Part 7
He's home for a little while,
He's mine once again,
No need to tell but it feels simply swell
With him close to me,
Where he's supposed to be.
-- Dinah Shore, 1945
Bruce Wayne was accustomed to being the center of attention, even when he didn't want to be. He was used to seeing people pointing at him and whispering to their companions. He was not used to being ignored, yet that was the circumstance in which he found himself as he walked with Dick, Alfred, and Barbara. It wasn't too noticeable when they were walking through the small shuttle terminal, but on the numerous sidewalks back to the visitors' parking lot where Alfred had parked the van, it became obvious that Dick, or rather Lt. Grayson, was the focus. Bruce soon stopped counting number of salutes Dick had returned, but by the time they got to the van, Bruce was becoming a bit exasperated.
"I wasn't sure we were going to make it back here before your right arm fell off," he said dryly.
Dick stared at Bruce in surprise. "Huh?"
"All that saluting," Bruce replied. "It just seemed rather ... excessive to me."
"I don't make the rules, Bruce," Dick replied defensively. "They saluted me; I returned salute. That's the way it works." At Barbara's light touch on his arm, he explained in a calmer tone, "Regs require that junior officers and enlisted personnel salute senior officers when they see them. Even though I'm only a lieutenant, I'm still senior to most of the people we met since most of the personnel in Norfolk are either enlisted men and women handling logistics and supply work or new recruits and trainees." He grinned at Bruce and said teasingly, "You mean there's a subject you haven't studied to death? Heaven forbid!"
An answering half-smile appeared on Bruce's face. "I'm afraid I never had any need to study military protocol. Brat."
"That's Lt. Brat, Bruce!"
Once they had stowed Dick's bag and settled themselves in the van, Barbara asked, "Okay, folks -- what's our plan? Where do we go from here? Dick?"
"Since I have to report in at the Pentagon at 0900 on Monday, I think I'd rather just stay in Washington instead of going all the way back to Gotham and then have to trek back. Will that work for you, Babs?"
"I already told J'onn that Oracle was going to be offline this weekend unless it was an absolute emergency," she replied with a smile.
Bruce suggested that they stay at Wayne Enterprises' Alexandria, Virginia townhouse instead of a Washington, DC hotel, and Dick and Barbara agreed. During the three-plus hour drive from Norfolk to Alexandria, Bruce noticed that Dick managed to maneuver the other three into doing most of the talking. He wasn't exactly quiet, but he managed to direct the conversation away from himself. It was so unusual for Dick to be talking less than Alfred that it began to worry Bruce. As they pulled into the garage of the townhouse, he resolved to get to the bottom of the situation as soon as he could.
Because Wayne Enterprises was a major contractor in the huge military buildup, Bruce had been spending more and more time in Washington. Alfred and Lucius Fox had decided that if Bruce was going to be spending so much time in Washington, it made sense to have a residence there. After much discussion ("But Alfred, I like having a ready-made reason why I can't throw parties!"), Wayne Enterprises leased an elegant townhouse in nearby Alexandria. It came fully furnished, and the only "special" modification Bruce made was an improved security system. He noticed that after Dick and Barbara were married, Alfred had a chair lift system installed on the stairs so that a person in a wheelchair could access the bedrooms on the second and third floors, but Bruce declined to comment on the matter.
One of Bruce's favorite features of the townhouse was the backyard. It was small, especially when compared to the huge grounds of Wayne Manor, but the original landscaper had taken great care that the area not feel small or confined. After changing into clothes more in keeping with the warm May weather, Bruce walked out onto the covered deck. He could see that Alfred had already been at work -- the small fountain had been turned on and the deck furniture had been dusted off and made ready for use.
Bruce sat in his favorite chair with a sigh. When he had gone upstairs to change, he couldn't help hearing the laughter coming from Dick and Barbara's room. He also couldn't help hearing as the voices grew quieter and then stopped completely. He was happy for them, truly he was, it was just ... He heard the door behind him open, and he turned around to see Dick, now in shorts and a t-shirt, walking toward him carrying a pitcher of iced tea and two glasses.
"I didn't expect to see you for a while," Bruce said as he pulled one of the small tables over for the pitcher.
Blushing slightly, Dick replied, "We were ... changing clothes when Kyle called with a hostage situation. Then I remembered I needed to press my dress whites for dinner tonight, so I went to Alfred to scrounge an iron. He insisted on pressing them himself and sent me out here with the iced tea to get me out of his way."
The two men sat in silence for a while, drinking their tea and enjoying the late afternoon sun and the quiet sounds of the small rock fountain. Bruce glanced over from time to time, pleased to see some of the tenseness leave Dick's expression and posture. Finally, Bruce felt comfortable enough to say what he had wanted to say since Dick had left over two years ago.
"I'm sorry, Dick."
Dick jerked a bit in surprise and looked over at Bruce. "Huh? What are you talking about?"
"I'm sorry I wasn't more ... supportive when you joined up. And that I didn't stay in touch while you were gone." Bruce looked at Dick, expecting to see resentment, anger, anything but what he did see -- Dick started laughing. Not a mocking laugh, but the delighted laugh that Bruce remembered from the first time Dick had swung across Gotham on a jumpline (or the first time Bruce tried the quadruple somersault); the laugh Dick used when something truly amused or delighted him.
"Oh, man!" Dick said, calming down finally. "I didn't mean to laugh at you, but I was just sitting here thinking, 'Any minute now, Bruce is going to apologize for not staying in touch,' and you did."
"I didn't know I was so predictable," Bruce replied, not sure if he should be offended.
"I was going into space -- strike one; I was joining the military, which I'm sure ranked right up there with joining the police force -- strike two; and I was doing all of this as 'Dick Grayson' -- strike three. Of course I expected you to react the way you did!" Dick's voice became quieter, but no less sincere as he continued, "I never thought it meant you didn't care." His tone turned impish again. "Bruce, on some things, you are incredibly predictable!"
Bruce grumbled under his breath.
"Would it make you feel better if I said I 'anticipated your reaction' instead?" Dick asked in amusement. "That's how that whole 'well-oiled machine' stuff works you know -- I wouldn't have been any good to you as a partner if I couldn't anticipate your movements."
Bruce's expression turned thoughtful. "I guess I never thought of it that way."
"I could've predicted that's what you'd say."
"Brat."
"I knew you'd say that, too."
The two men sat in companionable silence for several minutes. Then Dick proved he really could predict Bruce's behavior when he answered the question he knew Bruce wanted to ask.
"I'm tired, Bruce; that's all. Just tired."
Bruce gave Dick a searching stare, trying to see if that was really all that was bothering Dick. He finally realized that Dick, as usual, was telling him the truth, but the simple statement almost raised more questions than it answered. Before he could probe any further, he heard the door open again.
"There you two are!" exclaimed Barbara as she wheeled onto the deck. Dick's face immediately brightened to see her, and she rolled over next to him.
"Everything okay?" Dick asked.
"Yep. All's well." She reached over and swiped Dick's glass of tea and took a large swallow. "Alfred brought your dress whites up a few minutes ago. He wanted me to remind both of you that if we're going to make that 7:00 reservation, we need to start getting ready."
Bruce and Dick nodded and followed Barbara back inside the house.
~~~~~~~~~~
Barbara was startled awake by Dick's arm tightening around her waist as she lay against him. From the small amount of light in the room, she could tell it wasn't long after dawn. Her lips curved in a satisfied smile as she remembered the previous evening. She had had fun at dinner with Dick and Bruce; Dick was his usual charming and funny self, and even Bruce allowed himself to have a good time.
Bruce and Alfred left for Gotham City after dinner, and she and Dick had definitely enjoyed the rest of the evening's activities. Her reminiscences were cut short as Dick's arm jerked against her body, squeezing her uncomfortably. Then, the pressure was gone, and she could tell he was awake. She rolled over to face him.
"Hey. Bad dream?"
"Yeah," he replied, hoarsely.
"Wanna tell me about it?"
His arm tightened about her slightly, and she could see the indecision on his face. She moved closer and wrapped her arms around Dick's neck, drawing him into a passionate kiss. Afterwards, Dick sighed and rested his forehead against Barbara's.
"I'm afraid your interrogation techniques are too much for me, Mrs. Grayson." He sighed again and continued more seriously, "My subconscious likes to show replays of the pilots in my division who've been killed. Except it replaces each pilot with people like Roy, Wally, Donna, and Tim. The grand finale is when I watch the ship carrying you explode. Then this snotty voice (which sounds a lot like Roy, now that I think about it) asks me why I wasn't just as upset when my pilots died. Then I wake up."
"How often have you had this dream?"
"Oh, it usually occurs about once every couple of weeks. Sometimes the voice tells me I would've tried harder to save my pilots if they'd been the Titans. I know it's all crap, but the dreams keep coming." He pulled her more closely against him and smiled. "You think you could give me something else to think about?"
She ran her hands down his back. "I think that could be arranged," she replied huskily as their lips met.
~~~~~~~~~~
At 8:45 on Monday morning, dressed in his summer white uniform, Dick stepped off the elevator and looked around the corridor. His orders had said he was to report to Captain Benjamin Mayhew of Weapons Research, and his office should be right over ... there. Dick walked over to the office's reception area, but before he could give his name to the petty officer, he was startled to see a familiar figure already waiting there.
"Vic! Did they want to see you too?"
"Hey man! Yeah, I'm in on this, too. Listen, there's something I need to tell you before we go in," Vic said, pulling Dick out of the office as he spoke.
"What's up?" Dick asked, becoming uneasy.
"I told them it was your idea for Toni and me to go out there."
"You what!?!"
"The Navy brass and the S.T.A.R. brass were making such a big deal over everything, and I just didn't feel right taking all the credit -- it was your idea, after all! Plus, it was your idea to outfit the other fighters with mine detectors!"
"But Vic ..." Dick took a deep breath. "Okay, how did you explain it?"
"Kory."
"Oh. Okay ... so you and I still keep in touch after Kory and I broke up?"
"Sure! At least enough for you to have kept up with who's on the team, and since your wife also does some work for S.T.A.R. Labs ..."
"All right," Dick sighed. "I guess that'll work. Thanks for the heads-up. Now we'd better get back." He smiled. " You may not care, but I certainly don't want to keep a captain waiting!"
The two men walked back into the office and gave their names to the patient petty officer. After only a few more minutes' wait, they were summoned inside.
Captain Mayhew was a black, barrel-chested giant of a man. As Dick stood at attention in front of his desk, he was surprised to see that in addition to the expected scientists and engineers, there was also a tall, thin, gray-haired vice admiral.
"At ease, Grayson. Mr. Stone, we want to thank you for coming as well. Lieutenant, as you may have realized, this is Admiral Harkness of CINCSOL5. Before we get started with your report, the admiral has some business he needs to attend to." The captain pressed the intercom, "Tiner, you may bring in our visitor now."
The office's other door opened, and Dick was astonished to see Barbara follow the petty officer into the office. She was dressed much more formally than when he had left her in Alexandria earlier that morning. She smiled at him -- her "I've got a secret!" smile.
"Attention to orders!" Admiral Harkness barked out.
The naval personnel in the room, including Dick, stood at attention. The admiral opened up a folder and began to read. Almost in a daze, Dick heard the admiral describe his initial idea and later test flight into the mine field.
"... Lt. Grayson's gallantry was in the finest tradition of the Naval Services and reflects great credit upon himself, naval aviation, and the United States Navy. He is hereby awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross." The admiral closed the folder, handed it to the captain, and pinned the medal on Dick.
Dick relaxed minutely thinking they were done, when the admiral picked up another folder from the captain's desk.
With just a hint of a twinkle in his eyes, the admiral said, "I'm afraid we're not quite done yet, Mr. Grayson. Captain, if you'll do the honors please." With a smile, Captain Mayhew took a pair of shoulder boards with two-and-a-half stripes on them over to Dick. While Dick stood at attention, the captain removed Dick's old shoulder boards and replaced them with the new ones. Admiral Harkness nodded and continued, "Please raise your right hand and repeat after me."
In shock once again, Dick complied and recited the oath of office. "I, Richard John Grayson, having been appointed a Lieutenant Commander in the United States Navy, do accept such appointment and do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Consititution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic, that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; that I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion; and that I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office on which I am about to enter, so help me God."6
"Congratulations, Commander Grayson," Admiral Harkness said, shaking Dick's hand firmly and handing him the two folders and the medal box. "Mrs. Grayson, would you care to do the honors?" He motioned Barbara to come over to Dick, who figuring out what was going on, leaned down so Barbara could kiss him.
"Congratulations, Commander Grayson," she whispered, tears of pride in her eyes.
** End Part 7 **
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5 The Navy is very fond of long acronyms, so it seemed logical to me that they would a) create a new area of operation for the space fleet and b) coin a new acronym for it. Just as CINCPACFLT stands for Commander-in-Chief, Pacific Fleet, my CINCSOLFLT stands for Commander-in-Chief, Solar System Fleet. The acronyms are usually pronounced just the way they're spelled, although they may be shortened: CINCPACFLT is usually spoken of as CINCPAC ("sink pack").
6 I realize I'm really stretching things for Dick to be promoted to LCDR after only two years, even under wartime conditions. But we all know how exceptional Dick is, right? Right? Work with me here, people.