A/N You may have noticed that the teaser at the end of the last chapter encouraged you to stay tuned for the "gripping conclusion." This is, in fact, not the conclusion of the story, gripping or otherwise. Originally it was the last chapter, but after rewriting some earlier sections and reading reviews, I realized it was too simplistic a wrap-up. This is now the next-to-concluding chapter. Apparently my teaser writer didn't get the memo. coughcough
A special, uber-Thank You! to all my reviewers, who broke that magic number 50 last chapter!
Disclaimer: No! I don't own Batman, Robin, Alfred, or Christian Bale, and thank you so much for bringing up such a painful subject. While you're at it, why don't you give me a nice paper cut and pour lemon juice on it!
Bat-Chapter 5: Sprouting Wings
Batman took the night off, and Bruce Wayne was up before ten o'clock for the first time in recent memory. Dick's door was closed, and Bruce hoped the boy was still asleep.
Using a stealth that was peculiar in his own mansion, the billionaire sneaked down the stairway and made his way to the small kitchen. Alfred was nowhere to be seen. Bruce leaped for the fridge, kidnapped the orange juice, and ran for his life.
Safely behind the door of the gym, Bruce downed half the orange juice (no crystal goblet can compare with straight-from-the-carton), and enthusiastically threw himself into stretching. It had been a long time since he'd had the time, or energy, to really work out. Not that he didn't get plenty of practice.
The boring stuff (push-ups, sit-ups, chin-ups, and any other ups the reader would care to supply) out of the way, he selected a long, flexible pole just shorter than he was from the supply cupboard. Bowing to an imaginary opponent, he swung the pole over his head and moved across the mats, twisting, jumping, and rolling, and the pole always singing its deadly hum as it flashed through the air.
He was just getting into it when a flicker of color warned him he was no longer alone. Spinning, he dropped automatically into a defensive crouch.
If Dick Grayson's eyes had opened any wider they would have popped out of his head.
"Hey," greeted Bruce, grinning. "Want to play?"
"Yeah!" Dick ran forward. "Can I do that?"
"Sure. Run a lap around the mats while I find you a pole." The boy broke into a sprint, and Bruce walked over to the cupboard, hardly able to believe it was the same half-dead kid of the past three weeks. He located a smaller pole just as Dick finished his lap and came hurtling straight toward Bruce. The kid's not going to stop! Bruce thought in amazement, and braced for impact. But just before collision became inevitable, Dick stopped moving forward and shot straight up instead. Turning a tight back flip, he landed neatly in front of Bruce.
"Where did you learn to do that?" Bruce demanded as Dick smirked at him.
"The circus."
"What? No way you were in the circus!"
"Well, not me exactly," Dick admitted, "but my mom was, before. We visited sometimes."
"Any particular circus?" Bruce asked, not betraying his sharp interest. This was the first information Dick had offered about his past, and it definitely hadn't been in the thin file Bruce had gotten from Employee Records.
Dick shrugged vaguely. "Different ones, I think. She knew lots of people."
Dick was actually talking voluntarily, and Bruce, afraid of pushing him, dropped the subject. "You can use this pole for now," he began, handing it to Dick. "It's a little long, but it will do until we can cut one down to size. This is the art of Silambattam. You begin by holding the pole like this…"
Forty-five minutes later they emerged from gym, dripping with sweat, to find Alfred waiting for them. "Breakfast, Master Wayne?"
"Ah, thanks, Alfred, but I really should shower," said Bruce, making a sideways move for the stairs.
"Me too," piped Dick.
Ha! Bruce gloated. "Yeah, you really should," he agreed innocently.
Alfred remained unperturbed. "Oh course, sir. I shall expect you both in the kitchen after your showers."
Thirty minutes later, a clean Bruce snuck down the back stairs toward the carport. What a pity that my urgent billionaire playboy business must keep me from the indigestible delights of…
"Hi, Bruce!" Dick looked up from where he sat on the bottom step. "Alfred told me to wait for you here. Are you ready for breakfast?"
There was a look of such bright expectation on his face that Bruce couldn't bring himself to explain that he had a pressing engagement. Outwitted again. It's a good thing the butler's on Batman's side.
It was waiting for him, bobbing gently in its pearly pool of milk, smelling like the feed bin on a cattle ranch. Bruce stared glumly at his bran pellets as Alfred solicitously inquired after Dick's desires.
"What would you care for this morning, Master Dick? Pancakes? An egg? Perhaps a bowl of Lucky Charms?"
"I'd like some Lucky Charms," Bruce suggested, and was ignored.
"I'll have some of that, please," decided Dick, pointing to Bruce's bowl.
Even Alfred appeared faintly surprised. "Are you quite certain?"
"Yes," Dick said firmly.
Without further demur Alfred poured the cereal and milk. "If I may make a suggestion, sir, I think that a bit of sugar would go well on top."
"I never get sugar," Bruce complained.
"Master Dick has no need to worry about his blood pressure."
Later that afternoon Bruce was "downstairs" doing a check on the underside of the Batmobile. Batman had come in for a rough landing on top of a spiked iron fence, and he wanted to make certain there wasn't any damage (to the vehicle – the fence had been demolished).
There was the click of measured footsteps on the cave floor, and then Alfred's polished shoes appeared beside the Batmobile. "Does everything seem to be in order sir?"
"I can't even find a scratch. Would you move that light a little to the left?" Alfred obliged and after another moment's examination Bruce asked, "Where's the kid?"
"I left Master Dick drawing in the library."
"Drawing…and yesterday he probably wouldn't have admitted he knew what a pencil was. Alfred, don't you think this is a little…sudden?"
"Undoubtedly, sir."
"I took him out to the reservoir this morning, and he wasn't even phased. Crawled right up to the edge to see where'd he fallen. He's like a completely different kid. You think this could be some kind of shock effect or evidence of some sort of…mental instability? Rachel once said something about taking him to an emotional trauma specialist."
"I suppose it's possible, sir, but I think the more likely explanation is that the appearance of a father figure…" He was cut off by a loud thunk from beneath the Batmobile.
"Ouch." Bruce wiggled out from under the vehicle and stood up, gingerly patting his forehead. "Is it bleeding?"
"No, but you had better put some ice on it. Any goose that sees it is going to be envious."
Bruce raided Batman's supply of ice packs and sat down. "Now say that again…about why Dick is acting so…"
"Secure. He at last feels secure in his new surroundings, and you are the source of that security."
"As a father figure?" Bruce asked in disbelief.
"You must remember that the boy's own father died when he was very young. He has had nothing, not even a memory, to fill that space in his life."
Bruce still wasn't willing to give in. "I can't buy it. For the past three weeks I would have almost sworn he hated me."
"I don't he think he ever hated you, Master Wayne. He merely took his time assessing you. After the past few months, I don't suppose young Master Dick was ready to take anything at face value. He possibly also perceived you as the person keeping him from Miss Dawes."
"Why didn't he have the same problem with you?"
Alfred smiled. "Despite what I just said about face value, I believe it's the mustache. Children seem to find it reassuring."
"Really?" Bruce ran a finger over his own smooth upper lip. "Remind me to try it next time." Then the humor faded from his face and he shook his head. "I'm not father material, Alfred."
Alfred's voice was sharp. "Mentor, then, if you prefer the word. But what exactly did you think taking care of the boy would involve? Children are not polo ponies, you can't turn them over to the country club and pay the feed bill once a month."
Bruce sighed and set down the ice pack. "I didn't think. I just…seeing him there so alone…it was like seeing…myself. I couldn't leave him there, couldn't let him go to people who wouldn't understand, might not care…"
"You do care about the boy, then?"
"Of course! But…What if I fail him? What if I can't…be what he needs me to be?" He strode impatiently across the room and snatched the horned mask from the cupboard. "Rachel told me that Bruce Wayne is nothing but a mask. That this," he shook the black face, "is all that's real. What if she's right? What if the symbol has consumed the man until there's nothing but…Batman?"
"Bosh," Alfred said crisply. "Tap that bump on your head, sir, you're human enough. But if you do decide Miss Dawes is correct, then you should move the boy out immediately, for his sake." Alfred collected the melting ice pack and headed for the stairs. At their base, he hesitated and turned back. "If there is anything of Bruce Wayne left, you might consider that he needs
Richard Grayson just as much as Richard Grayson needs him."
Alfred mounted the stairs and reentered the house, leaving Bruce staring into the empty eyes of the mask.
Can Bruce face this ultimate responsibility?
Find out in the (for real) gripping conclusion – same bat-time, same bat-channel.
All bat-reviewers will receive a miniature chocolate model of the bat-cave. Comes in milk, dark, and semi-sweet.
Notes to Reviewers (in alphabetical order)
Antigone3: Well, I'm glad at least that the slash visions were uncalled for. I am not a slash fan in any way, shape, or form, and that's one thing I can promise you will never see in my stories. One of the biggest problems with slash is that it molds people to think that there can never be an intense relationship that doesn't involve a sexual element. Furthermore, it's almost always a flagrant character distortion… Anyway… You got on your soapbox, and I guess I got on mine!
It would have been hilarious if Alfred really had used a polo mallet. The screenwriters should have come to you for that, and to get Rachel untangled. Although I don't know that I agree she comes across as self-righteous. Idealist, yes, but I never really thought of her as a prig. I'll have to think about it when I watch it again. (Have to wait till it hits the cheap theater, though.) And thanks for quoting. It's always so interesting to see which bits jump out at people.
Archer: Do you get as antsy as I do when you can't get to the computer? No day is complete without the checking email AT LEAST once. And glad you liked my Robyn/Robin idea. A robin is a rather odd choice for a superhero, so I had to get creative.
Dot: Thanks for your note! I hope you enjoyed the chapter!
Gewher: Lol! Did Batman ever pick you up off that cliff? Anyway, I'm glad you're not dead and that the "maybe he needs someone to help him line" didn't come across as too cheesy. And thank you, along with Antigone3 and IcyWaters, for letting me know which line really stuck out for you.
Firebrand Crest Bearer: Thanks! One more chapter to go…
IcyWaters: Climactic emotional scenes can really damage a story if they go awry, so I was very relieved to read your reassurance that it was not, in fact, "trite, sappy, or overstated." I was nervous about the blanket too (haunted by the Bane of the Blatant Blanket), but you reassured me on that score. And please don't ever stop quoting lines you like. It's so interesting to see what really jumps out at the reader. Usually they're ones I'm fond of too, but once in a while there's a surprise. The mountains of Tibet line, for example, was written with certain misgivings. And should you ever see a line that just strikes you as BAD, please don't hesitate to let me know.
Katie: I'm glad you laughed at the cereal and polo ponies. The problem with being an author is that you're too familiar with your own jokes and you start to wonder if they're really funny. At the moment, in fact, I'm wondering whether I overdid the cereal bit in this chapter.
Mad Melma: Thanks for reading and reviewing! Hope you enjoyed the chapter!
Moonjava: No worries about lateness. When it comes to reviews, I'll take them hot, cold, and nine days old.
MsJonyReb: I guess this chapter revealed my take on Bruce and Dick's relationship. I did wonder for a while whether Dick's sudden devotion was too good to be true, but the more I thought about it – the way he had this 'male mentor void' without even memories of his dad – and remembered little kids in my own experience who developed overnight hero complexes for quite ordinary people, the more I felt it was believable.
Pun: Good to see you're still around and enjoying yourself!
Shotboxer: Oh yeah, all authors are evil manipulators, and all characters are constantly being set up. Would you believe I didn't notice the falling in the hole parallel until after I wrote it? Good ol' subconscious.
Starpossum: Yeah, I love Alfred. I've said that before and I'll say it again: I LOVE YOU, ALFRED!
TheAmazingTecnocoloredRingWraith: Sorry, cash or check only. What number are you?
Tega: Gripping conclusion…um, obviously not. The next chapter really is the last, though. And, as a matter of fact, there is a sequel. This fic raises too many questions not to have one.
TVChick: Oh yeah, I agree about the real identities being more interesting. It must be because when they're wearing the secret identity, all you see is the mask and the flying fists. You can't inside their heads.
WolfDaughter: Oh man, I'm glad I didn't think about real climbers reading this story until I read your review. But apparently my imagination pulled through! (In other words, I don't climb…I did get stranded on a very steep hill in the rain once. "It gets a little rough," my cousin said. HA! He was lucky he didn't have my dead body on his hands…)