Lucius Fox lived in the most luxurious of condominiums; he owned the penthouse of the third tallest complex in New York. The condo was always so clean that Rich never believed anyone actually lived there; run a finger on any surface, and it would always come up clean. On every windowsill was a Zygopetalum, neon yellow and blood red upper petals with a bright purple lip.
Lucius was mostly a homebody and refused to accompany Bruce anywhere, choosing a glass of Chablis and a Miles Davis album over Bruce's exploits. So Rich expected Lucius to be home and curled up on the sofa, or caring for his orchids. But instead, when Rich knocked on the door, no one answered.
"Lucius! Lucius, it's me!" Rich shouted. He pressed the buzzer frantically. "Are you all right?"
The door creaked open. Lucius looked exhausted, emaciated, eyes yellowed from jaundice. He smiled weakly. "Mr. Grayson, so nice to see you. Please, come in." He glanced at a corner of the ceiling, and Rich followed the man's gaze. A camera. They were being watched, but, by whom?
"Would you like something to drink?" Lucius asked, putting a kettle on the stove. "I have some of the white tea you enjoy so much." His hands shook violently as he scooped three ½ teaspoons into a tea ball. "It seems that you found me in quite a hurry."
"I just . . . well, Bruce asked me to find you and ask you something." Rich put a hand on Lucius' shoulder. "It's about Wayne Tech stock." Rich looked Lucius in the eye and then rolled his eyes towards the camera. "How do you feel about Bruce shifting its focus to GPS technology?"
"A good thought, Mr. Grayson. However, even though GPS technology has come a long way, some people are rather difficult to find, unless you know what to look for." Lucius rolled up his sleeve slightly to reveal the blistered skin underneath. "I must ask you to apologize to Mr. Wayne for me; it seems that I've had a bad case of allergies, possibly from my orchids. I haven't been well enough to attend meetings at Wayne Enterprises for two months." Lucius slipped a pocketknife into Rich's hand.
"I'm so sorry, Lucius. I know how much you love them." Rich walked over to the windowsill and examined the Zygopetalum. If only he had brought Starfire; she would have known what was wrong with it immediately.
The door slammed open. Rich whipped his head around, and Harley Quinn swung her oversized hammer over her shoulder. "Get outta here, brat. You've been snoopin' around for a little too long," she said. "I thought we told ya no visitors, little man!" She started after Lucius, who grabbed the whistling kettle from the stove and threw the boiling water at her.
She shrieked, holding her face in agony. Using the pocketknife, Rich picked off a sample from the orchid's purple lip and turned to Lucius, who motioned for the young man to leave.
"But, Lucius—"
"I'll be all right," Lucius said, grabbing Harley's hammer.
"We'll see who's gonna be all right!" Harley kicked Lucius into a wall, paint running off her face. She looked so much older than Rich remembered, the wrinkles embedded into her skin, knuckles like tree roots. Harley lunged at Rich as he descended the stairs, but Rich hopped over the railing, hearing her slam hard into a cinder block wall.
"Owwwww," Harley whined. "Someone call me an ambulance..!"
He ran down the next flight of stairs and opened a door leading to the 8th floor. He furiously pressed the down button, the elevator taking its sweet ass time to open its doors. Elevators, Rich thought. Should've just continued down the stairs. So Rich went back into the stairwell and slid down the railing, listening to Harley howl in pain.
Down in the parking garage, Rich hopped on his Ducati and sped off, touching the pocket of his jacket. He felt like the orchid sample was burning a hole through the leather and feared for Lucius' life; Rich's escape would only mean a more severe punishment for his friend. Rich wondered if he could still save it all—Wayne Enterprises, Lucius Fox, even Bruce—but he also wondered if he was too late.
–
Lois stepped out of Conner's room and closed the door. She wiped her face before Bruce could get a good look at her; Lois Lane doesn't fucking cry. She's interviewed concentration camp survivors and vets from Afghanistan and Iraq. She's been in war zones, spoken to Syrian refugees, illegal Cuban immigrants who came to the US on rafts. Clark might be the man of steel, but Lois was the woman of steel, keeping a detached view of everything. But Conner, clone of her husband, broken and sweet and so damn naive, no, it didn't break her heart that Conner could never be part of her life. Bruce handed her a box of tissues, but she waved it away.
"I don't know why you thought I could help," Lois whispered. "I don't know shit about kids, let alone clones." She pulled out a pack of Extra and offered Bruce a stick. "It's okay; there's zero sugar."
"I can't. It'll make me hungry." Bruce had just finished a bowl of quinoa and some bullshit small-boned fish that Alfred ordered from the market. Damian had just introduced the term "hangry" to Bruce, which was all he felt these days: hangry. Bruce now just salivated at the thought of barbecue chips—no smell or taste needed, just the idea. It had been so long that he wasn't sure they were real at all. Ugh, the smell of smoked paprika. Could anything smell so beautiful?
"If you want to play Daddy with him too, be my guest. But if it's too much, just remember that Clark's wounds are too recent for you to appeal to his pathos." She reached for the banister. "Oh, and Bruce, I'm pretty sure I made him—" she pointed to the door, "—cry." Lois bent over the banister, down the stairs and towards the dining room. "ALFRED," she shouted. "DO YOU MIND GIVING ME A RIDE BACK TO THE TRAIN STATION? Jesus, I need a smoke; fuck quitting. CAN WE ALSO STOP BY A CONVENIENCE STORE?"
Bruce leaned his head on the door. Fuck, they sure were right when they said "no good deed goes unpunished"; he tried to help Superboy by mediating with Clark and attempting to show Clark that Superboy was more than just a clone. Was this even a good deed, or was Bruce looking for validation that he's been a good father, or at least better than Mr. "I'm So Perfect" Superman? That went way too deep into Bruce's psyche that he shut out the thought immediately.
Damian pushed past him and into the room. "Hey, you—" Bruce started.
Damian slammed the door shut and locked it. He sat on the bed next to Conner, who was still wiping the tears from his face. Damian pushed a plate of cookies into Conner's lap and handed him a cup of warm milk. "From Alfred," the ten-year-old said. "He always gives the Robins milk and cookies when we're trying to hide our tears."
"Thanks." Conner put the cookies and the milk on the night stand, and Damian knew he wouldn't touch them. Really, it was Damian who snuck the treats out of the kitchen and hoped that Conner would eat them. Even when Damian tried his damnedest to be the toughest little shit that ever existed, Alfred would always stroke the damp bangs out of his face as he lay in bed on the worst of days. And even though Damian would turn over and pretend the ounce of affection Alfred had shown him had no effect, Damian would still feel the tears trickle down his face and know that at that moment, someone loved him. He hoped that Conner at least felt like someone understood that pain, even though Damian suspected that he would never really know what it felt like to never feel the love of a father.
"So, Superdad. Not that super, huh?" Damian asked, still staring at the milk and cookies.
"Look, I'm all right. Really." He ruffled Damian's hair and smiled. "Lois is right. All I can hope is that with time, the scars will fade, and Superman will be able to open himself up and accept me. And Lois said I can see her any time. I think I'm gonna spend the rest of the summer there in Metropolis."
"Oh." Damian bowed his head. "I thought you'd . . ."
"Hey, I skipped a semester, remember? I'll be back in August, munchkin." Conner pulled him into a headlock. "Don't think I'll forget about you, buddy!"
"I know you won't forget us. Obviously," Damian said.
"Here." Conner grabbed a cookie and broke it in half, crumbs littering the bed sheets. He held up both pieces. "This is my promise to you. I'll be back after two weeks of hanging out with Lois this summer. Just two." Conner handed the bigger of the halves to Damian. "You have to eat it, or I can't promise you anything."
Damian crammed the whole piece into his mouth and chewed. Conner handed him the milk, but he refused. Damian could eat it just fine, without the help of milk. Screw milk, Damian thought. How helpful has it been, anyway? He was still shorter than Tim was when he was ten.
The door flew open, and Damian almost choked on his piece of cookie. He took the milk and gulped it down like it was the enemy.
"Am I—am I walking in on something?" Rich asked.
"You make it sound like I should have my dick out," Conner snapped.
"Hey, Damian. Remember when you and Tim were busting down Harley and Poison Ivy a couple weeks back?" Rich asked. "What were they doing?"
Damian shrugged. "Nothing. They were just hanging out in an abandoned warehouse in the industrial park. They just threw their hands up in the air and left; Tim and I couldn't bring them in for anything. I mean, it's not even trespassing."
"I think we need to check out that abandoned warehouse again."
–
Damian and Tim pointed to the most rundown warehouse in the whole area. "That one," they said.
"Really?" Rich asked.
"What, were you there?" Damian asked. "Anyway, why are we even here? I told you they weren't doing anything."
"Lucius' orchids had some special concoction on them, and the effects are debilitating; Lucius looked gravely ill. The chemical compound looks similar to what's already in Wayne Beauty and Skincare, samples that Selina graciously gave to Bruce. When I visited Lucius, Harley barged in on us, and when it comes to plants, well, you know our only suspect." Rich pulled out a kit from the dashboard. "We'll have to swab the warehouse for samples; stealing anything could warrant a disaster. Plus, we don't know what any of the chemicals can do, let alone what Deirdre can do to us."
"What's that dumb blonde going to do?" Damian asked as they all jumped out of the Batmobile. "She can't take us. Well, she could take Batdad."
Damian picked the warehouse's lock, and they entered, searching for any signs of clues. Tim felt along the walls for any switches, pulled manuals for the rusting machines for a secret passage, while Rich scanned the floor for any signs of a door. Conner used his x-ray vision to see if there was anything they were missing, and Damian stood next to the door, arms crossed.
"I'm telling you guys, there's nothing here," Damian said. "They're just trying to spook us!"
"I see something." Conner pointed to a spot on the floor with rickety boards. He kicked at the splintered wood flooring, and it broke apart to reveal a rusted wheel. Conner turned the wheel counterclockwise, and it squealed with every spin. After five turns, he pulled the latch and jumped down, the others following suit.
The tunnel was dark as shit with Conner leading the way and Rich in the back. They walked quietly, cautiously, afraid that someone might still be inside, perhaps even watching them look like a bunch of dumbass kids in a tunnel. Just like Scooby Doo, Rich thought. They walked, walked, walked, and eventually, Conner stopped. He felt a handle, but the door was locked. Damian squinted at the doorknob and attempted to pick the lock, hearing the click of success every time, only to have the door still be jammed.
"It's an easy lock! It should just open!" Damian whispered harshly.
A low, soft rumble began, and it deepened, causing the entire tunnel to vibrate and then convulse. The boys were thrown to the sides, gripping onto whatever they could to keep themselves steady. Rich and Conner looked at each other, fear in their eyes. They were about to be in some deep, metaphorical horse shit, and this time around, neither of them had their mentors to save their asses.