Alfred entered ready to served coffee to the growing boy sitting at the long dining room table. The dining room was well fashioned with large windows and a fireplace that stood proudly behind the large chair the boy currently occupied. Alfred had known that Bruce had told Dick to leave early that night, and he also knew that the sidekick hadn't come in until five that morning. To say the least the air had been growing thicker since the day in court two months prior. The wise butler placed the silver tray on the table and took the slightly smaller chair to Dick's left, and placed the beautifully designed china cup before him on a delicate saucer, then gingerly poured the dark liquid into the cup. He gracefully added two cubes of sugar and a generous amount of milk.
Alfred sighed, knowing that the young man had already resented having been told once more to leave so early in the night. "Where were you last night after Master Bruce asked you to come home?"
Dick sat up, darting a look at Alfred before he slowly tugged the saucer towards him, he took a small spoon from the tray and dipped it in, lazily swirling the coffee. He then let out a dramatic sigh, "You too, Alfred? Really? Don't I get enough from Bruce to have you come and chastise me?" He then pushed the small cup away, placing his head on the crook of his arm, exhaling noticeably again.
"I simply require an answer, no sort of apology to be given or punishment to be received, and I've no need of rude accusations, Master Dick." Alfred quipped back, pouring another cup of coffee for himself, only needing a cube of sugar stirred in.
Richard was counting down the days to adulthood, and angrily wanted to be treated like one by his mentor, all the while Bruce criticized him for things he had been doing for years. He sighed at the thought again, "Sorry, Alfred, I'm just frustrated." He drank some of the brown liquid letting it sooth him, "I was chasing this guy I tagged in the warehouse by the dock, hoping to get closer to Falcone. But he just settled down in some stupid safe house," he dropped his head to the table, causing Alfred's brow to rise considerably as all the dishes shook a bit. "I thought Bruce would be okay if I took the lead just a little." Dick sat up again and put up his arms a if he needed to defend himself, "Well, not the lead, but maybe just some initiative, you know?"
The young man had felt that the transition had been gradual, and believed that Bruce had no qualms about it, since he could still synchronize well with Batman's movements. He sighed as he put another cube of sugar in his coffee. He felt tired, he chased the guy and stopped another from stealing tires from a car, and another from robbing a gas station. He knew Alfred understood his irritation at his guardian's wary behavior, still he knew that Alfred understood why Bruce was doing this, and though he believed himself to be able to detect the point of time when it began to strain their partnership, he couldn't say for certain. What he could say was he was tired.
Alfred stared down at his own cup, deciding against sipping at it as he had planned –he wasn't one much for coffee– and shifted to another topic, "You'll be late for school…"
Grayson shot him a despondent look of inhumane cruelty, "I've barely gotten any–"
"You should have thought of that before disobeying your legal guardian's, hm, suggestion." That's when Alfred's tone took a shade of maliciousness, "And don't forget about the tutoring."
At that Robin put on a overly false grin, one he couldn't help but flash at a challenge, and Alfred merely scoffed at the cocky look. They both knew the thought that had raced through their brains; Richard John Grayson would try to avoid tonight's session.
...
Bruce sat in the cave below his manor and typed away at the newest deductions he had gathered from the GCPD, glancing down at the clock on the screen before him from time to time. The dim lighting that surrounded him allowed for laser focus on what was at hand, though he seemed to have come down with the intention of working out, in his white athletic shirt and a black pair of workout pants. The case itself seemed to be missing specifics as to why there were so many victims in such a short amount of time. The use of the heavy psycho-hallucinogen seemed to be the cause, and when he analyzed it using excruciating measures, he found the compound was in fact changing slightly from victim to victim, though the killer seemed to be particular about barbiturates, which has a strong overdose affect and would explain why the girls were found dead in the first place. What he was in search for was unclear. Why Alice? What was he looking for in them?
"Sir, you do need to sleep eventually," Alfred called from ten feet behind him.
Bruce knew his caretaker to be correct, but his brain was buzzing with trying to predict this man's next move. He needed to catch him before anyone else was hurt, therefore sleep was an impossible option.
Alfred stood there silently, knowing no answer would come from the brooding man, he turned his attention to the screen with a Wayne Enterprise invitation to a gala for one Ms. Nasrin Safar that Bruce would be hosting at his home. "I'm glad you are taking more initiative with your business."
Bruce took a quick glance at the invitation he would send for the gala that would be in a few days, and nodded, "After all your lectures over the subject, I've decided Bruce Wayne should be more business oriented."
Alfred felt a bit smug knowing that his advise had actually been heard by the hero. Bruce Wayne had always made himself out to be a lurid party-boy for the media, including the time that he had dated Vicky Vale, a popular news reporter, to make the guise stick unquestioned. Now he seemed to understand (and if not understand, acknowledge) that his personality requires more than just a ditzy, fickle, whimsical billionaire orphan. He needed to be serious sometimes, he needed to care for the company that upheld his vigilante activities.
"Ms. Safar has invested heavily into Wayne Biotech in the last month, and has just recently been voted into the board of directors for that branch," Bruce turned around in his high-backed executive office chair, crossed his leg, and gave Alfred a look of cocky indifference, "The least I could do is throw her a party."
Alfred looked down at his charge, who tried to make light of the fact that he was actually trying to be something more in the Gotham community as Bruce Wayne instead of completely focusing on being Batman. Alfred knew the look of overconfidence was just another way to practice this new mixture of party-boy businessman. Alfred stood with a look of pride he tried to curtail as he looked at the man Bruce Wayne was trying to become. From that small frightful child that lost his parents, he was now trying to be himself again, after all these years.
"Is Dick in school?" Bruce asked, standing at his full six foot four inch height, as he walked past his faithful butler, and towards a bar that hung from high above.
"I believe so, sir." Alfred, responded.
...
Dick was twenty minutes late, but stared at his school from across the street, it seemed peaceful enough. The tall red bricked school towered above the street below, a black iron fence closed it off from the sidewalk, and on either side of the large arch breezeway small maple saplings, and small bushes with white flowers. The young hero contemplated entering, being late and absent were completely different things, and Alfred would string him up if he skipped out on another day of school. Alfred had taught him personally since he moved into the mansion after all the legal stuff had been sorted out over his adoption. Because of Alfred he was able to stand across the street from his school, being sixteen years old on his senior year of high school, and already accepted to Hudson University in New York, and The University of New Jersey at Bludhaven. He knew he had come into elementary school below average, and Alfred's tutoring and guidance had allowed him to stand here.
He smirked to himself, turned abruptly to his right, and strolled on past the prestigious private school. Dick could admit that school was important, but so were his responsibilities to the city he loved. He was different from other kids his age, he lived to fight the ugly underbelly of the city almost daily at this point, ridding it of the Mafiosos and their drugs.
The young vigilante ran off into an alley, and pulled his costume out of his backpack –to be frank the only thing that was inside his backpack– donning it as he launched his grappling hook onto the building and ran out into the city, rushing towards wherever he was needed as the boy-wonder. The streets of Gotham looked wet, old and cold; it seemed like a city meant for darkness. But at this moment Robin only wanted to make the world a little better by helping those that needed him, jumping from building to building he only noticed the sun beaming down, he tucked his legs in as he jumped over the edge before shooting the grapple once again. He heard a scream for help and gracefully swan dived off a building, landed and rolled into himself to lessen the blow, and snatched a purse from a thief in a hoodie. The pursuing lady seemed mortified then grateful as he calmly handed it over to her, and she thanked him, tears in her eyes, the thief on the other hand had fear in his. As soon as Robin had his gaze on him, he ran. With a smirk and a crack of his knuckles, he was off to catch a crook.
Dick blatantly spaced out on his bed with his laptop in front of him and scrolled through the long essay of the affects of barbiturates on the brain. Alfred had been beyond upset having received a phone call from Trinity that Richard J. Grayson had never shown up to any of his classes. Alfred had phoned him in the middle of the young hero dodging a left shovel hook from a guy that decided that beating down a costumed boy when his posse had dragged a girl into an alley was a good idea. He had spun out of the way, and flipped over the next crony back kicking him into his other friend, having them collapse on each other. He answered the call as the last guy swung out in a hammer punch, which he redirected with his forearm, and kneed him in the stomach.
Alfred was obviously displeased that the young boy had been gallivanting about the city, and hadn't come home at all until the sun had set. The police had shown up soon enough, probably hearing the struggle and quickly helped the woman, and took the men into custody. One officer pointed his gun at the boy-wonder yelling, "Freeze!" but Robin had already managed to get onto a building and run away, knowing the deed would have been done had he not been there to save the day.
Dick had tried explaining to Bruce and Alfred that the men were Falcone's and that they couldn't just get away with doing that to innocent people. Although Bruce didn't seem upset by the explanation -agreeing that the woman was spared from a horrible fate- he put up no protests to the boy having to learn about barbiturates instead of going out on patrol that night.
He knew Bruce preferred it this way for now, and decidedly blamed it on the tension that had been building between him and his mentor, and tried to recall when it had first started.
Dick quickly focused on a memory from two months back, remembering having helped free some hostages from their bindings, while Batman took out all the lackeys. Robin had gotten the last of the hostages to start heading in the right direction, turning to check on Batman, who had cornered Maroni and a few of his more competent men, although he was nowhere in sight.
Maroni eyed the boy-wonder, then looked about, expecting the caped-crusader to fall from some unknown place, then he shot at the young sidekick trying to force Batman out. Robin had dove out of the way behind some crates when he saw the gun pointed at him, and rolled back onto his feet, taking off as quickly as he could. Maroni noticed that his hostages had escaped and sent out two of his five cronies after Robin.
Dick remembered having climbed onto some crates, and purposely jumping over the men as they helplessly shot at him and he made a show of the whole thing.
Maybe that's what it was; he couldn't take the fighting –the shooting– more seriously. That he would enthusiastically climb onto crates and swing on pipes and hanging chains and lights that would creak under his weight. That he smiled while mobsters were distracted by his brightly colored costume that now luckily included black pants, instead of that strange Speedo-like garb he obsessed with for a year. "More aerodynamic," a young, fresh out of the circus Dick had proclaimed. He rolled his eyes at his own innocence.
Maybe it was that he'd sometimes get distracted with going through the motion, or thought, and wouldn't realize other things that he should.
No, he was a good detective, he could figure things out, and he certainly could stay focused on a mission.
The warehouse had a few bright bulbs left, that he or Batman hadn't broken, plummeting the place into near darkness, and the place stunk of fish, rotting wood, and rusting iron. Most of the shipments were piled a few feet apart, allowing easy movement for both of the vigilantes. He remembered Maroni try to set out and escape, tried to reach the docks when a smoke screen set off and kept him in the building but he decided to run into the thicket of the cargo Robin sat atop, and the caped-crusader knocked out his last three men quicker than the mobster boss expected. He was truly alone against the dynamic duo, since Robin had also taken care of the other two He had swung down and kicking them both across the face before he jumped back onto the cargo to get a better survey of the area. Batman quietly made his way over to where Maroni was.
He then sighed at the memory of being spotted just as he was sneaking around on top of some crate to get into a better position. He easily evaded the first few shots but was hit in the shoulder before fully slinking back into the darkness. He knew Batman zeroed in on the shots, and he begun to sneak around the area perhaps too confident for the situation, and was captured by one of the thugs he thought he had taken care of moments prior.
Maroni showed up just around the corner, the gun pointed at him, as if he knew that he had been restrained. "Let's not be too hasty!" the mob boss yelled out to the dark shadows on the ceiling, not knowing where the dark knight might be hiding.
But he shook the thought from his head, it couldn't have been about him getting shot, he was shot at often. That and the fact that Salvatore Maroni winging him seemed like a small potatoes considering that he settled his score with the prosecutor at his trial instead of the dynamic duo.
Harvey Dent was that prosecutor during Maroni's trial, and a vial of acid "mysteriously" passed the court house security and was splashed in the attorney's face when he brought up a very valid point with enough evidence to back it up. Perhaps that was why Bruce had been pushing Dick away, and the ward knew that it would only get worse if he didn't figure out a way to prove himself or to get Bruce to not blame himself, or something else less drastic and easier to accomplish.
He sighed falling back into his bed, staring up at the cream colored ceiling where the fan lazily spun, then crossed his arms over his face. He peered up through his arms feeling frustrated at the thought of Batman trying to curb his crime fighting after five years of being his side-kick.
Alfred sat in the cave, acting as Batman's support as he patrolled the city alone, while he sat in his room reading a long-winded paper on why barbiturates are easy to overdosed on. But his resolve on reading it had diminished, and instead he reminisced on what could have gotten him in trouble.
He remembered jumping off the building like a diver off a diving platform. He remembered the freedom that gave him, no net to save him, just a grappling hook launched in the nick of time. The boy-wonder had grown up as the apprentice of the vigilante for the past five years. He knew the crusader had had less time being a hero alone than with his more dynamic counterpart.
Both had been orphaned at young ages, and each had grown from that in different ways. He knew that while Bruce had been sitting there, on his computer, brooding, trying to figure out the motive of a crazed killer, Dick had been running about the city. This difference continued into their ways of facing their enemies. Since Bruce had adopted the boy and they had been trying to take down the mafias around the city.
Batman had very much so crippled their resolve to face whatever came their way, slinking in their shadows, scaring them as they had frightened the city, while he flew above their heads, fighting them in a way they've never fought any other. Dick's parents had shown him that, the flare of the show rather than the psychological breaking that Bruce had always used. The training that Bruce had put him through was strenuous as it was rewarding, but it seemed to him that Bruce believed it to be insufficient for him.
He sighed, knowing that he was ready to face the world and more with the moves he learned as an acrobat; distracting and confusing the villains, allowing for Batman to go unnoticed for longer than he might have alone. He had jumped from one roof to another, reacting quickly and fighting by staying just out of reach. The duo had severely crippled the crime rings most recently Maroni.
A smirk came across the young hero's face.