Author's Note: ARG! Race can be SO uncooperative sometimes... Hey, betcha all thought I was dead or something (except methegirl, who knows where I've been *wink*). I'm not. I've been wrestling with Race, tryin to get him to cooperate. I think he was jealous, cuz even though he's kinda unofficially the main character in this story, Spot's the main focus of this chapter. Though he really has no right to be jealous in the first place, cuz he's got Close, but No Dice and Heart of Brooklyn all to himself... :P Anyways... Shoutouts! I don't remember if I responded to these already, but here goes anyway... To methegirl: :) Your squealing is so worth the torture that writing this story sometimes becomes *smacks Race*. And yeah, that joke really shouldn't be funny anymore, but I found it funny, so... Heh. To Eavis: Soooooo glad to hear I'm getting the points across! And you should like this one, cuz Blink gets a whole scene of good lines!
A'righty guys, hope you enjoy this! It's nice and long, to make up for the wait...
Chapter 7: First Night
Sometimes I hate Spot Conlon.
I mean, most'a da time I can put up wit' him, even when he's bein' smug. Which is pretty much always. But when he starts gettin' all arrogant an' high-an'-mighty, an' he's serious 'bout it, I wanna kill him. It's all I can do ta keep from punchin' his lights out.
He got like dat afta Cowboy took him on as a partner, goin' 'round tellin' us we was actin' immature. Like he had any rights ta talk. Really, da only thing ta change was dat he was spendin' more time wit' Bruce an' less time wit' us. Not dat I was complainin', of course, besides da fact dat he felt it gave him superiority.
It weren't arrogance, exactly. I guess I just didn't like da fact dat Spot was gettin' so much attention. Despite how much I wanted nuttin' ta do wit' dis whole crime-fightin' thing, I guess I really was jealous. Oh, dey tried ta get me into it, but I just couldn't bring myself ta be involved in somethin' dat reminded me at every turn just how much he'd been lyin' ta us.
I remember when Al finished Spot's uniform. It was da ugliest shade'a red ya ever did see, kinda like a brick red, wit' a black cape an' boots an' gloves ta go wit' it. So's he'd blend in wit' da city, he said. I saw him struttin' in front'a da mirror wit' it on, an' I just couldn't help myself. I told him it was da stupidest thing I ever saw, an' dat he looked like a little robin-bird, standin' dere in his ridiculous costume.
Al thought it was kinda catchy, so dey used it.
Tommy, da doctor dat did Blink's surgery, was as good as his word. Afta a couple days in da hospital Blink was allowed ta come back home. Da good doc made a few housecalls durin' da next few weeks ta check up on him, an' ta catch up some wit' Bruce. Apparently dey grew up togedder or somethin' like dat. Old childhood friends. Both orphans. Ain't dat a coincidence. Anyhow, da bandages came off afta a few weeks'a stumblin' around, and sure enough, Kid Blink was finally able ta see outta both eyes fer da first time in who knows how long.
It was 'bout da same time Bruce finally let Spot go on patrol wit' him fer da first time. Things kinda went a little screwy den…
"John Grey, age forty-two. Mary Grey, age thirty-seven." Jim Gordon shook his head as he read off the names. This was the part of the job he hated. "Ryan Grey, age twelve." He turned to the dark figure kneeling next to him, examining the bodies. "A family of professional circus freaks with no records and no criminal ties whatsoever. So what's the deal here?"
When the Batman gave his reply, his voice was low and tense. "One of Maroni's men," he growled.
"Maroni's dead. One of the people Dent killed, remember?"
"Of course he remembers." Gordon turned toward the new voice and came face-to-face with a set of ice-blue eyes hidden behind a black domino mask. "Maroni wasn't behind it."
"Who is this?" Gordon asked incredulously. The figure standing before him couldn't have been older than seventeen, and was clad in a uniform of dark red and black.
"My new partner," Batman replied. "Robin. And he's right."
Robin gave a slight smirk and nod to the Commissioner before picking back up where he'd left off. "After Falcone's arrest, Maroni took over the crime ring, right? So it stands to reason that, after Maroni's untimely death, one of his men would try to fill the shoes. Well, it just so happens that Tony Zucco has been trying to regroup the family. My guess is he was using Haley's Circus for some kind of underhanded trafficking."
Batman gave an approving nod. "We know Haley's clean," he continued. "Which means this was a threat. Possibly Haley refused to allow Zucco to do his dirty work here."
"Well, that gives us a perpetrator," Gordon said with a sigh. "But you know how much trouble I have bringing in the mob."
The smirk on Robin's face grew a little. "That's what you've got us for."
"I cannot believe you left the top down!"
Race just smiled as he watched Blink shake water out of his blonde hair, their voices echoing off the rock of the cave. "Hey, c'mon," he said at last. "Cowboy's got four others just like it. An' we got da top back up before dere was too much damage done." He paused to wring water out of his hat before slapping the soggy mess of fabric back on his head. "'Sides, how was I s'posed ta know it was gonna rain? Sky was clear twenty minutes ago."
Blink just sighed and shook his head. "Know what else I can't believe? That Bruce actually let you drive one of his cars in the first place." With a smirk, he wandered over to the equipment deck, running his hands over Robin's spare uniform.
The Italian gave an impatient sigh and pulled out a cigar. "Why I gots da feelin' dat ain't da end of your list'a t'ings ya can't believe?"
"Ya know Bruce don't like ya smokin' those things," Blink said, giving him a pointed glance.
"Yeah, whadda you care," Race muttered, puffing at his cigar for a moment in silence. "Ya ain't answered my question."
"No. Ya know what, it's not. I just— I don't understand how ya could possibly not want anything to do with any of this. What's up with ya lately?"
After a thoughtful drag, Race took the cigar out of his mouth waved it around vaguely. He'd always had a habit of talking with his hands, especially when he was holding a cigar. "Look, Blink—"
"Jason."
"Whatever. I know you's grateful, getting' your sight back an' all. An' I don't doubt dere was some kinda real thrill from your little escapade. But honestly, ya coulda been killed out dere. I just don't feel inclined ta put my neck on da line on a regular basis, dat's all. I mean, I ain't stupid."
"That's up for debate," Blink muttered, offended.
"Whaddaya talkin' about?"
"C'mon," Blink sneered. "Bruce may not be real sharp sometimes, but I notice things, and so does Dick. You's just lucky they didn't hit ya in the face this time, cuz I think that'd be a little harder to hide."
"Dunno what your talkin' 'bout," Race said defiantly.
"Ya know exactly what I'm talkin' about, and what's more, ya know it needs to stop." The two boys stood in uncomfortable silence for a moment as Race continued to smoke his cigar, refusing to look Blink in the eye. "How much did ya lose this time, Tim?" When he received no response, he groaned. "Racetrack."
Race smirked, though it was a slightly hollow gesture. "I'll make it back up tomorrow or somethin'. No big deal."
"Yeah, it kinda is a big deal. This ain't New York, Tim. Ya don't run this town. It runs you, okay? This has gotta stop before things get outta hand."
"Spot put ya up ta dis, didn't he?"
"It don't matter whether he did or not," Blink said loudly, his voice reaching a volume dangerously close to furious. "Ya gotta stop before ya get into real trouble, ya hear?" Again, Race didn't answer right away. Blink grabbed him by the collar and drew him close, glaring at him with both eyes wide and piercing. "I swear, I'll soak ya myself if I hear anymore 'bout this, ya hear me?"
"Whatever ya say," Race replied, patting Blink patronizingly on the cheek and giving his lopsided grin.
Both boys knew they hadn't heard the last of it.
Zucco caved.
There was really never any question about whether or not he would. The Caped Crusader had ways of making people talk. It was common knowledge. Nobody could withstand his methods. Especially if he was going off of a hunch.
But there were complications that night that Bruce hadn't anticipated. And he should have. He knew he should have. The boy had seemed so calm during the crime scene investigation. Even flippant, to a point. Seeing Zucco himself must have triggered it.
Bruce had made a grave mistake in forgetting for a split-second that Spot Conlon's parents were killed by a member of the New York mob. Some thug who'd been trying to impress the up-tops during a major drug deal. The Conlon's had merely been at the wrong place at the wrong time. Just like his parents had been.
The moment they'd cornered Zucco in an alley, not far from the fairgrounds, Bruce realized the mistake he'd made. Spot's ice-blue eyes glazed over with focus and determination as he watched the mobster pull out his gun and glance nervously up and down the alley. In one swift movement, he'd shoved Zucco up against the brick alley wall, grabbing the gun and pointing it at the thug's chest with a snarl. The terrified man fell to his knees and started gushing out confessions as Batman pulled the gun from Spot's hands. Once his hands were free, however, the boy had started pounding them into the man's face in a hot rage.
He sat now on a nearby rooftop, watching through the pouring rain as the cops came by to pick up their package. Bruce sat next to him, not saying a word. After a long silence, he lifted his shaking hands and stared at them with empty eyes. The fire had long gone out of him, leaving him shaken and hollow. "I— I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me."
Batman took his time answering, letting the grave mood settle between them. Finally, he stood, staring down at the boy sitting at his feet. "Something you're going to have to deal with," he said at last, though not unkindly.
"I don't know how you do it. Every night, fighting the injustice that took your life away, without…" He struggled for the right words, finally letting his hands fall to his sides in defeat.
"Letting it consume you?" Bruce offered. Spot nodded, still not looking him in the eye. "It comes with time and training. Just remember, revenge won't do you any good. We fight for justice, not vengeance."
Spot gave another nod before rising to his feet, finally bringing his gaze to meet Bruce's through the slanting rainfall. "I'm ready to go home now," he said softly.
Author's Note: Let me first say that writing Spot out of the Dick Grayson character was very tricky this chapter, cuz I wanted to throw the canon origin in there somewhere, but without him being personally involved, it got sticky. Fortunately, I was able to pull it off as well as fix the last hole in my plot at the same time, so I am pleased. Also, the bit with leaving the top down on the car... Yeah, totally did that the other day. Poor Skitts-the-car... In my defense, though, I had no clue it was gonna rain, otherwise I totally woulda closed the sunroof... Instead I had to run outside in the middle of my shift to close it, and it was raining so hard that by the time I got back in I literally looked like I had jumped in a pool... So yeah, my inspiration for starting that scene. Hope you guys liked it, and I can't wait to hear from you! I'll be updating CbND next, I think, but hopefully it won't take me as long next time to get a chapter up for this. :) Review! It makes me happy.