"Everything went all right then, sir, I presume?"
I'm trying to cover my head with my pillow to escape the light now penetrating the bedroom, but it becomes hard to breathe, so I pull it off to see Alfred standing by the drawn curtain. He throws open the window, and I can feel a cool breeze flood the air. Judging by the angle of the sunlight—it's maybe one, two o'clock in the afternoon.
I struggle to sit up and notice the tea and toast next to the bed. "Yeah, Alfred. Mr. Jones shouldn't be bothering anyone else for a while."
"Then I hope you take it easy today."
"I have to fix the Batmobile. The left front tire—"
"I will take care of it, sir. What you need to do is drink your tea before it gets cold and go see Haly's circus tonight. It's finally back in Gotham. I've gotten you a ticket for yourself and a friend, if you'd like to take anyone. But take a day, Master Bruce. Take a day."
Alfred is already leaving, but as I slide out of bed and put on a dressing gown, I address him. "Thank you, Alfred. For everything."
"You don't have to thank me, Master Bruce. I've been around far too long for that."
I can't think of anything else to say. Instead, I pick up the two tickets that are neatly tucked under the tray. Tapping them against my palm, I ask "Is Jackson going?"
"He and Miss Gordon are going together."
"You should go too, Alfred. You spend too much time here, instead of with your son. You can still take me up on that offer, you know."
"Master Bruce…" Alfred sighs. "Not to say that you didn't turn out all right, there are better places to raise a child. Here, he would have everything he wanted," he gestured around himself, "but so much more. And so much less. He's in a good place, sir. Down with the Gordon's, maybe he doesn't have his own room. Or as many video games as he'd like. But he has friends; he has a mother. I can still see him as much as I'd like, and life is… simpler. Also, I can tell that Jim appreciates the extra hand."
"All right. But if you want to move him into the manor, you don't even have to ask."
Alfred smile. "I won't. Enjoy your time at the circus, Master Bruce."
The Flying Graysons, says the ticket. The show that they're having at the circus. It starts at six. I can't think of anyone to take, but I decide to go. Crime's been slow. It'd be nice if it stayed that way.
Three hours later it starts to snow. I close the windows against the darkening sky and leave the house. I have to make the conscious decision to take the Lamborghini instead of going to the Batcave. But as I roll through the city, studded with light and iced with frost, I wish that I'd walked. It was a beautiful day to not be noticed.
After I leave my car with a valet, I pull my hat down low and walk the rest of the way to the circus. They've closed off the streets from first to sixth—tents are set up instead, selling food and trinkets and offering to tell your fortune. I watch little children running around shrieking, waving their pretzels and lollipops, dodging around trees but always being called back by their parents. My parents and I did the circus whenever it was in town. Dad would buy us hot dogs—Mom would get a puff of blue cotton candy. Then we'd get front row seats at the show. Afterwards they'd buy coffee and I'd get hot chocolate and we'd just sit and watch the lights and bustle. I'd usually fall asleep around then. They'd have to carry me back to the car.
I realize that I've stopped walking and notice one of the children I'd seen earlier staring at me. He has a wad of cotton candy stuck to his lip. Pink. "You look like Bruce Wayne," he says.
"Yeah," I reply. "I've heard that."
It's getting closer to showtime. I make my way down the increasingly wet, but increasingly crowded and cheerful street. On the sidewalks, the snow has gathered about two inches thick already. But down on the pavement, amid hordes of excited people—it never stood a chance.
I find the biggest tent, set up in the square. I look up at the worn yellow-and-red mass of canvas that's so familiar to me. The sky has long since become a mass of black clouds, glowing orange from the city lights. While some people may find this a sad image of industrialization, it gives me comfort.
It's only when I look down that I notice the girl.
Probably about twelve years old. Obviously homeless. Dark hair shaggily cut, wrapped in a brown coat that's much too large for her. She's sitting on a concrete planter, underneath a slim, skeletal maple. Maybe because of her age, maybe because she's a girl, maybe because she's not begging—everyone gives her a pass. I watch her for a moment. All she's doing is looking up at the tent, then to the other little children running around in excitement. Then she goes back to intently studying the ground, and the people passing by.
It would be easy for anyone to think she was just looking for money, but I was able to put it together. What she really wanted was a ticket.
I consider personally giving her my extra, but then I think of the stupid paparazzi that always seemed to pop up, and the media, and what everyone would most certainly consider as a publicity stunt. So instead I walk by her while fidgeting with my hand inside my pocket. I make sure that one of the tickets is pushed out and falls to the ground. I walk a good ways down the street until I find a vendor that sells blue cotton candy. Candy in hand, I forge back up the street and find that the ticket is gone, and so is the girl.
I'm happy as I enter the tent. It's the first time that I've been back to Haly's since my parents died. But it's all right. Maybe I'm not here with them—but things are going all right.
However, I soon discover that that thought is only an illusion. And by the abrupt, catastrophic end of the show I'm sitting there speechless, wondering how I could have ever entered that tent with the thought that things were going to be all right.
One hour ago
"Raya?"
He heard giggling from behind a nearby booth. Dodging around it, he saw Raya disappearing down the next street. "You can't catch me, Dick!"
"Raya, give it back!" Dick ran after her, finally being able to vault over a planter that she'd had to swerve to avoid. Landing in front of her, he stuck out his hand. "Raya, I have to be back at the tent in five minutes! You know that I only have an hour before showtime!"
Raya pouted. "Fine." She gave back his lucky pin that she'd snatched from his trailer a few minutes earlier. "You work too much now. Remember when you were too young to do the show and we'd just run around and eat cotton candy all day?"
"I used to miss it… but now I wouldn't trade back for anything. You coming to the show?"
"I'm sorry, Dick, I can't—I have to help my mum run her booth."
Dick was busy tucking the pin back into his pocket. "It's okay, Raya. You've seen it too many times before."
He'd scarcely looked back up when she threw her arms around him. "Then good luck, my Flying Grayson."
He blushed, but she was gone.
As he ran back through the street, Dick's head was swirling. A few years ago, he'd told his father that he thought Raya was pretty, but his father had just said, "Son, I'd hold off on thinking about women just yet. Nine-year-olds have other stuff to deal with. Just be a gentleman. Try not to get on her bad side. Oh, and uh," his father had poked his head back into the Grayson trailer, on his way to the show, "by the way… girls like gifts." He'd winked and then left.
The next day, Dick had found Raya playing with one of her dolls behind the fortune-telling booth. She'd looked up. "Hi, Dick."
"Hi." He knew he was stammering, but still managed to extend his hand to her. "I made this for you."
It was his best attempt at a necklace. He had no idea what she'd think, as it was mostly spare parts on a piece of string. A few bottlecaps, watch gears, and the little silver cat charm he'd found on the sidewalk a few months ago. He'd been keeping it in a box, wondering what to do with it.
She'd taken it and looked it over. Then she'd smiled and pulled him into one of the tightest hugs he'd ever experienced. "It's beautiful!"
Even though he couldn't see a thing through the tangle of red hair that his face was then stuck in, he was smiling too.
Though they were now both twelve, she still wore the necklace and Dick was still hopeful.
"Richard John Grayson!"
He raced into the backstage area of the tent. "Here! I'm here!"
He was facing the angry visage of his mother. "Where have you been? For goodness sake, it's showtime in forty minutes! You're supposed to be practicing your act. You know that we can't use the net during performance!"
"Ma, you've seen me," he said, sheepishly. "I haven't needed a net since I was ten."
She was quite the image, smoldering down at him from her height (not great, but greater than his). She was already in full performance uniform, purple and blue spandex. She appeared to snort flames for a second more before she laughed and threw his own red, green, and yellow costume at him. "Come on, son, get changed. And don't go wandering off again."
"I won't, Ma."
"Checked the wires for the performance," said Dick's father, ducking under the tent flap. He was also in full costume, ready for the show. "They're sound and in prime condition." He noticed Dick. "Ah, so you've found the little devil. Playing with Raya, were you, son?"
"Sorry, Dad. Won't happen again."
His father chuckled. "I'm sure it won't." As he passed Dick, he whispered, "Did you notice that she polishes the cat charm?"
Dick grinned as he got ready to get back up where he was comfortable—flying through the sky.
Tana shivered and shifted position. She wasn't sure if she wanted to give up and go home, or give in and pickpocket a ticket off of someone. Or sneak in. But no, if she was caught sneaking into the Grayson show, then she might get into legal trouble, and that was something that she needed to avoid.
She couldn't buy a ticket, of course. She saved her money for food. She'd spent all of her money from the last job stocking up. The circus food was very cheap. And they had an astoundingly large selection of dried fruit and meat, which would keep well.
But she wanted two things—one, to watch. She spent all of her free time haunting Gotham's alleyways and sneaking out at night to pull thievery jobs for crime bosses. It didn't even pay very well. So… no circus shows. It was simple—she was tired of it. She was twelve. Even if she was used to her life, every once in a while she just wanted one night to pretend she was a normal kid.
But then, after the show, she wanted to see if she could get a job at the circus. Maybe she'd be able to give up the sorry excuse for a life that she had in Gotham. If she had a ticket to the show she might be able to get in now… and then not be chased out of the area later. Gotham police and homeless people.
So she was sitting, watching. Looking for any dropped tickets or cash.
She pulled her coat tighter around herself again. Plenty of these people were from Gotham's upper crust. If she stole their ticket, they'd just get a new one.
She sighed. Or maybe she should just skip the show and come back later.
She had always been like this, always hesitant, always conflicted, from the moment she'd decided to run away from the orphanage. If she'd chosen to stay, she would have had food, shelter and an education (even if it was a terrible one). She'd chosen to leave—so in a way, she'd chosen to live as a thief. But was there a choice, really? Living free, or living in the sorry abusive madhouse that was called a foster home?
And then, with the stealing… she'd used her size to her advantage. She'd learned to be silent, to infiltrate even some of the highest security penthouses with nothing but a knife and some stolen gadgets. She didn't really care about inconveniencing the people she stole from—if she cared about anything, it was the fact that she was doing something morally wrong. But should she care, really? This was Gotham, after all. If no one was going to give her a job (and she had tried) what else was she supposed to do?
Tana shifted again. This was exactly why she hated sitting still. She thought too much. It gave her a headache. Looking up at the tent above her, lit by spotlights, then down at two children of a rich-looking family who were playing around nearby, she decided to just give up and pick someone's pocket. Scanning the ground one last time, fruitlessly, she was about to get down when she noticed a man walking by. He seemed upset or something—fidgety. But he had two tickets sticking out of his coat pocket. As his hand twitched around inside his coat, one of the tickets came loose and fluttered to the ground.
He didn't seem to notice. Instead, he walked away, and once he was a good distance down the street Tana leapt down and snatched the ticket off the ground. She couldn't tell if it he'd done it on purpose, or if he would turn around in a minute, looking for his other ticket, but she didn't care. She had her ticket.
She smirked, before slipping the ticket into her pocket and sloshing off to get in line.
Just to make it clearer, I've added some new characters as well as reinterpreting some of the original ones.
- Batman is owned by DC. -