Author's Note; More to come.

Prosecution and Defence

What I'm wearing is hideous. It's a handmade and custom tailored black dress suit with a white shirt and a red tie that I've somehow managed to fasten into a Windsor knot. I hate how perfectly it fits me and the image it must project to the mass of newscasters and journalists gathered in front of the podium Bruce is addressing them from. I must look like a spoilt, little rich brat to them and the big guy must just look like an arrogant bastard even if the scheme is for a better cause than they know. Bruce has adopted his charming, philanthropist persona, the sort of affable nice guy you just want to punch in the face, and is wooing the crowd over with his usual bag of verbal tricks.

He deflects criticism that what we're doing is just a publicity stunt and the scheme is solely for the purpose of Wayne Enterprises to boost its manual labour force to meet demands. He tells them that he wants to help those who have not been given the proper tools or encouragement to have a real shot at a good life. He says this with as much sincerity and passion as is needed to fool the more sceptical members of the reporting world into believing him. As far as I can tell, everything is going exactly as planned. Not that I can tell much standing off to one side of him and zoning out the rest of the world as best as humanly possible. Even though I wolfed down a huge plate of scrambled egg whites, baked beans and soy toast with a side order of muesli and honey, I'm starving up here and my stomach is gnawing at my insides as the conference drags on and on and on. That's actually what I'm obsessing about when I cotton on to the fact Bruce is addressing me.

"Jason?"

"Yeah?"

"They'd like to hear from you." Bruce is saying with one hand over the mike. I frown.

"Who's 'they'?" I ask only for the big man to gesture to the crowd with a sweeping arm gesture. I stare at them and then him in morbid silence. He said nothing about me speaking to two-hundred people at ten in the morning at a podium in a suit when I should still be naked and asleep and in bed right this second. I want to strangle him right now for this, I really do. His eyes almost beg me to speak and I roll mine to tell him I'll do it. "What do they want to hear?"

"Just something they can take to the printers for publication. Tell them why you're backing the scheme." He replies in a confidential tone. I shrug.

"To grab Two…"

"No. Tell them something other than that." He says with a little irritation at my lack of enthusiasm for public games and playacting. I sigh.

"Fine." Bruce proceeds to pull his lips back into a big fake smile, turns to the crowd and speaks in the mike.

"Ladies and Gentleman, my ward Jason Todd. Let's give him a big hand." The man says in an energetic voice that projects excitement and anticipation without promising either, but they eat it up and applaud anyway. Bruce steps away and I step up and face them. I'm not remotely scared of the occasion or the setting: big crowds and the noise of the city relax me more than silent intimacy of an evening meal at the manor. I cast a long look over the sea of generic faces and begin to roll when the applause begins to dwindle.

"I'm a very proud person and I value my independence. I hate charity and I hate hand-outs because of how proud and stubborn I am. When I was a little kid, I lost both my parents and took to the streets to survive. And I don't know how tough the streets of other cities are but Gotham's streets are paved with absolute shit and it takes real balls to stick it out on them for the long haul. For most people who find themselves walking these shit-filled streets, there's no light at the end of the tunnel and hardly any daylight to begin with anyway. Even at twelve I felt the crushing sense of inevitability on my shoulders as I struggled to feed myself and keep warm on these streets, but Bruce changed that. He took me in when I honestly thought nobody would ever care for me and that I would die alone in an alley or a gutter. He changed my life. And he didn't ask anything in return from me, just the promise that I would try and better myself for nobody else but myself. Now he's willing to do the same for dozens of kids in almost exactly the same position as I was in. And he's willing to do it now, off his own back and with his own money. The man just wants to help. But it's not charity he's offering or a hand-out but an opportunity and a chance to do something good for the having the courage to try. If only every other silver-spooned rich guy in the city was as quick to do the same, we might just be able to repave those streets with the gold they surely once had and get the daylight back for all those who still dwell in the dark. Thanks a lot."

They don't applaud me: they cheer their heads off and I feel strange as I step back down and let Bruce bring these proceedings to a close. Personally I thought it sounded too hokey and too wordy to be taken seriously. I didn't plan it that way but that's the way it went. He claps me on the shoulder a few times, probably more for the cameras than my reassurance, and begins to field the closing questions from the audience. We're back in the Rolls less than ten minutes later.

"That was a very effective speech you just made, Jason. You sold it to them perfectly. I hope you are pleased with yourself." Bruce commends me after we've been silent for close to five minutes. I want to tell him that I wasn't selling anything. I was just trying to get my feelings across. But I won't tell him that because he doesn't deserve it, not right now. So I just nod my head, slouch back and undo the top button on my shirt.

"Sure whatever. So now that's in place when can we expect to move forward with the next stage of this operation?" I ask yanking my tie knot away from my throat as well.

"The first therapy session is scheduled two days after tomorrow. The list of successful candidates has already been broadcast around the city and the accommodation is being prepared for immediate habitation as we speak."

"How'd you know our guys are going to go for it?"

"Because they're smart like you and know that this is a good deal. Trust me when I tell you that they will report to work tomorrow and do their absolute best to earn their way."

When we arrive back at the house, Bruce and I go our separate ways without saying another word. He goes to the cave and I head back upstairs to get rid of the disgusting corporate image my clothes are giving me. When I get to my room I find that she's still here and rooting through my bedside table drawers. Well, rooting isn't the right word: she's sat on the edge of my bed neatly inspecting the few photos and keepsakes I actually leave there. She's studying me like a real detective would, probably trying to figure out how to get through what she thinks are my defences. I stand in the doorway and watch, conscious of the fact she knows I'm here and is choosing to ignore me. She wants me to know she isn't interested in just getting the upper hand for the next round of verbal sparring; she just wants to understand me.

"The file he gave me wasn't extensive. It read mostly like a police report and psychologist's thesis. It didn't say for example that you had any kind of religious beliefs." She says whilst displaying prayer beads in a manicured hand. I smirk at the very idea I believe in God.

"I don't. I found them in a subway bathroom when I was sleeping rough. I thought they were pretty so I kept them." That's almost the truth. I actually did find them in a subway bathroom but it was after the guy I was sucking off dropped them on his way out. She smiles at me.

"That's sweet. You're a bit of magpie aren't you? Plenty of shiny stuff in here."

"I'm not big into personal possessions. I prefer space." I inform her whilst wandering into the room and discarding my suit jacket and tie on the chair. "So I can dump shit wherever I feel like it." I add before kicking off my shoes. She puts my things away and closes the drawer.

"Do you not want me to be your tutor?" She asks me with seriousness I find unsettling. I respond by scoffing at the question like it's crazy.

"I told you to stick around didn't I? That means I like you. "I say taking off my shirt and pants. I banish them to the laundry basket even though they're both brand-new. She doesn't bat an eyelid, probably because of earlier today. That's good.

"Bruce says it's hard to read you. I guess he's right." She muses regarding me as I slip my workout sweats back on. I shake my head in disagreement.

"I'm not hard to read. I just make it a challenge. He needs someone he can't dissect like a worm in biology class. That's me."

"You think he's an asshole huh?" She says to make me smile. She's more perceptive than most people: they usually think I'm indifferent to Bruce not that I often despise him. I shrug.

"Maybe he can't help it but I'd like to think he could if he really wanted to."

"Yeah I used to think that too. He did the cold shoulder act to me and Dick as well."

"Not like this he didn't. Not like this." I tell her with more than a little bitterness. I expect her to do more talking and more defending of Bruce and his actions. When she pats the vacant part of the bed next to her I'm a lot more willing to listen. I wander over, sit down and look at her expectantly. She takes hold of my hand with hers and squeezes it. It reminds me vaguely of my mom doing something similar when I felt lonely or upset. It wasn't as girly as a hug or as ineffective as a pat on the head, but it did make me feel better. Barbara must be familiar with the trick because Bruce sure as hell isn't.

"This place must be pretty lonely for you then." She remarks without sounding overly sympathetic which I like too. I shrug.

"I have Al."

"It's more like Al has you. Bruce doesn't need anybody but he has you both. You need both but when it really comes down to it, you have neither." I jerk my hand away from hers and stand up.

"Jeez, want me to just cut my wrists now and be done with it?" I inquire whilst preparing to walk out the room.

"Jason, wait. I shouldn't have phrased it like that. It sounded pretty bad. What I meant is if you need a friend more than a tutor, I'm here for you." She calls after me. I want to accept her offer right now but I can't, so I don't. She should feel guilty about it and it should eat at her for a while. "I'll think about it. In the meantime, why don't you hit the bricks and give me some space. I need to masturbate at some point today and I really need my bed to do it." I say to leave her under no illusions of what I want to happen. Then I go downstairs without looking back at her.

I find Bruce logging data on the computer terminal. He looks to be compiling a list of his selected scheme candidates and entering the dates and times at which they accepted his offer of employment. He's still wearing his suit minus the tie and looks deep in concentration. His little minion hurt me just now with her casual observations of my social life. It stings more because of how easily she said it and how quickly I reacted: I had to leave straight away, a sign of weakness. If it's true, it's because of Bruce. I wait for him to focus his attentions on me. After three minutes, he breaks eye contact with the screen and regards me.

"What she just said hurt me. I know you told her to push the fact I was isolated from most of society here, but she could've had a little more tact than that." I snap at him, trying to switch my hurt to anger. He sighs lethargically.

"Sometimes Barbara has a tendency to cut to the chase when given a simple brief. She did not mean to upset you I am certain."

"Well as long as she didn't mean to do it, it's all okay right?" I say in a mocking imitation of his voice. He shakes his head.

"No it's not. But I do want you to try and work with her from tomorrow morning. Ordinarily Barbara is very personable with the people around her, but she wasn't sure after her first meeting with you of how to proceed. I tried to direct her but I failed. That is my failing not hers and I am sorry it caused you pain." He apologizes but the truth is I'm already getting tired of his apologies like they exonerate him of any wrong-doing on his part. I hate words that are meaningless.

"Whatever." I say with a half-assed shrug and turn away to leave. For probably the first time in our entire history, the big guy does not simply watch me leave. He grabs hold of my wrist before I'm out of range and halts my advance. I look at him in silence with an expression I hope is unreadable because he is trying to study me with the same determination he uses to study criminals under interrogation. He doesn't say a word or even try to open his mouth while we stare at one another.

Without relinquishing the firm grasp he has on my wrist, Bruce swings the other chair to where I'm standing and gently pulls me down into it. I don't resist the motion and allow him to sit me down beside him. The big man then lets my wrist go before snaking an arm around my back and pulls me towards him until my head falls against his shoulder. At this point, his hand comes off my far shoulder and begins to lightly comb my hair without any hesitation. Unlike earlier, none of his movements are stiff or robotic: it all seems natural. I almost feel like he's finally grasped how indifferent I am to the effect opening his mouth and speaking has on me nowadays. It almost seems like he realises what it takes to make me pay attention to him. In either case, his revelations about me are way too late in coming. This should've been obvious, but it's rare he even attempts a stunt like this. I don't jerk my head away or tell him to stop because I'd like to pretend I actually have a father who loves me for a few minutes longer. So I close my eyes and fantasize about that tantalising possibility as Bruce carries on stroking my hair like I always hoped my old man would. He never did though, not his style.

Bruce doesn't ruin it by saying something dumb or sappy or awkward and just lets me enjoy my moment in his very narrow spotlight. I know after I open my eyes again everything will be the same as it ever was between us. I will get up and leave and this time he won't do anything to stop me. I'll go to the gym, shower, and have dinner and then suit up for tonight's patrol duties. Bruce will stay here, logging data until he decides to switch to surveillance or intelligence compilation and then probably wait for me to fly back to the nest. He'll get my report, I'll get my lumps for not being perfect and we'll both go to bed. It's a formula and a day I repeat all the time and just like a formula, it never changes. Because in his mind it works. And in my mind to try and change it would only result in a worse deal. I delude myself for another two minutes of Bruce's rationed affections, get up and then the scene plays out exactly as it did in my head. Groundhog Day.

I'm out on patrol, surrounded by nine potential rapists and shielding a terrified woman from their reach. I don't feelings out here and I don't need Bruce's affections: I just need to break some bones. Three of them appear to be the ringleaders of this merry troupe and I concentrate on them first. They've come prepared and have a wide array of knives and blunt objects on hand to try and take me down. But when two of them come in at once, both armed with short blades, I know they're strictly amateurs. The one charging from the left is a step ahead of his partner so I strike him first. I jab him in the throat with two stiff fingers to stun him before delivering a brutal roundhouse kick to the other guy's head as I pivot on my heel. The other seven back off slightly as the two of them crash and burn at my feet. To emphasise my point that kid gloves are off I hammer a boot into my throat man's ribs with enough force to break at least two of them. I turn to the woman, an attractive brunette in her late twenties.

"Stay perfectly still. This'll all be over soon." I whisper to her with a smile. She takes a deep breath and nods. I engage three of them in hand-to-hand combat, parrying hit after hit and countering with blows to their knees, ankles and floating ribs to take away both their power and vertical base. Bruce always said to work from the bottom up and I always do. That's why inside of twenty seconds, there are only four left and they look ready to drop a load in their pants right there. They haven't got the appetite for a battle with me anymore and are looking for an exit. Unfortunately between the back alley wall and me, they've got no room to manoeuvre. It takes me less than a minute to finish the job and leave myself as the only thing left standing. I crouch down beside the woman and tell her to open her eyes.

"See? I told you there was nothing to worry about. I'm going to call the cops and get you some professional assistance from GCPD's finest." I say helping her to her feet. She's still shook up by the experience, no surprise since when I got here they'd already started cutting off her clothes. She nods in understanding.

"Thank you." She tells me whilst trying to regain her composure. Her expression of relief morphs into a frown when she looks at my face. "You're hurt." She says. I touch my lip and find fresh blood.

"It's nothing. I'm fine."

"Your nose is broken." She informs me in a matter-of-fact tone that suggests she's works in the medical racket. I don't think I even felt it happen. She starts scanning the alleyway, "I've got something to help ease the pain in my bag."

"Really lady it's not necessary." I say only for her to pick up the bag resting near the dumpster and begin foraging through it. She shakes her head.

"Kids your age are always saying crap like that – even when they break arms or sever fingers. Trust me I've worked as an ER nurse for long enough to know that bravery is the same as stupidity if you don't bother to look after yourself. Hold still." She examines my nose and nods. "It's a clean break. It just needs setting and the bones should heal just fine." She sets it back in place there and then. Despite the excruciating pain it causes, I don't move. She raises her eyebrows. "Jeez, you really are a tough guy: most sixteen-year-olds cry and all of them scream to some degree or another, but not you." She comments whilst wiping away the blood from my upper lip with some disinfectant wipes.

"I'm not supposed to be like everybody else." I offer before considering something else she mentioned. "How did you know I was sixteen?" She smiles.

"I'm very good at guessing people's ages. How old do you think I am?"

"Forty-five." She rolls her eyes and smirks.

"Very funny. Now that should do for the minute, but you need to make sure you get that properly looked at as soon as possible. Here's some ibuprofen to take down the swelling and some parcetemol for the pain. It's probably not going to be that great, but it's all I've got." She says handing some blue and pink pills. I incline my head in gratitude.

"Thanks for the help Nurse."

"It's Sandra. Feel free to drop by the clinic any time for a free check-up, Robin."

"I thought you worked in the ER."

"There's only so much violence you can take in a hospital. I left about six months ago to work someplace less hectic." She says with a slightly sad smile on her lips. I radio the police, wait until they arrive to cart away the scum and then, once Sandra's safe, I leave to finish my rounds. As I head towards The Narrows to wrap up the night, I can't help thinking about how nice some ordinary people are. She didn't even know me but treated me like a friend anyway. I know I saved her life from irreparable damage, but it still didn't mean she was obligated to offer me any help. If our positions were reversed and she was saving me, I know for a fact I wouldn't want to try and repay her: I'd be too embarrassed and probably too scared to do anything but run off as soon as the coast was clear. The fact she didn't says a lot about her character…and Barbara's. I should give her another chance away from Bruce. I'll try again when she comes round tomorrow…or later this morning seeing as it's just gone midnight.

I'm in the middle of negotiating with a gang of thieves in The Narrows. Well, really it's more like a bit of gentle wrestling. Well, really it's more like six versus one in a slugfest. Well, really it's pretty much over already. I'm just knocking down the last one when I sense another reinforcement to my left flank. I whip round and connect to their solar plexus with enough momentum and power to send them flying a couple of feet. As soon as I hit them I realise my mistake. Batgirl is sprawled on the floor in a heap. After a few seconds of groaning, Barbara gets to her feet clutching her stomach.

"My god you hit hard! It's like I got into a fight with a cement truck." She says sucking in air through her teeth. I roll my eyes at yet another example of her invading my privacy without permission. I gesture at her costume.

"What the hell are you doing? He told me you retired a while back."

"Since you weren't willing to let me get to know you at the house, I figured the streets would be the next best place to understand you." She explains having recovered from the hit. I narrow my eyes.

"You've been following me all night?"

"Only the last couple of hours. You beat up a hell of a lot of people in a night. Where do you get the energy?"

"Pop-tarts." I say without any humour. She sighs.

"Look, I meant what I said earlier. I'm sorry for upsetting you and I want to be your friend. Can we just put it behind us?"

I pretend to consider her offer for a couple of minutes, just to make her sweat a little. Since she's come all the way out here and is clearly still feeling bad over what she said, I can rule out tampering. I nod my head in agreement. "Fine. I'm wrapping things up for the night. Once these morons are under lock and key, I'm heading home. I'll see you there later." I tell her before turning to my radio. She leaves as soon as I take my eye off her. For a girl who's been out of the game for a while, she sure can shadow someone well: I didn't even know she was watching. But her conditioning's soft and so are her reflexes: I can dodge sucker punches like that in my sleep and even if I can't, my abs soak up punishment easily. Why am I assessing her abilities as a fighter when she just wanted to conduct one more field study? Because somehow I don't think this is going to be a one-off thing: I think Bruce wants her to chaperone me here as well as at home. If she doesn't tighten up and get her range back, the likelihood of me getting killed goes sky-high if I have to concentrate on protecting her too.

GCPD cart away the dregs, I thank them for their assistance on the big man's behalf and then start back to the cave. When I arrive back I find Al in his dressing gown fussing over some food on a serving tray near the command centre. I'm tired as I climb the stairs to the upper levels of the cave and when I reach where the old man is, I'm close to collapse.

"You got cake, Al?"

Only for young men with eager appetites, Sir."

"I've got an appetite alright." I tell him even though it's a complete lie. I hate disappointing him when he's made this kind of effort just for me. But I can't stop myself falling back into the command chair to give part of the game away. He puts a blanket round my shoulders without even thinking and hands me a piece of strawberry cake on a plate.

"I hope this is to your liking then." He tells me whilst pulling up a chair beside me. I take a bite and shake my head in disbelief that this man is someone's butler when he should have his own cooking show.

"It's a knockout." I say taking another bite and then setting it down. He smiles in understanding. He knows I'll either be sick or fall asleep if I try to eat anymore than I already have. He pats me on the back.

"Let's get you to bed young man."

"I'm sorry Al. It looks really good but I just can't." He responds by stroking my hair softly and nodding.

"I know Jason. I know."

Al helps me up to the house and to the shower. Once I'm clean of stale sweat and other people's blood, he puts me in bed and examines my new bruises and my broken nose in particular. "I think it is an improvement. Your face was simply too pristine before. Now it has almost a Picasso-like quality to it." He says with a wry smile. I love you Al.

"Bite me old man."

"And you may tell me about it in the morning. From the assistance you've already received for it, I'm confident you can just go to sleep and worry about how swollen it gets tomorrow." And that's my cue to exit. I think I'm drifting before he's even halfway across the room.