Fic: Alfred's Interlude
Batfic: Alfred’s Interlude
Characters/Pairings: Alfred, Dick
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None
Word Count: 3002
Disclaimers: Don’t own, not making any money.
Summery: No one expects the Spanish Inquisition…or a determined Alfred.
Acknowledgements: Thank you
dragonbat2006 for beta reading.
Author’s Notes: Here is the next instalment of the Forced Series. If you haven’t done so already, you should read part 1 and 2 of Opportunity, part 1 and 2 of Regrouping and part 1 and 2 of Brothers. To be continued in Confrontation (Bruce)
What a bloody mess. Of course, I should be used to it by now. Master Bruce’s emotional immaturity issues and lack of social graces are nothing new. The man can be insufferable; of that there is no doubt. This time, however, he’s really outdone himself.
At first, I’d been under the impression that it had simply been a tiff between himself and his youngest adoptive son. Such things are not unheard of, though I admit such has seemed unlikely in the last little while. Actually things have been positively cordial. It’s also worth noting that Master Timothy has quite a gift for handling Bruce and his assorted moods.
The tiff theory swiftly went out the window when I found the cave entrance locked and a quick check showed Tim working diligently to by-pass the security system. Worried as I was, I had to smile. The lad’s resourcefulness and determination is something to admire. As is his fierce devotion to the man and his Mission. Sometimes I wonder where it comes from. Perhaps from the same place as my own?
Master Bruce, you are a fool, but you shall ever be our fool. For some inexplicable reason we care about you. It would be extremely nice if you were to let us in once in a while. But no, you are determined to endure your self-imposed suffering alone.
Perhaps, if you did let us in, there would be less pain for everyone. Communication would go a very long way to alleviate many woes. Even so, I’m really not sure what would have prevented this particular disaster.
I will admit, to myself at least, that I shamelessly listened to the boy trying to converse with Bruce through the locked bedroom door. Unfortunately, Tim is very adept at using obscure phrasing, so that without context, it’s far to easy for the words to refer to any number of things. Still, what could have happened that Master Bruce would consider ‘bad‘? After all the years of watching him train his various partners, I have witnessed many things that most sane people would consider ‘bad’ treated as perfectly normal.
All of which leaves me feeling more then a bit fretful and not for the first time. While my position is that of manservant, it’s never been that simple, partially because of who Master Bruce is and what he does, but also because of who I am and what I do. Tim is a child of my heart, as is Dick and poor, ill-fated Jason. It can’t be unreasonable that I feel protective towards any of them. It’s a feeling I harbour towards Bruce as well, which creates some awkward situations. Taking sides is never a good thing.
It is taking an abominably long time for the boy to open the Cave. No, I shall not panic. However calling in assistance is perhaps a wise thing at this point.
Dick is a delight; despite all he’s been through, the light in him still shines ever so brightly. Likewise, he feels things acutely rather then numbing himself to the world. I fear that my call has worked him up into a bit of a state. Oh well, there is no help for it.
I’m sorely tempted to listen in on the conversation between the two boys, yet I carefully do nothing of the sort. Such will not be necessary, not with Master Dick coming down. Tim can be extremely obstinate and reticent in his own ways. His enthusiastic and expressive older bother on the other hand has no defence against me. I shall get to the bottom of this soon enough.
That resolve is sorely tested as I enter the Cave, only to find the boy hunched unhappily in the chair before the main computer, his bare knuckles reduced to so much raw hamburger. A look at the fresh blood on the punching bag has me clenching my jaw and muttering about the folly of youth. Not what one would call a good sign. I cluck my tongue. “Dare I ask whose face you were visualizing,” I inquire with my customary dryness, striving to keep things as normal as possible; all my charges take a great deal of comfort in the familiar.
The only answer I receive is a scowl. It says something about his state of mind that he doesn’t hide behind his habitual game face.
I give a large sigh that is only slightly exaggerated, and then turn to clean up the mess on the heavy bag.
There is always much to be done in and under the Manor, so it’s not hard to keep myself busy within the Cave. This, of course, allows me
to keep a dutiful eye on the boy. For a little while, he appears to be working at the computer. However, a lack of movement draws my attention. The lad is laying with his cheek on the console, semi-pillowed by one arm. I do my best to quell the rise of more then a few uneasy feelings. He a smart lad, and he would have alerted me to any injuries he sustained, given how he is not possessed of his mentor’s stoic masochism. Instead, he is very good about taking care of himself. I devoutly hope his current state is merely the result of exhaustion.
Master Dick’s arrival is truly something of a relief. Cheeks flushed and eyes bright, if worried, he pauses as he takes notice of the napping boy, but continues on toward my position. As Master Bruce would say, a good soldier. As I say, a properly concerned brother. Ours is a strange and peculiar family, but a family just the same. So it makes perfect sense that he should seek to gain as much information from me as possible. Given that I have every intention of doing the same to him in the near future, it is only fair to share both my lack of understanding and my speculations.
It’s not until a little while later, in the kitchen, that I am finally able to put at least some of those theories to rest. Unfortunately, what I hear is far worse then anything I had imagined. Master Bruce is capable of much, but sexual advances toward his young partner? I would have said it was impossible except that I’m clearly wrong.
No, it’s apparently far more then mere advances, although I’m having a ghastly time conceptualizing the situation. I can feel myself pale and am almost grateful when Master Dick requests that I take myself elsewhere. Even so, I can’t simply ignore what I have learned, nor it’s horrific implications for everyone involved. If I am to be honest with myself, my first uncharitable thought is how stupid the lord of the manor is. Timothy likely believes himself to be subtle, and realistically I doubt anyone other then myself would have noticed, but his affections for Bruce have been obvious since he was fourteen. Similarly, Bruce’s interest is certainly there, and yet, so is that iron clad will. What I know of the man tells me that he wouldn’t voluntarily act on those feelings. Heaven knows, he’s had more then enough practice denying his feelings.
So, to have their first encounter occur under such circumstances… Well, ‘dreadful’ is truly an understatement. Upon considering the matter further, I conclude that of both them are victims and that blame is something is best left out of the equation. Master Bruce will be blaming himself enough as is. And what of the boy?
I’m honestly at a loss. I know that Tim can, and will, hide his feelings under that stoic mask he’s perfected over the years. It’s a dangerous thing, really, since his inclination to internalize will only allow it to fester. Another reason to be thankful for Master Dick’s presence. Perhaps, he can entice the youth to speak the unspeakable.
I allow them an hour before I peek into Master Timothy’s room. The image of the two curled up is truly heart warming and for a moment, I can forget the disastrous situation. The younger of the pair is curled in on himself, not quite in a fetal position, against Dick’s chest. For his part the gymnast is practically wrapped about his brother, his mouth buried in the soft fall of the boy’s hair.
For a moment, I debate which course of action to follow. It is when I’m about the close the door that Dick rolls his head around to look at me. Those deep, sapphire eyes hold a world of understanding and meaning, of dark things that must be said. I nod my acknowledgement and retreat from the room. Soon, I shall have my answers, and then perhaps I can think of a way to deal with the inevitable fallout. It is a role that I fear I’ve become all too practiced at.
Only a few moments pass before Master Dick joins me in the hall. Some part of me takes great comfort in his easy smile. The man is a terrible liar, with his body constantly betraying his real thoughts, so that smile does much to alleviate my fears. My shoulders and jaw relax a little.
“Can I interest you in tea and cookies, Master Dick?” No point in neglecting basic civility. The easy smile becomes and appreciative grin. The day he turns down the offer of cookies the world will surely be at its end.
“Absolutely, though you don’t have to bribe me into telling you what I found out,” he assures me, as he walks casually by my side.
I affect a disdainful sniff. “I would never stoop to bribery, sir.”
His eyes dance as the man continues to grin at me. “Of course you wouldn’t,” he plays along. “Just like you wouldn’t drug Timmy’s coffee to make sure he gets some rest instead of running off after Bruce.”
I stop half way down the stairs to level a glare at Master Bruce’s erstwhile ward, putting my honest incredulous disbelief into the words. “I beg your pardon?” The look of shock on his face is almost too much, but I hang onto my quiet indignation.
“Wha--? You mean you didn’t? I could have sworn that you, cuz… he…” The babbling trails off ineffectually.
“Certainly not,” I inform him haughtily, taking some perverse pleasure in the young man’s obvious discomfort. It is only fair after he presumed to imply such a horrific notion. To do so before knowing the particulars of the situation would be unforgivable. Now, had the boy not properly passed out under his bother’s administrations, then, and only then should I have contrived some other way to induce the much need sleep.
Dick runs a flustered hand through his shaggy hair and huffs a bit before conceding the point. “I guess he really was just that tired.” With that we resume our trek back to the kitchen.
Taking a seat at the table, the young man helps himself to the plate of still warm cookies waiting for him. I pour us both cups of tea before joining him and wait quietly. Twenty-four years old and yet, one could swear he’s ten again as he munches his chocolate chip prize. Some things never change. Some things do, however, and I need to find out how.
Not that I am required to actually say anything. I simply sit at the table, hands folded on the wooden surface, and wait. Dick reaches for his fourth cookie. Enough. I purposely raise an eyebrow.
“Uh. Yeah, well…” He looks positively sheepish. Then the words begin to spill from his mouth as I knew they would. “Bruce is in a state because he had sex with Tim.”
Well, that was certainly to the point. “I trust there is more to it then that,” I drawl sardonically, my gaze never wavering.
“’Course.” There’s a heavy sigh, though I don’t think it has anything to do with what needs to be said. “You know Bruce’s issues better then I do. So I’m sure you can guess where his head is at.” I nod. I can, but I still need more information.
“Do we know anything about the toxin of which Master Timothy spoke?”
A shake of the head. “Not yet. Bruce had the computer start running some tests on a sample of his blood before he left. It’ll be another few hours at least. Still, if it was really bad, he would have called someone in to make sure he wasn’t a danger to anyone else.”
It’s a workable theory, though, when we are speaking of the man who nightly dons a cape and cowl, there are no guarantees. His mind and will are remarkable things, yet he is still only human, much as he would prefer to ignore that fact. My lips purse in thought. I let the half-formed musings pass and decide to focus on other issues. “How is Tim?”
How odd. Dick both smiles and tenses, a very conflicted reaction. The one time police officer is playing with his tea cup and avoids my gaze.
“He says he’s fine, and that…” The young man stops and… Oh my. That’s a scowl. “He blames himself. Not for Bruce being poisoned, of course. But for not leaving when he could. If he could.”
For not…? Well, that’s an interesting turn of phrase. I remained seated, calm and composed. If my time with this odd assortment of individuals has taught me anything, it’s how best to help its members cope with the horrific. They go out into the night, battling the deranged and deadly as a matter of course, thinking it nothing beyond a duty they have sworn themselves to serving. Yet, when it comes to pains of the heart and soul, they are particularly vulnerable. So I patch them up the very best I’m able, whether with cotton bandages or cookies and a practiced ear. For this reason, I carefully shift my position to demonstrate without words, both my interest in what he’s saying and the full extent of my caring. It is the best I have to offer, at this point.
The man smiles. This time, it is a heartbreakingly false expression. I wish I could see what thoughts are running through his mind. There will be many of course. Some of them will even be about his own feelings. Mostly, though, they shall center on Bruce and Tim…and on how he could have prevented a situation he wasn’t even present for. They may not be blood relations, but the apple really doesn’t fall far from the tree.
“What do you intend to do?” I ask him, hoping to entice him into speaking those thoughts.
That elicits a heartfelt, gusty exhalation. “We’ll have to find him, talk to him.”
I can’t help but arch my eyebrow again. Bruce and talking are almost mutually exclusive things on his best days. Apparently my reaction has been noted. Dick’s expression of grim determination darkens. He, of course, understands better then most exactly what they are going to be facing.
“I don’t suppose you have any sage words of advice?” The young man really does wear his feelings on his sleeve. Right now, he looks far too young and far too desperately hopeful.
It’s my turn to frown. Mind you, I’ve been privy to the man’s approach toward the world almost since the cradle, yet this time, I have to admit to feeling very much out of my depth. Oh, I have some very choice words in mind should he ever return to the Manor, however, such requires that Nightwing and Robin can convince the Bat to come back.
“Well, should you ever be able to actually speak to him, I think it’s paramount that young Master Timothy and yourself speak your feelings without pain or accusation. Master Bruce will be able to supply more then enough of both on his own. I should also think that avoiding a shouting match would be prudent.” Clearly, I haven’t told him anything particularly illuminating. “As for how you get him to hold still long enough to have the opportunity...” I shrug expressively. It’s not quite true that I have no ideas on the latter score, but I have never given my boys easy answers. Instead, I do my best to help them come to their own understandings. Such things are far more effective in the long run. “Perhaps if you were to tell me of your tentative plans?”
“You mean beyond cornering him on some rooftop?” He’s wears the shamefaced, lopsided grin that fairly screams guilt, having been caught with his pants down as it were. I nod. “Well, he and Tim really need to talk, and by that I mean they need to hear each other. Tim’s smart; he already knows a lot of the reasons why Bruce behaves the way he does, but…Bruce is…”
He’s frowning again. I’d like to join him in that expression but I remain quietly impassive and simply listen.
“He might be the world’s greatest detective, but he can be damned thick.” I’m not particularly successful at suppressing the quirk of my lips. After all, I have thought that every thing to myself a time or two.
“He is very good at ignoring the affections of those around him,” I offer quietly. I wonder if Master Dick is aware that his particular feelings towards the man have been obvious for many a year now. I am tempted to probe that one, but such would be intrusive and unproductive.
The way he doesn’t quite jerk upright in the chair is answer enough, anyhow.
“Yeah. He is,” the lad agrees.
Something tell me that our conversation is over. I gesture to the half-eaten plate of cookies. “Eat up, now. I imagine you will need the energy in the near future.” I can’t help but allow myself a little smile at the conspiratorial expression on the young man’s face. Yes, our conversation is over, but our plans are just beginning.
End
This Way To Confrontation Part One
Characters/Pairings: Alfred, Dick
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None
Word Count: 3002
Disclaimers: Don’t own, not making any money.
Summery: No one expects the Spanish Inquisition…or a determined Alfred.
Acknowledgements: Thank you
dragonbat2006 for beta reading.
Author’s Notes: Here is the next instalment of the Forced Series. If you haven’t done so already, you should read part 1 and 2 of Opportunity, part 1 and 2 of Regrouping and part 1 and 2 of Brothers. To be continued in Confrontation (Bruce)
What a bloody mess. Of course, I should be used to it by now. Master Bruce’s emotional immaturity issues and lack of social graces are nothing new. The man can be insufferable; of that there is no doubt. This time, however, he’s really outdone himself.
At first, I’d been under the impression that it had simply been a tiff between himself and his youngest adoptive son. Such things are not unheard of, though I admit such has seemed unlikely in the last little while. Actually things have been positively cordial. It’s also worth noting that Master Timothy has quite a gift for handling Bruce and his assorted moods.
The tiff theory swiftly went out the window when I found the cave entrance locked and a quick check showed Tim working diligently to by-pass the security system. Worried as I was, I had to smile. The lad’s resourcefulness and determination is something to admire. As is his fierce devotion to the man and his Mission. Sometimes I wonder where it comes from. Perhaps from the same place as my own?
Master Bruce, you are a fool, but you shall ever be our fool. For some inexplicable reason we care about you. It would be extremely nice if you were to let us in once in a while. But no, you are determined to endure your self-imposed suffering alone.
Perhaps, if you did let us in, there would be less pain for everyone. Communication would go a very long way to alleviate many woes. Even so, I’m really not sure what would have prevented this particular disaster.
I will admit, to myself at least, that I shamelessly listened to the boy trying to converse with Bruce through the locked bedroom door. Unfortunately, Tim is very adept at using obscure phrasing, so that without context, it’s far to easy for the words to refer to any number of things. Still, what could have happened that Master Bruce would consider ‘bad‘? After all the years of watching him train his various partners, I have witnessed many things that most sane people would consider ‘bad’ treated as perfectly normal.
All of which leaves me feeling more then a bit fretful and not for the first time. While my position is that of manservant, it’s never been that simple, partially because of who Master Bruce is and what he does, but also because of who I am and what I do. Tim is a child of my heart, as is Dick and poor, ill-fated Jason. It can’t be unreasonable that I feel protective towards any of them. It’s a feeling I harbour towards Bruce as well, which creates some awkward situations. Taking sides is never a good thing.
It is taking an abominably long time for the boy to open the Cave. No, I shall not panic. However calling in assistance is perhaps a wise thing at this point.
Dick is a delight; despite all he’s been through, the light in him still shines ever so brightly. Likewise, he feels things acutely rather then numbing himself to the world. I fear that my call has worked him up into a bit of a state. Oh well, there is no help for it.
I’m sorely tempted to listen in on the conversation between the two boys, yet I carefully do nothing of the sort. Such will not be necessary, not with Master Dick coming down. Tim can be extremely obstinate and reticent in his own ways. His enthusiastic and expressive older bother on the other hand has no defence against me. I shall get to the bottom of this soon enough.
That resolve is sorely tested as I enter the Cave, only to find the boy hunched unhappily in the chair before the main computer, his bare knuckles reduced to so much raw hamburger. A look at the fresh blood on the punching bag has me clenching my jaw and muttering about the folly of youth. Not what one would call a good sign. I cluck my tongue. “Dare I ask whose face you were visualizing,” I inquire with my customary dryness, striving to keep things as normal as possible; all my charges take a great deal of comfort in the familiar.
The only answer I receive is a scowl. It says something about his state of mind that he doesn’t hide behind his habitual game face.
I give a large sigh that is only slightly exaggerated, and then turn to clean up the mess on the heavy bag.
There is always much to be done in and under the Manor, so it’s not hard to keep myself busy within the Cave. This, of course, allows me
to keep a dutiful eye on the boy. For a little while, he appears to be working at the computer. However, a lack of movement draws my attention. The lad is laying with his cheek on the console, semi-pillowed by one arm. I do my best to quell the rise of more then a few uneasy feelings. He a smart lad, and he would have alerted me to any injuries he sustained, given how he is not possessed of his mentor’s stoic masochism. Instead, he is very good about taking care of himself. I devoutly hope his current state is merely the result of exhaustion.
Master Dick’s arrival is truly something of a relief. Cheeks flushed and eyes bright, if worried, he pauses as he takes notice of the napping boy, but continues on toward my position. As Master Bruce would say, a good soldier. As I say, a properly concerned brother. Ours is a strange and peculiar family, but a family just the same. So it makes perfect sense that he should seek to gain as much information from me as possible. Given that I have every intention of doing the same to him in the near future, it is only fair to share both my lack of understanding and my speculations.
It’s not until a little while later, in the kitchen, that I am finally able to put at least some of those theories to rest. Unfortunately, what I hear is far worse then anything I had imagined. Master Bruce is capable of much, but sexual advances toward his young partner? I would have said it was impossible except that I’m clearly wrong.
No, it’s apparently far more then mere advances, although I’m having a ghastly time conceptualizing the situation. I can feel myself pale and am almost grateful when Master Dick requests that I take myself elsewhere. Even so, I can’t simply ignore what I have learned, nor it’s horrific implications for everyone involved. If I am to be honest with myself, my first uncharitable thought is how stupid the lord of the manor is. Timothy likely believes himself to be subtle, and realistically I doubt anyone other then myself would have noticed, but his affections for Bruce have been obvious since he was fourteen. Similarly, Bruce’s interest is certainly there, and yet, so is that iron clad will. What I know of the man tells me that he wouldn’t voluntarily act on those feelings. Heaven knows, he’s had more then enough practice denying his feelings.
So, to have their first encounter occur under such circumstances… Well, ‘dreadful’ is truly an understatement. Upon considering the matter further, I conclude that of both them are victims and that blame is something is best left out of the equation. Master Bruce will be blaming himself enough as is. And what of the boy?
I’m honestly at a loss. I know that Tim can, and will, hide his feelings under that stoic mask he’s perfected over the years. It’s a dangerous thing, really, since his inclination to internalize will only allow it to fester. Another reason to be thankful for Master Dick’s presence. Perhaps, he can entice the youth to speak the unspeakable.
I allow them an hour before I peek into Master Timothy’s room. The image of the two curled up is truly heart warming and for a moment, I can forget the disastrous situation. The younger of the pair is curled in on himself, not quite in a fetal position, against Dick’s chest. For his part the gymnast is practically wrapped about his brother, his mouth buried in the soft fall of the boy’s hair.
For a moment, I debate which course of action to follow. It is when I’m about the close the door that Dick rolls his head around to look at me. Those deep, sapphire eyes hold a world of understanding and meaning, of dark things that must be said. I nod my acknowledgement and retreat from the room. Soon, I shall have my answers, and then perhaps I can think of a way to deal with the inevitable fallout. It is a role that I fear I’ve become all too practiced at.
Only a few moments pass before Master Dick joins me in the hall. Some part of me takes great comfort in his easy smile. The man is a terrible liar, with his body constantly betraying his real thoughts, so that smile does much to alleviate my fears. My shoulders and jaw relax a little.
“Can I interest you in tea and cookies, Master Dick?” No point in neglecting basic civility. The easy smile becomes and appreciative grin. The day he turns down the offer of cookies the world will surely be at its end.
“Absolutely, though you don’t have to bribe me into telling you what I found out,” he assures me, as he walks casually by my side.
I affect a disdainful sniff. “I would never stoop to bribery, sir.”
His eyes dance as the man continues to grin at me. “Of course you wouldn’t,” he plays along. “Just like you wouldn’t drug Timmy’s coffee to make sure he gets some rest instead of running off after Bruce.”
I stop half way down the stairs to level a glare at Master Bruce’s erstwhile ward, putting my honest incredulous disbelief into the words. “I beg your pardon?” The look of shock on his face is almost too much, but I hang onto my quiet indignation.
“Wha--? You mean you didn’t? I could have sworn that you, cuz… he…” The babbling trails off ineffectually.
“Certainly not,” I inform him haughtily, taking some perverse pleasure in the young man’s obvious discomfort. It is only fair after he presumed to imply such a horrific notion. To do so before knowing the particulars of the situation would be unforgivable. Now, had the boy not properly passed out under his bother’s administrations, then, and only then should I have contrived some other way to induce the much need sleep.
Dick runs a flustered hand through his shaggy hair and huffs a bit before conceding the point. “I guess he really was just that tired.” With that we resume our trek back to the kitchen.
Taking a seat at the table, the young man helps himself to the plate of still warm cookies waiting for him. I pour us both cups of tea before joining him and wait quietly. Twenty-four years old and yet, one could swear he’s ten again as he munches his chocolate chip prize. Some things never change. Some things do, however, and I need to find out how.
Not that I am required to actually say anything. I simply sit at the table, hands folded on the wooden surface, and wait. Dick reaches for his fourth cookie. Enough. I purposely raise an eyebrow.
“Uh. Yeah, well…” He looks positively sheepish. Then the words begin to spill from his mouth as I knew they would. “Bruce is in a state because he had sex with Tim.”
Well, that was certainly to the point. “I trust there is more to it then that,” I drawl sardonically, my gaze never wavering.
“’Course.” There’s a heavy sigh, though I don’t think it has anything to do with what needs to be said. “You know Bruce’s issues better then I do. So I’m sure you can guess where his head is at.” I nod. I can, but I still need more information.
“Do we know anything about the toxin of which Master Timothy spoke?”
A shake of the head. “Not yet. Bruce had the computer start running some tests on a sample of his blood before he left. It’ll be another few hours at least. Still, if it was really bad, he would have called someone in to make sure he wasn’t a danger to anyone else.”
It’s a workable theory, though, when we are speaking of the man who nightly dons a cape and cowl, there are no guarantees. His mind and will are remarkable things, yet he is still only human, much as he would prefer to ignore that fact. My lips purse in thought. I let the half-formed musings pass and decide to focus on other issues. “How is Tim?”
How odd. Dick both smiles and tenses, a very conflicted reaction. The one time police officer is playing with his tea cup and avoids my gaze.
“He says he’s fine, and that…” The young man stops and… Oh my. That’s a scowl. “He blames himself. Not for Bruce being poisoned, of course. But for not leaving when he could. If he could.”
For not…? Well, that’s an interesting turn of phrase. I remained seated, calm and composed. If my time with this odd assortment of individuals has taught me anything, it’s how best to help its members cope with the horrific. They go out into the night, battling the deranged and deadly as a matter of course, thinking it nothing beyond a duty they have sworn themselves to serving. Yet, when it comes to pains of the heart and soul, they are particularly vulnerable. So I patch them up the very best I’m able, whether with cotton bandages or cookies and a practiced ear. For this reason, I carefully shift my position to demonstrate without words, both my interest in what he’s saying and the full extent of my caring. It is the best I have to offer, at this point.
The man smiles. This time, it is a heartbreakingly false expression. I wish I could see what thoughts are running through his mind. There will be many of course. Some of them will even be about his own feelings. Mostly, though, they shall center on Bruce and Tim…and on how he could have prevented a situation he wasn’t even present for. They may not be blood relations, but the apple really doesn’t fall far from the tree.
“What do you intend to do?” I ask him, hoping to entice him into speaking those thoughts.
That elicits a heartfelt, gusty exhalation. “We’ll have to find him, talk to him.”
I can’t help but arch my eyebrow again. Bruce and talking are almost mutually exclusive things on his best days. Apparently my reaction has been noted. Dick’s expression of grim determination darkens. He, of course, understands better then most exactly what they are going to be facing.
“I don’t suppose you have any sage words of advice?” The young man really does wear his feelings on his sleeve. Right now, he looks far too young and far too desperately hopeful.
It’s my turn to frown. Mind you, I’ve been privy to the man’s approach toward the world almost since the cradle, yet this time, I have to admit to feeling very much out of my depth. Oh, I have some very choice words in mind should he ever return to the Manor, however, such requires that Nightwing and Robin can convince the Bat to come back.
“Well, should you ever be able to actually speak to him, I think it’s paramount that young Master Timothy and yourself speak your feelings without pain or accusation. Master Bruce will be able to supply more then enough of both on his own. I should also think that avoiding a shouting match would be prudent.” Clearly, I haven’t told him anything particularly illuminating. “As for how you get him to hold still long enough to have the opportunity...” I shrug expressively. It’s not quite true that I have no ideas on the latter score, but I have never given my boys easy answers. Instead, I do my best to help them come to their own understandings. Such things are far more effective in the long run. “Perhaps if you were to tell me of your tentative plans?”
“You mean beyond cornering him on some rooftop?” He’s wears the shamefaced, lopsided grin that fairly screams guilt, having been caught with his pants down as it were. I nod. “Well, he and Tim really need to talk, and by that I mean they need to hear each other. Tim’s smart; he already knows a lot of the reasons why Bruce behaves the way he does, but…Bruce is…”
He’s frowning again. I’d like to join him in that expression but I remain quietly impassive and simply listen.
“He might be the world’s greatest detective, but he can be damned thick.” I’m not particularly successful at suppressing the quirk of my lips. After all, I have thought that every thing to myself a time or two.
“He is very good at ignoring the affections of those around him,” I offer quietly. I wonder if Master Dick is aware that his particular feelings towards the man have been obvious for many a year now. I am tempted to probe that one, but such would be intrusive and unproductive.
The way he doesn’t quite jerk upright in the chair is answer enough, anyhow.
“Yeah. He is,” the lad agrees.
Something tell me that our conversation is over. I gesture to the half-eaten plate of cookies. “Eat up, now. I imagine you will need the energy in the near future.” I can’t help but allow myself a little smile at the conspiratorial expression on the young man’s face. Yes, our conversation is over, but our plans are just beginning.
End
This Way To Confrontation Part One