Title: Man on the Bench-part four
Author: Simon
Characters: Dick Grayson and Manor crew, plus OC
Rating: PG-13
Summary: a cousin comes to visit and a shoe is thrown but doesn't drop yet.
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.
Thanks, Lisa.
The Man on the Bench
Part FourLate Monday afternoon the Simpson's SUV pulled up to the front door of the Manor to deliver Dick home. His aunt and uncle were trying for cool but impressed, as people usually were the first few times they walked into the place. Dick and the boys pulled his gear from the roof and Alfred offered refreshments while the boys went exploring. By the time they'd seen the indoor pool, set in the middle of a large plant and tree filled conservatory they were thinking that next weekend wouldn't be too hard to take.
When the kids made their was back to the informal living room (as opposed to the formal living room or the ball room), their parents were chatting with Bruce Wayne, making what sounded like small talk.
"Heavens no, he wasn't a problem at all. I wish our kids had his manners, if you want to know the truth."
"Alfred will be happy to hear that."
"Alfred?"
"He raised both of us, really. This place wouldn't be standing without him."
Pat started doing most of the talking, James just making the odd comment and looking around the room. "Well, we'd love it if Dick could come visit us at the house—no, we really would. All the boys got along so well, I know they'd all have just a great time and I'm sure they want to show him off to their friends if they get the chance."
James inspection of the room's contents done, he seemed to find his voice. "Mr. Wayne? I don't know if anyone has said anything, but the whole family is more grateful than we can say for what you've done for the boy—after everything he's been through he seems happy and remarkably well adjusted. You deserve all the credit for that."
Bruce disliked idle flattery, especially when it was being used as a build up to a dropped shoe.
James went on. "But we've all been talking, we've given it a lot of thought and we think it would be better if he was with his family now—I certainly don't mean to be presumptuous, but, well, he has a family who wants him and it's in his best interest."
The unmitigated gall of the man. "How so?"
"Excuse me?" James missed Bruce's point.
"How would removing him from a home where's he's happy and thriving be in his best interest?" Bruce's look was deceptively mild. "Your father in law made a similar comment last week and I fail to see why either of you would think I'd agree to this. Furthermore, if you were to ask Dick, I'm sure he'd have the same response."
"But, sir, surely you'd agree that a child is better off in a family with both parents present—and we're his blood relations, all we have at heart are his best interests."
For the love of God; they're going through this again. "I'll give you the same answer I gave to Mr. Lloyd; Dick has both a home and a family right here and that's not going to change in the foreseeable future. I've no objection to him having contact with you or your sons if that's what he wants, but this is his home and I'm his legal guardian. I'll take this as far as I have to ensure the status quo—am I making myself clear?"
Whatever James and Pat may have thought about Wayne's dilettante image they'd gathered from People magazine or Page Six was put paid to by sitting in the man's home and watching him at close range. He wouldn't be bullied and he would use everything at his considerable disposal to keep the boy he obviously now thought of as his son.
Pat broke the awkward silence. "I think you misunderstand us, Mr. Wayne. Honestly, we'd never do anything to harm Dick; I loved my sister very much and he's her only child, the only thing I really have left of her."
"…Dick isn't a 'thing', Mrs. Simpson, he's an adolescent child who's been through more upheaval and heart break than anyone should have to experience and I'll not allow you, or anyone, to add to that. Now, it's getting late and I'm sure you need to be getting your sons home." He pressed an intercom on his desk. "Alfred? Would you please let the boys know their parents are looking for them?"
"Sam? Do you have that brief drafted? I'd like to look it over this evening."
"I'll have it on your desk by four-thirty, Mr. Lloyd."
"Good—how does it look to you?"
"The truth? If I was a betting man I'd have to put my money on the other guy, sir."
Philip Lloyd knew that. He didn't care. "Well, maybe this will settle out of court. 'Lot less messy that way."
On Wednesday of the following week Dick was doing his homework before getting ready to let Robin fly when his phone rang.
"Hello?"
"Dick? It's Peter. I was wondering if we're still on for this weekend? Is everything cool with Bruce?"
"He said it's no problem—how are you guys getting here?"
"My parents are going to drive me down—but there's a sort of change. My brothers are busy with some scouting thing, but if it's alright, I'd still like to come.
"Yeah, sure. That would be great."
"I was hoping you'd say that. We should be there around dinnertime Friday. Is that okay?"
"It's fine—I'll see you then."
"Hey, Dick? What happened between my parents and Bruce? They were sorta weird in the car and I think they might have had some kind of argument."
"Bruce didn't say anything to me; he just asked if I'd had a good time snowboarding."
"Yeah, well, something happened."
"I don't know; sometimes if Bruce doesn't know you well he can come across a little cold, I guess. It was probably just something like that. Later."
"Yeah, maybe. Later."
God, what did Bruce do now?
After patrol, around two the next morning, Dick stopped halfway up the stairs from the cave to the house. "Hey, Bruce?"
He looked up from where he was booting the computers. "Yes?"
"I just wanted to remind you that one of my cousins is going to be here Friday for the weekend."
"So you're not going out as Robin, I take it?"
"I don't see how I can without Peter wondering where I am."
"...Fine."
"Are you sure? You were talking about Joker being out again—I could ask him to come another time if you need me."
Of course he could use Dick, but if he asked the boy to change his plans Alfred would hand him his head on a silver platter—antique and engraved. "I'll be alright on my own for two nights, Dick, don't worry about anything. Now get to bed, it's a school night."
"'K. 'Night, Bruce."
"Bruce? Do you have a minute?"
"Oh, I suppose I do. You were wondering where to get a tie that would really coordinate with that suit, weren't you? I know your wife would appreciate if you took a greater interest in…"
"Bruce, I'd like to go over a letter I just got from a law firm."
"A letter? Why would a lawyer be writing you, Lucius? Are you in some trouble?"
Lucius sighed inwardly. He knew Bruce wasn't stupid; it was just so difficult to get him to focus sometimes. "A lawyer from Lloyd and Penn in New York seems to be saying that there may be a challenge lodged against your guardianship of Dick. Do you know anything about this?"
That son of a bitch. "Good gracious, we can't have that. Do they say why they'd want to do such a thing?"
"According to this, one of the firm's senior partners is Dick's maternal grandfather and he'd like custody to be granted to either him and his wife or his married daughter. However, he indicates that he'd be willing to meet with you to avoid any unpleasantness."
"By all means, we should avoid that, yes." Bruce was seething. Even knowing this could be coming didn't make him any less angry. So—meet with the old bastard and see what his real game was. Then crush him. "I think we should set up a meeting, don't you?"
"I'll call this afternoon and let you know what they say." He was at the door when he turned back, just to make sure. "Bruce—you do realize that they may be trying some kind of a shakedown or blackmail attempt."
No kidding. "Oh, good Lord. You don't think that could be what this is all about, do you?"
An hour later Lucius knocked and walked back into Bruce's office. "That threat I told you about—that letter? We have a meeting set up for tomorrow morning, here, just you, me, a couple of your best lawyers and them. Ten o'clock."
A meeting on a Saturday morning so that as few people as possible would know about it—and while Dick and his cousin were probably either home in the pool or out on the quads tearing up the trails.
Christ.
Peter was dropped off a few minutes before five that afternoon, Pat thanking Alfred but declining any offers of rest or a cup of tea. She insisted that she really needed to get back home since she and James had a business party they couldn't possibly miss and she'd be back Sunday afternoon to get her son. If there were any problems at all, they had her number and please make sure that Peter took his allergy medicine or he'd start sneezing.
Dick showed Peter up to the guest room closest to his suite, apologizing that unless he wanted to share a bed, this was all they had.
"This is it? Dick, dude…this is like twice the size of my room at home. You think we can use that pool we saw?"
"Yeah, sure, after dinner we can do whatever you want."
Knowing that the Master would be later than his normal time, Alfred had decided to go with an easy dinner; a simple London broil and fries. The boys inhaled them in about ten minutes, along with the cake he'd made for dessert. Less than ten minutes after the last dish was cleared Peter was in the pool, Dick not far behind.
Hearing the shouts and shrieks of laughter mixed with loud splashing, Alfred made his way over to look through the glass doors to the conservatory/pool area and watched the expressions on Dick's face as he tried to show the other boy how to do a front flip into the water; happy, laughing, relaxed in a way he rarely was with the adults in the house.
This was what he needed to round out his already full life—having kids around who weren't concerned about saving the world or spending hours training; kids whose main problems revolved around math tests and whether or not the girl in the next row liked them or not.
Despite his happy, optimistic outlook on life, Master Dick always had things of such…gravity on his mind.
Even his closest friends, the Titans were usually more worried about some intergalactic threat than an English essay.
The young master needed more time to be—goodness, what was the word he was looking for? Ah, of course. He needed a way to be more carefree when he had so many cares. Perhaps the cousins were just what the doctor ordered. It was a shame that Master Bruce was caught late at the office this evening, he really should see this, he'd enjoy it so. Dick's joy had become his ever since the lad had joined them and to see him like this—shouting, laughing, splashing, the two boys chasing one another with those big water guns—he would love to see this.
After hours in the pool and Jacuzzi, the two youngsters asked for and received a large bowl of popcorn and sodas. They then spent the next several hours playing some game of mayhem and destruction on the computer followed by some horrible film that seemed, to Alfred, to consist of no plot and many loud explosions while young Master Peter complimented both Alfred and Dick on the quality of the surround sound and the ninety-six inch screen.
"God, Dick—the hell with you moving in with us—I'm moving in here!"
"Young sirs, if I may suggest; it is now after midnight and as I would presume that you have plans for the morning, you may wish to move your entertainment to the upper regions."
Peter looked blank.
"He wants us to go to bed." Dick knew twelve was early for him—and Alf knew it, too but they had to keep up the pretense and Peter was starting to slow down. It was okay—they could watch the next movie upstairs as well as they could watch it here. Within another hour they were asleep, Friday the Thirteenth still playing when Alfred went to check. Quietly he covered the boys with blankets where they lay on the floor, turning off the lights and TV as he left.
Down in the cave Bruce was staring at the documents in front of him; they were the papers awarding legal guardianship of Richard John Grayson to Bruce Thomas Wayne. The best family law attorney's he could find had drawn them up. They were iron clad when they were filed and there was no reason to think otherwise now. His lawyers had spent the afternoon going over them with the finest toothcombs they had. They were airtight. There were no hints of any impropriety beyond baseless gossip.
Lloyd's people had nothing. They were sure of it.
Philip Lloyd was bluffing. He wanted something; probably money and they'd sit down to talk in the morning.
TBC
1/21/05
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