Title: One And Only: XI
Author: D C Luder
Summary: Set four years after the conclusion of Life Is Good. The Family moves on and… apart?
Rating: PG 13 for language, violence
Infringements: All recognizable characters belong to DC Comics, not DC Luder.
Author's Note: It is highly advisable that you read Time Will Tell and Life Is Good or you may be a tad bit lost. I am writing this due to the numerous requests for a sequel. That and I am absolutely obsessed with the concept of the Bat and Cat living happily ever after.
A/N 2: Thanks everyone for reading, and an even bigger thanks to Chris for keeping me focused and entertained.
V
The following chapter is dedicated to and inspired by the LAPD officers who, against all odds, defended North Hollywood in the bank robbery shootout on February 28, 1997.
In the end, only eleven officers and five civilians were injured while both suspects were killed amidst over a thousand rounds of ammunition expelled between both officers and suspects.
Some of the events and dialogue are actual discourse from officer witness accounts and dispatch recordings taken through the duration of the shootout.
V
"Damnit."
I looked at the spread of papers on my desk, covered in freshly spilt coffee and growled. After a long week, this was only one of many incidents that had brought foul language to my lips. Icing on the cake, I suppose. There was a sudden rap on the closed door of my office and I huffed, "It's open," as I mopped up the coffee with the three napkins I had left from my six-thirty breakfast.
Soft footsteps walked through the door and I recognized them to belong to Harper Reynolds, a Detective Sergeant in Robbery-Homicide. She'd been a transfer from Chicago, much like myself, and we had shared countless cups of coffee and comparisons between our two cities. One look at my dilemma and she smirked, "I thought things like this happened on Mondays, Commissioner?"
I sighed and threw the sodden lumps of napkins into the overflowing trashcan, "Well, for me, Fridays can be just as ugly." As I went about shaking off any remaining droplets of liquid, I offered her to take a seat.
"Uh, no thanks, I just wanted to check in on that task force for the Menendez gang. One of my D.B.'s from last week ended up being a vic of theirs."
I looked up at her, "And you want in on the fun of bringing them in?"
"Sir, it would be an honor," she winked.
There were fifteen officers and four detectives involved, not to mention members of SWAT, in the planned assault of a small gang in the lower Bowery who had a habit of taking out their competitors in order to boost the success of their own pharmaceutical career. A four-month project of the GCPD covering the importing and distributing of Ecstasy throughout the city had boiled down to a bust scheduled for that Sunday evening.
"I… I would check in with Detective Dave Mills, see if they could use an extra hand," I paused as an officer knocked on the open door's frame, "What?"
He stammered, "Uh, sir, I don't mean to interrupt but there's something going on in Bludhaven you might want to check out… It's on every station…"
Before the poor kid stroked out from trying to explain himself, I sighed and stepped out and down the hall to see what the commotion was all about. It was ridiculous that the news stations were the first to know about anything these days. It used to be the radio would squawk and we would know but hell, Dispatch couldn't even keep on top of things anymore.
I looked up, just as everyone else in the room was, to see footage from a helicopter of what appeared to be a bank and it's parking lot. There were at least fifteen units parked strategically, barricading the gun-drawn officers from whatever was inside the bank. The audio finally picked up and I barked for everyone in the room to be quiet.
"We are here live above the Bank of America in downtown Bludhaven where as you can see there are over two dozen officers present in response to an armed bank robbery in progress. There are at least two suspects that have been accounted for with an unknown number of hostages inside. Shots have been fired inside the bank, but there is no way of knowing what is…"
I heard someone utter, "And people complain about Gotham being violent."
The reporter's voice continued over the whir of chopper blades and the room went quiet, "We do have… yes, we know have a recording of the original call into Dispatch from the officers responding to the scene first… Just a moment…."
There was a loud click and then static before a male voice came over the television, "…Requesting assistance. We have a possible 211 in progress at the Bank of America on Cape north of Kittridge. We have shots fired. All units, officer needs help at the Bank of America, Cape north of Kittridge…"
"This is Dispatch, acknowledge 211 in progress, requesting all available units to the Bank of America…"
The footage shifted and began closing in on the various clusters of officers as they aimed their weapons at the doors of the bank, waiting in that calm before the storm that so many of us knew all to well. I frowned to see most of the forms were young, probably on the beat less than a year and already an armed bank robbery was a walk in the park. I thought to myself that it should never get to that point.
The officer's voice returned, clearer this time and somewhat familiar beyond the generalized radio cop voice, "Shots fired inside, we have shots fired inside!"
The camera zoomed in unbelievably close on an unmarked vehicle that was settled between a phone booth and a black and white. Two men, in suits, had their weapons drawn, one was talking into a hand held radio. Detectives already at a robbery in progress?
As the camera pulled back, it was obvious that a number of new units had arrived, but SWAT was nowhere in sight and the reporter commented on it, "We now can see at least twenty police vehicles present, nearly thirty officers at the scene… No SWAT responding units have arrived but they have been called on and are en route. Those of you just joining us, we have a bank robbery in progress at the Bank of America on Cape and north of Kittridge and it is advised that you steer clear of the area as officers are handling the situation. Roadblocks will be up shortly and all southbound traffic will be redirected…"
Another voice surfaced, the news anchor safely tucked away in the news studio, "Clare, this is quite a way to start the day and to end the week."
The news chopper voice returned, "That it is Tom."
I was about to return to my office, disgusted with how dark the Haven was when the reporter then continued, "Wait, the suspects have exited the bank, there appear to be two masked men, armed with what looks like machine guns… This could be a greater situation than we would have anticipated…"
When I looked back, the camera moved from the heavily armed suspects over towards the detectives in the front line of responding units, moving in closer than before. The taller of the two was snapping into his radio as the reporter said, "It appears that this new development…" I stopped listening at that point as two things happened at once.
I recognized the detective and the voice on the radio as Dick Grayson.
And the two machine gun toting suspects opened fire on the officers.
V
As I sat crouched behind the unmarked, bullets whipping by, I cursed myself for not talking to Barbara when she had called that morning. Mostly because I was sure I was never going to talk to her again. Or to anyone else for that matter.
It had been over a month since I had watched Alicia Wallach's killer go free, although it had felt like at least a decade. I took on the responsibility of organizing all of the evidence and paperwork in order to put the case into Cold Storage, a section in the homicide room where the rare, unsolvable cases lived until they were thawed out and attempted once more.
In addition, I had put down another senseless homicide, a final climax to a long-running domestic feud, and had teamed up with another detective on a still open taxicab killing. Fairly quiet for the most part, so I had occupied myself with trying to get back into shape both physically and emotionally. I had fooled myself into thinking it would be easy to get over the case, but it was with me, every second of every day. Therefore I had gone in search of distractions, thus leading to my lucky day.
After morning briefing, I had asked if Trey wanted to ride along as I revisited the crime scene of the case I was currently working on and he had said, "Sure, let me grab my coat."
For late February, it was pretty typical with bitter cold and icy winds coming in from the coast. Barbara had gotten me a new full-length coat with heavier insulation for Christmas and I couldn't have been happier, especially since the heat in the Cavaliers took about a half hour to kick on.
"Got the weekend off?" Trey had asked after ten minutes of silence in the car.
I had nodded and when I didn't elaborate he asked if I had any plans. I was about to say that I hadn't as we turned onto Cape Avenue and passed the Bank of America. The first signal was a white sedan that was parked crookedly in an area next to the building that was reserved for managers and operations officers of the bank. This vehicle was a model ten years old and had at least a hundred thousand miles too many on it's old frame, an eye sore amidst the Beemers.
"Shit," I whispered as I spotted two tall men, garbed in black head to toe, slip into the bank's front doors. Without warning Trey, I slammed on the brakes and pulled a quick one-eighty before calling in the 211 to dispatch. As I was barking into the radio, Trey asked me what the hell I was doing. When I pointed to the bank, he was able to see the second man shut the bank doors and lock them.
Shortly after we had pulled up and taken cover behind the unmarked, shots had been fired inside, probably scare tactics to frighten the tellers and patrons of the bank. I had been trained for hostage situations, not only in the academy, but back in my pixie boot days as well. Generally, once the suspects were surrounded and they finally realize there was truly no way out, they were usually no more than a brief chat with an negotiator away from surrendering.
After I had called it in, I mentally reviewed the steps in my head, not only to keep focused, but to occupy the time until the backup arrived. First step, deploy units: already done. Step two, secure and surround the perimeter of the key location. Well, Trey and I had the front door… Third, wait for SWAT to show up and then step back so the big guns could handle things in case it did get rough.
A bullet clipped the rear view mirror two inches above my head.
This sucked.
I peered over the hood and saw the gunmen were standing a few yards apart, letting loose round after round into the police cars, doing their best to reach the officers who were taking cover. As the most senior officer on the scene, I had taken responsibility for each and every life in uniform, of which in itself was a nightmare. I was twenty-seven, not some forty-five year old salt and pepper cop who'd worked the beat his whole life.
Not that it mattered, I suppose.
When the gunmen had exited the bank, before opening fire, I had noticed instantly that the reason they had looked so big upon entering was because they were wearing body armor, heavy Kevlar. Thanks to a donation from the Wayne Foundation shortly after Bruce was cleared of being charged with murdering Vesper Fairchild, each officer had a Kevlar vest. Whether or not they wore it all the time was their prerogative. I had to admit, since my focus was on dead people, I rarely wore mine to work and I sure as hell hadn't that day.
Another key point I picked up on about the gunmen was the fact that instead of holding up the bank with some stolen or illegally gained hand gun, they had brought AK-47s with hundred round clips and plenty of extra ammunition. The bullets tore through the vehicles like a knife through butter, suggesting they're armor piercing capabilities.
I had a standard issue 92F 9mm Beretta with a fifteen round clip and only four back up clips.
The very second they had exited the bank and braced their stances before aiming their weapons out at us; time had slowed to a crawl. I had glanced at Trey, seeing his face grow fearful at the sight of the AK's. I had looked at my watch and saw that it was 9:38 in the morning on Friday, February 28. I had thought about how I had only drawn my gun six times in my entire career as an officer and had yet to fire it.
I thought of Bruce and Alfred and Babs and Selina and Mattie and Tim and Jim and Cass and of everyone that meant anything to me.
Then I had said, "Wait a second… they're gonna… oh shit, EVERYBODY DOWN!"
After the very first bullet was fired, the officers paused before opening return fire. I had my weapon drawn but had no intentions of firing until I could assess the covering of their body armor and how determined they were to fight they're way out.
As I demanded to the poor dispatcher on the other end of the line for SWAT to get there and to get there now, I thought back to that morning's briefing. There had been a Robbery BOLO alert, Be On The Lookout, for a pair of bank robbers that had been working their way down the coast. I hadn't really paid attention, specifically because it was directed to Robbery. Their MO had been to hit banks hard in the mornings and come out even harder, using firepower to get their way to freedom. I think the Captain had mentioned that they had shot at least twenty cops and killed two.
Cop killers in Bludhaven. Shooting at me.
When I looked over the hood again, I watched as Trey fired four rounds in a row, each connecting with the taller of the two gunmen square in the chest. We watched in horror as he didn't even flinch but instead shifted and opened fired directly at us.
"What the hell is going on, Dick?" he said as he loaded a fresh clip.
I explained to him that I thought these were the BOLO bank robbers and he went white. I thought it had been from how grave I had suddenly made the situation, but unfortunately it wasn't. I turned in the same direction he was looking and spotted a pair officers, that had been taking cover behind the car, sprawled on the ground. They had taken the fire intended for us…
I recognized one of them and called out, "Carson!"
He looked over and waved at me before slowly sitting up and moving over to his partner. I traded places with Trey and inched closer to him, "Where are you hit?"
He pointed to his arm, "Clipped me, burns like a motha… Tyne got it in the side…"
I glanced over at his still horizontal partner and told him to put pressure in the wound and to keep him talking as I quickly scooted back to the cover of the unmarked. After drawing a deep breath, I picked up the radio and made the call I had dreaded, "Officers down, we have officers down, we need medical here now!"
"Dispatch 12, copy request for Medical. Units are en route."
"They need to be here now! Where the hell is SWAT, we're taking heavy fire, suspects are wearing full body armor, armed with AK-47's…"
"Copy that. SWAT is en route, undetermined ETA, morning traffic has Ashton backed up."
"Over…" I growled. The gunfire seemed to lessen somewhat suddenly and I looked over the hood once more to see that one of the suspects was reloading his machine gun, leaving only one versus the rest of us. I spotted one of the patrol cars over on the other side of the parking lot where an officer was aiming a shotgun at the suspect loading his gun. After some riots a few years back, we were able to carry shotguns in units that worked in areas of the city with high levels of violence. That had translated into six shotguns to be shared amongst almost a hundred units.
Three cheers for city budgeting.
The shotgun was explosive as it fired and the round connected soundly into the suspect's chest. He took two steps back, regained his balance and then aimed his gun at that officer and opened fire. His rounds also connected squarely with its target, although when the officer stepped backwards, he fell and didn't get back up.
"Sonofabitch…" Trey muttered.
The constant rapport of gunfire had deadened my hearing and I looked over at him and asked, "What?"
He shook his head, "They've got us."
"No, not yet," I replied.
Within minutes both of the gunmen returned back inside the bank and the air fell quiet. They needed a break, perhaps, but we needed to regroup until SWAT decided to show up. Just as I was about to decide how to move the wounded officers out of the immediate area, I heard someone call out my name.
Sergeant Tom Miller trotted up to me and knelt behind the car. There was a small scratch on his cheek and a scrape on his chin. He caught me looking and said, "I dove for cover when you bellowed, kissed the asphalt… Listen, I got a kid over on the other side that needs to get out of here, he's by himself taking cover behind a light pole, tried to help move a wounded civilian, but he took a bullet in the leg and he's bleeding something awful."
"EMS is on their way, but I'm not sure how close they'll be able to get…"
A quiet voice came over the radio suddenly, "9L89... need help."
Miller's face dropped, "That's Whitfield, my officer… "
Someone at dispatch replied, "9L89 stand by... Get vehicles out of the way north of Kittridge…"
And then a gruff, "SWAT unit command…"
I barked, "SWAT unit, we have an officer down Victory west of Cape Avenue. He needs help code three. He's passing out... this officer needs help immediately."
"Who do we have to bring in? We don't have enough officers to handle this…" another officer's voice came over the radio, paused and then continued in a rushed voice, "We have civilian traffic crossing into this kill zone! We need someone up here to keep the barricade enforced!"
Dispatch spoke once more, "Any unit available to respond to 9L89, he's losing consciousness. Officer has been hit….
Whitfield's voice rasped, "ETA... on help...? 9...L...89... L...89."
Miller took out his own radio out, "Mark, hang in there."
Dispatch responded,"9L89, somebody is en route code three..."
"I... don't see... help...
For the first time since I had called in to Dispatch, not only was the radio silent, but the entire area was.
And then they came out of the bank, armed with not only their guns but their bags of money. In that very second, each officer went back on full alert, sights centered on their targets. Waiting for them to make the first move. And they did. One opened fire on the officers while the other walked around the back of the crookedly parked white car and opened the trunk, and pulled out a new AK and put the one he had been using in the trunk. Probably had over heated. I then watched as he moved to the driver's side and stepped in behind the wheel.
I spoke into the radio, "Suspects are attempting to flee…"
"They're going north. They're going through the front out north," an officer added.
Dispatch asked for all units on Laurel supervising the barricade and told them, "Suspects are on the north side... They've got AK-47s. Two of them. They're dressed in all black. Heavy body armor."
A bullet soared through the unmarked and clipped my shoulder. I swore before grabbing at the flesh wound and looked over as the suspect's car began to slowly roll out into the street with the one driving and the other tagging after, providing the defense.
"All officers stay down," I said, "One suspect is still firing at officers in the front of the bank. One suspect has entered a white vehicle on the west side. Shots are still being fired to the front of the bank."
"Stop that vehicle north of Kittridge!" someone replied.
"Do not stop that vehicle. They've got automatic weapons. There's nothing we have that can stop them," I snapped back.
"This is Tanner at Command, if somebody has a shot, take it."
The vehicle passed through the first intersection, I watched as shots landed into the armor of the suspects from a distance, not even deadening their pace. It became all too clear that the danger was no longer at the bank itself, but on the streets of Bludhaven. I stood and started to run, bent at the waist to take cover from any spare shots in our direction.
I wasn't a car length away when I heard Trey, "What the hell are you doing?"
I turned slightly, "SWAT isn't going to get here in time, we need to take these guys out now that they're mobile."
"I'm going with you."
As much as I wanted to say no, I couldn't. Instead, I told him to walk up the west side of the street and to keep working on the gunman that was in the car. Where Trey Richardson lacked in fundamental and practical forensic skills, his marksmanship was uncanny.
As we went our separate ways, I took a narrow alleyway and ended up on the eastern side of the bank. I moved as quickly as possible through several vacant lots, leapt domestic fenced in yards and bounded in the direction the suspects were headed. I should have been tired or scared or something other than energized and audacious.
As much as I was in the guise of Detective Dick Grayson, the strangely familiar and out of place feelings belonged to none other than Nightwing.
V
"One suspect is walking east of the bank. Be advised, if someone has a shot, take it."
"We've been taking it. This guy's not going down. He's got heavy body armor… Go for the head."
"The officers are firing at him and he's not going down."
"Any unit available to respond to 9L89, he's losing consciousness. Officer has been hit."
I was standing in front of the in wall television screen. My ears were listening to frantic officers over the live feed radio while my eyes were watching the shocking helicopter footage through the eyes of a criminal analyst and not as a father of a Bludhaven policeman.
As gunfire broke out at the Bank of America, I had been reviewing stock values over a fresh latte at my desk. Even still, I had been unaware that anything had happened. Selina had taken Mattie to her bi-annual respiratory therapy appointment and was then scheduled to take her to school after everything was done. Melinda had come over the intercom shortly before ten with an urgent message to turn on the news. And not a moment later, Jim had called to tell me he had seen Dick in the news footage, right in the middle of it all.
There was a knock on the door and when I looked over, I saw Melinda peer in, "Mr. Wayne?"
"Yes?" I replied softly.
"Is there," she took a step inside the room, "Is there anything I can get you?"
Having been with me for nearly a decade, she was all too well aware of how to judge my mood within a single glance. Her quiet voice told me she knew it wasn't a good one.
"No thank you… I… could you get Selina on the phone please."
"Sure thing." I watched as she left and returned to her desk. A moment later her voice was on the intercom, "It's going through on line two, Bruce."
"Thanks." I walked over and sat on the edge of my desk before picking it up and pressing the button.
Two rings later, "Hey, what's up?"
"Are you on speaker?" I asked rougher than I had intended.
There was a pause and then Selina said, "Not anymore, what's going on, are you okay?"
"I'm fine. Where are you?"
"Mattie and I are getting some breakfast at Garf's, her appointment got bumped back an hour. Why? Bruce?" her tone had grown firmer but her voice had gotten quieter, as to not attract our daughter's attention.
I looked back to the television and went silent for a moment as the camera zoomed in on the two suspects as they paused at an intersection. They appeared to be yelling at one another… feuding as to how to escape? The one on the street veered east while the one in the car kept straight, driving slowly and firing out at the officers on the sidewalks. My eyes pleaded for a report on what officers had been wounded but they had only been able to admit that both officers and civilians had been wounded and there were no accurate numbers as of yet.
The radio voices continued, as desperate and frightened as before, but this time familiar, "We need someone here with some heavy guns. We need SWAT code three!"
Dick…
"Officer advised that you can get a clear shot of the suspect northbound Archwood from behind the Hughes Market."
"The suspects possibly have armor-piercing ammunition," Dick said.
Selina brought me back, "Bruce?"
I cleared my throat, "There's an incident in Bludhaven, armed bank robbery…"
"Does it relate to your… work?"
"No… It's Dick, he's on the scene…"
"How do you know, did he call you?"
I sighed, "It's all over the news, nationally Selina. I've never seen anything like it."
"Is he… okay?"
After a while she asked it again and I replied, "I don't know."
She promised to drop in after they were done at the doctor's office and when I told her not to, she said, "Bruce, don't start. I'll be there around eleven. Call me if you learn anything new."
I hung up the phone and returned to standing in front of the television as if being on my feet would help me think clearer. The chopper footage was covering the suspect driving the car as he made his way unchallenged down the road, firing through the shattered windshield at anyone in his path. There was no sign of the suspect that was on foot.
The reporter had been quiet for some time, leaving the audio feed from dispatch to play over the broadcast. I had been listening as carefully as I did when on patrols, hoping to pick up something other than the fear in the their voices.
Suddenly the static sound faded and the female reporter's surfaced, "This is Clare Camalones reporting to you live in Chopper Five. If you are just joining us, there is a serious situation here in downtown Bludhaven as a pair of armed bank robbers are attempting to evade capture from police using the most lethal force I have ever seen. Civilians have been requested to steer clear of the area as the suspects have been firing at both officers and innocents alike. We have some early reports of at least ten officers wounded, many of them critically, in addition to two or three innocent bystanders. Again, any and all individuals not involved should stay away from the blockades set up just shortly ago…
"The suspects have apparently separated, one is driving a white four door sedan and the other has moved out on foot, traveling east and has yet to be captured…"
The dispatch cut in, "One suspect is inside the vehicle and he's not come out. He may be hit. The other suspect is walking on the east side of the vehicle… He's taking aim, now! Everybody down!"
"Contact North Hollywood Station. Have 'em bring extra reserve ammunition out to the scene code three. Also we need extra batteries for these radios---."
A frantic voice interrupted, "Everybody down. Shots are being fired. One suspect is possibly injured inside the vehicle. And one is outside the white vehicle to the rear of the bank… If you've got a shot of the suspects, go for the legs. They don't have body armor on their legs!"
I changed the channel, only to see new footage of the incident. On the ground and far too close to be safe. A cop, leaning against a light pole, belt pulled tightly around his upper thigh. His face was covered in a sheen of sheet and his lids were heavy over his eyes. There was even audio pick up as the officer struggled to talk into his radio, "9...L...89... L...89."
The response was a gargled, "Advise units on the perimeter that when the officer is rescued, fire department has set up a command post at Fire Station 21 and is bringing in a helicopter to take him out."
The officer whispered, "9L89, thank you..." then dropped the radio as he slipped into unconsciousness.
"9L89, 9L89, come in... 9L89, 9L89, come in!"
Another channel showed images from the ground of the suspect driving the car, but had been from a safe distance, using zoom to get a great shot of the struggle. All four tires had been shot out and had paused in the middle of the road, surrounded by quiet houses and empty lawns. The door opened slightly, covered in dents from the officers' bullets, as the suspect stepped out
"Be advised that the suspect is out of the white vehicle and shooting at civilians."
"We have a citizen down."
"9L89, 9L89, come in. Unit is almost there."
When I changed the channel again, I was shocked to see an image of the suspect on foot. The cameraman was risking his life for the noon hour news. Several officers were in view as well, firing continuously at the suspect with no ill affect. I cringed as the AK was fired, sending out a stream of bullets and two men to the ground.
It was then I saw it.
While the officers fired back, the suspect turned towards them, incidentally also facing the camera lens. But behind him, concealed by a low brick fence was an officer taking aim and preparing to end it.
An officer's voice came over the dispatch transmission, "Does anybody have a clear shot at these guys?"
"I do. I'm taking it."
The cameraman noticed as well and zoomed in on the officer as he prepared his shot. He was not dressed as the other officers; instead he sported a full-length dark coat over a two-piece suit the color of coal. He had steely blue eyes and close cropped black hair that had been cut since I had last seen him at Christmas.
"No…" I said quietly.
Although gunfire had been echoing on the broadcast for the last forty minutes, the shot fired from the Beretta in Dick's hands seemed to be as loud as thunder.
The cameraman swore and focused back to the suspect as the bullet landed in the back of his head. The eyes behind the ski mask rolled skyward and the gun fell from his quivering hands shortly before he collapsed to the ground.
"Suspect is down, I repeat, suspect on foot is down!" a voice said, on the verge of cheering.
Officers closer to the fallen foe circled him, guns trained on his still body in case he decided to come back from the dead and get back to his feet.
As the camera went back to a broader picture, steering clear of the gore, it picked up an image of Dick as he jumped the fence he had been hiding behind. I watched as he glanced over at the body briefly before dropping his eyes to his hands. After holstering his weapon, he began to walk down the street and out of frame.
Eyes closed.
By the time Selina arrived, the other suspect had been shot and put into custody. Forty-four minutes of exchanging gunfire had finally come to a close. I had taken to sitting on the sofa that faced the tall windows. Although it would have appeared that I was looking out over the beautiful skyscrapers that flourished in Midtown, all I could see was a collage of images from the shootout mixed together. A gun in my son's hands…
My expression must have shocked Selina for when she walked into my office, she made her way right over to me and sat down, "What happened, is he okay?"
I shrugged slightly and looked over at her and said quietly, "Where's Mattie?"
She put her hand on mine, "I had Alfred come pick her up to take her to school so I could come here. He said it's all over?"
After I nodded, I replied, "Yes. One suspect dead, the other critically injured."
"What about the officers?"
I relayed the casualties to her and she bit her lip before squeezing my hand. In turn, I elaborated that Dick wasn't one of the injured officers and when she asked how I knew, I said, "I saw him, on the television. He was… involved in taking down one of the suspects."
She paused and leaned against me slightly while putting an arm around my midsection, "Which suspect?"
When my voice failed me and she realized which one.
V
After my nineteenth attempt, he finally answered the phone in a quiet and tired voice, "Grayson."
I gripped the steering wheel tighter, "Oh my God, I've been trying to get a hold of you all day," I said in a rushed breath.
He paused before replying, "Babs… I'm sorry. It's been pretty crazy here…"
Since the news footage had hit the television stations a little before ten that morning, I had been on the phone with a laundry list of police officials in Bludhaven that could not answer my simple question as to where Detective Richard Grayson was.
From there, I had analyzed all of the footage from all of the broadcasts in order to study the entire incident from the beginning until end with all the available vantage points. It seemed to be the only way to handle a situation as chaotic as the one that had taken place that morning. Perhaps the most shocking image had been the take down of the suspect that had been attempting to flee on foot where the officer who had saved the day had been none other than Dick.
Just thinking of him shooting a man from behind sent a shiver down my spine.
After taking a deep breath, I asked, "Are you okay?"
He took a long time to answer, letting over the sounds of deep voices, radio squawks and sirens to come over the line before he said, "I don't know… I think it's finally hitting home now…"
"Are you still on the scene?" I asked, letting more disbelief slip into my voice than I had intended.
"No. Out on the steps in front of HQ. Don't really want to go home… Been in debriefings all day… been interviewed about a million times about what happened…" he yawned, "I even had to fill out an expense report for the unmarked I drove this morning. Looks like a big brown hunk of Swiss cheese…"
I smiled sadly, thinking on how he would always try and hide his pain with a lame joke. And how long it had been since he had done so.
As I passed a sign for Downtown, I hit the turn signal and made my way towards the turnoff. Unable to be in Gotham any longer, I had decided that the only way I could be sure that Dick was all right was if my own two eyes saw it for themselves. Without a second thought, I had closed up my home, grabbed my purse and had headed straight to my car.
When I had called him that morning, shortly before his shift had started, Dick had brushed me off, saying he had a few errands to run before clocking in. He had sounded as if he was actually in a rush to get things done, not the quiet, angry voice he had used to brush me off over the last few months. I tolerated it and said I would call him later that night. That was before…
When I had seen him on the news, before shooting the suspect, I had been surprised at the concentration in his face. It seemed as if he truly knew what he was about to do and that it had to be done right or not at all. Thinking back on it, I suppose it was similar to his expressions prior to performing free falls from the Hart Tower or before infiltrating a Rogue's hideout. I wondered suddenly if Bruce had seen the same thing that I had or if he had seen anything beyond the gun in his son's hands.
"Babs, you there?" his voice interrupted my thoughts.
"Yeah. Sorry. Just thinking."
Dick sighed, "Yeah, I heard that's been going around… Been thinking quite a bit myself."
"About?"
"Lots of things. Life. Work. Us."
"Anything good," I asked as I turned on to Broderick Avenue, "About us?"
"Maybe."
Had it been any other time, I knew he would have cracked a joke about something far too inappropriate to mention. That was if he wasn't depressed, exhausted and most likely in shock from the day's events.
As I came upon Bludhaven Police Headquarters, I slowed to a crawl and dimmed my lights. He was leaning against a light pole, his back towards me, wearing the coat I had given him for Christmas. He had smiled when he opened the gift, and said, "Well, I'll be the coolest kids in the department, but promise me you won't button my mittens to it, or the other guys will laugh at me…"
Not wanting to, I asked, "Have you talked to anyone else? Alfred, Bruce…"
"No," he interrupted me, "Not yet. I didn't really want a lecture from Bruce and Alfred's never as effective in the sympathy department over the phone… Need the fresh cookies for the full effect."
"True." I had called Bruce's cell phone earlier, for some reason unknown to me, and had gotten Selina instead. She confirmed that he knew what had happened and that he was dealing with it in his own moody way. But she had also said that Bruce had been genuinely concerned for Dick's safety. I wondered if Dick realized and I had to quench a sudden urge to convey the message to him.
As I came up behind him, I cut then engine and put into park. The soft sound caused him to turn slightly, giving me a full view of his tired face. At such a close distance, I noticed a slight tear in the sleeve of the coat and a dark stain the size of my hand. Had he been injured, clipped by one of over a thousand bullets?
He remained next to the light pole and smirked slightly, "You know, they passed a city ordinance in Bludhaven last summer prohibiting the use of cellular telephones while driving, subjecting those who do not comply a five-hundred dollar fine."
"Is that so? You going to arrest me?"
"Maybe," he began taking slow steps in my direction, "Can't expect such criminal behavior to take place around the upstanding citizens of Bludhaven."
"Right," I replied as he stepped up to the passenger side door. I rolled down the window with a touch of a button and hung up the phone, "Hello, Dick."
He hung up as well and pocketed the phone, "Hello, Babs."
"Long day?"
"Longest yet."
"Want to talk about it?"
He shook his head, "Nope. Could use some chow though."
"Your place?"
He shook his head again, "I wouldn't if I were you."
"I'll take your advice…" I patted the empty passenger seat and he opened the door and stepped in. As soon as he shut the door, he leaned over and kissed me softly. He smelt of gunpowder and sweat, a fragrance I had admired when I had fallen in love with the Boy Wonder. "What was that for?"
He shrugged and sat back, "Not sure."
"Where do you want to go?"
"Just…" I looked over when he went quiet and noticed his eyes were squeezed shut and his lower lip was trembling, "Just drive."
And I did.
V
Wrung with a bought of insomnia, I had busied myself with a fresh cup of Earl Grey and a book of Hemingway's finest works in my quarters. Master Bruce had long since left for his nightly patrols of the city and his wife and child were safely sleeping on the third floor. The chaos of the holidays far behind us, it was thought that the New Year would be one with a quieter start. How very wrong we had been.
The incident in Bludhaven had been quite startling, even more so because Master Dick had been so closely involved. Particularly in the use of lethal force in defending his city against one of the two gunmen.
I had yet to speak at any great length with Master Bruce about the subject, in fact, when I had stated my gratitude that Master Dick had surfaced unscathed, he had growled incoherently before storming off to the Cave's entrance. Stalemate of some sort.
A sudden rap at the door caused me to look up suddenly from the page before taking a glance at the bedside clock. Ten after four. Only one soul would be up at this hour. A burdened soul I knew all too well. I couldn't count the nights he had sought solace from me, confused after the death of his parents, burdened by his initiative trials as a crime fighter and overwhelmed with the responsibilities of balancing the invaluable women of his life.
"Come in, Master Bruce."
The door opened soundlessly as he stepped into the room, "I hope I'm not disturbing you…"
"I removed my reading glasses and set them on the desk, "Why, that's never stopped you before, sir." I had expected a flash of anger or some sort of response, but was surprised when his brow only twitched softly. I cleared my throat, "Nevertheless, sir, I was not sleeping. Catching up on my reading."
"Ah," he said before taking a seat in one of the three chairs I had in the outer room of my quarters. He slouched with the weight of the world on his shoulders, the only time I accepted improper posture.
"Is there something amiss, sir?"
I watched on as he leaned forward slowly, resting his elbows on his thighs and then his face in the palms of his hands. After he let out a low sigh, he kneaded his temples; "I can't get it out of my head… It just plays over and over… Tormenting me."
Even though I knew as to what he was referring, I asked, "What is this image, sir?"
"Dick… I brought him into the world of violence and I though I had… taught him a way to manage it without taking lives of others… And then he…" he sat up suddenly and braced his hands on the arms of the chair, "Alfred, he shot him from behind. He killed him from behind…"
"That he did, sir."
"You don't understand, Alfred," he stood and stepped over to face the window, "I taught him, right from the beginning, that it was wrong… We have no right to take the lives of others… Even with Zucco… He knew it wasn't… Why, now, what's changed?"
I allowed an awkward silence to pass before rising myself and pouring more tea into my cup, "A great deal."
He turned to face me, "What?"
"A great deal has changed, sir. He is no longer your partner, he is his own man. A fact, which you seem to be missing in your equation, if I may be so bold. There is no doubt in my mind that he took every single idea that you emblazoned on him in his youth with him when he left your side."
I paused and motioned for him to sit. When he didn't, I sighed, "And I am quite sure that the decision he made this morning was done so not only in the midst of a dangerous and life threatening situation, but it was also the same course of action that I would have chosen, given the chance."
His voice came suddenly, loudly, "Alfred, I don't care what you would have done, I care about what he did! Alfred, everything we stood for is now gone all because I failed to teach him---"
"Bruce," when our eyes met, mine were harder and he, for a change, relented and took a seat beside me, "You did not fail him. And he did not fail you. He crossed the line as an officer of the law, not as a masked vigilante. His commanders had ordered him take whatever means necessary to apprehend a potentially lethal threat to the people of Bludhaven. And his only option was to make a choice he would most likely rather not, because of what you taught him."
As Master Bruce looked down at his hands as they rested on his legs, I allowed a brief silence before continuing, "Sir, I would not pretend to understand the turmoil that your mind is going through, nor would I want to. However, we must not forget what anguish your son is facing, alone I might add, and not only from what took place today."
The look on his face said he had no response in the oral form. But where Master Bruce was unable to communicate with words, his actions took precedent.
He stood suddenly, although I remained seated. When he turned towards the door, he only took three steps before about-facing, his mouth opened as if to speak. I returned to my tea and watched out of the corner of my eye as he turned once more and left the room after saying, "Thank you, Alfred," in a far too quiet voice.
Left alone once more, I did my best to avert my mind towards poetry and not to the countless memories that were threatening to surface. The relationship I held with Master Bruce only seemed to be strengthened in light of struggle and subsequent triumph. When he had first told me of Master Dick's interest in pursuing a career in official law enforcement, I had been secretly pleased, thinking that perhaps this endeavor would allow his need for vigilante efforts to decrease. A hope I had for Master Bruce as well, but surely one that would not be realized.
But in recent months, I had watched on as the boy I had scolded for hanging on chandeliers struggle so desperately for success in such a dreadful case. And with the failure of reaching said success had only been furthered hampered with the stressors of the day crashing down on him without a moment's notice. All before I could justify my need to confront him about it. To comfort him…
Perhaps we had let the young master drift too far from our reach, Master Bruce. Even as his own man, he still needed his family. No matter what age, every boy needed a father.
Surprisingly, I uttered a slight yawn. How utterly ironic, that the day would be dawning and fatigue would be finally surfacing. As I closed my eyes, I set the book on the desktop and reclined back into the chair, losing the battle with my recollections.
It was the least I could do.
V
