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Choices
"I was talking with Lucius this afternoon and I think you should go in this week and hear what he has to say. He had some good ideas about next year you may want to listen to."
Dick looked across the dinner table with some apprehension. "Why don't you just summarize it for me?" Bruce was back in his 'your future is in front of you and you have some serious decisions to make' mode and Dick was hating every second of it with his whole heart and soul. Yes, of course he knew Bruce wanted what was best for him and all of that but—the flat out truth was that he didn't really know what he wanted to do and the pressure to make a decision about everything was starting to really get to him. The current and ongoing topic was college. Bruce simply assumed that he'd be going and that he'd be going to someplace Ivy League or maybe Big Ten at the least; major in business or maybe something like marketing, go on for his MBA or a law degree and set his feet firmly on the 'heir apparent' track.
"He's done some checking and thinks maybe Yale or Princeton for undergrad then follow up with Stanford or Harvard for grad work. How's that sound?"
It sounded like six or seven years in Hell. "…Maybe." Dick was shoving his potatoes au gratin around on his plate, avoiding eye contact.
"Were you thinking about some other schools? We can look wherever you want, no problem; no reason to limit yourself."
Oh man. "Well, actually I was thinking about maybe taking a year or so off after high school. You know, maybe get a job, travel—see what's really out there." Dick almost, but not quite, held his breath.
"…Really?…" Bruce didn't actually roll his eyes, but it was close. Talk about your lead balloons. "I would think that you may lose momentum if you do something like that and, let's face it; you started working and traveling when you were three years old. How much do you expect to learn that you haven't already? In addition, your work as Robin has opened you up to things almost no one else in the world has experienced. You're hardly some sheltered naïf, you know."
"Yeah, I know that, but…"
Bruce went on, completely ignoring Dick's objections. "And before I forget, I think it would be a good idea for you to sign up for one of those SAT prep courses. I've heard they can raise your scores and you know how competitive the top schools are. Talk to your counselor tomorrow and see which one they recommend."
Dick knew when he was defeated. "No one would turn me down, not with your money behind me and you know it as well as I do. Besides, my grades are fine."
"They're all right, but it couldn't hurt." Alfred appeared with two pieces of a rich looking chocolate layer cake. "No, thank you, Alfred, none for me tonight." Bruce stood up, nodded to Dick still sitting there and left the room, another typical dinner. Dick unconsciously shook his head, Bruce pontificated and Dick was supposed to sit there and absorb the wisdom, just like always. The problem, of course, was that he wasn't ten years old anymore.
Alfred picked up Bruce's dishes, "I gather your plans to let him know you'd rather postpone your going to university have fallen on deaf ears?"
Dick was playing with his cake, drawing designs in the icing. "You could say that."
"Would you like if I spoke to him? Perhaps…"
"No. I mean, thanks, but I'll do it, Alf." He picked up his own dishes, taking them into the kitchen and putting them on the counter, his face a study in defeat tinged with something else; anger? Maybe it was more like resignation.
"You do realize, of course, that he's merely concerned that you fulfill your potential. The Master cares very deeply about you and your future." Alfred knew he was stating the obvious, but it couldn't do any harm to reiterate to the young man that his welfare was important to them.
Dick hesitated a second, which was unlike him. "Then why won't he let me make my own decisions?" Alfred was about to answer but Dick went on. "I mean, does he think I'm that incompetent? I just want to make my own decisions and he's telling me what to do, like he always does. His way or the highway."
"He finds you far from incompetent, as you well know but, forgive me, I do point out that you are, indeed, still seventeen, a minor and under his guardianship". Alfred looked at him with some sympathy. "Perhaps if I had a word with him it might help, Master Dick. He can be reasoned with, you know."
Dick picked up his own dishes and moved to take them out to the kitchen, muttering under his breath. "And pigs can fly, too."
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"You simply may want to consider the fact that he is an extraordinary young man who has lived an exceptional life. And thus, should, perhaps, be granted several concessions beyond that of a more conventional seventeen year old."
Bruce was leaning back in the leather desk chair in the study listening to Alfred, the pile of today's mail waiting his attention in front of him. "You think he should be allowed to take a year off to find himself, or whatever it is he wants to do?"
"I merely suggest that he has his own opinions and desires which need to be acknowledged and not simply dismissed out of hand." Alfred was standing beside the large desk, looking down at Bruce, making him feel like he was about twelve years old and had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar before dinner. Only Alfred had that effect on him and he hated it but knew it would never change. "He may still be young but he's no longer a child and the simple fact is you need to acknowledge that."
Bruce exhaled, knowing Alfred, as always, was right. But, "If he takes a year off, he may never go back to school."
"Yes, that possibility exists. Would that be such a problem?"
"Come on, Alfred; you know as well as I do that someone as bright as Dick should use his intelligence, develop his abilities as far as he can and for him to do that he needs to be challenged by professors and students who are competitive and dedicated to learning. For him to waste his tremendous potential would be a crime. He has responsibilities ahead of him and he needs to be prepared or he'll be overwhelmed by them."
Alfred demeanor was as though he was explaining two plus two to a four year old. "Perhaps. But if his definition of reaching the peak of his abilities doesn't coincide with yours then who is to decide? And if his choice of how to use that training and talent doesn't comply with yours I question how supportive you might be of him—and that would be a shame, Bruce, because then you would lose him." He started out of the room, adding an afterthought before he turned down the hall, "And, I fear, so might I."
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"Master Dick? Is your homework finished yet?" Dick was sitting at the desk in his room, open book in front of him, computer on and clearly doing nothing other than staring out the window.
"Yes. Did you want something, Alfred?"
"Just to see how you're doing after this evening's dinner conversation. Have you given it any further thought?"
He made a small face. "What's to think about? He wants me to go to some hot-shit ivy-league place and spend the next six or seven years getting ready to take over his corporations and I want to take some time off. The choice is pretty clear-cut, isn't it? I can keep toeing the line or I can tell him I want to do what I want to do and leave."
Alfred studied Dick for a moment; he was young, of course, but he'd been through so much and accomplished things men five times his age still dreamed about. "There's always room for compromise, Master Dick. If the two of you would be willing to sit and speak to one another as adults without side or preconceived ideas, I'm quite sure you could reach an agreement agreeable to you both."
"Bruce doesn't compromise, Alfred, you know that. It's why he's so good at business. Everyone thinks it's Lucius who's the hard-ass, but he gets his orders from Bruce. He thinks my idea is a waste of time and will put me two steps behind everyone else in Harvard or wherever."
"I take it you're not interested in running the company eventually?"
Dick managed a half smile. "C'mon, Alf, have I ever impressed you as someone who wants to run a multi-billion dollar corporation? The most I ever really hoped to do when I was a kid was to maybe manage a traveling show and to keep flying."
Alfred sat on the edge of the bed, facing Dick. It was as much of a relaxing of his standards as Dick had ever seen in the man. "I understand that, but if I may, you're no longer a 'kid' and the experiences you've had in the last few years put you in a realm few, if any people have ever attained. Surely you realize you have potential far beyond the daydreams of a seven year old."
Yes, he knew this, still, "But I don't want to become Bruce, Alfred. I don't want to spend all day in some office and I don't want to deal with thousands of people depending on me for their paychecks. I just don't." He was twisting a pencil in his fingers, rolling it back and forth. "And I don't want to 'grow up' to be Batman, either. I'm not him and I don't want to become him."
Alfred glanced at the boy. Of course, so that was what the real problem was. He should have realized before this. "I'm quite sure he doesn't expect that of you, Master Dick. Good Lord, he knows you're as different from him as night and day and he would never force you into…" Alfred stopped mid-sentence at the look on Dick's face. He was speaking garbage and they both knew it. Yes, Bruce expected Dick to do as he was told, get his MBA and take over Wayne Corp in due course. "You're quite right." Just then the intercom buzzed and Bruce's voice came through the speaker.
"Dick? You ready to go?"
"Yeah, sure. I'll be right down." The intercom clicked off and Alfred looked a question at the boy. "Catwoman is out again." Alfred didn't bother to say anything, nodding. They both knew Dick would be ready and downstairs in minutes and would do what was expected of him, as he always did. So far, anyway.
When the two masters had left for the evening Alfred went down to the kitchen, made himself a cup of earl gray and then retired to his sitting room with the annotated copy of The Tempest he'd found on his last trip to London. He knew that, in all likelihood, he wouldn't be needed—if he were needed this evening, for several hours at least. He also knew that with the way Bruce and Dick had been at unspoken loggerheads lately, there was a greater chance than usual of something untoward happening to one of them and part of the back of his mind was waiting for the shoe to drop, as drop it surely would.
It was just before four in the morning that the intercom woke him from the light doze he'd drifted into while waiting. "Alfred—I need you in the cave, now." This was the sort of thing he both dreaded and expected and which he heard too often. Less than two minutes later he was downstairs with Batman, cowl thrown back, waiting impatiently for him by the medical gurney. Robin was stretched out, seemingly unconscious with blood soaking the bottom sheet under his left side. The youngster's red tunic was opened and the shirt under was cut (torn?) open from neck to navel. His breathing was slow and regular, but he was pale, his skin damp and he was moaning slightly each time he exhaled.
Not wasting time with questions, he cut the remnants of the green shirt away from the boy, slicing it for more access to whatever needed to be attended. "Get me some sterile water, I need to wash this off to see what's here."
Bruce opened a bottle, pouring it into a clean bowl, putting it next to the old man. "He slipped, lost his balance. He fell—there was a metal pipe; he landed on it."
There was no point in asking what he was doing to fall and land on a protruding pipe. Turning the child enough to see, he saw the two holes through the skin and muscle, as well as the clearly broken rib, the entrance and exit wounds, still oozing. It was bad, certainly, and Dick should have been taken directly to either an ER or Leslie's clinic, but Alfred would do the best he could for the moment. An ambulance could be summoned in minutes if it was deemed necessary but a quick call to Leslie had her on her way and walking in the front door in short minutes.
An x-ray was taken and it seemed to show the one damaged rib and, with great luck, no organs in the line of the piercing. Antibiotics were given against infection, the rib was put back together, the wounds were cleaned, stitched and Dick was taped before being gently moved to a hospital bed to sleep more comfortably than he would have been able on the narrow gurney. Painkillers were given so he'd rest at least till morning and his school would be called and told some story to explain his absence for a few days. Ninety minutes after the truncated patrol ended, Leslie was finished and Alfred had no other matter before him than to maintain his usual vigil over his patient. Sitting in an overstuffed chair kept for just this purpose, he settled in for another long night overseeing tonight's charge.
Leslie was just ready to leave when she asked the inevitable, "Are you going to tell me how this happened?" Alfred looked expectantly as well when he'd heard Bruce approach and stop at the foot of the bed.
"I told you, he slipped."
"Master Dick doesn't 'slip'."
Leslie backed Alfred up. "I know Dick too well to buy that one, how did this happen?"
"He was rushing and got careless. There was a puddle of water from the rain and his foot slid. If he'd been more careful it wouldn't have happened. He'd pulled himself off the pipe before I could get there to stop him."
Alfred sighed; this was so like Bruce, blaming this on the child rather than seeing it was his own obsession and driving of the lad that lead to these things happening. The boy wanted to please Bruce and his own safety be damned.
Leslie fixed him with stare which could stop even Batman. "If you'd had his welfare in mind you wouldn't have placed him in the position he was in to slip at all. This has gone too far, Bruce ad I'm putting a stop to it before the night comes—and it will—when I can't patch him back together. Do you understand me? No more. He stops as of tonight and I'll tell him when he's stronger if you don't. Enough."
Bruce started to protest. "Catwoman had to be apprehended again and he knew that. He's the best at what he does, surely you don't think I'd let him go out if I thought the risks were out of proportion…"
"Out of proportion? It was a miracle he didn't destroy major organs tonight; that he isn't in ICU right now or dead. For God's sake, Bruce—you're talking about a teenaged boy, an orphaned seventeen year old you gave a home to, who would walk through fire for you if you asked—and probably has. That's it. I've had it—if you want to see him live until he's twenty, Robin is grounded from here on. Period. And if you have a problem with it, I'll take it up with the Commissioner or the Justice League or Child Welfare Services and let the press have a field day." She had her coat on, car keys in hand. "And you can take that to the bank—and one which you probably own." She turned just as she was about to close the door behind her. "I'll be back in the morning to make sure he's healing but you call me if there's a problem, no matter what time it is. Do you understand me?" She was a general giving orders and the troops knew better than to protest, just nodding instead.
Bruce, knowing he'd be taken to task for this at least until Dick was back on his feet, shook his head in frustration an headed for the shower, Alfred neither moving nor offering to help in any way. He remained in the large chair, his attention firmly on his young charge.
The next few days were mostly uneventful other than a scare when Dick spiked a fever at almost 104, but it was brought under control in a few hours with added antibiotics. He was moved up to his own room after the first night and, though in obvious pain he tried to hide, was quiet and little trouble, as always. His school was told he had gone with Mr. Wayne to observe negotiations for an acquisition in Paris and would be back in school in a couple of weeks. His class work was picked up in the school office by Alfred who told the principal that he'd see that it was forwarded to the boy at the George Cinq.
Dick did the English reading as his rib started to knit and used his laptop to do the math and history paper which was due. Though still sore and stiff in his movements, in a week he was feeling well enough to join Bruce downstairs for meals but they were strained affairs with only the most awkward of exchanges between them. Dick was feeling guilty for being the reason for the tension in the house since he was the one who was careless and slipped and Bruce felt equally guilty for having the boy out there to be placed in harm's way, no matter how well trained he might be.
Maybe Leslie and Alfred were right. Maybe it was too dangerous. Good God, hadn't the entire Justice League asked him privately and in several meetings what the hell was he thinking to bring a child into the situations they routinely found them selves?
He found Dick in the study, stretched out on the chesterfield sofa with the old comforter covering his legs, x-bot controller in hand and destruction on the screen. "I've been thinking. Maybe it would be a good idea for you to concentrate on your schooling and pull back on Robin for a while."
Dick didn't even look up. "You've said this already."
"Yes, but I've given it more thought and I think it's for the best."
"For who? For whom?" He corrected himself. "You'd have one less thing to worry about and I'd have what? The pleasure of knowing you sleep better at night? Thanks a lot."
"That's not fair and you know it just like you know how much Alfred worries about you when you're out."
Dick actually looked up at that, took a beat; "So this is about Alfred?" And he had a bridge for sale, too. "Right." He hit save on the controller, swung his legs around to the floor as he sat up with an almost suppressed grimace as his stitches pulled. "I've made some decisions this week."
"Oh?"
"I've decided I'm going to college, but I don't want to look at the Ivy League or even the Big Ten. They're all too big and I'd rather go someplace smaller and with a lower profile."
Bruce sat on the edge of the big desk. "All right. I don't have any objections to that, assuming you pick a decent school. Where were you thinking of applying?"
"Oberlin, Hudson, Carlton, maybe Occidental."
"To study what? Those are almost all Liberal Arts places." What the hell was Dick thinking?
"I know that but I want to try something different. You know I like to write and I figure I can always transfer after a year or two to some other school."
What was he playing here? "But your strengths are in math and science."
The boy shrugged. "And you want me to major in business. I'd like to try this now. If I have to go to college, I want to at least go someplace I've chosen and study something I want to."
Bruce crossed his arms across his chest. At least the boy was willing to apply to these places and they were all good schools. In a year or two he could move someplace else and get a real degree, even if it meant going an extra year for his Bachelor's. This might be doable. "All right, apply wherever you want. As long as it's a legitimate school, I'll go along with it."
Dick nodded. "And I intend to work as Robin while I'm at school."
"No."
"That's a condition of my going to school."
"Then stay here and go to Gotham U. You can live here…" He saw that idea was flying like a lead balloon. "You can live in the dorms or get a place in town. You'll be close enough that Batman and Robin shouldn't be seriously impacted."
"No, that's not what I want, either. I want Robin to start flying solo a lot more. I've been doing this long enough it shouldn't be a problem and if I run into trouble I can still call you or the Titans to help me out."
"I'd rather you didn't…"
"Didn't what, Bruce? Grow up? Did you really think I was going to be the back end of 'Batman and Robin' all my life? I mean, come on—I started performing in a circus when I was three, I became Robin when I was nine and that was almost ten years ago. I've led the Titans since I was fourteen and between you and them and on my own I've bested some of the top criminals on the planet—and sometimes off planet, too. I'd like to try working alone now." He grimaced again as a fresh wave of pain hit him. His stitches weren't healing as well as they should be and Leslie was becoming concerned about possible long reaching complications becoming apparent over the next few weeks or so. She'd dosed him with what seemed like enough antibiotics to strangle a horse, but the injury had been a messy one and it was possible something could crop up they didn't expect. It was a long several seconds before he could catch his breath enough to talk. Bruce waited.
"I thought you preferred working with a partner or in a team. Is this a new idea of yours?"
"Not really, no and I do like to work with other people. I'd like to branch out, that's all. It's not like I've never handled a case on my own."
"I know you're capable, that's not the point I'm making. I thought working with others and leading a team was what you wanted to do."
He saw the doubting look on Bruce's face and was annoyed by it. "C'mon, Bruce, cut me some slack, will you? Of course I like working with other people and I like working alone, too. It's not that big a deal—you work alone, you work with me and you work with the Justice League. Different stuff, different days." That all too familiar awkward, stilted and angry silence descended on them again and they stared at one another, the grandfather's clock loud in the room, Dick's breath a little to fast.
"Gentlemen? Dinner is ready if you'll please wash up and proceed to the family dining room."
"Thank you, Alfred, but I'm not very hungry. If it's all right, I'm going upstairs to lie down." Dick pushed himself up, using the arm of the sofa, his face going pale as he did so and Bruce's hand automatically going out to steady him. "I'm fine." The words were low a clear request to leave him alone.
"I'll be up shortly to make sure that you're comfortable, Master Dick, in the meantime, I suggest you lay down and rest while I attend to Master Bruce's meal." Alfred gave Bruce a raised eyebrow that brooked no argument and send the master into the next room to sit at the table.
Five minutes later Alfred was upstairs, glass of cool water in hand, along with the painkillers, antibiotics and muscle relaxants Dick was about two hours past due. "The truth, you man, how are you feeling?"
"Physically, I'll be okay."
"And otherwise?"
"You heard us, c'mon, Alf. He wants to turn me into a mini bat—he assumes that's what's going to happen and I want to start living my own life. Look, I don't want to disappoint him or anger him, but I don't want to be under his thumb all my life either. I don't even really want to go to college; I'm just doing that because it's so important to him." He turned towards the wall, his arm hugging his injured side. "I know what he's done for me and I know what I owe him, but I'm not ten years old anymore and he just doesn't get it."
Alfred sat carefully on the edge of the bed, his hand on Dick's shoulder in what might have been the largest breech in decorum he'd ever allowed himself while in Wayne Manor. "You know as well as I do that what he wants is what's best for you. Perhaps we might convince him of what that may be. I'll speak to him…"
"No." Dick turned his head. "Please, no. Don't, Alfred, really don't. I'll deal with this."
Sighing, Alfred stood up; he'd do as Dick asked, against his better judgment. "I'll leave the intercom on in case you want anything. Now try to get some rest and I'll be back in a while." Dick nodded but didn't say anything.
A month went by, Dick's injury healed, leaving two ragged scars which would fade in time and the conversation between him and Bruce never took place. By February Dick had his final SAT scores, which were good enough that he could apply pretty much anywhere with confidence, though he wasn't blind to the fact that the Wayne billions carried more weight with a lot of places than a laundry list of aced AP classes. He was as god as his word, applying to the schools he'd mentioned to Bruce months earlier, as well as Harvard and Yale, just to make Bruce happy though he had no intention of attending either place.
"I've decided I'm going to Hudson. I applied for early decision and I got the letter yesterday morning. I e-mailed my acceptance this afternoon—yesterday afternoon, I mean." Batman and Robin were getting out of their costumes after a routine patrol, it was about three in the morning and the weekend had started. Dick was hoping to catch a couple hours of sleep before heading off with a couple of school friends to a local ski place about an hour's drive west. It had snowed this week and the place had snowmaking machines as well. It would be crowded and east coast, but they'd have fun.
"Hudson." Bruce made it sound like a disease or an indiscretion the dog left on the rug.
"Hudson. I'll send them a check for the deposit today."
Bruce had his shirt off. "You know that's almost three hundred miles north of here."
No, he thought it was in Texas, of course Dick knew where it was. "It's two hundred and seventy-five miles driving and less than an hour by plane. I have to report for orientation by August twenty-third and I'm paying extra for a single room in the dorms. If none are available I'll get a room somewhere off campus."
"So you don't even want to see where else you're accepted? What about Harvard?"
Christ, they'd been around his block at least ten thousand times. "I like Hudson."
Bruce gave him that look he had when you know he's practically looking through you, as though he was reading what was written in your brain and was finding it wanting. It went on several long seconds beyond where it was comfortable, as was his intention, no doubt. "Fine, but I want you to understand two things. First of all, I expect you to maintain the grades you've had all through school." That meant straight 'A's'. Okay, whatever. "And secondly I want you to know that if you get hurt, seriously hurt as Robin while you're up there without easy backup, I'll pull the rug out from under you. You want to do this on your own ad I respect that, but I won't allow you to be fool hardy and if I see the slightest hint of carelessness or slacking off in your training, you're set down. Is that clear?"
Crystal.
"I hear you. In fact, I've heard you for months now."
"Good." Bruce pushed himself off from where he'd been leaning against the computer console and walked off towards the showers.
"I'll be all right and you'll be proud of me. You'll see, Bruce." But Bruce didn't hear that as the water started. Nor did Bruce know about the letters and calls to Pop Haly. A position would always be there for Dick and all he had to do was say the word. He could work solo, join an existing act or start his own, whatever he wanted but the door was always open for him. The first semester at Hudson ended just before Christmas, there would be the holidays and then the circus would be on hiatus for a couple of months. That would be plenty of time for Dick to make up his mind.
8/28/06
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