A/N This is a chapter of insane proportions. At least, it feels that way to me. Anyway, I'm apologizing in advance for any irregularities. It's very late, but I want to post it because I have a very difficult week coming up in school, and I don't want to delay the update yet again! Thank you so much all who reviewed the last chapter!
Chapter 7
In Which Dick Commits a Felony and We See Evidence that Starbucks Really Is Trying to Take Over the World
For our struggle is … against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world …
- Letter of the Apostle Paul to the Ephesians
She was tall and slender, with clear olive skin backed by a shimmering curtain of blue-black hair. As she walked through the hotel lobby, her heels clicking softly on the marble, she appeared unaware of the appreciative glances that every man within a fifty foot radius was sending her, unless you counted the tiny smile that flickered across her full mouth when the elevator boy did a double take at her legs. It was, however, a smile with a hint of cruelty, and it might have been just as well for the boy that he kept his eyes firmly fixed on his buttons during the ride up to the fortieth floor – the one where the luxury executive suites began.
Her heels were deadened by thick carpet this time, as she glided down the hallway, her sinuous grace like that of a panther – sleek beauty, velvet power, and a hint of deadliness. She was a woman who knew where she was going, and she would allow nothing to stand in her way.
Inside suite 4017, she kicked off her heels and threw her purse on the bed before wandering over to the window and looking out with a discontented air. The day was gray, and her view was obscured by sweeping sheets of rain that the wind dashed against the windows. The skyscrapers around the hotel wavered through the water, and she spun away impatiently. Glancing at her watch, she walked over to the phone and dialed a long distance number.
"Hello? I'd like to speak with Mr. Luthor, please."
Her eyebrows rose haughtily at whatever answer she received. "I'm certain he's busy," she responded, a touch of ice in her tone, "but would you just tell him Selina Kyle is calling? … My business is Mr. Luthor's business, not yours, and I can promise you he will be very upset if you don't tell him I am on the phone, now." She shook her hair away from her face and tapped her manicured nails impatiently on the table while the faint strains of a call waiting symphony drifted through the receiver. A new voice came on the line. "Lex? Yes, of course it's me. You have an imbecile answering your phone … Yes, it's done. Everything's gone, ready for you to move in … I told you he wouldn't be a problem … No, we've discussed this and it's not a good idea for me to be on the front of this one. Just send Benson like you planned … What? … No, I'm not upset. That's very interesting … Let him proceed, I'm curious to see what he comes up with … All right, I'll be back on Sunday. Goodbye."
She gently laid the phone back in the cradle and turned her attention to a slew of magazines that spread across the table. Some lay face up, their main feature prominently displayed, while others were opened to a particular article, but from every one, the same charming, insouciant smile blazed up at her. She pulled an issue of Headlines, Gotham's most reliable news magazine, toward her and examined the cover thoughtfully. The photo tag read, Playboy announces plans for charitable foundation, and the focus of the picture was an immaculately suited Bruce Wayne, standing between the mayor's wife and Lucius Fox.
"You intrigue me, Mr. Wayne," Selina murmured, dropping into a chair. "You intrigue me very much."
The last bell of the day jangled through the halls of Bailey, Gotham's premier college prep academy. Trevor Wren quickly put his books in his bag, and then took his time getting the zipper shut. Most of the students had already stampeded out, headed for their lockers and freedom, but a few others were taking their time, one red-headed sophomore in particular. At last she swung her bag over her shoulder and headed out the door. Trevor mimicked her action and followed.
Watching her walk down the hall was interesting. She was pretty – very pretty – and even senior guys took a second look. But the set expression of her face discouraged any advance, however casual, and her uncertain social status made her something of an enigma. She was a scholarship student, and her parents were not in the same income bracket as most of those of the other students. On the other hand, her father was the chief of police, so generic brand clothes or not, nobody was quite ready to mess with Barbara Gordon. She made it all the way to her locker without so much as a friendly "Hi" from anyone of either sex.
Trevor waited until she had pulled her books out and clicked the lock shut before speaking. "Hey, Barbara."
She looked over, surprise turning into disdain when she saw who had addressed her. That she didn't like him, Trevor knew. Why this was so, he wasn't sure, but if things went according to plan, that, along with many other things, would be changing.
She didn't speak, but was apparently waiting for him to explain himself, so Trevor ventured, "There's something I need to talk to you about."
Her eyes flicked dismissively over him. "No, I don't think there is." She began to walk away.
Undaunted, Trevor hurried after her. "It's about the Batman," he said in a low voice.
It got her attention, like he had known it would. "What would you know about the Batman?" she hissed, unconsciously imitating his quiet tone and glancing around to make sure no one could overhear them.
"Enough. More than the stupid gossip around here that you always eavesdrop on." She gave him a startled glance, and he hoped he hadn't gone too far. It was a calculated risk, letting her know that he had been watching her, and he hastened to qualify the statement. "Anytime anyone says the word 'Batman' you stop behind them and listen. It gets noticeable after awhile."
The anger that had darkened her face lessened a little. "So what's this fabulous news you have an exclusive on?" she snapped.
He glanced around again – there were too many people in the halls. "Not here. Let's go to that Starbucks on the corner."
Her eyes narrowed. "Was this some kind of bet? To see if you could get me to go out with you?"
"No, I swear Barbara! Twenty minutes, that's all I ask."
"I'll miss the bus."
"I'll pay for your taxi home."
She was still reluctant, but he could tell that her curiosity was getting the better of her. "All right," she finally agreed. "But we're not walking together. You go ahead and I'll meet you there."
"Whatever you want," Tyler agreed, saving his triumphant smile until she had turned her back and walked away. He hurried out of the school and down the block to the convenient Starbucks, where he purchased a latte and settled at a corner table with his back to the wall. The coffee shop was nearly deserted at this time of day, and he immediately spotted Barbara when she came through the door five minutes later.
She didn't bother with coffee but came straight over and sat across from him. "Make this fast," she said coldly. "I have to get home."
"I tracked down that girl that the Batman saved last week," he said without preamble. "I talked to her brother. And I got a statement from the thieves who held her up."
She stared. "How did you do that?"
"I hired a private investigator. It's not that difficult."
"Why are you so interested in the Batman?"
"Isn't everybody? But it wasn't him that mainly caught my attention. It was that guy who was supposedly with him."
"Robin Hood?" she asked in disbelief. "I thought that was just a rumor the press blew up."
"No. He was really there, with Batman. He held Ariadne – the girl – on the way to the hospital. Her brother told me all about it."
"Whoa," she said softly, and Trevor saw that he had finally impressed her. Her brilliant green eyes were no longer narrow with suspicion but wide with amazement. "Why are you telling me all this?" she finally asked.
"I've been thinking. According to Ariadne, this guy was about her brother Nico's size. He's fourteen and not very tall – maybe 5'2."
"I thought the newspaper said she was blind," Barbara interrupted.
"She is. But Demetrios, that's the brother I talked to, says that she knows things anyways. Maybe he was lying but…" Trevor shrugged. "Why would he? It's not like I was paying him or anything. Anyway, if he's right, that kid could have been younger than us."
Barbara shook her head, setting her strawberry blond curls swaying. "That's crazy."
"It's a fact," Trevor insisted. "And if this kid can do it – I mean, he's like the Batman's sidekick! – then why can't we?"
She stared at him as if he were crazy. "Maybe because we don't know the Batman?"
"No, no," he said impatiently. "What if there were a group of us? What if we organized and trained and watched for opportunities?"
"Opportunities for what?"
"To stop robberies, break up gangs, anything! Stuff's always going down in this town." He leaned forward across the table, his grey eyes intense. "Just because we're in high school, it doesn't mean we're powerless."
"Break up gangs?" Barbara asked slowly. "But…wouldn't we be a gang?"
"Maybe. But a gang with a purpose. I've seen you, Barbara. You go through the day with a sneer on your face because you hate Bailey just as much as I do. It's full of dead people. They run frantically around in their stupid little routine, and they don't what they're doing or why the hell they're doing it. But you and I, we're alive, we think and we've got to have a why." He paused, choosing his next words very carefully. "I'm offering you a path. A way out of the meaninglessness of our current pathetic lives."
Barbara stared at him for full silent minute. "You're crazy," she finally said, picked up her book bag, and left.
Trevor watched her go, swirling the last of the latte in his cup, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. She had denounced him, but before that, he had seen a flicker of recognition and fear on her face. Something he had said had rung true.
She'll be back. All he needed now was patience.
Dick followed Bruce down the dark street, a sense of danger pumping up his adrenaline and temporarily defeating his exhaustion. They were in a part of town that was a short ways down the shore from what had used to be the Narrows, and although the city funds which had been poured into reconstruction on the island after the rampant destruction nearly six years ago, the improvements had not spread to the surrounding neighborhoods. Despite the early fall chill that had descended with the night, the smell of garbage still permeated the air like that of a rank vegetation. Dick hadn't been in this part of the city for a long time – not since Rachel Dawes had rescued him from his abusive foster home.
He thought back to earlier that evening when he had dragged himself into the house after his polo lesson, aching because of a clumsy blow from his opponent's mallet. Alfred had met him on the stairs and told him not to shower – he and Bruce were going out that night and they were dressing down for it. Dick glanced down at his holey jeans and ratty t-shirt, absently reached up and pulled down the bill of his stained ball cap so that it cast a deeper shadow over his face. Bruce was dressed in the same way, and Dick still found it difficult to believe that they weren't going to be recognized without even altering their faces. But Bruce had said, People only see what they want to. Personally, Dick thought a lot of people would have wanted to see a famous billionaire masquerading in the slums, but he kept his opinion to himself.
It was just before midnight, and there were other people out on the streets. Huddled masses moaned softly in doorways, and other figures leaned against walls and smoked, keeping their faces averted. Every so often, someone would pass them with a quick, nervous stride – the sign of a person who didn't quite belong down here, or who wished they didn't. But what they had in common was furtiveness, a shrinking into the shadows, a clear desire not to be noticed.
Except for her. Dick couldn't help staring as they approached. She stood boldly in the pool of illumination cast by one of the rare streetlights. Her brassy red hair matched the fishnet stockings stretched up her skinny legs to just below the hem of her tiny black skirt. Her face was heavily made up with bright spots of rouge and purple lipstick, and in the yellow light her skin glowed with a freakish pallor. Dick shuddered even as he stared – the overall effect was carnivalesque, almost like…
"You boys look lonely," she said in a low husky voice, stepping forward to put a detaining hand on Bruce's arm as they passed.
He shook her off. "Not tonight, sweetheart."
"Half price for boys," she called tauntingly as they continued on, and Dick felt his skin crawl as he pictured filthy, scarlet nails reaching for him. He pressed a little closer to Bruce, remembering the terse answer he had received when he asked where they were going.
"Sightseeing. If you're determined to fight, you'd better know what you're doing it for."
Finally, as the narrow, dirty streets got even closer and filthier, Bruce slowed his purposeful stride and began to amble along, keeping his head down as his eyes darted from side to side. Dick did his best to imitate him, hanging his head and shuffling his feet.
They turned into an alley. There was a group of men standing at the far end around a metal barrel. Occasionally the tip of a flame wavered above the rim, and a couple of the loiterers had their hands stretched out to catch the heat. They stiffened as Bruce and Dick approached, then relaxed as one of them apparently recognized Bruce and nodded.
"Much tonight?" Bruce asked, as they shifted to make room for him around the barrel. Dick stayed slightly back, still keeping his head down.
"Not yet."
"It's early."
There was a little silence, and then another of the men jerked his head at Dick. "Your kid?"
Bruce snorted. "Just according to his mother." A couple of the men chuckled, and Dick, despite himself, felt his face flush with indignation. "Climbs like a monkey, though," Bruce added when the laughter faded.
"Small yet," someone across the barrel said speculatively.
A battered Ford pulled up outside the alley, and all conversation abruptly died. A greasy looking man with a paunch and a bald head climbed out of the passenger side and strode casually up to the group. He stood, hands shoved in his pockets, coolly assessing each member of the group. His eyes fell on Dick and he walked over. "You afraid of heights?" he asked gruffly.
"He's afraid of me," Bruce growled, giving the stranger a hostile look.
The stranger remained unperturbed and examined Bruce's height. Nodding as though he were satisfied about something, he said, "You two, and you, and you." He pointed at two of the largest men.
The group of them walked out of the alley and the bald man pulled his car door open. "Be at 759 Cheltenham in forty minutes. A hundred bucks for each of you and fifty for the kid." He waited until he got a nod from the three grown men, then got in the car.
As it drove away, Dick stared confusedly after its taillights. If television was anything to go by, they had just been hired to perform some kind of shady work, but he hadn't thought that Bruce bothered with tiny little sting operations. And how would he stop them without blowing his cover?
The other two men hurried away in different directions, and Bruce took Dick's arm and hustled him across the street and into the entrance of another alleyway. "Are we going to tip off the police or what?" gasped Dick as they hurried along a circuitous maze of tiny streets.
"No."
"We're going to stop them ourselves?"
Bruce glanced down at him, eyebrows raised. "No. We're going to help them. You're the grease man, or didn't you catch that?"
Dick stopped abruptly and said much too loudly, "But…"
"Shh," Bruce cautioned, pulling on his arm. "Keep moving."
"We're going to commit a crime?" Dick hissed.
"Yeah. Now be quiet. Sometimes there's a cop on this street."
Dick shut his mouth, but a small rebellious knot curled up in his stomach. I want to help keep the law, not break it! He was distracted by the sight of a squad car gliding up the street. Bruce abruptly swung into a narrow space, and they waited as the cruiser drove slowly past them.
"Did you know that if Batman was ever actually caught for some of the things he's done, he'd be in prison for life?" Bruce suddenly whispered.
Dick stared up at him in astonishment. "But…but he's been deputized."
"Only since last year. And it's not an entirely stable badge of legitimacy. Come on." Bruce led the way back onto the side walk and they hurried on.
759 Cheltenham turned out to be a small warehouse near the more reputable end of the docks. The bald man and the other two were already waiting when they slipped around to the back of the building.
"Awright," their employer mumbled around a wad of gum. "Kid goes up there, the window's unlocked." He pointed halfway up the side to a small window. "Go down stairs, there's a keypad by the loading door. You punch in seven, seven, four, star, got it?"
"Seven, seven, four, star," Dick repeated obediently.
Bruce craned his head back to look at the window. "How's he get up there?"
"Ladder's coming in the truck." Right on cue, the roar of a motor came from the front of the building. Baldy jabbed his finger at the two men from the burn barrel. "Go get the ladder."
They promptly went around front and a minute later returned carrying an extendable aluminum ladder. With Bruce's help, they stretched it out and raised it against the building.
Baldy reached into his pocket and pulled out a small flashlight and a pair of cheap latex gloves which he shoved at Dick. "No sense in leaving prints if you don't have to. This is a job with benefits." He paused to laugh at his own joke, then ordered, "Now move it!"
Dick put on the gloves and cast a final glance at Bruce, who gave him a slight nod, then swiftly climbed the ladder. The window was unlocked, just as Baldy had promised, and he wiggled through its small space without difficulty. As soon as he was safely through, the men outside took down the ladder and carried it around front.
Dick flipped on his flashlight and found that he was on a narrow walk that ran around the inside wall of the warehouse. The arm of a forklift was raised just beyond the railing, and the floor below was stacked with boxes. He quickly found the stairway and ran down it, making his way to the loading dock. The keypad was right next to the door, and he punched in the code. The next minutes, the door had lifted and a small truck was backing into the dock.
Baldy hopped out of the back and nodded at Dick. "You were fast, kid." He shut the door behind the truck and barked an order at his three movers to start loading the truck. It took only twenty minutes to fill the truck's small trailer with expensive, flat screen TVs. "All right," Baldy said as Bruce shoved a final box inside. "That's it." He shut and secured the doors, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a roll of bills. "You and the kid," he muttered as he shoved some of the money at Bruce. He paid off the other two and reopened the warehouse door.
"Hey!" one of the men snapped. "You said a hundred bucks, but I only got seventy-five."
Baldy shrugged. "I thought there was going to be something else in here. Market's flooded with televisions, and they're hardly worth a damn thing."
The angry man started forward, "Give me my money, you son of a …" He froze as a gleaming pistol appeared in Baldy's hand.
"Like I said, the TV's aren't worth a damn thing. You're lucky you got seventy five. Now get out of here before I shoot your balls off." He gestured with the gun and shouted, "All of you, get out!"
The moment their disreputable employer had pulled out the gun, Bruce had grabbed Dick's arm and shoved him around the far side of the truck. The moment the command to leave came, they took off, pounding down the street with Bruce still gripping his ward's arm. After a protracted race through the labyrinthine streets, they at last paused for breath beneath a broken streetlight. A concrete barrier ran behind the light, protecting the edge of a steep ditch – large enough to be called a gully. Along the far side ran the freeway, and the noise of fast traffic whizzed over the divide. At the bottom of the gully, a little ways down from where they stood, a fire was burning and several people were sitting or lying around it.
"Ready?" Bruce asked when Richard's breathing had slowed.
He nodded. "Yeah."
Bruce vaulted over the barrier and headed down the steep embankment, and Dick scrambled after him. Some of the ground was covered with cracked concrete, but most of it had crumbled away, and weeds grew thick and high. Garbage crunched beneath his feet and thistles tugged at the legs of his jeans as they waded down and over toward the light.
There were six people settled around the blazing pile of refuse, and the first that Dick noticed about them as he approached was not their filthy clothing or peculiar noises but their smell. It drifted toward him like excessively applied perfume – subtle and elusive at first and then suddenly overwhelming – a mixture of sweat, urine, and smoke. He stopped breathing for a moment, then cautiously pulled in air through his mouth.
Bruce didn't say anything to the assembled group but dropped into a squat and held his hands out toward the blaze. Dick imitated the gestures and got a close up look at the people who were the source of the odor.
There was a very old black man, his bushy hair a shock of dirty white and his face so wrinkled that it resembled a walnut shell. He was huddled as close to the fire as he could get, wrapped in a jacket that was about three times too big and which might have been green or grey or tan but which was now a collage of stains. Every once in a while he shivered as he stared blankly into the flames.
Beyond him a woman sat cross legged, her long, matted blond hair partially obscuring her face. She moaned and muttered as she rocked back and forth, desperately massaging her breasts. Deeply embarrassed, Dick quickly averted his gaze to the next member of the circle. This one also had long, matted hair, but he was pretty sure it was a man. He, if it was a he, lay on his side, staring mesmerized at the burning garbage. Every so often, he would shudder as a high pitched giggle escaped from his gaping mouth.
After that was the most alert human being Dick had seen so far. He was dressed in worn army fatigues and he sat straight up, his legs stuck out in front of him and a bulging backpack by his side. He also seemed to be in charge of the fire because as the flames grew lower, he picked up two ancient shoes from a pile of assorted garbage and dropped them carefully into the heat. As he settled back into his former position, his bright eyes darted restlessly from one member of the group to the other, and finally rested on Dick with an intense and unblinking gaze.
Unsettled, Dick moved his own eyes to the last two strangers. One was a woman who lay prone, her head pillowed on a bundle of rags. She coughed weakly, covering her mouth with a red bandana. Kneeling next to her was an Asian man, and at first glance it was obvious that he did not belong with the rest of the group. For one thing, he was obviously cleaner, and although his clothes were plenty worn, they looked reasonably neat. He was talking to the woman in a low voice, and when Dick listened hard he could make out the words.
"It's going to get a lot colder than this before the night's over. Why won't you come to the shelter?"
The woman coughed again before answering. "I know you mean well, Reverend, but I've had enough charity to last me the rest of my life. I'm through with people telling me how sorry they are so they can feel righteous." The last word exploded in a cough, and she moaned weakly into her bandana.
"You should be back in the hospital," he said worriedly.
"No. They know I'm dying and they're not going to do any more for me. I won't lie there and let squeeze the last of the life out of me so they can have another bed."
"That is completely untrue."
"Oh is it?" She smothered a cough and continued breathlessly, "If you don't mind, talking's a little hard for me right now and I'd like to get some sleep." She closed her eyes and hunched her shoulders up like a turtle retreating into its shell.
The man looked at her silently for a moment, then got to his feet. "Anyone else for a warm bed and free breakfast?" When he received no response, he walked around the circle and crouched next to the one Dick had labeled "Crazy Lady."
"What about you, Rose? Will you come back to the shelter for the night?"
Rose stopped rocking and moaning and stared straight ahead. "Don't touch me!" she suddenly shrieked. "Don't touch me!" Springing to her feet, she plunged into the darkness, and they could hear her crashing through the weeds, still crying, "Don't touch me!"
Sighing, the "Reverend" moved on and laid a gentle hand on the old man's shoulder. "Coming back to the shelter tonight, Walter?"
Walter slowly turned his head and squinted at his interrogator. "Ain't that I don't want to," he murmured in a whispery voice, "but I ain't so sure I can get out of here." He looked up at the high walls of the ravine.
"We'll manage," Reverend said confidently, standing and walking to the other side of the fire so that he could crouch by the guy who was obviously high. "Hey, anyone in there?" He waved his hand in front of the entranced eyes and got no response. Grimacing, he pulled off his jacket and draped it over the comatose form.
"Uh oh!" a loud voice said, and Dick's eyes shot to the man in fatigues who was shaking his head vigorously. "Miss Jamie is not going to like that, no she is not."
"Well, she's forgiven me before, and I think she'll do it again. Ready, Harry?"
Harry jumped to his feet and snapped a salute. "Sir, yes sir!" He picked up his backpack and slung it over his shoulder.
Reverend came back and slipped an arm around Walter's shoulders. "Ready?" Slowly and tremblingly, the old man got to his feet.
Before they moved away, Reverend looked over at Dick and Bruce. "You fellow need a place to sleep? We got lots of room tonight."
Bruce shook his head. "We're fine, but thanks."
"If you change your mind, we're on the corner of Camden and Third." Slowly, the two began walking up the steep hillside, Harry bounding on ahead of them.
The shelter recruiter wasn't much taller or fatter than Dick himself, and he and the old man stumbled frequently as they climbed the embankment. Suddenly Dick couldn't take it any more. He jumped up and ran to catch up. "Let me help," he offered, taking hold of the old man's free arm.
Reverend nodded in the darkness. "Thanks," he said breathlessly, and the three made it to the top without further difficulty. "My car's right there."
Dick helped stow Walter in the front seat, and turned to find Bruce right behind him. "Let's go," the older man commanded, striding off even as he spoke.
"Thanks again!" Reverend called after them. "Camden and Third!"
They walked briskly in silence, and after a while Dick began to recognize the street they were headed down. With relief, he realized that they must at last be headed back to the car. As they approached the light where he had seen the prostitute, he saw that she no longer stood alone in the pool of illumination. A man in a black leather jacket stood next to her, the light gleaming off his slickly gelled hair.
"You stupid bitch!" he suddenly shouted and slapped her hard across the face. "Can't you do anything?"
Of their own accord, Dick's feet broke into a sprint, only to be brought up short by a restraining hand on the collar of his t-shirt.
"Let me go!"
"You can't help her," Bruce said grimly, getting a firmer grip.
"The hell I can't!"
"If you hurt him, he'll take it out on her, later. If you get him arrested, she won't testify, and when he gets out, he'll beat her. That's the way it works."
Bruce's words registered slowly, but when they did, Dick stopped fighting and dropped his head in defeat. "Just walk," the older man said softly, his guiding hand now gentle as they moved briskly past the pimp and his chattel.
Another crack and a stifled moan came from behind them, and Dick started to run again, forward, desperate to get away from the suffering. He ran blindly toward the haven of the car, tripped over a curb he didn't see, and tumbled headlong, skinning his knees and slicing his palm open on a shard of glass. Bruce was there as he scrambled up and jerked him to the sidewalk as a car roared down the street.
The covered the remaining half block in silence, and when they were settled in the front seat, Bruce switched on the interior light and ordered, "Let's see your hand."
Dick extended his bloody palm. Slivers of glass were embedded in the gash that reached from the base of his middle finger to his wrist. Bruce reached into the back seat and produced a first aid kit. Uncapping a bottle of disinfectant, he poured it liberally over the wound, heedless of the upholstery. "Hold it still until we get home," he said quietly as he pulled car away from the curb.
They didn't pull up the front driveway as Dick had expected, but instead entered the grounds through an obscure service entrance. When Bruce pulled the car to a stop, they were still some distance from the house – in fact Dick couldn't even see it – and it was with an exhausted bewilderment that he opened his door and climbed out. A muted roar greeted his ears, but it was not until they had walked down into a small depression and he saw the waterfall that he understood where they were. His feet grew heavy with dismay and he stumbled. Although that morning he would have given his two front teeth to be taken here, now he wanted nothing to do with the subterranean cavern. He wanted the warm, familiar kitchen in the house, not cold stone and impersonal equipment. And he wanted Alfred with quiet words and comforting smile, not this grim-eyed stranger who plunged him through pain after pain.
There was an infinitesimal and slippery path around the edge of the waterfall. They navigated it slowly, and stepped into the cold darkness of the caves. Bruce turned on the floodlights and directed Dick to a stainless steel sink. "Run the water over your hand, but don't rub it."
He obeyed woodenly, a blissful numbness slowly stealing over mind and body. It wasn't that anything he had seen that night was news to him. He understood that level of suffering all too well, but he had managed to forget a lot in the last five years. And he didn't want to be made to remember.
Bruce shut off the tap and led him over to a chair by table that matched the sink. A powerful magnifying lens was suspended on a maneuverable arm, and Bruce positioned Dick's palm under it, soaked a tiny pair of tweezers in disinfectant, and began painstakingly removing the bits of glass and gravel.
Dick didn't want to think about the night, but he couldn't help himself. "That guy," he said slowly, "the one who hired us. He's going to get more than seventy-five dollars for each of those televisions, isn't he?"
"Probably." Bruce deposited a sliver of glass in a small dish on the table.
"Who was that other man?" Dick asked after another moment's thought. "The one helping the homeless people."
"That was the Reverend David Lee. He runs a homeless shelter on, as he told you, Third and Camden. He goes out a lot, looking for people who won't come in by themselves."
"Do you know him?"
"Not really. I think I met him at a benefit once." Bruce pulled out one piece of glass and pushed the lens aside. "Ok, let's disinfect again." The peroxide hissed viciously as it bubbled over the cut, and tears pricked the corners of Dick's eyes. "You can sleep in tomorrow," Bruce said as he capped the bottle. "No gym time. And I'm going to call Peaceable and tell him you're sick."
"Thanks," Dick muttered.
"Go get some sleep. You look half dead."
Dick wearily walked over to the lift and pulled up the grille. "You coming?" he asked.
"Not yet."
On the first floor, instead of heading for the stairs and his bedroom, Dick turned toward the kitchen. Just as he had hoped, the light was on and Alfred sat at the counter, making out menus for the coming week. He looked up as Dick walked through the doorway. "Good evening, Master Dick."
"Alfred," he said, and started to cry.
To Be Continued
A/N I hope that wasn't too illegible. I'm going to bed before I keel over! Review please?