Two Roads Diverged

Part Six

Two Years Later. Twenty-One Years Old

Path A

"It's good to have you back, my boy. More than you know." Alfred had placed the piece of homemade apple pie in front of Dick then, in an unprecedented breech of protocol, had squeezed his shoulder in restrained affection. "You've been missed. Greatly missed." Dick knew better than to comment on the tears in the old man's eyes, standing and hugging him before Alfred was embarrassed by the loss of his dignity and control. "I'd become concerned you might decide to move on with your life and leave you old friends behind."

"Not you, Alfred. Some of the others, maybe, but not you." They held the moment for a few more seconds then separated, composure restored to them both, Dick sitting back down in his old chair at the kitchen table and Alfred pouring them each a glass of milk. They took a few bites with their own thoughts. Finally, "Is Bruce around?"

"I expect him shortly. Will you wait to see him?"

Dick shook his head. "I have to be getting back."

Alfred gave an almost imperceptible nod; it was what he'd expected. "…May I ask back where?"

"I have a place. It's small—well, it's a dump, but it's okay for now." He stood up, picked up his jacket, ready to leave. "I'll let you know if I move or anything, though. I will."

Alfred followed him to the back door. "Is it close by? I know how you are when it comes to food shopping and I cringe at the thought of you keeping house for yourself; I wouldn't mind stopping by now and then to help out a bit…"

Dick gave him a smile, he knew Alfred was worried—had been worried since he'd taken off two years ago after the big fallout with Bruce and he knew it was unfair to the old man who'd shown him nothing but kindness. It had to be done though—maybe not the way he'd gone about it, but he'd had to get out and he had to do it that minute. If he hadn't left he would have, he would have…he would have done something he shouldn't do and so he'd gone without looking back. "Thanks, Alf, but I'm good. Maybe one of these nights I'll cook you dinner and you can see for yourself."

"Heaven forefend."

Bludhaven suited him and he was making enough to pay his bills if he was careful. Besides, he liked working a regular job, having people know him and greet him by name when they came in. He could just access the trust, the obscene amount of money Lucius had built for him, but that was a cop-out. He wanted to do this on his own without Bruce's money behind him and that's what the trust really was, no matter where the seeds had come from. Without Bruce—or his employee, the insurance money wouldn't have been enough for him to live on for more than a couple of years. Sure, that wasn't bad, but he wanted to do this by himself. He wanted to do this without Bruce or his parents or the Boy Scouts looking over his shoulder to see if he was screwing up or not. This would be his way or the highway and that's the way he wanted it.

That's what he wanted.

He wanted to make the city his own; to have Nightwing be identified with it as much as Batman was with Gotham or Superman was in Metropolis. A year or so, and he'd be there. Then even Bruce would have to take notice.

"He was here, wasn't he?"

Alfred had just handed Bruce a sandwich down in the cave. It was two in the morning and he'd just come in. Alfred suspected he'd purposely delayed tonight, purposely not stopped in the main house before going out so he wouldn't have to talk to the boy.

"You know he was, just as you likely know where he's living and what's he's doing. I suspect you could tell me the brand and color of underwear he's partial to if you so chose."

He took a bite, chewing as he studied whatever was on the monitor screen. It could have been Tomb Raider for all Alfred cared at that moment. "He's living in Bludhaven, using the name 'Nightwing' with a new, darker costume at night. He's working at a cop bar called Hogan's Alley five days a week, the lunch and dinner shift, leaving by eight. He's made basic inquiries about the police academy down there and will probably be accepted when he applies. He's stopped seeing Koriand'r and has started seeing Barbara Gordon. I suspect he's either sleeping with her now or will be soon. He's marginally active with the Titans but is mostly concentrating on getting settled. And he mostly eats take out. Any other questions?"

"I was wondering when you would be seeing him."

"He knows where I am."

"And you've established you know where he is as well. I would suggest you bear in mind that you are, at least nominally, the adult and the parental figure. You may wish to act on that fact."

Path B

"No, I understand. It's not a problem. Look, I'll go through with the ceremony and then meet you in Denver on Tuesday, okay?"

"That would be fine, but I feel so awful that we can't see your graduation, honey. You've worked so hard and done so well—I just wish there was some way we could work out the schedule somehow…"

"Mom, don't worry about it. I'll get some friends to take pictures and I'll tell you all about it. It'll be fine."

"But, sweetie…"

"I'm not upset, all right? I'm over it. I know a show is a show and a job is a job. Besides, with everything that's going on it's crazy here and we probably wouldn't really get to see one another anyway. I mean not much, so really, don't worry about it." There were some voices in the background, a pause then, "I have to go, but I'll see you next week. Bye."

Mary hung up the phone, close to tears. John looked up from the old lawn chair outside the trailer. He longed for his old overstuffed armchair back home which was kinder on his back. It was really too large for the small garage apartment they lived in now when they weren't on the road but it was the one thing he'd insisted on taking, no matter if they had to put it on the roof. The place was three or four times larger than the trailer they used for touring, but it was still just a converted two-car garage.

Dick's reaction, when he'd found out yesterday that they'd lost the house and were forced into bankruptcy because bookings were down was even worse than they'd thought it would be—and they knew it wouldn't be good. He'd sworn he'd quit school and rejoin immediately, that he didn't really need a degree and he was tired of school, anyway. He insisted he hated working with the gymnastics team, that the other members—whom he'd referred to the day before as his best friends—were a bunch of boring jocks he'd kill to avoid if he could. According to him, he hated his classes and had made a mistake in even going in the first place. He couldn't wait to quit, in fact. This was really a Godsend because he'd been looking for a reason to leave without hard feelings.

That was exactly what his parents were afraid he'd do. He was no longer a child, but he was still their son and they were still the most important people in his life. Period. He still called at least once a week, he still spent every vacation and school break with them and he still joined the act on the rare occasions he was free and could get to wherever the current gig was.

There had been a lot of back and forth in a series of phone calls ending with John finally driving over to Ohio State in the middle of the night from the current gig in Detroit, knocking on Dick's door and talking to him for two days. He'd followed Dick to his classes to see for himself how completely the boy understood the subjects and how highly the professors regarded him. Then he went to the daily workout in the gym, finally putting faces to the names he'd been hearing about for a couple of years now. Watching Dick go through his routines, John marveled at the level of expertise he'd achieved—form, amplitude, creativity—it was all there in spades. John first thought it was because Dick was his son that he seemed to shine so much brighter than the others, but it wasn't and he knew that. Dick always had that special spark which can't be taught, the one which made people turn around when he walked into the room, the one which made people want to be around him and befriend him. When Dick was young, back in the circus, he could wrap a crowd around his little finger with a smile or a gesture and it was obvious he hadn't lost the ability. When he was working the high bar, no one looked anywhere else, no eyes were on any of the other gymnasts and Dick never missed a single move, making it all look so easy you'd have thought your old grandmother could do a quad and land laughing the way he did.

The other young men listened to what he had to say, teasing back and forth like any group of friends or team mates, but clearly listening to his opinions and analysis of their combos and dismounts, their aerials and choice of vaults. He noticed that the coaches asked what he thought a couple of times, too and made a point of telling John that Dick was the best they'd seen—he'd done well by his son and should be proud. He could go all the way if he wanted—the World's, the Olympics—he was that good.

The second day they were sitting in the cafeteria having lunch when he decided to take Dick to task, lay the cards on the table.

"You're popular around here." Two co-eds had just come over to say hello and ask him if he was going to some party that weekend.

Dick shrugged, dismissing it. "It's a friendly campus."

"You still see Amy at all?"

"Sometimes. Not much." The last time they'd gotten together—a weekend last month in Toledo—she'd ended up in tears, saying she knew he thought of her as just a friend and fuck buddy and she couldn't handle it anymore because she still loved him. He really hadn't meant to hurt her, but it happened and he felt badly about it. Not enough to get back together with her permanently, but enough to feel awkward being in the same city she was. It would be a while before he wanted to get into anything again with her. Maybe he'd call her in a year or so.

"Your professors and you coaches seem to have a good deal of respect for you, as well."

"I guess." No big deal. "Where does the show go next?"

"Detroit, then Columbus, Cincinnati, Pittsburgh, Harrisburg, Trenton, Philly, then I forget…New England. Have you made any plans about this summer?"

Dick looked surprised. "The act." Of course.

"I think you should think about that internship you economics professor was talking about this morning. It looked like the money was decent and you'd make some important contacts for after you're graduated—which reminds me; have you started applying to grad schools yet?"

"C'mon, Dad. You know I'm rejoining the act. We talked about this—I'm leaving as soon as finals are over next week so I get the credits, then I'll drive to wherever the show is."

"Like hell you are. Maybe for a few weeks or a month this summer, for old time's sake, but after that, you're on your own. As soon as we hit winter break, your mother and I have decided to retire. This is the last tour for us."

You'd have thought he'd just told Dick there was no Santa Claus, Easter Bunny, Tooth Fairy; the sun revolved around the earth and the world was flat. Dick went completely still, taking in what he'd just hear, trying to make sense of the last sentence.

"But…what…?"

"You heard me and it's definite." John softened a little; he knew this was knocking Dick into the wings. "Look, Dick, your mother and I have been doing this for a long time and we're getting older…"

"Bullshit—You're barely forty and Mom is still in her thirties."

"And I've been flying since I was four, the same age you started. I can't count the shoulder separations I've had, the torn ligaments and tendons, the ripped muscles. For God's sake, Dick—it takes me an hour to get moving in the morning now, I want to stop while I can still do things and before I need a damn cane to walk up the stairs."

Dick stared at him. Of all the possible arguments he was prepared for from his father, this was the one that hadn't occurred to him. Ever. He'd always assumed that the act would always be there, that his own kids would learn how to fly, that he could always go back to it whenever he wanted. The house he could live without, but the act? The Flying Graysons retired? Christ. He'd try anything. "But what about money? What are you going to live on?"

"What? You're not going to support us? We'd just assumed…"

"…"

"Joke, Dick. Kidding. I've had some offers to do some different things. I can coach, I can work in the office, I know a little bit about how traveling shows run, you know. I've even had a feeler from Elton John—he wants to do a world tour and they figure I'd know how to do all the booking and know all the arenas. A show is a show, right? Your mother is even looking into us doing some entertainment work on cruise ships and that seems like it may be something which could work out—it's a lot easier on us than having to do the whole act and we'd still be gypsies traveling around. You know I can't stay in one place too long. I get hives."

"You're serious about this, aren't you? You're frigging quitting to keep me in school."

Dick always was too smart to scam. John knew he was on to the whole thing and didn't even bother refuting it.

There was no fighting this, Dick knew he could argue until he was blue in the face and his parents wouldn't budge an inch if they thought this was what was best for him. They'd make due if it would be to his benefit. If they had Kraft Mac and cheese every night they weren't eating Campbell's soup, that's what they'd do. Jesus.

He took a breath, eyes on the table, food forgotten. "In that case, I guess maybe I will look into that internship Wittburg was talking about." There was no reason not to.

"Tell me about it."

"Personal Assistant—or one of an army of them, anyway, to Lucius Fox, Bruce Wayne's right hand man at Wayne Enterprises. It's for six months with the possibility of permanent employment if it works out. Plus they pay grad tuition if I meet the criteria and they give time off—a leave of absence, to get my masters if I qualify."

"Sounds decent."

"Yeah, maybe."

Later that night John was back with Mary in the trailer. Dick would stay in school and so the act was put in mothballs for a while. It wasn't the end of the world.

"But you're sure he'll be all right with this?"

"He'll be fine, you know Dick. He always sticks the landing."

TBC

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