Note: Thanks for the comments, Rollerparty and Marli!
The next morning:
Alfred was on the phone when Bruce came down the next morning. The butler's face was pinched with worry and his jaw was slightly clenched.
"Of course, Miss Jameson, I understand. I assume you'll want to…yes, of course. I'll let him know. I'm sure he'll try his best…I understand. Six o'clock? That's usually when they…I suppose so…no, of course not! The boy does need to…. We have a certain schedule…of course. We'll see you then."
Alfred hung up and growled. Bruce raised his eyebrows in surprise at the sound. The butler turned around and saw the younger man's expression.
"She's coming here on Monday at six in the evening, sir. You must be here, Master Bruce, even if you have to reschedule an important meeting. Miss Jameson will undoubtedly want to talk to each of us separately."
Shaking his head in disbelief, Bruce replied, "Why now and what was she saying? You were interrupted quite a few times."
"Apparently, sir, she feels that she hasn't checked on the boy in a while and needs to do so immediately. I tried to tell her that we follow a schedule and six o'clock is dinner time. She stated that we need to work with her schedule, since she is so busy."
"Doing what?"
"I'm sure I don't know, sir. Plotting to find a way to take him from us? Obviously, the woman knows how to hold a grudge, Master Bruce. It's been over a year since she was your date to that party!"
Bruce opened his mouth but Alfred continued.
"And she had the gall to say that if we cared for the boy at all, we would do what was in his best interest. Which, apparently, is dropping whatever we're doing in order for her to visit!"
Alfred was ranting now, and so upset that he had left out his customary 'sir' in the second half of his short speech.
"He's got a bullet hole in his shoulder and a giant, hand-shaped bruise on his cheek," Bruce whispered in horror. "She's…we won't stand a chance when she sees those!"
"We just won't wrap my shoulder on Monday. I wear shirts with sleeves, she won't notice if there's no bulky wrap."
The trembling voice came from behind them. Dick was on the bottom step of the stairs, his eyes full of distress.
"And I'll leave Bat-ice on my face for the whole weekend. It'll be gone by then, right? I know it will, it has to be!"
The boy suddenly burst into tears. Bruce rushed to his side and gathered him into his own arms. He wanted to assure his ward that everything was going to be fine. If the Bat-ice didn't work quickly enough, however, he was pretty sure that nothing was going to be fine.
"Your shoulder won't be healed by Monday, kiddo. If it starts bleeding…"
"I'll keep it wrapped during school and take it off just before she gets here," Dick said, his quiet voice full of fear. "She can't take me, Bruce, I can't go there! Please don't let it happen, I want to stay here!"
His voice was full of panic now. Dick was absolutely positive that if Miss Jameson decided to take him from here, she would put him in the detention center.
"Hey, chum, don't panic, it's okay," Bruce said, attempting to reassure his ward. "We'll keep the Bat-ice on it, like you said, and if it's not faded enough on Monday we'll figure out a way to cover it up. It will be okay."
"Perhaps, Master Bruce, you two could start some sort of project. Build a birdhouse, paint a wall, something that will ensure some splatters of red paint on certain places of Master Dick's body."
Alfred's voice was much calmer now. They needed ideas and this was the first thing that had popped into his mind. Dick could wear an old shirt with a dollop of red paint on the left shoulder. If his injury did begin to lightly bleed, it would not be noticed. And most children, when they use paint, end up with flecks or spots on their hands and faces. Those would cover up the faint outline of a Bruce Wayne-sized handprint on the boy's cheek.
"Begin work on it today," the butler continued, "take Monday off and continue to work on it when Master Dick gets home from school. Time will definitely slip your mind, Master Bruce, because of your focus on the project you are doing with your ward."
"She'll get here and we'll be surprised that it's already six o'clock," Bruce murmured in agreement.
"Exactly, Master Bruce. If you'll excuse me, I will go retrieve some ice from downstairs."
Glancing up at his butler, who was standing nearby with his hands clasped behind his back, Bruce replied, "Thank you, Alfred."
He turned back to Dick and asked, "What do you think, kiddo? Should we start a project with red paint."
The boy, instead of verbally answering, threw his uninjured arm around the man's neck and squeezed as if his life depended on it.
"I'll take that as a yes," Bruce chuckled quietly. "What do you want to do?"
"Well," the ten-year-old answered with a sniffle, "I never hear any birds so a birdhouse would be pointless."
His face was buried in the crook of his guardian's neck and the words were muffled. But Bruce got the gist of it and nodded in agreement.
"The walls here are super big and wouldn't you have a painter come do that, anyway?"
Bruce nodded again and began racking his brain for some kind of project they could begin immediately.
"It has to be something big," the man stated, "because you wouldn't get paint all over you if we just paint a picture."
"Unless," Dick stated as he lifted his head, "we're painting a big picture! Like a long poster, a banner! When is Alfred's birthday?" he asked, a touch of excitement in his voice.
"Not until August," Bruce replied with a smidgen of frustration in his tone. "That was a good idea, though."
"Why didn't we celebrate?"
"Master Dick, you were just ending a five-month journey of physical therapy appointments to repair major damage to your young body. Do you honestly think we cared about my birthday, young sir?" Alfred stated as he returned with a package of Bat-ice.
"But…"
"And that is something we should not be focused on right now, Master Dick. We need a project."
The butler handed the Bat-ice to the boy and Dick immediately pushed it against his cheek as hard as he could.
"Easy, kiddo," Bruce advised. "Don't push so hard. Pressure, yes, but not so much that you give yourself a Bat-ice bruise."
"Okay," Dick agreed as he relaxed his hand a little.
"Alfred, you know how to draw," Bruce commented.
"If you count stick figures then, yes, Master Bruce, you're correct. And animals, sir."
"I've seen you draw actual people."
"That was a long time ago, sir," Alfred stated quietly. "And it is a story that is best left behind us."
"Maybe you could draw something on the wall in the gym that we can then paint?"
"I don't know, Master Bruce. Drawing something big enough for paint to be splattered on clothes will take time. I don't even know what I could draw."
"Them?" Dick whispered. "Can you draw…Mom and Dad…flying?"
Alfred glanced at Bruce, looking for a positive confirmation. The younger man nodded.
"I can try, Master Dick. Do you have something I can copy – a picture of them flying on the trapeze, perhaps?"
"Not of an actual performance but I have a publicity flyer. Will that work?"
"Yes, young sir. But perhaps, Master Bruce, you should have a backup plan. I cannot guarantee anything, even for Master Dick. It may come out looking like a pair of elephants jumping on a tree."
Dick burst out laughing at the image that popped into his mind.
"Maybe you should just do a jungle scene instead," he giggled. "Something that you are confident you can do. I don't want you to be stressed out."
I'm already stressed out.
Alfred kept that thought to himself. However, Dick had a point. The butler was much more comfortable drawing animals than people. And he didn't want to draw a picture of the Flying Graysons if he could not do it properly. That was a job best left for a professional artist.
"I think a jungle scene is great idea!" Bruce exclaimed, trying to keep his voice light.
The thought – no, the fact – that Dick could be taken from him had already filled his chest with a solid ball of dread. If Alfred wasn't confident about his ability to draw people, they should go with animals. Whatever made it easiest for all of them.
"Cool!"
"Lots of animals that need color, Alfred."
"Of course, sir. Master Dick can be spotted with more than just red paint. This does mean that meals will be smaller until I finish, Master Bruce."
"We can take care of ourselves, Alfred."
"NO!" the butler exclaimed. "Please stay out of the kitchen, both of you. I would rather prepare meals and have very little to clean up than allow you to prepare them and have a kitchen that looks like a grocery store exploded in it. Sir."
"Okay," Bruce replied with a self-deprecating grin.
"Okay," Dick responded sadly.
"It is nothing against you, Master Dick. It will just be faster for me to do everything all at once."
"But we can clean up for you, right?" the ten-year-old inquired.
"I clean as I go, young sir, but thank you for the kind offer. I shall prepare breakfast and begin drawing immediately thereafter, sirs. Please excuse me."
"Thank you, Alfred, for both the idea and being willing to draw."
"I would do anything in my power to keep Master Dick here with us, sir."
"Thanks, Alfred," Dick whispered.
The butler gave them both a quick but polite nod and went to the kitchen.
"I want to check that shoulder, Dick."
The boy began lifting his shirt, but Bruce held up his hand.
"Not right here, downstairs," he stated with a slight grin.
Shaking his head at what he considered to be his stupidity, Dick turned toward the service elevator. To his surprise, Bruce joined him, and they descended to the Batcave.
The man led the boy to a medical table, where he unwrapped the wound. Dick's shoulder was red and slightly swollen. He flinched and gasped when his guardian gently patted it with one finger.
"Scale of one to ten, kiddo. How much does it hurt? And be honest, forget about your high pain tolerance for now."
"When you touched it – ten. But before that it was maybe eight?"
"We're going to have to put it in a sling," Bruce sighed. "You can't be walking around with a day-old bullet wound that's at an eight."
"Um, I meant six."
"Dick, I would put you in a sling even if it was a three. Don't try to get out of it. We need to keep it stabilized."
"But I can't wear it to school!" Dick nearly shouted. "People will know, she will find out! Then our plan will be ruined and she'll take me away!"
Bruce sighed again; his ward had a point.
"Whenever you're at home, it stays on. Try to keep your left arm as still as possible while you're at school. And it goes back on as soon as you get home."
"Except on Monday."
"We'll keep it on until five-thirty. At least you'll be stabilized for a couple of hours before we act out our drama."
"I'm scared, Bruce," the boy confessed softly. "What if it doesn't work? What if she just decides to take me away right then? What if…"
"Let's not think about 'what ifs' and focus on our plan. We're going to start painting as soon as Alfred is done with his drawing. The first thing we'll do is put red paint on the shoulder. As soon as you get home on Monday, you'll change into the painting clothes you wear today. Then we'll add an extra strip of paint on the sleeve so it can dry."
"What if she checks my homework?! I should do my homework."
"Good point. After we put the paint on, do your homework. Then we'll go to the gym, where you will sit and watch while I paint some more. We can't take the chance that you'll start bleeding. So, we're going to keep that shoulder immobile until we absolutely have to take everything off."
"At five-thirty."
"Yes. If you're still bruised, we'll add flecks of paint on your hands and face."
"What about at school? I can't have spots of paint to cover up the bruise at school!"
"It's a good thing you're so smart, chum. You're thinking of things that probably wouldn't occur to me until Monday right before I send you off to school."
"Maybe I shouldn't go on Monday."
"That would be too suspicious for her. She would automatically assume that something is wrong."
"Maybe it won't matter because the bruise will be gone."
"That would be great but we have to have a plan in case it hasn't disappeared yet. Let me think about it for a little while."
During the conversation Bruce had been wrapping the injured shoulder and now he was carefully placing it in a sling.
"Let's go eat breakfast. I'm sure Alfred is already in the gym."
"Okay."
Dick slid off the table and they went back to the service elevator. One minute later they were silently eating breakfast, both trying to find a solution to the problem of a lingering bruise.
Ten minutes after that, they were in the gym, staring in awe at Alfred's artwork on the wall. He had finished a large howler monkey and was working on a macaw.
"Howlers are not bright red, like fresh blood, but everyone has creative freedom, Master Bruce," Alfred stated from his place on the stepladder.
"How did you know we were here?" Dick asked in amazement. "We didn't make any sound at all!"
"I told you, Dick. Alfred notices everything."
"I'll be drawing several other birds, as well as a panda – which is also a soft red but, again, creative freedom, sirs."
"Just…red?" Bruce asked, his voice somewhat timid.
"Of course not, Master Bruce. I'm planning an elephant, giraffe and a small lion pride. And a few birds that don't have to be specifically red. We must have other colors so that she doesn't suspect we are trying to disguise anything, sir."
"Right, of course," Bruce replied.
"Come here please, Master Dick. I'm sure I have the correct height but it's always better to check."
Dick obediently walked over and stood next to the wall. He was face to face with the howler monkey and the tail of the macaw ended just above his head.
"Perfect," the butler murmured to himself. "Both of these could cause paint to land on the boy's shoulders and face."
"I'm right here," Dick said with a laugh.
"Of course, Master Dick, I didn't mean to ignore your presence."
"We'll leave you to it, Alfred. You obviously don't need any help from us."
"Thank you, Master Bruce, I will see you both at lunchtime."
Several hours later:
Lunchtime came and went without an appearance from the butler. Bruce blatantly disobeyed Alfred's instructions in order to make sandwiches for both himself and Dick. He left the kitchen as neat as he had found it, with the exception of a knife in the sink and several tiny crumbs on the counter.
Not having the use of his left arm was a struggle for Dick. He couldn't run through the house, he couldn't do any movement-oriented activities and he definitely couldn't go use the gym. The ten-year-old soon became bored with the card games and his eyes were tired from reading three books.
"The more you keep it stabilized, the quicker it will heal," Bruce commented when he noticed the frustration radiating from his ward's eyes.
Dick groaned in response. Then he thought of something, and his eyes widened.
"I have PE on Monday, Bruce!" he exclaimed.
"I'll write you a note, excusing you because you're feeling a bit sick."
"Do you think she'll check with school before she comes here? Do you think she'll talk to my teachers and find out everything about my day? Do I have to act like I'm not feeling well? What if she thinks I'm not feeling well because of something you did?"
Dick's voice was frantic and the questions were flying out of his mouth.
"Hold on, chum, calm down."
"I can't calm down!" the boy yelled. "She's going to find out, she's going to take me away, I don't want to go there!"
"I need you to calm down and think so we can fix this. Do you have any idea what you might be doing in PE?"
"We've been playing kickball and soccer. I don't know if we're doing it again."
"Perfect," Bruce mumbled sarcastically. "Running sports."
"Will something happen to my arm if I run around? Other than it hurting because it's moving, I mean?"
"There's a slight chance that it could begin lightly bleeding."
"But we're wrapping it for school, right? So that will stop it, right?"
"Well," Bruce sighed, "we can't wrap it too much because somebody will notice that one of your shoulders is bigger than the other. If it does begin bleeding, it won't take long for the blood to soak through the bandage. We might have to use Bat-wrap."
"Or maybe just Bat-gauze covered by normal wrap?"
"Good idea, we'll do that. Just be careful and try not to let anyone bump into you."
"Maybe we won't even be doing running sports," Dick said optimistically. "Maybe it will be something easy, like playing with the parachute!"
"That would be nice," Bruce replied with a grin. "Let's hope for that."
Several hours later:
Alfred finally emerged from the gym at exactly six o'clock.
"Master Bruce!" he exclaimed when he noticed the time. "Why didn't you come get me, sir?!"
"I didn't want to disturb you, Alfred, because we need this done as soon as possible."
"It's done, sir."
"Really?!"
"Really, Master Bruce. Where is Master Dick?"
"I'm here, Alfred," Dick groaned from his usual chair in the living room.
"Is something wrong, young sir?" the butler asked, alarmed at the tone.
"He's bored," Bruce explained quietly.
"Ah, yes, it must be quite difficult to remain still when he is such an exuberant, athletic child, sir."
"Come on, Dick," Bruce called as he nodded at Alfred in agreement. "Let's go see Alfred's masterpiece!"
The ten-year-old slowly came out of the living room, doing his best to keep his left arm completely motionless. They all went to the gym, where Bruce and Dick stared at the scene in astonishment.
It took up almost the entire western wall. There were all the animals Alfred had mentioned and several more that he had decided on later. Trees of all varieties were spread around the animals and Bruce noticed a plethora of tall redwoods. And it really was a masterpiece. Some animals were captured in motion while others were resting, the leaves of the taller trees were swaying in what was obviously a slight wind, and the small bugs were detailed to perfection.
"Wow," Dick breathed, awe-struck at Alfred's hidden talent.
"Indeed," Bruce agreed softly.
"Can we start now?" Dick asked excitedly.
"May I remind you, Master Dick, that it is dinner time and your arm needs to heal. You will not be doing much painting this weekend, I'm afraid."
"But…but it's so amazing!" he exclaimed, disappointment filling the words. "And I'm supposed to have paint on my painting clothes before Monday!"
"I said 'much', young sir. Of course you will have to do some, but don't expect me to allow you to paint for more than half an hour."
"Bruuuuuce," Dick nearly whined.
"Sorry, chum, he's right. But," Bruce glanced at his butler, "it has to be at least a quarter of the way done. Otherwise she might suspect that we started it just because we found out she was coming."
"Which means you get to paint a lot," the boy muttered.
"Well, the sooner we get that arm healed, the sooner you'll be able to paint. So, temporary disappointment will soon be replaced with pain-free painting. I'm not going to do the whole thing, kiddo. We'll work on it together, after you're healed."
"Except for Monday."
"Yes, except for Monday. But even then you'll only paint a little bit, just enough so that she thinks you are perfectly fine. Alfred, perhaps you should bring her to the gym after inviting her in. Then she'll see it for herself."
"An excellent idea, Master Bruce. And now, if you'll please excuse me, I must go clean up and prepare a quick dinner."
"Thank you again, Alfred. This is amazing."
"My pleasure, sir," the butler replied with a satisfied smile.