Summary: AU, although it's oddly kind of a mix of Batman: TAS/TNA, JLU, and Teen Titans (CN) + maybe a little from the original Teen Titans. However, still vastly different, really. I'm not certain how far the superhero gig will play into this bit quite yet. I'm making it up as I go, but it should be a fun ride.

Rating: PG13?—R? R for elbow room.

Disclaimer: If I owned any of it, would I really be writing fanfiction? Think about it.

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↔Episode: 01↔
Wheels in Motion

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It was a close, cold steel cage, a screaming metal deathtrap of reflective walls and agonizingly slow progress. He felt strangled at the throat by a leash that pulled him inexorably ever upwards, dragging at him with a dreadful, demanding persistence that ignored his squirming insides and the way he dug his heels into the carpet defiantly. And that damnable, monotonous, jaw-clenching music—

Dick Grayson tugged nervously at the tight collar of his white Egyptian cotton button-up, smoothing his slightly askew thin black tie and jerking at the cuffs of his black suit coat for what could only be the thousandth time in the past fifteen minutes. The instant he had stepped into the elevator, his carefully cultivated calm and confidence had bleached away under the ambient soft lighting. His firm resolve had been weathered relentlessly away by the "soothing" tones of the Muzak piped into his skull by the discreet little speakers hidden in decorative faux wall ferns, and had been replaced by a leaden and disagreeable resignation to the fate that awaited him on the fifty-fourth floor.

Tapping an expensive black Armani boot in time with the muddled beat of the detestably hypnotic elevator jazz, he counted the passing floors, running through an endless procession of scenarios that awaited beyond the elevator doors, none of them going at all well for him.

37…

Bruce had to be absolutely pissed. There was no way he was just going to forgive Dick for packing up and taking off to tour the globe in the middle of the night two years ago. Normal people would let a little thing like that go after 24 months, but no one was better acquainted with Bruce Wayne's terrifying superhuman ability to cling to a grudge forever than Richard Grayson.

41…

The minute Dick's feet had touched down on American soil again, the dread and anticipation had lain upon on his shoulders like a cloak, and he had been quite surprised it took the old man six months to get around to summoning his one-time ward and protégé. Of course, Bruce had been surprising him a lot recently.

49…

Now, Dick was the prodigal adopted son and heir to the Wayne corporate empire, a dubious position he wasn't at all sure he wanted. And Bruce was finally reeling him back into his shadow. The man's intimidating presence filled the huge office building like an oppressive and cloying heat, and Dick was itching and chafing under Bruce's mantle like a heavy wool blanket in June.

51…

Oh, god. He was almost there.

52…

Scrutinizing his appearance in the shiny reflective double doors, Dick touched the band at the nape of his neck, made to pull it out and let his hair fall free at his shoulders, then glared at himself irritably, forcing his nervous, flighty hands down by his sides. He would leave the ponytail. It would serve as a discreet annoyance to Bruce, who had always quietly demanded that Dick keep his thick blue-black hair cut conservatively short. Like him. Whether to accentuate the uncanny resemblance between them, or simply to exert his ever so precious control, Dick didn't care; both got on his nerves. Letting his hair grow out had been part of distancing himself from the years of being tucked closely under Bruce's imposing wing.

Ding.

The soft chime felt like a gunshot cracking up his spine, startling him from his bitter memoirs and focusing him with terrible alacrity on the slow glide of the elevator doors, the thin band of view that grew ever wider until he was looking down the path of a muted crimson pile runner. The long room was like an antechamber playing dress-up as a lobby, with real, thriving plants spilling green and vibrant in the warm sunny slats of the thin, high-arched Gothic windows. Plush armchairs and couches were arrayed about the area in feng shui arrangement, very New Agey and putting Dick in the mind of either an interior decorator—most likely—or a midlife crisis hobby—less likely, but the funnier possibility.

The room was clearly divided by the runner, and Dick felt awkwardly as if there ought to be people waiting primly for an audience with the Great Bruce Wayne, staring at him as he strode down that dividing line with a nonchalance and easy gait that didn't match how he felt. Frowning for a moment, he clamped down on the nervousness and feeling of unsuitability. Whatever Bruce had to throw at him in there, he could take it. He'd taken worse in his years, from his imposing father figure and others, and had a number of worldly experiences under his belt now that he'd gone running round the world.

He could handle this. Really.

Straightening his spine and easing his shoulders into an easygoing slump, he stopped before the shiny mahogany doors and turned the gleaming brass handle, swinging it inwards on silent, well-oiled hinges. Nothing but the best for Bruce Wayne.

To his surprise, however, he did not find himself directly in the presence of the most influential figure on his life, but in another little outer office, this one a good deal smaller and less opulent.

"Do you have an appointment."

What should have been a question was a deadpanned, slightly bored statement, issued by a young woman seated behind a neatly organized desk, her eyes not even on him, but darting back and forth between a flatscreen monitor and a stack of neat handwritten notes.

Dick raised an eyebrow at this—secretary?—taking in her appearance, from her pomegranate hair pulled into an immaculate bun, to the black framed oval glasses perched on a straight nose that turned up ever so slightly at the end, to the black polish on her neatly trimmed nails.

Impatient with his lack of response, she ceased tapping on the keyboard and straightened in her leather office chair, looking at him with an unsympathetic expression, uncolored lips pursed in a rankled moue, cobalt eyes merciless in their apathy. "Yes or no, it isn't a trick question."

"Then why do I feel as if I'm being graded?" He retorted smartly, ready to turn on the charm. Someone seriously needed to melt a few layers of ice from this stenographic queen.

As if dismissing him as unworthy of her full attention, she resumed her typing. "Because you're self-conscious and insecure. Do you have an appointment."

Brows raising towards his hairline, Dick couldn't decided whether to be amused or annoyed, and so simply replied instead. "Bru—Mr. Wayne is expecting me."

Fingers never faltering on the keyboard, she rolled her eyes and scoffed under her breath. "They always say that whenever they don't have an appointment." Flicking him a cold, antagonistic glance, she replied in monotone, in a rehearsed, unthinking way like a recording, "Mr. Wayne is not in the office at this time. If you have an appointment, please wait in the lobby. If you do not, I may take a message and Mr. Wayne will get back to you at his convenience."

Before Dick could form a response, the door opened behind him and the secretary/receptionist/female dropped her work completely and swiveled around in her chair to face the new arrival, face as expressionless as before but somehow less forbidding. "Welcome back, Mr. Wayne. This young man was just on—"

"His way into my office," Bruce finished for her smoothly, closing the door behind him and stepping between the unfriendly young woman and Dick. The girl actually affected a look of slight surprise, which seemed to compel Bruce to elaborate. "This is Dick Grayson," she raised a single brow in recognition of his name—apparently she'd been informed of who he was, but not that he would be meeting with Bruce today, "and I was expecting him to arrive shortly, before I was so unexpectedly called away to the forty-third floor."

Bruce looked from Dick to the young woman, his slight smile unreadable—his business smile. "Dick, this is Miss Roth, my personal assistant."

Dick glanced from the young woman with the cool stare and mask-like face and then back to Bruce, his brows on the rise yet again. "Personal assistant?" Never had Dick known Bruce to keep a personal assistant, on the very basis that he found such a business relationship far too personal. Bruce was incredibly strict about his privacy and keeping his business and personal lives completely separate—well, ever since he grew out of the "bachelor" phase anyways. This was unusual behavior. Since when did Bruce trust anyone under his employ that much? Oh they had more to talk about than he'd thought.

It was Miss Roth's turn to quirk a brow at him, eyes assessing and inquiring behind the lenses of her glasses. However, she chose to ignore him, turning again to Bruce. "Mr. Wayne, shall I hold your calls while you and Mr. Grayson speak in your office?"

"Yes, please, Miss Roth, I would appreciate it." He turned, stopped, then turned around again and leaned his large hands on the edge of Miss Roth's orderly desktop. "Lunch is still on as scheduled, so interrupt us if it looks like we might run late. And I'll need twenty copies of these printed, four of them translated into formal Japanese, two in Russian, one in Czech." He tapped the neat stack of notes and straightened.

"Yes, Mr. Wayne." She nodded graciously and returned to her typing with renewed speed and attention, separating herself from them immediately in a seclusive bubble of dedication and aloof silence.

Following Bruce through the more plain wooden door and into his inner office, Dick slid into the overstuffed leather armchair directly facing the office chair only slightly more expensive than Miss Roth's behind Bruce's just as tidy desk.

As Bruce seated himself, Dick began along the line of inquiry at the top of his mind, voice casually curious. "I always remember your personal workspace being a disorderly mess of organized chaos."

"The work of Miss Roth, I assure you. She insists that everything be alphabetized and filed according to highly detailed categories and subsections." He smirked meaninglessly, propping his chin on his clasped hands. "Makes me miss the days of just having a secretary."

Dick was surprised—again. Bruce was cooperating with his questions, rather than being his usual frustratingly evasive and chronically mysterious self. "So why did you take up a personal assistant, Bruce? Daily life becoming too strenuous for you to manage on your own?"

Bruce relaxed and leaned back in his chair, chuckling dryly. "Hardly. I'm bored, more often than not."

"Then why Miss Roth?" Bruce's face was a smooth mask again, and Dick knew he wasn't about to get a straight answer—ah, I knew it was too good to last.

Bruce shrugged dismissively. "Why not?" He paused to look assessingly at his surrogate son. "It's good to see you again, Dick. The long hair looks good on you."

"Are you just trying to throw me completely off balance at every turn, Bruce? Because it's beginning to work."

Bruce raised an eyebrow, hands toying with a decorative fountain pen idly. "A good many things can change in two years, Dick. For one thing, as… reluctant I may be to admit it, it is time I let you take control of your own life. And you've proven yourself quite sufficiently independent and capable of living your own life, I'll give you that." The sleek black pen flipped back and forth across the knuckles of Bruce's left hand, Dick's eyes following it unseeing in his state of shock. "But while I am glad for this little reunion, it is, of course, not my only motivation for calling on you."

Dick blinked, snapping out of the trance orchestrated by the fountain pen, focusing his gaze again on Bruce, who looked as cool and calm and collected and utterly unreadable as ever. "We do have… quite a lot to discuss. For one thing, why move your base of operations here? Wayne Enterprises' home office is still in Gotham, isn't it?"

Bruce's face was schooled and his voice very careful, as if they spoke around landmines of Things-That-Should-Not-Be-Said, and one misspoken word could get them killed. Although, in a depressingly realistic way, that observance wasn't too far off the mark. "The Gotham location is still the home office, yes. I'm the one who's changed locale, not the company. For the most important meetings, I'll be commuting back, just like the division heads and board directors. For other cases where my presence or consultation is necessary, I'll be presiding via videoconference." He looked at Dick with eyes that were tired and a bit sad, but nonetheless steely in their resolve. "Batman's retired, Dick; Bruce Wayne is still acting president and CEO."

Dick's eyes widened and his jaw went slack, shooting up to the edge of his seat and darting an anxious glance at the woefully thin wooden door separating the office from the reception room. For all the illusion of privacy it provided, such a flimsy structure couldn't possibly be soundproof. Had Bruce lost his mind? Walls had ears and often eyes, he'd taught Dick that himself!

Bruce smirked ruefully, as if he'd known Dick would react that way. "Don't worry, I personally account for Miss Roth's reliability and discretion. Even if she were listening, she would never disclose what she heard, not even under pain of torture."

"Jesus, Bruce… the hell? How can you be so sure?" Bruce just smiled and looked utterly confident. Dick felt the blood freeze in his veins and his stomach fill with lead. Licking his lips and clenching his fists to keep his fingers from drumming nervously, or from grabbing Bruce and shaking him, he asked, though he was terrified of the answer, "Bruce, just how much does this Miss Roth know?"

Bruce sat in grave silence for several long moments, and Dick knew he was mulling over just how to put what he wanted to say in a way that wouldn't alarm Dick too much, or maybe in a way that wouldn't reveal more than he wanted Dick to know. Dick wouldn't put either possibility past the old man. It was probably both.

"Bruce?"

Bruce seemed to make a decision at last, laying his palms flat against the desktop and looking Dick directly in the eye. Such deliberate eye contact meant Dick wasn't about to get a full story. Typical.

"Miss Roth knows enough. She is aware of things few others outside our usual inner circle are privy to, though she hasn't been given the full story in all its grisly details, nor do I intend to do such a thing. If that changes, you will be informed."

"Why? Why does she need to know any of it?"

Bruce looked at him almost as if he were being stupid. "She is my personal assistant, Dick; the title means what it says. It would be somewhat… difficult for her to fulfill her role in all its functions if she were unaware of such an integral part of the last twenty-odd years of my life." He looked tired again, almost actually looked his forty-three years, and Dick realized Bruce was very strained by this conversation. "I hadn't realized just how trying the transition from my main identity being Batman to Bruce Wayne would be. For a long time, Bruce was the charade, and retirement isn't coming very easily to me. It's why I left Gotham. Most of my life there was lived by Batman, and Bruce was a show I put on from time to time to keep up appearances. It's easier to start over here, to set Batman aside and actually live as Bruce Wayne. Alfred's getting on in his years, Dick, and I needed to trust someone."

"What about me? Or why couldn't it have been Barbara?" he just couldn't wrap his mind around this.

Bruce was looking stern and calm again. "Because you and Barbara still have your other lives, your secret identities to maintain. Besides, Barbara is still attending college in Gotham, and it would appear very odd indeed for her to uproot herself suddenly, not to mention how dangerous it would be for Batman to retire and Bruce Wayne and Barbara Gordon change location and Batgirl suddenly start showing up there. And as you've gone to great lengths to acquire and I've finally agreed to, you have a life independent from mine."

"Well what about me? Won't it seem odd if I show up here and now? Won't someone start drawing conclusions?"

Bruce shook his head negative. "Fortunately, no one seems to have connected Robin with Nightwing, and Nightwing hasn't been active enough in Gotham to become indelibly associated with the city, which you've helped by appearing on occasion under this guise on your trip around the world. So far, you're a somewhat unknown new superhero not connected to any one place overmuch, and no one is quite sure of you yet. This city wouldn't be an entirely unlikely place for a new and rootless vigilante to set up shop, and it wouldn't appear too coincidental for Richard Grayson to also appear here, as this is the new location of your adopted father."

It was a hell of a lot of information, and Dick imagined he would be absorbing it for a few days to come. He sat in still, contemplative silence for a few moments, and Bruce allowed him to wrap his head around it, waiting patiently. "Just… just how much is Miss Roth aware of on my role in all of this?"

"So far as she is concerned, you are Richard Grayson, formerly a Flying Grayson and my adopted son and legal heir. I kept your and Barbara's identities withheld, as it isn't my right to disclose that information. As for what she knows of Barbara, the Gordons are old friends of the family, in which case it won't be construed as odd for Barbara to drop by for a visit."

"Well you've just thought of everything, haven't you." Bruce ignored his bitter comment, aware that Dick was overwhelmed, displeased and lashing out. Dick sighed wearily and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, fingers massaging circles over his temples. He'd known they'd have a lot to talk about, but this Miss Roth was way out of left field, and he wasn't sure just how to take it. For now, he would just deal, set it aside to analyze to pieces at a more convenient time. "Jesus H. Frog on a pogo stick…" Bruce quirked a brow at this, but remained silent. "Was this little jewel of knowledge your only ulterior motive for calling on me today?"

Dick did know him well. "It was an important issue I thought you should be aware of, but no, that isn't all." Dick slumped back in his armchair with a mutinous, jaded expression that seemed to say "Go ahead, hit me with your best shot; I'm prepared for the worst." Bruce hoped he'd be relieved that his other agenda wasn't nearly so world rocking.

"The other matter concerns your status as my heir." At Dick's perturbed expression, Bruce soothed, "No, I'm not writing you out of my will, disowning you, or any such thing. Something entirely different is what concerns me." Dick looked expectant, but not exactly relieved; wary rather, like he wasn't sure he was going to like what he was about to hear. Of course, Bruce wasn't sure he was going to like it either. "I know you're somewhat reluctant about fulfilling the role of my heir, and I don't want to force it on you. What I propose is something of a trial run. If you would be willing, I'd like to set you up as manager at one of my smaller company housing complexes. As well as that, just so you could get a feel for it and a firsthand perspective, I'd like it if you would shadow me through my daily work routine on occasion. That way, you can have a clear and settled idea on what you're deciding on and how you feel about it. I know it all seems rather daunting, and I'm hoping that this trial period might help dispel a little of the stigma you seem to see this as."

Dick sat in a thoughtful silence, considering Bruce's proposition. After a moment, he passed a hand over his face and looked at his one-time mentor with gravity, and nodded. "Alright, I'll agree to it—on a trial basis. I'll suspend passing any final judgement until I've fully considered this whole thing from all angles. Until then, I don't see why not." He smirked ruefully, attempting to lighten the mood. "Besides, I'm getting really tired of living out of a hotel and hunting through the rent-ads."

Dick didn't know what Bruce might have said in response, but it was a foregone matter as a sharp, concise succession of knocks sounded at the door. After a moment's pause in which Bruce sat silently rearranging a stack of papers on his desk, Miss Roth let herself in, standing just inside the doorway with one hand on the jamb and the other occupied by a sleek black PDA.

She glanced only briefly at Dick, who called upon all his training not to look at her with a mixture of worry and mistrust, then riveted her level stare on Bruce, who looked at her from behind steepled fingers, calmly awaiting what she had to say. "Pardon if I'm interrupting, Mr. Wayne, but you asked me to notify you before we risked the chance of running late for your lunch appointment." He nodded, and she glanced down at her organizer, continuing, "Speaking of, Tachikoma-san and Nakatomi-san called fifteen minutes ago with their regrets and cancelled for said lunch date. Apparently, their flight was delayed this morning and they've only just arrived."

Bruce nodded, standing and gathering a briefcase from beneath the desk. "See if they would be willing to reschedule for tomorrow afternoon. Well, as that leaves us more or less free for lunch, I say you pick a nice restaurant and enjoy the reprieve." He glanced sidelong at Dick. "Care to join us?"

Dick kept his face carefully disinterested, though his mind brimmed with yet more questions. It was positively odd, seeing Bruce act so informally with Miss Roth. Just how far did this employee relationship go? Now there was a dubious thought. Although, it wouldn't be too unusual—Bruce and Barbara had been lovers for a short time, after all—Dick didn't think Miss Roth was quite Bruce's type. The women he went with normally tended to be more offsetting to his darker, more serious side. Miss Roth and Bruce simply seemed to have too much in common to be romantically involved. Although, thinking of Miss Roth's frosty stare and sarcastic demeanor, he couldn't really think of her being romantically involved with anyone.

"Ah, thanks, but I think I'll skip out. If you could give me a key to this housing complex, I could have a look around, get an idea of what I'm taking on." He stood and smiled politely, shrugging and sticking his hands in his pockets.

Bruce nodded and snapped open the briefcase, withdrawing a long, plain envelope with slightly lumpy but indistinct contents. "There's a keyring inside, a map, directions, and your room number, as well as any other information you might need. Miss Roth will call you a cab and you can get checked out of your hotel room and be more or less moved in by the evening." Miss Roth immediately whipped out a cell phone and began punching a well-used number.

Blinking rapidly, Dick snorted and took the proffered envelope and tucked it into his suit jacket. "You do think of everything." He shook his head and responded in kind to Bruce's wry smirk. "And thanks, but my bike is parked out on the curb."

Snapping her cell phone shut—she'd already made the call? When had he blinked and managed to miss that?—Miss Roth locked her unrelenting Prussian blue eyes on him for more than three seconds for the first time since the outer office. "The cab will be meeting you at your hotel, where they will load and transport what baggage you have, and summarily unload once you've reached the address you give them, which should be enclosed in that envelope."

Confusing, suspicious, rude, bitchy, cold-hearted… She's just a happy little ray of sunshine, isn't she. "How will the cab service know which hotel to send a driver to? I haven't told you yet."

She stared at him a moment more, her expression unchanging, but he could feel the contempt rolling off her in waves. "I made a few inquiries."

Dick scoffed, looked at Bruce almost accusingly—Bruce quirked a brow, as if to say 'not my doing'—and smiled mockingly at the haughty personal assistant. "Well, Madame Detective, aren't you just ever so resourceful."

Miss Roth's dark lashes fluttered behind her glasses as if she badly wanted to roll her eyes and barely managed to restrain herself. Other than that, she made no reply, by which she informed Dick she thought him as witty and mature as a grade schooler.

Feeling distinctly one-upped, Dick nodded to Bruce, determined at least to exit with grace. "Well, I'll just leave you two to you lunch. Call you tomorrow, Bruce." Bruce nodded and the two watched him with unnervingly similar unwavering stares as he exited Bruce's inner sanctum. Making his way through the lobby and towards the elevator, Dick wondered, chagrined, just what he'd got himself into this time. Damn you, Bruce, and your little personal assistant, too.

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Employer and personal assistant sat across from each other at a charming two-seater wrought-iron table with ungodly uncomfortable matching chairs on the veranda of a streetside café, he with a black coffee untouched in his hands, she with an aromatic cup of chamomile tea in hers.

Bruce watched the young woman carefully as she pretended not to feel his eyes on her, carefully blowing on the steam from her tea and sipping slowly, savoring the flavor. His stare bored into her as she tucked an escapee heliotrope lock behind her ear, waiting, biding his time with all the patience in the world.

At last she glanced up at him, the faintest implication of annoyance tugging down at the corner of her mouth. She arched a dark brow as he continued to simply stare, his face as devoid of any expression or hint of thought or emotion as she normally maintained her own. "If you're waiting for me to crack under pressure, you've a long staring contest ahead of you."

He smirked, at last sipping his hot, bitter Colombian brew. "You not only acknowledged me, you spoke; I've already won."

She contemplated glaring at him; she so disdained his little power plays and games. But no, she wouldn't give him the satisfaction. "At least be gracious enough to inform me as to what you're waiting on so intensely."

"I'm waiting for you to spit out the questions whirring around in that head of yours."

She shrugged. "Alright, fine. I hadn't thought you'd be open to a questionnaire." She settled into her seat as if it were entirely cozy, as if the horrible, beautifully designed seat weren't imprinting its delicate pattern onto her ass. She paused a moment, sipping at her tea as she thought about how to word her many queries.

"To begin with, this Dick Grayson… How much does he know?"

Bruce almost smirked at the familiarity of this conversation. "He knows that you know about my retirement."

"And what does he know about me, personally? Did you reveal anything…delicate?"

"He's perfectly in the dark, and he'll remain there unless a number of things change drastically."

An almost imperceptible tightness in her shoulders eased, the only outward sign of her relief. "Good. I had worried for a moment just what you were planning. I'm perfectly aware how little you actually tell me, and I don't quite trust these schemes of yours, Bruce. Every move you make has a carefully planned ripple effect and every word out of your mouth is a double-edged blade with any number of obscure meanings."

She certainly learned quickly. Of course, he expected no less from her. It was something of a treat to watch her try to work through his vast, ambiguous web of plots and subplots with a cool, unrelenting logic and natural inquisitiveness. It was almost like training another pupil, but she had not come to him looking to be another of a set of myriad sidekicks and associates. Besides, he was retired. Still, it was often such a tempting thing, and he couldn't help but occasionally nudge her in the right direction or set her on a path he particularly wanted to see her unravel.

They sat sipping their respective beverages for a few pensively silent minutes, and Bruce could only guess what thoughts and questions arranged themselves in a complex pattern in his young personal assistant's mind.

At long last, she broke the silence with a change of subject. "So did he accept to shadowing you throughout the business day?"

"On occasion, yes. So that means you'll be seeing a good deal more of him in the days to come." Her lips twitched in a repressed sneer; it was sadistically amusing how abrasive their personalities were. He wondered how long it would last, and how soon they would discover that they had a great deal more in common after all. If nothing else, it ought to prove an entertaining experience. "You'll want to be even more cautious than usual unless you want to be explaining a rather awkward series of events to him."

She sipped at her tea calmly. "Of course. I'm always careful."

Bruce raised a brow and steepled his fingers. "Yes, but it may prove more difficult than you anticipate. After all, you're still adjusting to maintaining control without artificial regulation. I'm aware of your situation and am appropriately considerate of this; he cannot be made aware and won't be nearly so conscientious or obliging. And judging by the way the two of you seemed to endear yourselves to each other at the office, I would say you'll have your fair share of trials where Dick is concerned."

She snorted delicately, but kept her opinions of his surrogate son to herself, either not wishing to offend him or simply resisting the petty urge. "An understatement, I've no doubt. I'll be on my best behavior, Bruce, and take as many precautions to avoid mistakes as possible. Take no chances, suffer no consequences."

"A philosophy from your former mentors?"

She nodded affirmatively. "But one of many harsh truths one such as myself must accept and adapt to."

Bruce shook his head and changed the subject. "Did you reschedule with Nakatomi and Tachikoma?"

Tapping a few keys on the PDA beside her napkin, she glanced at the screen and replied, "We will be meeting them for brunch tomorrow at 11:30 in the Capital Lounge at the Hyperion Resort where they are staying."

"Brunch? Why the change in time and place?"

She looked at him cooly, attempting to gauge whether he was testing her again, or if he really hadn't already intuited the answer. "They are on foreign soil and insecure about it, and having no real territory of their own, they picked the closest thing they could get to a meeting ground more in their favor. Also, by our concession to allow them to choose the time and place, they are more at ease, but still unsure enough not to be so arrogant as to think they could have us cowed to their wishes. It will make negotiations run more smoothly, and it does no harm to our position."

Bruce smiled in that maddening, meaningless way that never said anything at all, and sipped his coffee. "My real question, you know, is how did you know that? You haven't been in this business long enough to be able to so quickly and easily pick up on these things. Despite your—accurate, I'm sure—observations, in Japan, Nakatomi and Tachikoma are powerful businessmen with good sense enough not to so easily give such information away."

She sipped at her tea in a perfect mirror of his calm and self-assurance before replying in a dismissive, nonchalant way, "I learn quickly."

Bruce smiled again, tipping his mug at her indicatively. "You are that, but it's my reasoning that this isn't the whole of it. It happens to be my theory that your moderators, while not only assisting your control, served to have something of a dampening effect on your abilities. Thus as you've been doing without them for the past three weeks, forcing your control to become stronger, that your talents have heightened as well, some in ways subtle enough to have gone overlooked. I think you read Nakatomi and Tachikoma without even being in their presence, over the phone."

Her eyebrows raised, registering mild shock. "I hadn't even spoken with them directly, but with another assistant, though."

"Then it's more than I had thought; you read the impressions they made on this assistant, something you would normally need concentration and to be in a person's presence in order to do, simply by speaking with them."

The possibilities were astonishing and disturbing, and when she thought about it, his theories were also quite true. She had been reading everyone she'd come into contact with for a good few days without even noticing it. She even had an example of such an occasion by way of Dick Grayson. She had sensed his repressed insecurity and discomfiture by doing no more than exchanging a few words in the same room. And his myriad of tangled emotions had been flaring at her all throughout his secluded little chat with Bruce, proving an extremely annoying distraction as she transposed those notes into Czech. What an unwieldy and ugly tongue. I'd had a tough enough time of it without his screaming mood swings.

"Raven?"

She looked up at Bruce to see something alarmingly close to concern swimming up to the surface of those unfathomable arctic blue eyes. "This is… not good news. This is most distressing."

Bruce nodded gravely and leaned back in his chair, the damn thing far too tiny for a man of his build and the hard-edged back—which was equally as uncomfortable as the seat—stabbing him in the spine. "I had thought it might be."

Raven bit her lip thoughtfully, wondering how much sleep she might lose if she increased her meditation regimen by a few hours to combat this empathy leak.

As if sensing her train of thought—though she was quite aware of Bruce's lack of preternatural ability, it still often unnerved her how perceptive the man could be—Bruce leveled her with a stern, commanding stare that brooked no argument. "Take the rest of the day off. Meditate, relax, flex your abilities and work on controlling this. It's imperative that you get a handle on this before Dick begins testing your control and it becomes an issue. This is why you're here; this is merely an exercise in restraint."

Raven nodded with a bit of reluctance; she didn't like leaving her work at the office half-finished, but it was a matter of priorities, and this alarming new development took precedence over all else. "Shall I accompany you back to the office?"

"No, we'll get a separate cab for you here and I'll see you tomorrow in the morning."

"Well, I'm finished here, then. I'll call you if something noteworthy happens."

"Just take care of this, Raven. We'll need you fully functional at work in the next few weeks, and Dick isn't going to make it any easier for you."

She was a bit irritated with his constant reminders—it was a bit much like ordering her around for her and chafed a bit—but he spoke true and prudently, and she couldn't deny the sense in his warnings. Rising from her chair with a perfect imprint of the seat hidden under her skirt on the back of her thighs, Raven gathered her things and nodded a farewell. "Give my regards to Alfred."

Bruce nodded back and watched as she strode away and through the sidewalk crush, hailing a taxi with the wave of her arm. He waited until she disappeared into the flow of vehicular traffic, then sat slowly finishing his coffee, hoping that helping Raven would work out in the end. Because if she didn't meet her goals, Batman might not be able to stay retired for long.

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AN: Well that's chapter one, and I don't hate it yet. I can't promise frequent or even consistent updating, and please don't ask about updates for Storm Warning; if I ever get the urge to write for that again, I'll have to seriously revise it first. It's more or less obsolete now. But I have been wanting to write something like this for a good while, so I should hopefully be able to keep up with it for the sheer enjoyment of writing it.

Now, there's much to explain, and I hope some of the questions you might have will be answered below.

And yes, I am aware that I avoided naming Raven for who she is for an absurd length of time; I was trying to milk the possibility of suspense over her identity for as long as I might. As if it weren't obvious whom she was from page two. +rolls her eyes+

If Bruce seems to be out of character, I'd like to remind you that in Batman: TAS, Bruce Wayne is a great deal more talkative and generally amiable than the Dark Knight. And as he's shut his alter ego back in the closet, I'm trying to keep him acting more like the semi-jovial, charismatic socialite he portrayed to the Gotham public. But I'm also trying to somewhat integrate his much more serious, dark side lived out by Batman in that he's laid aside his infamous bachelor-hood and in the way he can't keep from perpetuating mysteries and misunderstandings, thus his seemingly counterproductive dealings with Raven and Dick. If you think about it, Bruce would get all too easily bored in his current position without Batman to take the edge off, so to occupy and entertain himself, he plays something of a mastermind and takes his associates—i.e. Raven and Dick—and arranges them like pawns on a chessboard, though he seems to be playing against himself, or the myriad forces arrayed with and against them. I just can't envision him keeping his fingers out of all the intricate little plots and subplots that could be created by situations such as these.

Robin/Dick/Nightwing. This is a bit complicated. At this point, Dick has laid aside his identity as Robin and taken on the alter ego of Nightwing. Also, I'm mostly going off the Dick from The Animated Series (thus the long hair, tension with Bruce, etc.) but I'm also going to try and synthesize traits from the Robin of the Teen Titans series. This could get a bit confusing, so please forgive if parts seem out of character. Most likely it's a miscommunication between Robin and Nightwing. Special Note! I warn you ahead of time, if there are chapters in which Dick seems unwarrantedly flirtatious or too much like a ladies' man, that's another thing from TAS. In that series, Dick is more like Bruce than Batman in general, as in popular with women and not at all averse to charming and flattering them, and just generally more social. I'm not just trying to throw some unfounded romance into the thing, I promise.

Others of the Titans cast will be making appearances, I assure you, including villains and B-List characters, though I can't say how big a role they'll fill. I'll try at least to include members of the core team in large part, and I don't think it will be terribly difficult. I don't know what, if anything, I'll do with Terra. I'm still debating on that. (By the way, I'd like to pose a question: is Red X an invention entirely of the new series' writers, or was he in the original comic's series? If anyone can tell me, I'd be greatly appreciative. Also, if anyone can direct me to a website with information on characters—real names, background info—other than just the core group, I'd be very grateful.)

For the hopefuls, I'm sorry, but I really don't think I'll be using Tim Drake in this story. I considered it, but he just didn't seem to fit. With Batman retired and Nightwing center stage, it would seem a little too awkward to have Robin v.2 running about. I like the kid and he's an interesting character, but I just couldn't write him in without it being forced and messing up a lot of things.

As for what's up with Bruce's retirement, how the Justice League ties into all this, and just how Raven ended up working with Bruce in the first place… to find out, keep reading. I'm an evil, tricky little wench, I know. +grins+

Wow, that was one hell of a long author's note… Fear not, I don't intend to make it a trend. The author's notes will only be especially long if there are other subjects that need to be properly addressed outside of the storytelling. Hope ya liked, and I hope ya review. There, I plugged.