Chapter 4

Dick groaned. He really was beginning to hate women. Now Alfred kept luring him into the kitchen to try and get him to talk and Bruce kept giving him worried looks and had even sent him to the doctor, also a woman, for various embarrassing tests. All because he had flinched away when that grandmotherly type woman had tried to hug him at that last party. Okay, from contact with just about everyone, but there wasn't anything weird in that. He just liked his space. And to top it all off, Poison Ivy was still on the loose, and Violet Myra was still saturated in her revolting perfume. So lately he had taken to skulking the halls and hiding whenever he heard anyone come close. He was beginning to rival Bruce for brooding in the shadows.

Now, Dick was wandering about a seldom used hallway in the hope of finding solitude. His hopes were dashed when he heard voices approaching. Rather than fleeing, however, he jumped up on an old table that scarcely looked like it could hold his weight. From there he was able to swing up to the top of a neighboring cabinet and into the rafters of the roof. There were many rafters in this part of the house. It was airier here and less formal or stuffy, which was part of the reason Dick had chosen it for his haunting. It was also remote, which was doubtless why Bruce was talking with Alfred there; they doubtless didn't want to be overheard.

"I just don't know what to do," Bruce was saying as they walked, "Physically, there's nothing wrong but the way he's acting...you know at that last party when Mrs. Lorden went to give him a hug he pushed away so hard he nearly sent her falling into the buffet! And last year at the same party he was charming everyone. If only he would just talk to me, and tell me what's wrong! He's acting like...like he was hurt, but he won't tell me!" Bruce sounded so anguished just then, so worried that Dick almost wanted to jump down from his perch and comfort him. But Dick didn't know what was wrong, not really. And Bruce never wanted to hear anything about his perfect Myrie.

"Have you thought, perhaps, that it might be best to seek professional help," Alfred suggested, "I haven't been able to get anything out of him, except that he hates your latest girl friend." Bruce sighed.

"Truth be told, that perfume of hers gets on my nerves as well," Bruce said, and now Dick almost came down by tumbling from the rafters, but he only just saved himself. "I ran tests on the stuff a million times," Bruce continued, "There's no connection with Poison Ivy's latest scheme, nothing that shouldn't be there. She must just like how it smells, revolting though it is."

"Perhaps it would help if you would tell master Dick the truth about the young lady," Alfred said, "At the moment he seems to half fear you mean to marry her."

Bruce didn't answer for a long moment. Dick listened, waiting. Did that mean Bruce wasn't as in love as he was acting?

"I think I might have married her," Bruce said at last, and Dick had to swallow against the sudden urge to throw up. The thought of that woman living with them, forever, was more revolting than her perfume. "But I can't," Bruce continued, "She isn't the type who would mix well with Batman. Even I can see that. And Dick can't stand her; I wouldn't do something like that to him." But he sounded so regretful and sad that Dick immediately began to feel guilty. If he wasn't there, perhaps Bruce could truly find happiness. Perhaps he already would have. Though, surely, Myra couldn't be it.

"The suit should not be an excuse," Alfred scolded lightly, "But I can't say that I'm not relieved."

"It's just...it is nice to have something for Bruce, for once," Bruce continued, "Something uncomplicated and easy."

"If you don't mind me saying, sir," Alfred answered, "Romance is never uncomplicated or easy."

"I suppose you're right," Bruce answered, "But what are we going to do about Dick? Do you really think we need a psychiatrist?"

"We do not seem to be able to help," Alfred pointed out. And then they continued their walk, their voices growing low in the distance until they faded out completely. Dick stayed up in the rafters, thinking on what he had heard.

"I don't need a shrink," he whispered to himself after a moment, "I just need Violet Myra to be gone." And he swung back down again and continued his walk, taking a direction away from where he had seen Bruce and Alfred go. He tried to ignore that he was shaking, that even now he could smell the faint odor of violets, that the drowning dreams had gotten worse. The doctor had said there was nothing wrong with him, and there wasn't. Nothing but strange dreams that conjured horrid feelings. That was all it was. Dreams.