Issue 3 of 8

Disclaimers: See chapter 1. Kessler and Danziger belong to me. “Hearts in Armour” copyright 1992 by Mad Jack Music. Recorded by Trisha Yearwood on her Hearts in Armour CD, MCA records, 1992.

Special thanks to Char, for encouragement and legal advice, especially for the info about the relationship between the JLA and the UN. Thanks also to Will44 and NightJim for Titans history

For years, I kept having the same nightmare, over and over again. First I’d watch you do your quadruple somersault, then your parents would fall, and fall…

“Alfred would come in every time I screamed,” Dick said softly. “I thought Bruce either didn’t care or had to be one heck of a heavy sleeper. And then, one night, I woke up and it was Bruce, not Alfred, who was sitting with me. That was when he told me about his parents. I must have said something about how I was sorry I was acting like such a baby about it,” at Tim’s shocked expression, Dick shrugged. “I was ten. Circus life was pretty rough-and-tumble. You got into fights. You got hurt. You hurt back. But you never cried--that made you a wuss. I tried explaining that to Bruce, and that was when he told me…

“You’re handling this better than I did. After my parents died, I didn’t speak for almost a year, and then only to Alfred and Doctor Lesley for the longest time.”

“And the bad dreams? You had them too?

“Yes.”

“When will they stop?”

(Long pause) “Soon, I hope.”

That had also been one of the only times he had seen Bruce wear the costume above cave level, he remembered. Dick inhaled, held it for a few seconds, and exhaled. “Any time someone close to Bruce gets hurt, he locks himself away and he shuts himself off. He was like that when he lost his parents, when he was eight. He was like that when Joker shot me, when Jason… when we all thought Jason died…” He looked at Gordon, “When you got shot, Sir. And of course, after Vesper…” he grimaced. “I think when Spoiler died, he actually tried… reaching out. To me,” he added with a pang. And I was so caught up in my own private soap opera, all I saw was that he’d sent everyone else away again. “Let’s just say that could have gone better. Thing is, even when he closed himself off from the rest of us, he always had Alfred.”

“Not always,” Tim interjected. “You know he quit after Bane--“

“Because he couldn’t stand seeing Bruce destroy himself. You have no idea how glad he was to head back to Gotham.”

“After--“ He glanced at Gordon.

“Right. Quit working for Batman to work for Robin. That’s a convincing way to leave someone’s life. And after Vesper, he came running back to help. Face it, Tim--Alfred was the one person Bruce never deliberately kept out of the loop. Even recently, when he ordered everyone else out of Gotham, I bet he didn’t try to talk Alfred into retiring.”

“Like he’d have listened,” Tim snorted.

Dick grinned back. “Want to bet Bruce knew he needed somebody who would stand up to him? But what Black Mask did…” Dick frowned. “It’s Vesper all over again but worse. Bruce pushes us away because he’s terrified that if he lets us get too close, he’ll lose us. Alfred was the only exception. And--“

“He blames himself,” Barbara interrupted. “Did you see the note Roman sent? It was in the computer. Look.”

The two young men blinked at the text on the screen:

Wayne. You want your butler. I want certain concessions from your company. Let’s trade.

A list of demands followed, demands that would, effectively, allow Black Mask’s hands to extend deep into the pockets of Wayne Industries. A percentage of the profits would be diverted to offshore accounts. Some of Sionis’ people would be placed in positions where they would directly influence the day-to-day runnings of the company. WE would turn a blind eye to any illicit monies that might pass through its coffers… Dick grimaced.

“Even if he’d wanted to,” he said slowly, “there’s no way Bruce could have gotten the board to go along with that. There are too many safeguards against that sort of takeover.”

Barbara nodded bleakly. “I think Sionis knew that. And I think Bruce knew he knew that. Ever since Wayne Enterprises bought out Janus cosmetics,” she named the company that Roman Sionis--Black Mask--had long ago driven to the edge of bankruptcy, “Black Mask has had it in for Bruce. This was a win-win situation. Either Bruce lost his father’s legacy--or his surrogate father. So Bruce moved everything moveable to try to find Alfred before the deadline was up, and…” She sighed. “When Vesper died, that was another attack on Bruce. Bruce reacted by trying to be Batman full-time. If you want armchair psychology, I think he blamed himself for putting her in danger, and decided that to atone for ‘letting’--and I’m using the term loosely, letting someone die in front of him, he was going to, well, basically… let Bruce Wayne take the rap and disappear.”

She almost missed seeing Dick flinch. She made a mental note to ask him about it later. For now, she added, “If he blamed himself for letting Vesper get close enough to him that Cain saw her as a target, and he reacted by ‘punishing’ Bruce Wayne, then… if Alfred was kidnapped for the same reason, and Batman couldn’t get there in time--“

“You think he’s shutting himself down completely?” Dick asked.

“I read the police report,” Barbara replied. “From the description, hell, from the fact that they were able to unmask him it sure looks like it.”

“Okay,” Dick said grimly. “Bruce is in shock. I can see that happening. Easily. But… Arkham? There’s no way Bruce is insane.”

Barbara nodded. “Legal insanity and mental incompetency aren’t the same thing, you know. Believe it or not, Joker’s legally sane.”

“Say what?” Tim blurted.

“I’m serious. Legal insanity means the person doesn’t know the difference between right and wrong. Joker knows we don’t go after people for donating to cancer research and exercising their right to vote.”

“Hold on,” Tim protested, “Are you saying Joker shouldn’t be in Arkham?”

“No,” Barbara sighed. “Don’t get me started on legal insanity versus real insanity, or I’ll end up committed. Joker’s legally incompetent because he can’t assist in his own defence. And, much as I hate to say it, according to the report I’ve just pulled up from the ER doctor, in the state he was in last night, neither can Bruce.”

Dick mulled over her words. “Last night, he was in shock. Montoya told me as much. But what makes you so sure he won’t snap out of it?”

Barbara sighed. “Think, Dick. After Jason died, Batman became the… the poster-boy for suicide-by-villain. Dad, when you retired and left for Europe,” she turned to Tim. “He outed you to Spoiler, alienated the rest of us and behaved erratically enough that when Vesper turned up dead, most of us were willing to consider the evidence against him. And, when he decided to dump the ‘Bruce Wayne’ identity, he still left Sasha Bordeaux rotting in Blackgate if you recall.

“If you build walls,” she said carefully, “to keep yourself from getting hurt… and then something happens to make you believe you can tear them down…” her knuckles whitened on the arms of her wheelchair, “and then… you get hurt again,” she squeezed her eyes shut, lowering her head, “you rebuild the walls, and you build them higher. So that next time, you won’t be as… vulnerable. And it takes that much longer, and it becomes that much harder to bring them down later. Even,” she whispered, “if building those walls means you hurt… other people in the process.” She looked Dick directly in the eye. “Do you understand what I’m trying to say?”

Dick thought he did. And he didn’t think she was just talking about Bruce, either. But just in case she was, he said “You don’t think Bruce is going to come back to us so fast.”

“He lost Jason. He lost Alfred. He was injured. He was arrested. He was unmasked. What do you think?”

Gordon cleared his throat. “Assuming all this is true, what’s your next move?”

“I want to see him,” Dick said firmly.

The elderly man shook his head. “They’re likely to arrest you on sight. You know that.”

“Story of my life, these days,” Dick shrugged, trying to sound flippant.

“There’s something else we need to keep in mind,” Barbara said. “If Bruce wins that hearing… I just had a look at the charges the DA’s office has prepared against him. It doesn’t look good.”

“Meaning?” Tim asked.

Barbara took a long breath. “He’s facing multiple counts on all of the following,” she began, “Rebellion, assault, assault with a deadly weapon--“

“Deadly?” Tim, again.

“Batarangs,” Barbara replied. “Just because he’s never aimed for the throat doesn’t mean they’re not sharp enough to slice the jugular.”

She continued. “Assault inflicting serious injury, assault with deadly weapon inflicting serious injury--“

“They can separate it out like that?” Tim asked in disbelief.

The two former law enforcement officers nodded instantly. “You’d better believe it,” Gordon confirmed, grimly. “The only question is whether they will. There’s also malicious maiming, maliciously throwing corrosive substances, breaking and entering. Felony larceny. Obstruction of justice. Misdemeanour child abuse. Otherwise known as thrusting a minor into danger on a continual basis. Want to nitpick? Toss in felony flee to elude. Vandalism. Mischief. Now, let’s look at recent events. The Brown girl’s death would probably be involuntary manslaughter--“

“No way!” Tim declared.

“Yes way,” Barbara stated, “but that’s not the kicker. Twenty-eight officers died last summer, when they followed his plan to stop the gang war. Now, it probably would get struck down to voluntary or even involuntary manslaughter, eventually, but the DA’s office is likely to go for separate counts of second-degree murder first. Do you have any idea the kind of prison time that translates to? I… I really hate to say it, but he might be better off if the hearing does find him incompetent to stand trial.”
________________________________________________________________________

The last time he had walked into BPD headquarters, he had thought it was the end of everything. Nothing like having your father facing 28 consecutive life sentences or incarceration in a mental institution to put your life into perspective. He pressed down on the levered handle of the door to the precinct, aware that his hands were sweating. Funny. He’d been a lot calmer when he’d turned himself in over Blockbuster’s murder. All she can do is say ‘no’, Grayson. Get it together! He barely nodded an acknowledgment to the various greetings called through open cubicles. He’d been on the phone with Roy for nearly an hour last night, and he’d reached a decision.

While the public knew that ‘Batman’ was in police custody, the GCPD had not yet released Bruce’s name to the media. Once they did, or once the press succeeded in finding someone--officer or hospital staff--willing to talk, it wouldn’t be long before someone connected Richard Grayson with the original Robin. Although most people remained unaware that the ‘vigilante known as Nightwing’ had once been that Robin, Dick had to admit that it didn’t take a genius to realize that when Nightwing had been a member of the Titans, Dick Grayson had been living in New York. When Nightwing took up residence in Bludhaven, so did Dick Grayson. It was ironic, really, now he thought of it. All his stupid chances that had seemed to make so much sense at the time--his acrobatic feats while in BPD uniform, going out in costume before a bullet wound sustained on his day job fully healed… (Was that what gave me away to Desmond? Probably), infiltrating the Jersey mob while cleverly using his own name… and his secret identity had somehow remained relatively safe, until Bruce’s capture. What he needed to do now was obtain some sort of official sanction. A long time ago, the Teen Titans had been deputized as law-enforcement agents. That status had ended when the team disbanded years ago. But if he could get that sanction back, although Akins might be able to stop him from acting as Nightwing in Gotham, maybe he wouldn’t be arrested walking down the street. Hey. Roy wasn’t, and just what was up with that?

“Grayson!” Captain Amy Rohrbach stood in the doorway of her office, arms folded, glowering like a certain bat was wont to do. “In here. Now.”

This didn’t look good. A thought instantly corroborated by the jeers and whistles of most of the office personnel. He squared his shoulders and strode toward the office. Amy let him pass, then shut the door behind them.

Once in private, she opened her desk drawer, pulled out a manila folder, and slammed it, opened, onto her desk blotter. “Crutches Grayson?” she demanded, scornfully. “Tell me this wasn’t some other way for you to… oh, what was the phrase you used, last time--gain atonement? One more crack at getting yourself arrested?”

Dick swallowed. “Amy,” he started to say.

She jabbed her index finger against his sternum. “Because, let me tell you something, right now, Dick. Your UN sanction with the JLA probably won’t stand up if you’re caught assisting a known criminal organization. So keep this up, and you might just get your wish.” Her lip curled in disgust. “And that would be a real waste.”

Dick had stopped listening. He had almost stopped breathing. Amy was right! As a reserve member of the JLA, he was officially deputized by the United Nations! He held special status as a member of an elite international peacekeeping force! As long as he didn’t interfere with the police without being invited to do so… He wanted to cartwheel back to Gotham, triple-flip onto Akins’ office windowsill, and make faces at him through the glass. He wanted to kiss his married former Captain. For the first time in--G-d, how long had it been? Months? Yes. For the first time in nearly five months, he felt as though his shoulders had come unstapled from his neck.

Amy stopped ranting and looked at the suddenly beaming young man before her with some annoyance. She was chewing the guy out, and he was grinning like an idiot. “Do you understand what I’m saying, Grayson?” She snapped.

His smile could not have been broader if he’d taken a full dose of Joker toxin. “Every word, Amy!” He whooped. “Every single word! THANK-you!” He raced out of her office, before he really did kiss her. Which turned out to be a good thing, as he nearly collided with Mr. Rohrbach on the steps outside the precinct.
________________________________________________________________________

“You have some nerve waltzing in here like this,” Akins barked at the young man seated outside his office. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t just place you under arrest and send you down to holding… What’s this?” He looked at the thin plastic rectangle that had just been passed to him.

“JLA reservist identity card,” Dick said affably. “As a sanctioned member of the Justice League of America--“

Akins held up a hand. “Get in here,” he ordered. Dick obeyed.

Once inside his office, Akins motioned Dick to a chair. He remained standing behind his desk, however.

Psychological advantage, Dick noted. He’s trying to use the height differential to intimidate me. Of course, facing down adult opponents when you’re ten, you learn how NOT to get intimidated pretty quick.

“Alright,” Akins said grimly. “I may not be able to bring charges against you for what happened last summer, but I can order you to refrain from any illegal activities in this city. As I understand it, you can’t intervene in routine police matters unless we invite you. We aren’t. We won’t.”

Dick leaned forward intently. “Are you sure about this, Commissioner,” he asked seriously. “Our help in the past--“

“Police work and vigilantism don’t mix. You want to help? Wear a badge.”

Dick’s eyes narrowed. “I did,” he returned. “I’ll give you that point. They don’t mix. Still, last night was difficult for your people. It’s going to get worse.”

“Not if the lunatics don’t have someone in a mask to fixate on. If you won’t stay out of costume in my city, you will stay in Blackgate. Do I make myself clear?”

He lifted his head and met Akins’ gaze squarely. “As clear as it is that you’re cutting off your nose to spite your face.” Dick refrained from pointing out that Akins’ possessiveness regarding Gotham, and his insistence on running matters his way, reminded him sharply of someone else. A thought occurred to him: was that the underlying root of the conflict between the current police commissioner and his mentor--two men both in positions of command, neither comfortable taking orders, and neither willing to cede authority to the other? He wondered. Broaching the subject, though, would only serve to further antagonize Akins.

“Nightwing will not operate in Gotham, unless and until you request him, Commissioner,” Dick said stiffly. “I would, however,” he continued, “like to visit my adoptive father.”

Akins frowned. “What assurances could you provide that you won’t try to slip him a lock-pick? Or that you won’t make some attempt to extract him from custody?”

For one fleeting instant, Dick wished he was back with the mob. Then, he could have gotten away with pummelling Akins until his face was as black and blue as the Nightwing costume. Instead, his eyes went flat, and although his mouth curved upwards in an almost-friendly smile, the voice that issued from it could have kept Victor Fries comfortable without the cold-suit. “I can give you my word,” Dick replied softly, “just like I can give you my word that I will not file charges against the GCPD for opening fire on a sanctioned Law Enforcement Official last summer, while he was attempting to perform his duties. Provided I’m given the opportunity to visit your prisoner. Who, as of last summer, was also a sanctioned Law Enforcement Official.”

He stared intently at Akins, and it was the police commissioner who looked away first. “I’ll see what I can do,” he growled.
________________________________________________________________________

“How could we have forgotten about the JLA sanction?” Barbara asked, incredulous.

Dick grunted as he lifted another carton out of the trunk of his car. Barbara wheeled back from the door connecting the garage to the rest of the house so that Dick could set it down with the others, in one hastily-cleared corner of the basement crime lab. He swung his arms back and forth to get the pins-and-needles feeling out of them. “You know Bruce,” he said. “He doesn’t like asking for help, period. How long did he try to go it alone during No Man’s Land?”

“Point taken. Bet Akins was ticked.”

Dick grinned. “He wasn’t that surprised, you know. Until I threatened the lawsuit.”

Barbara laughed. “I still can’t believe you did that!”

“He deserved it. And for what may be the first time ever, it wasn’t an empty threat. Once my ID becomes public, I actually will have a few more options.”

Barbara turned on her equipment to monitor the police band frequency. “Just don’t get carried away, Former Boy Wonder. Your JLA membership gives you international police powers, not diplomatic immunity. And if your ID is public, they’ll be able to find you that much more easily.”

Dick sobered. “I know. I’m just trying to get used to the situation, now, before all of this hits the newspapers. How long do you think we have?”

“Some orderly could be giving the Post an exclusive as we speak. It could be hours, days at the most.” She looked up from her computer array. “Are you… really okay with this?”

Dick shrugged. “Maybe I’m tired of all the wrong people finding out anyway. It might just be a relief to be able to assume from the start that everybody knows already, and work from there.”

“Beren called Tim,” Barbara said. “They should have the autopsy results by tomorrow, so…”

“We’ll need to make the… the funeral arrangements,” Dick closed his eyes. “It hasn’t really sunk in, yet. I can’t afford to let it sink in until we get Bruce out.”

Barbara wheeled over and placed a hand over his wrist. “It’s not like you can schedule these things,” she said, quietly.

“Bruce and I can’t fall apart at the same time,” he replied. “One of us has to be the strong one. Right now, it has to be me.” The conversation was making him uncomfortable. He had to change the subject. “By the way, I found something in the cave I bet you didn’t know Bruce had,” he said. He pulled the lid off of one of the cartons.

“Dick.”

“Just one sec’…”

“Dick, listen to me. Please.”

He stopped, and slowly straightened up.

Barbara hesitated. “I guess, first, I’m sorry.” She looked down at her hands, folded in her lap. “I got scared. Of how good things were going, of where we were headed. I knew something was going to happen to mess us up, soon, so I… I pre-empted it.” She looked up. “I loved that when I was with you, I could forget about the chair, because you never seemed to notice it until I brought it to your attention. Somehow, I managed to twist that around until I had myself believing that you were in denial, and convinced that this was temporary. Or that you didn’t appreciate that, despite all my electronic toys and my custom van, the chair does limit me. Talk about projecting. Anyway, I don’t know everything that happened after you left, that night, but from what I do know, you’ve had a lot going on. I understand if you don’t want to talk to me, right now, but…” she hesitated. “Don’t get angry.”

She was silent for so long that Dick finally had to ask, “about?” In a way, the pause had been a good thing. It had given him time to compose himself before opening his mouth.

Barbara sighed. “Bruce taught us… a lot. Some things that we picked up, though, I don’t think he meant for us to, and… well… let’s take me. I… manipulated things on a mission, so that Helena had to confront some of her… issues. She figured it out, and blew up. Rightfully. But one of the things she told me was that I was just like… like Bruce. And it wasn’t a compliment. And she was right. I’m telling you this, because, if you think about what you were saying before, it sounds like you’re planning to deal with things by suppressing them. And that’s another one of Bruce’s techniques. And I don’t think it’s a good one to pick up.”

“Babs…”

“Dick. Listen. Talking something out is not ‘falling apart’. Calling a friend who’s been through something similar and asking for coping strategies is not ‘weakness’. If you’re not comfortable opening up to me, after everything that’s happened, I understand. Call Roy, call Wally… hell, talk to Hal Jordan if you think it’ll do some good. But don’t keep it all in. I think we’ve all seen enough of what that does to Bruce.”

She waited. Dick was silent, but he at least seemed to be considering her words.

A text message began to flash on one of her monitors. She excused herself and wheeled over. A groan escaped her lips. “It’s only been dark for a half-hour or so, and Escobar’s old crew is down at the docks. So’s the Jade Serpent triad.”

“Drug-related?” Dick asked, instantly professional.

Barbara hesitated. “Could be.” She punched a code onto one of her consoles. “I’ll get Cass to check into it. Robin’s in Bludhaven, tonight,” she added. “Penguin’s up to something.”

“Penguin’s always up to something,” Dick remarked as Barbara began relaying instructions to Cass.
Once the link was terminated, she smiled, half-heartedly. “Well, he’s up to more than usual. About…”

Dick held up a hand. “I know. Believe me, I know. And don’t worry, I’ll deal with things, but not right this second. Oh, before I forget,” he withdrew his hand from behind his back, and pitched something small, and blue and grey onto her lap, “here.”

Barbara looked at the Batgirl beanbag doll that had sat on her workstation in the Clock Tower for nearly five years. “Oh my gosh!” She gasped with a startled laugh. “Where did you find…”

Dick grinned. “In the cave. I guess Bruce must’ve found it in the rubble, afterwards. Thought you might like it back.”

“Omigosh, yes!” She exclaimed. “Dick, I-I don’t know what to say…”

“Then don’t say anything. But when you don’t have your work distracting you,” he said hesitantly, as he gestured to the computers, “maybe we could try… I could try… talking. If you don’t mind that you’ll probably end up hating me by the time I finish,” he said lightly.

“Dick Grayson, I could never hate you,” Barbara insisted. At that moment, the police band frequency crackled to life.

“Officer down! We need assistance. Any units in the vicinity of Cameron and Weisinger please respond…”

Dick started forward. “That’s only about ten blocks from here.”

“Dick, if you go out there…”

“Listen to the band, Babs. The nearest unit is over twenty minutes away.” He gestured to the monitors. More lines of text were appearing every few seconds. “There are looters downtown, Riddler’s at large, and Cornelius Stirk’s been on the loose for sixteen hours. I have to help.”

Barbara bowed her head. “I know,” she admitted. “You’re right. But if Akins finds out, you’re either going to have to leave Gotham, or wear a disguise around the clock. And forget trying to see Bruce.” She sighed. “I mean, you gave him your word, and now you’re about to break it.”

Dick smiled. “No,” he said slowly. “No, I’m not. I promised Akins that Nightwing wouldn’t be operating in Gotham without his permission. And I’m going to keep that promise.” He reached back into the same carton from which he’d extracted the Batgirl doll. “I’m still going out tonight, though,” he said as he pulled out a black cape with a pointed-ear cowl attached to it. “I’ll just have to wear a different suit.”