Holy Makeovers!
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing except the Winslows, the glasses and the wedding rings. But I don't even mention the rings in this story so why I'm telling you that is beyond me.
Dick dialed the number and waited for Alfred to pick up. It wasn't a very long wait.
"Wayne residence."
"Relax, it's me. I just wanted to let you know that I'm staying at Grace's for dinner tonight. Her mom invited me."
"And did you not think it necessary to ask permission first?"
"Please?"
"Of course you may, Master Dick."
"That's why I didn't bother asking—you always say yes!"
"Don't get overconfident now, Master Dick. One of these days I just might say 'no'."
"Okay, I won't. Will you pick me up at seven?"
"'Please?'"
"Please will you pick me up at seven?"
"Very well, Master Dick. I shall see you at seven."
"Great! Bye!"
Dick hung up and turned around, telling his best (and only) friend, Grace Winslow, that everything was set at home.
"Good!" cried Grace, bouncing a little. "Mom says that dinner will be ready in about an hour. Want to play Monopoly® in my room while we're waiting?"
"Do you have Clue®?"
"Yes."
"Can we play that instead? I know all the rules to that one and it doesn't take three days to finish a match."
"Good point," Grace giggled. Ever since she and Dick had become friends, she seemed to be laughing a lot, much to her mother's delight. Because she was half-Shoshone, the other kids had teased her and Grace had always been a sort of outcast at school and a loner in everything else as a result. But now, her life was changing so fast she almost didn't know what to do with it all.
It was the same way with Dick. To think, a short month ago he had known nothing but coldness and teasing and heartache, yet now, he had friends, a home, a family and—most importantly—love.
Dick and Grace pounded up the stairs to her bedroom. It wasn't really very frilly or 'girlie' at all. The desk was a finely-polished oak, as was all the other furniture in the room. A '98 windows computer sat on that desk, as well as several framed pictures of her family. Over the desk hung a bulletin board, covered with notes, month-old shopping lists and pictures Grace had drawn over the years. It was a very nice room, not fancy or large, but nice just the same.
Grace opened the door to her closet, pulled a stool out from seemingly nowhere and grabbed the Clue® box off the top shelf. She clambered down and began spreading the board and pieces out on the floor. Halfway through, she said, "Hey, where's Miss Scarlet? I think we've lost her."
"Well, play without her then," Dick suggested. "I'll just remove her card from the deck and we'll play like normal."
"But she's my favorite character! I always play with her!" cried Grace.
Sighing, Dick gave in. "Then let's find you precious Miss Scarlet. It's gotta be somewhere around here..."
"Oh. Never mind—she was stuck under the board the whole time," his opponent giggled sheepishly. Dick glared at her with one of those 'if looks could kill' stares. Grace stared back, then said rather suddenly, "Take off your glasses."
"What?!"
"You heard me."
"Yeah, but... my glasses?!"
"Just do it before I yank them off you!" she threatened in an unusual burst of violence.
Dick complied, blinking at the sudden blurriness of the world.
"Your eyes are blue," Grace announced.
"Oh, gee, really? Thanks for the news bulletin. I hadn't noticed," Dick muttered, replacing the glasses.
"No, I mean really blue. Not like some gray-blues I've seen."
"And your point is...?"
"My point," said Grace. "Is that you'd look much better if I made you over."
Dick just stared, disbelief evident on his face. Finally, he yelled, "No way!"
"What? I can do it!" Grace insisted, her excitement increasing at an alarming rate. "My mother is a hair-stylist, and I'm sure with a new 'do and contact lenses—"
"What the heck makes you think I'd trust you with a pair of scissors in your hands?" Dick crossed his arms.
"I've seen my mother do it all the time. If she can do it, why can't I?" Grace continued.
"So what if your mother can do it? My mother used to be a dental hygienist and you wouldn't trust me with a drill in my hand, would you?!" Dick told her.
"This is different. Making over isn't dangerous."
"That's what YOU think!"
"Come on, Dickie, please? You'd look good with a little doing over."
"Absolutely no! What are you, insane?"
Grace giggled, a sudden idea forming in her head. She promptly asked him if he was afraid of her, to which Dick vehemently said 'no'.
"Then prove it," she dared.
Dick suddenly realized that he had put his foot in his mouth. And this time, there was no extracting it.
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About a half-hour later, Grace had combed and trimmed her friend's hair to what she considered 'perfection'. Dick considered it 'sabotage'.
"I looked fine before," he complained, looking at himself in the bathroom mirror. "Now I look like one of the guys from that show... what was it? The one when all the people called the main characters 'long-haired weirdoes'?!"
"I don't think that's bad at all," Grace said. She placed her hands on her hips and looked Dick over with the air of someone who knew what they were doing (which she didn't). All she was aware of was that the Harry Potter look had just been replaced with a Davy Jones cut. "You look much handsomer now."
"I liked my hair the way it was."
Grace ignored him. "And now for the glasses!"
"No way!" Dick protested, holding his glasses on to his head. "You aren't cutting my glasses up the way you scalped my hair!"
"I meant that you're going to wear contacts from now on," Grace said.
Dick didn't reply. Those glasses had belonged to his father, and were almost the only thing that he had to remember John Grayson by. He had worn the glasses all the time, except while performing on the trapeze, of course.
But it had been months since his parents had died. It was time to move on and to finally, truly start again. But, how could he give up his father's glasses? I can, Dick thought determinedly. And I will.
"Okay, Grace," Dick sighed, feeling his throat catch a little. Still unwavering in his decision, he pulled off the glasses and gently placed them on the edge of the sink. "You win. Just help me put them on; I can't see a thing."
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At precisely seven P.M., Alfred—for lack of a visible doorbell—knocked on the Winslows front door. A woman he recognized as Mrs. Winslow opened it.
"Oh, hello! Please come in."
"Thank you."
As Mrs. Winslow shut the door, she added, "I presume you're here for Dick."
"You presume correctly, Madam."
"I'll get him for you... and I think he and Grace have a little, um, 'surprise' for you."
"Master Dick behaved himself, didn't he?" Alfred asked warily.
"Oh, yes, of course! Dickie's such a good boy—he always behaves himself. No, I think you'll like this surprise!"
Just then, the two grown-ups heard a very loud voice that could only belong to Dick. He was saying something that sounded like "NO! You can dye my hair purple and paint my nails to match if you want to, but you are NOT punching holes in ANYTHING!"
Mrs. Winslow looked uneasy as she said, "At least... I think you'll like it."
Just as she was about to go upstairs and make sure everything was still in one piece, Dick came dashing down the stairs at top speed with Grace not far behind. At first sight of Alfred, he cried, "Save me! Hide me, quick!!"
Dick ducked behind Alfred's legs and tried to escape from Grace, who appeared to be holding something very sharp in her hand. Mrs. Winslow quickly grabbed her daughter and removed the object. Dick finally stopped running and heaved a great sigh of relief. Now that the boy wasn't moving, Alfred took a good look at him and nearly had a heart attack.
"Master Dick? Is that you?"
Dick frowned up at the older man. "Is it that bad?"
"On the contrary!" was all Alfred could manage to say.
"So it's good then?"
"I told you that you looked good," said Grace smugly.
"And indeed you were right, young lady, and I'm sure Master Bruce will agree when he sees what you've done," Alfred stated. Dick just smiled.
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As things turned out, Bruce wasn't home when they arrived. Dick had found a note on the kitchen table, saying that he had some emergency business meeting to attend.
Meetings, meetings and more meetings, Dick thought with a sigh as he flopped onto his bed. Bruce is always at these stupid meetings! Why don't they just leave him alone, for crying out loud?!
Dick wasn't usually this selfish, but it would have been nice to see Bruce more often than two minutes a day. Or less, if he was on a business trip.
Finally, after what seemed like forever, he heard what sounded like a car pulling up to the front of the house. After checking out his bedroom window, Dick hurried out of his room (slamming the door very loudly behind him), mounted the banister and slid down it as quickly as he could. Then, before Alfred could beat him to the punch, Dick swung the door open and leapt into Bruce's arms.
"Your back!" he cried excitedly.
"Whoa, take it easy there, chum! You're liable to—"
Bruce stopped short and gaped in shock at Dick's beaming face. Those annoying glasses? Gone, and replaced with big, bright blue eyes. The shaggy hair that never seemed to be in the same place twice? Replaced with a neat head of hair that gleamed in the bright moonlight.
Slowly, the look of shock on Bruce's face turned into a slight grin as he asked, "Alright, who are you and what have you done with my ward?"
"Bruce! You know it's me!" Dick giggled.
"Of course I do. But what happened? You look a bit different than when I left here... we wouldn't be on Candid Camera, would we?"
"NO," Dick said, his smile growing wider. "We are NOT—unless Alfred arranged it without my knowing about it, that is."
"I, Master Dick?" Alfred questioned innocently.
"Well," said Bruce. "Let's get inside. I get the feeling I'm in for a very interesting story."
"You bet!" agreed Dick.
The End
Okay, I can pretty much guarantee that this is my last Bat-story for a while. I'm busy with quite a bit of original fiction on another site, not to mention a couple of Star Trek things. But I'll come back eventually--I have at least five ideas (okay, ten) for Batman stories which I'll get around to writing and finishing someday.