Title: Missed
Author: Simon
Characters: Dick Grayson/Bruce and some Alfred
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Bruce misses Dick high school graduation
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.
Missed
Dick sat on the stage, waiting his turn, half listening to the speeches, ignoring the bad jokes he heard being whispered behind him and to his right. He'd been called up a few times during the evening to pick up a couple awards and he really should be paying a reasonable amount of attention. This was his high school graduation—a right of passage and all of that. It was supposed to be one of those things that you looked back on all your life, a thing of lasting memories, a milestone.
Whatever.
He'd found his 'family' out in the audience almost as soon a he'd sat down. Alfred was there, looking proud and as dignified as one would expect. Dr. Leslie was beside him, smiling and probably hoping that her beeper wouldn't go off. Donna was in the row behind them, along with Garth who said he'd never been to a graduation and that it sounded like it might be interesting. Evidently, no one told him that he was in for a long and fairly tedious evening. Wally might show up, or not. You never really knew with him and Roy was still in the last stages of detox, so he was otherwise engaged.
The chair next to Alfred was empty and while he was trying not to be disappointed, Dick wasn't really surprised.
Bruce was the head of a multi billion-dollar worldwide corporation. He was busy, he was important and he was the Batman.
This was small potatoes.
Like birthday parties and science fairs, like high school track meets and school plays and parent/teacher conferences; this was shuffled to the back burner and low on the list of priorities.
Dick knew that and he even understood it. He really did, no question. This was nothing, just a boring evening, a contrived and clichéd family photo op and he'd have skipped it himself, if he could.
But Bruce had said that he'd be there. They'd reserved a seat for him and he had promised—just this morning at breakfast, he'd said he'd be there tonight, come hell or high water.
As usual, something must have come up. It happened a lot and Dick was well used to vacations being cancelled while they were on the way to the airport and dinners eaten alone. That was Bruce, he was busy, he was in demand and there were only so many hours in a day.
It wasn't like this had never happened before or like it wouldn't happen again. It would and Dick knew that. Alfred knew it, too and so did Leslie.
It was just the way it was.
But his real parents would have been there—and it was pointless to even go there.
He stood up with the rest of his row, green graduation gown hung with the gold cords showing he was a member of the National Honor Society and mortar board with tassel in place. He walked across the stage when he name was called, accepted his diploma, smiled, shook the principal's hand and sat back down.
He was done.
Ninety minutes later, after the hugs and the snapshots and a couple of presents—a big dictionary from Leslie, a very good gold pocket watch from Alfred and flowers from Donna, Dick was sitting at the computer console down in the cave; just another night at the office, when Bruce walked down the stairs looking like Alfred had torn a strip off of him—and probably had.
"Ah, Dick…"
"…Bruce."
"Look, I'm sorry about tonight. I was planning on being there, I was looking forward to it, but there was a report Joker had broken out again and…"
"It's okay, don't worry about it."
"I'll make it up to you."
Dick's eyes were focused on the screen, he hadn't bothered to turn around when Bruce came in. "It doesn't matter, don't bother. So is he out or was it a false report?" On to business. What was past was past and all that.
A brief pause, maybe the space of one breath and Bruce stood beside him. "It was a mistake, just a wrong head count in his cell block."
Dick nodded. "So what's on for tonight, anything interesting?"
"I thought we might take the night off—things are pretty quiet right now."
That caused Dick to finally look at the man, "There's no reason to make anything up to me, I told you that. It's not important."
Alfred had made a silent point of showing Bruce the certificates and medals Dick had been awarded at the ceremony earlier which were tossed haphazardly onto the kitchen table along with his diploma and the tassels and mentioned that his was the only empty chair in the crowded auditorium, something Dick hadn't missed—nor had anyone else who was there. "Well, fine, but I still have a graduation present for you. Something I thought you might enjoy." He put his hand on Dick's shoulder, gave it a small squeeze. "C'mon, it's upstairs." He actually smiled some encouragement at the boy, hoping to diffuse some of the hurt he seemed to have caused.
Dick hesitated a moment, obviously not wanting to deal with this right now, but then deciding to just get it over with. He stood up and climbed the stairs, Bruce a couple of steps behind him.
He'd open whatever expensive thing Bruce picked out, thank him and get back to work. Simple. It wasn't like it hadn't happened before and wouldn't again—just a day in the life…
"Where?"
"Out front, come with me." Bruce flipped a couple of light switches by the door, turning on the outside floodlights and opening the door to reveal a new Porsche Boxter, racing green and probably loaded, knowing Bruce. Fifty thousand, easy, probably more.
Running his hand along one of the front fenders, Dick had to admit it was a beautiful machine, sleek, engineered to within an inch of it's life, fast and would be almost as much fun as sex to drive the thing, but…
Whatever.
"It's great, Bruce, thanks."
"…What? You don't like the color? We'll change it in the morning, anything you want—wait; you'd rather have the Z? I'll call Johnny and…"
"The car's great, Bruce."
"Is there something else you'd rather have?"
Dick bit back the snotty retort that had come to mind and shifted his attitude a bit, all in about two seconds. "Yeah, there is, as a matter of fact." He came around from the far side of the car to stand in front of Bruce. "I'd like to go somewhere, just the two of us, for a couple of weeks—the mountains, the shore, it doesn't matter. I'd like to just spend some time together before I leave for college." Bruce had this look on his face like he wasn't sure what Dick was talking about. "That's what I want; two weeks. In fact, send the car back, I can't take it to school anyway. Just give me what I want. You pick the place."
"…When?"
"Between now and mid August; that's when I have to leave for orientation. Sooner would be better since I'm starting that internship with Congressman Walters in three weeks."
The next month or so was packed solid with meetings and negations about that big merger—Bruce knew he was swamped. And there was a rumor that Harvey Dent might have teamed up with some new guy with unknown abilities and…hell. This was the worst possible time for Dick to ask something like this. He knew what was going on, he knew how busy the next six weeks or so were and…
Dick saw what was going through Bruce's mind, his smile back in place. "It's okay. Like I said, it's not important. Thanks for the car." The boy—the young man started back up the steps to the front door, two steps at a time.
"Dick, we'll go before you leave for Hudson. You have my word."
He paused for a moment, his hand on the knob. "Yeah, sure, no problem."
Bruce followed him back into the house, but Dick had disappeared by the time Bruce shut the door. Searching, Bruce found Alfred in the kitchen, wiping down the spotless counter one more time before going to bed.
"You hurt him. You're aware of that, aren't you?" It wasn't like Alfred to either criticize Bruce or to speak so bluntly.
"It wasn't intentional. I had to make sure the prison was secured and then I happened on a robbery in progress in the diamond district. There was nothing I could do."
"Of course there was. You could have allowed the uniformed officers to do their jobs without your assistance this one time. As it is, I fear you've done more harm than good this evening. I strongly suggest you see what you can do about repairing the damage." Folding the cloth he was using, Alfred put it down next to the sink. A lapse in housekeeping that told Bruce just how upset the man really was.
"I'll talk to him."
"I suggest you do more than just talk to the young Master. Now if you'll excuse me, Sir, I wish to retire."
Jesus.
Turning out the lights as he moved through the old house, Bruce found himself standing in front of Dick's bedroom door. Well, that was a misnomer, really; it was a suite with a large sitting room, the bedroom with a large walk in closet that was bigger than the trailer Dick had lived in with his parents and a large private bathroom was included for good measure. There was music coming through the thick oak door, though Bruce didn't recognize the band.
His hand paused then knocked. There was no response. He tried again. Still nothing.
"Dick?"
"Dick, are you in there?"
"Dick, I'd like to speak with you."
Nothing.
He opened the door, feeling slightly guilty at the invasion of Dick's privacy. The lights were on, the music playing, the computer booted and some screen saver was running—a computerized underwater scene.
Dick wasn't there. The bedroom was empty, as was the bathroom. The large window was ajar, though, and it wouldn't be the first time Dick had snuck out at night. Turning the music off, Bruce heard what sounded like the Ducati pealing down the gravel. Dick would return when he felt like it and not before.
Hell.
Going back down to the cave, Bruce initiated the tracking chip he'd installed on the bike, expecting to see a moving blip on the screen. Nothing. Apparently Dick had found the thing and disabled it.
Damn.
Flipping another couple of switches, he called up the chip he'd had embedded in Dick's driver's license and saw a stationary bead of light on the screen, dead center. Evidently he'd gone out and left the license sitting on his bureau or something. That was it, the only thing he could do now to find the boy would be to call his cell or one of the JLA or Titan members and he'd really rather avoid that, if at all possible. No reason to get worked up just yet. Dick was probably just blowing off some steam, maybe going to see one of the Titans to talk things over.
Sure, that's where he was; he was probably just going over to a friend's house or the Tower. Of course. Dick had too much sense to do anything stupid or rash. He'd do some venting, take some time to put things in perspective, come home and he'd be fine.
Busying himself with some file updates and pretending to be involved in some reports that had come in from Australia, the hours crept by. Sure, Bruce could have called Dick's cell phone, the one he was under strict orders to have on him, charged and turned on, at all times—he could do that, but then Dick would know he was worried and…
He didn't call.
Dick would be back when he'd calmed himself down, one way or another. Besides, it was always easier to talk to the boy when he wasn't upset.
By five-thirty in the morning it was starting to look like Dick wouldn't be back that night and Batman had stayed home to be there when his son finally got back. No, not his son, not really.
Well, yes, his son in all the ways that mattered. He might not be the best father in the world, but he was the one Dick had landed with after his own had been killed.
Over the years Bruce had thought about John and Mary Grayson more than he would care to admit. He'd read that a child's basic personality was set by the time they were about three or four years old and Dick's happiness, his innate joy stemmed from years before he'd stepped foot inside of the Manor and the two men who'd raised him there had nothing to do about that.
How could he not make comparisons between himself and the part John Grayson had in the molding of their son? They both loved the boy, both men saw the potential, the talent, the intelligence and just how exceptional the boy was—even having never met the man, Bruce knew Dick's real father had known what he had in the boy; it would be impossible not to know.
But if his parents hadn't been murdered what would he have become, a circus flyer? An Olympic champion? Would he have continued to tour or would he have finally tired of it, gone to college, moved to Europe to be with his relatives there? Maybe he'd have married young or dropped out, been seduced by the lowlifes who frequented the fringes of the world he and his family moved in. Maybe he'd have broken a leg or his back—maybe he'd have been killed in a car wreck, maybe he'd have—what? Maybe he'd have had a sex change operation, maybe he'd have joined a cult, maybe he'd have become a drug addict….maybe, could have happened, you never know…
But he hadn't.
He'd moved into the Manor, gone to the best private schools in the east, become Robin, traveled in circles most kids—hell, most people, dreamed about. He was world famous. He was respected as both a professional and as a personality in his own right. He could do anything he wanted, go anywhere, meet anyone.
There were no limits.
It occurred to him that Dick wasn't the only kid in his graduating class not to make it home tonight; of course, though most of them were at parties, private or otherwise and Dick was—where? Riding the bike alone? Maybe, possibly with a couple of the other Titans? That was another one of the sacrifices he'd made when he'd moved into the Manor. He'd been an outgoing kid with more friends than he could count when he'd lived with the circus. He'd lost them along with his parent's deaths, along with the loss of the only home he'd known up until that time.
With the move he'd gained a home, a new way of life, financial security, a new 'family', a new career.
Yes, but he'd lost—so much. And a large circle of friends was one of the casualties.
As far as Bruce knew, the boy had made no close friends from his nine years at the private school he'd attended. Sure, there were kids he'd talk to and occasionally—very occasionally—go to a movie with, but the days when he knew he was welcomed to sit at a table and eat lunch with almost anyone he wanted had ended when he was eight. There were too many secrets to keep, too much at stake to risk it for something as superficial as acquaintances.
Jesus, why hadn't he ever realized this? Over the years people had tried to tell him; Alfred had said as much more than once. Clark had done the same, so had Diana and Barry but he'd never paid any attention to them. Dick was fine, thriving, happy—it was clear to anyone; he was always so happy. Well, most of the time, anyway.
There were times when a dark mood would take over and the sadness and loss that was usually held securely at bay would come out and he'd hole up in his room or work himself to exhaustion in the gym or on one of the bikes—listening to music, throwing routines or riding for hours on either a horse or a motorcycle, wanting solitude. The mood would always pass fairly quickly, though and he'd walk into the room with his usual smile and another bad joke.
Bruce wasn't all that sure Dick had even wanted to go to Hudson, when you came down to it.
Over the last few months he'd had the feeling—not that Dick would ever say anything—that he would rather just skip the whole college thing.
Of course Bruce had never asked and Dick had never initiated that conversation. But Dick was strong-minded; if he didn't want to go to Hudson, he'd have said something, right?
But Dick wanted Bruce's approval. He'd have kept any second thoughts to himself.
College was where the boy belonged, no question. With his intelligence and that mind he had—he needed the stimulation, the challenge, the intellectual outlet and interaction with other bright young people that a good school would give him. It was the right thing for him and if he didn't fully realize that now, he would in time and come to appreciate what a college education gave him.
Of course he would. He would even have a good time, meet new people, and maybe even find himself a girlfriend.
This was the right thing for him to do.
It was. Bruce was sure of it. Besides, if he didn't go to school, what would he do? Yes. He was still Robin, but that wasn't a full time job and even if it was Dick needed to get out of the spandex now and then to do the other things he loved—ride his motor cycle, see his friends, take a walk along the beach, ski, travel, sit in his room alone with a book. He simply needed more than the costume gave him and college would help him get that.
He'd talk to Alfred in the morning when the old man was calmed down. Sure, he might have been able to get to the ceremony, but Dick understood that he had a lot of demands on his time, a lot of responsibilities. Dick knew that what they did was important and he knew better than to think Bruce would leave mid-case for personal business.
Dick knew that. He understood.
He got up from the computer consol, making his way up the stairs to the main house.
Dick was on a rock outcropping close enough to the breaking surf that he could feel the mist, but far enough away that he wasn't going to fall in or get completely soaked.
So why the hell was he even upset? What had he expected?
Did he really think, were there actually a few brain cells in his skull that believed Bruce would show up at that dumbass graduation, slap him on the back, maybe throw his arms around him in a suitably restrained man to man hug and tell him that he was proud? Maybe he'd pull that family heirloom watch from his pocket and point out the new engraving celebrating the date, his paternal pride showing while he handed it over—passing the torch to a new generation. Better yet, maybe he'd stand up at the small yet tasteful gathering back at the manor and tell all the family, all the close friends how much it meant to him all these years to have Dick as a son, a student learning the family craft at his shoulder.
What was that old expression his grandfather had used? Right, that was the one; 'All you can expect from a pig is a grunt'.
Yeah, well, there you go.
Fuck it—what had he expected, anyway?
This was Bruce.
Bruce, who missed the fourth grade play because of a board meeting. Bruce, who missed so many parent/teacher conferences that the school thought Alfred was his father. Bruce, who more than once had to ask Alfred what he was giving Dick for Christmas. Bruce, who spent every minute they weren't on the slopes during that big ski trip last year on the computer checking his e-mail and the prices on the Dow. All the track meets no one had been there, all the school plays and science fairs, all the birthday's that were forgotten because Riddler or Joker or someone was out causing trouble again, all the kid's overnights with friends he couldn't go on because he had to train early or watch Batman's back at three in the morning.
What had he expected?
Then he pulled his thoughts up short. This wasn't his style, he was tougher than this.
C'mon, Grayson—cut the pity wallow—it's boring. You know what Bruce is like, you know what his priorities are and you know he loves you in his own fucked up way. Plus you know that, other than completely skipping the whole thing with the dead parents and being an orphan—which all pretty much sucked; other than that whole chapter in your life, there really wasn't anything from the last decade or so you'd change when you considered the way things had run their course.
Sure it would have been incredible to still be with the parents, but with that not an option; would you really change much? Would you give up being Robin? Maybe you'd like to have missed knowing and leading the Titans? Perhaps you'd like to take a pass on living in the Manor and all those perks—well, alright, maybe that wasn't everything it was cracked up to be, but it wasn't half bad, either. And knowing Alfred made up for a lot, and Barbara and the others. Hells bells; Superman was an actual friend now, someone you could pick up the phone and talk to pretty much whenever you want—that wasn't too shabby.
Hey, when you love someone, you take the good with the bad. You accept someone the way they are.
Right? Of course you do, that was the way it was supposed to work.
But…
Tonight was high school graduation, a milestone and all that crap—grow the hell up, Grayson. Did you think he'd be holding your hand all your life? He knew you could deal on your own; that was one of the main reasons he took you on to begin with and you've both known that from the start.
Expecting Bruce to pick something like the graduation over crime busting was like expecting it to rain up. It wasn't going to happen and he was old enough now to know that and suck it up. He was. He knew Bruce well enough to know…
But it had been his graduation and he'd won all those dumbass awards and he'd wanted Bruce to be there—just this once—to see him and be proud. He had, he'd wanted that, not the stupid car. He wanted Bruce to be there for him this time.
And the kicker was that he knew Bruce loved him—in his screwed up way. Just like he loved Bruce.
No, that wasn't true. He didn't love Bruce the same. He thought that maybe he loved Bruce more because he didn't make a secret of it. He didn't hide it behind walls and indecipherable codes and fear. He just plain loved the man who had taken him in and given him a home and a way to channel the rage and terror and turn it into something positive. Okay, so Bruce missed the small stuff, but he was there for the really big things—like saving his life when he was ready to climb the circus ropes and throw himself down so he could join his parents lying on the ground instead of living without them. …Like giving him Robin and never—not once—missing a catch from the jump lines or a call to save his ass when Two Face or Joker or Catwoman had him tied up again.
But his parents would have been there for the ceremony and the school plays and the track meets and his life would have been miles different if…
If.
If things had been different.
If they hadn't been killed.
If Bruce hadn't taken him in.
If Bruce Wayne wasn't Batman.
If he hadn't been athletic enough or smart enough to pull off the character and the persona of Robin.
If Bruce hadn't trusted him with the secret.
If his parents hadn't died.
But the Graysons had died, Dick's life was destroyed; Bruce had taken him in and done his best to raise him and train him. He'd given him back purpose and trust and self-confidence and that was more than he'd ever done for anyone before or since. Bruce, despite himself had made sure that Dick still knew he was important to someone.
Bruce sucked at being a parent, he didn't know what he was doing and he screwed it up more often than he got it right, but Bruce had still—did still love him and Dick knew that as much as he knew anything.
Dick shivered as a large dose of spray from a big wave caught him unawares. He was cold and his butt hurt from sitting on the rock and this wasn't accomplishing anything anyway. Standing up a little stiffly, he went back to where he'd left the bike; the refurbished Ducati Bruce had given him for his seventeenth birthday. God, he'd been so thrilled when he was led out to the garage and shown the covered machine over in the corner. It was beautiful, perfect and Bruce had known that it was exactly right.
The engine's roar was satisfying over the ocean's competing noise and he headed back, savoring the speed and movement, the soaring and the wind.
It was dawn when he pulled the bike back into its regular space and walked into the main house through the kitchen, too early for even Alfred to be up on a weekend. He was tired, looking forward to his bed, to warmth and sleep and starting over when he'd gotten some rest and could think.
He was about to start up the stairs when he heard the sound from the study. It was something on the TV, but Bruce never watched TV—hated it, in fact.
Bruce was sitting on the leather couch, feet up, remote in hand, eyes on the screen. A shaky, amateur home video shot of Dick standing up, crossing the stage and accepting an award certificate from the Principal was playing, the sound tinny, but the applause was clear.
Sensing someone else in the room, Bruce turned his head. "Alfred taped this last night and I was just…" He gestured to the screen. Dick sat on the arm at the far end of the couch. "I'm sorry I missed that. I meant to be there, but…" He trailed off. "…You know."
"Yeah, I know." The ceremony played in the background. "It's okay. You were doing what you had to."
Bruce watched for a couple of minutes as Dick got up to receive his diploma. "I thought we could go to the place down in the Bahamas, if you'd like that. Maybe next week—?"
"We don't have to go anywhere, Bruce. I'm fine staying around here."
"I promised we'd go."
"I know, but it doesn't matter anymore." Bruce shot him a sharp look, trying to figure out what he meant by that. "It doesn't, really. Look, we'll go over Christmas break, alright? That will give you time to clear your schedule."
"But you said that you wanted to spend time together before you left for Hudson."
"I know what I said, but it's fine—Christmas will be fine."
Something in Bruce's demeanor relaxed. "You're not upset about my missing your graduation?"
"Oh, I'm still pissed, but I know you tried to get there—well, sort of, anyway.
It's just, I don't know, it's alright. You've been there for bigger things."
"Dick…?" Bruce didn't get it, but he'd take it. "…Are you really good with this?"
He managed a half of a small and tired smile. "Well, I'll keep the car, but yeah, I'm over it."
"But…?"
"Bruce, you missed the graduation and you've missed a whole shit load of things I would have liked you to have been at, but you still made it for more important things and so it all evens out. Just go with it."
"I'm not sure I underst…"
"Just go with it, Bruce."
"Dick…?"
"You didn't completely blow it, okay? Leave it at that." Dick stood up, crossed to where Bruce was sitting, leaned down and kissed the man on the cheek. "I'm tired; I'm going up for some sleep but later we'll take the Boxter for a test drive, okay?" He headed out the door, leaving it opened behind him.
Not completely understanding what had just happened, Bruce nodded then turned back to the screen to see the rest of the ceremony he'd missed.
12/23/04
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