Note: If it wasn't work, it's a house chore. Planning a meal to cook for the family is dang confuzzling .
Luvit: The entire 'mystery' thing is my fault. I love mystery. And action. And adventure.
That afternoon found Dick engrossed in the Bunker's Crays. Det. Radley's reactions had made him curious for the man's personal life. Normally, he wouldn't bother as it felt like an invasion of the man's privacy but he was really, really curious. And if he admitted it to himself, he needed to know that other people had had this kind of situation dumped on them...and made it through. He needed to know that he'll be alright - and that Dusty would be alright.
The Crays beeped and Dick pulled up the blinking file. It showed Radley in his standard police picture, lines of text beside it enumerated his bio-data. Dick knew the usual basic facts that went in those lines. He knew they barely scratched the surface of who the police officer was. So he went on to look through the man's family relations.
Wife: Deceased. One son, 2 years old.
Dick smiled to himself. He was right. Radley did have a child and was raising him on his own. But did the mother leave the boy with him unexpectedly or had he known early on that she had his child? Dick dug a little further.
He found the boy's birth certificate and did a little math for the detective's age and the mother's pregnancy stage. He also found the wife's hospital records. And then he found the wife's death certificate and a visitor's login sheet. A picture started building in his head: Two years ago, Mrs. Radley filed for a divorce because she felt her husband was neglecting her. She was two months pregnant when she left. In the year they'd been separated, she was diagnosed with cancer and was given a low chance at life.
A couple of months in the hospital, Radley visits his dying wife. He comes back regularly, sometimes with an infant and sometimes alone. Dick guessed this would be the time Mrs. Radley told her husband about their baby, but whether the detective was surprised at the news or not, only the couple would know. Dick decided he'd gone far enough and closed the files.
As far as he was concerned, Det. Radley had done well by his son. Dick had to have faith that someone normal, put in the same situation, could rise to the occasion and nurture a loving child. He had to have faith that if Bruce could do it - heck, even Roy did it! - then he could, too.
But for now, he now had another case to investigate: the fake assistant.
Cheyenne hadn't told him anything about the girl she was with. All he had was the girl's description, a butterfly tattoo...and an advanced facial recognition program installed in the Crays.
It was easy enough to hack into the Red Crescent's security system. In between Oracle and Red Robin, the Crays was powerful enough to hack into practically everything.
"Grayson!" the shout flew across the Bunker, bouncing off the various equipment and came to a quivering rest in between Dick's ears.
The new Batman turned from his research to face the latest Robin, eyes questioning. "Something wrong?"
Damian stalked towards him from the door leading to the rest of the penthouse, his young face livid. "I have given you leeway to get over the surprise of your new infant but that was yesterday and you have not sparred with me since. I demand that you do so now."
"Damie, I-"
"I refuse to let you sully my father's name with incompetence! And I refuse to let you patrol if you have grown too rusty to fight crime!"
Dick sucked in a breath as his partner's words sunk in. If he were someone else, he'd be offended and start teachingDamian who was boss in this partnership. As Robin to his Batman, the boy shouldn't question his motives, nor could he order Batman around. Damian was getting too overbearing for a partnership.
But he wasn't someone else. He was Dick, the last Flying Grayson, the first Robin, and Damian's older brother. He heard his brother's words - and he knew what it meant.
"I won't let you go out on patrol to be killed."
Dick stood from his seat, and towered over the ten year old. "Listen, I don't know how you figure you're the one calling the shots in this partnership, but you're not." he spoke slowly and sternly. "Iam the one with more experience, so don't you think I know what I'm doing, and that I know how to do it?" He moved closer to the boy, then knelt down to his level, forcing the boy to look him in the eye. Blue eyes met blue eyes, clashed, parried, and came to a draw.
"Besides," the new Batman gave his youngest brother a soft smile. "How could I be hurt if I have you watching my back for me?"
If he had been talking to any other kid, that last statement would've earned him a smile. Damian, however, was not any other kid. The ten year old jerked his gaze away with an annoyed 'T-t' and stomped over to the gym equipment, leaving Dick in the dust.
Why did he keep coming in here? It was just a stupid baby. Nothing interesting. So, why?
The ten year old crept over to the crib once again, and simply looked in. Unlike the previous evening though, the infant was deeply asleep.
Damian rolled his eyes, unable to see why Oracle had deemed this 'cute'. In all honestly, the infant looked like a red-faced bundle of needs with not an ounce of usefulness. It was a needless burden on Grayson.
But the image of too-large blue eyes and a gummy smile came to his mind. He remembered how the infant instinctively curled its fingers around his.
He snorted quietly. "I suppose you aren't entirely bad."
"Thought I'd find you here," Grayson's footsteps was light as he entered the room. It still wasn't light enough for Damian not to hear him. "Alfred noticed you've been dropping by on Dusty from time to time."
"T-t. I was merely checking on the infant."
Grayson smiled, reaching out to brush a hand over the infant's head. "We're not in suits now, Damie. You can call him Dusty. Or Dustin if it fits you."
Damian refused to honor that with a sound. There is no way he will call this infant by its name. Not when it takes too much time out of-
Grayson's hand landed on his shoulder. Damian glanced up, frowning in suspicion when the man twitched as though he was tempted to give him a hug. Damian hoped the man wouldn't give in to that temptation. Assassins don't hug. Neither should vigilantes. Hugging and other signs of affection are a waste of energy.
"Suit up," he blinked at Grayson's sudden command. "We spar in two minutes."
"And your research?" he asked tentatively, half-fearing that the man would go back to solving the infant's mother's case and half-hoping that the man actually meant to spend time with him now.
"Crays'll take a couple of hours for results. We may have one of the most powerful computers in the world but it still needs time to look through billions of faces."
Damian smiled then dropped it when Grayson started to grin in response. "Two minutes. Do not be late."