A Different Game 3a:
"Hey Tim," Stephanie said with a smile as he walked into view in the visitation cubicle. He threw up his left hand at her as he took a seat.
"Hey Steph," he said as he weakly smiled at her.
"How are you?"
He moved his head from side to side. "I'm okay. I'm still here. But at least next week, I'll get to get out of here."
Stephanie managed to smile at him, "The trial?"
"Yeah," he said drumming his fingers on the desktop. "Being in the courtroom's got to be better than sitting in here all day."
"Yeah, it will be. I'm going to be there for you. Every day. I'll be sitting right behind you."
"What about school?"
"Mom said I could take off. It's a good thing, because I would be there anyway," she said and then sighed. "I can't believe you've been stuck in here over a month. I've ... I've missed you," she said softly, a single tear escaping her eye.
"Yeah, I've missed you too. Hey, lets talk about something else. Anything else," he said rolling his eyes and slightly smiling at her.
"The nightlife's been hectic. Jean-Paul, Cassandra, and I have been taking care of Gotham while Helena's been in Bludhaven. Dinah's been going between the two, wherever she's needed. But it's not the same."
Tim's eyes had a far away look. He remembered Gotham nights -- flying over the city -- free as a bird. A Robin to be exact. Flying alongside Dick and with Bruce. Had it only been a month since he last done that, since they were all together and happy? Doing their jobs, protecting their cities. It felt like years. His chest felt heavy as his breathing grew rapid.
"Are you all right, Tim?"
"Yeah, just thinking. Remembering. I'm ... I'm glad you're gonna be there next week."
"I wouldn't be anywhere else. I've missed you."
***********************************************************************
Jim Gordon used his key to enter Barbara's apartment. He saw the empty take-out containers strewn on the coffee table and throughout the kitchen. As he passed her bedroom, he noticed her made bed. He shook his head. She hadn't been sleeping. What little bit of rest she was taking was either on her couch or at her computer. He worried about her as much as he worried about Dick Grayson and Tim Drake.
If Dick were convicted, what would it do to Barbara? He had an idea, and it worried him. She had finally started coming out of the shell she had built around herself after she lost the use of her legs. And he knew that Dick Grayson was responsible for a large part of her emergence. He prayed that she wouldn't have to endure life without him.
"Barbara," he began as he entered he control room.
"Hi Dad," she answered not taking her eyes off her computers.
"When have you rested?" he asked, concern in his voice.
"Don't have time to rest. The trial starts tomorrow and we're no closer to an answer than when this nightmare began. I have to keep looking. We're missing something. I don't know what, but we're missing something. And I've got to find it. I've got to -- "
"Babs, honey, stop," Jim said as he grabbed her hands and moved them away from the keyboard. As he held her hands, she turned her head to face him. That's when he saw the tears rolling down her face. The tears her voice had hidden from him. Releasing her hands, he moved his to wipe the tears away. He saw the streaks previous tears had made on her face. Her eyes held an exhausted look. "Honey, you're killing yourself. Everything that can be done has been done. It's up to the lawyers now."
"But that's not good enough," she cried. "HE would have found out what was going on by now. HE would have solved this case. HE would have Dick and Tim home by now." She dropped her head into her hands.
"I know honey, I know. I miss him too."
***********************************************************************
"Thanks for watching Lian while we're in Gotham, Toni."
"No problem," she responded as she watched Roy packing his bags. "Wally, Donna, and I will keep everyone here posted on everything as soon as it happens."
"The TV news will be doing that," Toni added pointing to the muted TV in the corner of the room. Pictures of Bruce, Dick and Tim filling the screen.
Lian sat on the edge of his bed swinging her legs and looking at the TV. "Will you see Unca' Dick?"
"Yes Princess, I will."
"Daddy, why's Unca' Dick in jail like Mommy? Mommy does bad things, but Unca Dick does good things. Did Unca Dick do something bad? Did he hurt a bunch'a people like Mommy?"
Roy sighed as he stopped packing and sat beside Lian. Quickly moving her into his lap, he tried to explain. "Lian, Uncle Dick hasn't done anything bad. Some people just think he has, but he hasn't. They just made a mistake."
"But you'll help them understand they made a mistake won't you? You get Unca Dick out and bring him here. I miss him."
Roy hugged her tightly, "I miss him too, sweetie, I miss him too."
***********************************************************************
"Lights out!" the command echoed through the Gotham City Jail over the intercom system.
Dick and Tim silently lay on their bunks. The only sound passing through the cell was that of their breathing. Neither of them were tired. They were too nervous to sleep. They were worried. However, neither of them wanted to admit it. So they silently lay on their bunks, their minds filled with their own thoughts. They knew each other was awake. Yet, they didn't feel like talking. The silence shared their emotions.
They tossed and turned all night, getting very little rest. Sleep came only in brief moments. The closer morning came, the larger the knot in their stomachs became.
Dick sat up on his bunk in the early morning hours shortly before the six o'clock "Lights on!" announcement. He laid his head back against the wall. He saw Tim's legs swing over his bunk and stand on the floor. Moving across the small cell, Tim sat on Dick's bunk and moved back against the wall, pulling his legs up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them.
"You okay, bro?" Dick asked.
"Yeah," Tim said. "Dick, what'd ya think's going to happen?"
"I don't know. Wish I did. I thought it was a mistake. That it was all a mistake. And that they'd find it out and we'd go home. But it hasn't happened. Bruce hasn't shown up and it's been over a month. No sign of him. I just don't know what's going to happen, Tim, I just don't know. It's all so wrong."
"But it'll be over soon, right?"
Dick looked at Tim, into the boy's hopeful eyes. All he could answer him was, "Yeah, it'll be over soon."
"Lights on!" sounded throughout the Gotham City Jail. Together, they sat on the bunk waiting for their cell door to open. They heard the clanging of other cell doors opening, yet theirs stayed closed. They watched as other prisoners, similarly clad in orange jumpsuits, walked in rows, toward the cafeteria. Dick and Tim looked at each other, what was going on?
About fifteen minutes later, a guard came to the door and slipped two trays through the slit at the bottom of the cell.
"Why," Tim started hesitantly, "why aren't we going to the cafeteria?"
The guard looked at Tim through the steel bars and responded, "You've got court this morning. We've got to keep you on a tight schedule. You shower and change for court in thirty. So eat up, you've got a big day."
Dick stood from the bunk and walked to retrieve the trays. He picked them up and handed one to Tim who took it and sat it beside him.
"I think if I eat anything I'm going to throw up."
Dick looked at the boy and softly said, "I understand. But if you don't eat anything, you're going to be sick too. And we won't make a good impression on the jury if you get sick in front of them."
"Okay, I'll try to eat," Tim replied as he took the plastic fork and started stirring his scrambled eggs.
The guard had been right about them being on a tight schedule. Exactly thirty minutes later, their cell door opened and they were called out and moved to the showers. This was the first time they had been here alone. They caught their breath as the cold water hit their skin, cascading over their bodies. The water abruptly ended just as it started to warm. Shivering, they shook the water from their hair as they dried off. Exiting the other end of the showers, they were greeted by a guard who handed them suit bags containing the clothes they would wear to court.
Dick smiled briefly as he opened his bag. It was obvious Alfred had put the combinations together -- everything matched too well. Not the normal Dick Grayson throw-something-together-and-run-out-the-door planning.
It was seven-thirty when the guards checked to see if they were ready. They were moved to a holding cell to wait for the transport van's arrival. Fifteen minutes later, four guards entered the cell -- shackles and manacles in hand.
Wide-eyed, Tim watched them as they laid out the restraints, then he turned to Dick. "What's all that? They've only handcuffed us before?" then turning back to the guards, he asked, "What's all that for?"
One of the guards turned from their work and said, "Detective Jacobs was worried about a possible escape attempt so we're taking extra precautions."
Dick closed his eyes before he faced Tim. He didn't want the young boy to see how angry he was with the good detective. Jacobs was taking too much pleasure in this. Opening his eyes, he turned to Tim, "Nothing we can do about it Tim. Just stay calm, we don't need to get upset today."
Tim nodded his head in agreement as his eyes looked to the floor.
The guard spoke up, "If you two could move to the center of the room. Face each other about two feet apart. Move your arms straight out by your side." Dick and Tim did as they were told, obeying each separate command.
The guards moved to the boys, two guards each. Dick and Tim felt the heavy chain move around their waist and heard them lock. One guard grabbed their wrists, one at a time, shackling them to the chain about their waist, while the other guard locked the manacles around their ankles.
Dick and Tim looked at each other. They didn't need to speak. They understood how the other felt.
Once the guards checked the restraints ensuring they were secure and tight, one of the guards said, "Let's move out."
The three mile ride to the courthouse from the jail in the transport van took fifteen minutes in Gotham's morning rush hour traffic. Luckily, they were the only prisoners in the van. As the van pulled into the gated prisoner loading area behind the courthouse, Tim saw the reporters gathered at the gate.
"Geeze, how many reporters are here? What is this? A sporting event?"
Dick turned to the window. "Great. Well, we knew they were going to be here."
"Yeah, but I didn't know we were going to be like this!" he responded as he tried to lift his hands. "They're just gonna love these photos."
"Don't think about it, Tim. Ignore the press."
"I try, but it's hard Dick. What do our friends think about all this. Stephanie and Cassandra are the only visitors I've had except for Dad and Dana and Alfred. None of my friends from school -- either school -- have... What do they think? What are they going to think if they see me on TV like this? And if we get out ..."
"When! When we get out!"
Tim sighed and bit his lip before continuing, "When we get out, how are they going to feel about having me around?"
"Don't think about any of that now bro. We've got a big day -- a big week -- ahead of us. Lets focus on one thing at a time."
Dick and Tim were taken into the courthouse and moved into a conference area. Jon Walters and Wilson Avery were waiting for them. Their lawyers watched as their clients were freed from the restraints. The guards left through the door they entered from, locking it behind them. Dick noticed the door on the opposite side of the room.
"Where does that go?" Dick asked.
"Into the courtroom. That's how you'll enter and leave," Walters said.
"They're trusting us in here?" Tim asked as he rubbed his sore wrists.
"Two bailiffs are on the other side of that door," Wilson Avery added. "Boys, everything's starting with jury selection. That's going to take a while in this case, and we know it's going to be extremely boring for you."
"Publicity. That's why it's going to be hard to find a jury?" Dick asked.
"That and death-qualifying the jury." Jon Walters responded.
"What is that?" Tim asked looking at the two older men.
"Determining the prospective jurors views on capital punishment. No one can sit on the jury who doesn't believe in capital punishment. That makes it difficult for us to find people who aren't predisposed to find any defendant guilty."
Dick laced his fingers together behind his head as he walked around the room, "So you're saying that people who could not give someone the death penalty at all, cannot be on the jury. How is that fair to us?"
"It's not, but that's how it is."
"Well that makes me feel better," Dick said sarcastically.
Jon Walters looked at his watch, "It's eight forty-five. Let's move on out and take our places. We don't want the judge to get angry at us for being late."
As they left the conference room and started walking toward the defendant's table, they saw Peter Reynolds and Detective Jacobs sitting at the opposite table. Dick and Tim glared at Jacobs. Then Dick saw Barbara. She was sitting at the end of the front row immediately behind their table. She smiled at him and he returned her smile. Upon reaching the table, he tentatively reached his hand across the wooden bar separating the spectators from the participants. She took his hand and squeezed it reassuringly.
Jack Drake had stood up when Tim had entered the room. Tim had walked over to his father, who hugged the boy tightly.
Dick, still holding Barbara's hand, noticed their family and friends. The first row was taken up by the Drake's, Clark, Leslie, Alfred, Jim, and Barbara at the end of the row. Filling the second row were Dinah, Roy, Donna, Wally, Cassandra, and Stephanie. Seeing everyone, feeling their support, Dick felt warm.
"Boys," Jon started, "take your seats. The judge is coming out.
They had just pulled their chairs out when the bailiff cried out, "All rise ..."
to be continued ...
"Hey Tim," Stephanie said with a smile as he walked into view in the visitation cubicle. He threw up his left hand at her as he took a seat.
"Hey Steph," he said as he weakly smiled at her.
"How are you?"
He moved his head from side to side. "I'm okay. I'm still here. But at least next week, I'll get to get out of here."
Stephanie managed to smile at him, "The trial?"
"Yeah," he said drumming his fingers on the desktop. "Being in the courtroom's got to be better than sitting in here all day."
"Yeah, it will be. I'm going to be there for you. Every day. I'll be sitting right behind you."
"What about school?"
"Mom said I could take off. It's a good thing, because I would be there anyway," she said and then sighed. "I can't believe you've been stuck in here over a month. I've ... I've missed you," she said softly, a single tear escaping her eye.
"Yeah, I've missed you too. Hey, lets talk about something else. Anything else," he said rolling his eyes and slightly smiling at her.
"The nightlife's been hectic. Jean-Paul, Cassandra, and I have been taking care of Gotham while Helena's been in Bludhaven. Dinah's been going between the two, wherever she's needed. But it's not the same."
Tim's eyes had a far away look. He remembered Gotham nights -- flying over the city -- free as a bird. A Robin to be exact. Flying alongside Dick and with Bruce. Had it only been a month since he last done that, since they were all together and happy? Doing their jobs, protecting their cities. It felt like years. His chest felt heavy as his breathing grew rapid.
"Are you all right, Tim?"
"Yeah, just thinking. Remembering. I'm ... I'm glad you're gonna be there next week."
"I wouldn't be anywhere else. I've missed you."
***********************************************************************
Jim Gordon used his key to enter Barbara's apartment. He saw the empty take-out containers strewn on the coffee table and throughout the kitchen. As he passed her bedroom, he noticed her made bed. He shook his head. She hadn't been sleeping. What little bit of rest she was taking was either on her couch or at her computer. He worried about her as much as he worried about Dick Grayson and Tim Drake.
If Dick were convicted, what would it do to Barbara? He had an idea, and it worried him. She had finally started coming out of the shell she had built around herself after she lost the use of her legs. And he knew that Dick Grayson was responsible for a large part of her emergence. He prayed that she wouldn't have to endure life without him.
"Barbara," he began as he entered he control room.
"Hi Dad," she answered not taking her eyes off her computers.
"When have you rested?" he asked, concern in his voice.
"Don't have time to rest. The trial starts tomorrow and we're no closer to an answer than when this nightmare began. I have to keep looking. We're missing something. I don't know what, but we're missing something. And I've got to find it. I've got to -- "
"Babs, honey, stop," Jim said as he grabbed her hands and moved them away from the keyboard. As he held her hands, she turned her head to face him. That's when he saw the tears rolling down her face. The tears her voice had hidden from him. Releasing her hands, he moved his to wipe the tears away. He saw the streaks previous tears had made on her face. Her eyes held an exhausted look. "Honey, you're killing yourself. Everything that can be done has been done. It's up to the lawyers now."
"But that's not good enough," she cried. "HE would have found out what was going on by now. HE would have solved this case. HE would have Dick and Tim home by now." She dropped her head into her hands.
"I know honey, I know. I miss him too."
***********************************************************************
"Thanks for watching Lian while we're in Gotham, Toni."
"No problem," she responded as she watched Roy packing his bags. "Wally, Donna, and I will keep everyone here posted on everything as soon as it happens."
"The TV news will be doing that," Toni added pointing to the muted TV in the corner of the room. Pictures of Bruce, Dick and Tim filling the screen.
Lian sat on the edge of his bed swinging her legs and looking at the TV. "Will you see Unca' Dick?"
"Yes Princess, I will."
"Daddy, why's Unca' Dick in jail like Mommy? Mommy does bad things, but Unca Dick does good things. Did Unca Dick do something bad? Did he hurt a bunch'a people like Mommy?"
Roy sighed as he stopped packing and sat beside Lian. Quickly moving her into his lap, he tried to explain. "Lian, Uncle Dick hasn't done anything bad. Some people just think he has, but he hasn't. They just made a mistake."
"But you'll help them understand they made a mistake won't you? You get Unca Dick out and bring him here. I miss him."
Roy hugged her tightly, "I miss him too, sweetie, I miss him too."
***********************************************************************
"Lights out!" the command echoed through the Gotham City Jail over the intercom system.
Dick and Tim silently lay on their bunks. The only sound passing through the cell was that of their breathing. Neither of them were tired. They were too nervous to sleep. They were worried. However, neither of them wanted to admit it. So they silently lay on their bunks, their minds filled with their own thoughts. They knew each other was awake. Yet, they didn't feel like talking. The silence shared their emotions.
They tossed and turned all night, getting very little rest. Sleep came only in brief moments. The closer morning came, the larger the knot in their stomachs became.
Dick sat up on his bunk in the early morning hours shortly before the six o'clock "Lights on!" announcement. He laid his head back against the wall. He saw Tim's legs swing over his bunk and stand on the floor. Moving across the small cell, Tim sat on Dick's bunk and moved back against the wall, pulling his legs up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them.
"You okay, bro?" Dick asked.
"Yeah," Tim said. "Dick, what'd ya think's going to happen?"
"I don't know. Wish I did. I thought it was a mistake. That it was all a mistake. And that they'd find it out and we'd go home. But it hasn't happened. Bruce hasn't shown up and it's been over a month. No sign of him. I just don't know what's going to happen, Tim, I just don't know. It's all so wrong."
"But it'll be over soon, right?"
Dick looked at Tim, into the boy's hopeful eyes. All he could answer him was, "Yeah, it'll be over soon."
"Lights on!" sounded throughout the Gotham City Jail. Together, they sat on the bunk waiting for their cell door to open. They heard the clanging of other cell doors opening, yet theirs stayed closed. They watched as other prisoners, similarly clad in orange jumpsuits, walked in rows, toward the cafeteria. Dick and Tim looked at each other, what was going on?
About fifteen minutes later, a guard came to the door and slipped two trays through the slit at the bottom of the cell.
"Why," Tim started hesitantly, "why aren't we going to the cafeteria?"
The guard looked at Tim through the steel bars and responded, "You've got court this morning. We've got to keep you on a tight schedule. You shower and change for court in thirty. So eat up, you've got a big day."
Dick stood from the bunk and walked to retrieve the trays. He picked them up and handed one to Tim who took it and sat it beside him.
"I think if I eat anything I'm going to throw up."
Dick looked at the boy and softly said, "I understand. But if you don't eat anything, you're going to be sick too. And we won't make a good impression on the jury if you get sick in front of them."
"Okay, I'll try to eat," Tim replied as he took the plastic fork and started stirring his scrambled eggs.
The guard had been right about them being on a tight schedule. Exactly thirty minutes later, their cell door opened and they were called out and moved to the showers. This was the first time they had been here alone. They caught their breath as the cold water hit their skin, cascading over their bodies. The water abruptly ended just as it started to warm. Shivering, they shook the water from their hair as they dried off. Exiting the other end of the showers, they were greeted by a guard who handed them suit bags containing the clothes they would wear to court.
Dick smiled briefly as he opened his bag. It was obvious Alfred had put the combinations together -- everything matched too well. Not the normal Dick Grayson throw-something-together-and-run-out-the-door planning.
It was seven-thirty when the guards checked to see if they were ready. They were moved to a holding cell to wait for the transport van's arrival. Fifteen minutes later, four guards entered the cell -- shackles and manacles in hand.
Wide-eyed, Tim watched them as they laid out the restraints, then he turned to Dick. "What's all that? They've only handcuffed us before?" then turning back to the guards, he asked, "What's all that for?"
One of the guards turned from their work and said, "Detective Jacobs was worried about a possible escape attempt so we're taking extra precautions."
Dick closed his eyes before he faced Tim. He didn't want the young boy to see how angry he was with the good detective. Jacobs was taking too much pleasure in this. Opening his eyes, he turned to Tim, "Nothing we can do about it Tim. Just stay calm, we don't need to get upset today."
Tim nodded his head in agreement as his eyes looked to the floor.
The guard spoke up, "If you two could move to the center of the room. Face each other about two feet apart. Move your arms straight out by your side." Dick and Tim did as they were told, obeying each separate command.
The guards moved to the boys, two guards each. Dick and Tim felt the heavy chain move around their waist and heard them lock. One guard grabbed their wrists, one at a time, shackling them to the chain about their waist, while the other guard locked the manacles around their ankles.
Dick and Tim looked at each other. They didn't need to speak. They understood how the other felt.
Once the guards checked the restraints ensuring they were secure and tight, one of the guards said, "Let's move out."
The three mile ride to the courthouse from the jail in the transport van took fifteen minutes in Gotham's morning rush hour traffic. Luckily, they were the only prisoners in the van. As the van pulled into the gated prisoner loading area behind the courthouse, Tim saw the reporters gathered at the gate.
"Geeze, how many reporters are here? What is this? A sporting event?"
Dick turned to the window. "Great. Well, we knew they were going to be here."
"Yeah, but I didn't know we were going to be like this!" he responded as he tried to lift his hands. "They're just gonna love these photos."
"Don't think about it, Tim. Ignore the press."
"I try, but it's hard Dick. What do our friends think about all this. Stephanie and Cassandra are the only visitors I've had except for Dad and Dana and Alfred. None of my friends from school -- either school -- have... What do they think? What are they going to think if they see me on TV like this? And if we get out ..."
"When! When we get out!"
Tim sighed and bit his lip before continuing, "When we get out, how are they going to feel about having me around?"
"Don't think about any of that now bro. We've got a big day -- a big week -- ahead of us. Lets focus on one thing at a time."
Dick and Tim were taken into the courthouse and moved into a conference area. Jon Walters and Wilson Avery were waiting for them. Their lawyers watched as their clients were freed from the restraints. The guards left through the door they entered from, locking it behind them. Dick noticed the door on the opposite side of the room.
"Where does that go?" Dick asked.
"Into the courtroom. That's how you'll enter and leave," Walters said.
"They're trusting us in here?" Tim asked as he rubbed his sore wrists.
"Two bailiffs are on the other side of that door," Wilson Avery added. "Boys, everything's starting with jury selection. That's going to take a while in this case, and we know it's going to be extremely boring for you."
"Publicity. That's why it's going to be hard to find a jury?" Dick asked.
"That and death-qualifying the jury." Jon Walters responded.
"What is that?" Tim asked looking at the two older men.
"Determining the prospective jurors views on capital punishment. No one can sit on the jury who doesn't believe in capital punishment. That makes it difficult for us to find people who aren't predisposed to find any defendant guilty."
Dick laced his fingers together behind his head as he walked around the room, "So you're saying that people who could not give someone the death penalty at all, cannot be on the jury. How is that fair to us?"
"It's not, but that's how it is."
"Well that makes me feel better," Dick said sarcastically.
Jon Walters looked at his watch, "It's eight forty-five. Let's move on out and take our places. We don't want the judge to get angry at us for being late."
As they left the conference room and started walking toward the defendant's table, they saw Peter Reynolds and Detective Jacobs sitting at the opposite table. Dick and Tim glared at Jacobs. Then Dick saw Barbara. She was sitting at the end of the front row immediately behind their table. She smiled at him and he returned her smile. Upon reaching the table, he tentatively reached his hand across the wooden bar separating the spectators from the participants. She took his hand and squeezed it reassuringly.
Jack Drake had stood up when Tim had entered the room. Tim had walked over to his father, who hugged the boy tightly.
Dick, still holding Barbara's hand, noticed their family and friends. The first row was taken up by the Drake's, Clark, Leslie, Alfred, Jim, and Barbara at the end of the row. Filling the second row were Dinah, Roy, Donna, Wally, Cassandra, and Stephanie. Seeing everyone, feeling their support, Dick felt warm.
"Boys," Jon started, "take your seats. The judge is coming out.
They had just pulled their chairs out when the bailiff cried out, "All rise ..."
to be continued ...
