Note: There are several non-canon-compliant character backgrounds in this chapter. If you don't like how I change it, hopefully you can find it in your heart to forgive me. Thanks! :)
As always, thanks for the comment, Rollerparty!
Thirty minutes later:
Bruce heard a car and looked out the window. Dick's new case manager was back, and Bruce allowed himself to hope that Dick was with him. But, Greg Makov walked toward the door without either his briefcase or a small, scared ten-year-old.
Alfred answered the door and showed the man into the living room, where Bruce was sitting on Dick's favorite chair. He stood and held out his hand but Greg ignored it, folding his arms across his chest and glaring at the millionaire.
"Would you care to tell me, Mr. Wayne, why it is that Dick Grayson has a bullet hole in his shoulder?"
Bruce was stunned. How was he going to explain that?
"I'm waiting," Greg stated impatiently.
"He was…kidnapped," Bruce finally stated truthfully.
"WHAT?! When?!"
"Last week. The man who killed his parents found him at school and kidnapped him."
"Why wasn't Susan Jameson informed of this?! And where did you take him to get it treated? And why did he lie to me about it?"
"I took him to a private clinic, one that is funded by only a few people. As for his motives, maybe he was just too scared to tell you about it. He's only ten. Last year he was ripped away from the only home he had ever known and now it's happening again."
Taking a small notebook and pen from his inside coat pocket, Greg stated, "I need the name of both the clinic and the doctor who treated him. And the location."
Downstairs, in the Batcave. Doctor Alfred Pennyworth. You want me to take you there?
Bruce was stuck. There was no privately funded clinic, of course, and he had just dug himself a deeper hole.
"Master Bruce, Mr. Kent is on the phone, inquiring after Master Dick."
Alfred. Faithful, observant, intelligent, loyal Alfred had called Clark Kent. Superman was now throwing together a clinic just outside the Metropolis limits in the middle of the day. Nobody would question it, he was Superman, and the fact that Clark was willing to do this for him – for Dick – left Bruce almost speechless.
"Do you mind if I take his call? I'll only be a minute."
"I would like to hear your end of the conversation," Greg declared.
"That's not legal…"
"Your ward's name was mentioned. It's perfectly legal."
Bruce walked to the hall extension and picked it up, rolling his eyes. Of course it was legal. Everything that had anything to do with Dick was legal.
"Dr. Leslie Thompkins, sir," Alfred whispered so low that even Batman almost missed it.
"Hi, Clark. Alfred told me you're calling about Dick. He's doing well, almost fully recovered. Yes, you were right about Dr. Thompkins."
Bruce was talking to himself. Clark had left the phone off the hook and on his kitchen table for two reasons. First, he had a clinic to build. Second, Alfred had told him about Mr. Makov, and Clark knew the man would be listening to everything Bruce was saying. A dial tone would not be the best thing for the social worker to hear.
"Alright, thank you. See you next week? Okay, sounds good. Thanks again, Clark."
Bruce hung up the phone and Greg stared at him suspiciously.
"How does Clark Kent, a reporter from Metropolis, know that your…that Dick was hurt last week?"
"I didn't want to bring a lot of attention to Dick," the millionaire answered, again truthfully. "Surely you must be aware that if anybody found out that the ward of Bruce Wayne had been shot, reporters would have swarmed the hospital. Clark recommended the clinic and Dr. Leslie Thompkins. It's on the edge of Metropolis."
"You took a ten-year-old boy who had just been shot all the way to Metropolis?!"
"I'm not bragging when I say this, Mr. Makov, but I do have a private helicopter. It did not take us long to get there."
"Give me the location so I can visit this 'Dr. Thompkins'."
"You don't believe she exists," Bruce commented, disbelief clearly evident in the words.
"I'm afraid I'm currently a skeptic of everything you say right now, Mr. Wayne. You say the boy was kidnapped but you have no proof. How do I know it wasn't you that shot him?"
"I don't even own a gun, Mr. Makov."
"It's not hard to find one in Gotham City, Mr. Wayne."
"So you think," Bruce began incredulously, "that I went out and bought a gun so I could shoot my own ward in the shoulder?!"
"What did he do that made you feel he needed such a harsh punishment?"
"I didn't…what?! He never…I would never…this is ridiculous!"
"Is it, Mr. Wayne?"
Batman was really wishing that he had allowed Commissioner Gordon to know that Dick had been at the circus grounds that day. This could all be cleared up with a phone call. But he hadn't, so it couldn't.
"Would you like to take my helicopter?" Bruce offered through clenched teeth. "I'll have Clark meet you and take you to the clinic."
"That's very thoughtful of you, Mr. Wayne, I'll accept the ride. But it doesn't mean that I hold you blameless in any of this."
"I'll expect an apology upon your return, Mr. Makov."
"Oh, and if you try to go see Dick, the doctor will inform me and the boy will be permanently removed from your care."
"Drive your car to Wayne Enterprises," Bruce almost growled. "I'll let my assistant know that you need the helicopter. I'll also call Clark back and ask him to meet you."
"Good day, Mr. Wayne."
"Mr. Makov," the millionaire responded shortly.
Greg left and Bruce turned to Alfred, who nodded.
"Dr. Leslie Thompkins is Mr. Kent's personal physician, sir. She also knows he is Superman. He will tell her that Batman needs help and he assured me that she will readily comply. Superman is nearly finished with the building and I already told him you would be sending the man in your helicopter. All will be well, Master Bruce."
"We can only hope," Bruce muttered as he dropped onto his previously abandoned chair.
"Master Bruce, I know that expression but I'm hoping I'm wrong about it this time. Please tell me you are not planning on going to a certain place as a certain someone in order to see another certain someone."
"I have to make sure he's okay, Alfred!"
"If you are discovered, sir…"
"Nobody will know it's me!"
"But why would he visit young Richard Grayson, sir?"
"I…don't know," Bruce answered miserably.
Gotham Memorial Hospital – ER:
Dick, after only fifteen minutes, woke up again. A nurse was currently with him, checking his vitals and humming softly.
"Why am I still here?" he asked quietly.
"You were bleeding, sweetheart," the nurse answered with a warm smile. "And Mr. Makov went to talk to somebody. Mr. Wayne, I think. You get to stay here with me until he comes back to get you."
Dick's face paled and his heart rate sped up.
"He…went to see Bruce?"
"Calm down, sweetie, there's no cause for alarm."
The nurse's voice was gentle and soothing. Of course the boy would be worried; his case manager was going to talk to the man that had probably given the child the injury in the first place. She had seen many things while working at Gotham Memorial. An abusive adult was something she was used to – and that thought always horrified her.
"Sweetheart, you need to calm down," she stated, becoming somewhat alarmed at the speed of his heart. "Nothing can happen to you, he can't come get you, Dr. Andrews won't allow it. You're safe."
"But…I want him to come get me," Dick mumbled. "I want Bruce."
"I'll ask Mr. Makov about it when he returns. But, only if you calm down for me."
Immediately, Dick's breathing evened out and his heart rate dropped. That was a first for her – the boy had been shot by 'Bruce' yet instantly calmed down when told he might be able to see the man. Allegedly shot, of course. But she was sure that Mr. Wayne was the only adult who would have access to both the boy and a gun at the same time. To her, the identity of the shooter was obvious.
"Good job, hon," she murmured as she adjusted the covers around him. "Try to go back to sleep, okay? You look like you've had a difficult day."
Dick was wide awake now but he nodded anyway. The nurse walked away, pulling the privacy curtain behind her. He was completely blocked off; if anyone came looking for him, they wouldn't know he was here without asking someone.
The edge of Metropolis:
Greg Makov stepped out of Bruce Wayne's helicopter. Clark Kent was waiting for him, his arms folded across his chest and his face emotionless. The latter man was struggling to remain calm – the man he was currently scanning had taken away the best thing that had happened to Superman's best friend. Batman might not admit that they were even friends, at least not out loud, but Clark knew better.
"I assume Mr. Wayne notified you," Greg commented.
"Mr. Makov, I presume?"
"Greg is fine, Mr. Kent."
Nodding, Clark led the way to his car and both men climbed in.
"Mr. Wayne told me that you recommended this 'Dr. Thompkins'."
Clark reacted the same way Bruce had.
"You believe she doesn't exist."
It wasn't a question so Greg didn't bother replying. Instead he began interrogating.
"Has Dick ever been to Metropolis? Before this alleged visit to the doctor, I mean."
"No," Clark replied shortly.
"How did Mr. Wayne know where to bring the boy?"
"Seriously?!" Clark nearly growled. "He called me, said Dick had been shot but didn't want to go to Gotham Memorial, for obvious reasons."
"What reasons?"
"Mr. Makov, surely you know that Bruce Wayne is an extremely visible person in Gotham City. How do you think the press would have reacted if they had found out that his ward was in the hospital with a gunshot wound?"
"It would have given Miss Jameson the opportunity to take the boy away from Mr. Wayne even sooner."
Clark was about to explode, something that rarely happened. Greg was implying that…no, accusing Bruce of shooting Dick! Was it really that bad in Gotham City? So bad that people went around shooting their own kids? Because that's what Dick was – the official papers said 'guardian' but Bruce was more like a parent to the boy than a fair amount of biological parents were to their own children.
"It would have been much quicker to get him to a Gotham hospital, publicity or no publicity, than to take the time to get ahold of you and fly the boy over here. One would think that a responsible adult would want the wound to be treated immediately, instead of worrying about what the 'press' would think about him."
"It wasn't about Bruce," Clark snapped. "He wanted to protect Dick, keep Dick out of the spotlight."
"Oh, he did a wonderful job of protecting the boy, didn't he? Shattered kneecaps last year, a bullet wound this year. Yes, he's a wonderful guardian, isn't he," Greg stated sarcastically.
Shattered kneecaps?
Clark hadn't heard that but he hadn't even met the boy until six months after Bruce was granted guardianship. Superman knew about the Australian and had heard a little about Mark Jerkins. But Batman hadn't said anything about shattered kneecaps. Who would do that to a nine-year-old boy?!
"You're awfully silent, Mr. Kent."
"I'm being polite, Greg. Sometimes it's better to bite your tongue when you have something to say."
"By all means, Mr. Kent, say it. Nothing can happen to you."
Clark took a deep breath to calm himself down. True, nothing could happen to him but he needed to be careful how he phrased things so that nothing could be used against Bruce. Alfred had also told him about the visit from Susan Jameson.
"Bruce is an excellent guardian. What happened to Dick a year ago was very traumatic but Bruce has been able to help him, because of his own similar background. I've never seen them fight, or even argue."
"Mr. Wayne is probably on his best behavior when he has visitors."
"I'm not finished," Clark stated, struggling to remain calm. "I've never seen Bruce happier than he has been this past year. Why would he do anything to jeopardize that happiness? You haven't seen the way they interact, I have. You haven't heard them laughing together, I have. You know two things: they were having an argument – which everyone does from time to time – and Dick has a bullet wound in his shoulder. You have no solid evidence of anything and yet you immediately decided that Dick wasn't safe with Bruce. I guarantee you that there is no safer place for Dick Grayson than with Bruce Wayne and Alfred Pennyworth."
"I have all of Susan's reports from the past year. I'm absolutely positive that I know more about the boy and his situation than you do, Mr. Kent."
"When is his birthday?" Clark challenged.
"In March."
"Date."
There was a short pause and then, "Not important. What is important…"
"Dick's birth date isn't important?! Fine, middle name."
"John," Greg replied with a roll of his eyes. "This is not a time for you to give me a test, Mr. Kent. This is a time for me to find out everything I can about the situation."
"One more, Mr. Makov, since you so obviously know more about him than I do."
With an exasperated sigh, Greg said, "Fine but then it's my turn to ask questions that you must answer, no exceptions."
"There are many things Dick excels at. Name three."
"This is a waste of time."
"Two, then, name two."
"Mr. Kent…"
"You don't know. You claim to understand the situation, but you know nothing about it or Dick!"
"I know that Bruce Wayne is a selfish playboy. I know that Susan has been worried about the boy from the beginning. I know that Mr. Wayne has many connections and could have easily found or bought a gun. I know that the boy…"
"She was 'worried' because Bruce never asked her out again," Clark snapped. "He took her to a party but told me they didn't click. Your colleague, Greg, is holding a grudge. She wasn't worried about Dick, she's mad at Bruce. Alfred told me what happened last week."
"Last…"
"And his name is Dick, not 'the boy'. He's an actual person, with feelings, who needs stability. Bruce Wayne gave him that stability, and you just pulled the rug out from under Dick's feet."
"What hap…"
"And he's good at gymnastics, math, woodcarving, running and making people laugh, just to name a few."
"Mr. Kent!" Greg said loudly. "Susan's notes from last week tell me that the…that Dick was rude and showed a temper. She wrote down that he was trying to defend Mr. Wayne but was obviously telling lies."
"Did those notes also tell you, Mr. Makov, that she slapped him?"
"Well, if Mr. Wayne was doing something that required her…"
"No, not Bruce. She slapped Dick."
"What?! No, I don't believe it."
"Bruce has video evidence. You should look at that before you believe everything she wrote down."
Greg Makov was speechless. It would be easy for him to fact-check that accusation, especially if Bruce did have a video. But Susan Jameson was one of the best social workers he had ever met. She would never slap anyone, much less a ten-year-old child!
"Are you okay, Mr. Makov?" Clark asked, knowing the man was probably stunned at that piece of news.
Greg tried to gather his scattered thoughts. It would be best to move on with the conversation.
"It's my turn, Mr. Kent, I need some answers from you. Did Mr. Wayne give you the details during any time, before he brought Dick or while Dick was being treated or after it was over? Anything at all?"
"He told me Dick had been kidnapped and shot by the man who did it. I told him about Dr. Thompkins when he expressed concern about the press."
"And how do you know this doctor?"
"She's my doctor," Clark stated, raising his eyebrows in disbelief.
"Mr. Wayne says it's a privately funded clinic."
"Yes, which I happen to go to when I need medical attention. The fact that it's privately funded has nothing to do with that."
"Nothing against you, Mr. Kent, but I must insist that I talk to the doctor alone."
"Of course, Mr. Makov, I assumed that was the case. And here we are."
Clark parked in front of the clinic that he had just finished building less than an hour ago. It looked well-funded, but not new. He grinned slightly, proud of his work.
They climbed out of the car and walked inside. The receptionist looked up with a smile and a 'How can I help you'.
"I need to speak with Dr.," Greg glanced down at his notebook, "Leslie Thompkins. Immediately."
"What is this regarding?"
"That is between her and I, something I cannot legally discuss with you."
The receptionist glanced at Clark and then typed on her keyboard.
"She's with a patient. You'll have to wait."
"This is extremely important."
"Many things are, sir, but Dr. Thompkins will never rush a patient out. Nor will she tolerate any interruption that is not an emergency."
"Perhaps this is an emergency," Greg nearly growled at the woman.
"I see no blood, no bones sticking out of anyone's skin, nobody is throwing up and neither of you look even remotely sick. So, you'll have to wait," she stated firmly.
Greg mumbled something then went and sat down. The receptionist gave Clark a look that meant Dr. Thompkins wasn't ready yet. She mimed a phone call and Clark nodded imperceptibly. Leslie was on the phone, getting details from Alfred.
Fifteen minutes later, a tall, slim woman with graying hair entered the waiting room. Greg almost jumped to his feet when she held out her hand. He shook it firmly then, with a polite and knowing look at Clark, Dr. Leslie Thompkins led Greg Makov to her office.
"Dr. Thompkins," Greg began as soon as they sat down, "when exactly did you treat Dick Grayson?"
"It's nice to meet you, too, Mr…."
"Makov," he stated impatiently. "But you can call me Greg. I'm from Gotham City Social Services and I'm Dick Grayson's case manager."
"Okay, and I'm Leslie," she replied.
"Please answer the question."
"It was almost a week ago, on the Friday. Dick came in with a gunshot wound in his left shoulder. Bruce had been able to stop the bleeding and it was a fairly simple procedure."
"Fairly?"
"Well, there are always risks with this type of injury. Fortunately, it only took about five or six minutes to extract the bullet and there were no complications. Dick was very brave."
"How long had the bullet been in his shoulder before you were able to see the boy?"
"I cannot give you a precise time, Greg. It is not an exact science. However, it was very recent, probably around twenty or twenty-five minutes."
"In your professional opinion, would the boy have been better off with faster treatment? If, for example, he had been taken to a hospital that was only five minutes away instead of a clinic in an entirely different city?"
"There is no guarantee that Dick would have been seen right away in an emergency room, especially in Gotham City. It was not a life-threatening injury and gunshot wounds are not an unexpected occurrence there. Do you know how many people are shot every day in Gotham City, Greg?"
He shook his head and she sighed.
"I don't either but it's too many, even one is too many. To answer your question, knowing that he was shot in Gotham City, I probably saw Dick quicker than any doctor in any ER in that place."
"What is that supposed to mean?" Greg growled.
"It's nothing against you personally," she responded calmly. "And I've never been there, so I don't know much about it. However, I do know that gangs and mobs tend to thrive there until Batman can take care of them. Therefore, since Dick's injury was not life-threatening, he would have had to wait."
"Even with a bullet in his shoulder?!" Greg asked in disbelief.
"Was it near his heart? Or his lungs, or spleen, or in his head? Did it hit a major artery? No. Therefore, not life-threatening, not an immediate emergency. I, however, was closing up for the day when Clark called me so I was able to treat him as soon as he arrived."
"If the boy…"
"Dick," Leslie interrupted.
"If Dick," Greg corrected with a roll of his eyes, "was your ward, would you have stayed in Gotham City?"
"That's an entirely different situation, Greg. I am not Bruce Wayne, who is always in the spotlight, so I wouldn't have had to worry about Dick being hounded by the media. That is the only reason Bruce came to me – he was, and still is, protecting Dick."
Clark was, of course, listening to the entire conversation. Alfred had been very thorough. Leslie knew every detail she needed to and had surmised even more. Clark had told her that Batman needed help and his identity was probably very obvious to her when she received a call from Bruce Wayne's butler.
This was going well, and Clark was sure that Makov was going to believe them. He felt bad about asking Leslie to lie, but perhaps she could treat Dick sometime in the future. At least that would make her statements today partially true.
"How well do you know Bruce Wayne?" Greg continued.
"I only know what I saw when he was here. Before that, I had heard of him but never met him."
"And how did he act when he was here? Emotionally, I mean."
"He was distraught, of course, as any parent would be. His son had just been shot!"
"His ward, Dr. Thompkins. I would think you would know that from the paperwork he must have filled out."
"Yes, Mr. Makov, but Bruce didn't act like 'just' a guardian. His emotional state was that of a parent – worried, relieved when it was over, grateful to me for doing it. I need a drink, please excuse me for a moment. Would you like a bottle of water?"
The woman didn't wait for an answer. She stood up and walked to a mini-fridge against the far wall. Leaning down, she took out two water bottles and whispered some words:
Clark, please ask Doris for some paperwork and fill it out.
Leslie knew Superman would hear and honor the request. She also knew that Clark and Bruce were good friends. Therefore, Clark would be able to answer most of the questions and he could quickly contact Bruce if there was anything he was unsure about.
Returning to her desk, Leslie offered a bottle to Greg but he shook his head. She sat down, opened her bottle and took a drink.
"Done?" the man nearly snapped.
"What else would you like to know, Greg?" she asked, ignoring the tone.
"How did he pay?"
"Cash."
"He keeps that much cash in his wallet?!"
"As I said, Mr. Makov, it was a fairly simple procedure. I used a scalpel, bullet extractor, and a light dose of nitrous oxide. It was less than three hundred dollars worth of treatment."
"That's still a lot of money," Greg grumbled.
"Again, I'm not Bruce Wayne. I cannot comment on his wallet or finances. That's something you'll have to ask him."
"You can be sure I will. I need to see the boy's paperwork," he demanded.
"Of course. If you'll wait here a moment, I'll go get it from Doris."
Clark was frantically finishing the paperwork when Leslie appeared next to her receptionist. He was on the phone with Bruce and writing rapidly on the last page. The man nodded and easily forged the millionaire's signature, which Bruce had just given him permission to do.
"Doris," Leslie stated loudly, "I need Dick Grayson's paperwork, please. I think you filed it under 'Wayne'."
Clark grinned – that was a nice touch. Standing up, he handed the papers to Leslie. She gave him a quick smile and returned to her office.
"Here it is, Greg," Clark heard her say as she closed the door.
Bruce and Alfred were sharing the phone at Wayne Manor. They were each giving details about Dick's background and medical history and all the other information Clark needed. The millionaire sprinted to the safe in the study when Clark asked for Dick's social security number. It took him longer than he wanted to get it open and bring the card to the phone but Alfred had been keeping Clark's pen busy while Bruce was gone.
When they finally hung up, it was with a huge sigh of relief. They hadn't even thought about a paper trail.
"It's a good thing you are such good friends with Clark Kent, sir," Alfred remarked with a smile. "We would not have been able to do this without him."
Ignoring the comment about having friends, Bruce said, "We wouldn't have been able to do it without you either, Alfred. You called Superman and told him exactly what we needed, you called Dr. Thompkins and gave her every necessary piece of information and then you helped Clark fill out the paperwork. Thank you," he finished sincerely.
"As I mentioned last week, Master Bruce, I would do anything in my power to keep Master Dick here with us."
Greg Makov slowly read every single word on every single paper, searching for anything unusual. But it was the normal paperwork that was filled out by every person who had ever been to see a doctor. Nothing was suspicious or abnormal.
"Well," he finally stated, "everything appears to be in order."
"I had no doubts that you would say that, Greg."
"You say you don't know Mr. Wayne except for what you saw when he was here. How can you be sure that it wasn't him that shot the boy?"
"The only people who know for sure, Mr. Makov, are Dick, Bruce and whomever it was that kidnapped him. You weren't there, I wasn't there, Clark wasn't there, nobody else was there. And, from the man's demeanor when he was here with Dick, I would bet my entire practice that Bruce didn't shoot his son."
"Ward."
"That's the legal word, but not the one I would use."
Leslie thought that maybe she was laying it on a little thick. Clark had told her about how Bruce and Dick interacted with each other and the butler – Alfred – had expounded on that but she hadn't even met them. However, she trusted Clark, who trusted Alfred.
"Well, thank you for your time, Dr. Thompkins. I imagine we'll be speaking again in the future."
"You're welcome, Mr. Makov."
Greg left her office and joined Clark in the waiting room. Makov was silent as they walked to the car and Clark could practically see the wheels turning in his mind.
"Are you ready to return to Gotham?" Clark asked.
"Yes, but I have one more question for you. As a reporter, Mr. Kent, how would you have reacted if you had found out that a ten-year-old was in the hospital because he had been shot?"
"If you're talking about 'a' ten-year-old, a normal kid with no connections to anyone famous or noteworthy, I would have put a sentence or two in the crime section of the paper. However, Mr. Makov, if you're talking about Dick Grayson, I would have camped outside the hospital with every other reporter in Gotham City. It's not the fact that it's a kid, it's the fact that it's Bruce Wayne's kid."
"Ward."
"Dick is still a kid, ward or not."
"So it's only noteworthy because the boy lives with Mr. Wayne."
"And because of his tragic backstory. I can see the headlines: Last of the Flying Graysons Shot! Or something along those lines."
"His whole past would have been brought to light again, his story played on every channel and in every paper, it would crush him," Greg murmured.
"Exactly, Mr. Makov," Clark said softly. "Bruce wasn't trying to protect himself, he was trying to protect Dick."
"Perhaps I should look at this situation from several different angles."
"I think that's a very good idea. Maybe start with the presumption of innocence this time. Your first instinct was to assume that Bruce was guilty. However, you've just understood what I've been trying to tell you since I met you. I don't envy you, Mr. Makov, and I would never want to do what you have to do every day. But I know for sure that Bruce would never have done something like this to anyone, much less a ten-year-old child that he cares about very much."
"They were having an extremely loud argument on the day I came to meet the boy, Mr. Kent. I can't just assume that everything was fine."
"Do you have children, Mr. Makov?"
"Yes, two boys and a girl."
"Congratulations," Clark said with a grin. "Now, pretend for a moment that you are not their biological parent. You are having an argument with them about homework, or watching TV, or doing chores, or something like that. The doorbell rings and it's a social worker who wants to check on the kids. That person had just heard you yelling at each other. What would you have that person do?"
Greg sighed and Clark stopped the car. They were at the helipad, where Bruce Wayne's helicopter was waiting to take Makov back to Gotham City.
"I would tell the person that it was just an argument and that everybody has arguments. The social worker would want to speak to each child alone and then myself."
"And what did you do, Mr. Makov?"
"Well, I didn't do that. But I was basing my actions on more than just a loud argument. Susan had notes about tempers and rudeness and irresponsibility and the boy's weight and the 'activities' Dick said he and Bruce were doing."
"You mean the board games they play and the workouts they do together and the responsible way that Bruce supervises when Dick is tumbling or flying through the air? Dick is active and short for his age but he's lean, not malnourished. I've been to Wayne Manor for dinner and I can testify that he eats like there's no tomorrow."
"Thank you for your time and your willingness to drive me around, Mr. Kent. And thank you for all the relevant information."
"You're welcome, Mr. Makov. Tell Dick hi for me, please."
"Sure," Greg agreed as he climbed out of the car.
He strode to the helicopter and climbed in. Clark watched it take off and turn towards Gotham City before picking up the phone extension in the car.
"I think we convinced him, Bruce. When you get Dick back, we need to pay a visit to Leslie so she can see for herself that she was telling the truth."
Clark paused as gratitude rushed from the mouth of his best friend.
"You're welcome, Bruce. Always happy to help both you and Dick. And Alfred, of course. Take good care of him when he comes home. I have a feeling that will be very soon. Mr. Makov realized several things about you while I was driving him around. You'll let me know, right? Good, I'll talk to you later. Stay strong, Bruce, he'll be home soon."
A hint of relief filled the eyes of Bruce Wayne. Apparently, Dr. Thompkins had been very convincing. Clark had said that Makov would rethink the situation. Bruce knew that not even Superman would sugarcoat anything when talking to Batman. He wouldn't say that Dick would be home soon if he didn't think it would happen. Everything was going to be fine. But Bruce knew he wouldn't feel that way until he was holding his ten-year-old in his arms.