So, here's what I've decided. Anything that comes up in the show that reminds me of apathy shall appear in this li'l buddy, which will now be a one-shot buddy. Should things so continue like this. :)
This one takes place after "Disordered." Enjoy!
Batman would never admit it, Robin knew, but, the reason the holographic computer in the Batcave made the tapping noise of a physical keyboard was for sentimental reasons. It was one of the few things about him that was so purely human about a man who was so...not human at times. It was one of his likes, Alfred once said, confirming the boy's suspicions. The swift, clear, disorderly organized sound of fingers flying across the keyboard in rapid cadence in beautiful synchronization of thoughts.
And with Batman, his fingers nearly really did fly over the keyboard. He was swift, in actions, thoughts, everything really, Robin couldn't help but ponder as he watched his mentor do his work. His passive eyes never leaving the screen, his fingers stopping momentarily when something new popped up. But, not even maskless did his face reveal his thoughts. Not even maskless did he give any indication that he was aware of his ward's watchful gaze.
"Is something on your mind, Dick?"
Dick shrugged. "Not really."
The typing didn't slow. "What's on your mind, Dick?"
The boy sighed. "I was just thinking."
"And I was asking what you were thinking."
"Look, it's not important."
"Then why is it so preoccupying?"
Dick leaned back, staring at the ceiling, weighing his options.
The elevator doors slid open, and it was a moment before the Butler's footsteps sounded. "Master Richard, it is because of past experiences that I am at liberty to say this: speaking now tends keep pain and bitterness from festering later."
"I'm not harboring potential bitterness, though."
"That's what you think, now, young sir." Alfred stopped to put a hand on his shoulder. "What seems like a simple mind puzzle one day may end up being a minor psychological issue later on in life."
Dick's eyes widened, his brow furrowed, and a look betwixt bewilderment, disbelief, and skepticism firmly planted on his normally confident facade. "Psychological issue? Little extreme, there, don't you think, Alfie?"
"I did say minor," the butler said with the slightest hint of a twinkle in his eye.
Bruce looked up from his computer. His eyes glanced at the butler's hands, and then back up to his face. He opened his mouth to say something, but was quickly cut off.
"Tea, then, sir?"
"Yes, please, Alfred."
The butler nodded and then turned heel and went upstairs again.
Sitting back, Bruce brought his fingers to a point as he looked at his young ward. "What's the problem, Dick?"
The aerialist shifted. "Bruce, it's really no big deal."
"It has to do with the training session, then."
Dick glared at the floor. Of course he knew that. "Yeah."
"What about it?"
Dick shrugged. "I guess I just wanna know how you do it."
A beat of silence. Bruce's eyebrow raised, he reevaluated the situation. Nothing. "Do what?"
"How do you put aside everything for the mission?"
Dark eyes looked into the wide, almost innocent blue eyes that looked imploringly back. Almost innocent. Almost because, for a boy so young, they had seen too much.
"I mean, how can you set aside the feelings you have for your teammates – your friends – just for the mission."
Bruce's eyes slitted to a dangerously Batman level. "Just?"
Dick's own eyes hardened ever so slightly.
"Dick, this isn't always just crime fighting. It may be in Metropolis, or Star City, or Central. But in Gotham, this is different. Here, it's war. And in war-"
"Sacrifices can be made?" Dick stiffened, leaning forward intently. "Bruce, these are people we know! People we've fought alongside with! Not sacrifices! You can't just let them die, and not feel anything!"
Bruce straightened suddenly. "Who says I don't feel anything?"
Dick flinched.
"Just because I am able to set aside my emotions for the mission doesn't mean I don't feel the pain it causes to lose, or potentially lose, a friend."
Dick looked away. Friend. But he was still a boy, still a child, really. "But, why?"
Bruce's eyes softened. "Because. I can't handle the guilt of countless of other deaths. I can't stand to think of another child without his parents."
Dick looked back up, fleetingly. He agreed quietly. "Yeah. Yeah, I get that." He raised his eyes again. "I just can't do it."
Whether or not Bruce took notice of the cracked voice, he didn't give too much indication. He simply answered softly, "I know."
The elevator door dinged, and Alfred appeared with a tray of refreshments.
They drank tea.
Hey, guess what. This is the part where you review. :) Thanks! -Jimmy C.
