaction, check out the Batman & Robin comic series from 2007 - 2011, in which Dick is Batman and Damian becomes Robin. The best parts are not the plots but rather the evolution of the relationship between those two. I was actually kind of sad when Bruce took back the mantle of Batman and effectively separated Dick & Damian in the comics - in my opinion, Bruce and Damian are a little bit TOO alike to have a very engaging relationship, although seeing Bruce befuddled by fatherhood is fun!
By the way, I have had several questions about the pronunciation of Devon's name - it rhymes with "seven."
Also, for those of you who are not familiar with my chapter posting history, I try to post every Sunday, and, since I now have chapters 15 - 18 complete, I will DEFINITELY be posting each week for at least the next month, so you can depend on that!
Thanks to sunflower13 for betareading! I still have room for another betareader, if anyone if interested (knowledge of the Batfamily is VERY helpful!).
PLEASE REVIEW - this fic does NOT have many reviews, and I would really like YOUR opinion!