Notes: Me and InvisibleBrunette had to do research for this fic... Any mistakes are ours.
Majority of the uniformed personnel had gone when Batman came on the scene. It was treated much like an accident, a tragic one that claimed the life of an up-and-coming fashion designer. Several were seen to shake their heads in sadness at the waste.
Then forensics found the partially cut brake lines.
The investigation picked up after that. Black paint lines were also found on the side of the sedan indicating a sideswipe by another car. Was it done by accident and was only compounded by the sabotaged brake line? Or was it a deliberate move by someone who already knew of the vandalism? The questions only served to bring up more questions as detectives assigned to the case began their investigation.
Despite the possible murder angle, the case was still ranked as routine and thereby wasn't brought to the Commissioner's attention. A not-so-well-known fashion designer doesn't command the same public notice as say, a movie celebrity. Homicide also regularly dealt with car accidents/murders on a weekly basis; Gotham was never short on crime that kept her police officers busy. There was no need to bring in the big, bad Bat.
And so, no one was expecting the black presence to suddenly appear in the middle of the scene.
"B-Batman?" the officer watching the perimeter was startled into nearly dropping his logbook.
The Dark Knight ignored him. He was too busy cataloguing the evidence: the cut lines, the paint smear, skid marks that trailed the car down the ravine. The day was bright and clear, and Cheyenne Freemont was hardly a clumsy driver. Not to mention the road was wide enough for two trucks to pass side by side, let alone two sedans. No, there had to be foul play present...unless the opposing vehicle's driver was drunk.
"Forensics got samples of everything they could get," the officer said nervously, watching Batman crouch to take his own sample of the paint smear. GCPD forensics lab had suitable equipment to analyze the evidence. An independent investigation wasn't necessary.
"Cheyenne Freemont had an unwanted suitor when she lived in New York." Batman stated, rising to his feet. "Tell Detective Radley to search for her contacts from that time."
"Uhh...sure Big Guy," the puzzled officer's voice followed Batman as the hero disappeared into the night.
-
Dick pushed back his cowl and slumped into the chair in front of the monitors. He had been in a similar position years ago, when Bruce left him behind to pursue his parents' killer. Dick remembered getting angry as Batman sped away without him, becoming even more infuriated when a quick hack into the Crays spat out the name of Bruce's current target: Tony Zucco.
And now it was happening all over again.
His son's mother was murdered and he knew who the culprit was. All he had to do was follow the murderer's trail - starting with the smear of paint taken from the crime scene.
The computer beeped, indicating a possible match.
Dick leaned forward, his hand hovering over the keyboard. One push of a button and he could be on the hunt for Chey's killer. One push, like Bruce did all those years ago. Just one push.
A high-pitched wailing brought him out of his thoughts. Two seconds later, he was off the chair and rushing towards the sound.
"Alfred! What-" he froze on the threshold of the penthouse's guest room. Alfred had the baby cradled in one arm while the other held a bottle of milk.
"Master Richard," the butler turned to face him, "it would appear that Master Dustin is awake."
Dick's eyes dropped to the bundle in Alfred's arms. The baby had stopped crying and looked back at him with blue, blue eyes.
"Here," Alfred was suddenly pushing the baby towards him. "Take him, Master Richard. I believe it's a good time for you to learn how to care for him."
"M-Me?" His arms felt clumsy as he carried the baby. He had held infants before, of course - years of being a member of the superhero community made sure he came into contact with several nieces and nephews - but somehow when it was his own baby he was holding, it was...awkward.
Blue eyes watched him patiently as Alfred guided Dick on how to hold both the bottle and the baby. The butler then moved to gently wipe the tear tracks from the baby's face. But Dusty's eyes remained riveted on Dick even as the tiny mouth worked on the bottle's teat.
"Some would take that to mean he recognizes his father," Alfred remarked, already turning away to... whatever it was, Dick didn't notice. The baby had raised his tiny fists and kept bumping them against his arm.
"Hey Alfred, have I ever shown you my mother's photo box?" he asked, not taking his eyes away from the bundle in his arms.
The butler's footsteps paused on his way out. "No Sir, I don't believe so."
Dick hummed. "Looking at him, it's like looking at those old pictures. But, I still ran the paternity test Alfie..." he tore his gaze from Dusty, eyes landing on the older man. "Does that make me a
bad person? A bad father? Wouldn't I recognize my own son?" he asked.
And with those questions, he let the uncertainty, the nervousness, the fear flood into his eyes. Not fear in the sense that the child frightened him, but fear that he would let Dusty down, that he would disappoint him. That feeling of hanging on a trapeze bar with nowhere to go still weighed heavily on him.
Alfred returned his gaze with a patient look. "With all those years together, would you consider Master Bruce your father?"
Dick paused, thinking. It had been an old issue between him and Bruce. He was a Grayson and he'd never relinquish anything he had left of his blood parents. But Bruce...Bruce had given him everything a kid could ever want. Money was no object. And he'd lived with Bruce for a lot longer than he'd lived with his parents. Bruce had been his teacher, his partner, his protector.
"Maybe not my real father." He answered. "That's always my Dad. But... Bruce's pretty much a father to me too."
"And so you will be to this child. That you would worry for him is already indicative of a loving father."
Dick gave him a sly grin. "Wow Alfie, that was so cheesy."
Alfred merely gave him a look, one eyebrow raised in inquiry.
Dick's grin turned into a sincere smile. "Full of curdled milk or not, thank you, I needed to hear that."
"Anytime, young Sir," the butler once again turned to leave. "And do change out of the suit Master Richard, it's a wonder you didn't startle the poor lad in that get up." With that, he strode towards the main part of the penthouse, leaving the new father alone with his son.
Dusty was still flailing his little arms, the milk bottle nearly running on empty. When the baby was done, Dick set the bottle aside and tried to remember...
Oh.
"So now you're full, you need a nice little burp, right?" He held the baby against his chest, and then gently began patting his back.
It was a new experience for him. He hadn't held a baby this long for years; it was always one crisis after another cutting short whatever respite he could grab. And now he was working double duty as Batman and as the Wayne heir (even though he was only busy concocting excuses on why he hasn't taken on more responsibility with the latter.). He wondered yet again how Bruce could juggle leading a double life with finesse.
And just as he thought that, the phone rang.