A/N WOOHOO! 515 Reviews! Over half a thousand! Thank you, thank you O beloved reviewers!

Just a warning – it may be two weeks before the next update. I have a presentation and a paper due next week. I will do my best to get the chapter done, but in case I don't, I wanted you to be prepared :)

Thank you to my bat-beta, IcyWaters, for her quick efficiency.

Disclaimer The smurfs are not of my creation, however, the village of the Smurfettes are. (Disclaimer courtesy of The Smurfette Village! By Raven Child2)

Chapter 38

Little pitchers have big ears.
-Colloquial English Proverb

Friday Morning

Dick dimly felt a gentle hand brushing across his forehead, and he got his eyes open in time to see Rachel leaving the room. He scrambled out of bed to follow her, but had to stop and sit down on the floor until the pounding in his head slowed and the black waves stopped rushing in front of his eyes. Moving more cautiously this time, he stood up and slowly went downstairs.

Alfred wasn't in the kitchen like he usually was when Dick got up in the mornings. The boy wandered down the hall, trying to ease his way into each step to avoid jarring his tender head, and it wasn't until he came to the door of Bruce's office that he found any sign of life. Bruce and Rachel were standing in front of the desk, but even though they weren't shouting, Dick could tell that they were upset. He stood silently in the doorway, watching anxiously. Rachel was crying and Bruce was talking in a low, hard voice, saying something that didn't make any sense about it not being enough.

And then Rachel said, in a voice that sounded angry, "Bruce, you can't raise a child and be Batman!"

Dick backed away from the doorway and ran. He didn't stop until he was back in the security of his own room, doubled over on his knees on top of the bed, panting harshly. It was hard to think around the pain in his head, but at last he worked Rachel's words into a meaning that made sense. If he, Dick, stayed here, Bruce would have to stop being Batman. And Bruce couldn't stop being Batman. He couldn't. And that meant that he, Dick, was going to have to leave.

The old pain was back now, a dull throbbing knot that settled right over his stomach and hunched his shoulders forward. Between the old pain and the new, he was almost sick, and he bit his lip hard, fighting waves of nausea.

Alfred found him that way thirty minutes later – hunched over, tensed up, and white faced. "How are you feeling this morning, Master Dick?" he asked gently.

"Not good," Dick admitted.

"I thought perhaps you might like to move into the television room," the butler suggested. "We could set you up quite comfortably on one of the sofas, and there would be more to do."

"All right," Dick agreed listlessly. With Alfred's assistance, he was soon settled in a nest of blankets on a deep leather couch, with a tray of scrambled eggs and orange juice beside him and Star Wars playing on the screen.

"Hey buddy, how you feeling?"

Dick looked up to see Bruce standing behind the couch, leaning over him. He had on a suit and a tie, so he must be going to a meeting. "Ok," the boy finally managed around the new surge of dread that rose in his throat.

"Miss Somerville and I have to go to a meeting, so you call Alfred if you need anything or if you start feeling worse, all right?"

"Ok," Dick repeated, and watched in relief as Bruce left the room without telling him he had to leave. Bruce was probably going to wait until after his meeting, Dick considered, and was suddenly determined not to wait around for it. He would rather just go on his own and get it over with. But as he knew from experience, leaving Wayne Manor was easier said than done. It was hard just to get outside the wall, and once he got out, there was the question of where he would go. It would be nice to live with Rachel, Dick thought wistfully, but then he remembered she was going to marry Bruce and come here to live, so that wouldn't work.

Worn out with pain, Dick dropped into an uneasy doze, and when he woke up, startled by a burst of blaster fire from the movie, he remembered why Miss Somerville was staying with them in the first place. She'll take me away, Dick thought with a mixture of misery and relief, if I tell her this isn't the best place for me.

Determined on this course of action, he decided he may as well go ahead and pack. Back in his room, he stuffed his blanket, the best of his homemade comic books, and the viewer box Batman had given him so long ago into his backpack. Then he dug the sleeping Rachel Jr. out of a pile of woodchips and stuck her in a half empty Kleenex box. He put a sock over the hole and secured it with rubber bands so that the gerbil couldn't escape, then poked a couple of little holes in the sides just to make sure she had enough air. He tucked the box, along with a bag of food pellets, carefully into the top of the backpack before zipping it shut. Now all he had to do was wait for Miss Somerville to come back from the meeting.

The increased activity had worsened his headache, slowing his thought processes, but the more he pondered it, the more it seemed that if Somerville and Bruce had gone to the meeting together then they would come back together, and he might not get a chance to talk to the social worker before Bruce talked to him. And that, Dick was somehow convinced, would be the worst thing of all.

He put on his sneakers and coat and crept down the stairs, backpack in hand. It was an easy matter to slip out the side door into the secure garage where none of the cars were kept locked. He opened the backdoor of Somerville's battered Chevy and settled himself on the floor out of sight below the windows. It was rather chilly, but there was a blanket on the seat, so, using the part of the backpack that didn't hold Rachel Jr. as a pillow, he pulled the blanket over his head and fell asleep.

- - - - - -

Cecilia paid the taxi and ran into the house. "Thank you, Mr. Pennyworth," she greeted the butler who held the door for her and helped her off with her coat. "How is Richard?"

"Sleeping the last time I checked on him. He's been rather quiet today."

"I'm sure. Did Wayne call and tell you the hearing went well?"

"He did, thank you, Miss Somerville."

Cecilia went upstairs to her room. I need to call Miami. I need my phone. Kicking herself for not having asked Gordon about it yesterday, she grabbed the room's extension and tapped in the password (discovered while poking around Wayne's computer files yesterday) followed by the number for the Gotham PD. "Hello? Yes, this is Cecilia Somerville. My cell phone is being held as evidence in the Simon Golding case, and I was wondering if there was any possibility of my getting it back."

The receptionist put her on hold, and she got five minutes worth of tinny jazz before the woman was back. "Ms. Somerville, your phone was delivered to your office this afternoon."

"Social services?"

"Yes."

"Thank you." She hung up, frowning in irritation. There was no call log and no incriminating numbers saved on the phone, but if Judas had gotten hold of her phone, she might have a hard time getting it back. Her growing annoyance reminded her of another piece of personal property she had yet to regain – the Batman was still in possession of her Beretta. There was nothing she could do about the second item, but she was most decidedly not going to endure another night handicapped by the loss of her cell. She picked up the phone and notified the garage to have her car sent around.

When she pulled into the building parking lot, the sun was setting fast. Cecilia slammed her door shut and hurried across the slush-smeared pavement into the office. On a late Friday afternoon, the building was quiet, with most people already having taken off for the weekend. Cecilia took a straight path to her cubicle, and exhaled a quiet breath of relief when she saw the manila envelope waiting on her desk. She tore it open and dumped the phone out – it didn't appear to have been tampered with.

"Ah, Cecilia?" Another social worker, a pudgy white woman with her brown hair wound in a sloppy bun, stood in the cubicle entrance. "There's someone here looking for you." She stepped back to reveal a slender blond boy with a pale face.

"Richard?" Cecilia asked in disbelief. "I…thank you, Kathleen."

The other woman smiled and walked away, and Cecilia demanded, "Richard, what are you doing here? How did you get here?"

"I was in the back of your car. You have to take me away," he said in a quiet, resigned little voice.

"What…"

She broke off as the waves of Judas's distinctive voice rolled over the cubicles. "Yes, yes, that will be fine."

Cecilia grabbed the boy's arm and pulled him toward the desk. Jerking the wheeled chair back, she hustled him into the space and whispered harshly, "Stay in there and be quiet." Shoving the chair back into place, she perched on the edge of the desk so that her body blocked the view into the space beneath it. Richard safely locked up in Wayne Manor would have taken a court order to reach. Richard here in the open could be snatched, judge's ruling or not. Wayne really is going to ship my body to the Gulf of Mexico.

"Miss Somerville, you are here."

Cecilia had never before been overjoyed to see Rachel Dawes, but at the moment she could have embraced the woman like a long lost sister. "Counselor Dawes, what an unexpected pleasure. Listen…"

Rachel cut her off. "I'm here to tell you that I'll give you testimony, whatever you need, to get Dick out of Wayne Manor."

Cecilia stared at her, momentarily stunned.

"He can't stay with Bruce. Yesterday convinced me of that. I know you've been living there for almost two weeks, but believe me when I tell you that there are things that go on at that house that even the people who work there don't know about."

"Ah, Rachel, I see you've found her. Cecilia, I wanted to apologize for this afternoon. It was unforgivable." Judas looked at her pleadingly, and she noticed that his skin was so pale it looked almost gray. "It's only that I'd become so worried about the boy. I'd gotten information, you see, but not through channels that would hold up in front of the judge."

"I see," she said slowly.

"It's absolutely imperative we get him out of there immediately. Kathleen says you have him here with you now?"

There wasn't any point in denying it. "Yes," she admitted reluctantly. "He just went to the bathroom."

Judas looked relieved, eager, a sudden rush of color coming back to his face. "I'll just go and collect him, then. We can sort it out with Judge Farr later."

"I'll come with you," Cecilia said hastily, and she and Rachel followed Judas down the hallway to the men's room.

"I'll just check on him," the man said hastily, and pushed through the door.

Cecilia grabbed Rachel's arm. "Listen to me. Judas cannot be trusted."

Rachel shook herself free. "That's convincing. Coming from you."

"If you could forget about the past and your precious dignity for one moment and open your eyes to see that…"

Judas burst out of the bathroom. "He's not in there."

Cecilia allowed alarm to cover her face. "What?"

"You said he went to the bathroom," Rachel accused.

"He did, I…" She paused, alarm melting into horror. "You don't think…the Joker could have gotten in here and grabbed him?"

Judas jerked, fear covering his face, apparently accepting her suggestion without hesitation. "It's possible."

"Let's not panic. Maybe he just got lost on his way back. Counselor Dawes, you check down that way. Henry, try the back of the building. I'll look through the cubicles."

The other two obeyed her without question. Cecilia waited until she was sure they were well away before returning to her cubicle and pulling out the desk chair. "Hurry, Richard," she whispered as he crawled out. "We have to get back to the Manor." Grasping his hand in her own, she pulled him hurriedly down the narrow aisle and out into the lobby.

The parking lot was empty of people. Cecilia ran toward her car, pulling Richard behind her. Two feet away, she slipped on a patch of ice, and let go of the boy's hand to keep from pulling him down with her. She landed hard on her knees, and as she scrambled to get back up something hard jabbed into the small of her back, throwing her back off balance.

"Don't move Cecilia," Judas said softly. "I wouldn't mind shooting you, but there's a certain gentleman who'd be sorry not to have the pleasure himself. Now get up slowly and unlock the car.

She obeyed, turning slightly as she did and catching sight of Richard, his arm held tightly in Judas's large hand.

Judas suddenly transferred the gun from her back to Richard's temple. "Now get in and start the engine," he ordered. "The boy and I will ride in the back. I don't think I have to tell you what will happen if you try anything stupid."

- - - - - -

A horn blared behind Bruce, and he realized the light had turned green. His foot slammed down on the accelerator, and he roared through the intersection, quickly reaching, and passing, the speed limit.

"Alfred," he said with forced calm, "do you know whether he's dressed?"

"Yes, sir, his pajamas were on the floor of his room."

"Check the closet and see if any of his shoes are missing."

"Which shoes?"

"Any shoes!" Bruce snapped, shooting through a gap between a bus and a semi-truck. He exited the highway onto the road that led to the manor, the miles only creeping by despite his speed.

"Yes," Alfred said at last. "A pair of trainers is gone."

"Thank God," Bruce muttered sincerely.

"Shall I call the police?"

"Not yet. Go downstairs and open the computer system. I'll be there in five minutes."

It was exactly five minutes later when he arrived in the study, yanked the books away and opened the panel to access the elevator. In the caves, Alfred was sitting in front of the glowing computer monitors, but he stood up hastily and let Bruce take the chair.

The billionaire hastily clicked through programs until he found the one he wanted. A grid map appeared on the screen, and a tiny bright dot moved across one corner of it. "There," Bruce muttered. "He's gotta be in a car."

"You put homing devices in his shoes," Alfred realized.

"Right after this happened the last time. Didn't I mention this to you?"

"No, sir."

"Sorry." Bruce crossed to the cabinet and pulled out the Bat suit. "You'll have to stay here and track his progress," he explained as he strapped on the armor. "I don't have the program hooked up in the Tumbler yet."

"Of course," Alfred agreed, already manipulating the map to show where Dick had been. "Sir…ten minutes ago he was at the social services building."

"Surprise, surprise," Bruce muttered, swinging the cape over his shoulders. "Do you know when Somerville left here?"

"The garage said they brought her car out about an hour ago." Alfred clicked back through the recent history file. "And yes, that matches Dick's departure from the Manor."

Bruce silently fitted the cowl onto his head and climbed into the Tumbler.

"They're headed south, on three sixty-four," Alfred's voice came over the radio connection.

The Batmobile shot through the waterfall and disappeared into the darkening twilight.

To Be Continued…

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