Dick flew from one apparatus to another. He caught, swung, and released, misjudging the distance to the next apparatus. Falling awkwardly, he instinctively twisted in midair, saw the safety line and reached out, grabbing it at the last moment.
He hung tightly to the rope, his breathing coming in quick, short gasps. His eyes clenched shut. This is a nightmare, he told himself. When I open my eyes it'll be gone.
"I'm Dick Grayson," he said between gasps. "Of the Flying Graysons. I learned to walk on the high wire! I was flying before I could read. I am not afraid." His heart rate and breathing settled down. "When I open my eyes, I'll wake up and everything will be back to how it should be."
He blinked his eyes open.
For an instant, he suffered an attack of vertigo. He was in a brightly lit room, surrounded by strange equipment. The room zoomed in and out faster than his eyes could focus. An odd little man wearing a funny hat with a piece of paper sticking out of it turned and looked at him.
"NO!" he yelled. "Not yet!"
Everything went black.
………………………………………………………………………………..
"Dick?" Worried voices swam all around him. "Dick!"
"Bruce?" he whispered.
"Yes, son. Can you open your eyes? Wake up, Dick," Bruce urged. Dick concentrated for a moment and finally fluttered his eyelids open.
Bruce's worried face swam into view. His eyes smiled down as Dick looked up at him. "Welcome back, partner," he said. "Had me worried there for a moment."
"What happened?" Dick asked, allowing Bruce to help him sit up. "Bruce I've just had the worst nightmare of my life. Dreamed that I was a--" He laughed shakily. "--a girl."
Bruce's expression became grim. "I'm afraid that it's not a dream, Dick. More like a nightmare, but real nonetheless."
"Real?" Dick whispered. At Bruce's nod, all of Dick's personal resolve finally collapsed. The nightmare was real. He couldn't just will it to go away. Dick fell into Bruce, ashamed of his weakness, but unable to help himself.
Bruce held him tightly, offering strength.
"Dick, we'll get through this, son. I promise," Bruce said fiercely. "We'll find a solution. Together."
"Wh-what if we can't?" Dick asked raggedly, his voice muffled.
"Hey, I remember adopting a boy years ago," Bruce said. "I have a son, not a daughter. I want my son back, Dick. And I promise you, we'll get him back."
Dick looked up at him, his eyes wide with trust and nodded. Bruce gave him his usual half-smile. Nodding towards the training equipment, his eyes narrowed in thought.
"You forgot to compensate for the fact that your center of gravity has shifted. Plus, you're lighter and your reach is much shorter." Dick nodded at Bruce's assessment of his miscalculation.
"So, want to try that maneuver again, Mister Grayson?" Bruce asked. Dick grinned suddenly feeling as if he'd just emerged from a dark tunnel. He jumped to his feet, holding out his open hand to Bruce.
"You bet I do, partner!"
Father and 'son' clasped hands and shook.
…………………………………………………………………………
"Dick, we need to retrace your steps of the last twenty-four hours," Bruce said over lunch. Leslie nodded.
They were all three seated in the Wayne kitchen, enjoying a light lunch that Alfred had insisted they eat (or else).
Dick nibbled at this sandwich. He didn't feel much like eating at the moment. He felt a pair of eyes boring into him. He took a cautious sideways glance in Alfred's direction, and seeing the strict disciplinarian's silent glare, Dick gulped and took a slightly larger bite out of his sandwich.
He chewed hastily and swallowed, almost choking. He took a quick sip of his fruit drink and was surprised to see the words 'DRINK ME' on the outside of the glass. He stared it, wracking his brains at the words. Where had it seen it before?
Giving up, he put it down deciding to ask Alfred later. He picked up his sandwich and starting taking tiny bites out of it. Chewing, he wondered at the strange flavor. Sneaking a quick peek between the two slices of bread, he was surprised to see a whole mushroom on a bed of lettuce and tomato.
Dick swallowed. A mushroom sandwich, he wondered? He somehow managed not to need the Heimlich maneuver even once during lunch. Taking a sip from his drink, he blinked. The glass was clear--no writing. What was going on?
"Okay, we're up to five o'clock," Bruce said. "You say you spent the afternoon bartending at Hogan's Alley and left at five. What happened next?"
Dick shrugged. "I went home," he said. "I showered because I had a date."
"With Oracle?" Bruce asked. Dick looked at him curiously. Why are we all referring to her by her codename, he wondered? Weird.
Realizing that Bruce had asked him a question, he answered him. "No, with a friend, Raven."
Bruce, Leslie, and Alfred all exchanged neutral glances. "Raven? The Titan?" Bruce asked, single eyebrow raised.
Dick grinned. "Oh, brother, could you three be a little more obvious?" he asked. "I've told you before, she's just a friend and teammate."
Bruce nodded noncommittally. "Right…" he said. "We'll talk about this later, mark my words… So. What happened? What time did you meet her?"
Dick thought seriously. "Ten of six," he said with conviction. "We were supposed to meet at a really tony restaurant for 'high tea'. Kind of like the places you take your…girlfriends to. Anyway, according to the restaurant's advertisements, the starting time of this 'high tea', which is six o'clock, is strictly adhered to. So we agreed to meet there ten minutes early."
"High Tea?" Alfred asked skeptically.
"She wants to civilize me," Dick explained shrugging. "She has a curious background. Speaks with a fantastically sultry voice!" he added, grinning wolfishly.
Noticing the others' stares, he cleared his throat, embarrassed. "But…like I said. We're just friends, and anyway, she never showed up." Dick looked at them, chagrinned. "Stood me up. I guess what goes around comes around," he added, thinking of the numerous times he'd reneged on their dates.
"Uh-huh," Bruce uttered. "So, did you go in and have 'high tea' anyway?" At Dick's nod, he added, "Who else was there? Anyone you know or remember?"
Dick thought back on the evening before. The dining room had been furnished with only a single, extra-long table set for a large party. He'd looked down the table, but it was mostly empty.
"Funny," he said. "The table was set for several people, but besides me, there were only three others there. Some guy with big, floppy ears who kept checking his watch, another who kept falling asleep, and a third man in a top hat and tails."
"Do you remember anything else?" Bruce asked.
"Yeah," Dick said strangely. "The settings were all dirty, like they hadn't been washed."
"My word!" Alfred said horrified. "I certainly hope that you didn't eat anything while there."
"Odd you should mention that," Dick said bemusedly. "There wasn't anything to eat!" At the others' expressions, his face went thoughtful. "Well, there was, but for some reason, they wouldn't serve me. Said something about me not being properly invited to sit at the table." He shook his head. "I don't know. Maybe my reservations got screwed up somehow."
"What happened next?" Bruce asked.
Dick concentrated, confused. "We played cards?" It was a question rather than a statement.
"You tell us, Dick," Bruce said. "Did you play cards? What time was it?"
"I'm not sure," Dick said helplessly. "Ten of six? No, that's the time I was supposed to meet Raven for tea. Maybe six after ten?" Why was that number familiar? He shook his head.
"Wait a minute," he muttered. "The time was 10:06! I remember 'cause the guy with the floppy ears and the big pocket watch called out the time, saying he was late for an appointment. But the rest of us must've stayed behind and played cards, 'cause the Knave of Hearts stole the tarts--"
He stopped, grinning ruefully at the nonsensical rhyme. He expected a reaction from the others, but none of them batted an eyelash. Dick blew out a long, drawn-out breath. Curiouser and curiouser, indeed. He shrugged.
"I think that we were supposed to play croquet, but I don't think we did. I remember being told that 'Five' accused 'Seven' of jostling his elbow, and that 'Seven' claimed that 'Five' was always blaming others for his mistakes."
He stopped, feeling suddenly short of breath, his face flushed.
"Or were we painting the petals on the roses?" He covered his face and ran his hands through his dark hair. "Everything's a blur, Bruce. Nothing makes sense!"