"No, whatever he's up to, it's bigger than a ransom." Bruce Wayne, clothed in a simple robe…his other outfits having been forcibly removed from his grasp by a very irate Alfred when he had tried to get up and back to work… sat back against the pillows piled up behind him in his extremely oversized bed. He had awakened from his unconscious state early that morning, only hours after he had been found. Though he had a small amount of short-term memory loss, only the few minutes leading up to the explosion in the factory, the common consensus among the Bat-clan was that he must have been hit in the head by the falling debris after narrowly escaping the blast itself. The Joker, who would have wanted to stick around and see if he had finally managed to kill the Batman, probably had decided it was more fun to prolong the death and had carried him off to the funhouse to die more painfully in a vat of hydrochloric acid. The remnant of cape and cowl left on the scene must have simply been trapped too tightly so Joker had ripped it off.
"Well, no kidding. But the question is can we stop him before he pulls it off?" Dick sprawled in a plush chair nearby. He hadn't said anything about Batman's near death…there had been too many of them over the years to really get worked up over each and every one of them…but he was still shaken up enough to want to stick around for awhile. He knew there wouldn't be any "bonding" or "quality-time"… Bruce was too good at closing people out. But they could work on this case… puzzle it out like the "old days".
"No, the question is what is he up to? We can't stop him if we don't know that." Dick rolled his eyes. Trust Bruce to have to have the last word in any argument.
"Well, we know his formula can cause comas, he said as much himself, plus Babs said the hospitals were starting to see a bunch of cases…mostly homeless people, which could explain the delay…no one to notice them…but there were a lot of police hit at the funhouse last night, too. We need to get the antidote over to them and…
"There isn't one."
"What?"
"An antidote…I haven't been able to create one." Dick stared at him in disbelief.
"But…Cass got hit, and you brought her out of it."
"I used a basic all-purpose type of formula, based on properties common in Joker's creations. But I'm not sure that that's what caused her to wake. The chemical only got into her system by being on the razor card Joker threw. It's possible that there wasn't enough on it to maintain a constant catatonic state. Or, it could be that the toxin isn't as potent unless it's inhaled…not a likely scenario, but a possibility nonetheless. The chemical was too decomposed in her system…it seems that it was able to be broken down in Cassandra's blood, even as it still affected her, so that any attempts to develop a cure from a victim won't work. We have to get a sample of the formula itself."
"Great. No problem. Piece of cake. Really." Bruce simply waited for Dick to finish his rant. Something was teasing the back of his mind…something that he should recall, that could help break this case. But, of course, try as he might, he couldn't get a solid grasp on it. Unfortunately, while his was a mind that was very good at single-minded pursuit, it wasn't very good at going on to other tasks in the hope that it would just come to him.
"Good morning, Master Bruce, Master Richard." Alfred's cheerful tone caused the two addressees to exchange a wry glance. Alfred always seemed sunniest when one or more of them were unable to go out on Bat business. Of course, that was with the ever so minor condition that they were still alive, and not too beat up, to try to go out at night.
"Morning, Alfred." Bruce's voice descended closer to Batman's gravel. Too often, it seemed, Alfred's pleasure mirrored Bruce's displeasure. In this case his incapacitation was going to hamper the search for Joker.
"Hey Alfred." Dick, on the other hand, appeared to enjoy the subtle clash of wills between the two men who were like fathers to him. Alfred was carrying a tray laden with foodstuffs that smelled absolutely divine. "Got any more downstairs?" the question was accompanied by a suspiciously puppy-like look that had never yet failed to get him his way.
"Of course, sir. I have laid out a full breakfast in the dining room. Although I believe Master Timothy is probably demolishing it as we speak."
"Tim's here?" That was odd. Tim had returned home after Batman had woken up in the early predawn hours. Dick had figured he'd still be sleeping.
"I didn't ask, but I got the impression he is still suffering from familial issues." Dick considered, then nodded. Yeah, poor kid. He probably needed some good old-fashioned brotherly tormenting to pull him out of the doldrums. Having made up his mind, he sprung agilely out of the chair.
"Don't give him too easy a time, Alfred" he called over his shoulder as he made his way out of the room. Bruce simply grunted, receding back into his dour mood, but Alfred smiled at the younger man's high spirits.
"They shouldn't have been out there, Alfred." He received only silence for his trouble, and he interpreted it as disapproval. "They shouldn't have been fighting Joker. Especially Batgirl, she wasn't supposed to…"
"What should or should not have happened is irrelevant, Master Bruce." Alfred cut him off. "What has happened, happened. Now we can learn from mistakes, but we cannot undo the past." Bruce regarded him steadily.
"I would have thought you, of all people, would have been backing me up on this."
"I have never quite approved of your nightly activities, sir, you know that. But over the years I have come to see that they may indeed be necessary. If not for Gotham, then at least for you and…" he sighed, "and those who work with you." The last part was added with great reluctance. "Though I am loathe to admit it, having been against the thought of children going out and fighting crime from the beginning, I cannot deny that it has had a strangely positive effect. I cannot like the pain, and the losses of Master Jason and Miss Stephanie are obviously tragedies from which I hardly expected to recover. Yet I see a light in these young people…they have taken the pain and sorrow of the world and are working to better it. They know, perhaps more than you realize, the risks involved, and yet they continue.
You blame yourself for the deaths of Miss Stephanie and Master Jason, but I feel that without your guidance, they would have perished long before they did, or perhaps they would have lead somewhat longer but harsher lives, possibly turning into the very beings you pursue on a nightly basis. Master Richard brought a light into this house that hadn't been seen for years, shining even through his own tragedies. Miss Cassandra was brought into the fold by Miss Barbara, but her enthusiasm is surpassed only by her skills. Master Timothy sought you out, determined that the legend of Batman and Robin not die. This only speaks to the fact that your mission is important, that it is working, no matter how I may despise the effects it has on you. I cannot feel any joy at facing broken bones and bloodied wounds. It nearly destroys me when any of you come to harm. And the emotional traumas… the distance you have placed upon yourself from the rest of the human race is something that I would gladly demolish if given the opportunity.
But Gotham needs Batman, and, as much as I may regret it, Batman needs his partners. Robin, Batgirl, Nightwing, Oracle. Take away their quest and you destroy them. Much as it would destroy you, I imagine." He finished his impassioned speech quietly and set the tray on the table next to the bed. Then he turned and walked silently from the room, leaving Bruce with a great deal to think about.
The room was silent, almost depressingly so. Tim sat at the large dining room table wondering why Alfred had put out so much food for just him. He also wondered why exactly he had come to the Manor this early after getting in so late last night. Probably, he decided, because he had heard his dad and Dana arguing…about him no doubt…before Dana had left the apartment and his dad had relocked the door to his room. He pushed some scrambled eggs around his plate with his fork absently, his head cradled in his other hand.
"Why Timothy Drake, I'm shocked! Positively discombobulated! Elbows on the table, young man?! What kind of manners are those? I'm…I'm so proud." Tim didn't move from his slumped position, though he did roll his eyes, as Dick sat down in the chair next to him, wiping away an imaginary tear. At least one of them seemed to have a good appetite, he noted, as Dick began piling food on his plate with gusto. Maybe that's why Alfred had made so much… he sighed, and instantly regretted it.
"Ooh, I think wittle Timmy needs some cheering up!" Dick immediately reached out with his spoon and collected a large glob of jelly…grape jelly, if you can believe it…and aimed the loaded spoon at Tim's head. "I'll give you ten seconds to come up with a funny joke or else …" Tim raised an eyebrow.
"Yeah right. I don't know what Alfred would do to someone who got grape jelly all over the formal dining room, but I don't think it would be pretty."
"That's why you'd better start talking, junior."
"No way. You'd never do it." Dick pulled back the head of the spoon in preparation.
"This is you last chance!"
"I'm calling your bluff, bro."
"Five…four…three…"
"Don't you dare!"
"Two…one…fire!" Tim ducked, dreading the sound of a purple splat on the wall behind him, but none came. He peered over the edge of the table suspiciously. Seeing the gooey mass still on Dick's spoon he straightened.
"I knew you'd never do it." Unfortunately it seemed that his tone was just a tad too smug for Dick's tastes. Even as the words left his mouth the purple gel spattered across his face, dripping off his nose. He blinked, wiping his face with his hand, and stared in dumb shock at the grape jelly that came off on his fingers. He looked back up at Dick, a strange light in his eye.
"Now wait a second… don't forget Alfred! Hey! Wait!!" Dick managed to duck the eggs that sailed towards his head. He wasn't so lucky with the gravy. "Oooh, you're gonna get it!" And in that instant an all-out food fight commenced. Halfway through an elaborate maneuver meant to launch a biscuit at Dick's head, Tim became aware of another presence in the room. Fearing that Alfred had discovered them he jerked to a stop, costing him a large glob of butter in his ear.
"Eeyyech! Dick!" He turned, expecting the horrified tones of disapproval from the stately butler, and was pleasantly surprised to see Cassandra standing there, a look of bewilderment on her face. It occurred to him that she had probably never taken part in a food fight, since she hadn't really ever been in a situation that would allow it.
"What are you doing?" The two young men, covered from head to foot with various breakfast foods, exchanged a look. All at once the battle lines had shifted. This deficiency must be remedied…immediately. Cass may not have understood what a food fight was, though it had looked like they were having fun, but she certainly recognized the glint in their eyes and the subtle changes in their body language a moment before they attacked. She tried to avoid them but she hadn't ever tried to maneuver on a floor slick with gravy and butter. Her feet went one way, her head went the other, and she landed with a squish in an inelegant sprawl right in the middle of a strawberry danish.
She looked at her hands, now goopy with food, and examined the pastry now adorning her posterior, and then glanced back at the two mischief-makers. She pulled herself to her feet and narrowed her eyes, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
"Uh-oh…!" Tim was right…she attacked will all her skills, and the three of them launched once again into a free for all.
Alfred hadn't returned downstairs immediately upon exiting Bruce's bedchamber. He had instead set about straightening up some items in Dick's old room. The fact that the young man had come all the way from Blüdhaven to help find Batman, not to mention the fact that he had stayed around even after Batman had woken up, gave Alfred reason to hope that he would be here a little longer than usual this time. So he readied his old room with a cheerfulness that betrayed his high expectations.
So it was that as he made his way down the grand staircase the sound of laughter reached his ears. It was a good sound, one that hadn't been around in the Manor for far too long. He allowed himself a smile as he recognized each of the voices…it looked like Master Richard had indeed been able to lift Master Timothy's spirits. A higher pitched giggle made him raise his eyebrow. Apparently Miss Cassandra had stopped in as well. As he neared the sound, a warning bell went off in the back of his mind…some of those noises were beginning seem a little more…rambunctious than he would normally encourage in the main part of house. Such exercises were best left in the cave. He quickened his pace when he heard a shriek and a crash.
"Oh sh-!" The exclamation was cut off suddenly, as if someone had clapped his or her hand over Master Timothy's mouth.
"Oh man, there's no way he didn't hear that!"
"Hurry!" His mouth set in a grim line, Alfred steeled himself for what promised to be an unfortunate scene on the other side of the dining room door. He supposed that youthful enthusiasm could be excused, but the crash he had heard sounded suspiciously like something breaking…more than likely a priceless antique that would be impossible to replace. But even these thoughts failed to prepare him for the complete fiasco that awaited him.
"What on Earth…!?" He came to a halt just inside the dining room doors. It was a scene out of his worst nightmare…well, at least out of his second worst nightmare; he had actually lived his worst nightmare on all too many occasions, starting years ago with the deaths of Dr. and Mrs. Wayne. Three figures completely covered in food were crowded around what had once been a china platter that had been in the Wayne family for over six generations. Three heads turned guiltily at his outburst; three pairs of eyes were unable to meet his own.
Besides the broken platter the room was completely trashed…there was food on the walls, on the floor, on the ceiling. Some enterprising person had even managed to wedge a muffin between two spokes of the chandelier. Alfred closed his eyes, thinking that perhaps it was all a bad dream and that when he opened them again everything would be as pristine as ever. It was too much to hope for. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, unable to find words to relate his feelings on the matter to the three heathens in front of him.
"Bus-sted." Cass elbowed Dick in the stomach, effectively shutting him up. Tim was looking a little green beneath the colorful paste that coated his face. Cassandra herself had never experienced Alfred's wrath, but she had a feeling, judging by his rigid stance, that it wasn't going to be a… pleasant occurrence.
"Um…we'll clean it up?" Alfred's eyes narrowed and she swallowed hard. When it came the voice wasn't loud, as she had expected. Instead there was an almost deathly quiet to his tone that made his pronouncement all the more powerful.
"Indeed you will. You will start by cleaning yourselves. You all should have changes of clothes down in the cave. I do not want to see any of this mess in any other part of this house. You will return this room to the exact way it was. You will then proceed to clean every room on this floor. If it is not done correctly, you will do it over and then you will do the rooms on the next story. Should you fail to clean that up properly, you will be assigned the next two stories. Understood?" Three heads bobbled in confirmation, no one willing to speak up. "Good." He pointed out the door and Tim and Cass hurried out. But Dick remained behind.
"It was my fault, Alfred. You really shouldn't be so hard on them." Alfred raised an eyebrow.
"Indeed? I trust you have not developed some kind of mind-controlling super power that I am unaware of?" Dick shook his head reluctantly. "Then they may take responsibility for their own actions. As for you, I am sorely disappointed in your lack of judgment. One would have thought you'd been raised better." Dick winced, hearing some self-disappointment in his tone. Which, of course, was ridiculous…as Alfred was well aware. He was simply trying to make a point. Dick sighed.
"Yeah. I know. I just saw Tim sitting there so glum and thought to cheer him up and it got way out of hand. I guess we forget that being so active on a daily, well nightly, basis isn't normal…and we included our talents in the food fight, and….well I think you get the picture."
"Indeed."
"And, you know, Cass has never had a food fight!"
"Amazing." Alfred said dryly. Dick had to admit that it was quite likely that he had never had one either.
"So then, of course, we had to introduce her to the pastime and it started all over again." Alfred shook his head. Now that the shock was wearing off he supposed that he should be grateful that the young people were in such high spirits. And he would give a great deal of money to have a photo of the looks on their faces when he had walked into the room. A smile tugged at his mouth and he quickly squashed it, clearing his throat.
"Thank you for the explanation. I think, though, that you may want to hurry with your changing, as those two probably won't be to thrilled with the idea of starting without you." Dick hurried off, visions of retribution flitting through his mind, and Alfred allowed himself that smile. Now that he didn't have to worry about today's cleaning, what was he going to do with his time?
"Ick."
"Well, that's kinda the point."
"It's still ick." Cass and Tim were in the Batcave, trying to remove as much of the caked on food as possible before changing into clean clothes. Tim had stuck his head under the sink in the bathroom to get some of it out of his hair and off his face, but Cass was stuck sitting on the floor trying to comb bits and pieces out of her hair with her fingers. She wasn't having much luck. "I need a shower."
"Yeah, well…probably want to wait until after we clean everything up. You'll just get all 'icky' again." He said this with a teasing laugh but she just glowered at him.
"This is all your fault."
"It is not! Dick started it!"
"But you attacked me first."
"We attacked you at the same time!" she shook her head.
"You thought about attacking first." She gloated over this as he tried to come up with a retort.
"Yeah, well…."
"Children! Children! Let's play nice, here." Tim raised an eyebrow at Dick's interference.
"Says the man who threw grape jelly at me." Dick shrugged easily.
"I gave you fair warning." Cass took the opportunity to slip into the bathroom where she could change clothes and try Tim's trick of washing the gunk out of her hair in the sink. She had to admit, the food fight had been fun, if messy. And it had given her the opportunity to work off some steam…she was still feeling keyed up over last night's run in with Joker and Batman's near-death. She emerged in less than five minutes, which earned her some comments she didn't quite understand about girls taking too long in the bathroom from the guys…although they seemed to think she was faster than most girls.
She shrugged and headed back upstairs while they changed and washed up. She had come to the Manor today to talk to Bruce…he had said he wanted to talk to her after he had woken up earlier that morning…and she thought she may be able to squeeze in a conversation before the other two returned to start cleaning. She made her way up the main staircase, keeping a sharp eye out for Alfred, not wanting to get into more trouble. She made it to Bruce's room without incident, then hesitated. Talking to Batman was one thing, entering Bruce Wayne's bedroom was something else entirely. Taking a deep breath, she knocked quietly.
"Come in." She pushed the door open just a crack and poked her head inside. Bruce was sitting up in bed looking over some kind of papers. "Cassandra." She fought back a grimace and entered all the way into the room.
"I…" now that she was here, she didn't know what to say. But that was ok, because he seemed to understand. Neither of them had ever needed words to communicate to each other. He didn't seem angry, and for that she was grateful.
"I wanted to talk to you about last night." She nodded. "You weren't supposed to go out as Batgirl until tonight." This time she shook her head and started to speak. He cut her off. "It's all right. Barbara explained the situation. I assume you have had time enough to learn your lesson?" She nodded eagerly. "Welcome back." She gave him a sort of relieved smile.
"Miss Cassandra!" Alfred's horrified tones saved her from having to reply.
"It's ok, Alfred, she was just…" Alfred's look of disapproval shut even the man behind Batman's mask up.
"Young lady, you are supposed to be downstairs helping the others." She shrugged.
"I needed to…"
"Not another word…you march right down there and clean up that mess." She sighed and gave in. No one could fight Alfred and win. She trudged out of the room. Had she turned, she may have caught a glimpse of rare amusement on Bruce's face.
"Was that really necessary?"
"You didn't see the mess those three made of your dining room." Bruce shrugged.
"Yes, well, sheonly came because I asked her to… I needed to make sure she was ready to go back out as Batgirl."
"You can deal with that later. When the house is clean and you are back on your feet." He completely ignored the scowl cast his way…if Bruce had had his way he would have been back on his feet the minute he awoke from unconsciousness. Alfred finished clearing the breakfast tray and left the room. Bruce continued to glower for a moment, then shrugged it off and returned to his financial reports. At least he would get some work done while he was laid up.
To be continued…
