Chapter 9

"So… you're the Batman?"

"Mmmhmm. I decided when I was a young man that I wanted to do something to combat crime in Gotham."

Bruce and Robin stood in a low, dank cave. Robin stood straight, but Bruce stooped low so as not to hit his head on the cave ceiling.

"So of course, you did the logical thing and decided to become a costume-wearing vigilante in cape and tights."

"You seem skeptical." Despite his serious words, Bruce's eyes laughed. He was catching on to Robin's sarcasm.

Robin looked around, marveling at the many gadgets and gizmos. On a folding table to her right sat grappling guns, smoke grenades, flares, and more than a few things Robin had never seen. Batman's cape lay tossed over the back of a chair, a long tear nearly dividing it in half. Across the cave, tucked into the shadows, a hulking vehicle waited for its next frantic run around Gotham.

Bruce followed her gaze to the corner. "That's-"

"The Tumbler? I figured. Not every car collector has one of those." Robin smiled "It's certainly not a Lambo."

Bruce chuckled. "I do have a Lamborghini, now that you mention it, but it's mostly for appearances."

"Appearances?"

"Yes, unfortunately, for Batman to continue working, I have to lead a double life. Which gives your tabloids a lot to talk about." Bruce smiled wryly. "To most people in Gotham, I'm just a rich smut who doesn't know what to do with all his money."

"You sure do a good job. Bruce chuckled, and Robin looked embarrassed. "I didn't mean it that way. I meant you do a good job of leading a double life." Bruce smiled, but Robin did not. Something was on her mind.

A string, cold draft blew through the cave; equipment shifted on the workbench and Batman's cape fluttered to the floor. Robin shivered and hugged her poncho tight around her as cold spray soaked through her hair. "Let's get out of here."

The service elevator clattered and clanged on its way up to the mansion. Whatever had been weighing on Robin's mind in the cave had not been cleared away; the look of concentration without understanding remained on her face.

For the first time since finding her, Bruce took a good long look at her. Though her skin was pale, her hair was raven, as dark as a cloudy Gotham night. She stood slouched with her weight balanced on one leg, a street-smart stance intended to deflect unwanted attention. Bruce remembered when he himself had adopted such a façade.

She was petite, small for her age. Not that Bruce knew exactly how old she was; he was guessing seventeen or eighteen. He made a mental not to ask her the next time he had a chance.

"Bruce?" He jumped slightly; in his musing he had tuned out the world around him.

"Why did you tell me?"

"Tell you… about the Batman?"

"Yes." Robin frowned. "Of all the people you know, you told me. It doesn't make any sense."

"Why not? You had already found the secret passageway; I could hardly keep you from finding out."

She barked a hollow laugh. "You could have forbid me from going in that room anymore. I'm sure Master Pennyworth would have been more than happy to follow me around everywhere. But really… why did you tell me?"

Bruce bit his lip; she was forcing him to face the very things he tried not to think about.

"I told you because… I like you. You remind me of me when I was your age: hopeless and directionless and without a clue as to what to do next."

Robin's lips curled up at the edges. "I like you too." Bruce looked straight ahead at the grille doors.

The elevator shuttered to a stop, and a pneumatic hiss accompanied the opening doors. Bruce sighed in relief; why was it always this difficult to talk about his feelings? He was a man for goodness sakes, not a block of marble. He felt as much as the next guy- "but my emotionsnever want to express themselves." He ruefully stuck his hands in his pockets and exited the elevator.

Down the hall, Robin was already mounting the first of several staircases back to her room; Bruce noticed that her pajamas hung limp on her petite frame, and she tread on the cuffs of the flannel pants. As she reached the landing, she turned back to him. "You were right about one thing, Bruce. When you found me… I was directionless. But I wasn't hopeless. I never gave up hope." She turned back around, and turned a corner in the staircase.

"That", murmured Bruce, "is one tough cookie."