We get a glimpse into Bruce's mind this chapter! Yippee!! XD Anyway, the info about fingerprint-lifiting in this chappie can mostly be atributed to one of my Nancy Drew computer games and the movie National Treasure.
Broken Glass
Chapter Twenty-Five: Tough Love
"He's gone!"
Alfred glanced up as his eldest charge stormed into the kitchen. Judging by the look on Bruce's face, there was no need to ask who he was talking about.
"Have you checked the Batcave, sir? Perhaps he—"
"Yes, I checked the Batcave, his room, the grounds, the entire house! He's not here!"
"Well I don't seem to recall your specifically ordering Master Dick to stay in the Manor. Perhaps he decided to visit some of his friends at the Tower or the Watchtower."
"I called both those places already. They haven't seen him at the Watchtower and nobody's answering at the Tower," Bruce insisted impatiently. Dick was missing, for heaven's sake—this was an emergency! He didn't have time to sit around explaining things!
"If he doesn't show up in ten minutes, then Batman is going out after that little…"
Bruce glanced at the clock.
"Make that five minutes."
Alfred watched as Bruce went back to his study and slammed the door shut loudly. In spite of the severity of the situation, he couldn't help but chuckle a bit. And to think Bruce was always insisting he was Dick's guardian, not his father.
But he sure acted like a father sometimes.
Meanwhile, Alfred's thoughts were among the least of Bruce's concerns. If that kid didn't get his tail back here in about thirty seconds, he was really going to get it!
Before he could continue planning Dick's fate, the Bat's sharp ears picked up the sounds of the elevator from the Cave to the study being activated.
About time.
Common sense told Bruce to go easy on the boy, but habit had him standing formidably, arms crossed, glaring at the elevator doors as they opened. He didn't betray his surprise upon discovering that Dick was soaked… and that he was not alone.
Even though the man hadn't said a word, the look on his face was enough to make Aqualad cringe visibly as Dick paled.
"He knows!" Dick whispered in horror.
"Where you've been? No, not yet, but I intend to find out." Turning to Aqualad, Bruce said shortly, "Where was he?"
"The Tower."
"What was he doing there?"
"Drinkin' ipecac," Dick confessed. He tried to make a joke out of the condemning words, but it didn't come off very well. His voice cracked right in the middle, betraying his distress.
The one thing it did succeed in doing was softening Bruce's attitude. The change was barely noticeable to Aqualad, but Dick picked up on it and felt such a rush of relief that his knees almost gave out.
Bruce didn't say anything at first. He just jerked his head towards the study door, as if telling Dick to get out of the elevator. Although Dick's first impulse was to grab onto Aqualad and stay right where he was, he obeyed.
"You'll come visit my grave every once in a while, won't you, Gillhead?" Dick muttered sarcastically. "Because this is probably the last time you'll ever see me alive."
Aqualad never answered.
As soon as they were alone, Dick started backing up towards the study doors, babbling nervously as he went.
"Bruce, before you yell at me, and I know you're gonna yell at me eventually, I swear, I didn't want to do it! I know that sounds crazy 'cause you're always the one talking about self-control and you're probably thinking that I would have stopped myself if I really didn't want to do it, but I tried and…"
"Dick."
"But…"
"Dick."
"I…"
By this point, Dick had gone completely off-course, missing the door and cornering himself against a wall instead. Bruce could see the terror on the boy's face and hear it in his ragged breathing.
"Dick, calm down, okay? You act like I'm about to hit you."
"…You're not?"
Much to Dick's surprise, Bruce actually looked hurt.
"You really think I'd hit you for this?"
"Well… yeah! I mean if I were you, I'd hit me for this."
"Well, as you are so fond of pointing out, you're not me."
Dick moved his jaw, trying to form words, but nothing came out. He ducked his head in embarrassment when he realized that Bruce had essentially caught him in his own trap.
While he was still staring at the floor, Dick felt Bruce put an arm around his shoulders. It was done very gently, as if Bruce was afraid that he would jerk away from the half-embrace. But Dick didn't move, except for tensing up slightly in sudden fear.
"It's okay. Nothing's going to happen to you," Bruce repeated.
Dick nodded and took a deep breath, letting his shoulders slump a little.
"You alright now?"
Dick nodded again.
"Okay then. Go get dried off and come back down here. I don't claim to be a psychiatrist but maybe we can figure out why this happened."
While Dick was out of the room, Bruce lit a fire in the huge marble fireplace. Although it was August, and it wasn't really cold enough to warrant a fire, Bruce recalled that Dick had been shivering during their conversation. It was apparent that he had been out in the rain in bare feet, and since he was still quite thin, the boy was probably feeling rather chilled by this point.
Sure enough, by the time Dick came back, his arms were crossed and he was hunched over slightly, as if trying to keep himself warm. He was only wearing a pair of light summer pajamas—undoubtedly trying to look normal at the expense of his own comfort. He appeared to be slightly confused by the presence of the fire, but welcomed it nonetheless.
Bruce sat down in an armchair near the fireplace while Dick sat on the floor in front of him. The duo stared at each other for several seconds.
"So what do you want me to say?" Dick finally piped up.
"Where you got the ipecac would be a good place to start."
"Um… on the balcony in my room…"
Ah, so that's how he'd gotten wet.
"Why did you use it instead of telling me about it the way you did with the diet pills?" Bruce continued.
All he got was a shrug. Bruce sighed a little in exasperation. Dick shrank back slightly at the noise.
"Well do you remember what you were thinking just before using the ipecac?"
The boy chewed his lip, trying to remember. Everything had gone by so fast…
"…Yeah…" Dick said slowly. "I was on the balcony in the rain… I was thinking that… I was thinking that nobody cared about me."
Dick balled up his fists, waiting for Bruce to tell him that that was ridiculous, that he knew there were people out there worrying themselves sick over his precarious mental and physical condition.
But when Bruce spoke, the only thing he said was the rather cryptic, "There. Now we know."
"Know what?"
"Why you decided to use the ipecac," the man explained. "You kept thinking that nobody cared about you and you tried to deal with that the way you have been for the past year."
"Oh. Is that it, then?"
"No. We'll have to talk to your therapist at your next session tomorrow, see if she can teach you a better way of dealing with these feelings of being unwanted."
"Oh."
"In the meantime, try to remember—those voices in your head? They're lying to you, okay?"
Dick nodded but raised an eyebrow in pleasant surprise. This was the first time he'd heard someone besides his therapist who referred to the Voices as real things and not just figments of his imagination. Well, okay, they were in his mind, but to Dick, they were real. It was nice to hear someone else acknowledge that fact.
Bruce continued, "Another thing, Dick, and I need you to be completely honest with me on this one… have you hidden anything else around the house or elsewhere? Any more diet pills, ipecac…?"
"Not that I can remember," Dick replied truthfully.
But, in spite of the open response he had given, Dick knew he saw a glint of suspicion in his guardian's eyes.
Well what did I expect, for crying out loud? After what I've been doing, I'd be suspicious of me, too… but still…
"Alright, I believe you," Bruce said at last. There was a short pause before he added, "Is there anything else you wanted to talk about?"
Aw, how cute. He's making an effort to be nice to me.
"No, I think that's it."
"Then maybe you'd better get on up to bed, huh?"
"Guess so."
"If you think of anything else—"
"—I'll let you know," Dick finished up. "'Night, Bruce."
"Good night."
Dick closed the door behind him. As soon as he was gone, Bruce stood up and made his way over to the desk in the corner. He often used it to go over business from Wayne Enterprises, and Dick sometimes borrowed the spot to do his homework. Right now, though, it was being used to hide something. Something important.
Opening the top left-hand drawer, Bruce carefully counted the items in the drawer that had been hidden with such care. Yes, there they were. All still there and in good condition.
Locks.
---
"What did you do to my bathroom?!"
Bruce didn't even look up from the morning paper as Dick stormed into the kitchen, still in his pajamas and mad as a hornet.
"You're up," Bruce calmly observed.
"Okay, what's with the lock on my bathroom door? I wake up this morning and it's like I'm back at the hospital!" Dick ranted.
"You'd better get dressed. Clark said something about dropping by to check on you this morning."
"How am I supposed to get dressed when my bathroom is locked? And don't even try to tell me that wasn't your doing because you're the only one who would think of something as rotten as putting combination locks on every bathroom in the house!"
"Breakfast will be ready in about fifteen minutes."
"Bruce! You're not even listening—although somehow, that doesn't surprise me!"
Bruce finally looked up from his paper. He'd never seen Dick this angry before (at least not at him), but that hardly meant he was going to remove the locks. Last night had shown they were a necessity.
Which reminded him. He'd have to make sure the Titans put a lock on their bathroom door as well and kept the combination a secret from Dick.
"I know you're upset with me, but there's really no point in discussing this because the locks are staying. If you want to use the bathroom, you'll have to ask me."
"And if you're not home? Then what?"
He had a point, actually. If he gave any of the combinations to Alfred, then Alfred would immediately tell Dick and the boy would have unlimited access to the bathroom until Bruce changed the combination. He couldn't risk that.
"Don't worry. I'll be sticking close to home for quite a while yet."
"That doesn't make this right! In fact this is just plain wrong! You ask anybody else and they'll agree with me, I guarantee it!"
Bruce folded his paper and stood.
"You wanted to use the bathroom, didn't you? Come on then."
Dick growled as his guardian walked past him… but he did need to use the bathroom. He could always figure out how to get past the locks later.
---
Dick showered and changed quickly. By the time he came downstairs, hair still wet from the shower, Clark was waiting for him in the living room. The reporter instantly noticed the anger in Dick's expression and asked, "Is something wrong?"
"Bruce put locks on all the bathrooms in the house," Dick grumbled, kicking at a leg of the coffee table.
"Locks?" Clark repeated. "You mean like at the hospital?"
"Worse. These ones are combination locks with fingerprint analysis built in."
Turning to Clark, Dick pleaded, "You know he's wrong, don't you?"
"Hold on a minute." Clark held up a hand to ensure that Dick stopped talking. "Why would Bruce want to put locks on all the bathrooms just now? You haven't…?"
"That's entirely beside the point!" Dick snapped. Clark didn't even blink at Dick's sudden burst of temper, accustomed to his mood swings. But Dick seemed to realize that his tone had been entirely too harsh for the occasion.
"Sorry, Clark. I kinda had a rough night… I'm sorry…"
Dick nearly rolled his eyes. He was aware of how stupid his apology sounded.
Nice going, Grayson… you are such an idiot. Pull yourself together and start acting like a man!
"Hey, it's okay," Clark said softly. He took Dick by the hand and gently pulled him closer. "You just had a little setback. That doesn't mean you've failed."
"But what if it does?" Dick insisted. "What if I do fail? What if I can't get better? What if I'm stuck like this forever?"
"You won't be." Now Clark's voice had taken on a firmer tone. "You're going to be just fine. I know you, Dick. You can get through this."
"I wish everyone would quit saying that! Everyone's expecting too much of me—as usual! I can't do all of this!"
He was suddenly struck by the inexplicable urge to cry, but he quickly got hold of himself. There was no way he'd be caught crying in front of Clark again.
Dick continued, "I just… my whole life, even back at the circus, I was always trying to impress people. But that was with my acrobatics. That was easy."
"You knew recovery would be hard, kiddo," Clark reminded him, not unkindly.
"Yeah, I know… I just don't want to disappoint anybody, that's all. Especially not Bruce."
Clark pulled the boy down so that they were sitting next to each other on the couch. Then he explained, "Now isn't the time to be worried about what other people think. You've been doing that long enough. It's about time you started taking care of yourself."
Dick sighed.
"Somehow, it was a lot easier taking care of everybody else…"
"I know. I've done the same thing myself—staying up all night trying to find out what Luthor's planning, completely ignoring the fact that I wouldn't be able to fight him very well after missing a night's sleep. It was just too easy to ignore my own needs by using the excuse that I needed to help other people."
Dick stared, his wide blue eyes betraying his disbelief.
"What?" Clark said, almost laughing. "You think you're the only one who does that? I'll have you know that it's practically an occupational disease."
"Huh?"
"Being a crime-fighter, I mean. Being overly-selfless comes with the territory as much as the tights do, if not more. Just remember, Dick… being a crime-fighter doesn't mean you have to make crime-fighting your whole life."
"Well don't sit there telling me that, Clark," Dick replied quietly. "I think Bruce needs to hear that a lot more than I do."
"Maybe he does at that."
Silence fell over the room. Clark slowly rubbed his palms together, trying to dry the sweat that had accumulated there during his tense conversation with Wayne's ward. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dick shift uncomfortably. Then he felt gentle pressure as the boy shyly touched his shoulder.
"Thanks anyway," Dick whispered.
Clark reached up and laid his fingers over Dick's.
"Anytime, Dick. Anytime."
---
Bruce had been watching the door very carefully for signs of trouble when Clark finally emerged from the study. Clark knew that Bruce had been waiting for him but pretended not to.
"I suppose he asked you to convince me to remove the locks," were the first words out of Bruce's mouth.
"No," Clark said simply. "He's upset, of course, but he's not going to try to change your mind. He respects you enough not to do that."
The comment was innocent enough, but Clark had put just enough disapproval into his tone to let Bruce know that Dick wasn't the only one who didn't like this new tactic. Bruce noticed this and his eyes narrowed in anger.
"You think I enjoy doing this to him, don't you?"
Clark opened the front door and prepared to leave.
"I know you don't enjoy this," the reporter answered. "I know you hate this as much as the rest of us, and I know that you'd give anything to trade places with that boy… but does Dick know it?"
Bruce turned his head slightly as the door to the study opened again. Dick's footsteps rang across the hall behind him, and then headed up the stairs. Clark waited until Dick was well out of sight before raising his eyebrows meaningfully at Bruce.
Then he left.
Bruce stood there long after the reporter had gone, trying to convince himself how wrong Clark was. Of course Dick knew it. The kid may be sick, but he couldn't possibly believe that his own guardian would be cruel enough to enjoy treating him this way.
Then again…
When was the last time he'd told Dick how he felt about him, anyway? Three years ago? Four? More? And if Dick did know, then how come he had felt it necessary to hide his emotions by stuffing them down and starving them away? Why had the boy pushed himself to the brink of suicide for the sole purpose of trying to please him?
Finally, Bruce realized that someone was coming down the stairs. He shook his head as he returned to the present.
He turned around to see Dick standing there, legs spread apart and hands clasped behind his back. His face was the very picture of neutrality, making it impossible for Bruce to determine what the boy was thinking.
It hadn't been so long ago that this same child had willingly shared his feelings with everybody, happily letting everyone into his private world of emotions in a way that his mentor never could.
"Did you want something?" Bruce asked.
"You should have restricted my access to dusting and fingerprint-lifting kits, too, Bruce."
The man raised an eyebrow at the non sequitur. Dick didn't need any encouragement to continue his oddly boastful speech.
"You taught me how to do it yourself," the boy said. "You dust the keypad for fingerprints. Whichever fingerprints show up clearest were applied first, and so on. If you lift fingerprints from a clean surface and apply them to rubber gloves, the analyzer in the lock can't tell the difference."
Bruce's face darkened as his ward's meaning suddenly became obvious.
To illustrate his point, Dick held his hands out in front of him. Bruce soon found himself looking at six small metal locks. They were the ones he'd placed on the upstairs bathrooms.
"Do I have to remove the ones downstairs, too? Or will you do it for me?"
The man crossed his arms, glaring steadily at his ward.
Dick didn't let his disappointment show through. He had known that Bruce would be angry with him for rebelling against an order… but he had also hoped that the man might be just a little proud of him for managing to pull this off in so short a time.
But he wasn't.
…You should have known that by now… since when is anything you do ever good enough? He doesn't even care about you, quit trying to please him… he doesn't care, and you wouldn't deserve it if he did!
Shut up. Just shut up.
"…Dick, did you hear what I said? Dick!"
"What?" the boy asked automatically. It was obvious, especially to Bruce, that the boy had been in his own little world for the past minute or so. But what had he been thinking about? Well, that was anybody's guess, although anything self-critical would be a likely presumption.
Bruce refused to let his temper get the best of him, so his voice sounded tired as he said instead, "Never mind. It wasn't important. Give me the locks."
Dick did as he was told and waited for his guardian to dish out a punishment. It didn't take Bruce long to realize what Dick was waiting for, and he wasted no time in dismissing the boy, reassuring him that he wouldn't be disciplined for his misdemeanor.
"Just don't do it again."
Dick walked away, not feeling in the least relieved.
Bruce just felt exasperated.
He closed his eyes, replaying his speech over again in his mind:
"Look, Dick, I won't pretend like I know how you're feeling, because I don't. But I do know that you're upset. And you're frustrated. I feel the same way, but if we can face the criminals that we do on a nightly basis and come through alright, I know we can do the same thing now."
How do you like that? The one time he could actually say something nice to that kid, and he didn't even have the courtesy to listen.
Well, there'd be time to worry about the unlikely repeat performance later. Right now, they only had half an hour to get ready for Dick's next therapy session.
'Therapy session'. That sounded… saying that Dick was in therapy just sounded so wrong. If anyone should be in therapy, it should be Bruce—it wasn't like he'd exactly done a fantastic job of coping with his parents' murder, was it? Meanwhile, compared with his brooding mentor, Dick had always seemed so… normal. Well, not quite normal. He did have his little quirks, Bruce decided, but the boy had been such a bright spot in his life that his presence here had been almost therapeutic in itself.
And now…
He'd done the best he could with the boy. He really had. Bruce knew he hadn't been the best of… parents… but it wasn't like he'd purposefully hurt the child. He hadn't planned on or even really asked for this responsibility—heck, he didn't even like kids—but he'd done the best he could.
His best was not enough.
Bruce wasn't used to that.
Bruce was used to being in control and being able to fix things the way he wanted them. He didn't want to have to let some therapist do all the work while he just sat back and watched Dick pick locks.
The therapist called that 'being supportive'. But, as far as Bruce was concerned, it should be called 'being utterly useless'.
Well, not utterly useless, the man thought bitterly, sarcastically. He still needs someone to drive him to the… sessions.
Now I just need to find him.
Bruce finally found the boy curled up in the window seat in the living room. His knees were pulled up to his chest and his arms were wrapped around his legs. Dick was resting his chin on his knees and staring solemnly out the window. It was bright and sunny outside, but Dick didn't seem to be able to shake his somber mood.
"Time to go, Dick."
"Go where?"
"You know where. Just because you're out of the hospital doesn't mean we're done with therapy."
"And supposing I don't want to go?"
Dick had put just enough of a defiant note in his voice to make Bruce give him a look—one that Dick didn't see, thankfully.
"That's tough," was all Bruce said in response to Dick's question.
The boy allowed his left leg to dangle over the edge of the window seat. He laced his fingers around his other leg but didn't answer.
Bruce sighed.
"Dick, you have to trust me on this. It's only ninety minutes, now come on."
"No! I'm sick and tired of being treated like a nutcase! I'm not going!" Dick cried out.
Bruce sighed again. Dick was clearly going to be difficult about this. He'd been stubborn about seeing his therapist before, but he was really digging in his heels this time. Terrific.
"I know you don't want to go, Dick. I'm not thrilled about it either, but it's a critical part of the treatment, and if I have to, I will physically pick you up and carry you there myself!"
"Ha. I'd like to see you try."
The boy finally turned and fixed Bruce with a rebellious stare unlike any that had ever crossed his face before. Alfred would have been horrified and scolded Dick about how he should know better than that.
And Dick certainly should have known better.
Faster than Dick could get out of the way, Bruce grabbed his ward around the waist and slung him ingloriously over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
"What the! Hey! Just what do you think you're doing! Put me down! Hey!!"
Alfred, who had heard the commotion, was now watching the scene from the kitchen doorway with interest. He would have found it amusing if he hadn't known what was going on.
"Hey, can't you hear?! Put me down!" Dick bellowed out rashly, in spite of the fact that Bruce was in the perfect position to give him a good spanking. He started thrashing around violently and continued to holler, "Bruce! Aw, c'mon, not in front of Alfred! Geez…!"
But Bruce didn't so much as loosen his grip until he sat the boy down in the front passenger seat of the car. He considered buckling the boy in, but Dick snatched the seatbelt away from him and muttered something like, "I can do that myself, thank you."
On the silent drive into Gotham, Dick allowed his mind to briefly wander back to what had just happened at the Manor. Only later would it occur to him that Bruce must care about him to actually follow through with his threat. But at that moment he was too angry to really think about it.
I have just been informed by my sister that I made a boo-boo in describing Aqualad's costume in the last chapter. His gloves are blue, not red. Shuttling between the comics and the cartoon so often has made me rather confused. We've only got about three comics, but still. O.o Sorry about that.
Reviewer Replies
steelelf-Oh, yeah, I'd definitely read it! And I'll make sure Bruce gets that book. Judging by this chapter, I think he may have read some of it already. Now how about giving Ollie a copy of Communicating for Emotionally Challenged Idiots? That's my sister's suggestion. ;-)
ShockMePeter-Yay, thank you! Dick will probably be alright eventually. Unless I decide to kill him first. Hee. Hee hee. XD But for now, that's my little secret.
Balance in the Dark-Actually, this fic will be done in about forty pages. I keep planning a sequel but it never goes quite how I want it to. XP
caltha-Bruce? Talking? Ehhh... that might take a while. Like the rest of the story, maybe. Anywho, I hope this chapter made you feel better :)
State of Matter-Yeah, I guess admitting you have a problem is the first step to overcoming it... now if only Speedy would admit that he has problem with actually being nice... :-P
PlatinumRoseLady-I have yet to hear about a 'perfect' recovery with no relapses. So it was only natural that Dick would slip a little eventually. A Stone Cold what? Wait, do I even want to know?
SarahC4321-Aww, thanks :D But no, the heroin thing hasn't happened yet. If it had, I think Speedy would have a better understanding of how hard it is for Dick to give up his eating disorders, and that would have made him a lot nicer in previous chapters.
CrazyInsomaniac-Ha ha, yeah, Aqualad's way too nice for his own good. I wish Wonder Girl would kick Speedy between the legs and get it overwith already, lol.
kokomocalifornia-Thank you! I like Aqualad, too! He looks like a girl in the early comics, though... heh...
Skoellya-It was so kind of you to say that. Thank you; I'm very flattered :) And yes, Speedy confronts Robin pretty soon.
AdrenalineRush-Lol, uh-oh! I'd better post something nicer, and fast! ;-) Just the fact that you thought this fic was worth discussing with others is quite a compliment! Thanks!
The BatThing-Well, we were using green paper with really big lines, so that certainly helped. I know, isn't wikipedia great? Well, unless some idiot posts the wrong information, but it's pretty good if you just want info on, say, Aqualad.