Author's note: Welcome back, my lovely Batfans! I was going to wait longer before posting this and focus on some of my other fandoms for a while, but I can't. I have so much of this story done, and I'm too anxious to share it, so here it is! It still needs a lot of work, especially the plot involving the villain, but everything involving Bruce and Dick is largely finished. If you're new here, you can start reading this series with this part, or you can dive right into On Wings of Steel and On Wings of Steel 2 if you wish (in that order). Those came first, and they're complete, so you absolutely don't need to read this part first.

My knowledge of the comic books is very limited and general, so my inspiration is drawn more from the various movies and TV shows that depicted these events. On the other hand, I've always had my own very clear idea of how Bruce and Dick met (which I've already touched upon in the other stories in this series), so that's what I wrote.

I debated opening this story with the deaths of Dick's parents, but I always saw it opening with When Bruce Met Dick. I didn't want to begin with the tragedy, but with the event that started to make things better. Dick's orphaning will definitely show up later on in this story where I feel like it has more of an impact – after we get to know the characters at this stage of the narrative.

Chapter one was almost called Melting in the Sun, but I chose to name it after what this story was originally called – When Bruce Met Dick. (Besides, there are better rhymes for Dick that I want to use, as all my chapter titles are in rhyming groups.)

This story is dedicated in loving memory
To the best and kindest man I ever knew
My Dad
May 24, 1942 ~ April 27, 2018
Thank you for being the best dad anyone could ever ask for
I was so lucky to be your daughter

On Wings of Steel 0: Frozen in Time
Chapter 1 – When Bruce Met Dick

As the first afternoon of summer blazes sunny and bright across the sky, it seems as if the children of the Gotham City Orphanage are in for a chilling surprise…

"Children! Children!"

Thirteen-year-old Dick Grayson turned his plastic tray upside down, letting most of his lunch fall into the garbage can beneath. He hadn't had much of an appetite since The Worst Day of His Life, and he didn't see that changing anytime soon. He made a face as he saw the thick globs of rice pudding dripping into the trash. He didn't even like rice pudding, and just the very texture of it made him feel sick to his stomach.

"Children!" Sister Miriam, one of their housemothers called again, clapping her hands. "May I have your attention please?"

Dick stilled, turning his tray right side up and glancing at Sister Miriam. The nun was standing at the front entrance to the cafeteria, her arms raised over her head so that everyone would look at her.

When silence overtook the long room, Sister Miriam said, "I have a wonderful surprise for you today! In celebration of the first day of summer, the Wayne Foundation so very generously throws an ice cream social for us every year! If you would like to stay in your seats, we will be serving the ice cream very shortly. Please let us show our appreciation to Mr. Bruce Wayne and his foundation for their generosity!"

Sister Miriam raised her arms above her head and began to clap, leading the rest of the children in the cafeteria to burst out in applause. A chorus of cheers joined the clapping, but Dick just turned, setting his now-empty tray down on the long stainless-steel counter at the back of the lunchroom.

Dick didn't even want his lunch; how was he supposed to eat ice cream? Besides, his parents would never let him eat dessert unless he ate his meal first, so he already disqualified himself from this 'celebration'.

Your parents aren't here, Dick heard from someplace in his mind. The part that he was coming to think of as The Dark Place. It doesn't matter if you break their rules or not.

Sighing heavily, Dick slipped out the side door of the cafeteria and headed for the stairs. No one would miss him, and while the housemothers encouraged everyone to come down for meals, they couldn't make him eat ice cream.

His footsteps echoed off the brick walls of the stairwell. The excited cheers of the children in the lunchroom faded behind him, and soon he was making his way down the empty second floor hallway to the boys' dormitories. It was deadly silent now, nearly everyone downstairs, and Dick could never decide if he liked it that way or not.

On the one hand, no one was here to bother him, but it was eerie. The halls were normally full of children and noise, even later at night when they were supposed to be quiet. There was always someone around doing something, so this just felt wrong. Spooky.

Dick's dormitory had ten beds, five lined up on the left wall and five on the right. Dick had the very last bed on the right side, and he liked it that way. It was in the corner, and he could just lay there and stare at the wall if he didn't want to see anyone, like he did most days.

Plopping down onto his mattress, he curled up on his right side, facing the stark concrete wall. About the only thing that he did want right now was a visit from his Aunt Harriet, his only surviving family member, but even she was coming around less and less frequently. The more time passed since The Worst Day of His Life, it was like everyone was going back to their 'normal' lives. Only nothing was normal. Nothing would ever be normal again.

Dick knew it wasn't Aunt Harriet's fault. His dad's older sister didn't have a lot of money, nor did she drive. She therefore had to depend on either rides from friends or the Gotham City public transportation system to come and visit him. However, even scraping enough money together for bus fare was unfortunately a luxury, one that she couldn't afford very often. Aunt Harriet tried to save the money to do so on holidays, so her next visit would hopefully be on Independence Day, which was still two weeks away.

There was nothing to do, not anymore, so he often resorted to sleeping and staring at the wall as he had become accustomed to. He closed his eyes, hoping that sleep would come to claim him, but then his respite was disturbed.

"Dick?"

"What?" Dick asked miserably, not moving and not opening his eyes.

He recognized the voice as belonging to Kevin, the boy who slept in the bed next to his. Kevin was a nice boy, but he was way too friendly for Dick to deal with most of the time. Despite Dick's best efforts to the contrary, Kevin still seemed determined to become friends with Dick. Dick didn't know whether to be happy about that or not.

Kevin was often the boy who was sent to get Dick for meals, so this was almost a tradition for them by now. Kevin would try his best to get Dick up, Dick would more often than not refuse, and Kevin would have to get one of their housemothers to do the job instead. This wasn't anything new, but their meal was over.

"Didn't you hear?" Kevin asked. "They're having ice cream downstairs!"

"I heard."

All of a sudden, Dick could hear Kevin stampeding across the linoleum floor. He threw himself on Dick's bed, jumping up and down, urging him awake.

"Stop," Dick said. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter against the bouncing motion of his mattress, the springs squealing in his ears. His stomach tied itself into even tighter knots as he pulled his knees closer into his chest.

"I said there's ice cream!" Kevin repeated excitedly. "That millionaire foundation is throwing a party for us!"

"I heard!" Dick snapped again.

"It's for the first day of summer!" Kevin exclaimed, still leaping up and down on the bed. "Summer is coming!"

"I know." As it was, Dick didn't even really care that summer was coming. All that reminded him of was the busy season with the circus when they would be training especially hard at the trapeze this time of year to get ready for all the extra shows. Children would be out of school, so their families would be bringing them for shows during the day. But now…

"There's whipped cream, and hot fudge, and nuts, and caramel, and strawberries, and cherries, and sprinkles!" Kevin said, jumping once for each ingredient. " Rainbow sprinkles, Dick! We all know sprinkles make everything better!"

"Yeah," Dick mumbled, rolling his eyes. Stupid sprinkles, he scoffed inwardly.

"Don't you want to come down, just for a bowl?" Kevin asked. "Or you can have a cone too if you want. There's chocolate ice cream, and vanilla, and strawberry, and rocky road! Rocky road's my favorite!"

"I like mint chocolate chip," Dick told him. "Do they have that?" He still didn't plan on getting up, but his favorite was one of the rarer flavors; they probably wouldn't have it, and he could just use that as a reason to stay in bed.

"I don't know," Kevin said thoughtfully. "But they have chocolate chips you can put on top too! That's not quite mint chocolate chip, but it's close! You'd only be missing the mint then!"

"Great."

"Please?" Kevin said, beginning his jumping anew. "I'm not going to stop until you say yes! So please say yes, and then I can go and get ice cream too instead of doing this."

"No," Dick said, trying his best to ignore the incessant movement from Kevin.

" Please?" Kevin asked again, still bouncing up and down. " Please, Dick? Please?"

Dick closed his eyes against the obnoxious movement and voice, but it wasn't long before he just shouted out, "Okay, fine!" simply in an effort to get Kevin to stop. Dick still wasn't planning on going anywhere, but he just wanted Kevin to stop bouncing before it made them both sick. He was afraid that the food he did manage to choke down wouldn't stay there for long if Kevin kept this up.

"Yay!" Kevin shouted in excitement. He grabbed one of Dick's hands next, beginning to pull him out of bed.

"Ow!" Dick yelled back when his arm was jerked a bit too far.

"You said you're coming!" Kevin reminded him. "You can't back out now! That would be unfair! Please!" He pulled on Dick's arm again, undeterred by his friend's sour expression.

"Oh, fine!" Dick snapped, finally getting up into a sitting position. "If I come down and eat ice cream with you, will you please just stop?"

"Yes!" Kevin said, grinning from ear to ear. "Promise!"

"Oh, geez," Dick muttered, letting his feet drop to the floor and allowing Kevin to pull him up from his bed. "I'm coming, I'm coming. And this better be some darn good ice cream!"

"It's from that millionaire foundation!" Kevin said, dragging Dick toward the door. "Would they bring us some crummy stuff?"

"Stranger things have happened," Dick muttered under his breath, letting Kevin lead the way now.

After he got his ice cream, however, Dick didn't really feel like sitting with the other kids much less eating it. Kevin was already at a table with a group of friends, and their happy and chatty mood didn't quite suit Dick at the moment. In fact, nothing did anymore.

Instead, Dick made his way for the door out of the cafeteria that led to the back garden. He descended the steps to the stone pathway, the warm summer sun beating down on his head and back. Dick tried his best not to think about all of the things that he should be doing right now. All of the performances and special shows they'd be preparing for right now. All of the extra training and exercising his parents would be starting on top of what they already did. The work. He missed the work.

Dick walked to the end of the garden path and slumped down on what had become his favorite bench. It was surrounded by flowers in pink, yellow, and purple that reminded him of his mother. She loved flowers, and she loved those colors – especially pink. The bench faced away from the orphanage and looked out on a grove of trees. Just on the other side of the trees was a small slope that led down to a stream. If Dick sat and listened, he could just make out the trickling sound of water. This, in turn, reminded Dick of the camping and fishing spots his father would take him to. It made Dick sad to sit here sometimes, but it also made him feel like his parents might come up and sit down beside him.

Using his plastic spoon, Dick poked at the ice cream in his foam bowl. He'd only gotten vanilla with a few rainbow sprinkles on top because Kevin had insisted. The sprinkles were now turning into streams of colored liquid running through the white ice cream, helped along by the hot sun.

What was wrong with him? Kids loved ice cream, didn't they? What kid wouldn't jump at the chance to eat it, especially on a hot summer's day? Many of the kids had gotten banana splits or sundaes and were stuffing their faces. Meanwhile, Dick didn't even find one small bowl of vanilla ice cream appetizing. He didn't even think he could force down a single spoonful.

Would he ever feel normal again? Would he ever feel hungry again? Ever since The Worst Day of His Life, it felt like his stomach had withered up and died too. More often than not, he felt sick for absolutely no reason, and therefore found it very difficult to even get any food down. He had managed to choke down half a sandwich and a few bites of a pear at lunch today, which was a lot for him. There was no way he could eat ice cream on top of it.

Dick set the bowl of ice cream down on the bench next to him and shut his eyes. Sometimes, if he shut them hard enough, he could pretend everything was all right. His parents were just behind him, coming to join him on this bench…

Bruce would never forget the very first time he laid eyes on Dick. The bright afternoon sun was beating down on the stark white bench, surrounded by deep green grass and the colorful flowers on three sides. What caught his eye next was the tattered red sweater worn by the occupant of the bench. It was a young boy, and Bruce couldn't tell how old he was from behind, but he was so little. Tiny. His shoulders seemed so slight and fragile underneath the bulky knit fabric.

Bruce took a step closer to the bench, but then he stopped. He looked back over his shoulder at the orphanage, at the large picture windows of the lunch hall where he could see the children chatting loudly and enjoying their ice cream. Bruce had only come outside to make sure the flowers were blooming satisfactorily. If anything, Bruce was proud of the beautiful landscaping that gave these children something better to look at than a concrete parking lot. Bruce had fully intended on returning to the cafeteria. Maybe talk to some of the children and see how they were enjoying their party.

Then Bruce turned back to the bench. He took a step towards the boy. Then another. He bit at his bottom lip, not quite sure what he was doing. After all, he saw hundreds upon hundreds of children every time he visited the orphanage, and he'd never found himself wanting to talk to one in particular before. Bruce had no idea what had come over him, but he suddenly found himself making his way across the lawn and rounding the bench, so that he could see the boy in full view.

Something had pulled him there, almost against his will. If he didn't know any better, Bruce thought he might see Catwoman or Joker lurking in the bushes, controlling his actions somehow.

The first thing Bruce noticed was the uneaten ice cream sitting in a foam bowl at the boy's side. It was quickly melting into a puddle of liquid in the hot summer sunshine. The boy's head was lowered, his hands clasped in his lap.

"You haven't eaten your ice cream," Bruce observed.

"No," the boy mumbled quietly. At first, he didn't move, but then he turned his head and glanced down at the melting bowl of ice cream. The boy shrugged. "I'm not very hungry. I didn't even want to come down, really, but one of my roommates made me."

"You didn't want to come down for ice cream?" Bruce asked. He paused, but then he slowly lowered himself onto the bench. He sat on the very left edge, half of his backside hanging off the wooden planks.

The boy shook his head in response. He still hadn't looked at Bruce, his eyes directed at the ice cream. He sighed. "It's hard to be in the mood for any sort of food when your parents are dead," he snapped, turning his head in the opposite direction, never meeting Bruce's eyes.

If he was hoping that this would drive Bruce away, it didn't work. Bruce opened his mouth to respond, then rethought his words, and closed it. A moment later, Bruce simply said, "I understand."

The boy scoffed. "Do you now?" he asked.

" Yes," Bruce said firmly, nodding. After a moment of silence, he said, "I'm Bruce Wayne."

That finally got the young boy to look at him, but then he immediately glanced away again. "Oh. The millionaire," he said. If Bruce wasn't mistaken, there was a note of derision in his voice. "I guess your foundation was the one that organized this ice cream party. Sorry I'm wasting it."

About five different responses coursed through Bruce's mind, but he rejected all of them. He considered simply leaving this boy in peace, because he was certainly not in the mood for company, but something made him stay. He started this, and he wasn't going to leave until he was sure the boy was okay. No matter how many snide comments he threw at Bruce. Bruce had thrown more than enough at Alfred in his day, so he understood where this was coming from.

A place of deep-seated hurt and grief that left scars. Scars so deep, Bruce knew they would never heal. Sometimes, he didn't want them to. Not anymore.

Silence hung in the air between them, and the young boy had crossed his arms over his chest. He was still looking in the opposite direction, probably trying to pretend like Bruce wasn't there.

Bruce didn't know why this was so important to him, but he pressed on. "I'm an orphan, too."

That finally got the boy's full attention. He met Bruce's eyes, letting out a tiny "oh" of surprise. His deep brown eyes were large and round, and he looked like he wanted to say something, but he remained silent.

"How long has it been?" Bruce asked next. Was that a dumb thing to ask? Probably.

The boy's mouth snapped closed and he shook his head, looking away again. He began blinking rapidly, and yes, Bruce realized – that had been a dumb question.

"I'm sorry," Bruce immediately. "I didn't mean to pry." More silence fell, but Bruce certainly couldn't walk away now. Not after he had upset this boy. "It was recent then, I take it?"

The boy only nodded his head.

"I'm sorry," Bruce repeated. He covered his eyes with his hand.

Why was he able to come up with just the right things to say on the spot when he had that cowl on, but he was making an absolute mess out of this conversation with a child? He could see this boy running to one of the housemothers tonight, crying about the mean man who had made him talk about his parents.

Bruce started to stand up from the bench. He wasn't planning on leaving, but sometimes, he thought better on his feet. He felt more control when he wasn't sitting down.

"Don't leave," the boy said, his eyes wide and staring up at Bruce. There were tears there, shimmering in the sun. His voice was small and shaky.

Bruce sat back down. "Okay," he said quietly. "I won't. Not if you don't want me to."

The boy glanced away again, wiping furiously at his eyes. Bruce felt horrible. Neither of them said anything for a very long time. The seconds stretched into minutes and with each one that passed, Bruce felt more and more uncomfortable. He was beginning to regret starting this conversation at all.

The breeze fluttered around them, and Bruce could hear the stream down the embankment on the other side of the trees. The flowers swayed back and forth and a bee buzzed among them. Other than that, everything was completely silent. Bruce couldn't even hear the chatter of the children anymore. Not from here.

"Two months," the child finally spoke again after what seemed like forever. "Five days."

Bruce closed his eyes, pressing his lips together tightly. He was still so far in and so close to that grief when every single day felt like an eon. When you couldn't help but count every single day. Sometimes, that was all you had.

"I'm sorry," Bruce said again, and he kicked himself for not being able to come up with anything else to say. He shook his head firmly. "I shouldn't have asked."

"Everyone does," the boy said. He hung his head staring down at the garden path underneath his feet. "They do after they find out. ' When did it happen? How did it happen?'" He kicked at a small pebble underneath the toe of his shoe. "They want to know all the gory details." The child's eyes grew wider, still focused on the cobblestone path.

"Yes, they do," Bruce agreed.

He could still remember people at his parents' funeral asking him what had happened. Sometimes they'd ask Alfred, but if he wasn't around, their curiosity got the better of them. Horrified faces of curious and nosey people, crowding in around him, wanting to know the 'gory' details. An eight-year-old boy. At his parents' funeral. Bruce didn't think it prudent to voice those thoughts.

"How long has it been for you?" the little boy asked, but Bruce wasn't entirely sure the child was listening right now. Maybe he wasn't even sure of what he was asking.

"Twenty-eight years," Bruce replied without thinking twice. But then, to let this little boy know he wasn't completely alone, he added, "In six days…it'll be twenty-eight years."

"How…how old were you then?"

"Eight."

The little boy's gaze snapped back to him, his eyes seeming to go wider still. His hands had gripped the edge of the bench, his fingers curling around the board. "I'm thirteen."

Bruce blinked, managing to contain his shock. This boy certainly didn't look to be a teenager. Bruce might have guessed he was ten or eleven at the most. The child was so impossibly small, almost seeming to disappear inside that red sweater now that Bruce saw him up close. Bruce didn't think it was a good idea to mention that either.

The child bit at his bottom lip, momentarily diverting his gaze. "I…I almost thought you were making it up." He hung his head. "To make me feel better."

Bruce shook his head and let out a very soft, "No. I'd be horrified at anyone who did make up such a thing, even to make someone feel better." He paused for a very long time before he added, "But I was. Trying to make you feel better."

An odd expression passed over the boy's face. It appeared as if he was trying to smile, but then he forced it down, his face instead morphing into an expression akin to pain. "Not better. But less alone, I guess."

Bruce nodded once. "Good."

The child stared at him for a very long time, his eyes narrowed in thought, as if he was trying to make his mind up about something. "I'm Richard Grayson," he finally said. "Call me Dick."

"Wait," Bruce said, glancing quickly at him. "Not…of the Flying Graysons?" When Dick nodded, Bruce closed his eyes.

It didn't feel like Bruce was sitting on the bench anymore. In fact, it didn't feel like he was anywhere anymore. The world may as well have dropped out from underneath him. He stared up at the sky in an effort to remind himself of where he was.

"Yeah, their deaths were big news," Dick muttered. "I'm sure you read all about it. There's not a person here who hadn't heard of me before I even got here – the boy who was orphaned by a trapeze of all things."

Bruce tried his very best to compose himself. It was hard for him to get flustered, but this boy seemed to be able to have that effect on him. Clearing his throat, Bruce hoped to ease the tension when he said, "I saw you perform once."

"When?" Dick asked, and if Bruce wasn't imagining it, his tone was slightly accusatory. It was like he was challenging Bruce to prove he had actually known of his parents before their untimely demise.

Bruce understood all too well. He hated, loathed being identified simply because of who he was. For a long time after his parents had been killed, he had been "that rich orphan". Again, people had known nothing about him, just that his wealthy parents had been killed, and that was sometimes maddening.

"About a year ago," Bruce told him. In an effort to prove that he wasn't lying, to perhaps make himself seem more authentic to Dick, Bruce added, "You performed at a Wayne Foundation benefit for the animal shelter. That was where I saw you."

"Oh," Dick said. It seemed as if the boy had been ready to call him a liar, but now, he realized that Bruce had been telling the truth. "Yeah," Dick said, "we were there." A small smile passed over his lips. An actual, genuine smile this time. "My parents loved animals. As soon as they heard there was going to be a performance to benefit the Gotham City Humane Society, they jumped at the chance to be there."

Bruce had the insane urge to begin apologizing to Dick for not being there on that night. For not doing anything to save his parents. For not being able to somehow break the Graysons' fall as they plummeted down from the snapped trapeze. For not being there. For Batman not being there.

As Alfred so often reminded him, however, Bruce had to tell himself that he was only human. He simply couldn't be everywhere at once. It wasn't possible, and it was a waste of time and energy to beat himself up over it. Especially when the Graysons' accident had happened so unexpectedly.

Shaking his head in an urge to clear it, Bruce said, "You were good – all those flips and twists."

Dick forced out a fake laugh. "Yeah. My parents were in the circus all my life. I was trained from an early age to begin performing with them. I never knew anything different." Dick looked away, back at the trees, clasping his hands in his lip. "Until now."

"I know the feeling," Bruce said.

"You really do."

Bruce hummed in response, and he knew that he and Dick had reached some sort of understanding. Bruce had heard, "You're not alone," from basically everyone after his parents had died, and he'd grown to hate it. More often than not, the people who spoke those words really had no idea what it was like to lose their parents. At least, not both of them, and not both of them at the same time. Heck, not both of them at the same time while they watched. Hearing those three words – you're not alone – really didn't help. At all. Bruce knew they meant well, but it only served to make him feel even more alone in his pain that he already had.

Dick knew that Bruce wasn't giving him empty platitudes. Bruce would never give him empty platitudes. For the first time since this had happened, Dick knew that he wasn't the only person in the world to ever feel this way – like his entire world had ended. It felt that way sometimes, but he wasn't alone.

"Alfred?" Bruce called when he entered Wayne Manor later that evening. Only silence met his ears.

Alfred had said he planned on going to the market that afternoon, so he must have still been gone. Sighing, Bruce dropped his keys and his wallet down on the hall table, hating how loud the metallic hitting the marble seemed to be in the otherwise empty house.

He crossed the living room and sat down on the couch. He stared straight ahead at the television set, at the blank screen, but he had no urge to get up and turn it on. His mind was racing, and he was so deep in thought, he scarcely heard Alfred's voice when the butler kept calling to him nearly an hour later.

"Sir?" Alfred asked. He edged around to the front of the couch and gently laid the fingertips of once hand against Bruce's shoulder.

This almost made Bruce jump a foot in the air. "Alfred?" he asked, like the man was a stranger he'd never seen before. Or a ghost that had suddenly appeared before him.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, sir," Alfred apologized, "but I couldn't quite get your attention. I know sometimes you get like that when you're deep in thought, but I was beginning to get concerned."

"I'm sorry, Alfred," Bruce said, rubbing a hand over his face. "It's fine. You didn't disturb me. Not really. I was just…thinking."

"That much was obvious."

Bruce smiled a bit, rubbing his hands against the thighs of his slacks. "The Wayne Foundation threw their annual ice cream party for the first day of summer at the Gotham City Orphanage."

Alfred raised an eyebrow and tilted his head, but said nothing. The annual ice cream party at the orphanage had been a tradition for the last two decades. Alfred had been well aware of Bruce's plans to attend, and it wasn't something Alfred would forget. Alfred simply waited for Bruce to get to what was really on his mind as he was accustomed to doing.

"Do you remember the Flying Graysons?" Bruce asked, and he could tell he had completely thrown Alfred for a loop.

"Er…" Alfred sputtered, clearly trying to get his mind to switch gears and keep up with his employer. "Certainly, sir. They were one of the highlights of the Gotham City Circus for years. Such a tragedy to befall that young family." Alfred shook his head sadly.

"Yes. I met their son," Bruce said, staring up at Alfred. "He's at the orphanage now."

"Oh," Alfred said, furrowing his brow in thought. "I'd almost forgotten they'd had a son." After a brief moment of silence, Alfred asked, "Isn't his name Richard?"

Bruce nodded, but then said, "Yes, but he prefers Dick. He's thirteen." Bruce frowned deeply before he added, "It happened just two months ago."

Alfred sat down on the coffee table, placing his elbows on his knees and leaning in towards Bruce. He stared long and hard at the younger man. "What was he like?"

Bruce gave him a sideways glance. "You mean, was he anything like me at the time – full of anger and rage?"

Alfred shut his eyes in a slight show of embarrassment. "Without saying so, yes, that's what I meant."

"Yes," Bruce answered. After a moment, however, he shook his head. "And no. You can tell he's angry, but not quite as much as I was. At least, I don't think so. Or else he's better at hiding it than I was. But I could feel a lot of turmoil underneath the surface. Almost like it was waiting for a chance to get out. He made a snide comment or two, but full-on angry? No, not really."

Bruce let out a heavy breath, staring up at the high vaulted ceiling. "I didn't want to seem like I was prying," Bruce continued on, "but there were so many more questions I wanted to ask him. I didn't, because I felt like I was on thin ice a time or two already. And I know that was also one of the hardest things for me afterwards – people wanting to knowexactly what had happened and how I was handling it." He closed his eyes and shook his head. "The endless and ridiculously inappropriate questions, because people aren't aware of how they come across."

Alfred studied him for a very long time before he hummed in agreement. "What did you want to ask him?"

Bruce met Alfred's eyes for a brief moment before he focused his gaze on the empty fireplace. He paused a moment before elaborating. "If he was as alone as he seemed. If he had anyone to talk to."

"The orphanage offers counseling."

Making a face, Bruce said, "I don't mean that. I'm not trying discredit counseling, because we both know it's a huge help to these children, but…someone who understands, Alfred." He turned back to his butler, holding his gaze long and hard. "Someone who went through it with you. Or someone who's been through something similar."

Alfred smiled, that kind and understanding expression that Bruce would never get tired of looking at. "Someone like yourself."

At first, Bruce only nodded in response. "Ever since I left him," he eventually admitted, "I've been thinking about nothing but going back and seeing him again."

"Then you should," Alfred replied without missing a beat. "Having someone to talk to right now would probably do him a world of good. You know that. Especially if he doesn't have anyone else that went through it with him."

"But I'm a stranger," Bruce replied. "He doesn't know me. He doesn't seem to know much about Bruce Wayne at all, because he almost didn't believe me when I told him I was an orphan too. Why would he want to talk to me?"

"Because you two share a similar history," Alfred reminded him. "He sounds almost like a kindred spirit to you in a way."

Bruce smiled at Alfred's words. "That's exactly how I felt," Bruce said, but then he shook his head. "But still…don't you think it's a little bit awkward? A strange man coming to see a young boy at the orphanage more than once?"

"As you've said," Alfred answered, "it's no secret the history you two share. If you wanted to go back and talk to him, I'm sure they would understand why. You simply see yourself in this young man, and you want to be there for him when he doesn't have anyone else. If he doesn't have anyone else."

"Indeed," Bruce agreed. "But then there's the other question of whether or not that's something he would be open to. I mean, polite chitchat with a stranger once is one thing, but I don't know how he'd react if I kept coming back to see him. He might accuse me of being nosey and wanting to know more about his story, rather than seeing it for what it is." He stopped, crossing his arms over his chest. "I genuinely want to help him, Alfred. You're right – I see so much of myself in him, and I know what he's going through. I want to be for him what you've been to me for twenty-eight years. I don't know if he has that, and I want to make sure he does. If that's even possible."

Alfred laid a warm hand on Bruce's knee. "There's only one way to find out, sir," he said.

"I know," Bruce agreed, but then he shook his head. "What if he tells me to get lost?"

"A line I heard more times than I care to admit," Alfred said quietly, "but one that I understood all the same. You know I don't hold any ill feelings towards you for telling me that. Or for shouting it at me more than a few times. I don't now and I didn't then. If he tells you the same, try and remember the place of anger that it's coming from and the fear he must have of getting close to anyone again."

Bruce rubbed at the back of his neck, almost as if he was still embarrassed about the things he shouted at Alfred in anger all those years ago. "Yeah," Bruce said, "I know. But…I guess I'm scared too. I already feel like I'm growing fond of him, and I don't know what I'll do if this isn't something he's open to."

" Ask," Alfred insisted. "It would save you from spending all this time wondering and driving yourself crazy."
"What am I supposed to say?" Bruce asked. "'Hello there, little boy. Why don't we have another little chat again?'" He leaned forward, burying his head in his hands. "Why don't I just offer him some candy while I'm at it and make myself into the full-on stereotype adults are always warning children about?"

Alfred leaned forward, pulling one of Bruce's hands away from his face. "Ask him, sir. He may surprise you. Like you surprised me once upon a time." He closed his eyes as he whispered, "I'll never forget the very first time you came to me after and asked, 'Can I talk to you?'" When he opened his eyes again, he said, "It almost made everything before that worth it."

Taking a deep breath, Bruce leaned back against the couch again. "Maybe. Maybe this will be worth it too." When he opened his mouth to speak again, he was interrupted by the sharp beep of the Batphone in the study.

Bruce grimaced before he got up from the couch. "Duty calls," he said before he stepped around Alfred and took off across the living room.

"Yes, Commissioner," he said when he entered his study and retrieved the receiver from the Batphone.

"It looks like we have a spot of trouble, Batman," came the commissioner's voice from the other end.

"What trouble?"

"It seems that Mr. Glob, the owner of Glob's Drugstore, has been found frozen solid."

Bruce frowned deeply, pulling the receiver away from his head. He rubbed at the shell of his ear before he switched the phone to his other ear. "I must have misheard you, Commissioner. I could have sworn you said ' frozen'."

"No, you heard me correctly, Batman," the commissioner responded. " Frozen solid. In a block of ice. My men have never seen anything like it."

His free hand going down the surface of his desk, Bruce said, "Good gracious. On the first day of summer? It's eighty degrees outside."

"We're as mystified as you are," Commissioner Gordon. "And no one is sure what to do. Time may be of the essence."

"Be that as it may," Bruce said, " don't do anything until I get there. I'm on my way."

Alfred had just entered the study as Bruce replaced the receiver in its cradle.

"Don't plan on me for dinner," Bruce told him. "This may take a while."

"Yes, sir," Alfred said. "I'll put something on ice for you."

"That's what I'm afraid of."

Before Alfred could reply, Bruce opened the secret panel that led to the Batpole. A moment later, he slid out of sight.

Has someone really been frozen in ice?
Will Batman be able to thaw him out safely?
And what of Bruce's relationship with Dick?
What will Dick think of Bruce's efforts to get to know him?

For the answers to these and other CHILLING questions,
Tune in next time…
Same ice site…
Same ice channel.

Stay FROZEN to your seats until then!

Author's note: A special shoutout to Arnold Schwarzenegger in Batman and Robin for giving me all the ice puns I'll ever need.

I chose to make the Gotham City Orphanage catholic, because I attended catholic schools all my life and it felt right to me. I am not catholic, however, and I will not be inserting any religious conversations in the story, so do not fear!