Part Six
Another week went by, Dick was almost back to what would be normal for any other kid on the planet, though he was chafing under the restraints still placed on him—and those were just the ones Jeff knew about.
After work he met up with one of his old college friends for drinks and a burger, Jesse, another oceanographer. "I've just been given my notice by Wayne—or rather his 'man' and my last day is tomorrow at which time I'll be, as they say, 'between assignments' or out of work, if you prefer."
"C'mon, man, lighten up; you had a good ride there the last couple of months, right?
"Yeah, sure, now I'm back to mac and cheese for dinner after a filling lunch of ramen. I just hope that I find something before I run through the tutoring money and have to ask my parents for money."
"And you know they'd give it to you if you do." Jesse took a couple of fries from Jeff's plate. "So how was the Grayson kid?"
"Nice kid. Smart. Good manners."
"And Wayne?" Jeff paused a moment. "That bad, huh?"
"No, nothing like that. He's all right, I guess. He comes across as stupid but in a pleasant kind of way and once or twice It seemed like there was more there there, if that makes any sense."
Jesse kept chewing. "He was hitting on you?"
"Jesus, no. He had all these blondes around—very Playboy looking. 'Kind of creepy, actually. It's just that sometimes I got the feeling that he isn't as dumb as everyone thinks he is."
Jesse stood up on his way to the men's room. "He couldn't be that dumb, he wouldn't know where to put it if he was."
And the more time went by with him in 'the house' every day, the more he was convinced that Dick was Robin to Wayne's Batman. It all made sense when he thought about it—something he'd been doing a lot in the last month and a half. In fact, it seemed to be the only thing that made sense. Dick was obvious once you knew what to look for; intelligent, athletic—in fact he was very athletic, a former professional. He was highly motivated, a young crime victim which would provide the reason for his career choice and had a mentor in Wayne—assuming he was right about old Bruce being a hell of a lot smarter than he as usually given credit for. Plus Dick had the maturity and focus plus the tenacity it would take for Robin to be as successful as he was, add to that the kid's astounding charisma and the fact that his friends were doppelgangers for the rest of the Titans and there you have it.
And Wayne, he had money and time to burn and was also a young crime victim which, from all accounts, severely traumatized him, leading him to an empty life of wine, women and song. At least on the surface, anyway.
And there was no way he was stupid as he played it. Not possible.
Of course, this was all circumstantial. No one had made any slips. There hadn't been any stray batarangs left on the front table and the Bat copter wasn't parked on the front lawn.
But he was still certain.
So the question became what was he going to do about it?
He could make a fortune by selling the story to the media, he could try to blackmail old Bruce (now that was a thought—blackmailing Batman. Let's not even go there, okay?). He could...
"Hey man, you finished? The lecture starts in half an hour."
Startled, Jeff nodded at Jesse standing by the table. "Yup, let's go."
He could do...nothing. That was an option.
* * *
"Hey, Bruce, Jeff's coming over tomorrow and it's his last day; do you care?"
Bruce, or rather Batman, didn't deign to turn his head, his eyes focused on his computer monitor down in the cave. "No." He hit a few keys. "Did Arthur arrange that appointment for him?"
"Garth said he did—he was pissed, but he did it; he should be getting the offer tonight at that conference he said he'd be attending."
"Fine. Take a look at this DNA result; this proves Harvey Dent was there which means he somehow escaped from Akhram."
"...And then let himself back in? Whatever, sounds like something he would do."
"By the way, chum, I spoke with Leslie and she's not a hundred percent with you going out yet. You're under strict orders to take it easy, understand?"
"Uh-huh, sure."
"I mean it, she was serious and she'll pull your plug if she thinks you're over doing."
"And then she'll call you on the carpet, right?" He flashed his old smile, the one Bruce loved to see because it told him everything was okay.
"And you'll be right there beside me, chum."
The team of Batman and Robin was back to work.
* * *
"Thank you Dr. Ballard and that concludes the question and answer period. I'd like to invite anyone who still has some energy left to join us downstairs in the main lounge for a less formal get together."
Jeff and Jesse made their way through the crowd, trying not to stare at the superstars they were walking beside; Ballard himself, Cousteau's son, the US Admiral from the Joint Chiefs, Rod and Valerie Taylor and then, to top it all off, frigging Aquaman himself showed up and was strolling along like nothing. Holy crap and it was like they'd died and gone to heaven.
"This is sort of like going to the Oscars as the losing nominee for best assistant sound editor and ending up at the table with Spielberg and Hanks."
"Keep it cool, man. They put their wetsuits on one leg at a time. C'mon, mingle."
In fact oceanography was a pretty small society and it seemed like just about everyone knew one another, were slapping backs, trading jokes and clinking beers. Somehow they ended up in a corner with Robert Ballard and his assistant, chatting about the man's last visit to Titanic and the damage he'd noted since his first trip down. "But what I found fascinating were the uncatalogued siphonophores we saw coming and going from the surface; amazing things. We got what photos and video we could, but you know how it is, never enough time."
Jeff brightened and screwed up his nerve. "I saw those pictures on line, incredible! That transparent shrimp, the entire colony or school of them was—I'd never seen anything like it and that clip of those dumbo squid mating—that's never been captured before, has it? God, I'd kill to have been there."
Ballard and Cousteau suppressed smiles; youngsters. "May I ask what your specialty is...?"
"Jeff, Jeff Tabor. Just that—mid-range siphonophores and invertebrates."
"You're Tabor?" Ballard focused on him more closely. "I got an e-mail about you a week or two ago, you're looking for a position, right?"
Cripes. He hadn't sent Ballard an e-mail, he still had to finish his paper. One of his friends was screwing with him again.
"Mr. Tabor, or is it Doctor?"
His chance, this was his chance. "Mr. for now but I'd really like to be, I mean, if you could maybe consider me for a position, even as an intern or a volunteer, anything. I can answer phones, give tours..." God, he was babbling. Stop it. Stop right now, dammit. Don't be an idiot. "Excuse me, sir. What I meant to say was that I'd be honored to even be considered for a position and it's been my life-long dream to work at Wood's Hole."
Ballard looked amused and wasn't trying to hide it too hard. "Actually I checked your references and King Orin here gave you one of the most glowing recommendations I've ever received."
"He...that was good of him, I'll have to thank him..."
"Ummm, what do you say we sit down for a few minutes and talk details?" Ballard led the way to a corner table.
* * *
Mid way through the patrol Batman noticed the tightened lips and the hidden, almost inaudible gasps and grunts from his partner. He was afraid of this; the boy wasn't healed yet and was too stubborn and anxious to fly to admit it. After another half hour he'd had enough. "It looks like a quiet night, I'm ready to go back."
Robin shook his head. "It's too early, c'mon."
"No, not tonight, I have work to do back in the cave. We're going back."
Dick knew better than to complain but also knew exactly what as happening and hated that his weakness was holding them back.
Tomorrow would be better.
* * *
At six-thirty the next morning Dick was down in the cave mid-way through his old workout when Bruce arrived to begin his own training, knowing why the boy was early and torn between pride and annoyance. There was nothing to be gained by calling him on it, though. Better to let Dick set his own pace, so long as he could keep up with it and didn't hurt himself.
By eight-thirty Dick was showered, fed and in the conservatory finalizing his last work for Jeff.
"Good morning."
"Hi. I think everything's done so if you'd go over it I guess that's it."
Jeff took his seat and picked up the first folder, labeled 'Calculus'. Flipping through the neat pages of calculations he watched Dick out of the corner of his eye. The early news had mentioned that Robin was spotted last night on patrol with Batman and it was nice to see that Gotham's roster of protectors was back at full strength. It had been an open secret that something—illness, injury, family obligations—had kept Robin out of the public eye for a couple of months and it was good to have him back.
He noticed that Dick's hands looked like he had rope burns of some kind and he wondered if they were caused by jump lines.
"This all looks good."
"I have that short story done for English, if you want to read it." He handed it over and Jeff read the five pages. It was typical of Dick's work; well done, researched, concise, literate and likely publishable.
"This is very good. Have you thought about writing for a living?"
"No."
Okay.
Dick seemed to realize that he'd been a bit short and tried harder. "'Sorry. How was that conference you were going to; that was last night, wasn't it?"
"Good, great, in fact."
"Oh?"
"I think I may have a job with Wood's Hole. Bob Ballard himself as there and somehow he knew I was job hunting so we talked and, well...I start in two weeks."
Dick raised his eyebrows, "Really? That's great, congratulations."
The boy didn't seem surprised.
Later, after lunch with everything finished, Jeff said his goodbyes to Dick who saw him to the door. Wayne was nowhere in sight. Handshakes and thank yous done, he was about to start his car when the old butler tapped gently on the driver's side window. "Excuse me, Mr. Tabor. But the master wanted you to have this with his thanks for all you've done with the young master over these weeks. He's thrived under your tutelage and it is greatly appreciated."
"Thank you, but this really isn't necessary."
"Pish tosh, Mr. Wayne insists. Now, best of luck to you, young sir."
* * *
"So do you think Tabor suspects?"
"Of course he does."
TBC