Birthday
The latest operation concerning movements of illegal stolen artefacts has concluded. It has proved to be somewhat more taxing than I anticipated. Although finding the items in question presented significant challenges, the amount of physical resistance encountered to retrieve them was surprising. The methods the thieves implemented were professional and their clientele was extensive, including contacts from the other side of the world. This was expected. Employing former Special Forces soldiers from not only America but Europe and the Middle-East as their security contingent was not. Naturally, they proved to be very adept at their jobs: I now have four cracked ribs and severe bruising as proof of this. Tim is sour I did not allow him to engage equally in combat. However, my reasoning is sound enough, given what day tomorrow is. We return to the cave after supplying the GCPD with both the recovered goods and the contact list for their respective owners.
"Are you going to tell me the reason now I had to stand there and watch you get your ass kicked?" The boy challenges heatedly as we exit the vehicle bay. I stop and turn to face him.
"I did not get my 'ass kicked'. And you did not just stand there either. We achieved our primary goal without significant cost." I counter sternly. Tim, still wearing his domino mask, tightens his jaw.
"Did you tell your ribs that? I heard them crunch. Four damn times." He is not prepared to simply let this go. I pull back my cowl so he can see my eyes when I speak.
"Tomorrow is your sixteenth birthday party, an occasion your father has gone to great lengths to arrange for you. Tonight's opposition were of a higher and more dangerous calibre than expected. They had the ability to seriously injure you. Whilst I normally would allow such risks, the fact it is your birthday tomorrow..."
"Really? Because it's my birthday you bench me? I've taken down Special Forces before. I'm taken them down with you before: why make the distinction just because I'm a year older tomorrow?" I cannot help but frown as he poses what I consider almost a rhetorical question. The boy is bright. Incredibly bright. How can he not grasp why I instructed him to abstain from heavy combat? I reach over and gently remove his mask so we can look each other in the eye without barriers.
"Because I want you to enjoy yourself. It's your birthday, Tim. It is your day to be spoilt and praised. And you are turning sixteen. It is not an insignificant milestone. Considering all you have been through since we first met, don't you think you deserve to enjoy the occasion unimpeded by your job?" Blue eyes flicker in recognition at my actions and the reasons for them. As I said, he is very bright. He emits a sigh and runs a hand through his hair in something akin to frustration. He is still bothered.
"You shouldn't tell me to stand back while six guys beat on you simultaneously. Not like that. Not when I'm right there and ready to help. What if it had been more severe? What if they'd given you a brain haemorrhage?" I stare at him in incredulity. He rolls his eyes and nods. "Yeah, fine, a bit of a stretch given who you are, but still…It made me feel so guilty…" I put a hand on his shoulder to cut off this stress-inducing avenue of conversation. His eyes convey genuine pain for what I consider are minor injuries.
"Go home. Be with your father. Tonight when you go to bed, comfort yourself with the fact I am fine and you followed my orders in the exact manner I wanted you to. Sleep and wake up fresh to get the most out of a very special day, not only in your life, but your father's. He has raised a remarkable and highly talented sixteen-year-old boy, one he can always be proud of. Whatever you do, do not concern yourself with me or my well-being. I am fine. Everything is well. Understand?" He offers up a grateful smile and nods.
"Yeah." I return his smile.
"Yes?" I check whilst squeezing his shoulder and handing back his mask. He gives a more affirmative nod in taking it back.
"Uh-huh." I clap him once on the shoulder and then break physical contact altogether in transiting to the armoury. He follows close behind.
It is the following evening, somewhere close to ten. I have enjoyed a fully productive day. Since we finished so early the previous night, I rose at a sensible hour in the morning and have achieved several goals throughout the day. The latest Wayne Enterprises board meeting will now meet on Wednesday and all topics of discussion have been finalised. Media coverage of the retrieved goods from the operation shows all items are in transit to their rightful homes. My injuries are not as restricting as I anticipated and my general mobility is good. Regardless, per Alfred's advice, I have not trained today and will continue to abstain for the next four days. There is no rush to delve into a new investigation. It is best to let things settle before pressing forwards again. I am currently in the cave, reviewing telemetric data from my suit in regards to the previous evening's activities.
As I watch another elevated heartrate reading inform me of the time at which I received my third cracked rib, I hear a succession of steady footfalls. They are being made by sneakered feet, a fact that excludes Alfred's presence. It can only be Tim. When I turn my head from the command centre, I am proven correct. The boy is wearing new clothes. He has a numbered badge on his shirt that colourfully highlights his new age. It is very large. I like it. When he is mere feet away, I greet him.
"Happy birthday, Tim." He inclines his head and smiles.
"Thank you."
"How was everything? To your liking?" I ask turning the chair to face him. He nods and shrugs.
"Yeah, it was all good. Had a nice cake, like really big, and everyone got me some really nice presents. Would've been better if you'd turned up though."
"I did not wish to draw the attention away from you." It is not ego that prompts me to pose such a sentiment, but experience. I am Bruce Wayne. I am Gotham's richest man and well-known throughout the city as such. My appearance would only undermine Tim's day. He shrugs again.
"I really couldn't care less if you got stuck in the spotlight: I just would've liked to have you there. You and Alfred are a huge part of my life." I incline my head in appreciation whilst rising to my feet.
"Did Alfred…"
"Show up and stay for a couple of hours? Yes. Dropped off my present and card too. You really don't deserve him you know." The boy's voice is not angry or chiding. He expects this kind of behaviour from me. He understands why I am still more than an arm's distance from him in our friendship. Despite the old man galvanising me to action at Christmas, I still look at him and see Jason staring back.
"I know. Shall we go upstairs?" I reply. Tim scoffs.
"No. I'm here to go on patrol." He says already unbuttoning his shirt and strolling in the direction of the armoury. I make no attempt to stop him. I know why he is so eager to hit the streets. "It's ready right? Like your card said?" He calls once inside the armoury. I reach into my pocket.
"Yes it is." I say. He reappears less than two minutes later in uniform minus his mask. He looks at me eagerly. I pull a green domino mask from my pocket and hand it to him. He comes awfully close to snatching it in his excitement.
"Which lens is it in?" He asks turning it over to view the electronic circuits inside. I smile.
"Both. That way, when you return, we may view the footage in…"
"3-D?" He checks in bewilderment. I nod. He looks at the mask and shakes his head. "So. Freaking. Cool." He does not need to ask how to operate it. He flicks the relevant switch and places the mask on. "Can you watch it from here?" He asks gesturing to the computer display. I nod. "Better make it good then, huh?"
"Yes, you'd better. Off you go."
The boy returns shortly before one in the morning after a near three hour patrol. He practically leaps off his bike in the vehicle park and bounds up to the command centre where I have been watching the first-person camera feed since his departure. After he is seated and wrapped in a blanket to negate the sweat saturating his tunic and tights, we watch the playback…with 3-D glasses of course. The results are spectacular, exceeding my expectations by some way. Tim's handling of six assailants in the Bowery utilising his bow staff and the environment play out like a scene from an action film or video game. Although there were many highlights during his patrol, I have been selective and only put together a package with six. Due to radio contact throughout the evening, I know these are the moments he most wishes to see on screen.
Aside from the six-on-one beat down he meted out, other stand-out moments include clearing a nine-metre gap between rooftops without a grapnel, delivering a knockout kick to a three-hundred-pound former strongman via a wall push-off, catching a bottle thrown as a projectile during a mid-air flip and landing a double forward somersault on top of two opponent's heads. As we finish watching him execute a perfectly timed spinning back kick to what would be his final opponent's face this evening, the boy is all smiles. He removes his glasses and nods.
"That was awesome." He remarks, "Really awesome." I remove my glasses and offer similar praise.
"Yes. I must admit, there were elements of your performance that were simply outstanding. You should be very proud of yourself this evening." He turns to me and grins.
"Thanks. I feel great." As one would expect, irony is not far behind such a statement. No sooner has he finished articulating this sentiment, blood begins to trickle from one corner of his mouth, legacy of the eleven hits that made contact with his face tonight. He can evidently feel it too as he reaches up to touch the damage. I gently push his hand back down whilst reaching into my trouser pocket and producing my handkerchief. I instruct him to hold still as I dab and wipe away the blood. He complies without fuss.
"I think this is a good juncture for you to shower and go home, Tim." I say folding my handkerchief away and placing it on the edge of the chair. It will have to be washed thoroughly. He nods in agreement, getting to his feet as he does so.
"Yeah, you're right. It's pretty cold in this getup now."
Twenty minutes later, the boy is showered and back into his civilian clothes. We have moved from the cave to the front door where Tim is readying to depart. Alfred has long since gone to bed.
"So, shall I see you tomorrow?" I inquire. The boy nods.
"Yep." Tim seems uncomfortable at present, although I cannot think why. "Don't freak out, okay?"
"Why would I…" Before I can finish, the boy has wrapped his arms around me in an impromptu hug. I stiffen immediately but thankfully not for long enough to make it awkward. I pat him on the back and ruffle his hair briefly. He continues to hug me. I repeat my actions. And yet, it continues further. "Tim. Please let go." I say quietly after a minute has elapsed. He releases me.
"You'd better come over next year. If I find you looking at telemetry data at ten at night again, I'll know you've just been procrastinating all day." He says with a determined smile. I smile back. He knows me too well.
"Fair enough. Goodnight Tim."
"Night, Bruce."