Title: Short Walk

Rating: I'm going to go ahead and make this PG-13 now, so I don't have to go and change it later.

Disclaimer: All Batman-related characters belong to DC, the lucky dogs.

Explanation: Oops for me. I accidentally missed the last chapter, so I had to go back and put it up. Sorry to everyone who's already reviewed this chapter. In the interest of avoiding spoilers, I'll reply to reviews from both this chapter and the new chapter in the next chapter. Sorry, everyone.


Chapter 4: The FBI


Tim surveyed his new home. It was a small apartment, smaller than the one he had had back in Gotham (Still have, he corrected himself.), but it would do for his purposes. After all, it wasn't like he was going to use it for much more than sleeping.


It was his first day on the job, and frankly, he was feeling nervous. Calm down, he scolded himself. It's just a job. It's not like what you teach here could mean the difference between life and death for your students. He smiled at that one, then hastily readjusted his face to expressionless as the guard looked at him suspiciously. Inwardly, the smile widened into a full grin.

Finally, after what felt like forever, the guard handed back his pass and waved him through with a "Have a nice day, Instructor Drake." Tim smiled to himself again, and headed down the hall.

He was met after a few steps by his FBI liaison, Agent Sharon Clarke. She smiled at him, then started telling him his schedule for the first day.

"Hello, Officer Drake. I assume you've already reviewed your daily schedule," she said briskly, "but for this first day, all you're going to be doing is getting to know the students a little, and vice-versa. You'll also be meeting your fellow instructors. Any questions before I show you your room?"

Tim had already reviewed the floor plans, and knew exactly where his room was. He didn't mention this, though. Agent Clarke was pleasant company. "What kind of things do I get to know about them?" he asked.

She laughed. "Just basic stuff. Family, hobbies, other interests. Just kind of getting to be friends before they start to hate you for the misery you'll be putting them through for the next six weeks."

"That's another thing," said Tim. "How am I supposed to train them effectively in just six weeks? It took me years to learn what I know, and I'm not even close to being a master."

She laughed again. She had a pleasant laugh, he noticed. "Not according to your old teachers," she said. "They say you're probably the best they've ever seen, and they included themselves." She chuckled at the expression on his face, and continued. "As for training time, we don't expect them to be masters. We just expect them to be able to handle themselves in any normal situation they come up against. This is basically a self-defense course you're teaching here. Advanced self-defense, but still self-defense."

She paused for breath, then said, "Besides, after the first week, the time will just stretch on into eternity. Trust me, I know from experience." He shared her smile.

They reached a door. "This is where I leave you for now," she told him, still smiling. "I'll come by around eleven to see how you're doing." She offered her hand, and he took it. They shook hands, and then she walked back the way they had come, tossing a "See you later," over her shoulder.

Tim braced himself, and opened the door.

About fifteen men and women, ranging from 20 to 45 years of age, stood to attention when he entered. Then they saw him, and relaxed again, obviously mistaking him for another trainee. He smiled to himself, and decided to let the illusion last for a few moments, to see what they were really like. One young woman, about his own age, walked over to him and stuck out her hand. "Hi, how are ya?" she said with a faint nasal twang. He placed her in the northern Midwest. "I'm Betty." The other recruits also gathered around.

"I'm Jim," said a tall, good-looking black man, shaking his hand firmly. "I'm Melissa," said a nervous looking woman. "John. Nice to meet you," said another man. A middle-aged man said, "I'm Joe." "Rebecca," said a tall woman. The rest of the recruits introduced themselves to Tim, then looked at him expectantly. He grinned at them. "I'm Tim Drake. I'll be your instructor."

"You!" blurted Betty, then put both her hands over her mouth, blushing. He laughed.

"Yep. Me," he told her. The other recruits chuckled at the expression on her face, and she blushed a little harder.

"So..." said Tim. "I guess I'm supposed to get to know you all a little more. Who wants to go first?"

"I will," said Jim. The rest of the group lowered themselves onto the mat, leaving him standing in the middle. "Well," he said, "My name's Jim Cording, and I'm 32 years old. I'm married, and we have a four-year-old daughter, and a two-year-old son, both of whom enjoy tormenting their poor father." He mock-groaned, and the others laughed. "I was in the Marines for eight years, then got it into my head to join the FBI, and here I am." He sat down.

"Who's next?" asked Tim.

For the next half-hour, the other recruits told about themselves. They joked back and forth, and had a good time. Finally, Rebecca sat down, and motioned to Tim. "Okay, Teach," she said with a smile. "Your turn."

Tim groaned, but smiled as he stood up. "Alright, everyone. Pay attention. This'll be on the final exam," Joe cracked. The others laughed, then settled down.

"Well," said Tim. "There's not much to tell. I'm Tim Drake. I'm 22, and happily single." The others, half of who were married, groaned good-naturedly. "I'm a police officer for the Gotham PD in real life," he continued, "but the FBI has tagged me for a five year shift of torturing poor recruits such as yourselves." The other chuckled, and he grinned.

He checked his watch, and said, "Well, it's eleven o'clock, so Agent Clarke should be walking in about..." The door opened. "...Now," he concluded.

She looked at the circle of recruits on the floor, with Tim standing in the middle. "Okay, lunch time," she announced. "Time to experience the joys of FBI cafeteria food." The recruits moaned, but filed out of the room and in the direction of the cafeteria. Rebecca was the last to leave. She turned in the doorway, and said, "See you tomorrow, Old Man." Then she walked out. The door swung shut behind her.

"Well," said Agent Clarke. "How did your first day go?"

Tim pretended to wipe his brow. "Grueling," he joked. She laughed at him, with her quick, ready laugh.

"You think that was grueling, you should try the food we make them eat," she told him. "You're lucky you've come to us the way you have. You'll never have to eat it."

"Why not?" asked Tim.

"Because we," she said, grinning broadly, "get to order out. Come on. It's time for you to meet the 'guys'."

The "guys" turned out to be four other instructors, three men and one woman. A grey-haired man with a cane shook hands with Tim, before sitting back down at their table. "I'm Malcolm," he said. "I teach these kids to shoot. Have for twenty years. I'm danged good at my job, too."

A middle-aged woman said, "I'm Sammi. I make sure they know all they ever didn't want to about criminal law."

A second man, hair just going silver at the temples, said, "Fred. I teach another class for self-defense." He grinned easily at Tim. "It's good to have another unarmed guy in the building." Tim found himself grinning back.

The third man said, "I'm Hank," and went back to studying the thick book he had in front of him. Fred said, "Hank here is our resident computer genius. He's not rude, just absorbed in his work." "I know the type," said Tim. Agent Clarke introduced him to the others, and they sat down to their meal.


Tim returned to his apartment that night, exhausted. After lunch, he had been stuck in various introductory meetings all day, with only the sympathetic Agent Clarke to keep him sane. She had invited him to dinner, but he declined, telling her he probably wouldn't be able to keep himself from falling asleep. She laughed again, and made him promise to go to dinner with her soon before letting him go.

He collapsed onto his bed, and smiled to himself, before drifting off to sleep.


TO BE CONTINUED...


From the Author: Wow. Quite possibly one of the longest chapters I've written. Anyway, Next Time: About six weeks later. The recruits have their final class, and Tim takes Agent Clarke up on her dinner invitation. Plus, a serial killer begins to terrorize Gotham City. Will the Bat-Clan ask for help? Stay tuned to find out!