Chapter 24 - Wayne Manor - 7.12pm
It was dark outside and Bruce still hadn't returned from wherever he had disappeared off to. Dick had eventually woken again in the late afternoon, but hadn't really felt like doing much. He was troubled in a way he hadn't felt for a long time. Sometimes a round of exercise in the Cave helped, but he didn't feel in the mood right now, and besides, Bruce might show up in full Bat-mode, and Dick didn't need that right now, instead he needed time to think things through on his own right now...
Alfred eventually found Dick in the place where he'd found him many times before, a spot where Dick had spent many long hours shortly after arriving in the Manor; on the ledge of the of the upper windows of the main library, staring out over the extensive grounds of the Manor, the view at sunset was usually spectacular.
The fact the ledge was sixteen feet off the ground with no obvious means of access made it perfect for an acrobatic kid who _really_ didn't want to be disturbed. Alfred had never caught Dick in the act of getting up there and so was still not certain how he managed it, but suspected that the chandeliers were involved somehow and didn't really want to know any more than that.
"Young Sir?" he ventured, "Master Richard?"
"Wha,,,? Oh... hi Alfred. Anything up?"
"Other than yourself?"
"Alfred, that wasn't funny when I was eight, why would you think I'd find it funny now?"
"Hope, sir." was the deadpanned reply.
'Hope', now there was a concept, though Dick. Some people had it, some people had been offered it, others had it taken away from them. He sighed...
"Sir, I have never found it agreeable to hold a meaningful conversation with anyone whilst addressing them with my neck at an angle above 45 degrees, and I do not intend to start now."
"Sorry, I'll come down."
"Wait, let me bring the ladder over, failing that, at least let me close my ey..." it was too late, Dick had already started, a backflip from a sitting position, with a somersault that logic suggested he shouldn't have had time to complete before landing, but somehow did, and landed on his feet, knees bending to absorb the impact, arms out to steady himself. He didn't even look like he'd thought about it, intent to outcome in single, unconsidered action, Alfred shuddered at the possible implications of that.
"Is that better, Alfred?"
"Only in a relative sense, sir."
"So, what's up Alfie?" The boy's light tone was clearly forced, but at least he was trying.
"Other than my blood pressure if you use that diminutive again? Actually, that was going to be my question, Sir. I simply wished to ascertain that you were... all right, that you didn't require anything to eat, or the like. The Master would not like it to be known I had been neglecting primary responsibilities in such a way." Except in his own case of course, Bruce had a tendency to forget to eat, one of the more minor manifestations of his obsessive tendencies.
"No, I'm fine, I was just thinking."
"Anything you'd care to discuss, perhaps over a snack?"
Dick sighed, that was Alfred all over; if it moved, feed it, if it didn't, dust it. Strangely enough, as philosophies went it wasn't a bad one, at least from the perspective of someone who hadn't had anything to eat in hours. He found it hard to believe he could be hungry again, so soon after the previous night, but the body rules the mind at times.
"Maybe..."
Ten minutes later he was sitting at the kitchen table, struggling to maintain the balance between demolishing a pile of scrambled eggs and holding a conversation on a topic which did not lend itself to the dinner table.
"I failed him Alfred. I failed them, but I failed him too."
There was no need to ask who either "him" or "them" might be.
"As I believe Master Bruce has already explained to you, neither of those facts is true. You did your best, but circumstances overcame you, as they have been known to overtake even the mighty Batman. That is not failure."
"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"
"I cannot say, sir, only you can attempt to put things into perspective. I would only add that if this individual was able to incapacitate you so easily, it is unlikely that he would have been slowed down by anyone else. What happened was terrible, but it was in no way your fault."
"Come off it, I'm Robin, 'the Boy Hostage', remember."
Alfred wrinkled his nose as only a well-bred Englishman can, "Oh dear, is that the stale odour of self-pity I detect?"
"No... well, maybe a little... but it's just one of the names... y'know..."
"Indeed I do. I believe that the first person to use that particular term was Two-Face, or so you have told me in the past..."
Since his frenzied, murderous assault on Robin on one horrific night years before, Alfred found it impossible to think of Two-Face as "Poor Mr Dent", as once he had, despite having known, and liked, Dent in times gone by. So much had changed in that single night, but that must never be thought of, never out loud, and certainly never in front of the young master.
"...and if you are going to start basing your self-image on the comments of the inmates of Arkham Asylum, then there is very little I can do for you." Except suggest a healthier circle of acquaintances of course, but that could never be said either.
"Listen to me Master Richard. Many people are brave, but a hero is brave for a moment longer than the norm, and then another, and then another. You acted bravely last night, even heroically, as you have in the past, as I am sure you will in the future. The fact that you were not successful is not a cause for shame, nor is it a cause of disappointment for Master Bruce. You were concerned for those in your care and you did your best to protect them. That is all that anyone can ask, even Master Bruce."
"That still doesn't excuse me for what happened."
Alfred fought to prevent frustration creeping into his tone "Please understand Master Dick, there is nothing _to_ excuse in what happened. When you can appreciate that, you will be able to get over what you have experienced and move on. Trust me."
Alfred had said all he could, possibly even more than was appropriate for someone in his unique position, though he was prepared to take that risk in this case. Dick was not prone to the same moodiness as his mentor, who had refined such behaviour in his formative years and since raised it to the level of an art form, but when it did happen it struck him hard. Alfred had learned the best way to deal with it was to repeat the obvious several times, then give the lad enough time to absorb and accept the information.
At least Dick had shown he had the potential to accept such facts, hard though it would be for him, and would hopefully, accept the fact that sometimes he couldn't save everyone, which was more than Bruce had ever achieved. Alfred reminded himself that no matter how bad his newer charge was feeling, his original charge would be feeling the same thing, but with much more self-loathing and guilt.
With that Alfred started on a pile of dishes he had carefully prepared beforehand. He was now within easy speaking distance if necessary, but not obviously enough to make the lad feel imposed upon. If he'd learned one thing from his employer over the years, it was the value of preparation.
Dick continued to eat, staring into space again. Alfred had given him a lot to think about, as always.
Could he be right? Was there hope left? Wasn't that what being Robin was about, bringing hope to people who thought there was none left, even if he felt he didn't have any...
Could it be that simple? He'd watched the sunset tonight, but he preferred sunrises by choice, the promise of a new day. Perhaps that was part of the difference between Batman and Robin, between Bruce and Dick; Bruce welcomed the night, Dick used it, but preferred the day. Could he adjust his thinking further, to accept that failure was not tolerable, but had to be expected.
This was going to take some time to decide on, and he hoped that no one else would suffer while he was figuring it out.
It was dark outside and Bruce still hadn't returned from wherever he had disappeared off to. Dick had eventually woken again in the late afternoon, but hadn't really felt like doing much. He was troubled in a way he hadn't felt for a long time. Sometimes a round of exercise in the Cave helped, but he didn't feel in the mood right now, and besides, Bruce might show up in full Bat-mode, and Dick didn't need that right now, instead he needed time to think things through on his own right now...
Alfred eventually found Dick in the place where he'd found him many times before, a spot where Dick had spent many long hours shortly after arriving in the Manor; on the ledge of the of the upper windows of the main library, staring out over the extensive grounds of the Manor, the view at sunset was usually spectacular.
The fact the ledge was sixteen feet off the ground with no obvious means of access made it perfect for an acrobatic kid who _really_ didn't want to be disturbed. Alfred had never caught Dick in the act of getting up there and so was still not certain how he managed it, but suspected that the chandeliers were involved somehow and didn't really want to know any more than that.
"Young Sir?" he ventured, "Master Richard?"
"Wha,,,? Oh... hi Alfred. Anything up?"
"Other than yourself?"
"Alfred, that wasn't funny when I was eight, why would you think I'd find it funny now?"
"Hope, sir." was the deadpanned reply.
'Hope', now there was a concept, though Dick. Some people had it, some people had been offered it, others had it taken away from them. He sighed...
"Sir, I have never found it agreeable to hold a meaningful conversation with anyone whilst addressing them with my neck at an angle above 45 degrees, and I do not intend to start now."
"Sorry, I'll come down."
"Wait, let me bring the ladder over, failing that, at least let me close my ey..." it was too late, Dick had already started, a backflip from a sitting position, with a somersault that logic suggested he shouldn't have had time to complete before landing, but somehow did, and landed on his feet, knees bending to absorb the impact, arms out to steady himself. He didn't even look like he'd thought about it, intent to outcome in single, unconsidered action, Alfred shuddered at the possible implications of that.
"Is that better, Alfred?"
"Only in a relative sense, sir."
"So, what's up Alfie?" The boy's light tone was clearly forced, but at least he was trying.
"Other than my blood pressure if you use that diminutive again? Actually, that was going to be my question, Sir. I simply wished to ascertain that you were... all right, that you didn't require anything to eat, or the like. The Master would not like it to be known I had been neglecting primary responsibilities in such a way." Except in his own case of course, Bruce had a tendency to forget to eat, one of the more minor manifestations of his obsessive tendencies.
"No, I'm fine, I was just thinking."
"Anything you'd care to discuss, perhaps over a snack?"
Dick sighed, that was Alfred all over; if it moved, feed it, if it didn't, dust it. Strangely enough, as philosophies went it wasn't a bad one, at least from the perspective of someone who hadn't had anything to eat in hours. He found it hard to believe he could be hungry again, so soon after the previous night, but the body rules the mind at times.
"Maybe..."
Ten minutes later he was sitting at the kitchen table, struggling to maintain the balance between demolishing a pile of scrambled eggs and holding a conversation on a topic which did not lend itself to the dinner table.
"I failed him Alfred. I failed them, but I failed him too."
There was no need to ask who either "him" or "them" might be.
"As I believe Master Bruce has already explained to you, neither of those facts is true. You did your best, but circumstances overcame you, as they have been known to overtake even the mighty Batman. That is not failure."
"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"
"I cannot say, sir, only you can attempt to put things into perspective. I would only add that if this individual was able to incapacitate you so easily, it is unlikely that he would have been slowed down by anyone else. What happened was terrible, but it was in no way your fault."
"Come off it, I'm Robin, 'the Boy Hostage', remember."
Alfred wrinkled his nose as only a well-bred Englishman can, "Oh dear, is that the stale odour of self-pity I detect?"
"No... well, maybe a little... but it's just one of the names... y'know..."
"Indeed I do. I believe that the first person to use that particular term was Two-Face, or so you have told me in the past..."
Since his frenzied, murderous assault on Robin on one horrific night years before, Alfred found it impossible to think of Two-Face as "Poor Mr Dent", as once he had, despite having known, and liked, Dent in times gone by. So much had changed in that single night, but that must never be thought of, never out loud, and certainly never in front of the young master.
"...and if you are going to start basing your self-image on the comments of the inmates of Arkham Asylum, then there is very little I can do for you." Except suggest a healthier circle of acquaintances of course, but that could never be said either.
"Listen to me Master Richard. Many people are brave, but a hero is brave for a moment longer than the norm, and then another, and then another. You acted bravely last night, even heroically, as you have in the past, as I am sure you will in the future. The fact that you were not successful is not a cause for shame, nor is it a cause of disappointment for Master Bruce. You were concerned for those in your care and you did your best to protect them. That is all that anyone can ask, even Master Bruce."
"That still doesn't excuse me for what happened."
Alfred fought to prevent frustration creeping into his tone "Please understand Master Dick, there is nothing _to_ excuse in what happened. When you can appreciate that, you will be able to get over what you have experienced and move on. Trust me."
Alfred had said all he could, possibly even more than was appropriate for someone in his unique position, though he was prepared to take that risk in this case. Dick was not prone to the same moodiness as his mentor, who had refined such behaviour in his formative years and since raised it to the level of an art form, but when it did happen it struck him hard. Alfred had learned the best way to deal with it was to repeat the obvious several times, then give the lad enough time to absorb and accept the information.
At least Dick had shown he had the potential to accept such facts, hard though it would be for him, and would hopefully, accept the fact that sometimes he couldn't save everyone, which was more than Bruce had ever achieved. Alfred reminded himself that no matter how bad his newer charge was feeling, his original charge would be feeling the same thing, but with much more self-loathing and guilt.
With that Alfred started on a pile of dishes he had carefully prepared beforehand. He was now within easy speaking distance if necessary, but not obviously enough to make the lad feel imposed upon. If he'd learned one thing from his employer over the years, it was the value of preparation.
Dick continued to eat, staring into space again. Alfred had given him a lot to think about, as always.
Could he be right? Was there hope left? Wasn't that what being Robin was about, bringing hope to people who thought there was none left, even if he felt he didn't have any...
Could it be that simple? He'd watched the sunset tonight, but he preferred sunrises by choice, the promise of a new day. Perhaps that was part of the difference between Batman and Robin, between Bruce and Dick; Bruce welcomed the night, Dick used it, but preferred the day. Could he adjust his thinking further, to accept that failure was not tolerable, but had to be expected.
This was going to take some time to decide on, and he hoped that no one else would suffer while he was figuring it out.