Bruce Wayne/Batman, Dick Grayson/Nightwing, Selina Kyle, Barbara Gordon, the Scarecrow, and all other important characters belong to DC Comics/Time Warner.
I am using them without permission, however I have not and don't expect to make money from this.

Rated PG : mild language; violence, some mature concepts.

Reviews are greatly appreciated.

Chiroptophobia

Encounter

- - -

It was full night when Dick reached the top of the last hill and stopped at the side of the highway, looking down. Only a few more long suburban blocks, and he would be there. The turnoff to the road leading past the enclosing low wall and onto the estate was visible, as were the lights of the house itself through the trees that protected it from inquisitive eyes. In a few minutes he could be ringing the bell, waiting for the door to open, greeting Alfred and wondering what he would see on Bruce's face.

As he was hesitating, asking himself what he was waiting for, ashamed at how tempting the thought of just turning around and going back was, a movement caught his eye. He watched as the Batmobile passed on the cross street, continuing in the direction he knew led to a certain narrow lane, and then to the hidden door in what appeared to be the side of a steep hill which could only be opened by an electronic key. Bruce had given one to Dick when they had started working together, and he still carried it, even after all this time.

He reached for it, still safe inside an inner pocket of his jacket. Bruce might have changed the signal combination by now. Probably had, it would be the smart thing to do and Bruce was nothing if not smart. Still - he felt the urge to try it, to face Bruce in the cave, before seeing Alfred or walking into the house. Better to get it over with, settle it, just between the two of them.

- - -

Batman climbed out of the Batmobile and crossed the floor of the Batcave. He kept his gaze down, deliberately avoiding the mirror and the bat-like reflection he knew he would find there. As fast as he could, he pulled the cowl and cape off and threw them on the floor, not quite suppressing a shudder.

Thankful that Alfred was not there to see him and ask questions he didn't want to answer, he sagged into a chair and lowered his face into his hands. Tonight had proved that something was drastically wrong. Afterwards, he had tried to hide in his usual routine, patrolling the city, trying to deny the way the Batmobile had come to look like a giant, predatory monster to him, fearing every shadow that might hold a small, dark, leather-winged creature to dart out at him. He was lucky that nothing had happened.

No - nothing had happened on the street - but here and now... He heard it coming, an engine, the sound of a motorcycle approaching where no vehicle other than the Batmobile belonged. Senses suddenly alert, Bruce glanced at his cowl and instantly discarded the idea. Beyond the loathing he felt at the idea of putting it on, there seemed to be no point. Whoever was coming must already have a good idea of who he really was.

Silently, he rose to his feet, flipped a switch to dim the lights, and melted into the darker shadows of the cave.

- - -

Dick parked, stopped the motor, and sat there for a moment. No sign of life. The lights were dimmed as if no one was here. He dismounted, still looking around nervously. There hadn't been time for Bruce to change clothes, make his usual notes on the night's activities, and go upstairs. No, either something was wrong, or - he was still here.

Cautiously, Dick removed his helmet and hung it on the handlebars. He scanned the shadows again. Nothing. Squaring his shoulders, he moved a few steps into the main part of the cave and stopped again, looking around. The silence was getting to him; he was starting to imagine he could hear someone breathing. Couldn't see much of anything in this dark, of course.

He was wondering whether to turn the lights on, call out, or both; when his eyes fell on a display case near the cave wall. It was over six feet high, a couple of feet on a side, made of clear glass or plastic, and close enough that he could clearly see what was in it even in the dim lighting. And what was in it... was a costume, hung on a wireframe mannequin, black with a V of midnight blue across the chest, and thick-cuffed gloves and boots. His own costume. One of his spares, which he had kept here and hadn't taken with him.

He moved closer, raising a hand to rest the fingertips against the cool, flat surface, staring at it in puzzled surprise. Bruce had demanded he give up his career as Nightwing, and had thrown him out when he refused. Then why keep his costume, and why display it when it must be an unpleasant reminder...?

It was only a reflection that caught his eye, the hint of movement behind him, of a form at his back. Dick whirled, heart leaping into his throat as he found himself face to face with Bruce, a Bruce who looked pale, tired, shaken, but was still unmistakably the man he had both wanted and feared to confront for the last two years.

- - -

Bruce didn't quite believe it was really him until Dick's eyes were looking into his, wide with surprise and alarm. They stared at each other for a few tense moments. Finally Bruce tried to speak, found his throat had dried into uselessness, swallowed and tried again. This time he managed a surprisingly calm tone.

"Dick?"

"Bruce." Another couple of seconds of staring, until Dick's mouth quirked into an ironic half-smile. "Well, aren't you going to say anything else? 'Hi, how are you?' 'What's new?' Or maybe 'Get the hell out of here?'"

"Sorry, I didn't prepare a speech." Bruce took a deep breath and rubbed a hand over his face. "Look, that's not what I meant... You took me by surprise. I - it's - it's good to see you."

Dick's expression warmed just a touch. "Good to see you too," he said.

"Don't take offense, but - what are you doing here?" Bruce moved to the light switch and flipped it. They exchanged another cautious stare. His first impression was that Dick looked different. Older, or rather more mature. His face seemed more handsome than boyish now, his eyes sharper; his body was both thinner and more muscular. He seemed pared down to essentials, whatever had been unnecessary now gone - things like youth, softness, humor and vulnerability. With a stab of guilt Bruce wondered how much of that change he was responsible for.

"I watch TV, Bruce. Specifically the press conference tonight." Dick waited as Bruce said nothing. "What happened up there?"

"Nothing. I slipped."

"Bullshit."

"What?"

"I said bullshit. Maybe you can pass off an excuse like that on Alfred, but it won't work with me." He returned Bruce's glare. "And maybe you can shut him up with the kind of look you've got on your face right now, but that won't work on me either. You didn't slip; you were trying to get away from something, something so bad that when you hit the edge of the roof you just kept on going."

"It's really not your concern."

"What was it? The Scarecrow? Did he have some kind of weapon you don't want to talk about?"

"I can handle it."

"Yeah, if you'd handled it any better tonight, you'd be splattered all over the sidewalk right now."

"But I'm not, am I?" Bruce sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "Look, I appreciate it that you're here, but there's nothing you can do. This is something I have to face on my own."

"That's bullshit, too." Dick's voice was quiet now, despite the words. "You may be a stubborn, thick-headed pain in the ass, but you've helped me out a few times in the past, remember? Whatever is going on, you don't have to go through it alone. In fact, I'm not going to let you." Bruce looked up, to see a faint smile with a hint of defiance.

"You don't have to do this."

"I don't have to, but I will. You might as well just give up on stopping me."

It was tempting, but Bruce knew it wouldn't be fair to saddle his former partner with his own problems, especially after all that had happened between them. No, Dick was just being what he had always been, a nice kid, trying to do the right thing, still feeling a loyalty that should have disappeared that night two years ago. He deserved better than to have whatever life he had made for himself disrupted because of something that wasn't, that shouldn't be, his problem.

"Look..." Bruce hesitated, but it had to be said. "We're not partners anymore. We haven't even seen each other for two years. Whatever obligation you think you have, forget it. You don't owe me anything."

Dick's smile had faded. "You think the only reason I'm here is that I feel - obligated?"

"It's true, isn't it?"

"Not necessarily." Dick's expression was unreadable now. "Not everything's always about you, you know. Maybe I've simply decided to come back. Gotham was my home too, remember? Now the city's under attack by the Scarecrow, and I want to stop him as much as you do. I'm working on this case, with you or without you. Take your pick."

- - -

"Barbara, what is it?"

She straightened, and faced him as he stared from the other end of the entrance hallway in their house, feeling a moment of angry frustration. It had taken her a couple of hours to persuade her father to go to bed and to feel as if she could get a little sleep herself, and now the sound of the doorbell had gotten them both up.

"This." Barbara held up the envelope she had found pushed under the door. "No one there, but they left this. It's got your name on it."

"Let me see." Gordon reached out, hesitating for a moment before taking it. "Seems to be just paper inside..." he said, and carried it to a side table, found a letter opener, and slit it open. As she watched, again he paused before using the tip of the letter opener to pull out the single sheet of paper inside and spread it open on the surface.

"Dad?" she asked as he quickly scanned it, his brows contracting.

"Nothing. It's nothing to concern you. Forget it. I... Just go back to bed." He used the letter opener again to push the piece of paper over the edge of the table into the trash basket below. She barely caught his mutter of, "I have to wash my hands..." before he headed in the direction of his bedroom.

As soon as he was around the corner, she quickly bent to retrieve the note. It was short, and to the point. She read it three times, heart beginning to pound, before her fingers curled and crushed it into a ball as her eyes turned in the direction of her father's room.

- - -

"Alfie! Man, it's great to see you!" Dick threw his arms around the elderly butler, grinning as Alfred's expression struggled between happiness and self-consciousness.

"It's a pleasure to see you too, young master."

Dick grinned again at the title he'd just been given. Alfred's way of teasing, of course. "Gee, thanks. How the hell have you been?"

"Quite well, considering."

"A few more gray hairs, I see."

"I've earned each and every one," Alfred said in a dignified tone, and scanned him up and down critically. "You've lost weight."

"I haven't been eating your cooking." Dick's eyes followed Bruce, who had come into the kitchen behind him and now was quietly sitting down at the table, not quite looking at them.

"We will have to rectify that situation at once," Alfred was saying. "I'll fetch something now, if you'll take a seat."

"Hey, I never turn down a free meal." He also sat at the small breakfast table, aware of Alfred bustling around on the other side of the room, and trying not to be obvious as he took a closer look at Bruce.

In this familiar setting Dick noticed the changes in his former partner and mentor more strongly - new lines of worry and tension around his eyes and mouth, the tired look of someone who rarely gets enough sleep. But there was more. It was very subtle, but Bruce seemed to have lost something - that air of confidence, that quiet but overpowering self-assurance that had always made him seem so invincible. Now, Dick was reminded forcefully that the man he was looking at was only that - a mortal man.

Dick pulled his mind back to the business he was there for. "Have you contacted Commissioner Gordon?" he asked. "Is he okay?"

Bruce frowned. "I tried calling while I was on patrol. He refused to go to the hospital. Insisted he's all right."

"How very foolish of him. Rather reminds me of someone else I know," Alfred muttered as he set down plates for them.

Dick suppressed a smile. "I'm sure he's okay. Barbara's with him, isn't she?"

"Still, he was probably hit with the same thing I was. He may not realize..." Bruce trailed off.

"Not realize what?"

Bruce met his eyes and seemed to come to a decision. "What kind of effect it could have on him. He may not even feel it yet. But it'll get worse."

"Because - you think it's the same thing that's happened to you?"

Bruce looked up as Alfred put a basket of bread and two bowls of soup down. "Yes. The same thing that happened to me." He took a deep breath. "When I was sprayed with the fear dust, I had - an hallucination. A dream. Whatever you want to call it. Very vivid. It was - as terrifying as any nightmare. Lasted only a few minutes, I think, but long enough for the Scarecrow to get away. I thought at the time that was all it was, just a weapon to disable me temporarily."

"What was the dream about?"

"I - That's not important." Bruce's eyes slid away from his. "The only part that matters is that there were bats in it. They were - attacking me."

"Bats?"

"Yes. I woke up, and thought I was fine. But that was only the beginning."

"The beginning?" Dick prompted again, when Bruce fell silent.

"It's sort of ironic, when you think about it," Bruce said, so quietly that Alfred abandoned all pretext of not listening and bent closer. "The fear gas gave me some kind of artificial phobia. It's made me afraid of bats."

The idea seemed so absurd that Dick was almost tempted to laugh. Bruce, who never seemed afraid of anything, now afraid of his own symbol, the very thing he had used to frighten criminals over the years? But - he remembered what he had seen on television only hours ago; Batman retreating in so much terror that he had gone over the edge of that roof and almost been killed...

"That was a bat the Scarecrow had in that box tonight, wasn't it?" he exclaimed.

"Yes, it was."

"He used it to - to scare you off?"

"Yes."

"And he'll do it again."

"Yes. There's also every chance that he'll spread it around the underworld." Bruce's eyes lifted to his. "I have to beat this thing. Quickly."

Dick didn't say the obvious, that this could mean the end of Batman's career. He could see in Bruce's face that he realized that all too well. It was more than the danger involved, he could see that too. Bruce had already removed the bat emblem from his chest. How long before he couldn't bring himself to put on the costume at all? How long before he would be forced to abandon the identity he had created, give up the reputation he had spent years on building?

"What's our plan?" he asked. "Any ideas so far?"

Bruce frowned at him. "No plan yet. The police told me the man who attacked Gordon seems to have been hired just for the occasion, and doesn't know anything. I need some way to find the Scarecrow, and find out what that fear drug did to me."

"Not just you. Besides Gordon, he used it on two more people, a businessman and the new DA, didn't he? Maybe it had the same effect?"

"Could be." Bruce's eyes sharpened with interest, losing some of their tired look. "Fear of bats? Or some other phobia? And - he tried to do it to the mayor too."

"All rich, powerful people."

"Yes..." Bruce's expression was thoughtful. "And if the Scarecrow has a hold over them... I wonder if he's after their power or their money. Or both."

"Who knows, with a nutcase like him?" Dick smiled, and then surprised himself with an earsplitting yawn. "Sorry, been a long night," he added. "I really should get going while I'm still awake. Gotta get back to Blüdhaven."

"You can stay here tonight," Alfred said promptly, with a mildly defiant look at his employer.

"Well, thanks, but I'd rather go back. I'll have to check out of my motel tomorrow morning and look for something here. Besides, I don't want to impose - and I'm kinda used to being on my own, you know."

"We understand," Bruce said, with a look at Alfred when he seemed about to argue. "Still, if you're going to be spending time here in Gotham, you might as well be more comfortable than you'd be in a hotel room." He got up, disappeared in the direction of his study, and returned as Alfred and Dick were exchanging puzzled looks. "Here," he said, holding out his hand.

"Keys?" Dick took them. "What are these for?"

"Don't you recognize them? They're the keys to your apartment."

"What, my old apartment? But I gave that up two years ago, when I left town."

"Yeah, well." Bruce looked, strangely, almost embarrassed. "I figured it might be handy to have someplace to use when I'm in that part of town. So - I've been paying the rent on it."

"For all this time?" Dick stared at him, not sure whether he was pleased, touched, confused, or all of the above.

"Yeah. No big deal. Anyway, you can stay there as long as you want." Bruce met his gaze steadily, as if defying him to make anything out of it.

And Dick found he didn't need to. The fact that Bruce had kept his apartment, along with the almost equally surprising fact that he hadn't changed the electronic key code to the Batcave... He found himself smiling as he pocketed the keys and got to his feet.

A few minutes later, after saying goodbye to Alfred, he was outside under the starry night sky again. Bruce, somehow looking less tired now than he had an hour ago, had walked him out. They were both silent as Dick led the way to his motorcycle and picked up his helmet.

"We should talk to the other people the Scarecrow attacked," Dick said.

"Avery Billingsley, the executive, and Marian Davis, the new district attorney. And don't forget the guard from Apex Chemicals who was drugged at the same time I was."

"It would be faster to split them up. You take the VP and the DA. I'll take the guard and Commissioner Gordon."

"Okay," Bruce said, giving him a curious look. If he wondered why Dick had chosen Gordon for himself, he didn't ask. Or probably he had already guessed that the one Dick really wanted to see was not James Gordon, but his daughter. "Well..."

"Goodnight. See you tomorrow." Dick hesitated, and then held out his hand.

"Goodnight." The hand that shook his was as firm and strong as he remembered.

Dick started the engine of his motorcycle and started away. He got to the end of the long driveway and the turn onto the street before he looked back, and saw a square of warm light framing Bruce's shadow as he stood in the doorway, still watching.

- - -

TBC...