Batman emerged from the Car before the turbines had stopped whirring or it had even started rotating back to exit position on the turntable. His cloak billowed through the clearing smoke from the engine, a highly effective, if somewhat wasted, visual.
Alfred was, to Batman's complete lack of surprise, waiting. Several questions sprang to mind, and he glanced over at the console of the computer, the test programs he'd left running would now have finished, but only one question mattered right now.
"How is he?"
At least he has his priorities right in some areas, thought Alfred. "He has slept sir. He awoke a couple of hours ago, spent some time in… private reflection and has eaten. He has also engaged in some, relatively speaking, minor acrobatics which I would not have recommended, but which he seems none the worse for, and we have spoken."
"And other than physically?"
"As I said, we have… spoken sir."
"Ah yes, one of your infamous talks. I remember them well."
"Indeed sir," Though there are differences, mused Alfred to himself, starting with the fact that Master Richard has been known to listen.
"And? The outcome of your talk?"
"Sir… Bruce. He has clearly seen things I count myself fortunate I can barely imagine, and shock is possibly playing a part in his reactions, but I believe he is coping with remarkable maturity. However I would estimate that, appearances to the contrary, he is still… sensitive at the moment, but with a little time, a lot of encouragement and some _tact_, from ALL concerned, I believe we will be able to get him through this."
Batman nodded as he removed his cape, cowl, boots and gauntlets but, knowing he would be going out again, left the rest of his costume as it was. He donned a rather outdated floor-length smoking jacket, and a silk cravat, which simultaneously covered the remaining costume neatly, and would enhance his eccentric reputation in the unlikely event of an unexpected social call getting past Alfred's defences.
Wayne Manor - 8.35pm
Moments later, Bruce walked into what he still felt a little uncomfortable referring to as "The Family Room". It hadn't been called that between the night his parents had died, but Alfred had been very insistent on the point from the night Dick had first arrived in the Manor. "Sir, below the level of the wine cellar you may name things as you see fit, put large labels on them if you so wish, but from the original foundation up, _I_ designate the rooms, and this _will_ be the Family Room again." Bruce had known better than to argue the point.
Dick appeared to be doing his homework, a number of books were open on the table in front of him but he seemed to be staring into space, tapping his pencil on the table more than focussing on writing with it.
Bruce, on reflex, scanned the titles of the books. One was "All the Right Angles", a Junior High school geometry text, another was "Physics for Fun", still another was entitled "Basic Forensic Pathology".
Part of him, the small voice at his core, asked what he was doing allowing a child to read such things, then another, darker voice asked what state this child would be in if he wasn't learning these things? Given his nature, would he even be alive? No response would satisfy both voices, so Bruce ignored both.
He picked up the last book from the table: Leather-bound, it was an old volume, but still considered to be a standard text. He knew it by heart himself. He examined again the annotations in the margins, recognising his fathers immaculate printed handwriting, and saw his own somewhat less neat writing alongside it. He would swear that he could smell his father's old pipe tobacco on the leather, but knew that it had long since faded. He'd tried smoking a pipe a few times as Bruce Wayne, but found it dulled the sense of smell too much.
"I thought I kept this book locked away in my study."
"Well yes, if you want to call _that _ a lock" came the casual reply, Dick didn't even look up.
Bruce found himself, unthinkably, having to hide a smile at that. How on earth could someone so young deal with what he'd seen, and still be able to lighten the mood for both of them? However he did it, Bruce was almost jealous. If he had been able to process what he had seen years ago the way Dick could, then… he would never have been able to become who and what he had had to become since then, but his life might have been... more pleasant. He dismissed the thought, if Dick Grayson grew up to become unlike Bruce Wayne in outlook, then he would count his time as a father... he corrected himself… legal guardian, well spent. In the meantime…
"You know, if this whole crime-fighter thing doesn't work out, you could be a really good second storey man."
Dick still kept reading, "Second storey? After all the training I've had, I'd be a fourteenth storey man or nothing."
"How are you feeling?"
Bruce could almost hear the mood shift gears. He'd asked THE question, the one that was almost never spoken in the house. He amended that thought, it was almost never spoken _by him_.
There was a moment's silence "Alfred and I had a Talk." Bruce could hear the capital being pronounced. They finally looked at each other, briefly exchanging silent glances that contained much in the way of shared experience. "Yes, one of those."
"Did it help?"
"I think so, yes."
Though Dick didn't look at him again, Bruce kept watching his wards eyes, trying to read the body language. "Good. And how do you feel after… last night?"
There was a longer pause. "Awful, if I'm honest. I don't want to think about it, but I know I have to, because ignoring it won't make it go away. If I don't get my feelings under control, then the Corinthian will have won before we've even had a chance to stop him. I did my best and I have to hold on to that."
This had the sound of someone who was trying to convince himself of something, but he didn't seem to be hiding anything.
"That's right, you did. You have to go with what you believe. By the same token, you understand why you are not getting further involved in this case"
Dick's head drooped a little, but he didn't immediately argue, which was simultaneously disturbing and a relief to Bruce. When Dick spoke is was almost a whisper.
"He followed us didn't he? Last night? We're the reason he came to Ma Graves' house?"
Bruce froze, the boy _was_ a lot more perceptive than he appreciated sometimes.
"I don't know, he may have been tracking the children that worked there, as part of his hunting pattern.." Part of him wanted to lie, to spare his feelings completely, but he couldn't. "…but he might have been following us. I'm going to be checking up on the likelihood tonight."
"So you're going back out?"
"I have to. You're not ready to go out again as Robin though. Not tonight, probably not for a couple of nights, if Alfred has his way, and I'm inclined to let him. Just take it easy for a few days, sort things out for yourself. I'll handle with things until then."
"But if you need any help, y'know…. In the background work… you'll ask me? Just Cave stuff, I still want to see this creep put away for what he did to… well, to all of them."
"If I need backup, you'll be the first one I contact."
"Who else do you have? The superhero community isn't exactly thick on the ground in Gotham."
"It doesn't need to be, it has Batman and Robin."
"Who could ask for anything more?"
"Something like that."
There was another silence, whilst Bruce tried to think of something encouraging to say. His mother had been so good at that, even Alfred seemed to be able to do it without trying. Why was it so hard for him? Something to leave his charge feeling better than when he had arrived, something simple.
"Keep studying." No, not enough, too brusque, add something else… "Alfred would never forgive me if you fell behind in your schooling. Though I refuse to believe that your high school requires a working knowledge of pathology."
Dick gave him that deadpan stare again "You clearly haven't been to a Gotham City High School in a while."
"Stick to the geometry for the moment. For Alfred's sake"
With that Bruce turned and left. Dick didn't comment on the fact that the book from the study was still in Bruce's hands. He could take a hint, and turned back to the relatively peaceful joys of parallelograms.
Alfred was, to Batman's complete lack of surprise, waiting. Several questions sprang to mind, and he glanced over at the console of the computer, the test programs he'd left running would now have finished, but only one question mattered right now.
"How is he?"
At least he has his priorities right in some areas, thought Alfred. "He has slept sir. He awoke a couple of hours ago, spent some time in… private reflection and has eaten. He has also engaged in some, relatively speaking, minor acrobatics which I would not have recommended, but which he seems none the worse for, and we have spoken."
"And other than physically?"
"As I said, we have… spoken sir."
"Ah yes, one of your infamous talks. I remember them well."
"Indeed sir," Though there are differences, mused Alfred to himself, starting with the fact that Master Richard has been known to listen.
"And? The outcome of your talk?"
"Sir… Bruce. He has clearly seen things I count myself fortunate I can barely imagine, and shock is possibly playing a part in his reactions, but I believe he is coping with remarkable maturity. However I would estimate that, appearances to the contrary, he is still… sensitive at the moment, but with a little time, a lot of encouragement and some _tact_, from ALL concerned, I believe we will be able to get him through this."
Batman nodded as he removed his cape, cowl, boots and gauntlets but, knowing he would be going out again, left the rest of his costume as it was. He donned a rather outdated floor-length smoking jacket, and a silk cravat, which simultaneously covered the remaining costume neatly, and would enhance his eccentric reputation in the unlikely event of an unexpected social call getting past Alfred's defences.
Wayne Manor - 8.35pm
Moments later, Bruce walked into what he still felt a little uncomfortable referring to as "The Family Room". It hadn't been called that between the night his parents had died, but Alfred had been very insistent on the point from the night Dick had first arrived in the Manor. "Sir, below the level of the wine cellar you may name things as you see fit, put large labels on them if you so wish, but from the original foundation up, _I_ designate the rooms, and this _will_ be the Family Room again." Bruce had known better than to argue the point.
Dick appeared to be doing his homework, a number of books were open on the table in front of him but he seemed to be staring into space, tapping his pencil on the table more than focussing on writing with it.
Bruce, on reflex, scanned the titles of the books. One was "All the Right Angles", a Junior High school geometry text, another was "Physics for Fun", still another was entitled "Basic Forensic Pathology".
Part of him, the small voice at his core, asked what he was doing allowing a child to read such things, then another, darker voice asked what state this child would be in if he wasn't learning these things? Given his nature, would he even be alive? No response would satisfy both voices, so Bruce ignored both.
He picked up the last book from the table: Leather-bound, it was an old volume, but still considered to be a standard text. He knew it by heart himself. He examined again the annotations in the margins, recognising his fathers immaculate printed handwriting, and saw his own somewhat less neat writing alongside it. He would swear that he could smell his father's old pipe tobacco on the leather, but knew that it had long since faded. He'd tried smoking a pipe a few times as Bruce Wayne, but found it dulled the sense of smell too much.
"I thought I kept this book locked away in my study."
"Well yes, if you want to call _that _ a lock" came the casual reply, Dick didn't even look up.
Bruce found himself, unthinkably, having to hide a smile at that. How on earth could someone so young deal with what he'd seen, and still be able to lighten the mood for both of them? However he did it, Bruce was almost jealous. If he had been able to process what he had seen years ago the way Dick could, then… he would never have been able to become who and what he had had to become since then, but his life might have been... more pleasant. He dismissed the thought, if Dick Grayson grew up to become unlike Bruce Wayne in outlook, then he would count his time as a father... he corrected himself… legal guardian, well spent. In the meantime…
"You know, if this whole crime-fighter thing doesn't work out, you could be a really good second storey man."
Dick still kept reading, "Second storey? After all the training I've had, I'd be a fourteenth storey man or nothing."
"How are you feeling?"
Bruce could almost hear the mood shift gears. He'd asked THE question, the one that was almost never spoken in the house. He amended that thought, it was almost never spoken _by him_.
There was a moment's silence "Alfred and I had a Talk." Bruce could hear the capital being pronounced. They finally looked at each other, briefly exchanging silent glances that contained much in the way of shared experience. "Yes, one of those."
"Did it help?"
"I think so, yes."
Though Dick didn't look at him again, Bruce kept watching his wards eyes, trying to read the body language. "Good. And how do you feel after… last night?"
There was a longer pause. "Awful, if I'm honest. I don't want to think about it, but I know I have to, because ignoring it won't make it go away. If I don't get my feelings under control, then the Corinthian will have won before we've even had a chance to stop him. I did my best and I have to hold on to that."
This had the sound of someone who was trying to convince himself of something, but he didn't seem to be hiding anything.
"That's right, you did. You have to go with what you believe. By the same token, you understand why you are not getting further involved in this case"
Dick's head drooped a little, but he didn't immediately argue, which was simultaneously disturbing and a relief to Bruce. When Dick spoke is was almost a whisper.
"He followed us didn't he? Last night? We're the reason he came to Ma Graves' house?"
Bruce froze, the boy _was_ a lot more perceptive than he appreciated sometimes.
"I don't know, he may have been tracking the children that worked there, as part of his hunting pattern.." Part of him wanted to lie, to spare his feelings completely, but he couldn't. "…but he might have been following us. I'm going to be checking up on the likelihood tonight."
"So you're going back out?"
"I have to. You're not ready to go out again as Robin though. Not tonight, probably not for a couple of nights, if Alfred has his way, and I'm inclined to let him. Just take it easy for a few days, sort things out for yourself. I'll handle with things until then."
"But if you need any help, y'know…. In the background work… you'll ask me? Just Cave stuff, I still want to see this creep put away for what he did to… well, to all of them."
"If I need backup, you'll be the first one I contact."
"Who else do you have? The superhero community isn't exactly thick on the ground in Gotham."
"It doesn't need to be, it has Batman and Robin."
"Who could ask for anything more?"
"Something like that."
There was another silence, whilst Bruce tried to think of something encouraging to say. His mother had been so good at that, even Alfred seemed to be able to do it without trying. Why was it so hard for him? Something to leave his charge feeling better than when he had arrived, something simple.
"Keep studying." No, not enough, too brusque, add something else… "Alfred would never forgive me if you fell behind in your schooling. Though I refuse to believe that your high school requires a working knowledge of pathology."
Dick gave him that deadpan stare again "You clearly haven't been to a Gotham City High School in a while."
"Stick to the geometry for the moment. For Alfred's sake"
With that Bruce turned and left. Dick didn't comment on the fact that the book from the study was still in Bruce's hands. He could take a hint, and turned back to the relatively peaceful joys of parallelograms.