Chapter 5
Slea and the Magic Doll
Bruce had returned home around dusk. He had left the office as soon as he received the call from Alfred that Dick's last appointment with the doctor had not gone as well as been expected. Dick had secluded himself from everyone. The helicopter trip seemed to last forever. He couldn't help but think he should have stayed with him till he had been released; nothing was more important than Dick's health. He had lost one son, and it scared him how close he had come to losing another. He knew he had to get over his fear. It was the same feeling that had driven this boy away all those years ago. He had wanted to stay home, but he could sense that Dick was becoming overly agitated by his presence, and everyone had been so sure this would be the day things got back to normal that Dick practically pushed him out the door.
When he called Leslie to confirm the diagnosis, she agreed to come over so they could work out other options that were available.
When the helicopter had finally landed, he found Alfred in the kitchen.
"Alfred, Leslie will be joining us for dinner tonight."
"Very well, sir," Alfred replied, looking noticeably tired.
"Where is Dick? In his room?" Bruce inquired further.
"No, sir, I believe you will find him in your den," Alfred replied. "The sun has started setting. He seems to like to think he is watching it."
Bruce found him leaning against the open door frame of the patio doors. The last of the sun was fading from the sky, and the cold breeze was coming across the harbor.
"Nice cologne, Bruce," Dick laughed half-heartedly, "but it's a bit strong. You couldn't sneak up on a blind man with that stuff on."
"Dick..." Bruce coughed uncomfortably. "I heard about ... I know about..." Bruce turned away from the blank stare of the young man, who had snuck into his heart. He searched for comfort in his parent's portrait that hung over the fireplace. "I've called Leslie and asked her to join us for dinner tonight, so that afterwards we can go over the alternatives. I haven't given up, and I don't want you to. Barbara and I have already ..."
"STOP IT, BRUCE!" Dick growled. "Just stop it. It's not a matter of giving up. It's a matter of acceptance. I am blind... ACCEPT IT. I screwed up, and now I have to pay the price. ACCEPT IT."
"Dick, it wasn't...
"Yes, it was, Bruce," he quickly rebutted. "I overloaded my plate, and now I am paying for it. Do I need to spell it out for you? The sky is not blue, it's black." He turned away from his surrogate father, hoping to hide the tears he thought he had defeated. "The grass is not green, it's black. The sun is not yellow it's black. Alfred's roses are black. Everything is black. And no amount of money will change that."
He found his sunglasses and quickly put them to hide the tears that threatened to fall. "You once told me that every move I make will have an affect. You do it right, you win. You screw up ... you lose and possibly so does everyone else around you." He swallowed, feeling strangely happy that he couldn't see his mentor's eyes. "I screwed up. Accept it."
Bruce felt suddenly vulnerable. He knew nothing he could say or do would change the anger and self-loathing his son was feeling. He turned to leave, only now noticing the young elfin warrior. Sitting quietly on the floor in the corner, neither confirming nor denying she had heard anything. She just acknowledged Bruce as a knight might acknowledge a Lord in his own palace and continued to stare out the window as the final pulses of fading sunlight were pushed from their spots in the sky by the stars.
Bruce quickly left the room via the grandfather clock. Dick recognized the scraping sound it made when it was pushed open. He wasn't sorry he said the things he had said. At least he didn't want to be sorry. He was tired of trying to keep up with everyone's expectations of him ... or maybe it was his own expectation of himself. It didn't really matter it. It had needed to be said. He needed to know that Dick Grayson was finally accepting his fate. The anger built to a fire deep inside he had hoped his yelling would have eased some of the churning, but he realized that it wasn't enough. He picked up the closest thing to him, which happened to be a million dollar Ming vase, and tossed it. He didn't hear it hit anything, and this startled him.
"I was an angry child, too," S`lea announced, placing the vase back in his hand, quickly removing it and placing back on its pedestal. "Though I was much younger."
"Who asked you? and what are you doing eavesdropping?" Dick growled back, trying to hide the fact she had caught him totally off guard.
"I have dropped nothing ... I merely sat in the corner while you took your anger on your father," she returned. "In my world, the elfin people have magic dolls to help them to control their anger."
"I don't recall asking," Dick muttered.
"You don't recall manners either, but sometimes they are necessary," she calmly replied.
"Listen and maybe you will learn something. In my world the elfin people go through what they call Dar. It is a form of anger when the eyes turn black, and the elfin people react totally by instinct. We cannot lie nor can we hurt anyone physically when under the influence of Dar. That is unless they are believed to be a threat. Because of that we have to be taught the difference between right and wrong, good and bad. A child is taken into the fold at an early age and taught to control the anger, which is a part of all children. But the elfin village I came from had been slaughtered. I didn't have a family and was unwanted by most of the village."
"Sorry," Dick whispered knowing a similar emptiness that came with being alone in a big world.
"No need for sorrow, I was raised by a warrior not much different from your father. My mother was a very wise woman who found someone to teach her the ways of my people so that she could one day teach me. He gave her a doll, and when I was old enough to lose my temper, she gave it to me."
"A doll?" Dick smirked.
"Not just any doll, a magic doll that was bonded to me by blood. Her head was made of the finest wizard's clay, and her body of the softest fabric. She had soft green eyes that seem to twinkle and the brightest of smiles. When my mother gave it to me, she said I was no longer allowed to yell at her, my father, my brother and most certainly not the Prince. Prince Kern was nearly injured the first time I lost my temper."
"One day, I had become angry with my brother for going out with the king on a hunting expedition instead of teaching me to wield a sword as he had promised. He had even made me a wonderful practice sword of the strongest kesselwood. I ran to my room and exacted my anger out on the poor doll. The first time I yelled at it, the statement on the face just turned blank ... but the more I yelled, the worse things would become. By the time I was done, the arm and leg had fallen from the doll.
"At first I was startled, then I was frightened, for I had damaged my most prized possession. I ran to my mother begging her to fix it for me. She said she could not, that it was a magic doll and could only be repaired by the one who had damaged it. So she gave me a needle and thread. I was not much more than an infant and had never used a needle. As I tried to sew, I would poke myself, get angry and begin to cry and yell again. I quit many times, but eventually I would comeback to the doll and try again. I cried as I sewed, all the time begging it to forgive me."
"Many suns had set before I had finally fastened the parts back together. Because of my youth, the stitches were huge and awkward, but the smile had returned to the face of the doll. Many times I lost my temper, and many times I had to repair the doll, but the damage would become less and less the as I managed to control my temper."
"Then one season my mother was killed. I had been off playing warrior in the woods, and my brother and father were at the castle, so she was alone. Again, I lost control. I started screaming. I was angry with everyone and did not care who knew. I did not seek out my doll. Instead, I took out my wrath on my brother and my father and anyone else who tried to interfere. That night, I packed my bags to be moved into the castle, and when I found my doll she was in shreds on the floor. It was the first time I realized what I had done, and I fell to the floor in tears. When my brother and the prince came to pick me up, they found me still on the floor, trying to sew the doll together. I refused to leave, but they forced me, leaving my doll on the floor still in pieces.
"I spent the next day trying to apologize to all whom I hurt with my anger, and they said they accepted it. But in my heart, I knew that was not enough, so that morning when they awoke in the castle, I was gone. I had returned to the house, sat on the floor and continued to try to repair the doll. I knew that I did no honor to my family or myself by my words, so I tried to make it right by my deeds. Three tri-suns (a tri- sun is a nine day week) it took me to repair her. Some pieces were so damaged that I had to replace them, but I had sewn the damage pieces into the new fabric. Then finally, she was complete. Despite the skill I had attained by then, there was nothing I could do to hide the patches and the scar-like stitching. I placed her clay head back onto the body, and the smile returned. I still carry the doll with me as a reminder of how my anger affects those I love."
Partway into the story, Dick had found the overstuffed chair and listened uncomfortably at the tale. "So what you are trying to say is because I opened my mouth before thinking, and even though I didn't mean for it to come out the way it did, I still hurt Bruce. And no matter how often I apologize and how often he forgives me, the scars of our words will always be there."
"Maybe you are not as blind as your eyes would have you believe," she returned.
"Maybe people in your world are perfect, but not here on this world. We don't have magic dolls. We just lash out at whatever or whoever is closest."
"Yes, there are those of us who do believe that they are perfect on our world, and I know more of anger than you will ever have to deal with. But even here, there must be other ways to release such destructive energy. "
"So what do you do when you don't have the doll with you? What do you do when no one wants to listen to you no matter what you say? What do you do when you feel like the world is crashing down around you?"
"I face my inner beast," she announced in a matter-of-fact tone. "For some reason my Dyeta can express better the needs of my soul. Mine is not so different a life than what your father lives, or you."
"Why are you here, S`lea?" he asked, feeling a bit angry at the honesty of her words.
"You brought me here with your magic, Sire," she replied
"I HAVE NO MAGIC," he argued, and then he quickly calmed his voice. "Maybe one of the other men called you through."
"That would have been impossible. Their hearts are black. They could not have produced the light I voyaged through to get here."
"Has this ever happened before? You being taken from your world to somewhere else?"
"Only once before have I found myself pulled through the light. But it was not to another world. It was to the Lair of the Dragon Mage so that I might complete transformation."
"Transformation?"
"The ability to change..." she stated simply, "...into my Dyeta. My other self."
"Your other self?" Dick repeated, totally lost.
Before she could reply, Tim who had come up from the Cave said it for her. "A dragon," he announced.
"A dragon?" Dick asked, not sure he had heard him correctly.
"Like Garfield, she can change her form to a dragon. Don't ya get it, Dick? S`lea, the Vulcan, and the Bird of Prey are all one and the same," he chirped.
"I am not a bird nor am I a Vulcan," S`lea announced, frustrated "I have told you, I am Elfin."
Dick chose to ignore the warrior. It would be much easier for Tim to explain later.
"Bruce received the tapes," Tim continued excitedly, "from the security cameras of the museum almost two weeks ago, but had not gotten a chance to look at them till now. It shows everything."
"What is a ...tape from a security camera?" The young elfin knight quarried.
"It's a copy of what happened at a certain place and time, and you can play it to make sure you don't jump to conclusions," he explained. "It's like a crystal ball. It tells us what happened, understand?"
"Uh huh. Aah, what is a crystal ball?"
"Come on, we'll show you," Tim laughed.
She turned to Dick, who appeared to be upset about something again.
"My lord Nightwing, are you coming?"
"S`lea! I am not your lord. My name is Dick... Dick Grayson. I am not a lord. I am not a warrior. And I am not Nightwing, I am nothing," he announced as they watched his anger fade again. "I am nothing." He quickly turned to head out the door of the den, when S`lea growled back at him.
"Tell me, Sire. What kind of thread does one use to mend wounds of the soul that are self-inflicted?" Then without another word she followed young Tim to the dark caverns below.
Tim and S`lea quietly traversed the stairwell to find Bruce, Leslie and Alfred watching the halo screen of the Bat Computer.
Alfred looked at Bruce and back to Leslie. They watched again as the young woman on the video changed to a huge beast, and then like a child cradling a doll, lifted the wounded Nightwing and flew through the skylight, leaving just a shower of broken glass and building material in the camera view.
"My word," Alfred breathed. "I cannot believe that is same child in the Manor."
"Uhhumm." They all turned around to find S`lea still staring at the tape and a red-faced Tim Drake looking quite stunned and embarrassed for both of them.
"Forgive me, Lady S`lea, that was not intended to sound as gauche as it might have."
She didn't seem to be paying attention to them, but instead looked the holoscreen in front of her. It looped automatically and replayed everything from the beginning just prior to the break-in. After the replay, she turned to the group who stared curiously at the amazed woman before them.
"Your Lordship," she bowed slightly and stepped up to Bruce. "Please, I beg of you, release my sword. I must return to that place." She stared black-eyed back at the screen as it returned to beginning of the loop. "He is... was there. I cannot believe I did not smell his foul stench before."
Bruce looked back at the screen, as the burglars seem to step out of a dark void. "Do you know who did this, S`lea?"
"Aye, Sire," she growled, "return my sword, and I will rid both our worlds of the dark plague known in my world as Golnac."
No one had noticed Dick, who had made his way to the Cave. He intended to apologize to Bruce, Tim and S`lea for his actions, when it hit him what Tim had said upstairs. "Bruce received the tapes from the security cameras of the museum almost 2 weeks ago, but hadn't gotten a chance to look at them till now." He pulled Tim back into a corner and asked him if they were alone. When Tim confirmed they were, he asked him straight out why, and Tim told him that Batman hadn't made an appearance since Dick was brought back to the Cave.
"Wha-Why?" Dick found himself mumbling. "What about the 'job'? Has he flipped? What about his 'duty to Gotham.'?"
Tim just answered back to the blank eyes that stared at him, "Until an hour ago, his duty to family took priority."
Dick felt a sudden rush of reality. All these years he wanted Bruce to show he gave a damn. In his way, Bruce had tried, but it always seemed as if the city took priority. Now, Dick finally had gotten Bruce's undivided attention, and what happened? He threw it back in the man's face. Guiltily, he remembered the conversation with S`lea just a short time ago. **'No matter how often I apologize and how often he forgives me the scars of our words will always be there.**
Slea and the Magic Doll
Bruce had returned home around dusk. He had left the office as soon as he received the call from Alfred that Dick's last appointment with the doctor had not gone as well as been expected. Dick had secluded himself from everyone. The helicopter trip seemed to last forever. He couldn't help but think he should have stayed with him till he had been released; nothing was more important than Dick's health. He had lost one son, and it scared him how close he had come to losing another. He knew he had to get over his fear. It was the same feeling that had driven this boy away all those years ago. He had wanted to stay home, but he could sense that Dick was becoming overly agitated by his presence, and everyone had been so sure this would be the day things got back to normal that Dick practically pushed him out the door.
When he called Leslie to confirm the diagnosis, she agreed to come over so they could work out other options that were available.
When the helicopter had finally landed, he found Alfred in the kitchen.
"Alfred, Leslie will be joining us for dinner tonight."
"Very well, sir," Alfred replied, looking noticeably tired.
"Where is Dick? In his room?" Bruce inquired further.
"No, sir, I believe you will find him in your den," Alfred replied. "The sun has started setting. He seems to like to think he is watching it."
Bruce found him leaning against the open door frame of the patio doors. The last of the sun was fading from the sky, and the cold breeze was coming across the harbor.
"Nice cologne, Bruce," Dick laughed half-heartedly, "but it's a bit strong. You couldn't sneak up on a blind man with that stuff on."
"Dick..." Bruce coughed uncomfortably. "I heard about ... I know about..." Bruce turned away from the blank stare of the young man, who had snuck into his heart. He searched for comfort in his parent's portrait that hung over the fireplace. "I've called Leslie and asked her to join us for dinner tonight, so that afterwards we can go over the alternatives. I haven't given up, and I don't want you to. Barbara and I have already ..."
"STOP IT, BRUCE!" Dick growled. "Just stop it. It's not a matter of giving up. It's a matter of acceptance. I am blind... ACCEPT IT. I screwed up, and now I have to pay the price. ACCEPT IT."
"Dick, it wasn't...
"Yes, it was, Bruce," he quickly rebutted. "I overloaded my plate, and now I am paying for it. Do I need to spell it out for you? The sky is not blue, it's black." He turned away from his surrogate father, hoping to hide the tears he thought he had defeated. "The grass is not green, it's black. The sun is not yellow it's black. Alfred's roses are black. Everything is black. And no amount of money will change that."
He found his sunglasses and quickly put them to hide the tears that threatened to fall. "You once told me that every move I make will have an affect. You do it right, you win. You screw up ... you lose and possibly so does everyone else around you." He swallowed, feeling strangely happy that he couldn't see his mentor's eyes. "I screwed up. Accept it."
Bruce felt suddenly vulnerable. He knew nothing he could say or do would change the anger and self-loathing his son was feeling. He turned to leave, only now noticing the young elfin warrior. Sitting quietly on the floor in the corner, neither confirming nor denying she had heard anything. She just acknowledged Bruce as a knight might acknowledge a Lord in his own palace and continued to stare out the window as the final pulses of fading sunlight were pushed from their spots in the sky by the stars.
Bruce quickly left the room via the grandfather clock. Dick recognized the scraping sound it made when it was pushed open. He wasn't sorry he said the things he had said. At least he didn't want to be sorry. He was tired of trying to keep up with everyone's expectations of him ... or maybe it was his own expectation of himself. It didn't really matter it. It had needed to be said. He needed to know that Dick Grayson was finally accepting his fate. The anger built to a fire deep inside he had hoped his yelling would have eased some of the churning, but he realized that it wasn't enough. He picked up the closest thing to him, which happened to be a million dollar Ming vase, and tossed it. He didn't hear it hit anything, and this startled him.
"I was an angry child, too," S`lea announced, placing the vase back in his hand, quickly removing it and placing back on its pedestal. "Though I was much younger."
"Who asked you? and what are you doing eavesdropping?" Dick growled back, trying to hide the fact she had caught him totally off guard.
"I have dropped nothing ... I merely sat in the corner while you took your anger on your father," she returned. "In my world, the elfin people have magic dolls to help them to control their anger."
"I don't recall asking," Dick muttered.
"You don't recall manners either, but sometimes they are necessary," she calmly replied.
"Listen and maybe you will learn something. In my world the elfin people go through what they call Dar. It is a form of anger when the eyes turn black, and the elfin people react totally by instinct. We cannot lie nor can we hurt anyone physically when under the influence of Dar. That is unless they are believed to be a threat. Because of that we have to be taught the difference between right and wrong, good and bad. A child is taken into the fold at an early age and taught to control the anger, which is a part of all children. But the elfin village I came from had been slaughtered. I didn't have a family and was unwanted by most of the village."
"Sorry," Dick whispered knowing a similar emptiness that came with being alone in a big world.
"No need for sorrow, I was raised by a warrior not much different from your father. My mother was a very wise woman who found someone to teach her the ways of my people so that she could one day teach me. He gave her a doll, and when I was old enough to lose my temper, she gave it to me."
"A doll?" Dick smirked.
"Not just any doll, a magic doll that was bonded to me by blood. Her head was made of the finest wizard's clay, and her body of the softest fabric. She had soft green eyes that seem to twinkle and the brightest of smiles. When my mother gave it to me, she said I was no longer allowed to yell at her, my father, my brother and most certainly not the Prince. Prince Kern was nearly injured the first time I lost my temper."
"One day, I had become angry with my brother for going out with the king on a hunting expedition instead of teaching me to wield a sword as he had promised. He had even made me a wonderful practice sword of the strongest kesselwood. I ran to my room and exacted my anger out on the poor doll. The first time I yelled at it, the statement on the face just turned blank ... but the more I yelled, the worse things would become. By the time I was done, the arm and leg had fallen from the doll.
"At first I was startled, then I was frightened, for I had damaged my most prized possession. I ran to my mother begging her to fix it for me. She said she could not, that it was a magic doll and could only be repaired by the one who had damaged it. So she gave me a needle and thread. I was not much more than an infant and had never used a needle. As I tried to sew, I would poke myself, get angry and begin to cry and yell again. I quit many times, but eventually I would comeback to the doll and try again. I cried as I sewed, all the time begging it to forgive me."
"Many suns had set before I had finally fastened the parts back together. Because of my youth, the stitches were huge and awkward, but the smile had returned to the face of the doll. Many times I lost my temper, and many times I had to repair the doll, but the damage would become less and less the as I managed to control my temper."
"Then one season my mother was killed. I had been off playing warrior in the woods, and my brother and father were at the castle, so she was alone. Again, I lost control. I started screaming. I was angry with everyone and did not care who knew. I did not seek out my doll. Instead, I took out my wrath on my brother and my father and anyone else who tried to interfere. That night, I packed my bags to be moved into the castle, and when I found my doll she was in shreds on the floor. It was the first time I realized what I had done, and I fell to the floor in tears. When my brother and the prince came to pick me up, they found me still on the floor, trying to sew the doll together. I refused to leave, but they forced me, leaving my doll on the floor still in pieces.
"I spent the next day trying to apologize to all whom I hurt with my anger, and they said they accepted it. But in my heart, I knew that was not enough, so that morning when they awoke in the castle, I was gone. I had returned to the house, sat on the floor and continued to try to repair the doll. I knew that I did no honor to my family or myself by my words, so I tried to make it right by my deeds. Three tri-suns (a tri- sun is a nine day week) it took me to repair her. Some pieces were so damaged that I had to replace them, but I had sewn the damage pieces into the new fabric. Then finally, she was complete. Despite the skill I had attained by then, there was nothing I could do to hide the patches and the scar-like stitching. I placed her clay head back onto the body, and the smile returned. I still carry the doll with me as a reminder of how my anger affects those I love."
Partway into the story, Dick had found the overstuffed chair and listened uncomfortably at the tale. "So what you are trying to say is because I opened my mouth before thinking, and even though I didn't mean for it to come out the way it did, I still hurt Bruce. And no matter how often I apologize and how often he forgives me, the scars of our words will always be there."
"Maybe you are not as blind as your eyes would have you believe," she returned.
"Maybe people in your world are perfect, but not here on this world. We don't have magic dolls. We just lash out at whatever or whoever is closest."
"Yes, there are those of us who do believe that they are perfect on our world, and I know more of anger than you will ever have to deal with. But even here, there must be other ways to release such destructive energy. "
"So what do you do when you don't have the doll with you? What do you do when no one wants to listen to you no matter what you say? What do you do when you feel like the world is crashing down around you?"
"I face my inner beast," she announced in a matter-of-fact tone. "For some reason my Dyeta can express better the needs of my soul. Mine is not so different a life than what your father lives, or you."
"Why are you here, S`lea?" he asked, feeling a bit angry at the honesty of her words.
"You brought me here with your magic, Sire," she replied
"I HAVE NO MAGIC," he argued, and then he quickly calmed his voice. "Maybe one of the other men called you through."
"That would have been impossible. Their hearts are black. They could not have produced the light I voyaged through to get here."
"Has this ever happened before? You being taken from your world to somewhere else?"
"Only once before have I found myself pulled through the light. But it was not to another world. It was to the Lair of the Dragon Mage so that I might complete transformation."
"Transformation?"
"The ability to change..." she stated simply, "...into my Dyeta. My other self."
"Your other self?" Dick repeated, totally lost.
Before she could reply, Tim who had come up from the Cave said it for her. "A dragon," he announced.
"A dragon?" Dick asked, not sure he had heard him correctly.
"Like Garfield, she can change her form to a dragon. Don't ya get it, Dick? S`lea, the Vulcan, and the Bird of Prey are all one and the same," he chirped.
"I am not a bird nor am I a Vulcan," S`lea announced, frustrated "I have told you, I am Elfin."
Dick chose to ignore the warrior. It would be much easier for Tim to explain later.
"Bruce received the tapes," Tim continued excitedly, "from the security cameras of the museum almost two weeks ago, but had not gotten a chance to look at them till now. It shows everything."
"What is a ...tape from a security camera?" The young elfin knight quarried.
"It's a copy of what happened at a certain place and time, and you can play it to make sure you don't jump to conclusions," he explained. "It's like a crystal ball. It tells us what happened, understand?"
"Uh huh. Aah, what is a crystal ball?"
"Come on, we'll show you," Tim laughed.
She turned to Dick, who appeared to be upset about something again.
"My lord Nightwing, are you coming?"
"S`lea! I am not your lord. My name is Dick... Dick Grayson. I am not a lord. I am not a warrior. And I am not Nightwing, I am nothing," he announced as they watched his anger fade again. "I am nothing." He quickly turned to head out the door of the den, when S`lea growled back at him.
"Tell me, Sire. What kind of thread does one use to mend wounds of the soul that are self-inflicted?" Then without another word she followed young Tim to the dark caverns below.
Tim and S`lea quietly traversed the stairwell to find Bruce, Leslie and Alfred watching the halo screen of the Bat Computer.
Alfred looked at Bruce and back to Leslie. They watched again as the young woman on the video changed to a huge beast, and then like a child cradling a doll, lifted the wounded Nightwing and flew through the skylight, leaving just a shower of broken glass and building material in the camera view.
"My word," Alfred breathed. "I cannot believe that is same child in the Manor."
"Uhhumm." They all turned around to find S`lea still staring at the tape and a red-faced Tim Drake looking quite stunned and embarrassed for both of them.
"Forgive me, Lady S`lea, that was not intended to sound as gauche as it might have."
She didn't seem to be paying attention to them, but instead looked the holoscreen in front of her. It looped automatically and replayed everything from the beginning just prior to the break-in. After the replay, she turned to the group who stared curiously at the amazed woman before them.
"Your Lordship," she bowed slightly and stepped up to Bruce. "Please, I beg of you, release my sword. I must return to that place." She stared black-eyed back at the screen as it returned to beginning of the loop. "He is... was there. I cannot believe I did not smell his foul stench before."
Bruce looked back at the screen, as the burglars seem to step out of a dark void. "Do you know who did this, S`lea?"
"Aye, Sire," she growled, "return my sword, and I will rid both our worlds of the dark plague known in my world as Golnac."
No one had noticed Dick, who had made his way to the Cave. He intended to apologize to Bruce, Tim and S`lea for his actions, when it hit him what Tim had said upstairs. "Bruce received the tapes from the security cameras of the museum almost 2 weeks ago, but hadn't gotten a chance to look at them till now." He pulled Tim back into a corner and asked him if they were alone. When Tim confirmed they were, he asked him straight out why, and Tim told him that Batman hadn't made an appearance since Dick was brought back to the Cave.
"Wha-Why?" Dick found himself mumbling. "What about the 'job'? Has he flipped? What about his 'duty to Gotham.'?"
Tim just answered back to the blank eyes that stared at him, "Until an hour ago, his duty to family took priority."
Dick felt a sudden rush of reality. All these years he wanted Bruce to show he gave a damn. In his way, Bruce had tried, but it always seemed as if the city took priority. Now, Dick finally had gotten Bruce's undivided attention, and what happened? He threw it back in the man's face. Guiltily, he remembered the conversation with S`lea just a short time ago. **'No matter how often I apologize and how often he forgives me the scars of our words will always be there.**
