The First Failure

Alexnandru Van Gordon

I thought up of this one right after I wrote the last chapter, and it's similar to something I accidentally—and I seriously mean accidentally—did to my mother last night. I still haven't admitted to her and I've been mustering up the courage to tell her she's not going insane, but I haven't seen her since last night and I won't for a while since she works as a nurse at night and sleeps during the day.

Let's go—

Insanity goes one way—and that's straight to your head. That's just a conclusion he came to after Bruce misplaced his keys enough times and had to have Alfred help him find them. But after a night of battling Scarecrow and a bunch of his goons (who, by the way, Richard hated with all his might), he figure out that Bruce must have been permanently affected by his crazy dust after receiving enough different doses.

Bruised and banged up, Alfred helped Richard by wrapping up the rest of his chest, mindful of the broken rib, as Bruce paced the cave in the background. He had to get to the airport to great some sort of business man and he was looking for—you guessed it—his misplaced keys.

"Perhaps you should attach them to a chain." Alfred suggested.

"—around your neck." Richard added with a giggle. This earned him a stern look from Bruce, but he picked up his own keys piled up with his regular clothes. "See—that's what I do."

Bruce shook his head. "I'm not some kid who would lose his keys otherwise if not worn around my neck."

"Yep. You're an adult with Alzheimer who'd lose his keys any other way."

Bruce moved to slap him upside the head, but with a warning glare from Alfred he held his temper at bay. Instead he muttered it off with a goodnight before he left to find his keys.

"You don't suppose it's from old age, do you?" Richard asked; changing into his pajamas after Alfred was finished helping him. "Or is something else on his mind."

"Master Bruce is still young, although he believes he is growing old." Alfred sighed. "And please have your bath before you go to bed, Master Dick—and don't mention any other comments to Master Bruce before the morning. Your constant bickering has given me a headache."

"Sure thing, Al." Richard promised, even though the thought gave him a terrible idea…

-B-

"Barbara can watch me." Richard suggested and both Bruce and Alfred silently protested against the idea. Alfred was leaving for England in the afternoon, heading toward his cousins wedding in London while Bruce had an important meeting to get too right after noon. They couldn't leave him home alone as injured as he was and there was little time to find a new babysitter that could handle the energetic nine-year-old acrobat.

"What will we tell her?" Bruce asked, eyeing his bandaged up ward.

"I fell over the high railing after a failed back flip." He answered gleefully and Bruce shuddered at the mental image. That was a long way to fall, but anyone who knew Richard would probably believe that fib to be true. It wasn't a pleasant lie but at least it would work…

"…Fine…" Bruce grabbed for his coat from the closet and then handed Alfred his own. The older man collected his one suitcase as Bruce took out his cell phone to call Barbara. "Don't do anything stupid while we're gone. I'm dropping Alfred off at the airport first so if you or Barbara need to call me at the office, you'll have to wait for an hour or so until I get there. Are we clear?"

"As crystal." He gave a fake salute and smiled. "Don't worry. I won't kill myself."

"Let's hope not." Bruce muttered and left the house with his butler. He could just image stepping through the door on his way home and greeting another old can of paint. It was one of the older tricks but…Richard should have run out of ideas by now. Who knew what he'd be reduced to, to get another cheap shot back at Bruce for the bet the kid lost?

-R-

"Really?"

Richard nodded. "Alfred said Bruce thinks he's getting old when he's supposedly really young, but if you ask me—anyone crazy enough to drink coffee with no sugar has to be old. All your taste buds need to die out before someone could stand the taste of that stuff."

Barbara made a face. "Hey, shorty—for your information, I drink coffee every Sunday morning."

"Yeah, but you drink yours with milk. He drinks straight black—no sugar or anything!"

"I see…and what does this have to do with anything?"

"Everything." Richard jumped out of bed, shorts and t-shirt on, and grabbed his journal off his desk. Barbara, sitting on the edge of his bed, took it into her hands and began to read the pages.

"Hey…this is a list of all Bruce's habits and the way he usually does stuff. What possessed you to write this? Unless you turned into some sort of stalker, I can't find any reason why you'd waste ten pages of perfect paper on this weirdo. And…Hey, I didn't know he drank with his left hand."

Richard grinned and nodded. "Yep. He says he's right handed but I think when you consider all the stuff he does, he's really ambidextrous. I only ever see him write with his right hand though…"

"And he's a neat freak, has everything in order from left to right, up to down…wow, maybe he has a bit of OCD-ness in him too." She handed him back the book and sighed, finally grinning herself. "So, stalker, what's your plan this time?"

"It's pretty simple. We're going to make him as old as he feels."

She arched an eyebrow and he knew she was deeply interested. "Why? So he retires from this little war between the two of you, or just to uneven the scores for now?"

"Actually…I'm hoping for the latter of the two—if not both."

"Then order away, oh great one. I'm eager to begin…"

-B-

Work was—simply put—hell. He had no idea someone could keep a meeting going for seven hours and then remind him of some banquet starting at nine that he forgot all about. Usually he'd drag Richard along if he didn't feel like staying long, making the excuse that the boy had bed to get to so they could leave early, but he'd have mercy on Richard for now with his injuries and all. The boy would also miss patrol that night too, but he'd probably bound back into action in a day or two. There wasn't much that kept 'Robin' down, and Bruce could back anyone up you said that.

Speeding home, he was surprised to see no cops on his tail. Everything seemed to be going rather alright until he remembered who was waiting for him home. Not to mention Barbara was there. That could only mean they were conspiring against him…again…

"Hey, Mr. Wayne." Barbara said as she answered the door, stepping aside as he entered and took off his coat. "Nice day, eh?"

"How was Richard?" He asked instantly, the usual question he berated the girl with.

"Rowdy, but if you add some pain killers and a glass of warm milk to those injuries of his, he goes out like a light. So be quiet on your way up, he's asleep."

"Sure thing." He told her over his shoulder, running up the grand stairs and silently as he could manage. Running to his room he changed—but not before checking the entire place for traps. He wasn't going to put aside the fact that Richard had been working the entire time he was away. With Miss Gordon around, nothing was impossible for him.

Certain that he was safe—for now—he slicked back his hair and brushed the hair behind his ears with a comb before setting off downstairs again, fixing an uncomfortable tie around his neck. He found Barbara in the living room reading a magazine on the couch.

"Barbara, do you think I can pay you to stay until midnight or so? I'm sorry if it's on short notice but I don't have time to call up someone else."

"No problem, Mr. Wayne." She replied, looking up from her magazine—and then giggled when she saw him. "Oh…and nice hair."

What?

He didn't ask—he just stepped out into the hall to find the annoying large mirror Alfred put up somewhere. At first he didn't see anything, but upon closer inspection he noticed that—quite faintly—the hair above and behind both ears was a darker shade of gray. Now that he saw it he couldn't stop seeing it, no matter how far away he stood from the mirror. It was…frightening.

"Hey, Barbara." He retuned to the living-room quickly, checking his watch for the time. "Is it really that noticeable?"

She looked up from her magazine and squinted at his hair. "Um…not that much. Just stick out of the direct light and no one will see it."

"Uh…thanks…"

-R-

"And?"

She smiled proudly. "He's falling for it. You should have seen the look on his face when he asked me if it was bad—absolute devastation! Oh, Dick—this is going to be great!"

"Good. Stage one completed." He checked off the first marker at the back of his journal.

"What's next?"

"We have to wait for tomorrow before things start to brew up. Meet me in the yard at seven o'clock in the morning and I'll fill you in on the rest." He paused. "And…you're sure that stuff won't just wash out with normal soap and water?"

She rolled her eyes, smiling wickedly. "Kid, that's the new type of oil paint I got from the shop a week ago. That stuff ain't coming out unless he ducks his head into a bucket of turpentine—unless he waits about a week and a half. That stuff does wear of eventually, and I don't think he'll notice it yet on that comb of his."

Well…as long as it didn't wash out in one night. He needed to keep up the charade for another day or so if he wanted it to get to the fun stuff…

-B-

Only three other people noticed the graying hair and they all said it in a way that it made him almost 'shy' to talk to anyone else at the charity banquet. All the remarks like "getting old, I see", "working a little too hard I see", or "you should get married soon" all made him feel as old as he usually thought he was. Now he felt like an elastic band stretched beyond the limits. Maybe he was working too hard and stressing himself out. But getting married? First he'd have to get to know a woman well enough to let her in on her secret, and then he'd have to get Richard to like her too because his identity was being given up as well.

Round and round the Ferris wheel spins.

He arrived home earlier than what he usually did and Barbara didn't mind. She even felt sorry about the whole 'mid-life crisis' (as she put it) issue going on with him so she didn't accept pay and simply ran from the house when he tried to give her the money anyway. Richard was even kind enough not to mention anything when Bruce went to say goodnight, but that could also be due to the fact that he kept the lights off in the boy's room when he entered. There was no doubt Richard would comment on it sooner or later.

At least sleep came easy after he patrolled and that was a heaven-sent gift. Maybe he just needed a little more rest. Perhaps he was straining himself too hard…

Being Saturday, he allowed himself to sleep in until eight thirty, a big difference for him, and came down stairs to meet Richard in the dining room with a cup of coffee. The boy sat on the far end away from him, eating cereal and staring at the newspaper before Bruce swapped it away from him.

"I was reading that…" The nine-year-old growled at Bruce made his way long way down to the other end of the table.

"Shouldn't a normal boy your age be into comics or coloring books or painting? I haven't seen you paint in a long while…"

Richard rolled his eyes. "Hello—I was born in a circus, live with a nice old butler and a mean excuse of a man, and fight criminals in my spare time. When on earth was I ever given the right to be normal?"

"Good point." He unfolded the huge paper and lifted it into his view. "Now finish your breakfast."

Richard muttered something for where he sat but ate as he was told, quit as a mouse, and Bruce enjoyed the paper. He had almost forgotten about the whole 'gray hair' ordeal until he reached around the paper and took a sip from his coffee.

Spitting it out all over the newspaper, he nearly dropped his cup and choked. It was loaded with sugar swirling in a huge mass right in the middle of his coffee, something he didn't recall putting in there. He hated sugar in his coffee—even one teaspoon made him sick.

Richard, pausing in his own meal, gave Bruce an odd look and stared at the dropped newspaper. "Bad news?"

"No…" He stared at his cup and picked up a spoon, stirring the liquid to make sure he wasn't imagining things. "There's sugar in my coffee."

The boy shrugged. "So?"

"But I hate sugar in my coffee!"

"Then why did you put it in there?"

Bruce frowned. "I didn't—you did."

Richard gave him the weirdest look yet, eyes dragging along the table from where he sat to Bruce. "And how exactly would I have done that? I know I'm an acrobat, but I'm not the Flash or Superman!"

He was right.

Did he put it in there and forget?

"First your keys and then your coffee—jeez Louise, growing old, aren't you?"

Bruce frowned at the comment but didn't make a come-back. Maybe he was…

-R-

To say the least, Bruce was overwhelmed by the discovery that he might be growing old. As upset as he was, he left the table soon after cleaning up his mess and threw out the coffee before storming off to his office.

Then Barbara came up from under the table, pushing aside the long white table cloth before she accidentally pulled it off. "I tried so hard not to laugh." She giggled. "What did he look like when he sipped the coffee?"

Richard watched as she put the sugar bucket on the table and sat down in Bruce's seat. Then he shrugged. "Didn't see exactly because of the newspaper in the way, but when he put it down he looked like he stepped on a nail. He had a really shocked look on his face."

She clapped her hands together joyfully and smiled wider than he had ever seen before. "Oh—what's next, Dick?"

"Next step is his office…"

-B-

Reading and working always made him feel better. He had a few contracts to look over and the most recent review of his company to look over before the next meeting on Tuesday. Fox would kill him if he didn't get it down (and, mind you, he was near finished), and so he had every perfect excuse to relax the day away in his office.

Until Richard knocked on the door.

He was highly suspicious of when the boy would pull his next prank but Richard had a busy look about him as well, staring at a sheet of paper he must have printed off the computer. "I need your help with something." The boy said honestly as he closed the door quietly behind him. Bruce raised an eyebrow, but leaned back in his chair and nodded.

"You know that guy that got killed by the other guy down by the docks last night?"

Bruce almost laughed. "Shouldn't you know the names? I thought you were a detective."

"I am." Richard frowned. "I can't pronounce either of the last names and I know you're busy, so let's make this quick."

Bruce shrugged. "Fine. What do you need from me?"

"I need one of your books." Richard indicated to the tall book shelf just behind Bruce's desk. "I think it's the big red book on the top shelf."

Bruce winced. The shelf was much taller than Bruce and he would need a ladder, but at least Richard was asking for his help instead of just climbing the shelf himself and then having it fall on him.

"I don't know if I can reach it…" Bruce started, standing from his desk. "You'll have to sit on my shoulders."

"No prob." The boy strode across the room and Bruce held out his hands. In one clean swing Robin was up on his shoulders, facing forward like Bruce as the man held onto his shins.

"Okay…which one is it?"

"It should be the red one but it's been a while since I looked through it, seeing that you won't let me anywhere near your books."

"You spilt milk on the last one."

"You spilt coffee on my book too."

"That was Robin Hood. I can replace that, but my psychology books are a little more valuable."

"Still, I can't make out any of the words from pages fifty-six to ninety-three because of how much you spilt, and the one picture of Maid Marianne looks like a monster Superman would fight in space."

"Ha-ha, I'm sorry, okay?"

"So am I, but I said that a long time ago."

"Argh…Just grab the book."

Richard stretched his arms and caught the book, pulling it out and staring at the cover. "Huh? Animals of the World—this is my book! Why do you have it?"

Bruce scowled. "Relax, it's not like I stole it from you. Alfred must have found it lying around and put it there for filler on the shelf."

"Uh-huh. Right…" He tossed it over his shoulder and Bruce heard it land with a slam on the desk behind him.

"Hey—watch it!"

"Sorry—move a little to the right. It must be the other red book." Richard stretched his arms again after Bruce moved and pulled out another book. With a laugh, he opened the book and leaned the book toward him to show Bruce the pictures. There was a long paragraph about knife wounds ad a man chopped to bits in a picture above it. The page next to it showed the mess in a larger view from a different angle. "We were looking for this last week, remember? And all that time I thought Alfred was busy cutting out the pictures…"

Bruce rolled his eyes. "Close that book. You shouldn't see that."

"Whatever—" And tossed the book back over his shoulder to slam on the desk with the other. "Move a little further to the right again."

"I told you to mind the books."

"No, you told me to watch them."

Bruce muttered something under his breath but moved fro Richard. The boy took the last red book off the top shelf and opened it to look at the pages. "Yep, thanks Bruce. This is the right one. See—" He lowered the book to show Bruce the pages. There was a picture of guns lying on a table, arrows pointing to their differences. Richard pointed to one. "This is the one I think he was shot with. It's only one of the few that uses the bullet type we found in the guy's head."

"Oh really?"

"Yep. You can put me down now."

"Not until you put away the other books."

"Huh?" Richard hung his head forward and stared at Bruce questioningly. "This is the one we took off the shelf."

Bruce turned around to look at the desk. "Don't lie, your threw the books over you shoulder onto my desk and—"

They were gone.

"Where'd you put them?"

"Put what?"

"The animal book and the other one?"

Richard shrugged. "Beats me. I have no idea what you're talking about. We only took this one—"

"Richard…" Bruce growled, staring up at his boy. "I know what I saw and I'm not putting you down until you tell me the truth."

Richard looked genuinely shocked, scratching his bandaged-up left arm mindlessly. "Well…honestly, I don't know what to say. I have no idea what you're—"

"Look, Richard. You're on dangerous grounds right now, because you're sitting on my shoulders and I can easily just carry you back down to the cave to give you another time out like last time. Tell me what's up and I'll let you down but—" He stared at the desk again. "Where are all my papers?"

Richard smacked Bruce on top of his head. "What are you, old? You were looking at them this morning before you stole the newspaper from me. You left them on the dining-room table."

"No I didn't!" Bruce growled again. "I was reading them just before you entered the room!"

"You were sleeping when I came in!"

"NO I WASN'T!" Or did he?...Was he really losing his mind?

"Look—go into the dining room and see for yourself! They'll be right there on the table!"

"And how do I know you didn't move them there?"

Richard smacked him again on the head, harder this time to emphasize his point. "Hello! You watched me the entire time I entered the office and I'm stuck on your shoulders! I'd have to split in two in order to do that!"

"Or one…" Bruce drifted off into thought. Swinging Richard off his shoulders, he grabbed the boy's hand and started out of his office toward the dining-room at a fast pace. He stopped at his end of the table and pulled up the white table cloth, leaning down one knee to stare under the table. Sure enough, there was spilt sugar.

"Who's been helping you this time?" He asked in a dangerous tone, still holding the boy's hand. "Well?"

Richard said nothing, looking as innocent and upset as possible.

"Fine." Then Bruce dragged him off toward the kitchen. "We'll just have to figure this out the hard way."

Richard still said nothing. He was quiet until Bruce stopped by the kitchen phone by the sink and picked up the boy, sitting him down on the counter in front of him.

"Alfred would have a fit if he found out I was on his counter."

"Do I look like I care?" Bruce picked up the receiver. "Who was it? One of your friends? Matthew, Samuel, Jason, Cory—Barbara?" He smiled cruelly at her name. "Yeah, I think she'd have a hay-day making me think I was old, if just for a few laughs and your satisfaction in this little war going on. We'll call up Barbara and ask her down to play. Does that sound good to you?"

Richard crossed his arms but began to look worried as Bruce dialed her number. The line rang twice before her uncle answered.

"Hello?"

Bruce smiled. "Hell, Gordon. This is Bruce and I was just wondering if Barbara could come down to baby-sit Richard again today."

"Poor boy. I heard from Barbara that he fell down some stairs or something the other day. I'd call her up but she isn't here right now. She said she had some errands to run today and left around six thirty in the morning. I haven't seen her since."

Bruce smiled wider and Richard began to look even more uneasy. "Thanks anyway, Gordon. I'll see you around.'

"Have a nice day, Mr. Wayne."

"You too."

He hung up and stared at Richard again. "Barbara is out for the day. But we know where she is, don't we, Richard?"

The boy shrugged. "Sorry, I have no idea."

"Yes you do—she's the one helping you. She slipped sugar into my coffee when I was reading the paper, waiting under the table for me to come downstairs. She's the one who took the books and paper off my desk when I was helping you with the books—I bet she's still in there under the desk, or hiding somewhere else in the house to help you with this prank."

Richard, despite the furious look on his face, very calmly brushed a strand of stray hair behind Bruce's ear and smiled gently. "You can't prove that." He said, slow and smug and cocky, emphasizing the word 'can't'. "And besides…how could anyone give you gray hair?"

Bruce's smile faded to be replaced with an angry frown. "You might get away with it now, but I will prove that I'm right, Richard. Just know—I finally won against one of your pranks. This one was a failure so take this kind gesture of mercy and run along. You're losing your touch, little man."

Richard scowled at the word 'little', but jumped off the counter without a word when Bruce stepped aside and left the kitchen quickly. Things were going to get a lot tougher now that they were catching on to each other, and although Richard's plan had been working out nicely for a while Bruce had been victorious. He finally won against him fair and square…

But the battle was far from finished.

-A-

Now who's turn would it be now?...I'll have to think that through, but what do you think of the longest chapter yet? I know it was slow, but I had to make it seem difficult for Richard because this first failure has some importance in the future…Sorry if it was boring.

Until Again,

Alexnandru Van Gordon