Title: My Richard. Part Thirteen
Author: Simon
Characters: Dick/OC
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Dick's accident
Warnings: None
Disclaimers: These guys aren't mine, they don't belong to me, worst luck, so don't bother me.
Feedback: Hell, yes.
Thanks again, Jim...who wrote the opening paragraphs of this part, bless his heart. He butched up the thing!
My Richard
Part Thirteen Three years agoThere was a sort of twisted poetry to it. The images unfolding before her were a vibrant mixture of violence and destruction. But right there in the center of it was Dick Grayson, her true love, proving for the millionth time that the word "impossible" just doesn't apply to him. The explosion was apparently triggered by the activation of the hydraulic lift in her van. There was a moment, no more than a split second, where the sudden bending of his knees silenced her words of protest.
Something had told him what was about to happen, some small clue, some sound or spark. He knew.
It was very familiar to her, the telltale sight of Robin's legs coiling with kinetic energy, readying himself for action. Dick quickly turned to her, a look of terror on his face, and she could see his lips beginning to form her name even as he started to reach in her direction.
Then it hit.
Barbara sat transfixed, part of her horrified yet equally in awe, by the shape of his body as he propelled himself into the air. The force of the explosion carried behind him, forcing him to reach a sickening speed in flight. He approached the stone wall of the Clocktower at terminal velocity, a sight that made Barbara's wide and tear-filled eyes flinch. Then his body arched upward as he bent his back to change his center of gravity. His feet began to come forward, and he used that momentum to turn two backward somersaults that increased his upward angle.
He was now in better position, but his trajectory was off and he was still moving entirely too fast. Barbara winced and yelled out as his feet hit the wall, his left foot striking just before his right. She saw his left leg buckle violently and she would later swear that she heard him scream. But his right leg held true, absorbing the impact squarely, and then propelling him backward and away from the wall.
And that appeared to be the moment he lost consciousness and fell awkwardly to the pavement from some thirty feet in the air.
The van was totaled, that was apparent the moment it exploded and Barbara's first impulse was to get as far away as she could, but Dick was sprawled on the asphalt, unmoving and hurt. Dick's Kawasaki, his pride and joy, had been caught in the blast and was destroyed, the few semi-recognizable parts either charred or burning under the streetlights. She dialed 911 on her cell as she saw the slight figure of the girl run from the shadows to where Dick lay on his back, limbs askew, one leg hideously broken and bleeding.
The sirens got closer as she went over to where Dick lay in the street, the other girl crying and distraught, Dick still unresponsive as a small pool of blood was spreading from his leg.
The girl—it had to be Laura—seemed unable to focus on anything other than Dick, holding him, crying, and crooning to him that he'd be alright, he'd be fine and she'd take care of him. She hadn't meant for him to be hurt, she was sorry. She was so, so sorry. She loved him, had always loved him, and would always love him.
She begged him to forgive her, to not be angry with her. She'd do anything, anything to make it right.
There was so much blood, and she'd never meant to hurt him. It was all her fault, she was so terribly sorry.
She loved him. She would always love him. Kissing his face, she brushed the lock of hair from his eyes, kissing his forehead, his cheeks, his mouth, and his jaw. She held his hands, raw from the pavement and began renewed crying after seeing his blood on her own fingers.
This was the woman who had probably planted a bomb under the van to kill Barbara.
The ambulance arrived along with a squad car.
"He's an officer with BPD, he should have his ID in his wallet. His name is Richard Grayson, assigned to the thirty-seventh precinct." The cops checked, an injured policeman would get preferential treatment at the ER; he wouldn't have to wait.
"You know what happened here, miss?" The Sergeant was addressing Barbara; Laura was in shock and refusing to let go of Dick's hand, kissing the back of it and rubbing it against her own cheek. He was starting to come around, moaning and making weak movements but not forming actual words. In fact, Barbara wanted to be holding his hand and brushing the hair away from his eyes, but this had to come first. She had to think clearly and give them the information they needed.
Besides, with the psycho occupied, she should be alright for a couple of minutes.
"I was about fifty or sixty feet away when it happened and called 911. Something caused the van to explode. It was probably some kind of bomb. You should check it—what's left of it. The bike was just caught in the blast."
"We'll do that, m'am. Are you related to the victim?"
Barbara was watching the paramedics work on Dick. They were trying to not hurt his leg any more than they had to but seemed to not be succeeding all that well. He was on oxygen; they'd started a drip of some kind and were calling his vitals in to the hospital. Laura was still crying and telling him how sorry she was and how much she loved him, begging him not to be angry. "He's a friend. We grew up together."
"And the young lady?"
And what did that make her, the old bag? God, try answering this one. Screw it, jump in with both feet.
"She's been stalking him for a few years and probably had something to do with this—she's been convicted of blowing things up before. I think you should question her about this. She's been upset with him lately and...."
The cop was old school and the kind her father had been trying to get rid of for years; rude, arrogant and not the brightest. "You think? Yeah, I'll be sure to do that, miss."
The hell with him. "And I think my father, Commissioner Gordon, would agree."
That got a reaction. His demeanor changed and he was instantly almost subservient and groveling. As long as Dick got the help he needed, it didn't matter, she'd seen it before.
The paramedics lifted Dick onto the gurney, causing him to groan loudly as they jarred his leg. It was clearly a compound fracture, even in the poor light; the bone was jutting out through the torn jeans, blood soaking the fabric. It was sickening to see and Barbara knew it was the kind of injury that could be career ending.
Dick was an athlete, a world-class gymnast and martial artist. If this cost him that...If that insane little bitch cost him that...
He'd lost a lot of blood and was probably in shock. Barbara called Leslie Thompkins at home, telling her that Dick was on his way to Memorial and what his injuries looked like. He had to have the best, period.
The woman would leave for Memorial immediately. She'd take charge of the case and make sure he received the best possible care from whatever specialists were needed, even if she had to call in every favor she'd ever extended in her life. Dick was that important to her. "I'll head over there now, dear. You tell Dick I'll take good care of him. Have you told Bruce or Alfred yet? They should know about this."
Dick was loaded into the back of the ambulance, the paramedics working on him, trying to get him stabilized for the ten-minute trip to the ER. He was in shock, trembling, eyes unfocused.
"...I'll call them."
The cop was talking to Laura. "Do you know how this might have happened, miss?"
She cried harder and was gently restrained as she tried to climb into the back of the ambulance, but through the noise of her crying and the medics talking to one another and the hospital, they all heard, "I didn't mean for it to happen. He wasn't supposed to get hurt, not him. It wasn't meant for him. He'll be alright, won't he? He has to be alright. I promised him that he'd get all better. He has to—he will, won't he?"
"Hey, Pete? There's a detonator here, or part of one, anyway. The van was blown up on purpose." The other cop was kneeling by a piece of wreckage.
"Miss, we need you to come with us." Laura looked up, slightly confused.
"But I have to be with him. He'll be upset if I'm not there. We love each other."
Barbara was close by. "Laura, I'll go with Di—Richard. We're old friends, he'll be alright with me."
Unsure but yielding in the face of a stronger personality, her anger gone now that the bomb had gone off, Laura submitted and allowed herself to be loaded into the squad car. Now that she'd done what she thought needed doing to get Barbara out of the way or to pay Dick back for whatever he'd done—or not done, she was passive as she was led to the police car and loaded into the back.
"Could one of your cars take me over to the hospital? Please?" There was another squad car there now, along with the fire engine to put out what was left of the fire. The two sets of cops exchanged whispers and nods towards Barbara. They all know who she was and she was helped into one of the cars, her chair folded and placed in the trunk
The ambulance was ready to leave, they'd follow it. Dialing her phone as she rode; "Hello? Alfred? I'm sorry to bother you so late, but..."
"Has there been an accident, miss?" Alfred knew. That was just about the only reason she'd call at this time of night and on this line. She could hear in his voice that he was bracing himself for whatever she had to tell him.
"Dick had an accident. He's being taken to Memorial now; we should be there in a few minutes. Leslie is meeting us."
"How seriously is he injured?" She could hear the almost held breath.
"I'm not sure, his leg looked broken at least."
"Thank you, Miss Barbara, I'll inform Master Bruce at once."
Four hours later, Dick was out of surgery. His leg had been shattered, pins were installed to try to hold it together while it mended and they did their best to reattach the tendons and ligaments. But whether he'd recover full use and strength wouldn't be known until several months from now when the cast came off and then only after however many more months of therapy. Leslie had called in an old friend of hers who specialized in orthopedics and who was the best they would get short of going to one of the major medical centers half way across the country.
Stan told her that if the young man hadn't been in such good physical condition, and if he hadn't managed to roll with the explosion, it would have been even worse than it was. At the worst the boy would have a limp, but other than that possibility, he'd still be fine in the long run.
A cop with a limp?
Dick Grayson with a limp?
Nightwing with a limp?
No, it couldn't happen. Dick would carry on and adapt like he always did—like he had when his parents were murdered in front of him, when he'd been remanded to Juvie instead of Foster Care, when Bruce fired him, when Jason was adopted as Bruce's son, when Jason died and Tim took his place.—Dick always made it work for him. Not always happily, but it always worked out in the end.
Sure, they all worked with the knowledge that someday any one of them could be the one to take the hit or the bullet, but Dick? No.
Somehow he was charmed, golden. He always got better. Always.
But this?
He had to recover fully. He had to.
She knew how her paralysis had shattered him as much as it almost destroyed her for a time. They were starting to get past that, but if they, if he, was knocked back to square one again...
It couldn't happen. He had to make a full recovery.
Bruce and Alfred arrived at the hospital within an hour of Barbara's call and Bruce was immediately on the phone to whomever could get him the best physical therapists in the business. They learned with Barbara that Dick would be out of commission for six months at the least and when Bruce had finally turned to her and asked how this could have happened, she told them as much as she knew.
Bruce listened with growing fury and Alfred with growing concern, as she told him how Laura had continued to stalk Dick after her family moved, through letters to his high school, through his short college career and that she was the main suspect in the burning of his boarding house, throughout his aborted romance with Kory, his training with the police and now while he was on the force. The letters arrived from her home, from friends' colleges, from a mental ward. She had sent him presents and cards and gone so far as to send him the catalogue from Tiffany's with engagement rings she liked circled and the pages turned down.
She harassed Dick's friends and Barbara told them about the letters she had been getting since her relationship with Dick became more—personal.
"Why the hell didn't he say something? Hell, I knew about the wedding fiasco, but the rest of it? And it's still going on? For the love of God, what was he thinking? Where was his brain? This went on for seven years? Jesus—that stubborn, pig headed..."
"Wonder where he learned that." He gave her the Bat glare. "Bruce, he didn't want you or Alfred to worry about him. I know, it was dumb, but he wanted to handle it himself—he was handling it, in fact. He called her parents last night and they'll be here today sometime. They were going to take her home or something and if they didn't, he was going to evoke the restraining order and have her arrested, she just..."
"Beat him to the punch?"
"I guess you could say that."
"Where is she now?"
"She's in custody. There'll be a trial—I assume you'll want Dick to press charges along with the ones from the state? Well, fine, but you know as well as I do that she'll be found guilty because of insanity again. She'll be remanded to some facility for treatment."
"Haven't we been down this road already? After that mess of a wedding she was locked up and here she is."
"You know how these things work as well as I do, Bruce. Don't even start."
"I want to make sure this time she's either cured or that she stays wherever they put her. I'm making this the priority for my entire legal staff. They can lock her up or tie her down or drug her to the gills. As long as she's not a threat, I don't care."
Barbara just nodded. That was fine with her as well. In fact, it didn't matter, not right now anyway. All that counted was that Dick get better. That was all that was important. If he didn't, if he had to give up Nightwing or being a cop—if he had to take a desk job or something, that was the punch he wouldn't roll with.
Not easily, anyway.
The hospital staff found an empty room on Dick's floor for his family to rest in that night. Barbara finally fell asleep on one of the beds and eventually Alfred was persuaded to join her in the adjacent bed for a few hours, both of them being told that they wouldn't be any help if they were dead on their feet.
Bruce sat up by Dick's bed all night, refusing to move.
The Woodward's showed up around lunchtime. They had gone to Dick's precinct like they arranged, but were told that Officer Grayson had been in an accident the night before and was in the hospital, they were sorry.
Oh, God, what had Laura done now?
The day before, the parents received another of Laura's letters and it raised their hopes—until Richard's call that night took them back down yet again.
"Dear M&D,
I'm so incredibly happy right now. Richard and I see each other almost every day and we were talking about what kind of engagement ring I'd like just last night.
He's so sweet to me and his friends here are wonderful. I don't think I've ever met people who are as nice and warm as they are.
We were talking about a small wedding, just friends and family, so you don't have to worry about the costs or anything. Maybe the back yard would be nice if the weather is good?
We haven't set a date yet, but soon—before the end of the year.
Richard asked if I'd like to use the Manor grounds, but I'd rather not, after what happened there. You know what I mean. I think it would be better if we started really fresh and he agrees.
It frightens me that he's a policeman because it's so dangerous, but I know he can take care of himself. I think he even knows some of those Hero people—I guess he knows them through Bruce or something and of course through that other weird girl he was fooling around with—which I've completely forgiven him for, by the way—so he's in pretty safe company when you think about it.
I worry, though.
I get scared when he rides that motorcycle of his—it's big and heavy and he goes so fast on it that I'm terrified. I've asked him to drive a nice safe car, but he loves that horrible machine. I may have to pull out the big guns to get him to sell the thing, but he loves it so much—I don't know.
I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to him after all we've been through.
I'll call you soon.
I love you,
Laura
Learning which hospital, they cabbed over from the station house, walking into his room to find Bruce Wayne sitting beside Richard's bed, talking quietly.
The young man was awake, though obviously drugged and dazed. He seemed to recognize them, however, though he was too out of it to talk with anyone.
"How are you feeling, Richard? We were so upset when we heard—"Lynn Woodward turned to Bruce. She whispered; "He's going to be alright?" The cast on his leg was large and formidable.
Bruce got up, patting Dick on the shoulder as he drifted off again. The painkillers he was on were powerful. "I'll just be out in the hall. Mr. and Mrs. Woodward?" He gestured with his hand, ushering them out of the room as yet another medical tech went in to check Dick's vitals and IV.
"What happened to him?"
"His girlfriend's van blew up just as he stepped away from it. From what I understand, if he had been in the thing, if they had been on the highway or something, they both probably would have been killed. As it is, his leg is so badly injured that I'm having specialists flown in from London to treat him."
"Oh, that poor thing—how could this have...? He was always so careful with things like that." She seemed to latch onto something Bruce said. "His girlfriend? Laura doesn't have a van."
Oh no. Of course.
Lynn went to stand by the hall window, looking out on a parking lot, shaking her head. "We know that Laura is here, Richard told us that she was bothering him again, but when we talked to her—her letters have been so happy. She told us that they were close again. She's here in the city visiting him—but you probably know that, don't you?"
Bruce looked at them for a minute and resisted his impulse to throttle them. How could they not know how dangerous Laura was? How could they be this out of touch with the reality of the situation? Did they really think Dick was still interested in the girl after all this time and everything that had happened, after everything she'd put him through?
Jesus, these people needed to talk to their daughter—or to her therapists. Or to their own.
But then, he hadn't known the extent things had gotten to until Barbara told him the night before. Even Alfred hadn't really known and for Dick to pull the wool over the old man's eyes had taken some doing and real effort on his part. Even when Dick's boarding house was burned down, all he'd said was the local cops suspected an illegal hot plate in one of the other rooms had been left on. He'd taken Dick at his word and left it at that. He'd no idea that the letters and presents had continued for years, that she was even stalking him at his precinct.
Why the hell hadn't Dick said something? Why had he just let it continue all this time?
Because he didn't want his 'parents' worried? Because he wanted to handle it himself? Because he thought it wasn't that big a deal beyond an annoyance or an inconvience?
He knew better, damnit—better than almost anyone, he should have known better. He worked with criminals and unbalanced people every day, he'd done it since he was nine years old—he should have known better and Bruce should have checked.
Jesus.
"Laura is in custody now. She's suspected of planting some kind of bomb in the van." He handed them a piece of paper with the contact information on it and Laura's booking number. One of Dick's fellow cops had dropped it off earlier that morning.
The Woodward's stared at him in shock. "No, that can't be right. There's some mistake."
"She said something about being worried about him riding his motorcycle and wanting to make sure that he stopped for his own safety, but this is completely different than...."
"But...she would never..."
"She wrote us just a few days ago and told us that they're getting married. She said that they're looking at rings. Why would she...?"
"Mrs. Woodward, you know as well as I do that these two aren't getting married. Now, can we drop these games? John, you'll be informed soon enough, anyway. I've already started the legal department to work on this and as soon as Dick is up to it, I'll be talking to him about pressing charges." He held up his hand to stop their protests. "I'm not looking for any kind of revenge any more than I think Dick will, but Laura has been causing problems for him since they were in high school and it's stopping now."
His voice and demeanor brooked no objection. "Besides, even if Dick was willing to let the issue drop, the State will press charges of it's own. I'm going to advise him to join the suit and possibly also press civil charges as well."
"If we checked her into a facility, would that satisfy you, Mr. Wayne?"
"Do you have legal guardianship over her?" Lynn shook her head. "Then, no. Since she's a legal adult, she could check herself out any time. I'm sorry, but I'm going to advise Dick to pursue the case for his own protection and that of his friends and family."
The Woodward's seemed defeated, knowing there was nothing they could do to stop this now.
"We really are very fond of Richard, Mr. Wayne. He's a wonderful young man. I hope—I hope that he'll be alright. His leg, how bad is it, really?"
"We don't know yet, but it's bad enough."
"We came here because Richard asked us to come get Laura yesterday. I, we had no idea that she, we didn't know it had gotten this bad for him." The couple started to leave but John Woodward turned back, catching Bruce just as he was going back into Dick's room. "We thought that the kids might end up together after all this time. Laura has been in love with him since they first met."
That was it, enough. "Your daughter is nuts, Mr. Woodward. I sorry to be blunt, but for Christ's sake, she's now tried to blow my son up twice, she's burned down his home, she's been stalking him for how many years now? And you're sorry they're not getting married?" He was amazed at these people. "You're sorry they're not getting married. You're as crazy as she is."
He went back into the room to be with his son.
The trial was held six months later. The proceedings were closed, a gag order was once again instituted and Richard Grayson took the stand on crutches. His leg was healing, the bones had knitted, but he would be in physical therapy for at least another six months to a year. It would only be at the end of that time that he'd know whether or not he would regain full strength and use of his leg. He was encouraged by his progress and while he had been permitted to return to work, he was forced to limit himself to desk assignments. He spent the time using his detective abilities on a dozen or more cases, but he was frustrated and tense, angry and resentful at what had happened.
He also blamed himself, which caused other problems. He believed that he handled everything badly, that if he had simply told Bruce and whoever else might have needed to know what was going on over the years, that it wouldn't have reached the crisis stage it finally did.
If he had said something, maybe Laura would have gotten more or better help sooner and he wouldn't have broken his leg, Barbara's van wouldn't have been blown up, his wedding to Kory would have made it through to the end, his boarding house wouldn't have burned down and he wouldn't be afraid to open his damn mail box.
He was hard to get along with, often lashing out at Bruce or Barbara and he'd even driven Alfred to walk out of the room more than once.
They all tried to be understanding, but it was wearing thin and his close friends and family privately thought that he was having more trouble coping than he would admit and might well need help to deal with everything he'd been put through.
The trial ended as they expected it would. Laura was found guilty by reason of insanity and remanded to another treatment facility for at least two years, at which time she would be evaluated. After she was led out of the courtroom in tears, her lawyer took Dick's lawyer aside and privately gave him a letter she had written just before the trial. Her parents had intercepted it before it was mailed. They finally seemed to have gotten a grasp on the severity of her illness and so it was turned over to the lawyers. A copy of the thing had been admitted as evidence during the trial, but Dick hadn't read it, not wanting to. Later, over coffee, the lawyer told Bruce who promised to give it to Dick. He could do with it as he wanted.
Alone in his apartment, Dick read the thing.
Richard,
Well, I thought that it would end like this—the trial, I mean. I'm writing this the night before and I know that I'm going to be sent to one of those places again. There was no way I could ever fight against Bruce's lawyers. They're the best, like my Dad is and I could never win against him, either.
So this is it?
This is where you get to never see me again as long as you live? That's what you want, isn't it? I know it is, but you're stupid if you think that I'll accept this.
You're not mine now. That red headed pig can call you that and I know why you're with her—the Commissioner's daughter and you a cop. Sucking up to the top guy by dating his gimp daughter, is that your plan? Maybe hoping for a transfer to a decent city like Gotham, or maybe a nice cushy assignment in a nice rich suburb where you can feel right at home?
You're disgusting and she's pathetic.
I've known since we were fifteen that we'd end up together, so you have your little fling. You go ahead.
This isn't over yet.
You think I don't know what you do at night? With Bruce? You think I didn't figure out who taught you how to do those things? I'm not stupid. You may think I am, but I'm not.
I wrote a letter—I'm good at letters, have you noticed?—I wrote a letter to a few newspapers and magazines and a couple of the news stations telling them about your great big secret. The same great big secret you share with Bruce and the same secret some of your friends keep for you.
That got your attention, didn't it?
I bet you're wondering right now where those letters are and I'm not telling other than to say, well, don't piss me off. I haven't mailed them and I won't—yet.
You just do whatever you want to do and I'll be wherever they send me, and the letters will be safely put away for now.
But I'll be released, sooner or later, and then, well—like I said. Don't piss me off.
LauraDick reread the letter and this time, for the first time since this whole mess had started, he was mad—really angry, like how Bruce got when someone managed to break through the Bat veneer and really annoy him.
Mad like you didn't want to be around. Mad like you knew she'd just made a really big mistake and she was going to regret it.
Mad like you don't forget after a week or a month or a year.
The kind of mad that he'd remember if he saw her again.
TBC
24
