A/N A late Merry Christmas to all! I wanted to have this done for yesterday, but I've had TWO colds since the beginning of break, in addition to tons of family stuff (which is good but doesn't leave a plethora of time and energy for fanfic). Enormous thank you's to all reviewers!

Disclaimer See Chapter 1.

Chapter 6
Conversation should touch everything, but should concentrate itself on nothing.
- Oscar Wilde

"How was your first day back at dear old Bailey?" Trevor asked as he awakened the computers in the place he and Barbara called their workroom. Trevor inhabited the entire third floor of the Wren house, which ensured that they had both space and privacy.

Barbara shrugged. "Mind numbingly boring, as always. There is no bigger waste of time than high school."

It was a comment she had made before, and Trevor only nodded as he started typing in passwords. "Who's your Life Skills partner?"

Barbara sighed. "A sophomore, can you believe it? Some new kid named Grayson."

"Grayson," Trevor repeated thoughtfully. "Isn't that the kid who lives with Bruce Wayne? I heard Wayne pulled a bunch of strings to get him in, in the middle of the year."

Barbara nodded. "That's the one. Lucky me. The ward of the biggest moron in town is my partner for the entire semester."

"Is he going to be problem?" Trevor asked, shooting her a sideways glance.

Barbara laughed. "No! I can handle a sophomore." She settled in front of her screen and stuck one of the fresh snickerdoodles Magdalena, the Wrens' housekeeper, had provided. "Maggie makes the best cookies," she mumbled through a full mouth. "I hope you keep her."

"Whatever you command, my lady," Trevor replied, only half jokingly. The Wrens' house staff had a turnover rate of about one year, which was the length of time it took Trevor to get bored with the help. But the last time he had persuaded his father into a collective rehiring decision, Barbara had been seriously upset. She had informed him a very cold, very angry tone that she could not work with someone who messed with people's lives because he was bored, and Trevor had to do a considerable amount of groveling to restore the status quo. Trevor despised groveling, even to Barbara for whom he would do nearly anything if it would earn him approbation. He had taken special pains with the new help, so that year had come and gone without remark, but he tucked the memory of his humiliation away as an account he might one day settle.

Since the beginning of their partnership, Trevor and Barbara had achieved a few modest successes. Between Trevor's dad's money and business contacts and Barbara's access to Gordon's police work, they had anonymously helped solve two small embezzlement cases, found a number of missing people, and revealed a network of bribery in the lower echelons of City Hall. But they were both growing impatient with their limited success, and had eagerly thrown themselves into their latest investigation, which was the most difficult and important matter they had yet tackled. Gotham, like most large cities, was home to a trade in child trafficking. The police suspected corporate backing, but had been unable to find any solid leads. Trevor and Barbara, through persistence and not a little hacking, had found enough to confirm, in their minds at least, a connection to the Deep Harbor Casino, the same one Lex Luthor had purchased and renovated.

"Do you really think Luthor knows everything that came with his purchase?" Barbara asked, reopening the old argument as she skimmed through the last twenty-four hours of computer activity from one of the casino's bookkeepers.

"It would surprise me if he didn't. Luthor's a careful man. He would know everything there was to know before he bought."

"Then why hasn't he done anything about it?" Barbara demanded. "It's not really his style."

Trevor shrugged. "It could be that he's planning to take care of the problem on his own, to save the casino's reputation. Or, he might be waiting for the most opportune moment to call in the police."

"And meanwhile hundred of children are victimized," Barbara muttered in disgust.

"Have you found out any more about those Riddle murders?" Trevor asked, changing the subject.

Barbara shook her head regretfully. Gordon had been unusually tightlipped about the homicides, and it was driving her crazy. She got the crazy feeling that it was more than police protocol that he was particularly intent on keeping her out of this one. Whenever the case came up, his eyes would rest on her, but he would glance away the moment he met her gaze.

"Let me know if that kid gives you any trouble," Trevor said unexpectedly.

Barbara looked over, confused. "What kid?"

"Grayson."

She rolled her eyes, turning back to her computer. "How could he possible give me trouble?" Trevor didn't answer, and Barbara turned back to her records, Rick Grayson's existence slipping easily from her mind.

Sarah reached across the table and laid her fingers on top of Gordon's. "Jim, what's wrong?"

He forced a smile. "What isn't? This riddle case is about to hit the fan—if it hasn't already." He left unspoken the other things that weighed him down, like his family's cold resignation to Sarah's presence, and the increasing amount of time Babs was spending at the house of that bird boy (Gordon's private nickname for Trevor Wren).

"Jim," Sarah began hesitantly, and he knew she was about to say something he wouldn't like. "About the case—are you sure it's wise to trust the Batman so implicitly?"

Gordon stared at her. "Do you honestly think the Batman is knocking off his enemies?"

"Not necessarily, but this case is personal for him. Don't you think it's possible he'll, well, cross a few lines during the investigation and not tell you?"

"He's stepped over plenty of lines in the past, and he never tells me everything he's doing," Gordon said dryly. "But if you're asking whether he'll do anything more outrageous than usual, then no. He's made up some kind of a code for himself and he sticks to it, no matter what."

"What kind of a code?"

"He's never told me," Gordon said flatly.

"But you must have some guesses," she persisted.

Gordon traced the design on his plate with his fork tines, hesitating. "He never kills anyone," he said finally.

"Never kills anyone?" she exclaimed in disbelief. "What about the guy in the bank robbery last month?"

"He was killed in the course of committing a crime, but Batman didn't kill him," Gordon insisted.

He could tell by Sarah's compressed lips that she didn't agree, but finally dropped the subject. "So, is your mother-in-law still referring to me as 'that dinner guest'?" Gordon winced and Sarah laughed. "I'll take that as a yes."

"I'm sorry," he said miserably.

""Jim, it's all right. I don't expect your family to just … take me into their bosoms."

"Their bosoms? You've been reading Anne of Green Gables again," he accused. They both laughed, and then Gordon said soberly, "It's not you that Jane doesn't like, you know, or even the fact that I'm ready for a relationship. It's your job."

"She doesn't like cops."

"Nope. Never has."

"I suppose she wasn't too thrilled by your marriage."

"That's the understatement of the year. Actually, we were cowards and eloped. She didn't speak to us for a few years, but she came around when Babs was born."

Sarah looked wistful. Both her parents were dead and her only immediate family was a brother down south she hadn't talked to in three years. "I know my mom always wanted grandkids. I'm sorry she never got any. You're lucky to have Jane."

"I know," Gordon answered sincerely.

"About the Batman …" Sarah said abruptly. "Just be careful, Jim."

"Don't worry about me. And don't worry about the Bat, either. He's on our side."

Sarah sighed, running her finger around the rim of her water glass. "I hope so."

"Richard doing his homework?" Bruce asked, wandering into the pool room where Alfred was pottering with his aspidistras.

"I believe he's in conference with Mr. Peaceable."

"Oh good, that means the connection's working. I'm dubious about those South American providers."

"Yes, I think the system will work out quite well." Alfred snipped off a withered leaf and stepped back to admire his handiwork. "I actually talked Mr. Peaceable myself, earlier today. He wanted to make certain his equipment was functioning before his scheduled appointment with Richard. I called the office to let you know, but Jessica said you were in conference with Selina Kyle." Alfred pulled forward another pot.

"We weren't in conference exactly. She stopped by to give me a gift." Bruce wandered around the table, idly poking at the leaves of a purple orchid.

"Sir, please do not disturb the Phalanopsis. It's quite sensitive."

"Sorry."

"Did Dick … Richard … seem a little quiet to you?"

"Perhaps a bit. I think he was overwhelmed. It has been some time since he's had extended interaction with a group of his peers. I think it will be good for him."

"I hope you're right." Bruce started to reach for a pot full of blossoms, but caught himself when Alfred glared.

"What was the occasion?"

Bruce looked blank. "Occasion?"

"For the gift."

"Gift? Oh, nothing. It was just a joke," he said vaguely.

Alfred waited a minute, then prompted, "I like a good joke as much as the next man."

Bruce looked very faintly irritated. "She gave me an inflatable life vest in case I get knocked into another pool."

"Ah. Very clever. But then, she's a clever woman."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Alfred raised his eyebrows. "Nothing. That's how you described her to me the first time you met her."

"Did I?" Bruce had gone back from irritated to vague. "I'm going to go see if D-Rick-ard is off the computer."

He left the pool room and Alfred, staring abstractedly at a philodendron, cut off two perfectly healthy leaves before he realized what he was doing. Setting down his clippers, he frowned at the mutilated plant and thought about the puzzle of Selina Kyle. Every time her name entered a conversation, Bruce grew peculiar. It was probably not apparent to everyone, but to Alfred's trained eye the difference was obvious, and the best word he could think of to describe it was shifty. Something about the woman disturbed the master of Wayne Manor to the point that he didn't want to discuss her. He is a man, and not a very old one at that. Rachel Dawes moved away a long time ago, the butler reflected. I think I would like to meet Miss Kyle.

"How was your first day back?" Alex asked, his voice slightly out of sync with the image of his face on the computer screen.

Richard sighed. "It didn't feel like going back, more like I'd never been."

Alex looked sympathetic. "It has been a few years. How was the math class?"

The boy made a face. "Easy. So easy it confused me."

"You'll catch on soon enough," Alex said, laughing. "Maybe you should explain things to the teacher."

"Maybe," Richard said doubtfully. "How's Colombia?"

"Hot. Really hot. But Dr. Marquez has been a gracious host, and fortunately, he has air conditioning."

"In the middle of the jungle?"

"Si, Señor Grayson. Which reminds me, como está su clase de español?"

"Muy facil," Rick smirked. "Pero con mucha tarea."

"Que bien. Eres flojo y necesitas practicar."

"Es una mentira, no soy flojo," he protested. "And anyway, this is supposed to be math, not Spanish."

"All right," Alex relented, "but you should really come visit while I'm down here. A couple weeks of exposure would do a lot for your accent."

"What's wrong with my accent?"

"To American ears? Nothing. Have you looked through that book I left yet?"

"Most of it. It's a little out there."

"Time theory always is. Finish it by Thursday because I've got a surprise for you."

"Really? What's happening on Thursday?"

"No puedo decir. Es una sorpresa."

"Oh come on, just a hint?"

Alex grinned. "Nope. You're going to have to wait."

To Be Continued