Two Roads Diverged

Part Five

Three Years Later-Nineteen

Path A

Okay, so it hadn't been the best year of his life, but he was trying to look on the bright side, stay upbeat—complaining was boring and who wanted to be a downer, right?

He'd agreed—reluctantly—to go to Hudson University to major in business. No, he didn't want to but he figured he owed Bruce at least that much and, who knew? Maybe he'd find out he didn't hate it as much as he knew every cell in his body was going to hate it.

It even started out all right. It really did. The first day on campus, during the registration part of orientation, while standing in this incredibly long line, Dick accidentally stepped on the foot of the person behind him. Turning around to apologize he was face to face with a pretty strawberry blonde.

"Lori Elton, glad to meet you and don't worry about it, I'm fine."

"Dick Grayson, sure you're okay?" She nodded, smiling and she was very pretty when she did that. Not as pretty as Donna or Barbara, but certainly pretty enough. They exchanged the usual 'what's our major, where's your dorm, how's your room mate' stuff and Lori seemed pretty impressed that he had a place of his own in a boarding house with no curfew and his own room with an attached bathroom for his own use. Stuff like that was like gold for a freshman.

"So who do you know? I thought everyone had to live on campus the first year."

He shrugged—like he was about to tell her Bruce had made a call and in exchange for a lot of donated money, Dick was allowed to live on his own so tat Robin would still ply his trade. "Lucked out, I guess. So, have you had lunch yet?"

That was on track pretty fast. He liked Lori; she was fun and didn't hang on him like some girls did. She pretty much let him come and go as he wanted and—okay—she complained sometimes that he was never around or never seemed to answer his phone, but let it drop most of the time. She wasn't even freaked when she found out who was paying Dick's bills since the Elton family had some serious money, too. No, not as much as Bruce, but they could hold their own with you basic, run of the mill rich folks. That made things easier; it was a pain to always either pretend like he was just like everyone else on campus or that he knew the best restaurants in every major capitol on the planet. Hell's Bells—he wasn't impressed by that garbage, but he knew about stuff most college kids had barely heard of and that got tired after a while. Lori understood what it was like to be a 'have' in a sea of 'have nots'. It sounded like paradise, but in fact it was simply awkward.

He also like, he really liked the fact that Lori wasn't opposed to (and even encouraged) things between them to move along nicely and faster than Dick could have hoped.

Okay, admit it—he was sort of embarrassed that after all he'd done and been through, he was probably the last virgin in his high school or in his group of friends. Except for Wally, of course. Thank God that burden was finally lifted.

So things were looking pretty good at Hudson except for the fact that he hated everything about his classes. Everything. He hated the course work. He hated the books he had to read. He hated the assignments. He hated the subject matter. He hated the smug teachers who assumed he'd ace their classes because of growing up around Bruce and Wayne Corp. He hated the deadlines and what he saw as make work. He hated that there was no one he could talk to about what he had Robin doing because all he could do was call the other Titans on the phone and it wasn't even a secure line. He hated that Robin was reduced to working on cases like dorm robberies and very minor drug busts in dorm rooms.

He hated that he was wasting his time here. It took him almost two and a half months, but when he went home for Thanksgiving, he screwed up his nerve and broke the news to Bruce that he'd finish out the semester and then pack it in. He was dropping out. His mind was made up an he'd like to do what he'd said a couple f years ago; he wanted to either travel or get a job and see where he was in another year or two and make some decisions then.

Well, y'know? Bruce actually took that pretty well. It seemed that he'd suspected as much and was almost expecting it sooner or later—well, maybe he was expecting it later, but he took it pretty well, all things considered.

During the Christmas break, after the exams, Dick kissed Lori goodbye with few regrets on either of their parts and moved his stuff back to the Manor. He was feeling pretty good about this new phase, as he thought of it—he was back where he sort of belonged and Robin was back at work, dividing his time between Batman and the Titans. This was good. He was home, the thing with Barbara looked like it might have some potential and every time he thought of the possibility he might someday actually be in a bed with her made him silently thank Lori—God, the idea that he'd be a fumbling amateur around Barbara—Barbara!—like some wet behind the ears kid was too embarrassing to think about.

And then, as they say, the damn shoe dropped.

The Joker.

He and Batman were about to collar the lunatic again when Joker whips out a pistol and manages to hit him in the shoulder—well, through the shoulder if you want to split hairs. It was pretty bad, not life threatening, but bad enough.

And that's when things started to go down the plughole.

A couple days later when he was still in bed because he got dizzy when he stood up and with his shoulder still heavily bandaged, Bruce came up to his room, studied him like he was a bug under a microscope and announced that he was taking Robin away from him for his own good.

Frigging excuse me? He'd argued, ranted, cajoled, pleaded and knew that he was wasting his breath. Bruce wouldn't be budged no matter what. He had it in his head that for Dick to be doing something he'd been doing since he was nine years old had suddenly become too dangerous and so, for his own good, that was that. No more, go find something else to do with his life.

Like what?

He could go back to the circus and fly fifty feet above the dirt without a net.

He could work in the mailroom at Wayne Enterprises.

He could flip burgers.

He could apply to be a cop but since, of course, he didn't have any official experience he'd be turned down.

With Alfred watching, helping and helpless to stop him, he packed a few things, some basic clothes and moved to his room in Titan Tower. He didn't take anything Bruce had given him and he made it clear that the only money he'd use was his own, nothing from the man who was, in all practical terms, his father. If Bruce wanted to cut him off, fire him, than fine. He could go to hell.

"Three weeks now since you changed addresses and no word. In a pout, are we?"

"Barbara?"

"Ah, the world's second greatest detective scores another bulls-eye. …So, are you going to tell me what's going on?"

"Like you don't know? He fired me. I'm gone—well, actually he fired Robin and I can do whatever I want so long as I don't mess my hair or break a nail in the process."

"Sounds like an exaggeration to me. Are you going to tell me what really happened?" Silence. "C'mon, Dick, I've known you for ten years—and I've known him even longer. What did he say?"

"…That he didn't want my getting killed on his conscious and so he was retiring 'Robin' to protect me. I was flying on a trapeze without a net when I was four, I'm a third degree black belt, I know a dozen different martial arts and I've dealt with—and bested—the top criminals on the planet and a few who live beyond that and now he decides it might be dangerous? This is bullshit, Barb—there's some other reason he doesn't want out, but firing me because he's worried? I mean, c'mon. He wasn't worried when I was nine, it's a little late to start now."

"But he's always been worried about you—you know that. My God, the time you were in that coma he sat beside your bed for four days waiting for you to come out of it. He wouldn't sleep, Alfred had to bring food to the room and practically force feed him and…"

"He's brought in another kid to be Robin. A street punk he picked up someplace. He didn't even wait for someone who knew what they were doing, the kid is completely green and he's starting from scratch with him."

"No—he isn't."

"Call the Manor, Barb. Look, I'm going to get away for a while, so don't worry about me. I just want to clear my head by myself."

"What about Kory—is she going with you?"

"I said 'by myself'."

"How will I get a hold of you?"

She heard the ghost of a smile. "Don't call me, I'll call you."

"How the hell could you do this to him? What were you thinking—were you thinking? About him, I mean, instead of yourself for a change?"

"Barbara, calm down. I did what was in his best interest, whether he wants to believe that or not."

"Bull—you did what was in your best interest because you're too much of a damn coward to tell him you're worried about him or to trust him to know what he's doing because he's not the Great God Batman. If anything happens to him now you can blame him for it, but you know something? That's bull, too because you drove him to whatever he has planned and you can just damn live with it."

She was furious, mad clear through at what Bruce had done, at the stupid, thoughtless way he'd treated his own son—or as close as he was ever going to get to having one at the rate he was going. Dick loved him and that, more than anything was the knife through his back, the betrayal, the lack of faith, the belief that he needed protecting because he couldn't take care of himself. After everything he'd been through, after the death and pain and incompetence and abandonment he'd endured to be thrown out because of Bruce's inarticulation and in ability to say what he meant and felt—Christ!

"Master Bruce, where do you wish Master Jason settled?"

"Dick's room is empty."

"…I would prefer not, sir, if you don't mind. There's a small chance he may want it again one of these days. Or so one may hope."

"…Was there anything else?" Bruce was giving Alfred the Bat glare. It was being ignored; he'd seen it too often to be intimidated by it.

"Do you recall when Master Dick first came to us? Those first few years? He was such a bright presence here; he lightened the very air when he came through a door, the rooms bounded with the shrieks of laughter and the teasing. How long has it been since you've heard him laugh?"

"…"

"Perhaps you may wish to consider the cause for that loss, if you should find the time."

Path B

School was going all right and Dick was a happy young man; happy with his classes, happy with his friends, happy in the gym. Amy still wrote to him and they hooked up whenever they were in the same place; he'd gone to see her backstage when Ringling Brothers had played a week in Columbus and they'd had a nice reunion. Smiling, she said she'd always wanted to see a college dorm and so he obliged her, both of them there more as friends than lovers though they both knew she would stay with him while she was there for old times sake. They parted at the end of the week with good feelings between them and no strings, though they joked about being pros and having to play out the week's full run. They did, with her going back to the arena for performances, then coming back to the campus. She watched him compete against Michigan in Ohio's home gym and kissed him when he won both the high bar and the vault.

They were still good friends, though they both knew that was all they'd probably end up being to each other, though her mother would have liked more. Dick's mother had breathed a sigh of relief when he'd told her they had agreed to see other people, however.

Dick admitted, because he was basically honest with himself, that Amy was still in love with him and he didn't return it. They were friends and sometimes they still slept together, and that bothered him a little, but, well, there it was. He was human and they had fun together. If she saw something more, it wasn't his fault, was it? Really?

"I swear to God, Grayson, I don't see how you get everything done. You're like robo-student or something."

Dick looked across the lunch table at Mike Belson, one of the senior gymnasts. He'd finally decided to go with Ohio State's offer and while it wasn't easy balancing classes, workouts, occasional modeling sessions and sporadic touring to play the family act during school breaks, he was keeping his head above water so far. Barely. He just wasn't heavy on down time lately. The package he'd been given was for almost full tuition, 85 of his room and board and a stipend he could use for books and stuff if he agreed to help coach some local kids in gymnastics eight hours a week. He was majoring in business, like he'd planned and so far, so good. He was a sophomore, he liked the school and he liked most of the guys on the team. He was Dean's List and God knew he didn't get anywhere enough sleep. Oh, and they'd won National's last year with Dick adding a win on high bar to the team score. The whole routine was good, but the quad blew them away every time. The first time he'd thrown it in a dual meet against UCLA, there had been a twenty-minute judge's conference to determine if the move was even legal. The deciding factor had been when Dick had offered to throw it again, and yet again to prove it wasn't a fluke and he could hit it pretty much whenever he wanted. There were some grumbles about 'cheap acrobatics and theatrics', but it was finally approved and named 'the Grayson' since he was the first to do it successfully in a sanctioned meet.

And he just had so much fun throwing it. He'd wind up, get the speed, release, make the four and a half turns, and stick the landing with his arms up and this big smile on his face like—"Yeah Wasn't that just so cool?" He'd laugh, wave to the crowd, hop off the platform, sit down to wait for his score and he was just so having a ball that it carried the audience along for the ride.

That had led to a couple of interviews with both the local and a few national papers along with a couple of news agencies and a call from Sports Illustrated wanting to do a follow up to that article a few years ago. Used to dealing with this type of thing since he was four, he was at ease and charming, winning over the crowd, the judges, the other teams and the reporters. His own ingrained basic modesty helped, too, allowing him to fit in with the other athletes and not cause too much resentment.

Needless to say, his scholarship and place on the team were a lock.

The daily workouts were tough, though, even with his background and he'd taken some crap at first about being circus, especially when the others found out he'd never even competed at the high school level but when they'd seen him throw his first floor routine and then practically spend more time in the air above the high bar than hanging onto it, never missing, no bobbles and sticking every damn landing, they warmed up pretty quickly and from then on he had friends.

There had been some trouble at first because of his looks, too—it turned out a couple of the other guys had him pegged as a pretty boy who'd maybe gotten the big scholarship for 'services rendered' to some recruiter or someone, if you get the drift. It was the kind of stuff he'd heard before, especially when you put it together with male model thing, but after a couple of days they seemed to clue in that he was solid and his talent and training were what had gotten him the spot and anything else didn't matter…and hadn't happened, anyway.

Besides, he was always having such a good time that people wanted to be around him. He was fun, he was funny and he was damn smart beneath that. No, he wasn't a Pollyanna or anything stupid like that, he just had this confidence about him, like he knew what he was doing, where he was going and was going to get there so why break a sweat about the small stuff and while he was getting there he might as well have a good time.

"So, you going to Steve's party tonight?"

"I have to finish a paper."

"F'Chrissake, Grayson, take an hour off, why don't you? You know what happens to boys who are all work and no play?"

"It will make me a dull fellow?"

"Who never gets laid."

"Damn, Mike—I didn't know you cared."

He stood up, slinging his pack over one shoulder and picking up his tray. "...Deeply. I'll pick you up at eight and none of your 'I have too much work to do' crap. Be ready."

Ten after eight Mike knocked on his door. "You ready? Damn, do you have to flaunt that 'I'm a hunk model' thing'? Some of the rest of us would like a chance with the ladies for a change."

"Yeah, right." Dick was wearing a shirt they'd let him keep after a Lauren shoot a month or so ago, the heavy silk crepe one, a deep wedgewood blue that brought out the cornflower color of his eyes. Paired with an old pair of Levi's, faded and just tight enough to still be comfortable and the look was killer. The thing that really made it work, though, was that Dick was unconscious about the effect he had. If there had been the slightest hint of arrogance it would have come across as affected. As it was, it just read as though he'd thrown on whatever he'd come to that was clean—which was, in fact, the truth.

And it worked very well.

Fortunately for Dick, the other guys on the team had discovered fast that he had almost no ego, was generous with his help and advice and easily took a back seat to the other team members. He was there to get his degree and the gymnastics thing was just his ticket to the goal, not the point of his being there.

The party was over in one of the student apartments and was your typical student get-together. There was a keg, some cheap wine people had brought, popcorn and chips to munch on. The music was a little too loud and the place was crowded by the time they'd walked the half-mile. Dick got a couple of beers, handed one to Mike and started to wander around the place to see who was there. He greeted a few of the team members and their girlfriends and allowed himself to be maneuvered to a seat on the arm of a couch where a couple of girls—who knew the gymnastic team had groupies?—were trying for cool and failing badly. They actually asked if they could feel the muscles in his arms. God. It was nice to be popular, but c'mon, y'know?

He finished his beer, smiled and excused himself to get another—anything to get away. He was leaving tomorrow for Spring Break and was looking forward to just kicking back on the beach, spending time with his parents, hanging with the circus people and not thinking about practice or papers or publicity or any of that. A few days all to himself with no one on his case, that was what he needed right now.

Heaven.

"Dick called while you were out. He's fine; he got a reservation after his last class on Wednesday on the 2:30 flight. He should be here at 6:40."

"Good. How did he sound?"

"Tired."

"He has to know about the house."

"…He doesn't have to know yet. Let him relax for a few days, have a nice dinner with everyone and he'll find out when he has to."

"John—if he thinks we're being forced to sell because we can't pay the bills…"

"…Without him to anchor the act he'll leave school. We've been over this before. We'll move in with your parents if we have to—we can fix up the garage apartment your father used as an office and we'll be fine."

"But…"

"This isn't his problem, Mary. We'll be fine and he has enough to think about without this on top of it."

She nodded, he was probably right. Dick would be told eventually, but right now they could wait a bit.

TBC