A/N: Have an extra-long chapter, as a treat.

Chapter 9: Hit and Miss

Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
—Philip Larkin, "This Be the Verse" (excerpt)

BATMAN

Tim's stepmother, Dana, opened the door to the Drakes' condo almost immediately after Bruce knocked. Her face lit up when she registered Tim and Bruce standing there.

"Tim! I'm so glad you're back! It was so sweet of you to give your father and me some time to ourselves, even if he has been in a strange mood since you left. Just please, please tell us next time." She turned to Bruce and added, "Thank you for letting Tim stay."

Do you know how upset Dana was when we realised you were gone?

"I always appreciate Tim's company," said Bruce, resisting the bizarre urge to rest a hand on the boy's shoulder. Tim was sixteen, not ten.

And then Jack Drake was standing next to Dana, eyeing Tim. Perhaps he was trying to appear impassive, but Bruce thought it made him look older. Not for the first time, Bruce recognised the stubborn set of jaw that he had seen so often in Tim.

"Come inside, son. Let me see you."

Tim took a single step forward, hands open in front of him, palms upward. "Dad, it's fine. I'm all right." He remained still while Jack awkwardly pushed a lock of hair out of his son's eyes.

"You look tired."

"Just been keeping myself busy."

Jack's face twisted. "I know. But the headlines tonight made me remember that you're still young. I know I haven't always been the best Dad, or the most… present, but I want that to change."

Dana's eyes darted between the pair, questions on her lips, but she stayed silent. Perhaps she felt as out of place as Bruce did.

"We have a lot to talk about," Jack continued. "I'd rather know what you get up to than be left in the dark."

"Of course, Dad. And… I'm sorry, too."

"And there's still the question of school. You definitely can't go back to Louis E. Grieve, not after what happened…"

Had Bruce not been paying attention, he might have missed the stutter in Tim's breathing.

"… You're going to need a good application—I don't know how we're going to justify a fourth high school in two years…"

Dana touched her husband's arm. "Jack, school can wait." Her face brightened again. "We ordered pizza from the 24/7 place on Lee Road. Tim, would you help me set it out? I made sure to get your favourite. Canadian bacon and onion with artichoke hearts, right?" Her voice faded into unintelligibility as she and Tim disappeared further inside the condo.

"Bruce."

Bruce turned to the unsmiling Jack Drake, who looked sheepish.

"I know we might never see eye to eye, but thank you for bringing Tim home."

Unable to trust himself to speak, Bruce just nodded.

"He's a good kid," Jack continued. "Smart. But a boy like him doesn't need to be jumping off rooftops and dodging bullets. He should be spending time with his father, learning how to be a man. He's my only son. I need to know that he's okay."

You're the one who kicked him out, Bruce wanted to say. Maybe if… Over Jack's shoulder, Bruce spied Tim with a pizza box in his arms, watching the two of them warily.

"Of course," Bruce acknowledged.

Dana waved from the kitchen. "Please excuse my terrible manners, Bruce. Would you like to come in for some pizza?"

Bruce met Tim's eyes, but Tim only gave a tiny shrug and looked away.

"No, thank you," Bruce answered. "I must be getting back home—my son is not well." Before anyone could stop him, he beat a hasty retreat. The disastrous scene from the Wayne Manor kitchen was playing in his mind.

Don't. Just… drop it. Please, Tim had said.

Bruce bowed his head, trying not to think about how Jack had not apologised, even though Tim had.

Let Tim deal with it.

Let it go…

"When is Tim coming back?" Stephanie twisted the edges of the covers as she spoke. The swelling on her face had gone down significantly, but her head was still heavily bandaged and her eyelids were puffy from sleep.

When Bruce did not answer at first, Steph clarified, "From Blüdhaven. Cassie wouldn't tell me."

Bruce shook his head. "He's gone home."

Steph's eyes widened. "Home? To his dad? I don't understand." She tried to push herself up in bed, but her arms shook; Bruce helped by propping her pillows against the headboard.

"Lean back," he ordered. "You need to rest."

"I've done nothing but rest," she protested, but slumped back obediently. "Why did Tim go back to his dad? Why didn't he come back here?"

Bruce outlined the pertinent details of the Dibny case and Tim's reunion with his father and stepmother. Stephanie stared.

"Tim wanted to see him? Just like that?"

Right now, the most important thing is a father knowing his son is okay.

"They're family," Bruce said stiffly.

"That doesn't mean anything!"

"Yes, it does." His tone was biting, so much that Steph jolted. He could not tell her, even if he were able to find the words, about how he had failed to rescue Tim's mother and had barely saved Jack Drake's life.

Blood is thicker than water. Tim deserves another chance.

"But you were there," Steph argued, her voice plaintive. "You know what his dad said. You just… please, help him, Bruce."

It was the first time she had used his name, and the new familiarity was what made him take a breath, assess his thoughts and consider who he was talking to.

"Stephanie," he said heavily, "there's an ongoing murder investigation. I can't keep Tim here. Not since both he and his father wanted him to go back. I know," he added, as Steph opened her mouth. "But it's not for either of us to decide."

"I've met Mr Drake a few times before," Steph said quietly, looking down at her lap. "He… he didn't hit Tim, did he? Tim didn't say."

"No." If Jack Drake had hit his son in Bruce's presence, Bruce would have made sure Tim moved into the Manor for good.

Stephanie exhaled. "There's that, at least. Just… ugh! I still don't like it."

"I have full confidence in Tim's ability to take care of himself," said Bruce. "He's Robin."

It was the wrong thing to say. Steph swallowed.

"I was Robin, too," she murmured, voice thick.

"Yes." Bruce's hand twitched with a sudden urge to reach out and feel Stephanie's wrist, reassure himself that her pulse still beat beneath her skin.

"I… I know Tim's Robin and I can't be Spoiler anymore, but I still want to help people somehow," said Steph. "Like Oracle. Couldn't I do something like that now? I'm dying to get out of this bed."

Bruce stilled, not caring for either the sentiment or her wording. It did not seem like the right time to tell her that she still did not understand why he had fired her in the first place. Her blatant disregard for direct orders followed by perfunctory contrition during her time as Robin had caused a rift that could not be mended by impulsive pleas.

"You realise what happened last time you accessed the Batcomputer," he said mercilessly. He needed to impress upon her the seriousness of her actions. She was seventeen—hardly a child.

Steph's mouth dropped open a little, and her eyes filled with tears, but she said nothing.

"Do you know why I fired you?"

She swallowed, and it was a long moment before she was able to say, downcast, "I disobeyed a direct order in the field."

Bruce waited, but when she remained silent, he prompted, "Go on."

Stephanie looked up at him, giving Bruce the eye contact she had been too glib to afford him back then. "I… I made excuses."

"You deliberately disobeyed direct orders to put yourself in danger. There is no excuse for such a lack of self preservation. Furthermore, your actions immediately afterwards—your refusal to admit wrongdoing, stealing information from the Batcave and utilising it with no knowledge of its context—show that you still do not understand why Batman and Robin exist. None of what we do is a game."

"You fight crime," she whispered, voice thick. "That's all I wanted to do as Spoiler. That's why I did it. I thought I could help. I didn't know!"

"Exactly. You didn't know. You were acting on incomplete information. You disobeyed direct orders multiple times, and yet all you could say was that you felt guilty about not disobeying me sooner. You don't trust my orders, and I can't trust that you won't disregard them as soon as you get a foolish idea into your head. Without trust—without respect—there can be no Batman and Robin."

There were silent tears running down Stephanie's cheeks, but her blue eyes remained on his, glimmering so much that they had a physical intensity. Bruce stood and turned to the door.

"You've made mistakes, Stephanie. Are you going to let them be your last?"

Sue Dibny's funeral was held merely two days after her death. As Dick was convalescing and Tim spending time with his father and stepmother, Bruce was obliged to represent his family at the service.

Ralph and Sue Dibny had been married for twenty years. They had no children. Sue had been an honorary member of the League—an honour not even afforded to Lois Lane. Bruce remembered her as a kind, cordial, affectionate woman. But, more than that, he remembered the way that Ralph had always looked at her like she was the most important person in the world, like she sprinkled the stars and hung the moon.

It was not easy for anyone in the room to be there, he knew. They'd all lost somebody. Friends. Parents. Children. Lovers. He saw Dinah standing with Ralph, supporting him while Oliver and the others carried the casket, and he knew from the way she held him that she could not hold back either the memories or her own tears. When it was over, he slipped away and headed for the cave, whereupon he stayed in the laboratory for hours, running tests until he had gleaned as much information as he possibly could from the evidence that he had taken from the Dibnys' apartment. He had just finished sending his findings to Ollie and the rest of the League when he was interrupted by quiet footsteps behind him.

"Sir, might I have a word with you?"

Not turning around in his chair, Bruce paused in his typing and briefly tried to predict Alfred's subject of choice, but none came to mind. "What is it?"

In the reflection of one of the monitors, Bruce saw Alfred pinch his lips together. "Bruce…"

The use of his name without any formal title gave Bruce pause. He turned. Alfred's eyes were narrow and cold.

"When were you going to inform me that Dr Thompkins has left Gotham?"

Bruce blinked. Leslie left Gotham? "What are you talking about?"

"This morning, while you were in Central City, I attempted to telephone her, to request advice on treating—"

"You did WHAT?" Bruce saw red. "Damn it, Alfred, I told you that she's not an option!"

"I apologise. However, I was unable to reach her."

"You are not to contact her in any way."

"I must remind you of the terms of my employment," Alfred informed him coolly. "If you insist on dictating my personal relationships, rest assured that I will soon find another job."

"But you didn't contact her for personal reasons," Bruce argued.

"… Not entirely, sir."

Bruce spun back to the computer and ran a quick search. Almost immediately, he found the security footage he was looking for. Over his shoulder, Alfred gasped aloud.

The Thomas Wayne Memorial Clinic on Park Row was boarded up and unlit, and a large sign across its front bore the word CLOSED. Already, the boards were scribbled over with graffiti. It must have happened within the last two days—Batman hadn't personally covered Crime Alley since Sue's death.

But someone else had, and she had told him nothing.

Bruce cursed under his breath. "Get Cassandra," he ordered Alfred, who immediately went out.

While he waited, Bruce glared at the image on the screen, trying to quell his frustration and untangle it from the odd sense of triumph inside him. How could he have been so careless? He knew that his current allies were few and far between, that Nightwing and Oracle were off duty and Robin otherwise occupied.

Good riddance, the other part of him whispered.

"Miss Cassandra, sir." Alfred lingered, but Bruce made an impatient gesture, and he departed, though not without thinning his lips so they were almost invisible.

"What's the matter?" asked Cassandra. She was wearing an old, bright blue T-shirt of Dick's that loudly proclaimed I HEART METROPOLIS over a red silhouette of the city, complete with a tiny flying Superman. Bruce suppressed a wince.

"What do you know about this?" he demanded, pointing to the monitor.

"It must have happened very fast. When I passed there on the first night back in Gotham, I think it was closed, but there were no boards."

"Did you see Leslie?"

Cassandra tipped her head from side to side—a gesture she had picked up from Steph, Bruce realised. "She was busy packing up. Wouldn't talk."

Not even to ask after Stephanie. "Why didn't you tell me this?"

Cassandra narrowed her eyes. "I only saw it boarded up last night. And you were busy. You told me to take care of everything, and ask Alfred instead of you if I needed help. I didn't need help. And…"

Hearing his own words repeated back to him, Bruce's anger abated somewhat. "And what?"

"You're angry with her," Cassandra said softly. "She's angry too, but also guilty. Something happened that she can't take back."

"What happened doesn't matter. She's no longer running her clinic. Regardless of our… current relationship, that would have been an important piece of information to tell me."

Cassandra scowled. "Fine."

"Now. About your reading," he changed the subject, and her scowl deepened. "Have you been practising at all?"

"A little. I'm good at… two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. And A and J and Q." Her tongue stuck out slightly as she tried to recall. "K," she finished. "Ace, jack, queen, king. There's also the joker."

Bruce blinked. "Who taught you to play cards?"

"Steph. We play Go Fish." Cassandra smirked. "I always win."

You would, Bruce thought, recalling playing that game with an irritable, bedridden Dick. Dick had been an excellent guesser, but Cassandra was eerily perceptive.

"What about books?" he asked.

She shrugged, clearly indifferent.

"Hmm." Bruce realised that the reading lessons had to be practical, for Cassandra could not see the point of books with no pictures or diagrams. Instead, he would drill her to recognise letters as parts of patterns, and patterns as crucial parts of simulated cases.

"I'm going to give you a training scenario. It's based on an old case from before Dick was Robin. I'll load it in the simulator and be your guide along the way, but it involves detective work, hand-to-hand combat, stealth, interrogation and a criminal you know as the Riddler…"

"I didn't know," said Selina quietly. "Don't look at me like that, Bruce. It's true. I haven't spoken to Leslie since… well, you know. I had no idea she was planning to leave Gotham."

"And you don't know where she might have gone?"

"Not a clue." Selina sighed, leaning back on the grey couch and propping her feet up on the coffee table. A black cat nosed at her legs.

"Hmm." Bruce pressed his hands together under his chin as he tried to find the right words.

"What is it? I can ask around, but I doubt that she wanted to leave a trail."

"No, not that. Have you watched the news lately?"

"You're talking about what happened to Jean Loring yesterday," Selina answered, leaning her head on his shoulder.

"It was a murder attempt, Selina."

Selina lifted her head, letting out a curse. "You think I don't know?"

"Have some respect," Bruce snapped. "Why can't you—"

"Because she could have had brain damage, and I'm trying not to fucking think about it, that's why!"

The grey cat that had been grooming itself on her lap sprang up and streaked into the kitchen, but Selina's words still rang in the silence of the apartment.

Bruce bowed his head, feeling foolish as he remembered the connection. He opened his mouth, but Selina was faster.

"Sorry," she muttered. "I don't suppose you have any new leads?"

"I…" Bruce hesitated. I just want you to stay safe. He couldn't say the words, but when he met her eyes, Selina seemed to understand him anyway.

She sat up straight. "No. Miss me with that kind of talk, Bruce. You know as well as I do that there's nothing substantial linking us together publicly."

He took her small hands in his own and held them for a long moment, while the cats prowled and meowed and her pulse beat steadily beneath his fingertips.

I know you can take care of yourself.

I'm so glad you're alive, because I don't think I could stand the alternative.

"Based on a death threat that was received today," he said, "we have reason to believe that the killer knows our identities."

"Our…?"

"The League," he clarified tonelessly. And, by extension, our personal relationships.

"My point still stands. Worry about your family, if you must brood."

He released her hands. "I'm just keeping you informed," he retorted, sharper than he meant to. The black cat on the floor yowled at him.

Selina's fingers touched his cheek. "I know."

Tim's bedroom window was unlatched, so it was easy for Batman to slide the pane upwards and soundlessly approach the teenage boy who sat at his computer desk, typing something into a document and bobbing his head to music through his headphones.

Bruce laid a hand on Tim's shoulder.

"Tim."

Tim, to his credit, hardly jumped. He yanked the headphones off and spun around.

"Batman," he breathed, shoulders slumping.

"I need to talk to you," said Bruce, removing his cowl.

"Sure. Just a moment." Tim turned the lock on the bedroom door and hovered awkwardly in the middle of the room.

"Um," he said, eyes fixed on the bat symbol on Bruce's chest. "You want to know if I'm going to continue as Robin."

"Yes, but…" Bruce paused. He knew what he was going to say, and yet the words did not seem to come. He sat on Tim's bed, still thinking.

An expression of apprehension grew on Tim's face as he, too, sat down and waited. Bruce laced his own fingers together and forced himself to meet Tim's eyes.

"Tim, I want to apologise for what happened when your father visited the Manor. I put you in a difficult position."

"Oh. It's okay. I—well… it wasn't your fault."

"It still shouldn't have happened. I had no right to force you to make a choice between Robin and your father."

"What about…" Tim bit his lip. He threw his shoulders back and looked Bruce straight in the eye. "Then why did you make Steph Robin?"

I was selfishly trying to make you take back Robin again.

I thought she had excellent potential.

It was a rebound decision, made because I wanted control of the situation.

"It was a mistake," Bruce said, but he knew instantly that he'd made the wrong choice.

Tim's eyes narrowed. "Pretty big mistake," he muttered.

Don't you think I would change the past if I could?

"That's not at issue here," Bruce said at length. "Tell me about Robin."

"… Okay. Dad and I talked a lot last night, after Dana went to bed. He doesn't want her to worry even more, so he's decided not to tell her about Robin."

Bruce saw the unhappy tilt in Tim's shoulders and realised that Tim wanted Dana to know about Robin, despite both Bruce and Jack's wishes.

"I told him I'm not going to hang up the cape and boots. He's not exactly happy about it, but he knows he can't really stop me, either. But he's been glued to the TV ever since I came back. He's becoming paranoid. He's given me a curfew. Even Dana agreed." Tim fidgeted with the rumpled bed covers. "So, for the time being at least…"

"Robin is off duty," Bruce summarised.

Tim nodded.

"What about school?"

"He didn't say," said Tim, shrugging. "I guess he forgot. It doesn't matter. I'm drafting an application to transfer to Gotham City High. I'll get Dana to look over it in the morning."

"I… I can look over it as well, if you want, and put in a good word. I enrolled you when you attended Gotham Heights." After your mother's funeral, he realised, and immediately wanted to kick himself at the reminder.

"Sure," Tim said quietly. "I'll email it to you."

Bruce nodded. In the confines of the small bedroom, the silence grew swollen and oppressive.

"I'm sorry, Bruce. I know the timing is awful."

"No, it's fine. Perhaps it's better this way." Damn it, that came out wrong.

"What do you mean? Has something happened?"

"I… yes. Nothing to do with Robin." Bruce sighed. "Today, Lois Lane received a death threat that made it clear that the writer knows her husband's identity."

Tim turned pale. "Is she okay?"

"Yes. It was only a letter. As for her safety in the future…" Bruce permitted himself a tight smile. "You're forgetting who she's married to."

"But—that means—it's possible they know about everyone else—"

"Not just possible, but likely." Bruce took two round, identical devices from his belt and passed them to Tim. "This is an emergency signal device. Give one to your father; the other is a spare. This setting contacts Oracle, and that one"—he indicated a dial on the side—"contacts me."

There was a long silence, as Tim turned the devices over in his hand and Bruce struggled to express his thoughts. Finally, Tim looked up.

"Um. Thanks. But I don't know when I'll be back. Bruce, can you…" Tim paused and shuddered. "Tell Alfred to take good care of Steph."

"I will, Tim." Bruce stood; Tim did the same. There was something unfinished hanging in the air, but Bruce did not know what it was or how to resolve it. All he felt was a desire to stay in that room until he had conveyed the other message he had come to give.

"Dick's awake," he blurted.

"I know. Alfred phoned."

"If you can, come over tomorrow. Dick and Stephanie will want to see you. The others as well."

"You said that you tracked down Tarantula."

Bruce was taken aback. "Yes, but that's not—"

"Bruce, stop." Tim passed his hand in front of his eyes. "Whatever the answer is, I can deal with it. I just need to know: Did she kill Blockbuster?"

"… She said she did."

"Do you believe that?"

Well, truth be told, I did have a little help from my partner.

"I don't know what to think," Bruce said, pushing a hard edge into his voice. "And you know better than to base assumptions on circumstantial evidence."

"… Okay."

Bruce suddenly felt silly, standing there in the Batsuit in the middle of Tim's untidy bedroom. He put his cowl back on, but he was halfway out the window before he was able to say, "Tim, I… you've been missed."

Tim gave him a half smile. "Yeah… but I'm missed here, too."

Sources:

Tim's three high schools so far are Gotham Heights High School, Brentwood Academy and Louis E. Grieve Memorial High School. See Robin II: The Joker's Wild! #1, Robin (1993) #74 and Robin (1993) #121.

Dana is correct about Tim's favourite pizza, which is mentioned in Robin (1993) #116. (The exact pizza shop is my own invention, but I've named its location after my favourite Batman artist.)

Bruce's final line to Steph is based on a line he said to Dick in Nightwing (1996) #117.

Details about the Justice League's actions after Sue Dibny's death are from Identity Crisis #1, the attempted murder of Jean Loring is from #3 and the threat received by Lois Lane is from #4.

According to Batman: Gotham Knights #7, Alfred and Leslie have some sort of a romantic relationship.

Black Mask targeted Selina's sister and brother-in-law in Catwoman (2002) #12-16 (Catwoman: Relentless).

This isn't the first time Jack Drake has neglected Tim's education. See Robin (1993) #102 for an example of Tim asking Dana to help him instead, while Jack was busy moping.