Title: Teenagers Part Four
Author: Simon
Characters: Dick, Bruce, Alfred, OC
Rating: PG 13
Summary: The ski trip gets bumpier.
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.
Unbetaed: It's a holiday weekend and I didn't want to bother anyone so blame me for mistakes.
Teenagers
Part Four
They finished out the week in Aspen with Dick taking it relatively easy on the hill. He confined himself to Buttermilk, the 'family' mountain with the easiest runs for Mom, Dad and the kids. It wasn't what he'd normally be happy with, but it was as good as it was going to get for a while and he took it as his best and only option. His shoulder healed pretty quickly, though he still had headaches and his clavicle ached by the afternoon—not that he admitted it or anything. He had a bottle of extra strength Advil in his jacket and took them when it got bad. He was okay and, as Robin, he was pretty used to sucking up aches and pains.
Peter and the two girls scaled back so that they could all stay together and their constant questioning if he was all right, did he want to take a break, was he tired or cold or hungry were getting on his nerves. Sure, he wasn't throwing any fancy moves right now, but he could still out ski or out board any of them without trying, even injured.
The second to last night there, Bruce invited the Forest's to dinner to thank them for their help when Dick was hurt and for looking after Peter. He'd arranged for everyone to go to the Pine Tree Cookhouse, which some friend or other had recommended and which was one of those places that if you didn't know about it, you'd never know it existed—and probably couldn't afford, either. First they had to drive to a cabin up some dark mountain road with snow banked up on both sides for what seemed like forever until they saw someone with a lantern signaling them to park the car. Going into what everyone thought (except Bruce, who'd been warned ahead of time) was the restaurant; they found themselves in a handcrafted log cabin that was actually a high-end art and crafts gallery. Bruce quietly purchased necklaces for Blair Forest and the two girls and a hand-tooled belt for Mark delivered to their hotel later as a final surprise thank you.
Next they were shown to a horse drawn sleigh, piled with blankets and throws, which took them a couple of miles to the actual restaurant further along the trail while they sang Christmas carols—Dick starring in amazement when Bruce joined in on Jingle Bells, who was deeply in his 'host' persona. The food was as good as you'd expect and the evening went well—friendly, cheerful. Dick knew that when the Forest's left in the morning to go back to California, they'd probably never see each other again, but the story of their big ski trip to Aspen where they'd met Bruce Wayne—yes, THE Bruce Wayne and were even treated to a special dinner by him, would make the rounds in their set for years to come. It was always like that when someone met Bruce for the first time.
Dick was used to it. Bruce was a big deal.
Dick really was felling better, at least physically and the last morning he and Peter had on the slopes—against doctor's orders, Dick tried a couple of easy runs down the half pipe. He even made a point of apologizing to Eric, the Burton Board West Coat rep and managed to salvage his contract after he showed his attitude adjustment and quick healing abilities. He even agreed to an autograph session at the ski shop, something he normally would have killed to avoid.
He and Bruce were walking on eggshells around each other, which wasn't unusual for them lately. Or, rather, Dick was. Bruce just went about his business as if nothing had happened. After lunch they all—Bruce and the two boys, moved to Aspen Highlands, yet another mountain, and skied or boarded a few hours that last afternoon, actually enjoying the mountain, carving daisy chains in new powder and having plain old fun together.
It was on the last run of the day that they hit more trouble.
The three of them were making a last run down Golden Horn over at the Highlands, it was a wide and open intermediate slope they'd usually skip, but because of Dick's still sore shoulder were taking it as an easy way down. Peter saw something lying in the snow over at the side and veered over to pick it up; a football. Laughing, he tossed it to Bruce who tossed it back. Dick caught it next and the three of them had an impromptu game of catch as they headed to the bottom. Without realizing or even meaning to, they were going faster but since they were all experts, this wouldn't be a problem on a simple hill like this one. There was almost no one there other than the three of them and they were staying well clear of the few people around. There was no real danger.
Then Dick extended to catch another pass that had gone a little wide. If he'd been on a field in sneakers he'd have had it easily, but sliding a little too fast down a mountain, recovering from an injury, tired at the end of the day and still sore, he simply reached too far, overbalanced and fell, his momentum causing him to slide and tumble a good hundred yards before finally stopping in the deeper snow at the side of the run.
Bruce and Peter were there immediately, having paced him down as he lost control. He was conscious but obviously injured.
"Where does it hurt?" Bruce was kneeling next to him, Peter on his other side.
"My collar bone again. I think I really broke it this time."
An hour or so later back at Aspen Hospital Dick was in the same examining room and Bruce was seeing red.
"You were still having headaches and seeing double and you didn't tell anyone? What the hell was going through your mind—that you're invincible? Immortal? That you can just ignore the symptoms and side effects of a concussion while snowboarding some of the biggest mountains in the country and no harm done?"
"Mr. Wayne, you're not helping. Please, we need to get Dick over to the OR to set that clavicle."
In pain, humiliated and tired, Dick wasn't in the mood for this, especially in public. "Could we do his later, please?"
"Count on it." Bruce gave Dick a classic bat glare on his way out so that Dick was relieved when the anesthesia let him escape for a while.
When he finally came to hours later, Alfred was sitting in the chair next to his bed, quietly reading. Saying nothing and moving only his eyes, Dick watched him for a long time, thinking about how the old man had made his life bearable. He was the softening force that counteracted the hard lessons he'd learned from Bruce and the Bat. In the parlance of the trade, he was the good cop to Bruce's hard ass. Even with his proper English façade that almost never slipped, he was the yin to Bruce's yang and thank God for that. If Alfred hadn't been around Dick didn't know if he'd have been able to stand it.
Sure, when he'd first moved into the Manor he was thrilled, but how could he have not been after everything that happened? He was eight years old and his parents were killed in from of him and then he was locked up in Juvie for a month with a bunch of teenaged gang members. That had been fun—Christ, a tent on an iceberg would have looked good in comparison.
Sure, Bruce took care of his physical needs, gave him a place to sleep and food and clothes to wear, but he'd done a lot more than just that. He'd given Dick a reason to care again. If you wanted to call a spade a spade, he'd given Dick a reason to keep going when all he'd wanted to do was crawl into a closet and cry. He'd given him training and a mission and a way to do what mattered most—to bring in the men who'd killed his parents and destroyed his life. Then he'd kept Dick going with an unending series of new cases and problems to be solved. Slowly, he'd come to accept Dick as his partner and allowed the old confidence that had allowed him to turn a quad without a net at eight to show itself again and again against odds that should have stopped a freight train.
Jesus Christ—what was he doing? Making more excuses for the shitty, absentee way Bruce treated him? What kind of parent yells at a kid who's just been hurt and is lying on a hospital gurney waiting to go to surgery?
There was no getting it right when you worked with Bruce or the Bat. He was right, you were wrong. Period. His way or the highway. That's the way it was and that was the way it would always be.
But the other bottom line, whether he liked it or not, was that he loved Bruce. No, not like in the gossip columns were always insinuating or anything like that—as a mentor, guardian, teacher and—hell, yes—as a father.
Something had to give here.
He moved, shifted slightly and his gasp of pain made Alfred calmly look up. "Ah, good, you've rejoined us, Master Dick. You've given me more than enough frights for one vacation, if you don't mind. May I dare to hope that things will be a bit quieter for a while?"
"May I have some water, please?"
Alfred got some ice chips from a small bucket on the side table, placing several in Dick's mouth. The cold and wet helped. "Did they get the bone set all right?"
"The surgeon told us that everything went well and, though you'll be incapacitated for two to three months, you should heal without problem. Assuming you cooperate, that is."
He was still feeling pretty fuzzy from the drugs they'd given him. "Is Bruce here?"
There was a momentary pause, almost a hesitation. "I'm afraid that the Master was recalled back to Gotham late last evening. He drove to Denver and flew a commercial jet home as he thought that you would be more comfortable in the privacy of the Lear."
"He's gone? What about Peter?"
"Master Peter is enjoying an extra day on the slopes. As soon as you're released and are declared fit to travel, we shall be headed home ourselves. Now, if you would rest for a moment, I shall summon your physician to check on your progress—though I must say that you look far better than when you were brought in yesterday afternoon." Alfred got up and turned towards the door.
"Alfred? Was he really mad?"
Alfred heard the question within the question. "Angry is the wrong word. He was worried about you."
"But…"
"Master Dick, Bruce loves you dearly, much as his means of expressing himself aren't always as we would wish. He was deeply concerned about your condition and questioned the doctors closely about your recovery. And you can safely bet that when we get home, you will be seeing the finest specialists he can locate."
"But he seemed so angry."
"He was worried about you."
"But…"
"Forgive me, but I believe that you're reading more into his reaction than was there. You were injured and in pain. All he wanted was to get you the help you needed as quickly as possible and that may have caused him to be a bit more short than he would have wanted. His concern was for you, as well you must know."
Dick gave a half nod in agreement so Alfred could get the doctor, but he'd seen the look on Bruce's face up on the mountain. He's been angry and disappointed. Sure, what Alfred said made sense as far as Alfred knew, but he hadn't been there, Dick had.
Three day later Dick was cleared to travel, though he was given pain meds for the flight and was glad of them. Peter was subdued, though he did his best to cheer Dick up and he'd even gotten a few phone calls from Erin and Lisa, hoping he was feeling better and letting him know that their parents were talking about maybe taking a trip east in the spring or summer to look at colleges and maybe they could get together.
They were mid flight, Alfred had served them finger foods for lunch in deference to Dick's bandaged arm and shoulder and the two boys were sitting together with the last Indiana Jones film playing on the jet's movie screens.
"So, you gonna be all right when you get back?"
"Yeah, sure. Why wouldn't I be?"
"C'mon, Dick, this is me, your cousin you're talking to here—you know, blood is thicker than water and all of that. You gonna be okay with Bruce? You finally gonna get around to actually talking to him?"
"I could if he was in the country. After he gets back he'll be so swamped that he'll be at work till ten every night, then he starts on his own projects. I probably won't see him for more than five minutes for weeks."
"Have you tried, 'Hey, Bruce, I need to talk to you'?"
Dick wasn't going there, not right now. "…So did you hear from Lisa? It looked like you two were getting pretty serious in that sled going home from the restaurant."
"With her parents sitting next to us—yeah, right."
"And in the pool and in the Jacuzzi and on the lifts…"
"Yeah, well just because I don't have all that Catholic guilt you were raised with, get your jealousy under control, dude. And you and Erin looked like you were doing just fine, come to think of it."
"Yeah, well, it's not like I'll ever see her again or anything."
"Bull. She told me at she's looking at Gotham U and maybe either Hudson of Wellesley and she's a really good student with all kinds of activities, she could end up like walking distance from you. I'm telling you, Cuz—don't blow this, she really likes you."
A lot of girls liked Dick Grayson and Bruce Wayne's money. It was part of the package. The only girls who didn't want him for his or Bruce's bank account were Donna, Barbara and maybe Garth's girlfriend, Tula who barely gave him the time of day. "C'mon, Peter, it was just a vacation thing."
"And you know this because…? Dick, dude, I'm telling you, the girl really likes you."
Enough. "So are you coming this weekend?"
"Can't. I have midterms coming up and if I don't do well, my ass is grass. Besides, I promised my Mom that I'd go up to the ski house with her and my brothers. Maybe next month, okay?"
"Sure, no problem. I'll call you."
When they got back to the Manor Dick found out at Bruce had been called to some economic conference in Geneva and would be gone for at least another five days.
His second night home Dick was trying to do some homework, getting frustrated because his right hand was caught up in the sling and hurt like a bitch to move. The school's solution was to allow him to do as much of his homework as was feasible into a tape recorder, but things like math problems and science forced him to scrawl with his left hand and it was slow and almost illegible. He'd also had to answer the same 'What happened to you?' questions a thousand time walking through the halls and it was getting on his nerves. Plus he felt like an anvil was hanging over his head waiting for Bruce to get back.
He did apologize to his teacher when he'd gotten back, the one he'd sworn at, and she agreed that she hadn't considered the possibility that one of her students would react so strongly to something like that or that they could have a personal connection the way he id—the twit. Dick thought she was an idiot, but managed to keep his mouth shut.
He and Peter spoke a lot on the phone, since Dick was pretty hampered using his computer, making e-mails or IMing too difficult to bother with.
He was not having fun, though the call from Barbara was a nice twenty-minute escape. She'd heard, of course, and wanted to make sure he was really all right and their conversation had taken on that half friend/half flirting tone they'd been getting into the last year or so. If she just wasn't so hung up on their ages…
A call from Wally came through on his Titans communicator just as he was about to throw something.
"Hey, Robbie, we were all talking about you this afternoon—have a good time in Colorado?"
"Great. I was going to call you; I have to take a kind of leave for a while from the group. I kinda broke my collarbone."
Before he could finish the sentence, Wally was standing in his room. "Jeez, Dick—how bad?"
"It'll be okay, but I'm kinda set down for at least a month."
Wally came over and sat on the edge of the bed. "Man, but you're the engine of the Titans, if you're not there then all that happens is Roy hits on Donna and Garth stays in Atlantis. Man…"
"C'mon, it's not that bad." Yes, it was and they all knew it.
"Oh, man. Maybe you could just like show up for the meetings and sort of direct things. Maybe you could do that, y'think?"
"I have all this schoolwork to finish up and I'm behind—it's gonna be a while."
"Man…" Wally glanced at the clock. "Gotta go, I'm watching a movie with my parents and the ads should be about over. Look, I'll tell the others and we'll figure something out, okay?" And he was gone.
Dick knew that the word would spread fast, with Kid Flash spreading it. All he had to do was sit back and wait for the fallout.
And Bruce would be back in a couple of days, too.
Oh, great.
TBC
7/5/05