SPOILER ALERT! This is the first version of the scene in my comedy, "MoD 1: Stranger in my Skin", where Batman arrives at the police station in disguise to pick up his "daughter" only to find his "son" there instead. I realized this would create a few plot problems, so I rewrote it.

MoD 1: Stranger in my Skin - "Parental Pickup"

Warning: Some Language - Rating "T"


Matches Malone followed Officer Moore past several desks to the door she had just exited from just a few minutes before. Officer Randall met them there and followed the two down the hall to another door. Moore took out her keys and unlocked the second door. Malone searched the cells as soon as he passed into the portal. He saw the two streetwalkers immediately. They were standing at the bars and looking into another cell.

The Batman in him kept his cool, but the Bruce that lay just beneath the thin veneer of makeup and prosthetics was a little shocked by his reaction to seeing son drenched in blood. The mask of Matches Malone wasn't the same kind of protection that normally stood between Bruce and the violence that often stained their world. Sure, he could stay in character, but when Malone's reactions so closely paralleled those of the man that wore him . . . Well, a lot more of Bruce came through than he was comfortable with.

Even now, Alfred was touching down at the Happy Harbor airport in the WE company jet with everything they might need, and a remote ready to set off carefully placed explosions around the Batcave and the manor. If he needed to grab Dick and go, there would be no going back. All he knew was that he wasn't going to lose the son he had only so recently discovered. Clark, Barry, Diana . . . They all thought that justice was the most important thing in the world to him; that he put the mission above everything else, but they were wrong.

Matches Malone kneeled carefully next to the lower bunk, one hand brushing back the familiar black hair.

To anyone who truly knew him knew that family was more important than his companies, his wealth, his social standing; more important than even justice. The mission wasn't even a close second despite what those around him might think. He would sacrifice anything for Alfred, if he had to, but for the child that lay in front of him, Bruce would give up everything!

He had prepared for this possible eventuality the day he first petitioned the court to adopt Richard John Grayson three years ago. Charges at every entrance to the Batcave had been set in place years before, but to these Bruce and Alfred had added more. This eventuality wasn't to prevent discovery so much as to remove every vestige left. If they had to choose this course, there would be nothing left; nothing to ever return to, no shiny gem would remain under the rubble.

"Wake up," he crooned. "It's time to go home."

Dick opened grainy eyes, grunting. The pain was ebbing now and a familiar voice pulled him out of the cobwebs and dreams that had kept him trapped in perpetual confusion.

"Richard, it's Dad," the voice reminded him carefully.

Dad? Who? But the answer was there even before the question had formed inside his head. It wasn't John Grayson, but it was still Dad, nonetheless. He felt the edges of his lips turn up.

"Dad?"

The familiar weight of a hand brushing through his hair comforted him. Bruce, his mind sighed.

Dick pushed up on shaky arms, and strong ones helped him sit up the rest of the way. He looked around him, frowning. What the heck? Concrete blocks and bars; two police officers, one who was vaguely familiar; and . . . Matches Malone?

Memories of the last forty-eight hours crashed over him. He was supposed to be Robin Malone! Wally had called Roy, but if necessary, Roy would have informed Batman if Matches Malone needed to swing by Happy Harbor Police Department to pick up his daughter. That answered one of his questions.

"How are you feeling, Richard?" Malone asked him.

Dick blinked, and his gaze jerked up to meet that of the man kneeling in front of him. Bruce's steady gaze stared back at him; a wealth of information there for him. He looked over at the officers again, and then glanced down at himself.

His white shirt was stiff with blood still, but more importantly, it was remarkably flat and comfortingly familiar. His hand came up to rub across it. Yup! Nothing there but Dick Grayson! He grinned, happy to be back in his own skin before freezing suddenly . . . Uh oh, as the realization of where he was again struck him!

He glanced up at Officer Moore, this time with wary eyes. Turning his head, the two prostitutes in the cell behind him waved their fingers at him, smiling.

Oh . . . Shit.