Ancient History: Reunion
Barbara stared into her coffee, not stirring it, not absentmindedly drumming her fingertips along the rim of the cup. Just sitting perfectly still, and staring. The surface of the liquid was black and calm, and in it she could see her reflection. Abruptly, she ripped open a packet of sweetener with perhaps more force than was necessary and dumped it into the cup, her spoon clinking angrily against the porcelain as she stirred. She'd been sitting at her desk, shuffling reports around as though that would count as actual work. Periodically she would make an attempt to understand the words on the pages rather than merely seeing them, but she retained nothing.
Funny how when a truth that had worked its way into the fabric of your life turned out to be a lie, the threads around it seemed to unravel.
All day since Bruce's phone call she had seesawed back and forth like this, between fierce anger and numb shock. She had even considered, in a moment of panic or selfishness, trying to convince Sam that a spur-of-the-moment vacation was in order, but discarded the idea immediately. The idea of leaving town for a while was certainly tempting, but thoroughly impractical. Besides, she wasn't the interloper. And she certainly wasn't going to run away. She'd stay out of it - whatever it turned out to be, and she wasn't sure she wanted to know - as much as possible, though.
It's not my business, she thought, not anymore. Not for a long time. That's what she'd tried to tell Terry McGinnis, but she knew that it wasn't entirely true. She couldn't divorce herself from her past, and, it seemed, she couldn't keep that past from reaching out to grab her. It was her obligation to face it head on, but it was also her responsibility, to herself, to her husband, to her job, not to let it catch her. She'd done an excellent job of that so far, even after Batman had reappeared, but now...
Sighing, she pushed the coffee away from her. It had grown cold. She sat at her desk, and remembered that day that burned clear in her mind for so many reasons. The day of Tim's funeral. The day she'd seen Dick Grayson for what was supposed to have been the last time.
...Approximately forty years previous...
Barbara straightened the magazines on the end table for the third time in ten minutes. It wasn't absolutely necessary, but somehow they kept shifting out of their neat little pile and she didn't want Alfred to have to deal with it in the morning.
Her gaze wandered away from the now orderly stack to where Bruce was still staring into the dying firelight that cast flickering shadows across his face. It amazed her just how small he looked in the cavernous room. He had never been small to her before. In him, she could see the little lost boy whose world had just been shattered, and she wanted to go to him, to help him pick up the pieces.
But just like the last two times she had organized the magazines, Barbara took several steps in his direction then at the last second veered off to tidy up something else. This time, however, he seemed to notice her movements, and when she brushed by him, he reached out a hand to hold her still.
"Barbara."
She felt her heart turn over when she realized that the hand around her wrist was shaking. It was barely noticeable; she would never have been aware of it if he hadn't been touching her. For Bruce, this was an immense display emotion, and she couldn't help but marvel that she was here to witness it.
Barbara moved closer to him, sitting down beside him on the couch. As fascinated by Bruce's demonstration of feelings as she was, she wanted nothing more than to be able to give his control back to him. It just wasn't like him. She closed her free hand over his, quelling the tremors there.
Bruce lifted his other hand to her face, wiping away tears she hadn't even known were there. He started to pull away, but his hand stopped just short of breaking that connection. Now that she was looking for them, Barbara could see fine shivers running throughout his entire body.
She wrapped her arms around him, hoping to do the same with her embrace as her hand had done moments before. A week ago, Barbara would have given nearly anything to have him need her like this. Now, she would have done anything to have him not need her. She felt him press his face into her hair, clutching at her like the proverbial drowning man. Acting on instinct, she drew back just enough to press her lips to his cheek.
Stunned by what she had just done, Barbara pulled away from him. The look in Bruce's eyes broke her heart. She had never seen anyone look so lost and alone. She couldn't seem to remember how to work her body as he leaned in towards her, stopping only a few inches from her face, indecision warring with raw need in those eyes.
She made the decision for him and closed the distance between them, gently pressing her lips to his. They stayed that way for several long moments until his tightly wound body began to relax. He seemed to throw himself into the kiss and Barbara was nearly overwhelmed by the intensity of it. It wasn't until she heard a sharp gasp from the doorway that she was able to pull herself back to awareness.
"My god..."
Bruce broke away from her and stood up, starting in his former ward's direction. "Dick..." Barbara couldn't see the look on his face, but she knew it had to mirror the tone of his voice.
Dick paid no attention to it, however, and turned a furious expression on Bruce. "How could you? How dare you take advantage of her like that!"
"It wasn't like that!" Barbara defended.
"How long has this been going on?" Dick closed his eyes briefly, as if in physical pain. "God, how could I have been so stupid?"
"You're jumping to conclusions. It was one moment. And no one took advantage of me. I'm a grown woman, Dick."
A look of disgust crossed his features. "I don't want to hear it. I was going to ask you to come with me, but I guess I shouldn't have bothered." His eyes blazed brightly at them before his hands tightened into fists and his face completely shut down. "You've obviously made your choice."
"Where are you going?" Bruce asked. If it hadn't been Bruce, Barbara could have sworn she heard a trace of panic in the question.
When it became obvious that Dick wasn't going to answer, Bruce tried again. "Dick?"
Dick turned his back on them. "Away from you." He didn't even glance back at them as he walked away. "Goodbye, Barbara."
She leapt off the sofa, intending to go after him, but Bruce grabbed her arm. She made an attempt at pulling her arm free and he tightened his grip. It wasn't painful, but it held her firmly in place. Bruce shook his head. "Let him go."
...Present time...
She'd spent every moment since Bruce's call that morning watching for him. Waiting for him to appear out of thin air and startle her enough to make her jump. She would be prepared for him; she knew all the little tricks, too. He would appear when she least suspected him, where she least suspected him. He would try to keep her off-balance and knock her guard down.
Just like Bruce would have done.
She would rather not have met him in the police commissioner's office, but she would not be driven from her own turf. She wasn't going to make this easy for him; he'd lost that courtesy a long time ago. Yet, despite all her preparation, he still managed to surprise her.
"Almost like old times, huh, Babs?"
Despite all the time bracing herself, she still jumped. Not much, barely more than a flinch, but he would notice. She fixed a frown on her face and turned to face him.
"No," she answered coldly. His barely hopeful expression wavered, then hardened to match her own. "Things have changed. Not much is still the same as it used to be. But you wouldn't know about that."
She had a moment of satisfaction when he looked away from her. He may have scored the first point, but she wasn't out of this yet.
"I guess that answers my first question. You're angry." He hopped down from the window sill he'd been perched on and moved to put the desk between them. "I can't say I didn't expect that."
As she watched him, she noted he still moved with that athletic grace he'd employed as Robin and then Nightwing. She had no doubt he could still perform every move, trick, or stunt he'd pulled back then. She didn't want to admit it, but part of her was jealous. He was so young. As agile as he'd always been.
And she was old. Her hair gray, her skin wrinkled, even her voice changed by age. Her bones ached when the weather was especially bad. She couldn't chase criminals anymore, unless it was by car. Eventually even that would no longer be available to her when her eyesight grew worse.
And he was young.
She didn't want to hate him for that. She'd loved him at one time; it hurt to think how far they'd grown apart. She'd once told McGinnis that what she and Dick had shared was nothing more than "puppy love". She'd implied that when she'd stayed with Bruce, he'd been unable to handle it.
It was the truth as she'd seen it, leaving out the details she couldn't tell the kid, of course. Some habits died hard and some never died at all.
Dick was staring at her oddly now, looking as though he wanted to say something. She realized she'd been lost in her own thoughts long enough for him to notice. Another hazard of old age.
"I don't know what you came to me for," she started. She folded her hands together and rested her elbows on the edge of the desk. "Whatever it is, I don't want to know."
He looked ready to protest, so she plowed on. "I'm not my father, Dick. I don't sanction masked vigilantes running around and getting into dangerous situations, no matter how well they think they're prepared for it." She paused for just a second. "You should know that better than anyone."
"Barbara, I came to you to explain--"
"I said I didn't want to know."
His neutral expression melted into anger so fierce he almost snarled his next words. "I didn't come here just to dredge up the past, if that's what you're thinking. There's no one--no one--who would like to see it buried more than I would." He leapt up from his chair to start pacing in front of her desk. "I certainly sacrificed enough trying to put the past behind me."
That was more than she could take. "Sacrifice? What on earth did you sacrifice?"
He stopped to face her. "My home. When I left Gotham, I had to leave Alfred behind. He was my best friend. I also had to leave... you. Maybe you don't think I cared, but that's not true."
A piece of her heart she'd thought long-dead was urging her to go to him. To make amends and set things right. But she couldn't do it. "And what did you get for those sacrifices? Was it enough to make up for the hurt you caused everyone that cared about you?" She saw the pained look on his face, but paid no attention. "What do you know about sacrifice? You chose to give up your life. You knew the consequences and did it, anyway. In my book that's a worse sin than the mistake that started everything in the first place."
"Mistake!? You call what he did--"
"Yes," she cut him off. "Just because you don't want to hear it, that doesn't change what it was." She took several deep, calming breaths. She didn't want to have this conversation in anger. "I spent a lot of time thinking about that night. Objectively. I was there, I saw what happened."
She lowered her voice, unable to speak her next words harshly. "It wasn't his fault. If he could have given his life to bring Tim back, he would have done it in a heartbeat. Not even you can deny that."
She waited for an answer from him, only half-expecting one. When he didn't give her one, she hoped her message was still clear.
"It's not his fault, Dick. He made a choice--a bad choice--to protect you. He made the sacrifices. He was the one that lost everyone he cared about."
His voice was devoid of any emotions that she could detect. "You're still on his side."
She sighed as she stood and made her way over to him. With a gentle hand on his arm, she repeated the same words she'd said a lifetime ago. "It's not about choosing sides. It's not you or him. I care about you both."
His eyes were unusually bright as he looked down at her. "I don't want to be angry with you," he said softly. "I'm so tired of being angry."
"Then stop."
He shook his head. "It's not that simple."
Nothing ever was with any of them. "It is if you let it be."
"It's not." He covered her hand with his own and she looked down at the pair of them. Her weathered skin under his still-smooth hands. It had been so easy to forget...
There was a hooded look back in his eyes when she pulled away. He laughed softly, a brittle sound even to her ears. "You see? It's not so easy to just let go of everything, is it?"
"You've had a lifetime," she pointed out. "I've had a few hours."
A look she couldn't describe descended over his features. "Whatever it was that made you quit being Batgirl," he said. "Will you ever be able to just let go of it?"
"...No," she answered quietly. If only she could, she might have been able to reconcile the two sides of her life then. Former Batgirl and Commissioner Barbara Gordon almost never agreed on Batman's increasing role in Gotham City.
"He knows you're here," she said suddenly. "Go talk to him. Deal with whatever brought you back to Gotham. You wouldn't have come back if you had any other choice. So why are you putting it off?"
The corners of his mouth twitched up in a half-smile. "You always were good at putting things in perspective, Babs."
This time the nickname made her respond with a smile matching his. It wasn't much of one, but he saw it. He laid one hand on her shoulder, squeezing it gently, as he moved towards the window again.
She grabbed his arm, halting him in his tracks. At his questioning look she shook her head. "No." She pointed at the door to her office. "I'm not my father. When you leave my office, you use a door."
She could see him start to say something but force it back. "Fair enough."
As he pushed open the door to leave, she gave in to the impulse to call out to him again.
"And, Dick? One last thing."
"What's that?"
"It's been forty years. You couldn't have cut your hair?"
After a quick stop at his hotel to change into his Phoenix costume and slip out the window again, Dick decided to follow Barbara's advice. He had no other choice since Bane was almost ready to move.
Bane. It had all started with Bane. No, that wasn't true...
...Approximately forty years previous...
He awoke to a brief second of tranquillity before the pain came screaming back. His eyes opened, then closed tightly against the bright light that seemed to be trying to tear his head in two. When the sharp pain faded into merely pins and needles, he tried again. He looked around and saw that he'd made it to the Batcave.
The Batcave. Bane. There wasn't time to wait for the jolts of lightning to subside. He had to get up right now. He had to get ready to fight Bane again. That was why he was here.
Bruce was standing off to his right, an expression that could have passed for either concern or anger on his face. Dick was never entirely sure. Bruce raised an eyebrow at him and handed him a glass of water and some aspirin, which he accepted gratefully. Bruce helped him to slowly sit up and he downed the little pills.
"You want to tell me what happened?" Bruce asked.
Not really. He wasn't especially proud of this encounter. "Bane."
Bruce nodded. It didn't surprise Dick that he'd already figured that out. "You've got a lot of bruising, but that's to be expected. There's no internal bleeding, but you've cracked a few ribs. You also twisted your ankle pretty badly. You're going to have to stay off of it for awhile."
Dick looked down at his tightly wrapped ankle and tried to wiggle it around a little. Wincing at the pain that shot up his leg, he decided not to do that again anytime soon.
Bane had thrown him up against a wall, then proceeded to attempt to use him for a little soccer practice. Dick was surprised that he came away from the fight without any broken bones. But a useless ankle was almost as bad. "How long?"
"Two weeks, minimum."
"I can't wait that long. I..." Dick looked away. "Bane was winning, but the cops showed up before we could finish the fight. He took off before..." When he looked back Bruce was already moving across the room. "I have to finish this fight. Before he left, he told me to meet him again at the Gotham Hills Arena. If I don't show up--"
Bruce didn't even glance back at him. "It's out of the question." Of all people, Bruce was telling him not to finish what he'd started? "In the state you're in, you don't stand a chance. I'll go."
"Like hell you will!" Dick shouted. He forced his voice back to it's normal level when his injured ribs protested. "He's expecting me. Not you."
"He'll just have to deal with Batman, then." Bruce turned to face him again. Dick was taken aback by the intensity of his expression. "Your pride will just have to be set aside. I'm not going to let you get... hurt just because you don't want help. We'll both go."
"No, this is my fight. You'll just find some way to try to protect me and make sure that you end up fighting him." Dick shook his head and immediately regretted that action, too. The aspirin hadn't had nearly enough time to kick in yet, and his head still felt like it was in a vise. "I'm not running to Bat-dad to fight my battles for me."
"You're overreacting. It's suicide for you to try to take him on by yourself. Don't be stupid."
"How many times have you left the rest of us behind while you went off on some personal vendetta?" Dick noticed that he still held the empty glass in his hand and set it down on the low table next to the bed before he either shattered it or threw it at Bruce's head. "This is between me and Bane. I won't let you interfere, Bruce."
And he wouldn't. He knew there was very little chance Batman wouldn't show up anyway, but Dick refused to let Bruce keep him from this fight.
"You don't have a choice. You could barely stand against a common thug right now. You would be no match for Bane. Do you want him to crush you?"
"Of course not." He knew his reasoning sounded flat and lame, but couldn't Bruce see that he had to do this on his own? That he had to prove he was someone to take seriously? "I've fought Bane before and I'm still here, aren't I? I'll think of something, find some way to beat him."
The look Bruce gave him clearly said that was a load of crap and they both knew it. "You're not going on your own, and that's final. I forbid it."
What? Forbidding him to do something hadn't worked in a long time, and certainly not since he'd moved out of the Manor. He couldn't believe Bruce was resorting to it now. "I know I didn't just hear that, because you have no right--"
Bruce turned his back on him, dismissing the matter as closed. "This isn't up for debate."
"You're right. It isn't."
Bruce walked back over to the bed and placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "I'm glad we at least agree on that, son."
Dick tilted his head back to look at Bruce, wondering at the odd note in his mentor's voice. He was about to ask what Bruce meant by that when he felt the prick of the needle in his arm.
It took a second to register the sensation and another second to process what it meant. He fell back on the bed despite his attempts to remain upright. As the blackness rapidly swallowed his consciousness, Dick had just enough time to whisper, "You son of a..."
Once again Dick came back to a blissful moment of peace before everything came rushing back to him. This time it wasn't pain, but a rage unlike anything he'd felt since the last night he'd worn his Robin costume.
What the hell had that been about!? What had Bruce been thinking? He'd always been controlling, but this was far beyond anything he usually did to get his way.
Not that he'd ever get an answer out of Bruce. Bruce did what he wanted and didn't feel the need to justify his actions to anyone. This time, though, he'd gone too far. Dick was not going to let him get away with it.
When he opened his eyes again, instead of finding himself staring at the ceiling of the Batcave, he was back in his old room. The tattered mess of his Nightwing costume had been removed and he was now wearing a comfortable pair of pajamas.
He placed a hand against his temple cautiously, afraid even the lightest touch would cause him pain. But there was only a dull sort of ache that would at least let him achieve some mobility.
He eased himself into a sitting position, still not quite trusting his body. When once again he found the pain tolerable, he tried sliding all the way out of the bed. He needed to get downstairs and figure out exactly what time it was. Or what day it was. He had no idea what had been in that syringe, nor how long it had knocked him out.
He hissed in pain as his twisted ankle refused to hold his weight, quickly supporting himself with the other foot. A once-over of the room didn't reveal anything that he could use to help him on the way downstairs. He was left to his own devices.
Since there was no other way, he gritted his teeth and resorted to a half-hopping, half-skipping move that didn't keep the pressure on his bad ankle for more than a second. He also frequently made use of nearby walls, tables, banisters--whatever could support his weight while he rested.
He knew that there would be at least one set of crutches in the Batcave; in their line of work they never knew when a pair would be needed. Obviously Bruce hadn't wanted him to leave his room if he hadn't put a pair in there.
It was a small thing, but it still added fuel to the fire. With Bruce it had to have been deliberate. Bruce thought of everything.
Dick concentrated on the renewed sense of anger that had faded with the onset of his painful journey to the Batcave. The anger almost allowed him to forget about the physical pain.
After what seemed like hours, Dick finally made it to the Batcave and over to the storage locker where they kept the larger medical supplies. He pulled out a pair of crutches, relief spreading through him as he no longer had to hold all his weight on one foot. However, with all the effort it had taken to get down there, his headache was back with a vengeance. He was just about to start looking around for more aspirin when he heard a rumbling sound in the distance. It could only be one thing.
His headache forgotten immediately, he hobbled over to the edge of the Batmobile's platform. He didn't want to waste a second when Batman got out of the car.
Surprisingly, Batgirl came in first on one of the Batcycles. Dick expected her to jump off the thing and ask him how he was doing, but she just sat there, staring down at the controls.
She obviously didn't see him or realize that he'd been hurt. Didn't Bruce tell her...? It wasn't as if he wanted coddling, it was just that Barbara was always concerned when someone was hurt.
Batgirl slowly pulled off her mask but still didn't look up at Dick. She stared at the cowl in her hands with an even more vacant stare, if that were possible.
"Barbara?" Dick asked hesitantly.
Her head shot up to turn that blank look in his direction, and Dick saw that her eyes were unusually bright. She looked ready to cry. Dick felt a finger of ice travel down his back. Barbara almost never cried. He tried again, softer this time. "Babs?"
Her voice was so faint he almost couldn't make it out. "Dick?" One hand flew to her mouth and she was silent again.
A few seconds later the Batmobile roared into the cave. Dick didn't even turn to look as he heard the roof slide back and the muted click of Batman's boots as he landed gently on the ground. What could make Barbara ready to cry?
Dick felt a hand at his elbow, gently but firmly pushing him in the direction of the stairs. "You should be in bed, resting, son," Bruce said. There was something off about him as well. It wasn't just that he, too, had pushed back his cowl, even though Bruce almost always wore the mask when in costume. There was just something... haunted in his eyes. That, more than anything, caused Dick to worry.
"Where were you?" he demanded. Dick tried to pull out of that grip, but Bruce wasn't letting go.
The hand on his arm tightened for an instant before it loosened again. "Dick..." He trailed off before completing the thought. Bruce at a loss for words? "It's..." he began again.
Dick made another attempt to pull his arm free without success. "What happened?"
Barbara began crying softly, the tears finally falling down her face. "It's Tim!" she sobbed.
No. "What--" His voice caught on the question. "What happened?"
"He was in the wrong place at the wrong time," Bruce answered. "He leapt at Bane, thinking he had a clear shot at the tubes feeding him the Venom. But Bane turned at the last second. It was all over in an instant. He didn't suffer."
"All over in an instant? He didn't suffer?" Dick repeated, stunned. "And that's supposed to make it better somehow?"
"Dick--"
This time he managed to pull himself free, though the force he used caused him to stumble and reminded him of the injuries to his ribs. Bruce reached out a hand to steady him, but Dick flinched away as if burned. "Don't! This is all your fault. You killed him!" He felt hot tears pricking at his eyes, but he refused to give into them.
"That's not true!" Barbara said sharply. "You don't even know what happened! You weren't there!"
Dick felt himself actually shaking at the reminder. "You're right. I wasn't there. Did he tell you why I wasn't there, Barbara? Did he?"
The hand that had dropped to her side now returned to her face, pressing against her cheek this time. Her eyes widened at the vehemence in his voice and she shook her head.
"I wasn't there because he--" he jabbed a finger in the direction of Bruce, who had moved to the passenger side of the Batmobile, "--drugged me."
Barbara gasped loudly and asked in a small voice, "Is that true?"
Bruce didn't answer or even appear to have heard her question. He lifted... Tim... out of the car and turned away from them so that all that was visible were the dangling legs and the gently fluttering cape.
Dick's heart wrenched when he tried to comprehend the image. No more Tim to pal around with, to treat like the little brother he'd never had, to trade horror stories about Batman with...
"It should have been me. I should have been the one--"
"Don't you dare say that!" Bruce interrupted with a harsh yell. He'd put the body down on one of the medical beds and was in front of Dick again almost as fast as he could blink. He gripped Dick's jaw with an iron fist and growled, "Don't you ever say that."
The fierce look in Bruce's eyes that would have likely caused him to cower at any other time only made him angrier now. "Why not? It's true. I should have been there instead of him. It was my fight and you drugged me to keep me away. It's your fault. You killed him."
His words hit home and Bruce dropped his hand. "I... I just wanted..."
"You just wanted what?" Dick pressed on mercilessly. "To control everyone around you? Well, I hope you're happy with the results."
Without warning, Barbara's hand was on his shoulder. "Dick, it's not his fault. You know this isn't what he planned or wanted. You know that."
Was he the only one who saw it? The only one who saw how Bruce had manipulated everything? "You're on his side now? After what just happened?"
"It's not about choosing sides. Don't turn it into that," she pleaded.
Suddenly, Bruce was back at his other side again. "Son, I--"
Dick pushed both of them away with all the strength he had. "Don't you dare say that! I'm not your son. I don't want to have anything to do with you." He felt one tear slip free and swiped viciously at it before another one could follow. "I don't want to ever see you again."
With that he made his way up the stairs and back to his room where he changed into street clothes, blindly shoved some things into a backpack, and hobbled out of Wayne Manor.
And didn't look back.
...Present time...
With a start, Dick pulled back to himself and realized he was at the entrance to the Batcave already. He'd hoped it would have taken a little longer than it had, but he was here now. It was time to get on with it.
Bruce stood near the top of the stairs, his face still hidden in the shadows, his eyes riveted to the figure in front of the bank of Bat-costumes. Dick was dressed as Phoenix, his black catsuit nearly blending into the shadows of the cave, the red phoenix on his chest almost glowing in the soft light spilling over from the display. Bruce had made it relatively simple for Dick to gain access, enough to let Dick know that he was aware of him.
"You knew I was coming."
"Barbara called."
Dick merely nodded. Bruce used the temporary silence as a chance to study Dick more closely. Their encounter the previous night hadn't allowed for more than a few seconds to scrutinize repeatedly. But despite the call from Barbara and his intstincts telling him that this was Dick Grayson, he'd forced himself to remain open to the possibility that this was some elaborate scheme. It was entirely possible that Ra's still held a grudge over Bruce's refusal to join him. But he couldn't deny it now; he knew this man.
It should have been strange to see Dick unaffected by time, but it wasn't. This was the son he knew.
"I see you're still torturing yourself. Good."
Bruce didn't even flinch. "Alfred once asked me to take them down."
"Why didn't you?" They both knew the answer to that one. There was no need to reply. Dick was still as transparent as glass. Bruce saw him come to the realization that he was only avoiding the subject. "Where is Alfred these days?"
That answer was obvious, too. Nor was there any reason to avoid the subject. "He's dead. He died about a year after you-- after Nightwing did."
Bruce watched as he absorbed the news, noticing the almost invisible flinch. The Robin suit caught and held Dick's attention as his focus returned solely to the display case.
The signs may have been subtle to anyone else, but they were impossible for Bruce to miss. The narrowing of his eyes as if to block out anything but the view of Tim's costume. The fingers twitching almost imperceptibly, like they wanted to curl into a fist and smash right through the glass. The faint thinning of his lips, as if to make up for even the few seconds not spent scowling.
He moved farther into the cave, closer to Dick and the reminders he was so intent on. Once he was close enough, Bruce reached out to lay a hand on Dick's shoulder.
Dick whirled around with an angry snarl, "Don't touch me!" He shook Bruce's hand off violently and took a small step backwards.
"I'm disappointed in you, Dick. I never thought you would do something like this."
"You think that means anything to me? That you're disappointed? I'm not some wet-behind-the-ears kid looking for approval from the great Batman, anymore."
"No, you're just an angry man devoting his life to what you think is revenge." Part of him didn't want to continue, he knew his words would hurt. But if Dick was going to throw his life away like this, someone had to wake him up.
"Revenge?" Dick laughed harshly. "I'm not out for revenge. What I do with my life has nothing to do with you. I had to learn it the hard way, but I learned my lesson. You stopped having any influence over me a long time ago."
"You're deluding yourself--"
"No! I was deluding myself. Until..." He shook his head. "I was so blind then. But not anymore. Never again."
"You think you can see clearly now? You think there was a valid reason for partnering with a known eco-terrorist? What did you tell yourself? That you could change his mind? That you could bring him down from the inside? You're not that stupid."
Dick looked away from him. "It's my life. I can do what I want with it."
"Not if you're going to throw it away."
Bruce could see his words had the inteded effect. Even with the dark cave and even darker costume, he could see Dick's entire body coil so tightly he looked ready to snap. "It's my life to throw away, not anyone else's."
"So, you admit you're throwing it away, that you made mistakes."
"I don't have to admit anything to you. Whether it was a mistake or not is none of your business."
Bruce's calm expression didn't change as he raised a single eyebrow. "Of course it's my business. I taught you better than that."
"You taught me better than what, Bruce? What did you teach me better than?"
Bruce refused to let Dick sway him from his indignation. "I taught you better than to deal with people like Ra's al Ghul. You don't know what kind of effect those Lazarus pits can have on you--"
"Ra's has been using them for about six hundred years. I think that any side effects would have shown themselves by now, don't you?"
"How do you know they haven't?" Bruce countered. "How do you know they haven't affected your mind? Ra's is insane, he wants to destroy and rebuild the world in his own image. Is that what you want, too?"
Dick turned away from him, not back to the display case, but off into some far corner of the Batcave. "Whether or not I agree with Ra's' plan isn't important."
"It's very important."
Bruce could see Dick's teeth grind together so harshly he knew it had to be painful. "No. It's not. And even if it were, you don't have any right to ask."
Every cell in his body wanted to reach out to Dick, to ease the tension radiating from him, to make things right again. But he couldn't seem to find the words or the gesture to make that first step. He could only find the old, familiar, angry words. "The hell I don't! You're behaving like a petulant child, determined to do everthing exactly the opposite of what I would do, just to prove to the world that you don't need me!"
It was exactly what Dick didn't want to hear. His eyes blazed with a fury Bruce had seen only a few times in Dick's life. "That's not true! I made my own choices. Because of me, not because of you!"
"You chose to join Ra's al Ghul? You agreed to be his heir and you think that had nothing to do with me?"
Dick looked at him with just a hint of uncertainty flickering across his face. "It's not always about you, Bruce. I've been out of your shadow for a long time. But the kid doesn't know any better, he doesn't know what you're like. He doesn't know how you twist things, how you make people think they're doing what they want, when it's really what you want. I know better, you don't have control over me."
Bruce pointed to the red phoenix on his chest. "And, yet, you're still wearing a costume."
Dick stared down at his costume for several long seconds. He understood then. Good. There was no point in backing Dick into this corner if he wasn't going to understand what Bruce was trying to show him.
Dick's hands clenched so tightly they would have drawn blood if he hadn't been wearing the protective gloves of his Phoenix costume. He shook his head violently and looked back up at Bruce. "I won't let you manipulate me anymore, Bruce. You're still doing it even now."
"I don't see how pointing out the obvious is manipulation," Bruce said evenly. "All I see is you telling me that I don't control you anymore and that you're your own man. You made the choice to stay in a costume, then. If you made that choice--completely free of my manipulation--so could Terry."
"He's a child," Dick hissed. "He doesn't know what he wants, doesn't know how this life will change him. But, then, you were always a good manipulator of children. Too bad they usually wound up dead because of it."
Bruce felt the words as if Dick had physically hit him. He felt everything around him start to recede, as if he were watching the scene from underwater or in slow-motion. He saw Terry emerge from the shadows of the Batcave, and could faintly hear his words of defense, saying that it was his choice to be Batman.
His vision collapsed inward, and he thought fleetingly he might be hallucinating, as the last thing he saw was Dick racing to his side before the blackness eclipsed everything but the pain radiating through his entire body.
Dick made his way across Gotham with no particular destination in mind.
When Bruce had collapsed, his immediate reaction had been a rush of terror for his former mentor's sake. The McGinnis kid had been hiding unnoticed in the shadows, only making himself known when the conversation had turned to his role in their little 'family'. They had begun to argue when a loud groan had drawn their attention.
He'd stayed just long enough to suggest that McGinnis get Bruce to a hospital. When the kid had reassured him that it was just a mild attack and that he could take care of Bruce just fine, Dick had grabbed at the chance to leave. Too much had happened in too short a span; he needed time to regain some of his lost equilibrium.
So, he was still flying across the night sky, letting himself revel a little in the curious feeling of being home again.
He let his feet take him wherever they would go, and was surprised when he reached a deserted cemetery. It took him a moment to recognize the place in the dark. He hadn't been here since....
The tombstones seemed to almost glow in the moonlight. Dick stood at the edge of the graveyard, trying to keep his eyes from settling on a particular marker, but failing. He wasn't the type to be scared by a cemetery--being Batman's partner taught you early on to have no fear of things otherworldly.
However, the last time he'd been here it had been daylight. Dick couldn't suppress a shiver as he carefully threaded his way through the tombstones, stopping before the one he was looking for.
Dick placed a hand over the lettering, unable to feel the individual grooves through the heavy material of his costume. "Hey, kid. I know it's late, but I don't think you'll mind, huh?
"I know it's been more than just a little while since I last... talked to you, but I couldn't stick around." Dick glanced over at the huge tombstone for Martha and Thomas Wayne. Tim had been buried next to them at Bruce's request.
Dick tried to summon some sort of anger over that, but he couldn't. It certainly wasn't the Waynes' fault, and he knew that Tim would have wanted to be buried near his adoptive family.
He turned back to Tim's grave. "It's not that I didn't want to, I just... If I had come back, he would have known and I had to keep him out of my life. You understand that, right?
"I know that you wouldn't blame him for what happened, but you couldn't see. Not yet. I finally saw it and I think eventually Barbara did, too. You probably would have given time, but you were too young when...."
He shook his head. "I also know that it'd hurt you to think that what happened to you caused everything to fall apart. But that's not what happened. It started even before that. Before he drugged me, before I became Nightwing or Robin. It started when he put on that mask and became Batman. There was no way to avoid what happened except to walk away.
"And that's what I did. I finally got out of his control and started living my own life. I'm sorry that when I cut off all ties to my past that that included you."
Dick brushed his hand over the words "Timothy Drake" one final time before standing up to leave. "I know I just got here, but I can't stay. I just... can't. But I wanted you to know that I'm sorry what happened to you was the catalyst for all this.
"And most of all, I'm sorry for not seeing who he really was sooner. I'm sorry for not being able to save you."
The first few rays of sunlight made their way across the horizon, turning the sky a bright golden orange as Dick watched Wayne Manor through the bars of the massive iron gates. He'd known there was no avoiding going back to the manor in the morning. He couldn't leave Gotham without the information he'd come for, and that meant facing Bruce again.
After the taxi had dropped him off in front of the main gates he spent several minutes just standing in front of them, not quite sure what to do. Once he wouldn't have thought twice about passing through the gates and into the house beyond. Once he had lived there, had the right to come and go as he pleased. Now....
He could have gone in through the Batcave again, but that would have required his Phoenix costume. Going in uniform would have felt awkward, brought up too many questions about his life as Phoenix that he didn't want to answer. He was going to have to explain enough without adding that to the mix.
Dick pushed his hands further into the pockets of his long coat as another cold blast of wind hit him. He watched as it caused the fallen leaves to flitter around the huge yard as if mirroring the thoughts in his head. There was a sound off in the distance that Dick could have sworn was a dog barking, but when he listened more closely all he could hear howling was the wind.
Another particularily strong and frigid gust prompted Dick to pull one hand out of what little warmth his coat offered and lift it to the intercom.
He laid his fingertips lightly on the button but didn't actually press it. He was still staring at it when the large gates began to slowly open. Dick withdrew his hand more sharply than he intended, shoving it back into his pocket.
There was no use in standing outside any longer, he'd only lose what body heat he had left. Dick slowly began to make his way up the long drive.
Once at the front door, he wasn't surprised to find it opened easily for him and Dick slid gratefully into the warmth of the house. He let himself close his eyes and savor the almost painful tingling sensation of the rapid temperature change for just a moment. It'd been a long time since he'd been anywhere significantly chilly.
When he opened his eyes again, he was met by an intimidating view. Bruce was at the front of the group, his sharp gaze riveted on Dick. By his side was a huge, black dog that growled when Dick looked its way. And standing slightly behind them was Terry, his arms crossed and a watchful look on his face.
Dick quirked an eyebrow at the scene they presented. "Gee, it's so nice of you to roll out the welcome wagon. Do I get a muffin basket, too?"
Bruce's expression didn't waver, but Terry's took on a hard edge. He stepped forward, ready to demand answers from Dick, but Bruce stretched out an arm, holding him back. Without turning towards Terry, he ordered, "Take Ace back outside."
"But--" Terry began.
"Now!" There were only a handful of people who could disobey an order from Bruce Wayne when he used that tone, and Terry wasn't yet one of them. Terry shot Dick one more quick, angry glare and grabbed Ace by the collar, leading him outside.
As soon as he was out of hearing range, Dick said, "You don't seem surprised to see me again."
"Should I be?"
"No, I guess not."
Dick finally really focused on Bruce for the first time that morning and involuntarily sucked in a deep breath as he got his first good look at Bruce's appearance. Last night, the Batcave had provided little light and mostly shadows. But the cavernous room that still held memories of his last meeting with Bruce and Barbara offered no such protection. There were no dim corners to hide the wrinkled, craggy skin and sunken eyes. No shadows to hide the cane used to support Bruce.
Dick saw his own reaction ripple through Bruce before his face returned to its usual guarded state. Dick's heart wanted to leap into his throat for both of them but he savagely pushed it back down.
He couldn't forget why he was here.
Time to get back to business. Just put everything out of your mind, Grayson. "You already know about Ra's," Dick began. "But you may not know about... Bane." He'd thought he could say the name like it was any other villain's. He'd certainly thought about Bane enough to take the edge off those thoughts, why was it so different to say his name aloud?
"Bane? He died three months ago. I've been keeping tabs on--" Bruce's eyes narrowed. "Ra's helped him fake his death."
Dick nodded. "Got it in one. Care to take a guess at what happened next?" Bruce's cane made a soft tapping noise as he moved to sit in one of the chairs close to the fireplace in the main room. Dick forced himself to block out the sound.
"Ra's revived him through the Lazarus pits?" Bruce guessed.
Dick nodded again and crossed his arms over his chest. "The Lazarus pits can heal the sick; that includes reversing a great deal of aging," he confirmed.
"And an entire lifetime of drug use."
It was his opening. "That's why I'm here. The Lazarus pits don't react well to chemicals not natural to the body. Sometimes the combination is harmless, other times..."
"You need the Venom formula."
He'd forgotten just how fast Bruce's mind worked. "Right. I... I know what properties are likely to react badly with the Lazarus liquid. If Venom does have those properties it could be my best chance at stopping him."
"Why come to Gotham for it? Why come here and not the prison where it was first developed?" Even after all the time that had passed, Bruce's stare could still pin him right in place and make him feel as though he were an open book just waiting for Bruce to turn the pages.
"Destroyed. Guess he didn't want anyone finding it. If he's destroying evidence of his Venom formula it's likely that he plans to start using again and doesn't want it used against him."
Bruce steepled his fingers and continued to stare at Dick for a long minute. "Why would Ra's choose Bane to be his successor if there was a chance that his Venom would interfere with the Lazarus pits?"
Dick finally had to look away. This time there were no heavy gloves to prevent his nails from cutting into the skin of his palms. "He chose Bane because of me," he ground out.
"Because of you?"
Dick didn't know how Bruce had manipulated him into a corner again, but here he was. He damn well knew exactly why Ra's would have chosen Bane.
To admit that he'd left Ra's now would be to admit that he'd made a mistake. He shouldn't have to admit anything to Bruce. But he was stuck. Bruce wouldn't be satisfied until Dick said the words.
"He chose Bane because he knew that it would anger me. He was angry when I left and wanted to return the favor."
"Like he did when he chose you to be his heir." Dick wanted to deny the accusation but couldn't find the words. He was spared from answering when Bruce asked another question. "Why did you leave?"
None of your damned business! he wanted to snap. Dick took a deep breath and reined in his anger. "That's not important. What's important is that Ra's isn't in control anymore. Bane has taken over and he needs to be stopped."
"How do you know this is all true and not some elaborate scheme of Ra's'?"
Dick resented the implication that he could be that naive, but let it pass. "Talia wouldn't lie to me."
Bruce's eyebrows shot up. Dick felt a perverse sense of pleasure at being able to get a visible reaction "Talia?"
"Yes. She and I became... friends... while I was with Ra's." The corner of his mouth lifted up in a half-smile as he thought of the woman who'd been his only real friend at the time. "She was never happy about Bane. She doesn't love him and he'll never care about her. She can't stand what he's doing to her father. Talia wants him stopped, too."
Dick saw his words leave the impression on Bruce that he and Talia had been lovers. In truth, she had wanted that, but Dick didn't return her feelings. He could never get past seeing Bruce's reflection in her eyes.
But he wouldn't tell Bruce that. Let him think that Dick had found more than friendship in Talia's arms.
"Who has to be stopped? And who's Talia?" Terry asked, returning from his task. Dick didn't answer and neither did Bruce. Terry looked from one to the other and folded his arms again. He sighed loudly and said, "You two are exactly alike, you know that? You can deny it all you want, but neither of you ever bother to tell anyone anything!"
Both Dick and Bruce turned their fiercest glares on him at the comparison. Terry's eyes widened. Under different circumstances Dick might have been tempted to drive the point home a little more, but that wasn't on the schedule for this morning.
"Look, if you could just get me the formula, I can start to work on a countering drug to get Bane back to his pre-Lazarus state."
"Bane?" Terry asked. "That old guy from the home?"
Even Bruce ignored him. "Or maybe you're trying to discover the effect of the combination of Venom and Lazarus fluid, perhaps altering the Venom to kill Bane instead of just reversing the effects of the Lazarus pits. You could slip the drug to him through your 'contacts'. You certainly have reasons to want him dead."
Dick glared back at Bruce. "There are a lot of people I wouldn't mind seeing dead. That doesn't mean I go around making it happen."
"And just how do we know that?" Terry asked, jumping back into the conversation.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"You haven't exactly been sticking to the good guys' side as Phoenix, have you?"
Dick knew better than to let that get to him. It shouldn't matter what some snot-nosed child thought of him or what insults he tried to throw at Dick. Nevertheless, knowing this didn't help one bit. "You don't know what you're talking about, kid. You only know a few bits and pieces. I never hurt anyone as Phoenix."
"Are you sure of that?" Bruce asked.
Dick whipped around to face Bruce again. "What?"
"Your actions might have been careless or had unforseen consequences on innocent people," Bruce elaborated coolly. "Are you sure you never hurt anyone?"
Dick stared at him, shocked into silence for a long minute. "You're asking me that?" When Bruce didn't answer, he held out his hands, palms up. "You want to compare bloodstains, Bruce? You want to see who comes out ahead?"
Terry, looking for all the world like he'd rather be hiding under a chair somewhere, stepped forward again. "Not to interrupt this touching little reunion, but aren't there some bad guys we have to fight?"
Dick turned to face the grandfather clock that covered the entranceway to the Batcave and shook his head. "Not we. Me. I'll handle him. All I need is the Venom formula and then I'll leave."
"Why should we help you?"
"You want to just let Bane go free?" Dick asked incredulously. "You want to wait to deal with him until he decides to come back to Gotham? Pumped up full of that stuff he could squash you like a bug."
Terry snorted. "Right. I saw what he looked like in that home. Trust me, he's no big deal."
"You haven't seen the real Bane. He's back to his full strength, and if putting Venom into his system doesn't kill him, he's going to be stronger than ever. He's dangerous and needs to be stopped."
"Uh huh. And how exactly did he do that? Did he discover the Fountain of Youth?"
Dick tried not to cringe in frustration and failed miserably. Bruce had to have known Ra's was involved in this somehow even before Dick confirmed that, yet Terry was apparently clueless. Didn't Bruce tell the kid even the basic details? "He used the Lazarus Pits. The liquid in them can stop the aging process for several hundred years, even reverse it. Which is why Bane is still a danger," he snapped.
Terry's eyes widened in understanding. "So, that's why you look--"
"Yeah, congratulations, you get another gold star. Now, are you going to give me the formula or not? I don't have time to waste; Bane's almost ready to move."
"If he's really so dangerous, it seems to me that you could use all the help you can get. And it doesn't look like you're in much of a position to bargain," Terry pointed out with more than just a touch of smugness.
Dammit! It was bad enough when Bruce did this to him, now the kid was doing it, too. "No. I'll handle Bane on my own."
"So you are doing this for revenge," Bruce said quietly.
"No, I'm not," Dick ground out. "I simply can do this on my own."
"If that was true, you wouldn't be here," Terry said. Great! Now they were tag-teaming him! "We're offering you our help, there's no good reason for you to refuse unless you've got something to hide."
Dick weighed the options available to him. "That's the way it's going to be, huh?"
Bruce slowly pushed himself out of the chair and over to the grandfather clock. He clicked the minute and hour hands into place and it swung open. "Terry's right. You want our cooperation, it's all or nothing." He waited silently for Dick's answer.
Dick scowled in defeat but said nothing. He didn't need to.
Seeing this, and having been in the dark long enough to make him cranky, Terry displayed his tendency to shoot his mouth off before thinking. He smirked and struck a pose, one finger pointing in the general direction of the Batcave. Using his best hokey, cartoony voice, he declared, "Gentlemen, to the Batcave!"
Dick and Bruce turned the exact same glare on him and he visibly deflated again. Their point made, Bruce and Dick turned back to the stairs leading to the Batcave. Terry muttered something supposedly under his breath, but Dick caught the distinct, "Somebody needs to see a Bat-therapist."
Terry was doing his best not to look bored out of his mind, but he didn't think he was pulling it off very well. At first it had been interesting, watching the interaction between Phoenix and Wayne, finally getting a glimpse into the old man's past. But jeez, all they did was argue!
Not that he hadn't learned a lot from what they let slip in their anger, but he wanted to be doing something. Not just standing around listening to them snipe at each other.
It didn't help that neither of them thought twice about using tongue-twisting names for various chemicals that went right over Terry's head while discussing the Venom formula. He knew he wasn't stupid, but he also knew when he was out of his area of expertise.
Terry shifted his weight from one foot to the other and seriously thought about trying to hunt down a chair for himself. He glanced over at Wayne and Phoenix--no, Grayson. Wayne was sitting in front of the Batcomputer, his hands flying over the keys, while complex images of various chemical formulas cycled on the monitor. Grayson was a few feet off to his right, leaning against one of the nearby consoles. He looked ready to tear the place apart.
They were still arguing, something about Ra's al Ghul, the Lazarus Pits, and... Superman? Well, now this had potential. He edged a few feet closer, leaning casually against the console on Wayne's other side.
"I know what happened with Superman," Grayson said tensely. "Ra's told me about it. He's still not the problem. Bane is the real threat now."
"We need all the information, Dick. Even the smallest details could make a difference," Wayne told him. "Unless you're protecting Ra's..."
"If I was willing to protect Ra's none of this would have happened in the first place! I'd still be in Africa with him!"
With all the revelations of who Phoenix was, Terry had almost forgotten about that little detail. Why had Grayson joined this Ra's al Ghul in the first place if he was here now?
Helping Ghul would make him a bad guy, even if he did used to be one of the good guys. Stopping Bane--and after seeing a few vidclips of Bane after he'd giving himself a dose of Venom, Terry was inclined to agree that he definitely needed stopping--made him a good guy again.
Terry put those thoughts on hold and tuned back in to what Grayson was saying. "Ra's and I parted ways, and while he was angry with me, I wasn't mad at him. But I don't owe him anything, either. I'm not protecting him, I'm stopping Bane. Ra's doesn't need my protection."
Terry swallowed a sigh and tuned back out. More of the same; Wayne wanted to know why Grayson had done what he had done. It was obvious to Terry that Grayson wasn't giving up any answers, but Wayne still kept pressing him.
That didn't mean he wasn't curious, though. Grayson was the wild card here, and Terry didn't like that. If he knew Grayson's reasons, he might be able to tell which way he was going to go when crunch time came.
Hearing the name "Superman" again, Terry focused back on the conversation.
"--with Superman?" Wayne asked.
Grayson's fingers had the edge of the console in a death grip as he answered. "While I was with him he'd never managed to figure out exactly why the Lazarus Pits stopped working. We only knew that they had a cumulative effect, sort of like how an alcoholic builds up a tolerance to alcohol. But after the encounter with Superman, it had a sort of cleansing effect on him. It wiped the slate clean, so to speak."
"Which means he'll be able to use them for several hundred more years." Wayne turned back to the monitors and began cycling through a new set of chemical formulas. At least they looked like a new set to Terry. Bane is."
"You've also said that Ra's is angry with you. You don't know that he and Bane aren't working together to fool you."
Here we go again, thought Terry.
"I told you! Talia wouldn't lie--"
"Gee, criminals must have been scared to death of you in the old days," Terry broke in. "What did you do, bicker them into submission?" Uh oh, shouldn't have done that... He was finally starting to understand how Grayson could not even flinch when Wayne glared at him. After a few years of those looks, Terry might get used to them, too.
He muttered what could have been interpreted as an apology and tried not to look like he was slinking away with his tail between his legs. After what had to have been several minutes, Wayne and Grayson finally turned back to the monitor.
They continued to argue for awhile longer, until Wayne brought up a map of Africa. Terry focused in on the conversation again, figuring it was probably important.
"Ra's' main headquarters are here." Grayson pointed to a spot along the western coast. "There's a small village in Angola, about forty miles south of Malange. It's not even on most maps. That's where Bane and his men are."
"They may have moved their operation to another location to prevent you from finding them."
"No. That's where Talia told me they were and they weren't planning to move. Everything Bane needs is right there and he doesn't know I'm after him."
"You don't know--"
"Yes, I do!"
If he didn't stop them now, they'd never get to Bane in time. This time, he decided to take the serious approach. "Does it really matter?" he asked.
They turned startled looks on him. "What do you mean?" Grayson asked in a low voice.
"Well, if they are there, it's the best way to stop them, right? Even if it is a trap." Before either of them could interrupt, he hurried on. "But if they're not there, do we have a better plan? It looks to me that trap or no trap, this place is our best shot."
Grayson grudgingly nodded his agreement. Wayne simply turned back to the computer.
"With only the two of you, the odds aren't good," Wayne said. "Bane will surround himself with bodyguards."
"They don't know the place like I do," Grayson said confidently. "The ones we can't just slip past won't be much of a threat. The goal is to get to Bane, inject him with the new formula, and take care of him. Without Bane, Ra's' men will deal with Bane's guards."
"All right." Wayne stood up, grabbing his cane on his way to the other side of the cave, where the laboratory was housed. "I'll work on the anti-Venom formula."
Grayson headed off in the opposite direction. "I'll draw a map of the compound, the secret walkways, and the best way to get to Bane."
Neither of them looked back at him or even seemed to realize he was still there. Terry sighed, and wondered if Wayne would notice if he installed a few new games on the computer.
Dick reached up to rub wearily at his eyes while the other hand tapped a staccato rhythm on the countertop. He had finished the layouts hours before and had moved on to helping with the anti-Venom, making sure there were several vials. Better to be prepared with more than needed than to run out in the middle of a fight.
Terry had gone home hours ago to catch as much sleep as he could before they left. Bruce was gathering the necessary supplies and making the arrangements they would need for their trip. Or at least Dick thought that's what he was doing.
"You look tired, you should get some rest." Of course, Bruce was never where Dick expected him to be. "We leave tomorrow morning."
"I'm fine. I want to get these finished tonight."
"If you're afraid to sleep here--" Bruce began.
"Afraid? Afraid of what?"
"Too many memories. If you're afraid of them, you don't have to--"
"I'm not afraid."
"If you say so," Bruce answered with indifference.
"Fine." He motioned towards the vials on the table that were filled with a golden-colored liquid. "These can be left for a few hours, anyway."
He passed by Bruce on his way out, trying not to make it obvious he was deliberately avoiding contact. He also tried to keep from stomping up the steps like a sulking child. He carried it off rather well, if you asked him.
Dick also deliberately avoided the corridor that lead to his old room. Instead, he went in the opposite direction and chose one of the guest rooms to sleep in for a short while.
His regular clothes were not his first choice for sleepwear, but the only other option was his Phoenix outfit that he always carried with him. It was only for a few hours; he could deal with it.
As soon as his head hit the pillow and he'd found the most comfortable position, he expected to immediately fall asleep. Unfortunately, his brain was unwilling to comply with that expectation. He stared at the ceiling for an eternity, which turned out to be seventeen minutes. With a loud sigh, Dick climbed out of the bed and opened the door to peek into the hallway. As soon as he realized that this made him seem like a little boy sneaking a few more minutes past his bedtime, he straightened his posture and calmly walked out of the room. Surely Bruce would have gone to sleep by now and he could work on the anti-Venom formula in peace. But first....
He had spent half his childhood here, but hadn't seen the place since he'd walked out forty years ago. If he wanted to make sure the memories here held no power over him, now was the time to do so.
He slowly made his way down the corridor, not truly conscious of where he was going. One particular stretch of the hallway reminded him of a time when he'd been about ten years old. He'd tied a light blanket around his shoulders, and like every other boy his age had done at some point, had zoomed around the house as if he thought he were Superman.
Alfred had chased him for a good ten minutes, saying that, "dignified young sirs most certainly did not do such things!" He wondered what the reaction would have been if Alfred hadn't managed to catch him before Bruce came home.
The thought brought a fleeting smile to his face before the loss of Alfred set in again. He quickened his pace as though he could simply outrun the memories.
The next stop he made was the one place he'd wanted to avoid most, but he somehow wound up there, anyway. Part of him wanted to know what had been done with it, if Bruce had changed anything since he'd left.
When he'd quit being Robin, he had only taken a few things from his old room with him. The photo album with the pictures of his parents, the stuffed lion his mother had given him when he'd become fascinated with the live versions, a picture of himself, Barbara, and Alfred on his graduation day....
He'd left anything that had been bought with Bruce's money. He wondered if any of it had been left in the room, or if all traces of him had been removed. But now wasn't the time to be distracted by memories; he had other concerns.
He had turned to go when Bruce's words came back to him. ~"Too many memories. If you're afraid..."~
Dick squared his shoulders and opened the door, practically marching inside in his effort to remain undaunted. The first thing he noticed was that the room appeared to be the same. Exactly the same.
Even his clothes were still in the closet. Upon closer inspection, they also appeared to be in exactly the same state he'd left them in. No moth holes, dust, or anything. That meant that someone had to have specially taken care of them to last for four decades.
Dick trailed his hand over the various articles of clothing, noting their perfect arrangement on the hangers. He wasn't sure if he'd done that or someone else had straightened them after he'd left.
Next his gaze settled on the bookshelf above his old desk. One finger slid along the spines of the books as he read off the titles to himself. One in particular jumped out at him and he pulled it down to look at the cover. The Aeneid.
He'd picked it up for a school assignment and been pleasantly surprised by the content. He opened the paperback to the first few pages and remembered that, oddly enough, this had been the book he'd been rereading right before left.
There was a bookmark about a third of the way through, which puzzled him. He'd rarely used bookmarks, just left them lying on whatever surface had been handy. And, if he recalled correctly, this particular book had been on the nightstand when he'd left. So, someone had straightened up the room.
It was unlikely the book itself held any further revelations, so he put it back. As he was doing so, an object on the surface of the desk caught his attention. It was the photo album that held his pictures of the Flying Graysons and the Haly Circus. When Ra's had helped him fake his death, Dick had had to leave everything behind in his loft, including the photo album. What was it doing here?
The answer to that was obvious. His jaw clenched tightly in an effort to keep from throwing things. He would not let Bruce see how this affected him by trashing his old room.
He forced himself to relax before opening the album. On the first page was a picture of his mother and father in their show costumes, clasping hands to balance each other atop one of the circus' elephants.
He gently ran his fingers over the images of their faces, barely touching the page. It had been so long since he'd thought of them, far too long. He knew the pain of their loss would never leave him, but he hadn't expected it to hurt so much after all this time.
Dick closed the book with a sharp crack, finally stirring up a tiny cloud of dust. Whoever took care of the room had been thorough, but not thorough enough.
He put the album back and turned to leave but stopped cold in his tracks when he saw Bruce standing in the doorway. "How long have you been there?" he demanded.
Bruce's gaze didn't waver and showed no signs that he felt any guilt for spying on him. "Shouldn't you be getting some rest?"
"I could say the same for you." Dick looked away, his eyes scanning the room for something safe to focus on. They settled on the pictures on his nightstand, one of Bruce, and one of his parents. "I noticed someone picked up a few things. The book was put away, the clothes were straightened...." Not that it mattered.
"Alfred wanted everything picked up for when you came home."
Alfred... "Didn't you tell him...?"
"Yes."
"Oh." What else was there to say to that? The one person he'd never intentionally wanted to hurt had been anyway.
The silence between them stretched until Dick could feel it ready to snap. Yet neither of them said anything. Several long moments later, unable to take it anymore, but unwilling to be the first to break the quiet, Dick walked over to the window. The view of the grounds was the same as he remembered it, which only added to the feeling that he'd stepped back in time.
The illusion shattered, however, when he turned back to face Bruce again. Even though he had kept the passage of time from touching most of the Manor, he himself had not been so lucky.
Apparently satisfied that he'd found whatever he'd been looking for, Bruce repeated, "You should try to get some sleep." He left the doorway, leaving Dick alone in the room once again.
End Part Two