Title: In Another Land Part Four
Author: Simon
Pairing: Dick
Rating: PG-13
Summary: An AU look at what might have happened if Bruce hadn't taken Dick in.
Warnings: None
Disclaimers: These guys aren't mine, they don't belong to me, worst luck, so don't bother me.
Archive: Fine, but if you want it, please ask first.
Feedback: Hell, yes.
Thank you, Jim.
In Another Land
Part Four"Master Bruce. Will you be going out later this evening?"
"Of course."
"Might I inquire as to where you might be found, should the need arise?"
"You have communication devices at your disposal, Alfred. Use them."
The older man handed Bruce the small steak and salad he'd prepared for him and looked to see what he was studying so intently on his desk. It was a copy of the local sports section. "Work, sir?"
"Dick. Dick Grayson won his age group at the State Championships last week. Gymnastics—he won four out of the six individual events as well as the all-around."
"Yes, he seemed to be a talented young man. Perhaps one day there'll be one like him here, should you ever decide to marry, sir."
"I have everything I need right now. Drop it, please."
Alfred left the room as quietly as he'd entered it. There wasn't a sound in the large home other than the ticking of the grandfather's clock in the entranceway. "No, Bruce. You don't."
One day when Dick was about thirteen he was in the local hardware store picking up a new stopper for the kitchen sink for his parents. Finding what he was looking for, he took it up to the counter when a tall man caught his attention.
Bruce Wayne buying stuff to kill a hornet's nest? Didn't he have about twenty people on his payroll to deal with that kind of thing for him? Maybe if he went around the next aisle Wayne wouldn't notice him—and he probably didn't remember him anyway, what with him being Bruce Wayne and everything...
Since he'd been living in town he'd slowly clued into the fact that Bruce Wayne—'THE Bruce Wayne', as he was usually referred to—was pretty much it around here. He was obscenely rich; he was head of some big hot shit company that did God knew what and he gave a lot of money away to various good causes. He paid for the new science wing at the high school, he donated the money for the new football field at the junior high and he paid for most of the addition for the town library, too. Oh, and he wasn't married so probably he was either gay or he really liked to screw around. Or both.
And since he'd spent that week with the man after his parents deaths, Dick hadn't heard from him even once—not a Christmas card, not a 'hey, how's it going'. Nothing. Well, it wasn't like they traveled in the same circles or anything. Yeah, sure, he knew the Porter's were one of his unofficial charities, but it was still cheesy to not even—well, something, acknowledge that they were on the same planet, anyway.
"Dick—it is you, isn't it? You're more than a foot taller than the last time I saw you, I almost didn't recognize you standing there."
"Hello, Mr. Wayne. It's nice to see you again." All his formal training in manners from Bonnie, the stuff he almost never used, came out.
"You're looking well—what are you up to these days?" In fact he looked like any junior high student on the planet, hair a little too long, jeans a little too big, the bottoms fraying and a black tee shirt. He was better built and better looking than any of the others, of course, but then Dick had been a pretty kid; it stood to reason he was growing into an exceptionally handsome young man. His eyes—amazing.
He shrugged. "School, mostly. And I mow lawns and do pick up work. You know, stuff."
Wayne nodded. "It must help pay for dates and movies, right?"
Yeah, sure—and clothes and school supplies and lunch and tires for his bike. You know, the frivolous stuff. He racked his brain. There must be something he could think of to say to this man. "I don't have a girlfriend. I do gymnastics—over at Sergei's place."
"That big gym over by the tracks? I hear he's quite good—you enjoy it, do you?" He took a beat. "I saw you won the state meet a couple of weeks ago. Congratulations, that's quite an accomplishment."
Bruce Wayne noticed he'd won a gymnastics meet? Like the man didn't have enough to do? "It was just my age division, but it's pretty good, yeah." Wayne was giving Dick an appraising look that was making him uncomfortable. "How's the work going at your house? It almost done now?"
"It's going well—your Dad is doing a great job. I'm pretty happy with what's being done over there. Look, I wonder—maybe you can help me out with something."
Him help out Wayne? Doing what, scratching his butt for him? "What do you need?"
"Alfred—you remember him, don't you? Well, Alfred is starting to get older and maybe you could come over a couple of times a week, maybe on Saturdays or something, and help him with some of the things that I'd rather he didn't do anymore. There's more heavy lifting now that the renovations are underway, a lot of things have to be shifted around from one place to another so I'd need you to move furniture, carry things that are too heavy for him, that sort of thing. I'd be willing to pay, say fifteen dollars an hour."
What the...fifteen dollars an hour to shove around a few chairs and carry a few boxes? "Well, sure, if you want, but don't you have a lot of people there to do that sort of thing anyway?"
"That's the problem. You see, Alfred doesn't think he needs help and I don't want to hurt his feelings, so if I could let him think that, if you..."
"If he thinks I need the money he'll go along with it?"
"Basically, that's it, yes. I don't want him hurting himself and he's stubborn."
"Sure, sounds like something I can do. When do you want me to start?"
"Are you busy now? I can give you a ride over to my place, let you and Alfred get reacquainted—if you're not expected anywhere, that is."
He was supposed to work out this afternoon for a few hours, but this was money. He could work out tomorrow or Monday. "No, I'm good for a couple of hours or so."
"You want to call your parents to let them know where you are?"
"It's okay. I just have to be back in time to cut the grass."
They walked out to Wayne's car, a relatively understated Jag sedan, and headed out to the Manor.
"So I guess things worked out for you with the Porter's? You're happy with them? They're good to you?"
"Andy and Bonnie? Yeah, they're great."
"You know, I was worried that you might think that I didn't want you or something when you were staying with me—you didn't think that, did you?"
Of course he thought that. In fact, he didn't just think it; he knew it for a fact. Wayne didn't want some dumb orphaned Gypsy kid hanging around his stupid mansion and Alfred—the old guy—sure as hell didn't want to deal with it for even ten minutes.
"Dick? Is that what you thought?"
"I guess you wanted to do what was best for me, right? Finding me a new set of parents?"
"I wanted you to have as good a home as was possible and the Porters' are good people. I live alone and I'm always having to fly to Europe or Asia or someplace for a couple of weeks, plus I'm not married. You would have been largely raised by Alfred or a nanny. I didn't think that was the best thing for you, especially after..."
"After my parents were killed?"
"Yes."
"Yeah, well, it happened when I was eight—it's been a while, so don't worry about it."
They pulled through the big gates and started up the mile long driveway. Bruce stopped by the front door, both of them getting out and going inside. From what Dick could see, nothing much had changed since the last time he was there. The work must be happening on another part of the property.
They found Alfred in the kitchen breading the veal for dinner and after a brief rundown of what would be expected of Dick and when he would be needed at the Manor, the deal was made. It was clear to Dick that Alfred knew exactly what was going on and Bruce's bullshit about how Dick would just be learning the ropes—of what? Butlering? Schleping boxes? Right, whatever—that was overlooked.
He'd ride his bike over on Saturdays at ten and would come back Sunday afternoons if they needed him then, too. He was given a ride home by one of the gardeners and Bruce was sitting in the study reading the paper when Alfred brought him an unexpected and welcomed glass of wine. The silence of the old house was almost like a shroud over the place and one Bruce was used to and welcomed.
"Why on Earth is that child going to be showing up here, Master Bruce?"
"They need the money and this will allow me to keep an eye on what he needs."
"I suppose, but forgive me, why do you care? The boy seems just fine, if a bit scruffy. Guilty conscience from when you sent him away?"
Bruce gave Alfred one of his glares. "I didn't and you know that. I found him a home where he would have two parents and be wanted and loved. Which he is."
"And you bought that man a gym for the youngster's use and made sure that his school has the best possible facilities. Generous though all this is, I'm at a loss to understand it.
Besides, need I add that if he's to be spending that much time here, there are certain things he might become curious about."
"There's no reason for him to know about anything he doesn't need to be aware of. I'm sure you can handle that, Alfred."
"Of course, sir. It's fortunate that you chose to work alone, though. You know what they say about keeping secrets between people."
Bruce eyes went back to his paper, but he spoke before Alfred could leave the room. "Do you think I did the right thing, finding him another home? He wouldn't have had such a bad life here and he would have brightened the place up."
"He would have tracked mud all over the house and bombarded us with the noise young people refer to as music nowadays. The phone would never have stopped ringing and if he proved to be less than we hoped, we would have been burdened with countless complications and living with endless locked doors. Really, you know you work better alone. You always have and likely always will."
"Yes, I suppose you're right, but sometimes I think it might be pleasant to have..."
"To have what, sir? To have a child underfoot? To constantly worry about his welfare and his safety. You can't possibly be entertaining the though of allowing a child along on your 'excursions', are you? That doesn't bear contemplation."
"No, I suppose you're right, this is the best way. Things are fine just as they are."
By the time Dick was fourteen he was probably the most popular kid in his school, and a large part of the reason was that if anyone had told him that he was, he would have been embarrassed and disbelieving.
Sure, he knew he had friends, but it wasn't like he was anything special, he just tried to be nice to people—treat them like he wanted to be treated. That was what his mother—his real mother had always said and she was right. People seemed to like him and it made things more pleasant.
He was truly modest about himself and genuinely kind but beyond that he was simply fun to be around He was upbeat and usually pretty happy. It was all a winning combination.
He got good grades, but he worked hard for them in his classes. He couldn't count the number of nights he'd stayed up until one or two in the morning to make sure an essay was right or that the book was read.
He didn't see what the other kids saw; that he was smarter than just about any of them and compassionate, that he never mocked the class losers and that he was the best looking boy in the school. What the other kids knew was that he was popular and well liked through no apparent effort on his part, though if anyone had told him the reason for his many friends, he would have laughed and not believed a word they said. He was so used to the envious and fawning looks he got when he walked down the halls that he didn't even see them—and wouldn't have believed them for what they were if he did notice. It was more likely that he'd check to make sure his fly was up.
He wasn't all that active in school activities simply because he didn't have the time. He was back to five afternoons a week over at Sergei's gym and this year he was going to the Junior Championships—he had reversed his decision when he made the money himself, though he seriously considered just giving it to Bonnie. The only reason he hadn't was because he knew she wouldn't take it. The fact was that he still paid for as much of his expenses as he could and the rest went into a bank account he'd opened. He now had almost five thousand dollars there and he knew he'd probably need it some day for something or other.
The thing about the gymnastics which no one seemed to understand was that he didn't care if he won or not. Well, not really. He cared about performing well, of doing a good job, but that was it. The medals didn't make any difference to him. In a very real way he did gymnastics simply because he loved it, loved the movement and the freedom of movement he had, loved feeling like he was flying and defying gravity—the feeling that he was in control. It was as close to sport for the pure love of it as probably could be found and he only entered the competitions to please his parents.
And he knew that his win would help Sergei.
He thought that Andy might understand as well, though they'd never talked about it. Bonnie was simply proud.
And beyond that, gymnastics were his connection to what he used to be and what he'd probably still be if things had turned out differently. They were his link to his real parents and his past. On some level he believed that was understood and so felt no reason to discuss it with anyone. Besides, if it wasn't understood by anyone else, well, that didn't matter either. His reasons for gymnastics were something he largely kept to himself, anyway. It was too personal to tell anyone.
"Andy, did you see this?"
"What?"
"This bank statement. Dick has a savings account and it has close to five thousand dollars in it."
He gave her a blank look. "What are you talking about? Where the hell would he get that kind of money?"
"Well, he does mow a lot of lawns and he's always doing odd jobs—and he's over at Wayne's every weekend. I guess it just added up. And Christmas and birthday money—you know."
"Are you going to say anything to him about it?"
"...I don't know. You don't think he'll do anything he shouldn't with it, do you?"
"Dick? I doubt it."
"It's a lot of money for a kid, though."
He's fine. Knowing him, he'll probably put it towards a car when he's old enough or something like that."
"...I guess."
"Your parents not coming to championships, Dick? I don't see them anywhere."
"They have to work. It's okay."
"You pay attention, you concentrate, you'll win."
"Mom? Mom? I won the all-around. I did it!"
"Oh, sweetie, I'm so proud of you and Dad will be, too. That's wonderful. You didn't get hurt, did you?"
"God, no. I'm like the youngest competitor here and I won on my first try—God. I stuck every routine, Mom—you should have seen it. I hit every trick, every one of them, even the quad off the high bar. The judges had a conference about whether or not to allow it, but I proved to them I could land it every time and they had to—even Sergei was smiling and he never smiles at anything. And I still have all of the individuals tomorrow and there were scouts here from some colleges—they said that maybe I could get scholarships and stuff in a couple of years."
"Honey, that's wonderful, just wonderful. Wait till your Dad hears, he'll be so excited..."
"Is he there?"
"He's working late, but the minute he comes home I'll tell him. We'll call your room at the Radisson, is that alright?"
"That would be—hell, I have to go out to dinner, but later, okay?"
"As soon as he gets home, I promise. He'll be thrilled, he wanted so much to be there with you, but he'll be thrilled. Sergei is taping everything, isn't he? We'll talk to you later, sweetheart."
Two days later Sergei dropped Dick off at the house. He'd spoken to Andy later the night of the all around, but yesterday had been really chaotic with the individual apparatus medals being decided and then they had to leave really early for the drive back. Dick had scored another two gold's, three silver's and a bronze, the highest take of anyone there. He'd given his first interviews since he was in the circus to a couple of reporters and even to some guy from Sports Illustrated who'd taken his picture for their 'Faces in the Crowd' section. He'd even signed a bunch of autographs for a bunch of girls who squealed when he walked close to them, embarrassing him no end and receiving no help when Sergei laughed and told him to get used to it.
The front door was slightly ajar. "Mom? Dad?"
Nothing.
"Mom?"
The door hadn't been locked, so someone was around. He dropped his bag in the hall and walked into the kitchen. There was a lot of food on the counter—sandwich trays, cakes, a couple of casseroles, and a whole roasted chicken from the supermarket—all kinds of things. There were a couple of vases of flowers, too, just sitting there. They were having a party? So where was everyone?
"Mom? Dad?"
He continued through to the living room, which was also empty and then, finally hearing something, went into the den.
Bonnie was sitting on the couch with her legs pulled up. She was hugging a throw pillow on her lap. Her face was pale and though she seemed like she was trying to hold it together, it was obvious that she'd been crying. She never cried. In the six years Dick had been living there, he'd never seen her cry.
"Mom?"
"Honey...it's your Dad."
TBC
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