Business Trip:
By: The BatThing and Silver
He was Tim Drake. A kid who could beat the snot out of guys twice his size. A kid who knew nothing of pretenses. A kid who said what he wanted, did what he felt like and didn't answer to anybody that couldn't beat him to a bloody pulp in 10 seconds flat. Tim Drake- a kid who was singing the blues.
"In a city I called home." Tim sang in a grungy voice as he played some chords on a friend's guitar. He was wearing black sunglasses and his fedora. " There was this chick named Lina…she worked as a hooker… She was a sad Signorina" He bopped his head as he sang- the tune was "Bad to the Bone". "She needed to pay some bills… she could barely eat… I took her out dancing… she was light on her feet! "
"O.K Tim! That's enough!" Ms. Olajas sighed, taking the guitar away from him. "I'm far too lenient on you, you know that?"
"But Mizzo! I was getting' to the BEST part!" She shot him a glare and he silenced himself. Ms. O was a cool lady. She liked him because he was "cheeky". She had a pretty good sense of humor- except when it came to distracting her class.
"Since you insist on being the center of attention, YOU can be today's model for figure drawings." She smirked.
"Can I have the guitar and pretend to be a guitar God?" Tim smiled, hopping up on the stand. Nothing was more annoying then your punishment turning into a reward. Ms. Olajas sighed. Someone needed to put this kid on some sort of medication. He was way too energetic to keep up with. The rest of the class went as follows: Tim squirmed and fidgeted the entire time, which got several complaints from the aspiring artists in the room. Tim had a record of staying still for 10 seconds before deciding to turn in the opposite direction. Then the bell rang and no one accomplished anything, as was the normal formula for this art class.
"You are the worst model in history." Lynn- who takes art very seriously- glared. Tim shrugged carelessly. He was on his way home now, and he couldn't wait to get there. Why? Well it would just so happen that Bruce had to go on another "business trip" out of town and for once Tim's pleading and puppy eyes actually got him somewhere! For he, Tim Drake was a kid who was going on a "business trip"!
Now it was common Bat-clan knowledge that when Bruce had a "business trip" it actually meant there was a case out of Gotham that concerned him. Tim always begged to go. Not only for the reason that he wanted to ensure Bruce would come back, but also because it was Bat fun he was missing dammit! This was a big step forward for the kid. Maybe Bruce trusted him enough to take him on some dangerous off home territory mission! Or maybe he thought Tim had some sort of advantage for this trip- like… maybe Bruce needed him to go undercover! He'd only gone undercover once as some stupid dorky looking homeless kid, but it was still fun.
After parting ways with Lynn, Tim jumped in the limo that waited for him, and smiled at Alfred.
" I'm going away Alfred!"
"I know young sir. You've mentioned this repeatedly." Alfred humored.
"But Alfred, I'm leaving TODAY. Will you be alright without me to keep you company?"
"I'm sure I will manage."
"Now Alfred, no parties." Tim wagged a finger, which got a bit of a smile out of Alfred, but not a big one. Tim liked Alfred. He had attitude. "Oh guess what! I found my calling."
"Oh, do enlighten me."
"I'm going to become a musician-busker!"
"Oh thank the lord, I thought you were going to say something really ridiculous." Alfred was, as always, very sarcastic.
The ride home seemed longer then usual, and Tim began to ponder if maybe Alfred had purposefully taken a longer way home- just to make the poor boy wait even longer to start his out of Gotham adventure! Tim had never really left Gotham let alone the country! Oh, didn't you know? This "business trip" was in Canada!
Tim glanced over his suitcase and shook his head. Alfred had ordered him to double check that he had everything packed. Climbing onto his bed Tim picked up the remote to his X-box and his fingers flew over the controls, as be battled evil.
"Master Timothy?" Came the voice of Alfred from below.
"Uh?"
"Are you completely packed young sir?"
Tim tossed his head back and beamed brightly. "Sure!"
"Very good young sir, I just hope you don't expect Master Bruce to go out of his way to find you a suitable toothbrush if you forget yours. He'll be busy, may I remind you, and I will not be around."
"I know. Tim replied, though he hadn't heard a word the older man said.
"Very good," Alfred repeated and there was silence.
About half an hour later Tim put away his game and stretched, yawning loudly. He glanced at the clock and shook his head. Bruce would be home in half an hour or so, and to Tim Drake, that was much to long.
He skipped the stairs three at a time, stretching his short legs out as far as they could go. "Alfred?" He took a flying leap to the bottom and landed soundlessly. "Alfred!"
The butler's voice rang out from the kitchen. "I am in here young master."
Tim hurried into the room and took a comfortable seat at the counter. "Have you ever been to Canada?"
"I daresay I have," the man admitted as he pushed a crystal glass into a cupboard.
"What is it like? Cold? Polar Bears?"
Alfred smiled, as if he recalled some distant, fond memory. "It all depends on which area you visit."
Tim frowned at the answer. "So, where is Bruce going, and what is it like? Is it big? Are there any cities… or anything?"
Alfred turned to the boy and shook his head. "Master Bruce was called there on business, which should explain enough, shouldn't it?"
A warm feeling came over Tim. Alfred had a point, business meant Batman and Robin. Business meant fun!
The butler was humming merrily as he finished drying the dishes and returning them to their proper spaces. "Is that a car my ears hear?"
Tim sprinted from the counter and dashed through the hall. Somehow the floor had a slick spot and Tim found himself loose his balance. He tossed his arm out and caught hold of a lamp resting pleasantly on a nearby coffee table. It fell with a crash and Tim ignored it. He trotted over to the door and peeked out the window.
"Master Tim!"
Alfred had obviously heard the crash.
Tim went to his tiptoes and frowned, seeing nothing. "There is no car Alfred, at least I don't see one."
"Master Timothy come over here this moment."
Tim unglued himself from the door at the seriousness of the voice and strolled casually over to Alfred. "Um, yeah?" He saw Alfred cleaning up pieces of the shattered lamp.
"Dare I ask what happened to this unfortunate lamp that has more sentimental value then you understand?"
Tim frowned. "Oh, I slipped, it was an accident Alfred, I'm sorry. I just caught myself on it and it fell and shattered. I didn't know it was that, um, important."
Alfred looked up at the boy with a small amount of annoyance. "I suppose you would like to know that this lamp belonged to Mistress Wayne."
"Oh," Tim's heart sank into his stomach. That was one way to ruin a person's day, breaking something that probably meant more than you to someone. For a moment Tim felt a little annoyed himself. That lamp had been asking to be broken. Besides, how was he supposed to know that it was important?
The door gave a familiar click and Tim spun on his heels to see Bruce enter the house looking slightly ruffled.
"Hello Timothy," Bruce grunted as he set his briefcase down. "Where is Alfred?"
"Alfred?"
"Here sir," the butler called. He got to his feet and took Bruce's coat and hat. "I am afraid that your mother's lamp seems to have meet it's end. Quite accidental I assure you."
Bruce appeared slightly horror stuck. "How?"
Tim stared at his shoes, wondering how this had come to be. He managed to find his voice. "I did it."
"Oh?"
"Yeah, I was running through here and fell… well, it fell too."
Alfred nodded slowly. "An accident I repeat, that Master Tim feels remorseful about."
Bruce nodded as he walked to the lamp and looked miserably at it.
"I'm sorry," Tim repeated.
"Of course, are you about ready to go?"
Bruce seemed to understand that it was an accident for he didn't speak a word of it the whole drive to the airport.
"Will I have to speak French?" Tim inquired.
"No. We're going to Ottawa- I mean, yes there's French, but just don't worry about it."
"Will I have to speak Canadian?"
"They speak English- Canadian is English!" Bruce sighed irritated with the ENDLESS ignorant questions.
"Yeah.. but weirdly- with unnecessary 'U's all over the place! and they say "Eh" and junk. The dialect- so different. So different." Tim tried to sound dramatic. "I'm so excited!"
"I can tell."
"I've NEVER been on a trip! And these trips are the KICKASS kind!"
"How's that?" Bruce asked.
"You know!" Tim raised an eyebrow, in that hint-hint type way. Bruce frowned, but didn't get a chance to respond. "OH LOOK!" Tim pointed. "CANADA!"
"What?!" Bruce pushed Tim's hand out of his way. "Would you relax?!"
"But it say Air Canada on that plane! Is that our plane? I've never been on a real civilian plane before! BRUCE LETS GET PIZZA!!!!" Tim was talking so fast Bruce couldn't actually understand him.
"What drugs are you on?" Bruce sighed.
"Sorry. I'm excitable…and I REALLY want pizza. Real bad. Bad like…Poison Ivy. Will they feed me on the plane?"
"YES. QUITE. NOW." Bruce, as always, said very little, but made his point very clear. Tim shut up.
Tim was fortunate enough to get a window seat on the plane, although since they were flying first class it wouldn't have mattered where he sat. As far as he was concerned, any seat was choice in this place. Tim played with buttons, pulled his table down, then put it back up and read the flight instructions for accidents. He went to push some other buttons around his light to see what they did, but Bruce scolded him, and told him to stop fidgeting. Tim sighed, and stopped playing with things for about two minutes before he began lifting up and putting down his arm rest. Up, down, up, down, half way up, and then Bruce made it go down- for good.
"Your irritating me, sit on your hands."
"Sit on my hands? What am I, an A.D.D kid? Puh-leeeese." Tim rolled his eyes.
"I'm beginning to think you are."
"No." Tim said in a defensive (yet mocking) voice. "It's just this plane is so boring. We've been sitting in this parking lot for planes FOREVER."
"Well do something productive or go to sleep. Just don't annoy me any further."
"Why do you take kids in if you hate them so much?" Tim muttered. 'Or maybe you just hate me.' He thought to himself. Sighing he took out his Discman and his Gameboy Advanced. He'd just spend the next several hours playing death-metal music (his current genre for some reason), while playing violent videogames.
To be continued...