Title: In Another Land Part twelve
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...and you feel better.
In Another Land
Part Twelve"Sergei? That's bullshit, what do you mean I can't use the quad as a dismount? That's completely lame."
"You know it's not sanctioned by the Gymnastics Federation—is too dangerous. They're afraid that you'll get killed and sue them."
"It's fucking bullshit—what if I demonstrate that I can land it, what if I show them I can stick the damn thing? Will they allow it then?"
Sergei had just gotten off the phone with the USGF (United States Gymnastics Federation) where he was informed that his student would not be allowed to perform his high bar routine as planned but would be expected to substitute another trick in the quad's place. They were concerned for the boy's safety—with a dismount that difficult, a move that no one in the country had landed successfully; it was simply too great a risk.
The fact that Dick had been doing it since he was eight cut no ice at all and they were both furious.
"It's just the old guard making sure some new upstart doesn't take anything away from the favorites—that's all it is and you know it, Sergei."
"Of course. The question is what shall we do about it? You can always land a triple or a double/double."
"Yeah, like everyone else who'll be there. Why can't I just throw the quad? If I land it on national TV they can't get away with their crap."
"Dick—enough of this language, the judges mark you down and the parents here don't like it."
"Fine, whatever, but this is stupid."
They were in Sergei's office, the phone call having gone about as he'd thought it would. There were ways around this, though. "You know that exhibition next week with the team from Romania and a bunch of gymnasts from the NCAA?"
"The one at the Garden? Sure. Why?"
"You go, you throw the quad, you land it and then you'll force the judge's hand. You stick it and then they know you can do it under pressure and—just as important—the Europeans know that an American can land the quad when none of them can. Sound good?"
"But, I'm not in the NCAA."
Sergei smiled that weird smile he had when he was planning on something he knew was probably illegal. "I'm the coach. You not worry about this. You just get your routines ready."
Sure enough, eight days later Dick was in New York City for an invitational meet with the Europeans vs. the NCAA and with a few promising high schools students allowed in for good measure and to give them international experience. They were looked on as the cute little kids playing in the big sand box for the first time and were patronized without mercy.
The meet was an exhibition, was just one afternoon and since it wasn't a competition, the athletes were free to do moves that weren't always considered kosher. It was showoff time with relatively little pressure. They wouldn't even be scored; it was just for fun and to psych out the competition.
One thing that surprised Dick when he got there was how much Romanian he remembered from his father. No, he couldn't talk to anyone fluently or anything like that, but he pretty much knew what they were saying to him and could make himself understood. And the Romanian girls—okay, the American ones, too—seemed intrigued by the new kid with the incredible blue eyes. Sure, all the men had killer bods, if a little overly muscular for some tastes with those Popeye arms, but this new kid was different; taller, leaner and definitely the best looking thing on the floor. Besides that, you'd have to be deaf, dumb and blind to not see how he connected with the crowd. The phrase 'played the like a violin' wasn't out of line—he looked up, smiled that smile, picked out someone to direct the whole routine to and the crowd was a goner.
And when he turned that smile onto one of the young ladies in the exhibition—well, he got their attention and that was no lie.
You add that to the fact that he was just so obviously having a good time out there and there was no way not to like the kid.
And as for his athleticism, he was young and needed some seasoning, but he was the one to watch and that was obvious. In fact, he made the old pros, the ones who'd been around for a while look flat out stodgy and a little boring.
The women—the girl's—alternated their routines with the men. One would do a beam or floor routine followed by a man on the rings or something. When it was Dick's turn he saw Sergei nod to him as he chalked his hands. One of the Romanians, Dimitri—a nice guy who Dick had sort of struck up a quick friendship with—was his spotter for the high bar. The ESPN cameraman was asked to move off the mat to give them room but stayed close enough to record every move.
The routine went fine with the usual moves, the giant swings and the grip changes but he still stood out from the other men because of the combination of his looks, his height and the fact that he was doing the damn moves better and with more grace and style than anyone else was doing them; it was obvious even to the guys running the follow spots. There was an elegance to his movements the others, accomplished though they may be, simply didn't have. He did the release moves without problem and began the wind up for his dismount. Spinning faster, two, three more giant swings, the release almost straight up to the ceiling, the quick tuck, the four and a half turns and he was on his feet—legs together, arms up and no hop.
He'd stuck the quad in public and on ESPN with a couple of the sport's best commentators watching and some of the top men and coaches sitting on the sidelines.
Dimitri shook his hand—"Vinitor, excelent!" (Amazing, excellent!) then threw his arms around him. The other men started a standing ovation then went up on the platform—hey, it was an exhibition, they could bend the rules—and joined the crowd in their applause, adding back slapping and handshakes. The crowd, not exactly sure what they'd just seen, but knowing it was something special, kept applauding and the American coaches were asking each other who the hell was that kid and did they all just see the same thing?
An hour later, down in the locker room, Dick was approached by a couple of scouts from Big Ten schools promising they'd call and giving him their cards. The commentators wanted to talk to him about his quad and the rest of the gymnasts were all talking about going out to catch some pizza; something cheap and good they usually weren't allowed to have.
When Dick left by the stage door after a shower and a change into his usual worn jeans and an old tee, he signed a few autographs for the youngsters who had waited and started across the street to meet the others. He was the belle of the ball, or so it seemed, and they were going to wait for him—the American men from the NCAA teams all seemed to want to talk to him about their individual schools and asked if he'd be at Nationals next month. The girls wanted to sit next to him.
God, it was a great dinner. He was the center of attention and when the Romanians heard his background they smiled—of course he was good—he was a Rom, a Tigan, a Gypsy. He could do anything—they should all watch their backs because he'd beat them all, even if he were too tall.
After the three-hour dinner he started back to the Garden. Sergei said they'd meet in front around ten to drive back home, please don't be late. Getting there a few minutes early, he sat on the curb. It was the first time all day he was able to be alone and he needed the quiet to get everything sorted in his own head. God, today had been incredible.
"You're Dick, aren't you? You were pretty good this afternoon."
He looked up. Four teens about his age, three guys and a pretty dark haired girl were a few feet away.
"Thanks. Do I know you?"
"Not really. We just thought we might want to check you out today, that's all."
"Because...?"
They exchanged glances with one another. "Because we may be working together soon and we wanted to see what you were like."
Working together? Hell, of course. Two plus two and all of that. Bruce probably sent them to make sure he wasn't screwing up or scoring or something. This wasn't too hard to figure out. Nice to be looked after—but not right now. He was tired and still on a high from the day and just wanted to sleep in the car going home. He was flat out not in the mood for this right now.
"You guys are the Titans, right? Some of them, anyway."
The pretty girl—and she was very pretty, stepped forward. "Don't pay any attention to him, he's just trying to intimidate you." She gave the red haired boy a look that slowed him down. He was like a prize bull defending his turf and Dick didn't even know what the playing field was yet.
"Yeah, well, I don't know that we'd work all that well together, so you can release whatever crawled up your butt. It may not happen." This jerk didn't bother him—he'd faced down lots worse than a macho attitude.
"Your new boss seems to think it's a lock." The other boy, the one with brown hair spoke up and with less belligerence.
The red head, evidently angry about something, "And when he says 'jump' we're supposed to ask how high, right? I don't work for him and neither do you. This is crap—the man says we have a new waif to take in and you all bow and say 'yessir'. Well, screw that, not me. You do whatever you want; I'm fucking outta here. Christ! He's a rookie, for God's sake. We'll spend all our time holding his hand and he's a damn junkie on top of that..."
"And you're not?"
"Fuck you."
"You want us to think you're not still using? That's bull..."
"I'm clean—I don't need that shit..."
"You want to give us a tour of your room when we get back?"
"Not the time for this Roy, calm down, will you?"
"Don't tell me what the fuck to do..."
The girl and the brown haired boy pulled 'Roy' away, leaving the last young man standing there calmly regarding Dick. He hadn't said anything yet, keeping out of the small argument. He sat on the curb maybe two feet from Dick. "Don't mind them, they'll work it out. You were quite good this afternoon."
The accent was odd, though not unpleasant and in the bright city lighting Dick could see that the boy had purple eyes. Jesus. That was weird to see in person. He'd read about it somewhere, but to be next to them was a different thing altogether.
"You're Aqualad."
"Garth."
"That sounds better."
The other boy laughed. "Tell me about it. It wasn't my idea." They heard the others trying to calm 'Roy' down. "Don't let him bother you, he's not that bad most of the time." Dick glanced over at the others. They seemed to be slowly succeeding in restoring quiet. Slowly. "You must have a lot of questions—or have you made up your mind about everything yet?"
"I sort of told, uh, I mean, I sort of said I'd probably do this for a while and see how it works out."
"And you're having second thoughts and wondering what you're getting yourself into? Everyone feels like that." He paused, probably gathering his own thoughts or trying to decide how to phrase what he was going to say and when he did speak his voice was quiet and calm. Dick got the very distinct feeling that he was an intrinsically gentle person and then mentally kicked himself—this guy was supposed to be royalty and he was a certified hero. Gentle? Soft spoken? A nice guy? How weird—but seemingly true. "If you have any second thoughts or if you're unsure—then don't go ahead with it. If you're not a hundred present committed, that's when you get hurt." He gave a half smile. "I know."
"You've been hurt?"
"We've all been hurt. It's part of the job and you just sort of accept it and hope it's not too bad." The arguing got louder again, Garth ignored it. "Wally, he's alright. He's conservative and once you understand that about him you know where his thoughts come from and how to take what he says. Roy is, Roy hasn't had an easy life—though I guess none of us have. He doesn't always deal well with things, but he'll back you up and I know he'd do anything for any one of us. Donna is..." This time he really smiled. "I think we're all a little in love with Donna. You'll see about that. She's quite wonderful. And you're...?"
Dick realized that he was being asked a question. "I'm the new kid, I guess."
He laughed. "I guess you are."
The other three seemed to have regained some degree of control and were strolling the fifty or so feet back when Sergei pulled up, though Roy seemed to stay in the background.
"I guess I'll see you around."
The pretty girl, Donna kissed his cheek. "You give us a call if you need anything, even just to talk or hang out, okay? You can get the number."
He opened the car door and started to get in. "Thanks. I'm still sort of nervous about this, you know? And—thanks." They smiled or nodded as the car pulled away.
"Honey? How did it go? Everything alright? Did you have a good time? Were they nice to you?"
Bonnie was waiting up when they arrived back at the house, Dick getting out without Sergei even bothering to park or turn into the driveway. He was tired, too.
"It was good—I landed the quad—I stuck and it was on camera. And the other gymnasts were pretty nice after that. I mean, at first they sort of ignored me and the other high school kids who were there, but after the quad it was like I was their new best friend and there were coaches from these big schools—Stanford and Michigan and wherever— who all said they were going to call about scholarships—and we went out to dinner afterwards and I ended up talking to these guys who are like the best in the country and they wanted to talk to me—God it was amazing. And the Romanians? They were great, I could even understand a lot of what they were saying and they sort of adopted me when they found out I'm half Rom—God, it was like the best day of my life!"
"Scholarships? Honey, that's wonderful." She hugged him and for the first time in a while, he hugged her back. They broke apart, happy, smiling and glad to be together at this moment. "Are you hungry? Do you want anything?"
He shook his head. "I'm just tired, but Mom—it was so good today."
"I'm proud of you, you know how much."
The next morning Dick rode his bike over to Wayne Manor for his regular Sunday morning training session with Bruce, dreading it. They had been going over basic forensics, fighting techniques, computer skills, chemistry and a long laundry list of other subjects would be touched on in a given day. There was so damn much and Bruce pushed him hard, never satisfied, always wanting more or better from him almost never offering encouragement or a compliment. He made Sergei look jolly in comparison and it was getting frustrating for the boy, though he hadn't said anything. Everyday was the same.
"That's not carbon scoring, look again and pay attention this time"
"I told you that you need to separate those movements or they lose their effectiveness. Again."
"That's the wrong program for what you're searching for. Start over."
"The bullet should have an ID stamped on it. Trace its manufacturer; find out more than you have here. Let me know when you have something I can work with."
"You're not in the mood today? Then leave. Get out until you decide to be a professional."
"In your opinion? You don't know enough to have an opinion."
The sessions were becoming more and more difficult and Dick was starting to think that the whole thing was a mistake. Maybe he should just admit he sucked at this and stop wasting their time. It was frustrating and today was like all the others. He'd go in, do his best, work his hardest, think of everything he could to make himself maybe not look like a moron this time and always fall short.
Jesus, this was a mistake.
Maybe he should just bow to the inevitable and take one of those offers he might get to become a paid to go to school jock. It had to be better than this. It sure as hell couldn't be worse.
"If that's the best you're up to this morning, I suggest you get some more sleep."
"Fuck you, Bruce, I'm busting my ass here and it's not working. This is a frigging waste of time."
The expression didn't change a bit. "If that's your attitude, you're right. You can leave whenever you want."
About to snap off a rude comeback, Dick simply turned on his heel and headed for the kitchen door and out. Screw this. He'd had it. Wayne was a nightmare and he was out of his mind to think he could do this—or even that he'd want to, let alone that he might be any good at it. He sucked. He'd always suck and he should cut his losses now. College wouldn't be so bad. He could do that. It would be fine and they'd even pay his way. UCLA had offered him a full scholarship, including room and board, so had Michigan and Ohio, for that matter. And Stanford was interested as well. He could accept any of them with a phone call.
Screw it.
That's what he'd do. He didn't need this.
"Finished early today, are you?" The old guy, Alfred, was coming out of the laundry room. "Might I get you a glass of water or a sandwich or some such?"
"No, thanks."
"Have a run in with the Master, did you?"
That stopped Dick, at least for a moment. "No more than usual. I have things to do at home."
Alfred knew what was going on. It was written on Dick's face in neon. "Will you be back?" All he got was a shrug, an appalling habit. "You do know that you're the only one Master Bruce has ever considered for the position you're preparing for? Yes, it's quite true and he made his proposal to you after a good deal of thought. He's convinced that you're the one who can do the job and won't hear anything to the contrary."
"That's not what he tells me."
"Well, no, he wouldn't now, would he? That doesn't make it any less true, however."
"He tells me I'm a complete screw up."
"I doubt very much if he uses quite that phrase, young man." Dick wasn't sure, but he might have seen a fleeting twitch of Alfred's lips. He made a joke? Damn. "I also understand he arranged for you to meet several of the other young people he occasionally works with. They mentioned to me that you seemed—likely."
Whatever that meant.
"You must understand that Mister Wayne is not an easy man to please. His standards are rather high and he would never have suggested you join him if he didn't believe you have the potential to meet them. I trust you know that."
"I don't have that long to live."
This time Alf actually gave a real smile, a small, one—no teeth, but a real smile nonetheless. "You'd be surprised. I suspect you do."
"Is he ever not like—that?"
"Rarely, in my experience. Master Bruce is somewhat single minded when he sees a goal he wishes to attain. One would be wrong to take it as a personal affront."
So this was what he had to look forward to forever? Great. "I have to get home."
Just then Bruce walked in, getting himself a bottle of water. "You'll be back tomorrow?"
"I have to work at the gym everyday. You know that."
"Next weekend, plan on putting in two full days." That was all he said before he left for a shower or something, nothing about what had just happened between them.
Jerk.
Alfred followed Dick to the back door, opening it for him. "If I may suggest, why don't you take a few days to yourself, think about what it is you'd like to accomplish and make a choice on what you know, not what your current mood dictates. We'll be here when you have a decision."
Dick gave Alfred a glance as he left. "Yeah, I'll do that."
TBC
10