Title: In Another Land Part Six
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.
Note: Charlene was a huge and patient help on the legal details—thank you. Any legal mistakes I take all credit and blame for myself.
In Another Land and Time
Part SixDick was arrested and booked as a minor. His mother was called, informed that her son was in custody and requested to come to the Fifth Precinct House in Gotham to get him as soon as possible. When Bonnie showed up about an hour after the call to give the boy a ride home, she asked Dick why he had done it and just received one of his shrugs as an answer. The ride home was silent with overtones of sullen mixed with extreme hurt. It was an attitude that was becoming too common between them, though this rated as an extreme case.
"But you knew that I was going to find out—didn't you think I'd notice you were missing in the middle of the night?"
"You never have before."
Lovely, he'd been doing this for a while—of course he'd been doing this for a while. "How long has this been going on?" Dick was slumped in the corner of the passenger seat, his face turned toward the window.
"I don't know. Maybe a few months."
"How long have you been using drugs?"
Surprisingly, Dick gave her a civil answer pitched in a normal voice instead of the string of insults and obscenities he'd taken to using when they spoke. "I was high at Andy's funeral—a couple of friends thought I needed something to relax me and they had some weed. It mellowed me out, it helped."
She'd been in no shape that day to notice anything—or for a couple of months afterwards, either, for that matter. "What made you decide to try cocaine? Surely you know it's addicting and all of that."
Dick made a small sound, a cross between resignation and exasperation. "Why do you think? It's a good high."
"Is that what you were on that day you were asked to work in Mr. Wayne's garage?"
"Yeah. Did Alfred call you about that?—I had a feeling he would." Dick's tone made it clear what he thought of a snitch.
"He made a couple of comments, nothing direct. He said enough for me to figure it out."
"Took you long enough."
"Dick—don't start."
Fine, whatever. Dick stared out the window, knowing he'd hurt his mother but not having the slightest idea how to make it better for her.
They rode another couple of miles in silence. "What I don't get is why Bruce gives a shit about me. I mean, he did his duty, his favor to Jim Gordon seven years ago and doesn't owe anyone anything, but Wayne keeps showing up to pull our nuts out of the fire—he bought Sergei the gym for me, he gave Andy the contract to fix up his house, he gave me a job for spending money. So, what's the deal? He like little boys or something?"
"You know better than that, Dick, and that wasn't funny—just like I thought that you're too smart to use drugs. And as for Mister Wayne's interest, I suggest you ask him directly the next time you see him."
This wasn't the sweet child they'd given a home to. That boy used to snuggle against her while she read to him or as they watched a movie. That child smelled like soap and shampoo and the Oreo's he ate after school and before bed—and who later smelled of mown grass or the cold from his shoveling snow. That little boy wouldn't go to sleep until she'd kissed him and tucked in his blanket. This angry young man smelled of sweat and stale smoke and the grease in his hair.
They pulled into the driveway. It was almost dawn and the lights were still on in the kitchen. Maybe Bonnie had known he was missing earlier when she'd gotten the call, maybe she was already up, getting ready for school when she'd left for the police station.
When Dick walked in the front door, Bonnie went into the kitchen, already dressed for work in a skirt and blouse, put her slippers back on her feet from where she'd left them in the front hall. She seemed beyond exhausted and likely afraid she'd hear what else Dick might have been doing—not that sneaking out of the house in the middle of the night and being busted at fifteen for buying cocaine from a narc wasn't enough.
They ended up sitting on opposite sides of the small island, both with cups of tea in front of them. "Are you alright?" Dick nodded, all things considered. She was about five feet away from him, though neither one breeched the gap either physically or emotionally. "I was worried about you—but you're alright?" He gave a small smile at that—she was kidding, right? He gave her another nod. "Good. Please get ready for school. Do you want breakfast first?"
Food was the last thing on his mind, but maybe they could talk. "Maybe eggs?"
She set about making him some scrambled eggs with ham, the way he liked them. "What happened?"
"I was arrested for purchasing and being in possession of a controlled substance. And I punched a cop, but they seemed to overlook that for some reason."
Bonnie didn't seem surprised. "Which drug did you buy?"
There was no point in lying; the truth would come out soon enough. "Cocaine, and I tested positive for it in my bloodstream. I also had a couple of joints in my pocket they found, so I guess I was booked for that, too. The sergeant told me that I'll be assigned a court date—probably in the next month or two—he said that the stuff they found on me has to be tested by the lab to make sure it's coke and grass, but it is. And we'll need to get a lawyer because coke is a felony." He stopped for a second. "If it's too much money, I'll be assigned one by the state. I was booked as a minor, so that should help, but it may be a crappy lawyer...."
She nodded almost absently. "Yes, I suppose that we'll have to see about that."
The silence came back.
"Mom, I'm sorry."
"I think it might have been better if I'd just left you there for a while." Bonnie was beating some eggs with a wisk. The entire house would fit in a corner of the Wayne estate garage. "That's what that sergeant said, that if they'd decided to add assaulting a police office to the charges you'd be held for a week instead of being released tonight—this morning." The pan was heated; she poured the eggs and ham in, the sizzling sounds started immediately. "Maybe that would have gotten through to you."
"Mom..." Oh, God, she was giving up on him. She wanted him gone so she wouldn't have to deal with his crap anymore.
"You've lost one set of parents and I guess now you blame yourself for losing your second father. I don't know how to make that better for you. I don't think anyone can do that and I would think that...you have to know that—there is no way to make it go away and Andy's not going to walk in one of these days. He's not. What you need to understand is that sometimes things happen which simply aren't anyone's fault and that to blame yourself—or me— is pointless."
"I know that—I do know that, Mom."
She looked so tired. "Dick—just get ready for school. We'll—we'll talk about this later."
When Bonnie checked, she found out that a decent lawyer willing to take the case would set her back over five thousand dollars and she simply didn't have the money. She considered asking Mr. Wayne to release some of Dick's inheritance from his parents, but decided against it; even though she laughed to herself that it could be considered an educational expense. Well, almost anyway.
Three weeks later they got a call—a Juvenile court counselor was coming to the house to evaluate the home situation and would report his findings back to the judge in a sentencing report to give an idea of what the kid was living with and what his home life was like. That should make for interesting reading.
Jim Gordon checked the report on his desk and knew it would be his job if he passed along anything that was in it. The case involved a minor, so the records were sealed. And yes, Jim knew that he was doing something he would be disciplined for if it was discovered, but he believed it was for the best in this case. It wasn't like Wayne had actually asked him, it was just something that might help a kid who needed all the help he could get right now.
Making a copy himself while his secretary was at lunch, he slipped it into his briefcase. Wayne might find it useful if he wanted to do what Jim suspected. It wouldn't be the first time the man had helped a kid in trouble this way and it had always turned out pretty well—so far, at least. Wayne seemed to have a way of picking kids who would appreciate the break they'd been given. No, he'd never in any way suggested that the kid have any special treatment or any such rot, but he did make the somewhat left handed comment that it would be good if the Porter kid had a decent lawyer assigned to his case instead of one of the burned out boilers.
Sure, Jim could understand that Wayne was still interested in the case, but hell's bells—all that had happened years ago and they'd done the best they could for the kid at the time. Wayne had taken him in so he wouldn't end up in some horrible place, they'd greased all the wheels to make sure the boy landed in with a nice family and it was just a crummy shame about what happened. No one could have seen that one coming.
It was even understandable why the kid would end up trying to medicate his problems away. Stupid, but understandable.
Later, Gordon joined Bruce Wayne for dinner at that new fancy restaurant on top of his newest building—the one you needed a reservation a month in advance to get into, unless you were Bruce Wayne, of course.
"So what's going on with the boy? How's it looking for him?" Jim slid the report across the table to him; Wayne took a couple of minutes to peruse the file while Gordon worked on his appetizer. Bruce had seen it before, of course. After all, tapping into the city's Department of Social Services records wasn't all that difficult for the Bat, but he would play the game of pretending it was the first time he'd looked at the kid's record—no point in Jim asking awkward questions after he tried to be helpful.
"Look, Bruce, you have to understand that all the people over there are overloaded with cases. With the budget cutbacks, we've had to let go almost fifteen lawyers and it's wrecking havoc with..."
"So it's not going well, I take it?"
Jim had never thought Wayne was the idiot he pretended to be. "I've seen a lot worse, but a felony is a felony."
"Look—if I pay one of my lawyers to take the case, will you make sure the family doesn't know I had anything to do with it?"
"Bruce..."
"I just want one of my people to handle it. What difference could it make other than to lighten the load on one of your overworked grunts?"
"Well..."
"Good, it's settled then. I'll have Lucius send someone over in the morning to get the reports, alright?" Gordon nodded. Wayne was right. It would take one case away from someone who didn't have the time to look at it anyway. Fine. "And try the beef, Jim, it's really quite good here."
Bonnie and Dick met with the woman they thought was a court appointed attorney, a young woman one year out of law school whose idealism seemed to be headed south fast. She was, in fact, one of the young Turks who scared the hell out of anyone the head of Legal for Wayne Corp her department head decided to sic her on.
"You were caught red handed making a purchase from a narc, you had marijuana on you at the time and when you were taken in, you tested positive for both drugs in your system. You were also out without your mother's knowledge or permission after midnight and your town has a ten o'clock curfew for minors. In addition to which, when the officer tried to take you in, you threw a punch at him, loosening three of his teeth. That's purchase and possession of controlled substances—cocaine is a felony, by the way, and assault of a police officer. The assault charges haven't been filed, but they still could be. Are you going to fight this or admit guilt?"
"I, um..."
"Frankly, they've pretty much got you. I'd suggest that you tell the judge you did it, bring in the recent death of your father as a mitigating circumstance and promise you'll never do it again—and then don't do it again."
"Will I go to jail?"
She'd been through this a thousand times. "Probably not. Most likely you'll get probation with community service, mandated drug counseling, probably a fine or a work program to reimburse expenses. That's the usual in cases like this."
"What about a record? Will I have a record?"
"It's expunged when you turn eighteen." How many times had she answered that question?
"So that's it? I tell the judge I did it, I'm sorry and he slaps my wrist?"
Stupid kids. He was somewhere between disbelief and a smirk.
"No, it means you'll—if you're lucky—get a year or so probation, you'll have to undergo mandatory drug counseling. You'll mostly likely have a court-imposed curfew that you damn well better keep. You'll report to a parole officer once a month—something you also damn well better do. You'll be subject to unscheduled and random drug tests, which I strongly advise you to pass. You'll also submit to warrantless searches if anyone has any reason to suspect anything at all about you not keeping to the straight and narrow. If you fail any of this you can be remanded to custody—that means you go to Juvie for up to five twenty-four hour periods on the say so of your PO who does not need a judge to okay it. And that doesn't have to be for a drug offense—that could be for general misbehavior. If there's a second offense that warrants a trip back to the judge, you're in for two weeks, third time it's six months. If there's a fourth violation you will go to jail for a minimum of six months or until your eighteenth birthday." She looked at the not-quite-so-carefree face. "This starting to sink in, is it?"
Yes, it was.
"The fact that your adoptive father was recently killed is a mitigating circumstance, especially coming after the fact of your biological parents' deaths, but don't think those are going to get you off. You're still guilty of a felony—you listening to me?"
"Yes."
"Good. Now when we get to court you show up in a suit if you own one, I want you showered and your hair washed. You will sit there and do what I tell you. You'll be polite and you'll leave any crappy attitude you may have at the door. You do these things and you might get to go home afterwards. You go off on your own tangent and all bets are off. Any questions? No? Good. I'll see you in ten days at nine AM. I'll meet you in front of the court house."
Since the drug bust and his arrest, Dick had stopped seeing all of his old friends. Partly it was because he was embarrassed about the whole thing and partly because he knew that they thought he'd turned into a jackass since Andy's death.
And part of it was because he had a gut belief that they simply had no idea about what he was going through or what he was dealing with. None of them had buried a single parent, let alone three. None of them had been offered college scholarships when they were still in tenth grade. None of them knew what it was like to stand in the center ring and have thousands of people applauding or to stand on the top step of the podium and have a gold medal hung around their neck while someone told you that you're the best in the country at what you do—even if it was just in an age group.
They had—to be fair— tried to hang out with him and to help him. They would call him, ask him to the movies or a party. Some of them would stop over with movies from Blockbuster and order pizza on a weekend, but it was forced. They'd ask him about gymnastics and ask him to show off his stuff, but he wouldn't because it made him think about Andy and, besides, he was out of shape—well, compared to what he was.
Seeing his reaction, they'd change the subject, but all they could talk about was math class or a party on Saturday or who had gotten laid and Dick didn't care. Some of his friends' fathers had tried as well, seeming to think that one middle aged man was as good as another and he could just plug a different face in and everything would be fine. He tried to be polite, but he resisted their attempts at being good Samaritans and they stopped after a while, too.
Even before Andy died, when his life was relatively normal, back when he was still the most popular kid in the school—or so everyone told him—he'd always felt different than even his closest friends. Maybe it was his circus background or being a gypsy or because he was orphaned and adopted that had set him apart, but now he felt like he had nothing in common with them beyond schoolwork.
After a while, they all stopped trying.
The judge read the sentencing report from the Juvenile Court Counselor for Richard Grayson Porter, Adjudicated Delinquent. The report of Dick's home life and background was taken into consideration—the fact that Dick had never been in any kind of trouble before this and that he was still all too obviously reeling from the third violent death of a parent since he was eight years old. Considering all that and that he had been an honor student and a nationally ranked athlete in addition to holding down part time jobs before the latest tragedy in his life, the judge sentenced him to fourteen months probation, mandatory drug treatment, testing and counseling, monthly visits with his probation officer, a curfew of eight o'clock in the evening, two hundred hours of community service and reimbursement of the State's costs. He could expect his home and his possessions to be searched without warning. In addition, he was ordered to personally apologize to the officer he'd punched during his arrest who was generous enough—or stupid enough to hear the judge tell it—to not press charges. He was allowed to go home with Bonnie.
What this all meant in practical terms was that he had to report to a probation office once a month and explain any infractions he might have committed during the previous four weeks. He had twice-weekly meetings with a drug counselor at which he was expected to test clean. He would spend about fifty hours picking up trash along the highway while wearing an orange prison jumpsuit and under the watch of a cop to pay off the costs of his case. He was told to work off his community service teaching gymnastics to kids at an inner city community center. He couldn't leave the state without the permission of his parole officer. He had to be in his home between the hours of eight PM and seven AM unless he was accompanied by his mother or had the permission of his PO, or both.
If he failed to fulfill any of these he would be sent to Juvenile Detention for a period of time to be determined.
Neither Bonnie nor Dick said anything on the ride home. Dick knew he was lucky and Bonnie was stunned by what her life was now. A part of her still expected to walk in the house to hear Andy asking her if it was time for him to fire up the grill and maybe later they could, you know.
But it didn't happen.
She was a widow and a single mother to a troubled and angry teenager who just had his first serious brush with the law.
He might or might not be addicted to cocaine. He swore he wasn't, but that didn't necessarily mean anything.
Later that night Dick knocked on her door then went in to sit on the edge of the now too large bed she was reading in.
"I'm sorry, Mom. I really am." His head was down, his voice low.
"I know that you are." She still had that defeated air about her and it killed Dick to know he was a big part of the reason. He'd wanted to help her, be the rock she could lean on. He wanted her to know she could count on him for anything and he wanted her to know how much he loved her.
He had no idea how to say any of that.
"No more drugs. I promise. And I'll bring my grades up more. They're better than they were and I'll get back on the honor roll. I promise I will."
She looked like she was listening to some kid tell her his puppy had eaten his homework, like she'd heard it all before and knew better but was letting it slide.
"I know you will."
"And—I'll, I mean, I won't be as, you know, I'll be nicer."
"I would like that." She still looked like she was just going through the motions with no conviction.
"I mean it, Mom. I really do."
She smiled slightly. "It's late and it's been a long day and we both have school tomorrow."
He leaned over to kiss her cheek then left her alone.
Later he heard her crying again.
TBC
10/11/04
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