G woke to the feeling of someone else in the room with him.

Not Sam. Sam registered in G's senses as safe, so his presence wouldn't have woken him. He kept his breathing slow and even, his eyes closed, and stretched out with his other senses, searching for any clue to the identity of his intruder.

Not Alfred. No scent of hair pomade, nor scratch of fabric against fabric.

Not Babs. Not that he'd expected her to visit, but the absence of the scent of rubber or grease for her wheelchair confirmed it.

That left only, "Robin."

He heard a gasp and opened his eyes to see the kid staring at him, wide-eyed. "How'd you know? I was quiet."

"You … projected." G rolled to a sitting position and shrugged. "I don't know any other word for it."

"Projected what?" Robin asked, and now that he wasn't wearing the mask, G could see that his eyes were a deep blue, black brows furrowed in confusion.

"Your presence." G stretched his arms over his head and headed for the closet. If he knew Alfred, there'd be a selection of clothes for him beyond what he'd brought in his go-bag.

Robin's silence confirmed his confusion. G took a moment to survey the clothes in the closet before turning to the kid who'd woken him.

"You ever stare at someone to get their attention?" G asked.

"No…" Robin dragged the word out.

"Try it, sometime. Just sit somewhere and focus on one person - maybe a classmate in the lunchroom. Focus your attention on them and watch what happens. Just don't get caught doing it," he added as an afterthought.

"Huh."

G grinned over his shoulder at his visitor. "Yeah, it's a kick. You have to learn to watch without projecting, to be still inside yourself."

"Any suggestions on how to do that?"

"Um." G considered that as he tugged his shirt over his head, tossing it onto his go-bag where it sat on the closet floor, and ignoring Robin's gasp at, presumably, the sight of the bullet-hole scars on his back.

"Think about anything other than your purpose in watching whoever you're watching," he said finally and tugged a clean shirt from a hanger. A pair of underwear from a drawer within the closet joined the clean shirt in his hand, and he met Robin's gaze.

"Maybe go over algebra homework," he suggested. "Or fantasize about some pretty girl. Anything but the person you're watching."

He watched Robin nod slowly, and added, "You can practice on me while I'm here, if you want. Sam, too, as long as you tell him beforehand. He gets…twitchy."

"Twitchy." Robin sounded skeptical again.

"Twitchy. You don't want to see him twitchy." G nodded toward the folder Robin was holding. "That what you've got on Bruce's shooting?"

"Yeah."

"You comfortable briefing me while I take a shower?"

Robin's expression was all the answer G needed.

"Go knock on Sam's door, tell him we're having breakfast and briefing in ten."

Robin nodded and all but ran for the door. G chuckled to himself, wondering if he'd ever been that body-shy.

Probably not - always a lot of people around at the circus.

Eight minutes later, he emerged from the bathroom to find Sam, freshly showered and shaved, examining the contents of his bedroom.

"Seriously, G? The whole house is a museum, and your room looks like a teenage boy's room."

"I was a teenage boy," G reminded him. "Robin wake you up?"

"I was already up. Kid's got potential."

"Let's hope he lives long enough to fulfill it." G pulled on socks and boots, then started for the door.

Sam's hand on his arm stopped him. "What're you saying, G?"

"Bruce would never intentionally hurt him, if that's what you want to know," G answered. "But he's … charismatic. Inspirational. And sometimes, he gets too focused on his quarry."

"That what happened when you got shot?"

"More or less. I'd dropped down from the roof, and he landed in front of me, his cape billowed out, and I was blind. I didn't know when the guy pulled a gun, didn't know when he started firing until he did. Caught one under my ribs."

"Sounds careless, even negligent."

"Maybe," G said. "And maybe I'm giving him the benefit of the doubt, even now. But it was a wake-up call. You should be glad for it."

"Glad?" Sam couldn't contain his outrage. G smirked.

"If that hadn't happened, I wouldn't have left and joined the FBI, the CIA, and ultimately NCIS. You'd never have met the best partner you've ever had."

"Best?" Sam repeated, one eyebrow quirked. "Think Michelle might disagree with you on that."

"Different kind of partner," G grinned and accepted Sam's slap on the shoulder. "C'mon, let's get breakfast."

Breakfast, as Sam had suspected, consisted of the snacks Alfred had made the night before, but was nonetheless still filling: a tray of meats and cheeses, fruit salad tossed in a honey-lemon dressing, egg and tuna salads, and an array of breads set out by the restaurant-sized toaster, all in quantities sufficient to feed Sam's former SEAL team.

"Snacks," Sam muttered. "If this is a snack, what's a meal?"

"Don't ask," G advised him. "Just enjoy."

"Sound advice, Master G," Alfred said as he came in from the kitchen bearing - Sam blinked - a silver coffee service? Seriously?

At G's nod, Sam helped himself from the buffet-style set-up. There was plenty, but manners compelled him to take only a little of everything. At least until G craned his neck over Sam's shoulder.

"I've seen you eat twice that much when you weren't hungry. Load up - there's plenty more in the kitchen."

"Seems like a lot," Sam said.

"Alfred?" G turned to the older man. "How much would Bruce and I eat on a given day?"

Alfred didn't look up from pouring healthy mugs of coffee for the two of them - and for Robin, Sam noticed. He bit back a frown. Robin wasn't his son, but thirteen seemed way too young to get someone started on coffee.

"Before or after you reached your full growth?" Alfred asked.

"The point is," G said, "Alfred's used to feeding people who are as active as you are."

G demonstrated by heaping his plate full of the savory items and then taking a second, smaller, plate just for the fruit salad.

Sam gave a mental shrug and followed G's lead - even though he'd never seen G eat that much at one sitting before. He was only somewhat surprised when Robin piled almost as much on his plate as they did on theirs.

When the three of them were seated and had made a decent dent in their first helpings, G looked across the table at Robin.

"Okay. Brief us."

The briefing that followed was impressive, Sam thought, for its thorough brevity. Even though he knew little more about Gotham City than how to spell it, by the time Robin was done, he felt like he could walk into its underworld scene and recognize all the players on sight.

And then he reminded himself that a thirteen-year-old boy was giving that briefing and wondered exactly what kind of man Bruce Wayne - Batman - was. Then he decided that maybe he didn't really want to know.

For long minutes after Robin finished, G sat sipping the tea Alfred had refilled twice during the briefing. When G finally looked up, Sam recognized the look in his eyes and found himself fighting back a grin at the fire in the other man's eyes. This was the G Callen he knew and trusted with his life and more. This was G Callen on a hunt for the bad guys.

"You said last night that whoever shot Bruce - shot Batman - wouldn't brag to a kid," G said.

"I did."

"Who would they brag to?"

"Other criminals," Sam answered immediately. "Especially ones they wanted to impress."

"But they're not," Robin objected. "Not a whisper anywhere."

"Not that you're hearing," G said, more gently than Sam would've expected given the kid's stubborn insistence on the matter. Then he focused on Sam. "You up for a quick stint undercover?"

"You really think that'll work?" Robin stared at Sam, his expression one of total disbelief.

"I think it's worth a try, because what you've been doing hasn't been working," G cut in. "If you have a better idea, I'm all ears."

Robin sat silently fuming, clearly turning over thoughts and objections. Sam sat back to enjoy the last of his coffee while he watched the kid - who was, he admitted silently, much more of a man than a kid, despite his age and size. Something had happened to make him grow up quickly, just like something had happened to G.

The similarities between them made the differences all the more disturbing.

"No," Robin said finally. "No better ideas."

"Okay." There was no satisfaction, no triumph, in G's tone, just an acceptance of the plan. "Let's see the gear we have available."

Sam refilled his coffee before following Robin and G back to the cave.

The Batcave, he corrected silently, and then had to wonder what other things would have bat in front of them. Would he be sitting in a bat-chair to work at the bat-computer? Did Robin ride in on a bat-motorcycle?

Stop, he told his subconscious. That way lies madness.

Speaking of madness …

"G," he said when they reached the bottom of the steps.

"Yeah?"

"You sure we should be doing this? This isn't our case."

"Why would you even ask that?" Robin demanded. "Whoever shot Bruce needs to be found and brought to justice."

Sam understood the sentiment, had felt it often enough during his career. G, though - G looked torn.

"He's not Navy or Marines," Sam continued. "At least, I don't think he is. We haven't been invited in. How do we get jurisdiction so we're not acting like vigilantes?"

G flinched at what Sam hadn't said. Like Batman.

A low hum echoed throughout the cave. Sam glanced around, but neither G nor Robin seemed concerned, so it put it aside for now, in favor of focusing once more on G.

"But," Robin protested, "you said you'd help find out who shot him."

"Yeah," Sam said. "But what good is finding that out if we don't have enough evidence for a conviction? You know I'm right, G - we need jurisdiction, or this is a waste of time."

"You'll have it."

The voice came from beyond the stairs, and Sam looked up to see Barbara Gordon wheeling herself toward them.

"How can you be so sure?" Sam demanded.

But G was smiling - just a little. "Your dad's still the commissioner."

Barbara nodded.

"Commissioner," Sam repeated. "As in police commissioner? So why aren't they investigating?"

Barbara scowled as she wheeled herself up to the computer banks. "Dad wants to, don't think otherwise. But half the GCPD thinks Batman's as big a menace as the criminals he fights, and to make things worse, the new mayor was elected on an anti-vigilante platform."

"So we really have to do this by the book." G was looking at Robin when he spoke, and after a long moment, the teen nodded.

"I'll clear it with Dad," Barbara said, then bit her lower lip before looking up at G. "Can I tell him you're back?"

G hesitated for a long moment, then shook his head. "I'll call him. Better if it comes from me."

"Okay," Barbara said. "But let me call him first. You know how he hates being blindsided."

G nodded and turned to Sam. "I'll make the call upstairs - better cell reception. Meantime, check the comms."

Sam blinked. "Comms?"

Robin looked at him as though he were dumber than a box of rocks. "Of course, comms. You don't think we operate without them, do you?"

Sam shrugged. "Can't say I ever thought about how vigilantes operate. Not before I came to Gotham, anyway."

The effect of Robin's glare was lost in Barbara's laughter.