Author's Note: Final part of this story thread. Because I am currently still working on the ending, this is only part one. Part two will be available from tomorrow and will just continue on from where the last paragraph of this ends. I have greatly enjoyed reading your various comments on this story's merits and the portrayal of Bruce and Dick's relationship. I have further plans to write more stories of this particular genre (basically fluff and feelings) sometime in the new year if it is to everyone's mutual liking. Enjoy.
Comfort 4
I have had an idea. It regards not only being able to spend my time in Dick's company, but also closing our current investigation at the same time. It will require some setting-up and alterations to my usual way of operating, but it can be achieved. I will also require the old man to take my side if I am to succeed in this venture. When I enter the kitchen at just after seven in the morning, attired in only my dressing gown, Alfred immediately raises an eyebrow. The old man turns from the counter where he is arranging my breakfast and does something unheard of; he gestures at my dress state with his hand.
"Your status as CEO does not grant you the liberty to attend meetings in your pyjamas, Master Bruce. I would advise you change." It would appear he is full of his usual dry wit this morning.
"I am not going to work today." I announce to him whilst closing the distance between us. Alfred offers me a small smile.
"Are you not, Sir? Whatever could be your reason, I wonder?" He already knows I wish to spend further time with the boy. His every expression and gesture tells me this. The old man is pleased, no doubt, that he has swayed me somewhat in my habits. However, even with such positive sentiments on show, I sense Alfred is still cautious. He knows me too well not to suspect an ulterior motive to even the most innocent of intentions.
"Shall I come straight to the point, Alfred?" The old man's response is to incline his head and fold his arms; he is already fortifying his defences. He replies in a frank tone.
"I would prefer you do, Sir."
"I need Dick's assistance with the investigation."
"We have already discussed this matter, Master Bruce; the young man is to stay in bed for the following two days at minimum. I am on hand to assist you if you so require, but the boy will remain bed-ridden until I deem otherwise."
"I am afraid such measures are not good enough, Alfred." My persistence is not appreciated. The old man offers me a hard stare and unfolds his arms; he is now ready to attack.
"I am the physician in this house, not you. Neither Master Dick's head or his ribs are in any condition for the strenuous work you ask of him." It is increasingly difficult with every passing year to consider Alfred as merely a servant. In many ways, this old man is my surrogate father. He has cared for me and my family before my arrival in ways I cannot imagine. His personal sacrifices, his devotion and his loyalty are all in my service. This man is not and never will be afraid of me as others might. He can talk to me in such a manner of authority because he has earned such a privilege. I also believe that, in spite of my age, Alfred still views me as an orphaned child. I am not a child, however. I am the Master of this house.
"What if it was so that Dick didn't need to leave his bed?" I say to prevent any further escalation. The old man adopts a puzzled expression.
"I am afraid I don't quite follow you, Sir." I smile at him.
"Come, I'll show you."
It is now nine in the morning. I am in the boy's bedroom. Again, I find him asleep. As I open the curtains, everything downstairs is ready. I have obtained Alfred's support, albeit with reluctance, but I have it as needed. Now it is the turn of the boy to endorse my idea, something I think he will welcome enthusiastically. I am about to wake him when I note something odd on the floor. At first glance, it appears to be a sizeable pile of rags; upon closer examination, it is not. These 'rags' are actually the remnants of Dick's silk pyjamas, the ones purchased for his birthday. Fabric scissors are splayed open on his bedside table while his photographs, the ones he treasures above all else, are strewn on the floor below. When I press a hand against the pile and find it unpleasantly moist, I begin to piece events together.
The boy had experienced another 'bad' night, one where his nightmares are far worse than usual. When he is so badly agitated, he sweats profusely and it is often the resulting cold that forces him to consciousness. Normally, he would simply divest himself of such clothing, change the sheets and return to bed. With his current injuries even these simple tasks are made almost impossible. He more than likely panicked in the dark and resorted to drastic measures to free himself. It is likely he called out for help, but, unable to really move from his bed, could not raise me. I am disappointed with myself; how many times has Dick found himself in such a situation, alone and scared? How many times have I ignored him in such a state? I bend down to shake him.
"Dick?"
The boy's eyes open very quickly. He has only been having light sleep it would seem. His green eyes regard me with intense shame. "I'm cold." He says with a sharp intake of breath. My heart sinks.
"Where's your dressing gown?" Dick gestures to the chair nearest the window; the dressing gown is hung on its back. It is less than ten metres away. Less than ten metres...and the boy could not make it. I retrieve it for him without another word.
"I...couldn't get out of bed." He says as I help him sit up. "I was just so uncomfortable and I didn't know what else to do." He adds with some disgust as I guide his arms into the sleeves. He closes and fastens the robe himself without looking at me. "I'm sorry." Even though it is his natural instinct to, Dick will not cry. I am glad; as he is, I could not even hug him were tears to fall. "I know those pyjamas were real expensive." He is still talking. Sometimes talking helps him control whatever pain he is in, mental or physical. It seems to be working; his eyes meet mine again.
"It's fine." I tell him sitting beside him on the bed, "We all have bad moments in our lives. It is fortunate such times often happen in private, when we are alone. However, sometimes they are public displays...like my parents' funeral. Everyone in the whole world saw me cry. My pain was on all the major newspapers, domestic and international. No-one is going to put this on a front page, I promise." I run a hand through his hair briefly. He makes no move against it. When I give him a new round of medication, he swallows them without thought.
"I don't like you seeing me weak." Dick says bitterly, "I feel like such a loser. I can't even get out my own freaking bed without help!" Before I have even articulated a response, I find my hand is on his, squeezing it. The boy looks at my gesture in silence, his anger momentarily forgotten. Then he looks at me.
"Everyone needs help sometimes, Dick."
"You don't. You're like the indestructible man. You could get shot, stabbed, set on fire and have your arm broken; you'd still go to work the next day." The boy's tone has picked up its hostilities. My hand is still on his.
"That only happened once." I say to earn a scowl.
"That's not funny, Bruce." I smile at him.
"It is a little bit." The boy tries to maintain his displeasure, but eventually rolls his eyes and succumbs; he is simply too good-natured. His mouth breaks out into a grin.
"Okay, maybe a tiny, microscopic-sized bit funny."
"And I've always needed people's help in my life. My childhood would have been unbearable without Alfred. My career as Batman would not have become nearly as potent without Jim Gordon. And my private life as Bruce Wayne would not be nearly as pleasant without you around." There is a short silence in which the boy is content to stare into my eyes. I think he is trying to ascertain my sincerity. Then he looks down at our hands again. I use my other hand to tilt his chin back up so his eyes meet mine. "I mean it, Dick. You have helped make me a better person. For that, I can't thank you enough." I take both my hands away. Dick smiles at me.
"You want me to help you with something, don't you? That's why you're buttering me up like this." The boy leans back and folds his arms, a sly look on his face. He knows my actions just now were sincere, but he, like Alfred, knows me very well. He too suspects an ulterior motive for my behaviour. Perhaps I should do something to change their perceptions of me as some sort of scheming fox. Maybe later. I feign shock.
"Now, Dick, why would you ever think me capable of such deceit?"
"Tell me what you want, big guy. Let's hear it." Suddenly, the boy is himself again, recovered from his earlier trauma with startling speed. Dick is remarkable in that way; he never dwells on failures long enough for them to affect him. He wants the next challenge. I give it to him.
"I want you to be my eyes and ears on this operation tonight. Alfred and I have built you a special bed in the cave. It has four or five screens affixed to the front; all of them feeds from the central computer. You can monitor radio transmissions, CCTV footage, hack into databases and view my cowl's visual and auditory information..."
"Without ever having to get my lazy ass out of bed." The boy shakes a finger at me. "Y'know sometimes I actually believe you might be a genius, Boss; this is like every boy's dream."
"Yes, well, don't get used to such luxury. This is solely for tonight's operation. After that, it's back here. Understand?" I offer the boy my hand. He shakes it instantly.
"You got a deal, big man."
Once the boy puts on some underwear, he permits me to pick him up. The first destination is the bathroom, so he can shower. I leave him to his own devices whilst I go and get dressed. Upon my return, I again find him sprawled on the floor in a fashion similar to the previous day. He is wearing his underwear. "I didn't fall down this time. It just feels nice to lie on the floor, takes the pressure off my ribs." Dick explains as I stand him up. "And it's back." I showcase him the clothes I selected from his wardrobe; his eyes widen in shock.
"Have I selected the wrong articles?" I ask already preparing to cast them to one side. When the boy grabs them from my hands, I admit to being surprised.
"These are good." He informs me turning them over in his hands, "I might've actually picked these." Today I am far more proficient in dressing the boy. There are no awkward movements as I put on his socks, hitch up his jeans or assist him with his T-shirt. Helping him is beginning to feel a very natural action, as it should have been all along. I carry him from the bathroom down to the cave. The bed and computer arrangement is exactly as I described to him. In this technological age, such a set-up would be a child's dream, but not Dick. For him, his enjoyment of this equipment comes from knowing he is helping me make the city safer. He does not care particularly for the internet or social-networking sites, although he is very popular with his peers, seeking more conventional activities to amuse himself with; he would rather go ice-skating or to the cinema than play video games.
I only spend five minutes familiarising him with the various controls at his disposal; the boy is more than computer-literate enough to figure out the remaining features on his own. With that settled, I begin to outlay my plans for catching Morris and ending the gang war before it can start...
Sam Morris is your typical sociopath. Narcissistic, shallow and numb to most of the things that make us human, he uses and exploits those around him to achieve his aims. People are expendable to him, no matter their age, gender or disposition. He is nothing new to me. I have encountered and defeated dozens of individuals just like him with very little effort. His type of criminal is easy to pattern, to predict. Regardless of their backgrounds, all sociopaths share similar traits; they also share similar flaws. It will be one of these flaws that proves the man's undoing, as I am about to prove.
Morris is good, but not perfect in his methods thus far. His lack of loyalty to his men has aided me in finding Faia; Dick was able to secure an address in minutes. Interrogating him proved my earlier assumptions correct as well; he is the mole in Mentis' crew. Under the duress of being suspended off the top of Wayne Tower, Faia supplied me with the details of the meet. The amount of pressure I applied means he could only give up the truth, being too much of a coward to dare try and trick me. I make the somewhat cold decision to leave Faia in his apartment and not hand him into GCPD custody. There is a high possibility that Faia will be murdered by the Night Stalkers when they discover not only his status as an informant, but also a double-agent. He would therefore be wise to take himself to the front desk and admit to his involvement in past crimes; a stint in Blackgate is better than death after all.
The boy is fortunate he is able to witness all this first-hand; it offers him a unique insight into the way I operate. Judging by the long spells when Dick is silent, he is impressed by my tactics. When he does speak, it is only to offer more intelligence or warn me of impending danger. In contrast to when he accompanies me on patrol, he is remarkably restrained. This particular arrangement, with myself on the streets and the boy as my support, appears highly effective. Still, I would prefer his physical company. He will be back soon enough.
"Batman, this is Robin, message over."
"Send."
"The building you're going to in The Narrows, Ray's Tavern, is acting as Mentis' temporary headquarters. His name is on the lease as proprietor."
"Any planning permissions granted for renovations or extensions to the existing structure?"
"Criminals going through the proper channels, are you kidding me?"
"Point taken. How large is the building?"
"From the schematics I pulled, it's just your standard two floor layout. Says here the maximum number of occupants the building can accommodate is two-hundred-and- fifty."
"As the headquarters, Mentis' position is untouchable from Morris's point of view. With so many men to guard him, the chances of Morris taking him by surprise are highly unlikely."
"Could be a set-up by Morris. Maybe he wants to plant some explosives to eliminate his competition outright.
"What are the tavern's composition materials?"
"It's mainly made out of wood. It's construction dates back to like the seventeenth century."
"Half-a-pound of C4, placed in the correct position, would be sufficient to kill everyone inside."
"And smoke inhalation and fire would probably finish off any survivors."
"I'll run a scan of the tavern using the cowl thermal-imaging software."
"According to your GPS, you're only a few minutes away now. Be careful, Boss; this is pretty dangerous y'know."
"I'm sure I'll manage. Batman out."
When I arrive at the location, I am approximately one hour ahead of schedule with regards to the meet. Such timing provides me with more than enough time to scan the entire area for evidence of explosives or explosive compounds. It is important to keep my distance; should Mentis or any of his associates be aware of my involvement, this entire evening will end in bloodshed. To that end, I position myself on the roof of the adjacent building to conduct the scan, shrouded by shadow. My first theory suggests that perhaps Faia, a frequent visitor to this establishment due to his hierarchal status, has planted and primed explosives for Morris so he need not turn up at all. The scan is negative however. It therefore stands to reason that another viable alternative is for Morris to bring the explosives with him and place them himself. With advances in weapons technology and covert usage, it is possible to condense a powerful charge down into a palm-sized block. All that is then needed is either a timer or some kind of receiver to detonate the explosives.
"How long until they get there?" The boy asks over the radio link, having decided to dispense with formal voice procedure.
"Fifteen minutes."
"And how long do you reckon it'll take you to finish this investigation off?"
"Less than an hour."
"Really? To end an investigation into two of the most powerful gangs in Gotham and put away one of the world's most wanted men will take you less than an hour?"
"Yes."
"I can't wait to see this, Boss. I'm expecting magic."
I allow myself a small smile. "You will. Just watch the screen."
Exactly seventeen minutes following that transmission, Morris and his associates have arrived. I alert Gordon and his taskforce immediately. I wait five minutes longer before executing my strategy. Entering the building through an upstairs window, I incapacitate the guard who had opened it for a cigarette and proceed down the stairs. The guard upstairs is one of a pair barring entry to the first floor. The other has his back to me when I move in behind him. A basic nerve strike renders him unconscious before I gently lower his body to the ground to avoid noise. The actual meeting is taking place in the next room. Before heading back upstairs, I strip down the weapon systems of both men and toss the ammunition clip out of immediate reach. Once back upstairs, I manoeuvre my position until I am certain to be above their negotiation table.
"Alfie, what is he doing?" I hear the boy ask. There is the unmistakable sound of the old man's footsteps and then a pause.
"I believe he is about to descend from above, Master Dick." Alfred's voice informs him.
"But the floor's solid wood; it'll never give under his weight."
"Have you been paying attention, young Sir?"
"What do you mean?"
"Watch carefully."
Once there is no idle chatter affecting my concentration levels, I detonate the localized explosive I planted on the ground beneath me. The explosive is not powerful enough to cause either fragmentation or a clear hole in the floor; it hardly even produces an audible sound. It is, however, sufficient enough to weaken the floor's structural integrity to such a degree that sudden force would break it. With that in mind, I leap up and then crash down, activating the smoke pellets in my hands as I breach the ground floor ceiling. With the smoke blanketing the room rapidly and confused gunfire trying to cut through it, I initiate my assault.
Their numbers are not important; the smoke and my infra-red vision filter mean even a sizeable group, such as this, is surmountable. I begin by eliminating those individuals who pose a direct threat to my safety. The men still firing wildly are cut down first. One is the victim of a left haymaker, two of them are blinded by my cape before receiving a spinning, inside-out kick and nerve strike respectively. I proceed to dismantle four further people in only four moves, each time going for the knock-out blow rather than anything else. When the smoke begins to dissipate and a steady number are still encroaching on me, I resort to more aggressive tactics.
I throw three batarangs in quick succession. The first goes wide. This is deliberate in order to test their range. The second and third find soft flesh with ease, felling another two without trouble. Before he can elude my attentions, I trap Morris. Five of his men who are too loyal and foolish to leave him to me, attempt to liberate their boss from my grasp. I spare no-one. Without relinquishing my grip on Morris's jacket, I cut down three of them with a series of flowing kicks before striking at the other two with my elbow and head. I know as soon as they fall down, they will try again. The next man to tackle me finds himself with a broken jaw, courtesy of my boot heel. He does not resurface for more. The others suffer comparable injuries: a broken arm, a shattered kneecap, a broken collarbone and dislocated shoulder. I have not delivered such brutal punishment for personal pleasure; it is to properly intimidate Morris. Just from a glance at his fallen associates, he knows I am serious in my intentions.
The smoke has disappeared completely by this point. The only other man to be left standing besides Morris is Mentis. He is pointing a pistol at my forehead. It is a customized side-arm with a red-dot sight and silencer. It has a silver finish.
"I wouldn't." I tell him. Mentis' eyes narrow.
"And why the hell is that, Bat freak?"
"Morris is responsible for what happened at the docks two days earlier."
"No, YOU are responsible. You and that stupid kid you hang around with. You took us down."
"But who set you up?"
"Nobody set us up."
"Have you seen Faia since he posted bail?"
"I don't know who you mean."
"Faia is a mole for The Capos. He set your men up for the fall at the docks."
"Bull."
Mentis is stubborn and single-minded. These are excellent qualities for a gangland boss, but not for intelligent negotiations. I turn to Morris. Taking hold of him with both hands, I proceed to hoist him clean off the floor. The fact Mentis is still yet to take a shot at me means he thinks there is some credibility to my story. Either that or he doesn't like Morris either.
"Tell him what you know or I will take you to hell with me." I proceed to stare Morris out, daring for him to cross me. Morris can see the conviction in my eyes. He knows I won't kill, but Mentis is a different proposition all together. I could die here and now. Mentis has a clear shot; he could splatter my brains if he desired. It doesn't matter. In the end, I will prevail, not because I am faster, stronger or smarter than either of the men I am currently faced with, but because I believe in what I do. I believe that what I do is beyond them. The pursuit of justice is a hard, unforgiving road that often only ends in ruin. But, if you can walk the hardest miles it offers and continue, if you can find the will to push through its darkest recesses and still find light, it grants you power beyond others. The boy showed me that. It has been instrumental in steadying my doubts when I feel the world crushing me. It steadies me now.
"Take me to someplace safe and I'll tell you everything." Morris begins.
"YOU SNAKE!"
My reaction time allows me not only to pull Morris out of the bullet's path, but also knock the gun from Mentis' hand with a smaller, more discreet version of my batarang. Handcuffing Morris, I then disable further violence from his would-be assassin with a single uppercut, lifting him several inches off the floor in the process. Once satisfied Mentis no longer poses a threat, I return my attentions to Morris. "If you attempt to go back on your word, if you try to say you were coerced in court, if you try anything to jeopardise this case, I will find you. And I will make you disappear." I tell him whilst yanking him back to his feet. "Believe me Morris; there exist fates far worse than death. Cross me and you will experience several."
Gordon's arrival on scene is once again fortuitous. I hand over a memory stick containing information and intelligence that implicates Morris in several past cases and exposes his past life as Sam Bancroft in London and New York. Such a wealth of source material is more than enough to secure an indictment at trial, but I feel obligated to confirm both my and the boy's suspicions. A body search of Morris reveals a small quantity of explosive material fixed to an adhesive strip. It seems we were correct in our assumptions. I am satisfied. Once I have answered Jim's preliminary questions concerning Morris and the subsequent raid, handed over the crime scene to forensics and removed any trace of my equipment from the scumbags, I make my way home.
Upon my return to the cave, I find both Dick and Alfred poised to greet me. The boy is stood up beside the bed with the old man's hand on his shoulder. Both of them have incredulous smiles on their faces. I am slightly bemused by their reactions.
"Is everything alright?" I ask scaling the stairs from the vehicle park. Once I reach the top, Dick thumbs behind him to the main computer screen; a playback of my visual and audio feeds is playing.
"It's like watching a video game, Bruce. You took out twenty guys in less than six minutes and your heart-rate didn't even go above 120. It's freaking incredible."
"I, too, must admit some amazement at your latest escapades, Master Bruce. I do not believe I have seen you in action for some time."
Their praise is appreciated, but unnecessary. Such a feat is nothing special or important; it is simply a tool, a means to an end. I do not consider myself superhuman, merely well-trained. I gesture to Dick whilst looking at Alfred.
"How is he progressing?" The old man looks down at the boy, squeezing his shoulder gently.
"Master Dick?"
I watch as Alfred removes his hand. Dick then proceeds to walk the several paces to where I am standing. He smiles at me. I smile back, removing my mask.
"Those must be very strong pain-killers." I say. The boy shrugs.
"It's a neat trick though, right?"
"It is very impressive." I offer before picking him up. "How did you like being in the command chair, so to speak?"
"Honestly? It sucks. I want to be back out there with you."
"You will be, very soon."
"The young man will be ready to go back to school early next week. Ahem, perhaps I should attend to your injuries now, Master Bruce?"
"After I take him up to bed, Alfred."
"Very good, Sir."