You know, oddly enough, this one isn't about Mr. Freeze.
I'm about to tell you about a man I've known
Since I've been able to open up a refrigerator
--K's Choice
* * *
I've been thinking it's time for a vacation.
In the middle of November? To Ireland?
Yeah. To anywhere, basically.
It's one of those days that looks warm in picture postcards; bright sun, sandy beaches; but that actually has you freezing your ass off. I can trace the ship's progress by the little contrail of my breath arcing off into the sea.
I wish I could say he didn't want to let me go. Or even that he wanted me gone. Hell, I just want him to feel something, one way or the other, towards me. I just want to make a dent.
He wouldn't even look at me.
I'm going on vacation.
Good. You need a rest.
Probably forever.
Have a nice trip.
I wish I could say I screamed and raged, kicked him in the balls, said all the things I could never take back. But I was calm then. I'm calm now. Cold. He's made me in his own image.
I find myself looking over my shoulder a lot, this trip. Starting at shadows. It would be so like him, to have followed me.
Hah. If I were a criminal, that is. Maybe I should've stolen something. Robbed some little old lady, just to see the look on his face.
No. That's stupid.
It's not like I'm in love with him. He's the one that likes guys, not me. Likes guys that aren't me, I mean. All I wanted was a little bit of his attention. A slice of his time. Maybe a word of encouragement now and then; good job, Robin, well done, Robin, why don't you sleep in my bed tonight, Robin. He calls me that, you know. Never Dick, except with people. And that much is an act, I know. His public face.
I sometimes think, if I'd never become Robin, we'd be together right now. Happy. As it is, he treats me like an appendage. Something you don't notice until it stops working.
Maybe he'll notice me now.
Maybe there's someone waiting on the ship The Joker or Two Face or, jeez, there's a million of 'em, just waiting to kidnap poor Dick Grayson. And Batman has to swoop down & rescue him, proving himself once and for all...
No. None of that damsel-in-distress crap. I'm just going to stand here for a while, and then I'm going to take a walking tour of the Irish coastline and then...I don't know. Kill myself. Get married. Something.
Anything to take my mind off him.
I can still see him when I close my eyes. The way I'd always see him, when he was home. His back to me, sitting at the microscope; or staring at the computer, his hands clasped like he was praying. His own little altar to crime. And the ritual, once a year. Two roses. Coming home afterwards and getting stinking drunk and throwing things and screaming at me. And then the next night going out on patrol and, well, you don't want to be a criminal that night. Binge and purge.
He's broken, that's all, and I don't have the energy to try and fix him anymore.
It's cold out here, but I feel warmer than I have in a long time. There's wind on my face, and I can see the wake of the boat behind us. It's white, fading into untroubled blue as it moves away. I look at it for a while and then turn back to the bow of the boat. I've seen where we've been. But, to tell you the truth, I'm more interested in where we're heading.
I'm about to tell you about a man I've known
Since I've been able to open up a refrigerator
--K's Choice
* * *
I've been thinking it's time for a vacation.
In the middle of November? To Ireland?
Yeah. To anywhere, basically.
It's one of those days that looks warm in picture postcards; bright sun, sandy beaches; but that actually has you freezing your ass off. I can trace the ship's progress by the little contrail of my breath arcing off into the sea.
I wish I could say he didn't want to let me go. Or even that he wanted me gone. Hell, I just want him to feel something, one way or the other, towards me. I just want to make a dent.
He wouldn't even look at me.
I'm going on vacation.
Good. You need a rest.
Probably forever.
Have a nice trip.
I wish I could say I screamed and raged, kicked him in the balls, said all the things I could never take back. But I was calm then. I'm calm now. Cold. He's made me in his own image.
I find myself looking over my shoulder a lot, this trip. Starting at shadows. It would be so like him, to have followed me.
Hah. If I were a criminal, that is. Maybe I should've stolen something. Robbed some little old lady, just to see the look on his face.
No. That's stupid.
It's not like I'm in love with him. He's the one that likes guys, not me. Likes guys that aren't me, I mean. All I wanted was a little bit of his attention. A slice of his time. Maybe a word of encouragement now and then; good job, Robin, well done, Robin, why don't you sleep in my bed tonight, Robin. He calls me that, you know. Never Dick, except with people. And that much is an act, I know. His public face.
I sometimes think, if I'd never become Robin, we'd be together right now. Happy. As it is, he treats me like an appendage. Something you don't notice until it stops working.
Maybe he'll notice me now.
Maybe there's someone waiting on the ship The Joker or Two Face or, jeez, there's a million of 'em, just waiting to kidnap poor Dick Grayson. And Batman has to swoop down & rescue him, proving himself once and for all...
No. None of that damsel-in-distress crap. I'm just going to stand here for a while, and then I'm going to take a walking tour of the Irish coastline and then...I don't know. Kill myself. Get married. Something.
Anything to take my mind off him.
I can still see him when I close my eyes. The way I'd always see him, when he was home. His back to me, sitting at the microscope; or staring at the computer, his hands clasped like he was praying. His own little altar to crime. And the ritual, once a year. Two roses. Coming home afterwards and getting stinking drunk and throwing things and screaming at me. And then the next night going out on patrol and, well, you don't want to be a criminal that night. Binge and purge.
He's broken, that's all, and I don't have the energy to try and fix him anymore.
It's cold out here, but I feel warmer than I have in a long time. There's wind on my face, and I can see the wake of the boat behind us. It's white, fading into untroubled blue as it moves away. I look at it for a while and then turn back to the bow of the boat. I've seen where we've been. But, to tell you the truth, I'm more interested in where we're heading.