Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The waiting room is no colder than usual, but today Dick is shivering. 

It’s no one’s fault. Gotham is cold in the winter. Snows sweep in to blanket the city, their white the only color Gotham sees in the long doldrums between the lights of Christmas and the first tentative greenery of spring. Winds blow in from the lakes even when it’s dry. The children at St. Mary’s Catholic Church and Orphanage are better off than many in the city. They have a roof over their heads, walls around them, and fires in the hearths. If the walls are stone, damp and chill, that can’t be helped; St. Mary’s is an old building, and stone is sturdy, requiring little of their precious funds to be spent on upkeep. If the rooms are so large that the fires can’t reach the far corners, well, there are enough children that they can stay close together for warmth. If their clothes are plain and rough, they’re at least made of good wool, donated by Gotham’s faithful and shared out among the needy without stint by the Sisters of Perpetual Grace, whose convent adjoins St. Mary’s Church. The nuns’ habits are made of the same material, and they all eat the same food from the same stew-pot. If growing children wish there were enough for second helpings, they’re reminded how many have nothing in their bowls at all. The orphans of St. Mary’s eat three meals a day, warm and wholesome, if not filling. No one gets rickets here. No one gets scurvy. In the middle of the Great Depression, when all they have to do is step outside to see folk dying of starvation in the streets, they’re fortunate. 

But the funds only go so far. The rich of Gotham still donate to the orphanage as a pious act, but there are no tithes from the middle class, no alms from the working poor. The divide between the millionaires and everyone else is growing. The divide between a child and adult, which Dick faces now, is a gulf he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to cross.

Dick’s birthday is in three weeks. His eighteenth birthday.

The door to the Mother Superior’s office opens. He calls, “Richard.”

Numbly Dick rises and crosses the stone floor to enter the chamber. He dips and kisses the Reverend Mother’s ring, as he’d been taught when St. Mary’s had first taken him in. Dick hadn’t been Catholic before. His family hadn’t been particularly religious. St. Mary’s hadn’t minded that, had taken him in anyway after their deaths, but they’d required him to follow their ways while living with them. For three meals a day and a warm place to sleep, Dick would have done far more than say prayers and kiss rings. He doesn’t view it as a betrayal. We do what we must to survive, his parents had taught him from his cradle. If the gaje are more comfortable when we honor their ways, what harm does it do? We are still who we are at the end of the day.

“Sit,” the Mother Superior says, and Dick sits.

The Mother Abbess of St. Mary’s Convent of the Sisters of Perpetual Grace is an older Omega, his skin wrinkled and his movements slow and deliberate. He must once have been of middle height, but his years have stooped him. His eyes are brown and kind. Dick has never known his name. 

“You have been with us a long time, Richard,” the abbess says. 

“Yes, Reverend Mother,” Dick says through a dry throat. He had been ten when his parents had died. Eight years is a long time indeed.

“And now you are nearly eighteen.” The abbess sighs. “You know, my child, that the orphanage cannot continue to support you once you become an adult.”

“I do.” This, too, is no one’s fault. There is simply not enough money to go around. An adult may work and support themselves - at least, they might, if there were jobs to have, work to get, wages to earn. That there is not - is also something neither of them can change.

“There is one path that is always open to you.” Dick nods, but the abbess takes no notice. “You may choose a holy vocation, and take orders. The Sisters of Perpetual Grace will accept you as a postulant if you choose.”

Dick had known to expect this. Religious education is another part of the price of residence at St. Mary’s orphanage, and this possibility had been made known early and often. He had watched many children older than him turn 18 and take this route, the Alphas leaving to become monks at their brother monastery, the Omegas becoming nuns. Some of the latter had even remained among the orphans, teaching and leading, serving as an example of what could await them should they choose this path. Dick had considered it. When his closest friend among the orphans had chosen to take orders, Dick had been permitted to shadow Emma for a week, to see firsthand what being a postulant and eventually a nun would be like. Emma had wanted him to join her. The Mother Superior had been more hesitant. He’d known, Dick sees now, that Dick had never really believed. Paying respects to his caregivers’ religion is not the same thing as following it himself. And while Dick is willing to do so as a child for the sake of his board, he finds he’s unwilling to devote his adulthood to it, even with the same inducement. 

“Thank you, Reverend Mother,” Dick says respectfully, “but I cannot follow that path.”

The Mother Superior nods. He looks unsurprised. “Then perhaps,” he says, “you would be interested to hear of another opportunity.”

Dick sits up straighter. He’d expected that to be the end of the conversation. Of course there would be the usual things said about how St. Mary’s doors are always open to the faithful, should Dick change his mind, and some conversation about what Dick would be permitted to take with him when he goes, the day after his birthday. He’s seen others age out; he knows what to expect. Two sets of clothes, a pair of shoes, a coat and hat. A letter of good character so that he can rent a room and enough money for a week. All that, as well as any personal items he’d brought in with him. But never before has he heard of anyone being offered anything beyond that. “What is it, Reverend Mother?” Dick asks.

The abbess doesn’t speak immediately. He seems to be thinking, and spends several moments looking past Dick at the worn tapestry adorning the wall. It depicts the Virgin Mary, seated with the infant Jesus on her lap, two fingers raised in blessing. The abbess says, “During your time here, you’ve often helped with the younger children. The Sisters in charge of the nursery praise your efforts.”

“I like kids,” Dick says, unsure of where this is going.

“You never minded when they acted up, either. The Sisters say you were always patient and kind.”

“They were having a tough time.” Now Dick is the one who finds it hard to meet his interlocutor’s eyes. He gazes out the slit window instead. It shows a thin slice of the small cemetery nestled against St. Mary’s. Dick can see a few branches from a stunted tree, the corner of a faded tombstone. “I remember how angry I felt after my parents died. They aren’t bad kids. They’re just angry, too. They needed someone to lash out at and then hug them afterwards.” Dick manages to look at the Mother Superior again. “You did that for me when I first got here.”

The Mother Superior smiles at Dick. “Yes. I remember.”

Dick shrugs. “So. I was just paying it forward.”

“And that is why I think you would be the ideal choice for this unexpected opportunity.” From the papers on his desk, the abbess removes a single sheet. “Are you familiar with Captain Wayne?”

Dick blinks. “The flying ace?” Of course Dick has heard of him; everyone in Gotham has heard of him, like they’ve heard of the Elliots and the Kanes, the bootleggers down by the docks, the gangsters uptown, and the Black Cat, Gotham’s own notorious jewel thief. There are certain facts about Gotham that all of its residents know. The founding families rule the Diamond District, the speakeasies rule the Bowery, and organized crime rules everything in between. And no family in Gotham is more famous than the Waynes.

The Waynes are one of the founding families of Gotham, millionaires several times over. During the Great War, young Bruce Wayne had joined the Air Force the minute he’d turned eighteen and gone overseas. His exploits against the Kaiser’s airmen are legendary. They had been the talk of the town, that day eight years ago when Dick’s family had come to Gotham along with the rest of Haly’s Circus to perform. 

On one of the last nights of their stay, the Waynes, senior, had come to see the performance. There had been a patriotic part of the act, with callouts to members of the audience who had had children deployed. Bruce Wayne’s name probably wouldn’t have stuck with Dick if he’d left Gotham later that week with the rest of the circus, going on to new towns and new soldiers being honored every night. But that had been the same night his parents had fallen from the trapeze. 

The senior Wayne had been a doctor. He’d rushed to the ring, tried to help. He’d been the one to look up from Dick’s mother’s body and shake his head. He’d signed the death certificate. Dick remembers the scrawl: Thomas Alan Wayne, M.D. He has copies. One of the few personal items he’d brought with him to St. Mary’s orphanage. 

Dcik had followed stories of the Waynes afterwards. Everyone in Gotham talks about the swells, so it hadn’t been hard. They’d been big donors to St. Mary’s, too. Dick remembers, for a few years after his parents’ death, Thomas and Martha coming to visit on high holy days. Dressed in their finery, carrying toys and trinkets and passing them around, shaking hands with the older children and offering them jobs at Wayne Factories when they turned eighteen. Dick had thought he’d be glad to go work for them one day. 

Then the Spanish Flu had come.

Bruce Wayne had still been overseas, dogfighting the Huns, when first Martha and then Thomas had fallen ill. Dick had pored over the discarded papers he could find in the streets, remembering how they’d touched his life, praying earnestly for their survival. When the papers had run pictures of Bruce Wayne home on bereavement leave, standing by their gravesites in dress uniform and a black overcoat, Dick had felt a kinship with that man he’d never met. They’d both lost parents. They’d both lost people who had been kind to them in times of trouble.

“Yes, Captain Wayne’s exploits are certainly well known in Gotham,” the Mother Superior is saying. “What isn’t as well known, though it ought to be, is his charitable kindness since the war ended. You know, my child, that it was a difficult time for us here. Between the Great War and the Influenza, there were so many children needing care. More than we could help.”

Dick nods to show he’s following along. It had hurt everyone to turn orphans away from St. Mary’s doors, knowing there had been nowhere else for them to go, either.  But even on half commons and putting pallets down on the floor, they’d simply been out of room. 

“Captain Wayne stepped in to fill some of the gap,” the Mother Superior says. “His donation to St. Mary’s was beyond generous. And when space limitations meant we still couldn’t help everyone, he took in several children himself.”

“Oh - yes, I heard about that,” Dick says, remembering. It had been one of the last major pieces of Wayne-related news he’d picked up. During the time the abbess is discussing, when the population of St. Mary’s orphanage had more than doubled, all the older children like Dick had been pressed into service helping care for the new arrivals. There had been weeks spent in the laundry, in the kitchens, in the stillroom hastily sewing new clothes from donated bolts of unsalable cloth. Although things had eventually settled down, Dick had never really resumed his interest in the Waynes after that. There had been too many other things to focus on. 

“Captain Wayne employed a nanny for a while,” the Mother Superior continues, “but she has recently left them to return to her hometown, Metropolis. She is a member of our sister convent there and felt she had spent too long in the world. So Captain Wayne wrote to ask us to recommend a replacement for the role. More of a governess, this time, as the children are older now., and have different needs.”

Now Dick begins to see what this has to do with him. “You think I could…?”

The Mother Superior nods. “I do. The children are older now, and only the youngest still needs a full-time caregiver, but they all need patience, understanding, and kindness. They have all suffered tremendous losses. Your demonstrated kindness with the nursery children makes you suitable for the role, I think.”

“That can’t be all of it,” Dick protests.

“True. The younger ones also need teaching. I have a report from Sister Mary Lazarus that you have performed well in your classes and should have no difficulty with basic reading, writing, and mathematics. The elder children naturally attend private schools in the area.”

Dick opens and closes his mouth. He has questions, so many questions he isn’t sure where to start. He settles on, “How many children are there?”

“Eight.”

“Eight?” Dick’s jaw drops. “I don’t know if I - ”

“Three attend the Gotham Preparatory School for Alphas,” the Mother Superior says. “Another is at  the Gotham Omegas’ Finishing School. The youngest is still in the nursery. You would only have the remaining three during the day.”

“During the - wait, when else would I - ”

“It is a residential position,” the Mother Superior explains. “You would live at Wayne Manor.”

Oh, Dick’s lips shape. He doesn’t quite get the word out. Thinks in awe: Wayne Manor. And here he’d been looking forward to a shared dorm in a rooming house, where having the bed entirely to himself would have been a new and exciting luxury. Imagine living at Wayne Manor. And after working for Captain Wayne himself - assuming Dick doesn’t mess up completely and turn his kids into complete delinquents - Dick will never have trouble getting a job again. If Dick likes being a governess, a recommendation from Captain Wayne will let Dick work for the other rich families of Gotham. If Dick doesn’t, he’s sure to get a position in Wayne Industries. As long as he gives satisfaction, he’s set for life.

An hour ago Dick had been expecting to be turned out onto the street the day after his birthday, with the clothes on his back and a dollar in his pocket. Now he’s being offered a golden ticket. Eight children - but only three during the day - and surely the older children won’t need him much at night - they certainly won’t wet the bed or want lullabies - “Oh, thank you, Reverend Mother,” Dick says, the lump in his throat warning him he’s near tears. He swallows them back as best as he can. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“When the Lord closes a door, he opens a window,” the Mother Superior says benevolently. “This is a fortunate opportunity, my child, and I know you’ll make the most of it.”

“I will. I promise.”

“Then I will send to Captain Wayne and tell him we have the perfect candidate. Go back to your dormitory and pack your things. Tomorrow is Sunday. After the holy day, you will leave us and go to your new life.”

I have confidence, Dick tells himself. I believe in myself. I can do this.

If only it were that easy.

“Have faith, my child,” Father Gideon encourages Dick from behind the wheel of the rattling old Tin Lizzie which is the only vehicle St. Mary’s owns. Left to the church in a parishioner’s will, it has no sale value in the midst of the Depression, so it had remained at St. Mary’s. Several of the orphans had taught themselves mechanical skills from tinkering with it and found employment in factories or down at the docks. Today is one of the rare times the automobile is doing what it was intended for, and by the noises it’s making, it does so only under protest. “The Lord led you here for a reason. Captain Wayne is a good person. Work hard, and you will thrive.”

“Yes, Father,” Dick says obediently. He isn’t worried about Captain Wayne’s goodness or badness. He’s worried about eight children. Not even eight children from the same parents. Eight separate war orphans with eight separate histories. All about to be under Dick’s care, when Dick is barely an adult himself.

Just like the orphanage, Dick tells himself. There had been the odd handful of siblings, but mostly they’d been solitary, single orphan Annies. And here I go, off to live with Daddy Warbucks…

Father Gideon makes a sharp turn from the main road to a gravel path, and Dick digs his fingers into the crumbling seat cushion to stop himself from sliding across the bench. He doesn’t think Father Gideon would appreciate having an almost eighteen-year-old collide with her steering arm. A moment later Dick is pressed against the seat back as the car takes a definitive tilt. They’re headed uphill, jolting and bouncing as they go. Dick wonders if they’ll make it to the top without breaking down. He’d done his share of tinkering with the Tin Lizzie, but he’d never gotten any good at it. If the car breaks down, they’re going to have to walk.

“Look,” Father Gideon points. “Wayne Manor.”

Dick leans forward against the incline and peers up through the windshield. There, at the top of the hill, looms a mansion. Dick has never seen a house so big; it’s like the entire bottom three floors of the bank, except instead of being an office building it’s someone’s personal residence. “Wow,” he says, dry-mouthed. 

“Built in the eighteenth century,” Father Gideon says. “Expanded many times since, and completely redone after the war. Captain Wayne insisted on having everything quite modern. It’s quite stunning inside. I am blessed to attend the charity ball there every year, and Captain Wayne’s hospitality is always excellent.”

About halfway up the hill, a large, wrought-iron gate blocks their progress. Father Gideon slows, and a uniformed servant emerges from a gate-box. As soon as he sees Father Gideon, he doesn’t even bother to speak to them, merely unlatching the gate and hauling it open for them.

“Thank you, Harry,” Father Gideon calls, leaning out the window, as the car rumbles on. The servant, Harry, waves back. “Yes, excellent hospitality,” she repeats, reverting to her previous theme. “And very generous to the church and to the poor. Do us proud, now, Richard. We are all very grateful for Captain Wayne.”

Dick tucks his hands between his thighs to stop them from shaking.

The hill is tall and the road gets even steeper. The car slows to a crawl as Father Gideon negotiates the rough terrain carefully. Dick remains quiet, not to distract her, and thinking she’ll want her full focus on the road. It therefore comes as a surprise when Father Gideon speaks again.

“Before we arrive, Richard, a word,” is how Father Gideon begins, and Dick instinctively sits straighter, long conditioned by that tone of voice to be silent and pay attention. “Most people in Captain Wayne’s position, if they took in orphans, would take in perhaps one or two. And those orphans, while they would of course be well cared for and looked after as befits an act of Christian charity, would not be expected to… that is, their future would be… modest. You understand me.”

Dick nods. Charitable orphans and poor relations are in some sense the grease that makes the world of society run. Elderly ladies need caretakers, elderly gentleman need dogsbodies. Mansions need head cooks and butlers and huntsmen and housekeepers, roles requiring a thorough understanding of the upper class’ ways, even though they are technically lives of servitude. There’s no shame in such a profession; it’s stable and well-paid, and the orphans of St. Mary’s would be only too glad to have the chance at that kind of future. As it is, they become undercooks and housemaids, hostlers and laundresses, never achieving such heights. As with everything else in the world, some orphans are luckier than others.

“Captain Wayne is different,” Father Gideon says. “You will understand better as you get to know him. He is a very lonely man. His parents died while he was overseas, you know. He has no siblings and has not married. The children he takes in are not his wards. They are treated, in every sense, as his blood children would be treated.”

“You mean - ”

“Clothed, educated, and raised as scions of the Wayne bloodline,” Father Gideon says. “The eldest daughter is fifteen. He will make his debut next summer.”

“Like he’s a lady?” Dick gasps. No one treats an orphan like a lady. No one treats orphans like they have any gender at all, really. They’re all just an interchangeable series of faces, society’s cast-offs whose arms and legs and strong backs might be of use in various industries, but who don’t merit any special treatment. Wages and clean beds are more than good enough for them. Certainly they don’t make their debuts. Even if they are adopted by society swells.

“That is what you must understand, Richard. In Captain Wayne’s household, his daughters are ladies, and his sons are gentleman. Their adoption is neither here nor there. You must approach your duties with that understanding.”

The idea makes Dick’s head spin. How can this be? What does this mean? What is Captain Wayne about - what kind of person must Captain Wayne be, to do such a thing? How do the other members of society react to the Wayne orphans being presented and treated like - like members of the same class? What does it mean for Dick’s duties? Will he be required to train the children in etiquette? Deportment? Dick doesn’t know any of that himself - he’d been expecting to tutor orphans in mathematics, not ladies in manners. Can he even do this job that’s being asked of him? 

All of these questions are fated to go unanswered. The car crests the hill at last, emerging onto a broad sweep of gravel. Greensward spreads out all around. A large portico emerges from the main entrance, crowned by a pediment on which are carved magnificent Grecian reliefs. Dick gulps, but it’s too late now. Father Gideon is steering the car underneath that portico, and the front door is opening.

It’s not Captain Wayne who steps out, at least. Dick breathes more easily as the car is approached by a tall, spare figure with receding grey hair and a neatly groomed moustache. Unlike the gate guard, this man wears not a servants’ uniform but a suit. He approaches Dick’s side and opens the door for him. “Miss Grayson, I presume?”

“Good morning, Alfred,” Father Gideon says from the far side of the car, ducking her head to see and be seen. “Yes, this is our Richard.”

“Very good, sir,” Alfred replies. He offers Dick a hand. Dick stares at it, then remembers his manners and allows himself to be helped out of the car. Like he’s a lady or something. A Miss Grayson, not just plain old Dick. In Captain Wayne’s household, his daughters are ladies and his sons are gentleman, Father Gideon had said. And his governesses, perhaps, are misses. Dick stands up straighter. Alfred says, “If you’ll wait here, miss, I’ll fetch your bags.”

Dick has to suppress a wild giggle. This is a house that sends its adopted daughters to finishing schools and its adopted sons to preparatory academies. And that, apparently, treats a governess fresh out of an orphanage as a respectable young miss. This is a household that will care about and observe all the fine gradations of rank and gender. 

A gentle cough makes Dick start. He looks first to Father Gideon, but Father Gideon nods Dick’s attention to one side. Dick turns and sees Alfred standing there, holding a single carpet-bag and looking dubious. “Is this quite all, Miss Grayson?”

“...yes?” Dick says, unsure. Has he failed already? Of course, a proper governess who can raise fine young ladies probably has more than one change of clothes…

The butler’s lips fold tightly. “Hm.” He leans past Dick to speak to Father Gideon. “Will you come in for a while, sir? I have just brewed a fresh pot of tea.”

If Dick were Father Gideon, he’d jump at that offer in a heartbeat; it’s freezing out, the cold creeping up Dick’s woolen clothes and down his neck to chill him thoroughly even in the few brief minutes he’s been standing outside. With the way they’ve been opening the car’s doors, it won’t be much warmer inside, and Father Gideon has a long ride back to Gotham. The weak February sun won’t do much to warm the Tin Lizzie, especially not this early in the morning. But Father Gideon has apparently taken a vow of discomfort along with the rest of her vows. She shakes her head. “Thank you anyway, Alfred. I have to be getting back.”

“Very good, sir. Thank you for bringing Miss Grayson along.”

“My pleasure. Richard - ” Father Gideon holds out her hand, and Dick hastily ducks so it can be placed on top of his head. “God go with you, my child.”

“Thank you, Father.” For once, Dick means it. He probably could use a little divine assistance.

Alfred considerately waits until Dick has watched the car disappear back down the gravel path before clearing his throat. “This way, please, Miss Grayson. I’ll show you to your room.”

“The children?” Dick asks, because he apparently has no sense of self-preservation. “When will I meet the children?”

“They are still occupied with breakfast at the moment, but should be finished shortly. Just enough time for you to settle in.” The butler leads the way inside, and Dick stops dead, staring around him in open awe. This is the entryway? It’s huge. Its ceiling is vaulted and as high as the cathedral’s. Its expanse could fit the entire congregation. The floor - is this marble? Real marble? And the walls! Wood paneling, fit for a king. After living in the orphanage, and before that in a traveling circus, Dick can barely imagine that someone might live like this.

No wonder this guy treats his adopted kids so well. He could probably burn money instead of coal and never miss a cent.

“If you’ll come this way?” Alfred prompts. 

Dick starts, then looks down at his scuffed and muddy shoes and mumbles, “Is there maybe a back entrance?”

There’s a pause. Then Alfred says, kindly, “I think it would perhaps be best if you began as you meant to go on, miss.”

I have confidence. I have confidence. I have - “Excellent idea, Alfred.” Dick lifts his head, tilts his chin, and steps onto the polished marble.

“Splendid,” Alfred murmurs. He leads Dick across the entry hall, through one of the doorways branching off it, and down another hallway, this one luxuriously carpeted. Dick swallows and refuses to think about what his footsteps might be leaving on the fabric. Alfred stops beside a door and opens it. “This will be your chamber while you are with us.”

It’s. Well. It’s smaller than the foyer. But it’s larger than any bedroom Dick has ever seen. The bed is twice the size of the one he’d shared with Emma and Mattie. There’s a rug on the floor. The windows are curtained with thick, heavy-looking drapes, almost certainly of better cloth than any Dick has ever worn on his body. But most astonishing of all is what Dick sees through the small door across the room. A bathtub. His own bathtub.

“I’ll leave you to get settled,” Alfred says. He sets the carpet-bag down on a small table and frowns down at it. “If I may be so bold, miss… how many changes of clothes have you brought?”

“Huh? Oh, uh… one.” Dick refuses to let his head drop again. Begin as you mean to go on. Everyone at the orphanage has one change of clothes. They had hired a governess from an orphanage; they must know who they’re getting. “Do let me know what the… er… laundry schedule is.” Assuming Dick will be permitted to send his clothes with the family washing. 

“Laundry is done on Mondays, and, if necessary, again on Fridays,” Alfred says. “Can you make your own clothes?”

“Yes.”

“I will arrange for some fabric from our stores to be sent up to you. The children are… rambunctious. It’s as well to be equipped. Also, Master Bruce prefers formal dinner attire.” Alfred regards Dick’s current clothes dubiously. “I’m sure he will understand that you have just arrived. But it would be well for you to devote a few of your evenings to sartorial matters.”

“Ah.” Dick’s clothes aren’t good enough for a millionaire’s dinner table. The tips of his ears burn, but he stiffens his spine and nods. “Thank you, Alfred. I appreciate your advice.”

“If you need anything, just touch the bell. For now, refresh yourself, and, when you are ready, return to the entry hall. The children will be done with breakfast in another ten minutes, I’d estimate.”

“Right.” How does one end an interaction with a butler? Dick flails for his manners. “Thank you again.” 

This seems to have the desired result. Alfred inclines his head gracefully and withdraws. Dick watches the door close behind Alfred, then spins slowly in a circle, still disbelieving that this could be his bedroom. It may not last, if Captain Wayne is expecting a refined tutor for his gently raised children instead of a governess from an orphanage, but for the moment it’s his. Dick wants to do everything at once. He wants to throw himself onto the bed and find out how soft it is. He wants to run into the bathing room and see how much of himself he can fit inside that tub. He wants to roll himself up in the curtains and imagine how much finer will be the fabric Alfred will have sent up to him from the house’s stores.

But he only has ten minutes - at most - until he needs to meet his charges. There’s no time for any of that. Instead Dick goes over to the basin, finding a pitcher already filled with water and a snowy linen cloth draped over its rail. A cake of soap gives off the scent of roses when Dick picks it up. He washes his face and his hands, then rummages in his carpetbag until he finds his comb and, wetting it, runs it through his short hair. No one at the orphanage had been permitted to grow it past their ears, for fear of lice and for ease of cleaning. Now that Dick lives at Wayne Manor, perhaps he’ll grow it out. His mother had had long hair.

There’s a looking-glass in one corner. Dick takes himself over to it and evaluates what he sees. Hair neatly combed, face and hands clean. He looks as presentable as he’s going to get. His clothes could be crisper, but they’re clean. His shoes - well, nothing can be done about them. They’d been cheap to start with and used hard since, though all the orphans went barefoot as often as they could. Maybe tomorrow he can find a cloth to shine them up. Somehow he doesn’t think a governess in Captain Wayne’s employ will be encouraged to go shoeless. Once he begins to be paid, he can buy a better pair.

A clock, sitting previously unnoticed on the mantle, gives a preparatory click and begins to chime the eighth hour. Dick jumps, then runs for the door.

Chapter Text

Thanks to having run, Dick reaches the foyer and is standing there, hopefully looking calm and collected, when one of the doors on the adjacent wall opens and children begin to file out. Dick catches a glimpse of a table-end and chairs; the dining room, clearly. The first children through the door are the younger ones, already gamboling like oversized puppies, and take no notice of Dick. It’s the first teenager through the door who notices him and stops still. 

“Hey, Dami, what gives,” a voice complains from within the dining room. The teenager standing in the door starts, then moves into the entryway fully. Another three teens file out behind the first. They all stare.

“Good afternoon, children,” Dick says. “I am your new governess.”

“I’m pleased to hear it,” an adult voice replies. Behind the final teenager appears Bruce Wayne. He looks almost exactly as he does in the newspaper photographs, except that he isn’t wearing his military uniform. Instead he’s dressed in a suit and tie. “It’s Miss Grayson, I believe?”

“Yes, sir.” Dick swallows. I have confidence. “From St. Mary’s.”

“Excellent. We weren’t sure if you would arrive before luncheon. Have you breakfasted?”

“Yes, sir, thank you.” Unseen behind his back, Dick’s hands twist into the fabric of his shirt. “We follow the monastic schedule at St. Mary’s and eat with the sunrise.”

“Ah. You’ll grow accustomed to later hours here.” Captain Wayne’s smile is more than merely polite; it’s welcoming, and his tone is kind. Dick feels better at the sight. “The older children must leave for school shortly, but there’s time for introductions. Fall in!”

Dick stares. These last words are given in what must be a military tone, and the result is instantaneous. Even the younger children stop playing, and seven of them hastily scramble into a straight line, standing straight and tall and facing forwards. The eight is in the arms of an Omega who must be his nurse. She walks him down to the end of the line and sets him down next to his closest-age sibling.

Something of Dick’s shock must show on his face, because Captain Wayne smiles at him again. “Yes, we borrow a few things from the armed services in this house. With eight children, a certain amount of regimentation is simply unavoidable. Are you familiar with Frank Gilbreth, the father of motion study?”

“...No.” Is Dick expected to be? Oh, God, and he’d only been worrying about deportment and etiquette…

“He has a large family himself. Twelve children. Several of his monographs are on the application of motion study to managing such a swarm.” The word choice is somewhat harsh, but Dick notices that the children themselves react to it with grins and sideways nudges of elbows. “We apply some of those methods here. You’ll adapt.”

“Yes, sir.” The armed services, Dick thinks, a trifle hysterically. Motion study. First he’d been afraid that he wouldn’t live up to Captain Wayne’s desire for a refined, gently-bred governess. Now he’s got to add on the worry that he can’t live up to the military lines the house is apparently run on. What’s next? Will Dick be expected to learn French? Lord help him. He has no idea if he can learn French.

“All right,” Captain Wayne says to children, “report.”

Dick takes a deep breath. Confidence, he reminds himself. Begin as you mean to go on. Right now his job is to learn the names and ages of, and a little bit about, all of the children. The rest can wait.

The oldest teenager, standing on the far left from Dick’s perspective, lifts a hand and waves. He’s of middling height, built broadly, and has his hair cropped in a military cut. A scar on his face speaks to a rough life before coming to Wayne Manor.  “I’m Jason,” he says. “Seventeen. I don’t like authority.”

“Jason,” Captain Wayne says in a long-suffering tone.

Jason’s wide blue eyes make him the picture of boyish innocence. “What?” he says. “I just figured Miss Grayson should know the worst about me from the start.”

“If I hear of you giving Miss Grayson trouble, I won’t wait for him to try to discipline you,” Captain Wayne says. It’s not said in a threatening or particularly menacing way; it’s delivered as a statement of fact. Dick sees with interest that it makes Jason instantly stand straighter and look abashed.

“Yes, sir,” he mumbles.

Seemingly satisfied, Captain Wayne gestures to the next child, who curtsies. “I’m Tim,” he says in gentle, well-bred tones, the complete opposite of his elder brother’s roughness. Tim is slight of build and short of stature, though likely he isn’t finished growing yet. His hair is long and his clothes are neat, the opposite of his brother’s more careless style. “I’m fifteen.”

“My oldest daughter,” Captain Wayne says to Dick as an aside, in case Dick is somehow unable to distinguish an Omega from an Alpha.

“Stephanie,” the next child says, not waiting to be prompted. She’s not so broad as Jason, but well-muscled and compact. Her gaze is frank and direct. “Call me Steph, everyone does. I’m fourteen. And I’m the best lacrosse player my age in Gotham.”

“She probably is,” Captain Wayne says. “But her good sportsmanship may need a little work.”

Stephanie scowls. 

The last teen crosses his arms over his chest and gives Dick an unimpressed look. “I am Damian,” he announces, in much the same tone Alexander the Great might have used in proclaiming himself. His bearing and dress back him up - he’s neatly and formally dressed, his hair slicked back, his posture straight. With his dark hair and piercing blue eyes, he looks as if he could be Captain Wayne’s son by birth. His air is very different, however. Where Captain Wayne is easy and welcoming, Damian radiates an icy correctness. He says, “I am thirteen years of age, and I do not require the services of a governess. At my age - ”

“At your age,” Captain Wayne says mildly, “you are only beginning to see over the wall into the wonderful world of adulthood, and absolutely require role models of both sexes to demonstrate the strengths and weaknesses of each.”

Damian looks mulish. 

“Unless you scorn this knowledge?”

“Never!” Damian cries.

“Damian is a devotee of knowledge,” Captain Wayne says, ostensibly speaking only to Dick, but keeping a stern eye on Damian as he does. “Sometimes he pursues book learning to the extent of forgetting that real people don’t always behave in rational ways. Emotions are also sometimes difficult for him.”

“Father, please,” Damian hisses, looking horrified.

Jason lets out a crack of laughter. “Bruce is just letting all of our secrets out today, huh?”

“They address you that way?” Dick asks Captain Wayne, shocked. What had happened to all Captain Wayne’s son are gentlemen? Jason certainly isn’t behaving in a very gentlemanly fashion. Neither, for that matter, is Damian.

“As long as they remain respectful while doing so,” Captain Wayne says repressively. Jason looks down at his shoes. 

Dick tries to imagine ever addressing Captain Wayne with anything other than the Captain’s title and surname. He fails utterly, and he’s theoretically an adult. Well. In three weeks he’ll be an adult, anyway. This position had come to him so quickly he hasn’t actually yet had his birthday. But Dick breathes a little more easily knowing that Captain Wayne isn’t a complete stickler for propriety. Maybe Dick won’t be bounced out of the job right away for lack of refinement.

“Jason, Steph, and Damian attend Gotham Prep,” Captain Wayne says. “Tim attends the Finishing School. They’ll be out of the house on weekdays until fairly late, since they all participate in various extracurriculars. After dinner, provided they aren’t under punishment, they are free to manage themselves, within reason. Of course,” this is to the teenagers themselves, “you will still treat Miss Grayson with respect as your governess, and should not hesitate to go to him for advice, support, homework help, tutoring, and so forth.”

“Yes, sir,” the four eldest chorus.

“Your primary charge will be the younger four.” Captain Wayne interrupts himself here to look at his watch, and as he does, Alfred appears as if by magic from the front door. “Ah, the car is ready. Off to school with you lot.”

“Bye, Bruce,” Jason calls, scampering straight out the door. Tim stops to give his adoptive father an affectionate hug. Steph waves before following Jason. Damian hesitates.

“Perhaps since it’s Miss Grayson’s first day,” Damian begins.

“Oh, no,” Captain Wayne says. “Don’t think I don’t know that you four have been scheming. None of that. You’ll go to school as usual, and treat Miss Grayson with the utmost respect, am I clear?”

“Yes, Father,” Damian mutters. The look he gives Dick as he goes out the door, however, is anything but respectful. Dick already knows he’s going to have problems with Damian. And probably with “doesn’t-like-authority” Jason. At least Tim seems sweet and kind. Steph will hopefully be too occupied with her sports pursuits to care much about anything else.

The younger children, left standing behind as the elder leave, are beginning to fidget. There are four, all with the milky scent and soft features of childhood. None have gone through the change, though the eldest may only be a few years away. Dick has been told that the eldest and youngest are Alphas and the middle two Omegas, though at this age it hardly matters. Their education, too, will not need to be so intensely focused on etiquette and deportment at their ages. Dick begins to breathe a little easier.

Captain Wayne smiles kindly at the remaining children. “Your turn now, Barbara.”

“Babs,” the one on the far left says. With the departure of the teenagers, she’s the oldest remaining, and she’s scowling. “I want to be called Babs.”

“Of course. Forgive me,” Captain Wayne says. To Dick he explains: “Babs has recently decided to shorten her name. In honor of becoming the oldest child in the schoolroom.”

“You’re not gonna treat me like I’m different, are you?” Babs demands of Dick. For the first time Dick notices that she is wearing braces on both her legs. Of course - out of eight children, at least one of them would have had complications from childhood polio. Despite the braces, Babs is standing straight, her hands on her hips, and her blue eyes are challenging between a freckled snub nose and auburn hair. “Cause I’ll tell you,” Babs goes on, “I can run as fast as Damian, and I don’t wanna sit down and rest, and I do think I can climb that tree, and I don’t wanna be told otherwise!”

“Of course not,” Dick says promptly. “I bet you can climb higher than Damian, too.”

“I can!”

“And I bet that you’re awesome at hopscotch.”

“The best!” Babs grins, revealing a gap in her front teeth where one has recently fallen out. “I’m nine, by the way.”

“Half my age,” Dick says. “How old does that make me, do you know?”

“Eighteen!”

“Very good,” Captain Wayne praises. “With how well you’re doing with multiplication, you’ll soon be ready for Miss Grayson to teach you division.”

“Okay,” Babs says. She doesn’t sound terribly excited, but nor does she seem to hate the idea, so Dick will count it as a win for now.

“The last three are Kate, Cassandra, and Terry.” Captain Wayne points to each in turn. “Kate is six and Cassandra five. They’re just starting to learn their letters.”

“I know my letters,” Kate says. She frowns. “I can’t form them yet, though.”

“I will help you with that,” Dick promises. Kate and Cass are similar enough in appearance - about as tall as Dick’s waist, hair an indeterminate muddy brown, eyes a light hazel, skin a little lighter than Captain Wayne’s - that he wonders if they may be sisters by blood as well as adoption. “Cass, do you know your letters?”

Cassandra looks down. “Some.”

“Soon you’ll both be reading,” Dick says. “It’s a wonderful thing to be able to read. You can travel anywhere you want with a book.”

“Yeah!” Babs cheers. Kate and Cass just stare wonderingly. 

“That just leaves Terry, here,” Captain Wayne says. “He is two.” This last child has long since plopped to the ground and started tracing patterns on the marble with one spit-slick finger. His dark hair and blue eyes make him, like Damian, look as if he could be a Wayne by birth. “He’s a little young for book learning,” Captain Wayne says with a smile. “Maria is his nurse and will handle the majority of his care. However, I would like it if you got to know him, as well.” 

“How do you do, miss,” Maria says, bobbling a small curtsey.

“Good to meet you, Maria.” Dick is heartened to know that he’ll have a second pair of hands to assist him with whole-family gatherings, and that he won’t have to take on the daily care of a two-year-old on top of everyone else. He kneels down to get closer to Terry’s level. “Hello there,” he says invitingly to the toddler.

“‘Lo,” Terry says back readily. He doesn’t look up, though. He’s intent on his drawing, which only he can see. 

Captain Wayne is speaking again, drawing Dick’s attention back up and to him. “Take today to get used to the children’s schedule,” he says. “Babs will help you. If you need anything, ring for Alfred. Luncheon is at one of the clock, an informal affair for you and the children. But I absolutely insist that we all gather for dinner every night, Miss Grayson. When I am home, it’s the time of the day we all spend together. When I am away, it maintains routine and order. So you will kindly ensure, unless you are notified otherwise, that the children are presentable and unoccupied at eight every evening.”

Dick restrains himself from brushing uncomfortably at his own, decidedly un -presentable clothes. He can’t help but notice that Captain Wayne had tactfully only instructed him as to the children’s appearance. “Yes, sir.”

“You will also attend. I will wish to hear daily how my children have been comporting themselves, and the progress of their studies, and so forth.” Captain Wayne looks downright stern. “I will not be kept out of my children’s doings, Miss Grayson. You are their governess, but I am their father. Do not attempt to present a rosy picture. Nor - ” a hint of humor peeks out, just briefly, in the quickness of a grin. “ - should you attempt to perform miracles. All I ask of you is that you be honest and earnest in your labors. Do this and we shall get on well.”

“Yes, sir,” Dick repeats, head whirling. Honest and earnest he can certainly manage, but understanding Captain Wayne’s meaning is beyond him. First he acts stern, then he turns about and seems almost to share a joke with Dick, who is, ultimately, merely another of Captain Wayne’s servants. And his words about not being kept from his children - what can he mean by it? Even if he treats his adopted children as his own flesh and blood, any parent of Captain Wayne’s class would expect his governess to do just that: keep the children out of sight and out of mind, only to be produced on formal occasions, and only when they can perform some creditable feat of manners to reflect well on their adoptive father. Dinner with the children? Every night? And Captain Wayne wishes to hear about the progress of their education? Somehow Dick doesn’t think, when Captain Wayne says so, he’s thinking of listening to his children recite Crispus Attucks or perform mental mathematics for a few minutes before dismissing them back to the schoolroom.

This morning Dick had thought he’d had a fair understanding of what he’s gotten himself into by accepting this position. Now he thinks he has no idea, and he’s terrified.

“Excellent.” Captain Wayne checks his watch. “I’m glad we understand each other. Now I must go to the office. Children - ”

Whatever Captain Wayne is about to say is lost when Cassandra throws herself at his left knee and Kate at his right. “We’ll miss you!” they say in chorus, and Captain Wayne laughs, tugging each of them back to their feet.

“I’ll be back for dinner, and if I have a good report of you from Miss Grayson, you may pick tomorrow night’s dessert,” he promises them. 

“Anything we want?” Cassandra asks eagerly.

“As long as you both agree.”

Cassandra and Kate look at each other. “Okay,” they say together. Dick wonders if they’ll agree easily or fight to the death. In his experience of children, it could go either way.

“What do I get if I’m good?” Babs asks, not - quite - pouting. Terry, thankfully, is too young to put his own oar in. 

Captain Wayne seems to have anticipated this request. “What do you say to double or nothing?”

“High risk, high reward!” Babs nods determinedly.

“For you, then, the challenge is that by the end of this week, Miss Grayson thoroughly knows all four of your schedules, where everything is kept in the schoolroom, and I hear from him that you have been a wonderful asset in his learning his way around the house.”

“Hmph.” Babs considers this. “And for this?”

“For this, the new edition of Pickwick Papers that you admired so in Miss Cobblepot’s library.”

“Done!” Babs lights up. Dick wishes he’d brought a notebook with him, to write down all he is learning of the children. Knowing Babs loves books will be valuable. He’ll have to provide himself with the means to take notes as soon as possible.

“Then adieu.” Captain Wayne hugs the girls, bends to brush a kiss on Terry’s head, and betakes himself out the door and into a car to Wayne Industries. This leaves Dick and the children who are now in his care staring at each other in the magnificent entryway. 

“Shall we go on to the schoolroom?” Babs asks. “I can show you where everything is, and then you can quiz me on my geography. I don’t like geography.” This is said with the air of confession. 

“Why not?” Dick asks curiously. “Don’t you want to know where places are?”

“Why bother? I can always consult an atlas.” Babs frowns. “But Father says that it is part of a balanced education, and I must be up on it before I go to school.” She starts walking, heading towards a part of the house Dick hasn’t yet seen. Kate and Cassandra follow along readily enough, but Terry takes no notice of the procession. Maria scoops the toddler up and makes to retreat, but Dick says, “Won’t you let me have him for the morning?”

“I’ll not say no to a rest, miss.” Maria grins. “Just bring him back to the nursery when he gets too fussy.”

“I will,” Dick promises, taking Terry from her and soothing his annoyed squawk with gentle rubbing of the toddler’s back. “Thank you!” He turns and hurries to catch up to the younger children, who are halfway down the corridor already.

“Oh, there you are, Miss Grayson,” Babs says with a child’s lack of tact. “I thought I’d lost you.”

“Yes, here I am.” Dick settles to a more sedate walk, bouncing Terry a little to make the toddler smile. “So, you will go to Gotham Prep when you’re older?”

“Yes, when my academics are ready. Father is very insistent on academics.”

“I see.”

“Cass and I will go to finishing school!” Kate says. “I’m going to be a lady!”

“I’m not,” Cassandra says. “I’m going to be an ay-vee-ay-tricks. ”

“What’s that?” Dick asks.

“It’s a lady pilot,” Babs says from the head of the line. “We met one last year! There was an aerial meet held at Gotham. Father flew in it, and he introduced us to many pilots he knew. One was a lady.”

“She took me for a flight in her plane,” Cassandra says. Her sigh is wistful. “It was wonderful.”

Dick certainly hadn’t expected such an expensive ambition from one of Captain Wayne’s wards, but he nods as if orphans became pilots - lady pilots, no less - every day. “I believe flying an aircraft requires a great deal of math,” he says. “How is your addition?”

Cassandra sticks her fingers in her mouth. 

“She can count to one hundred,” Kate offers.

“Here we are,” Babs says. They’ve been trooping along a long corridor; in fact, they’ve gone past Dick’s room while they’ve been talking. Now it broadens into a spacious atrium, off of which many other doors emerge. “This is our wing. We have our bedrooms on this floor. The older kids are on the next.” So Dick’s bedroom has been placed judiciously - he is between the children and the rest of the house. This gives him both the ability to corral any midnight escapades and a strong indication that some of the children are prone to them. 

“And this is the schoolroom.” Babs opens one of a set of double doors, revealing a sunlit room. Five boughten children’s desks are arranged facing a teacher’s table, with a boughten blackboard hung on the wall behind. The far wall houses a low bookshelf that must have dozens of books on it, an absolute treasure. Various other tools of learning are piled somewhat haphazardly against the back wall behind the childrens’ desks. 

“What a lovely space,” Dick says, looking around. “And I see you all help keep it neat and clean.” This is evident from the somewhat streaky windows, the dust in the corners, and the haphazard shelving of the books. No housemaid worth their salt would leave things in such a state. Dick should know; housemaid had been one of the professions he’d prepared to pursue after leaving St. Mary’s.

“I did the windows,” Babs says proudly. “Since I’m the tallest.”

“It’s nicer now that Damian isn’t here,” Cassandra pipes up. “He always got mad when he had to clean.”

“Oh?” Dick should probably not be encouraging gossip, but he needs to get to know these children as quickly as possible.

Cassandra nods and squinches her eyebrows together, approximating a surly glower. Her voice drops into a register approximating that of a pre-change Alpha and growls, “Why do we have to do this? Don’t we have servants?”

“Father got mad when he said that,” Kate volunteers. “Father says, in the Air Force, everyone cleaned their own space.”

“Damian wants to join the military,” Babs says. She tosses her hair defiantly. “I don’t see what’s so great about the military. Just because Father was in it doesn’t mean we have to be. There are other ways to serve our country. Besides, there aren’t going to be any wars anymore. That’s what Father fought for.”

Dick glances at the braces on Babs’ legs and tactfully overlooks her obvious longing. “Yes, we likely won’t have much need for an army anytime soon. So it’s good you don’t want to join.”

“Right!” Babs nods firmly. 

“I wanted to join,” Kate says, “but they don’t take Omegas. Why don’t they take Omegas, Miss Grayson?”

“Because we are far too important to be spared for military duty,” Dick says unblushingly. It makes Kate laugh, anyway.

“Now then.” Dick walks past the teacher’s desk to the back of the school room. A large, comfortable wingback chair is established in a corner there, clearly meant to allow the governess to oversee activities held in that area, and Dick settles into it instead of keeping a slab of wood between he and the children. As he’d hoped, Terry nestles trustingly into his side, and the other three settle on the rug around the chair. It’s clearly an accustomed pattern. “Babs, you’re my assistant,” he says, and she beams. “Fetch me the books, and we’ll all go through them together to see where each of you are in your studies. Then you can show me some of the projects you have underway here. I believe I see needlepoint being worked.”

“That’s mine!” Cassandra says, looking proud.

“I’m doing a sampler,” Kate says.

“I’ll get the books,” Babs says, jumping to her feet.

Terry’s weight against Dick’s side goes heavy and limp. The toddler is asleep. Dick absently tucks him closer for warmth, and accepts the readers from Babs as she returns. “Very good,” he says, smiling as she settles back down. “Let’s see. Do you know The Swan’s Nest?”

They make it to an inspection of the various fiber crafts being worked by Kate and Cassandra before Terry wakes up, fussy and in need of a snack. Babs has already shown off her current project, a mystifying series of switches and gates that allow a ball to travel in different paths depending on which are open and closed. She can’t explain its purpose, but it’s certainly ingenious, and Dick sees an engineering career in her future. Perhaps architecture. Gotham is a city exploding with growth, or it had been, before this terrible Depression. One day, God willing, it will be so again.

Since Babs has had her moment, Dick sends her to the kitchen with instructions to cadge snacks for all of them from the cook. By the gleam in Kate and Cassandra’s eyes, they’ll not say no, and Dick’s last meal had been longer ago than he’s accustomed to. At the orphanage they had breakfasted at dawn and lunched as the sun reaches its zenith. The later hours of Wayne Manor leave Dick low on energy. He knows, even as Babs departs with a grin, that he’s setting a dangerous precedent. But he can worry about that tomorrow. 

Terry fusses the entire time Babs is gone, making it hard for Dick to focus on what Kate and Cassandra are trying to show him, and at last he tells them they’ll try again this afternoon. The tray Babs brings contains crackers, wedges of cheese, and dried fruits. In winter! They must make preserves all summer long, to still have stocks this close to spring, and the amount of sugar and salt they must use beggars Dick’s imagination. He bites eagerly into his share and marvels at the rich taste. He hadn’t expected to taste anything green or growing until April at the earliest. Terry nibbles dried apricots and babbles gleefully.

Afterwards, cold as it is outside, it’s time for physical exercise. Babs announces the scheduled event with glee, and Dick shows himself immune to the groans and pleadings of the middle two children. “Your father is absolutely correct,” he tells Kate and Cassandra, when they protest. “You must exercise your bodies as well as your minds every day. I followed the same rule when I was young.” He doesn’t mention that, at their age, he’d been turning somersaults and handstands for a paying audience. Sometimes it seems like a lifetime ago. 

Grumbling still, but obedient, Kate and Cassandra trail out behind Babs to go change into warmer, sturdier clothing, suitable for outdoor pursuits. That gives Dick time to get Terry back to Maria. She coos over him and thanks Dick for her break. Dick thanks her and heads outside, looking around for his other charges.  

He realizes, as soon as he steps out of doors, how foolish he’d been to let the children go before him. Not because anything is likely to have happened to them, but because the grounds of Wayne Manor are huge. Dick had forgotten, for a moment, that the Wayne children have access to more than the tiny courtyard squeezed between the rectory and the church that the children of St. Mary’s had used for their outdoor pursuits. There is a vast difference between an orphanage in the heart of urban Gotham and a sprawling estate on its spacious outskirts. Dick looks at the vistas around him and wonders if he’ll find the children in time for dinner.

“You the new governess, miss?” A servant in the dress of an outdoorsman is approaching the house from around a low ridge; from the odor of horse, he’s a hostler or groom or perhaps huntsman. Dick nods, and the servant smiles. “You’ll find them young ones on the archery court, I’ll warrant. Look, it’s down that way - ” he points towards a wooded copse, and gives Dick minute directions about trees and paths. “Glad to have you around,” he says as he takes his leave. “They were gettin’ too much to handle, with Sister Mary Robert gone and them runnin’ all over creation without anyone but Alfred keeping an eye on ‘em.”

“Thank you,” Dick says, somewhat bemused. “I’ll certainly do my best.” The children haven’t seemed particularly wild or difficult to handle to him. Perhaps they’re on their best behavior for the new governess. 

Regardless, the directions are good. Dick plunges into the trees and finds the path well-marked and easy to follow. It’s not long before the sound of sharpened wood whizzing through the air reaches his ears. He prudently halts before coming too close and calls out. “Children, it’s Miss Grayson. Hold your fire, please.”

“It’s safe, Miss Grayson!” Babs calls in return. Dick is pleased to find he can recognize her voice already. He makes his way towards the sound and finds his charges among a clearing, well fitted out as a small archery range, with targets downhill from the house. “We forgot to tell you where we were going,” she says innocently. “Did you have much trouble finding us?”

Dick looks at her sharply, the outdoorsman’s words still ringing in his ears. Babs’ face is glowing with fresh air and exercise; her tone is mild, and her words are perfectly proper and correct. Nevertheless Dick has the sudden feeling that butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.

“Found us pretty fast,” Kate mumbles, kicking at the dirt. She’s holding a bow that looks too large for her, but as Dick watches she draws, knocks, and looses. “Miss Schmidt was lost for hours.”

“Miss Schmidt?” Dick peers downfield at the results of Kate’s shot. She has managed to hit the target, but her arrow is decidedly left of center. “Who is Miss Schmidt?”

“She was supposed to be our new governess,” Babs says. Her sigh of regret sounds decidedly false to Dick. He wonders if he’s just being paranoid. “It’s a shame she couldn’t stay with us. Her family needed her.”

“I thought your previous governess was Sister Mary Robert.”

“Sister Mary Robert was our nanny,” Cassandra says. “We don’t need a nanny anymore. Father said so when she left.”

A picture is beginning to form in Dick’s mind, helped by the word of warning he’d received from his fellow servant. “And after Sister Mary Robert left, I imagine you had something of a holiday, didn’t you.”

“No lessons,” Kate says gleefully. “No grammar, no math - ”

“No geography,” Babs says.

“No needlework,” Cassandra sighs.

“But your father is so concerned with your education,” Dick says, watching them closely. “I’m sure he had a governess in right away.”

“Oh - well - yes,” Babs says. Her gaze shifts away from Dick. “He wrote right away to the Gotham Teachers’ School to find a us governess.”

“And they sent Miss Schmidt?”

“Not right away,” Kate says. “Damian and Jason - ”

“Hsst!” Babs steps on her sister’s foot. “The letter was missent,” she says to Dick. “You know how the post can be.”

Dick has never sent or received a letter in his life, and therefore has no idea how the post can be, but is willing to bet that the letter being missent has more to do with Damian and Jason than it does with any inefficiency on the part of a government service. “Of course,” is what he says aloud. “And then?”

“Then Father called them,” Cass says. “That’s not fair.”

“Didn’t Jason cut the telephone lines?” Dick says innocently.

“Nuh uh,” Kate says emphatically. “The last time he did that Father was furious. Jason was - ”

“I think you’ve bored Miss Grayson with your fairy tales enough,” Babs says hurriedly. “Don’t take any notice of her, Miss Grayson. She’s got a wild imagination.”

“I see,” Dick says. The matter is becoming clearer. “So it was some little time before Miss Schmidt was able to join you.”

“Well, Miss Fox was first,” Babs says judiciously. “But she didn’t even want the job.”

“No?”

“No,” Kate says. “She said so as she was leaving.”

Dick just bet she did. “And then Miss Schmidt?”

“Miss Jones, Miss Schmidt - ”

“I’m beginning to get the picture,” Dick says. He considers several approaches, and finally opts for being direct. “Children, why don’t you want a governess?”

“Who says we don’t?” Babs demands. “No one said that.”

“Father would be very unhappy if we said that,” Cassandra says quietly.

“But you don’t, do you?”

“We want to learn,” Babs says woodenly. “We want a good education, and we want to have good lives, and - ”

“That’s what Captain Wayne says,” Dick says. “Isn’t it.”

Cassandra bursts into tears. Kate gives Dick a wild, accusing look, and throws her arms around her sister. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” she soothes. 

“Now look what you’ve done,” Babs says to Dick. 

“You want to please Captain Wayne,” Dick says. “But you don’t want a governess?”

“We want him,” Kate bursts out. “But he’s never around!”

“Jason and Damian thought that if we made it so we can’t keep a governess, Father would have to spend more time with us.” Babs looks down at her feet. “It isn’t working.”

“No, dears,” Dick says gently. “I’m afraid it never will work. You’re starting to realize that, aren’t you.”

Babs shakes her head. “Father just keeps hiring new ones.”

“He has to work, Babs.” Dick reaches out, slowly and carefully, telegraphing his movements as if Babs is a frightened rabbit. Babs stiffens, but lets Dick put his arms around her. “Especially now, with this horrible Depression. If Captain Wayne stops working, not only does he lose all of these wonderful things you get to enjoy, but thousands of other people will lose their jobs. Not to mention everything he makes in his factories that people wouldn’t get to have anymore.”

“Yes, Miss Grayson,”  Babs says quietly, and “Yes, Miss Grayson,” the two younger children agree.

The sadness in their voices tells Dick that they have known this, on some level, all along. The older children must certainly know it. Knowledge and resignation aren’t the same thing, however. Reason alone won’t win the children’s hearts. He can’t even blame them, not really. Dick would do far more than cut phone lines and drive off governesses if it meant one more day with either of his parents.

Cass is calmer now, and she wriggles free of Kate. Dick lets Babs go as well. “You’re learning archery?” Dick says, changing the subject.

“It’s very ladylike, Father says,” Kate explains, picking up and drawing her bow again. She sights carefully, nocks, and looses. This time her arrow makes it a little closer to the center of the target. “No running around, no tumbling. But excellent exercise.”

“Good for me,” Babs says. She still sounds gloomy. Of course, with her leg braces, she won’t be able to play the rougher games young Alphas typically engage in. Baseball, lacrosse, anything involving too much running… and with Damian off to school, Babs will probably be feeling depressed at being left behind. Not to mention that she’s outnumbered by her other siblings still at home, whose younger ages will restrict what activities the group can do. 

That’s an area where Dick can help matters, he hopes. What would be more exciting, a little more daring, but still appropriate for all three? “Do you ride at all?”

“We’re too young, Father says.” Kate indicates herself and Cass. “Babs does.”

“Only when one of the grooms is available to take me,” Babs says. “I used to ride with Damian, but he’s at school now.” She looks up at Dick with sudden, hopeful eyes. “Do you ride, Miss Grayson?”

“Of course he doesn’t ride,” Kate says. “None of us rode before coming here. Miss Grayson was at the church orphanage. They don’t have horses.”

Dick grins. “You’re quite correct,” he informs them. “But before I was at the church orphanage, I was a part of a circus. And the circus did have horses.” In fact, when Dick had been Kate’s age, he had done handstands on a galloping horse as part of the show. He decides not to mention that. “It has been some time, but I believe I can manage.”

“Oh,” Babs breathes. The longing is clear in her voice. Then her face falls. “We can’t leave Kate and Cassandra.”

Indeed, Captain Wayne would probably not be pleased to hear Dick is neglecting two of his charges. “I’ll think of something,” Dick says. “We shall ride tomorrow.”

“You mean it?” Hope and doubt visibly war across Babs’ face. “I - I would like that. Extremely.”

Responsibility drops like a stone in Dick’s stomach. He’d wanted to find a way to make Babs happy, and if he can accomplish this, she certainly will be. But if he can’t deliver on this, it may sour their relationship irreparably. Always assuming that Dick even has a chance to form a relationship, instead of meeting the fate of Misses Schmidt, Jones, and Fox. 

God help me, Dick thinks.

But there’s no way out but through. “I mean it,” Dick says. “Tomorrow afternoon.”

Chapter Text

Luncheon, eaten in the schoolroom after archery, gives Dick an idea. He sets his young charges some problems in mathematics, designed to illuminate where they fall in that wide field of study, and carries the tray back to the kitchens himself. He could easily call a servant, but he wants to speak to the cook. Besides, it gives him the opportunity to slip the crusts of bread into his pocket for later snacking. The children of St. Mary’s had never gone hungry, but they’d never been full enough to turn down an extra morsel, whatever its source. It occurs to Dick to wonder if that’s something that will change for him after living at Wayne Manor.

He shoulders his way through the servants’ door into a burst of steam and the sounds of a well-run kitchen, familiar from his earliest days at the orphanage. “Who’re you?” a short, stout woman with thinning grey hair and a voluminous apron wants to know. “I’m Cook. Put that tray down over there. The children’s lunch, is it?”

“Yes. I’m Dick Grayson - ”

“The new governess!” Cook looks Dick up and down with that mixture of assessment and provisional approval that has been a common thread in Dick’s reception at Wayne Manor. She’s kneading dough, and the rhythmic thump of her hands never falters. “You look sturdy. Maybe you can handle ’em.”

“I’ll do my best,” Dick says winningly. He’d used to be good at this kind of thing, in the circus, where cadging an extra roll from a baker or box from a joiner had been a survival skill. “Of course I’m very inexperienced.”

“Aye, you look young enough,” Cook agrees. She turns the dough, sprinkles it with flour from a canister to hand, and resumes kneading. “But you’re from the convent, right?”

“The convent orphanage, yes.”

“You’re tough, then. Set the tray down over yonder.” Dick obeys with alacrity, and Cook looks at the empty plates approvingly. “They had a good appetite today, eh? You must have tired them out.”

Dick makes a considering noise. “We were at archery this morning, which is good enough for the littler ones, but Babs needs something a bit more active. I was thinking of riding with her tomorrow, but then Kate and Cassandra will be at something of a loose end.”

“They’re old enough to be on a pony, I’d say, but Captain Wayne hasn’t realized it yet. Not home often enough.”

“He seems like a very attentive father,” Dick says cautiously. He spots a rag and a countertop that needs wiping and sets to it.

“Oh, aye, he does his best, I’ll say that, and when he’s home he knows what’s to hand well enough. But he’s always off for business. Children grow fast, I say. They sprout up the minute you’ve turned your back.” Cook shakes her head sadly. “There now, that counter’s clean enough. Hand me that bowl - that’s the one.” Dick follows the jut of Cook’s chin to the bowl in question and passes it along. Cook puts the well-kneaded dough inside, covers it with a clean, dry cloth, and sets it back to rise. “Bring Kate and Cass down here tomorrow,” she says. “They’re old enough to begin learning a thing or two about how a kitchen’s run. Master Wayne says they’re all to be ladies one day, and a good lady is one who knows what’s what. Some servants prefer it when their mistress stays away, but that’s not my notion of a well-run house. I’ll take them for an hour in the afternoons so you can give Master Babs her riding lessons. Suit you?”

“More than,” Dick says with heartfelt gratitude. “I’m in your debt.”

“Teach that lot some manners and we’ll be square.” Cook grins at him. “Go on with you now. I have to go scold that scullery maid. Beautiful cast iron kettles the master buys us, and there he goes not scouring the bottoms proper - ”

Dick beats a hasty retreat. His gratitude is sincere, but he has no desire to repay it by scrubbing pots.

The rest of the day goes smoothly enough, if a bit chaotically. Dick elects not to remove Terry from his nursery-maid for the afternoon, leaving Dick free to focus on the other three. This proves to be a wise decision, as Dick learns that Cass can’t get beyond the letter M in the alphabet, Kate doesn’t know how to fill a pen, and Babs is hopelessly unable to find Brazil on a map, let alone enumerate its major rivers and forests. These revelations leave the group somewhat demoralized, however many times Dick reassures them that he’s here to help teach them and they are sure to master it all eventually. He breathes a sigh of relief when the evening gong and the pounding of feet from the teenagers home from school release them all to go to their rooms and dress for dinner.

This relief is short-lived. Dick himself has nothing to change into, since he’s already wearing the better of his two suits of clothes, so he spends the hour before dinner going from room to room, remembering the Captain’s admonition to ensure that the children are presentable. That this intrusion into their affairs is unwelcome is made clear to Dick by all seven (Terry, too young to sit through a formal meal, is excused from dinner). Jason slams the door in Dick’s face. Tim overflows in tears, which ought to make Dick feel bad but only makes him suspicious after this morning’s conversation with the younger trio. Damian is cold and cutting. Dick has to nerve himself before knocking on Steph’s door, and the way she smiles at him when she asks if he hadn’t really ought to be getting back to his own room to change makes his blood run cold.

Back in the hallway, cowardice and bravery battle it out within Dick. Part of him doesn’t want to go look at his room at all. It had been so luxurious and comfortable this morning, and he wants to go on believing that it’s exactly the same. If he doesn’t look at it, he doesn’t have to know, right? And after all, he may be getting worked up about nothing. Really, aside from a few odd looks and warnings from the other servants, Babs, Kate and Cassandra have all been perfectly lovely…

But if they have done something to his room, it’s best to learn about it before Dick tries to retire for the night. Steeling his resolve, Dick goes back down the corridor, puts his hand on the doorknob, and twists.

The room looks normal. Totally normal. Dick steps inside hesitantly, but no bucket of water comes crashing down on his head, no horrible squishy mess appears beneath his feet. He closes the door behind him and leans against the door, breathing hard and giving thanks.

Something moves on the bed.

Dick stares. This is their plan? Something in his bed? Are they joking?

He shakes his head, walking over and pulling back the coverlet. There, on the sheets, are two grey mice. Not even rats. Mice. 

“This is what drove off their previous governesses?” he asks the room at large in disbelief. Were none of the Wayne children ever in actual orphanages before being adopted by Captain Wayne? Critters and vermin are a fact of life. They can’t seriously have expected Dick to be scared by a pair of mice.

The mice aren’t even doing anything. They’re just kind of pawing around. If they’d chewed a hole in his sheets, then he might be annoyed. But no. These must be trained mice. No doubt one of the children keeps them as pets. It had been a common enough pastime in the circus, where showing off a pair of mice or rats or cockroaches who could do a few minor tricks might net a child a few extra coins. Taking a guess, Dick chirps at them and clicks his fingers. Both mice immediately sit up on their hind legs, noses in the air.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Dick mutters. He scoops the mice up, dropping them into his pocket along with the heel of their luncheon bread. Joyous squeaks are briefly audible before Dick hastily stuffs a handkerchief atop the lot. That should keep the mice quiet and occupied until Dick can figure out which of the children is responsible for them. 

A quick glance at the clock shows that it’s already quarter till eight, and Dick hurries back to the childrens’ wing. The elder set, including Babs, are already milling about, fully dressed for dinner and looking well enough to Dick’s eye. Cass and Kate are still dawdling in their rooms. He hurries them through final touches, brushing Cass’ hair and tying a ribbon in Kate’s, straightening pinafores and buckling shoes. At five till by the schoolroom clock Dick leads the procession down the corridor to the main hall. Alfred is hovering by the door to the dining room, and beams approvingly on Dick as he appears.

“Excellent punctuality, Miss Grayson, children,” he says. “The Captain is a trifle early tonight as well, so you may all go in directly.”

“Thank you, Alfred,” Dick says. His heart is pounding. He’s about to do the hardest part of his job so far: display his manners. Alfred’s praise helps carry him forward. Chin up, shoulders back, and remember, Richard, a lady glides! Dick isn’t sure if he glides, but he doesn’t clomp, and that’s got to count for something. The children trail decorously behind him.

Captain Wayne is seated at the head of the table, his head bent, writing in a small notebook. He lifts his head and then rises as they enter, bowing slightly and slipping the closed notebook into his suit jacket. The pen goes into his breast pocket, where a leather shield protects the fabric. “Miss Grayson,” he greets. “Children. Good evening.”

“Good evening, Father,” the children chorus.

“Good evening, Captain Wayne,” Dick says.

The children peel off from behind Dick like beads falling off a string. The eldest four go to Dick’s left, ranging themselves behind chairs in order of age, with Jason next to the head of the table and Damian at Dick’s left. The younger three continue the pattern, Babs standing behind the chair to Dick’s right and Cassandra taking the third chair down. That leaves one empty between Cassandra and Captain Wayne. Dick starts towards it, but is forestalled by Captain Wayne’s raised hand.

“Please, take the foot,” Captain Wayne says. 

Damian stiffens. “Father - ”

“At the moment, Miss Grayson is rather what passes for the lady of this house. Certainly as far as you children are concerned.” Captain Wayne looks at each of his adopted offspring in turn, and his gaze quells all protest. “We would all be honored if you would take the chair. Wouldn’t we, children?”

“Of course, Father,” the children say, mumble, or choke. Damian looks like he’s bitten a lemon, and the other teens are hardly less pleased. Kate and Cassandra look less sure of how to feel. And Babs, to Dick’s surprise, snaps across the table.

“Why shouldn’t Miss Grayson?” she demands. “Anyway, he can’t sit next to Cass. That’s Terry’s seat.”

“Terry’s two,” Tim hisses.

“He’ll grow up! And he eats with us at breakfast already!”

“Well maybe then I should - ”

“Children,” Captain Wayne says. That’s all, but it ends the argument quite thoroughly. “Babs, you have raised a salient point, as I think your siblings will agree. We don’t want Terry to feel displaced, do we? And Tim, while your manners and education in formal settings have done you credit in the past, you have not yet had your coming out.”

“As if he has,” Tim says beneath his breath. 

Captain Wayne chooses not to hear this. “Miss Grayson is an adult, and as far as you are concerned, as much of an authority over you as I am. His place is there.”

Dick settles his hands on the chair at the foot of the table, warmed by Babs’ partisanship. For his own part, he would far rather disclaim the honor, but it wouldn’t do to gainsay his employer, or to quash Babs’ burgeoning support. He inclines his head as graciously as he can manage. “My thanks, Captain. And to you, Babs.”

“Then let us all be seated.” Captain Wayne resumes his chair, and the children move into theirs. Dick is careful when drawing his seat out to check that nothing unsavory has been left on it. Nothing immediately meets his eye - no pinecone, no pin - so he lowers himself, slowly. Gracefully. Still nothing. Dick settles back with relief and whisks his napkin into his lap along with everyone else.

“Bow your heads,” Captain Wayne says, and everyone does so. Dick, used to St. Mary’s, finds the Captain’s grace to be pleasingly simple. “Amen,” he finishes, and Dick repeats the amen with the children.

This concluded, the dining room’s far door opens and a maid appears carrying a tureen. “Pea soup for the starter tonight,” Captain Wayne says to the table at large. “Are you fond of pea soup, Miss Grayson?”

“Oh - moderately fond, sir.” This is a complete lie, but food is food. Pea soup is neither here nor there. Peas are cheap, and it had been a common enough staple at the orphanage. Dick sees, as the maid ladles a serving into Captain Wayne’s bowl, that this pea soup appears to be rather thicker and more green than had been common at St. Mary’s. And there is freshly baked bread on the table, apparently to be eaten along with it. Either that or Jason, who has torn off a hunk and is smearing butter on it, is being very rude indeed. Since no one is scolding him for it, Dick accepts a piece when Babs offers it to him. The soup has reached Damian, and then the serving-maid comes around and looks inquiringly at Dick.

“If your stomach is troubling you,” Tim says solicitously, “you must not push yourself.”

“What’s this?” Captain Wayne looks up from where he’d been talking quietly with Jason. “Are you unwell, Miss Grayson?”

“Not at all,” Dick says, nodding to the maid for a second ladleful. The butter comes to him next, and he takes a generous pat. When one is at a millionaire’s table, Dick supposes there’s no reason to stint. It had been mostly bacon and other meat fats at the orphanage. Butter will be a treat. “I am quite well, and hungry, too.”

That seems to satisfy Captain Wayne, and as the soup has now reached Cassandra, the Captain takes up his spoon and begins to eat. 

“There’s no need to put on a brave face,” Steph says before Dick can get a spoonful to his lips. “I know it can be difficult to eat after such an upsetting shock.”

“An upsetting shock?” Dick raises his eyebrows, noticing that Steph kept her voice low enough that Captain Wayne hasn’t heard. Dick doesn’t bother. He tastes his soup. Richer than that served at St. Mary’s; it must be thickened with real cream. He has another spoonful, and a bite of bread. He could get used to this.

Steph’s voice lowers still further. “In your room.”

Aha. “I don’t quite know what you mean,” Dick says. Unlike Steph, he speaks in a louder than usual tone of voice. “I did find the nice snack you left me, however.”

“The… snack?” Steph stares.

“A snack?” Captain Wayne has taken notice. He sets his soup spoon down in his finished bowl and reaches for a piece of bread. “Did the children leave you a basket?”

“Oh, no, they were in my bed,” Dick says innocently. He’d like to dip his bread in his soup, but no one else at the table as done so. Too bad. He alternates bite and sup, enjoying the combination. 

‘They?” Captain Wayne’s face darkens. “Stephanie…”

“I don’t know what he’s talking about,” Steph says at once.

“Two grey mice,” Dick says. “It was very thoughtful. I was hungry after such a long day.”

“H - hungry?” Steph doesn’t look surprised. She looks horrified. “What - what do you mean?”

“Why, exactly that.” Dick takes the last sup of his soup and sets the spoon down. And to think, there’s another course coming! It’s no wonder all the Wayne children are round-cheeked and pink with health. “How did you know skewered rat was a favorite of mine?”

“Skewered - ” Steph turns the color of dead fish. “You didn’t!”

“Of course he didn’t,” Damian says cuttingly. “No one eats rats. Or mice.”

“Shows what you know,” Jason retorts. “‘Course, you was never on the streets - ”

“Jason is quite correct,” Captain Wayne says. His deep voice cuts across the table, and every head turns towards him. “Rats, mice, cockroaches - all common foods in many places around the world. Including in many American orphanages. And, I may add, the U.S. armed services.” He pops another piece of buttered toast into his mouth, leaving the children to draw the obvious conclusion from this that their adopted millionaire father has himself eaten the aforementioned things.

“Whoa,” Babs says. She actually looks impressed, and the look doesn’t fade when she looks over at Dick, too. “Did you really eat rats, Miss Grayson?”

Dick shrugs. “Life as a circus brat, that’s all,” he says airily. “But I really have to thank you all for making me feel so welcome. I was naturally worried that you’d all look down on me for my origins, or even just resent me for being a stranger in your home. It warmed my heart to know that you wouldn’t hold that against me. And providing me with a little ready-made mouse snack was a kind way to do it.” He looks around the table, noticing the crestfallen looks with satisfaction. “Captain Wayne, I really must compliment you on such Christian children.”

Steph bursts into tears. Cass and Kate overflow similarly, though probably more due to Dick’s impromptu speech and the general feeling around the table than any specific fondness for the mice in question. Babs still looks impressed. She’s probably got the least to be ashamed of. Jason is eying Dick with a modicum of respect. Tim looks like he doesn’t know how to react. 

The maid chooses this inopportune moment to emerge from the rear door and start collecting soup bowls. She comes to a startled halt at the sight of half the Wayne children in tears, Captain Wayne looking like a thundercloud about to erupt, and Dick serenely buttering himself another piece of bread. 

“Julie, give us a moment, if you please,” Captain Wayne says to the maid, who drops a relieved curtsy and disappears. He then redirects his thunderous gaze to his second-oldest son. “Stephanie Brown Wayne. If I go into your room right now, will I or will I not see the two grey mice that you swore to me would cause no harm?”

Steph’s sobs intensify. “He ate my Mickey and Minnie!” she wails.

“I see,” Captain Wayne says. His voice remains quiet. “You will go tell the housekeeper that the sheets in Miss Grayson’s room require changing. Then you will proceed directly to your room.”

Her breath hitches. “What about dinner?”

“Pea soup will suffice. I will come speak with you later, when I have decided exactly what consequences you will face for the wanton disregard of the lives under your care.”

“But Father,” Steph protests, leveling an accusing finger at Dick. “He ’s the one who - ”

“Go now, young buck.” Captain Wayne’s tone brooks no argument.

Steph rises slowly from the table. Her heartbreak is visible on her face, and Dick takes pity on her. “Take these two with you,” Dick says, producing the mice from his pocket, along with the crust of bread they are still gnawing upon. “And be more careful with your pets next time.”

“Mickey! Minnie!” Steph’s entire being is transfigured with joy, and she all but snatches them from Dick’s hands. “You’re all right! He didn’t hurt you!”

“No thanks to your carelessness,” Captain Wayne says sharply. “Miss Grayson seems to have taken better care of your pets than you did. What do you have to say about that?”

“Oh, thank you, Miss Grayson! Thank you!” Unexpectedly, Steph bows. Then, remembering she’s still in disgrace, Steph flings an anguished glance at her father and flies from the room. 

“I must add my thanks to Steph’s,” Captain Wayne says to Dick in the silence her departure leaves. “You would have been well within your rights to fling the mice out the window, if you happened not to be hungry at the moment.”

Dick shakes his head. “They’re sweet creatures, well trained. I had a pair of rats myself once.” He smiles. “And since the fire in my room wasn’t built yet, and I don’t think much of raw mouse, it was easiest to return them.”

“Mice are much better when roasted,” Captain Wayne agrees gravely. 

“Cockroaches, too.” Jason chows through another piece of bread. He’d taken a third ladle of soup, too, and his bowl is already empty. Clearly he isn’t bothered by this talk of street food. “Heat ‘em up good till their shells crack, then put a little salt on if you got it - ”

“Ugh,” Tim shudders.

“Grammar, Jason,” Captain Wayne says mildly. “Put a little salt ‘ if you have it’.”

Damian looks disgusted. “Surely you didn’t truly eat such things, Father.”

“All soldiers do. Both as a supplement to the inadequate rations, and to remove them from our living spaces. As an airman, I was fortunate enough to have to do so only occasionally. Our infantry troops dined on vermin nightly.”

Damian shuts his mouth and stares down at his place. Cass’ eyes are round. Dick recalls her ambition to be an aviatrix and wonders if this conversation is giving her second thoughts.

 Captain Wayne meets Dick’s eyes across the table. He doesn’t wink. Dick has no trouble believing that Captain Wayne has spoken nothing but the truth. And yet, Dick thinks, from the twinkle in the Captain’s eye, he is also not above using the truth to dampen Damian’s ardor for the armed services. Dick lets mischief briefly show on his own face, before lowering his eyes demurely.

“If that discussion is closed, shall we proceed to the beef course?” Captain Wayne suggests, and turning in his seat, calls for the serving maid. “Julie!”

Dinner wends its way to a conclusion without any more dramatic moments. Captain Wayne directs the conversation, beginning by going down the line from Jason to Cassandra and asking each child to share the major points of their day. The Captain’s memory is tremendous; he recollects Damian’s algebra test, Jason’s recital of the monologue from Hamlet, and Tim’s preparation for an upcoming recital. After Babs, Kate, and Cass have given their own accounts of themselves, Captain Wayne asks for Dick’s, and pronounces himself satisfied with their first day’s efforts. Cook is asked to come up, and she solemnly receives the two youngests’ order for chocolate cake tomorrow evening.

Captain Wayne invites Dick to remain for coffee after the children are dismissed. Dick expresses his gratitude, but begs to be allowed to decline. The sooner he learns the bedtime routines, the better. Besides, all are chastened by Steph’s public disgrace. They’re unlikely to cause further trouble tonight. Tomorrow night, who can predict? Dick doesn’t say that part out loud, but he thinks he reads understanding in Captain Wayne’s acceptance of Dick’s excuses.

Getting the children settled for the evening is a gauntlet all its own. Once again the elder children require no assistance in their toilet, but Dick is called upon to mediate an ever-escalating, ever-more-petty series of disagreements. Whose turn is it for the washbasin, why Jason uses more than his fair share of the hot water, who has disarranged Tim’s collection of creams and brushes, and will Damian kindly remember that he is not the only one in need of the commode - it goes on and on, not assisted by the whoops and shouts of the two littlest ones, who take advantage of the general chaos to fly about in half-buttoned nightgowns with hair streaming behind them. By the time the last door is closed and Dick feels safe turning the central room’s light out, Dick is ready to collapse himself. He starts back to his room, thinking longingly of a bath and sleep. He never makes it. Halfway down the corridor he is intercepted by Alfred, looking unfairly crisp and unruffled in his sober dark suit. “Pardon me, Miss Grayson, but Captain Wayne would like to see you at your convenience.”

“Oh… certainly.” Dick brushes at his own clothes, which are damp from helping comb and braid Kate and Cass’ hair for sleep, and wrinkled from giving goodnight hugs. If he had anything else to wear, he’d put it on, but his other suit of clothes are older and shabbier than these, even after the demands of the day. “Where is the Captain now?”

“In his study. I’ll show you the way.”

Alfred leads Dick back through the foyer and down through yet another door into what must be the east wing of the house. Here the accents are darker, the paint richer, and the works of art more numerous. If the west wing is meant for children, this is clearly a space for adults. Rich adults.

Stopping at one particular door, Alfred knocks and then opens it, leaning inside. “Miss Grayson, as you requested, sir.”

“Thank you, Alfred,” the Captain’s voice replies. “Miss Grayson, please come in.”

Alfred steps back and gives Dick a nod. Dick takes a deep breath and goes in.

Captain Wayne’s study is a room Dick could more or less have drawn straight from imagination, books, and the occasional moving picture. It’s got the dark wood paneling, the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, the large windows on the far wall with the spacious desk placed before them. There’s another of Wayne Manor’s beautifully woven rugs on the floor and two chairs placed before the desk itself, which is piled so high with papers and other detritus that it appears to be threatening a moderate avalanche. Captain Wayne beckons Dick over and says, “Please, have a seat.”

“Thank you, sir.” Dick crosses the room to the chairs and selects the one on his left. “You wished to speak with me?”

“I wanted to make you aware. I’m leaving town tomorrow morning.”

“Oh dear,” Dick says in heartfelt dismay. He’s barely beginning to get a handle on managing the  children with the backing authority of their adopted father; with Captain Wayne gone, he fears they’ll degenerate right back into menaces. “For how long?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know yet. If all goes well, only a week, but business deals can take time. It may be longer.”

A week at least? Dick is doomed. He tries to put a good face on it. “We will miss you, of course, sir.”

“Thank you, Miss Grayson. That’s kind of you to say.” Captain Wayne’s smile is wan. He doesn’t want to go, Dick thinks. “While I’m gone, Alfred will manage the house and Cook will manage the kitchens. I need you to manage the children.”

“Of course, sir.”

“There’s the matter of Steph’s punishment.”

Oh. Right. With Captain Wayne gone, it’s going to fall to Dick to oversee. “Have you decided on its nature yet?”

“No. Since I’m leaving it to you to enforce, I wanted to discuss it with you first. I had it in mind to forbid her from lacrosse practice for two weeks.”

“Oh no, sir,” Dick blurts out before he can stop himself. He feels the tips of his ears burn with embarrassment as Captain Wayne’s eyebrows shoot up nearly to his hairline. But manners or no manners, Dick is serious. “Captain, I’m sorry, but please, pick something else. When you’re young and angry at the world - ” Dick swallows and looks away; that’s a little too personal. “Sports are an outlet. A positive one. Take it away, and next you’ll be hearing that Steph has started getting into fights or running away into the city. Or something else you’ll like even less. Activity is what she needs to help learn self-control.”

“There are other activities,” Captain Wayne observes. “She may ride, she may hunt in the preserves - ”

“Lacrosse is the activity she loves. Please, sir.”

Captain Wayne is silent for long enough that Dick gathers up his courage to look at him. He finds the Captain looking back at Dick, studying him with a puzzled frown. “She put mice in your bed,” he says. “She, along with the other three teens, replaced your bathwater with the dirty water from the laundry - ”

“They did what?”

“You didn’t know?”

“I haven’t been back to my rooms yet,” Dick says. “Bedtime was… time-consuming.”

“Hm. Well, worry not. They confessed, and the bathwater is being replaced. Jason, Tim, and Damian are carrying up the replacement cans themselves, hot from the kitchens. Steph is still confined to her room, or she’d be helping them.”

“Thank you, Captain.”

“Knowing this, do you still wish me to select a lesser punishment for Steph?”

“It needn’t be lesser, Captain, but yes, a different punishment, if you please. This convinces me more than ever that lacrosse is a safety valve that Steph needs right now.”

“Very well.” The Captain nods, though he still looks faintly surprised by Dick’s insistence. “Then, shall we say that she must give up her weekend pursuits to assist in the servants’ work?”

“In the laundry,” Dick suggests. “Since we don’t know which other beds the mice may have visited, all the sheets in the house must be changed, and she can help wash the linens.”

“There’s justice in that.” Captain Wayne leans back in his chair. His scrutiny on Dick hasn’t lessened; if anything, it’s increased. “You realize that, since I will be out of town, it will largely fall on you to oversee this punishment.”

“Yes, sir.”

“As well as managing all the other children.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Forbidding Steph lacrosse would affect you very little, since she would simply have to find something else to occupy her at school until the car arrived to take her home with Jason and Damian. This punishment is nearly as much of a punishment for you as it is for her.”

Dick smiles ruefully. “Is that not always the way of it, Captain, with children?”

“Thus has been my experience of parenthood,” Captain Wayne says. “If I may say so, Miss Grayson - I think we are all very fortunate that you have come to join us.” He rises. “I have taken enough of your time. I’m sure you’re tired, and your bathwater should all be present and accounted for by now - and only getting cooler by delay.”

Taking his cue, Dick rises likewise. “Thank you, sir.” He turns to go, eager to escape that intense gaze, and bangs his shin against the second chair in his haste. Nearly stumbling, he grabs for the arm of the chair and the edge of the desk both. The latter is a tactical mistake. Piled high as the desk is, a stack of papers immediately slides to the ground.

“Drat,” Dick mutters, then immediately wants to box his own ears. Back at the orphanage the nuns would have done it for him, for using such language. But Captain Wayne had been in the army, and he doesn’t look shocked. Perhaps he hadn’t heard. Dick hastily kneels, gathering papers. Captain Wayne comes around the desk and makes shooing noises. “It’s all right, Miss Grayson, I shall - ”

“No, it was my error - ”

“ - organized a certain way - ”

“- clumsy - ”

“ - matters of business - ”

“ - should have been more careful - ”

“I said I will handle it.” Captain Wayne wrests the papers from Dick’s hands, almost tumbling Dick over again. Dick regains his feet, but stands there unsure, shocked by Captain Wayne’s sudden firmness. Captain Wayne must see Dick’s astonishment, because he takes a deep breath and visibly settles himself down. “Some of my papers are confidential, Miss Grayson,” he says in a calmer, more conciliatory voice. “Business dealings are often conducted in secrecy. I prefer not to allow anyone but myself to handle anything in my office. You will please remember that.”

“Of course, Captain. I - I apologize.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for.” Captain Wayne turns and sets the papers back down on his desk, covering them with a large paperweight. “I had not told you. But now that you are aware - ”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then shall we say good night, Miss Grayson?” 

“Good night, sir.” Dick turns to go, then stops. Something is peeking out from beneath the other chair, something both he and Captain Wayne had missed picking up. After Captain Wayne’s scolding, Dick doesn’t dare to pick it up himself. “Captain - one additional item over here.”

The Captain turns quickly, and comes back around, kneeling down to fish it out. Dick blinks. On the floor he’d seen only a small flat oblong of cardboard, and he’s taken it for a business card, but as Captain Wayne picks it up, Dick catches a glimpse of its front. It’s a card, all right, but a playing card. Dick sees red ink and a dancing figure dressed in motley before Captain Wayne tucks it away into the middle of the paperweighted stack.

“Good night, Miss Grayson,” Captain Wayne says, an unmistakable note of command in his voice. 

Dick hastily takes himself away, but as he’s walking back to his room, he’s thinking not of the hot bath in front of him, but the Captain behind him. And he’s wondering - what on earth could the red joker have to do with business deals?

Chapter Text

Dick has to drag himself out of bed the next morning. The hot bath on top of yesterday’s turmoil had nearly put him to sleep in the tub, and he’d barely managed to don his nightclothes and say a brief bedside prayer before wafting off to dreamland. The habits of the orphanage rouse Dick unwillingly at six o’clock, and he huddles rebelliously under his pillow until he remembers that there is no longer a Sister Mary Clarence to come bawl out the orphans for being slugabed. Dick is going to have to motivate himself. Ugh.

The children breakfast at eight, which means that Dick needn’t wake them until seven. He could sleep another hour. But he’d had no time for anything beside his direct duties last night, and he’ll need more familiarity with the house and the senior servants to be effective with this job. It’s in his best interests to rise early.

It’s easier once he gets out of bed and finds that there’s already a fire burning and a can of hot water by the wash-basin. One of the servants must have come through; Dick would never have noticed, being far too used to sharing a dorm with twenty other children, with the nuns coming and going all night to boot. After that, no scullery-maid with a hod of coal could possibly disturb him.

This, though. Dick could get used to this. He plunges his face into cupped hands full of warm water and sighs at the luxury of it. To toast by an open fire on the first morning of March, instead of hopping from bare foot to bare foot on cold cobblestones while getting one’s shoes on, renews Dick’s determination to do whatever it takes to succeed at this posting. 

An even better surprise is waiting when Dick opens the wardrobe. Sitting on the wooden base beneath his two hanging suits of clothes are three bolts of fabric. The note pinned on the topmost indicates they are to be used for Dick to sew additional clothes. Dick pinches and rubs a fold of the fabric, marveling. One is wool broadcloth, ideal for winter, especially outdoor pursuits like riding. Another bolt is light linen; Dick can use that for trimming on the wool, or for lighter garments in the summer. The third is soft white cotton for shirting and undergarments. He might also make another set of nightclothes; he only has one. The wool is a beautiful navy with a snug weave. The linen is a lighter blue with a faint herringbone stripe. Any one of them, never mind all three, will make the finest clothes Dick has ever worn.

To top all of that, sitting next to the cloth is a beautifully woven basket filled with every tool a sewist might find necessary. Dick abandons his plans of wandering the house and learning its ways to spend a glorious hour using his spare set of clothes as a pattern, pinning and cutting and pinning again, planning his new wardrobe. At five before seven he rolls his cut cloth up, ready for basting, and tucks it inside the basket with the shears and pins he’d been using. He’ll stow the basket in the schoolroom before waking the children and be able to get at it all day whenever there are a few quiet minutes. Sewing has always brought happy memories and a sense of inner quietude; it had been a group activity in the circus, as everyone gathered around between shows, mending tack or harness, repairing the tents, or stitching new costumes for new acts. Dick is already feeling calmer at the thought of being able to ply his needle throughout the coming days.

To Dick’s surprise, when he arrives in the west wing, Steph is already awake. She’s sitting on one of the common benches with a book in her lap and scrambles to her feet when she sees Dick coming. Since she’s already fully dressed, Dick greets her with a smile. “Good morning, Steph.”

“Good morning, Miss Grayson,” Steph says, and bows again, just as she had last night at dinner. “I wanted to thank you.”

“To thank me?” Dick blinks. He’d made her think her pet mice were dead and eaten last night. Surely that doesn’t merit gratitude.

“For interceding with Father. About my lacrosse.” Steph is still holding the book she’d been reading, turning it over and over between her hands. “I - if he’d forbidden me from playing… You see, I… sometimes I get - mad. My papa - my birth father, I mean - did Father Wayne tell you?”

Mutely Dick shakes his head.

“Papa stole. To support us, at first, and I understood.” Steph throws her head back, defiant. “We had to eat. That’s not what I’m mad about. I know Father Wayne doesn’t understand - but I think maybe you might, Miss Grayson.”

“I do,” Dick says gently. “Very much.”

“Papa went to prison.” Steph looks away. “When he came back he was different. He kept stealing, but it wasn’t for us anymore. It was for himself. We were hungry, and he didn’t care. It was bad enough being poor in the city, but he started bringing people around. Bad people. Dangerous people. Mama told him to stop. He didn’t listen. He didn’t listen and the gangs killed them both.”

“I’m sorry, Steph.”

“I’m sorry about Mama,” Steph said. “But I’m only sorry about Papa sometimes. Sometimes I’m glad he’s gone. And sometimes I’m just mad. Mad at him. None of it had to happen. Sure, we were poor, but lots of people are poor. We could’ve been okay. If he hadn’t gotten greedy.”

Dick is nodding in sympathy and understanding. He’s seen it all before. Not at St. Mary’s, but before. People had come to the circus for many reasons. Dick’s family had been wandering folk who had liked the lifestyle, but others had been running from something. And still others had been running towards something. Towards some glittering dream of gold and fame that would never come true. Those people had been the most dangerous. They’d been willing to destroy anything and anyone on their way towards their mirage.

“When I think of all of that, I get mad,” Steph finishes. “I used to hit people. At the orphanage. They called the cops. Father Wayne said he’d take me in. I’m grateful to him, truly I am, and I want to make him proud. But sometimes I still get so mad. When I started playing lacrosse, it was easier, somehow. I don’t want to go back to the person I was when I wasn’t playing.”

Dick puts his sewing basket down and opens his arms. He’s moved by the same impulse that had led hiim to wipe runny noses and patch up damaged teddys at at St. Mary’s nursery. If he’d thought about it first, he would never have done it; nothing Steph had said or done before this morning would indicate that she’d even like to be touched, much less hugged. But Dick is running on instinct, and maybe Steph is, too, because she takes a step forward and falls into Dick’s arms.

The moment is more awkward than tender, and ends quickly with Steph sniffing a few times and then pulling back. “I wasn’t crying,” she says defiantly.

“Naturally,” Dick says quickly. Pride is something he also understands far too well. “I observed myself that this area needs to be dusted more regularly. Perhaps you can attend to it as part of your punishment this weekend.”

Steph nods. “Yes, I - I’ll do that, Miss Grayson.”

The noise behind the other bedroom doors has been slowly rising, and now there’s a loud thumping noise behind one and the sound of pounding feet from others. “I believe your siblings are about to join us,” Dick says. “Let me just pop this basket in the schoolroom and then we can all go to breakfast.”

“Yes, Miss Grayson.” Steph takes a deep breath and nods. “Thank you, Miss Grayson. I - I’m glad you’ve come.”

“I’m glad to be here,” Dick says. He isn’t thinking about the warm fires or filling meals when he says it.

After that, things go smoothly for a while. Breakfast is no more rambunctious than Dick expected, with eight children and only one of him (though Maria takes care of Terry, and even provides some limited assistance when her charge permits). Babs is excited to go riding later, Kate and Cass are looking forward to their chosen dessert at dinner, and Steph is quietly, fiercely partisan, shutting down Damian’s and Tim’s cutting comments as soon as they make them. Jason watches the byplay with some amusement but volunteers nothing. He waves goodbye with casual insouciance when Alfred announces the car. Tim and Damian don’t bother. Steph glares at their retreating backs before saying a proper “Goodbye, Miss Grayson,” complete with respectful dip of her head. Dick faintly hears Tim giving her shit about it as they get into the car and debates saying something, but decides against it. Some battles the siblings must fight between themselves. And Tim’s affections are Dick’s to win. 

Morning lessons go well, too, and afternoon riding is positively excellent. Babs is bursting with excitement as they lead their mounts out of the stables, and once Dick has ascertained that Babs does indeed have experience, he sees no harm in a gallop. Racing the horses across the verdant expanse of Wayne Manor sends the blood pumping through Dick’s veins and adds a rosy bloom to life that has been missing since he’d had to watch the circus leave Gotham without him. Afterwards, he sends the exhausted trio of Babs, Kate, and Cass for an hour’s rest in their rooms and goes to visit Terry, playing blocks with him while he tries to create some skyscraper that exists only in his imagination.

Then it’s dinner, and Dick realizes that he’s to say grace about five seconds before everyone at the table looks at him expectantly. For the first time he’s grateful for St. Mary’s religious emphasis. He has everyone bow their heads and recites one of Sister Mary Clarence’s mealtime blessings straight from memory.  Disaster averted. The children say ‘amen’, and Dick takes up his soup spoon with a concealed sigh of relief.

Dick can’t quiz the children as Captain Wayne does, and he has no idea of their schedules, but he does his best to reproduce the ritual of asking each about the highlights of their day. Jason proves surprisingly talkative, going into detail about his literature class’ analysis of Hamlet  holding up a piece of bread in one hand and a buttered knife in the other, wagging each one in turn as he illustrates the two sides of a philosophical debate. He talks long enough that Dick would have to rush Tim’s answer even if it weren’t short and to the point (“music lessons today. I sang.”). Steph also says little, but it’s all about a new passing drill her lacrosse team is running, and she glows while she speaks. Damian glowers. What a difference two letters make, Dick thinks to himself. He still has a way to go with Tim and Damian, it’s plain.

Still, Dick feels that he’s made tremendous inroads. The younger children needn’t say much, since Dick had been with them all day, but Kate and Cass both say they’d enjoyed spending time with Cook and getting to sneak sweetmeats between lessons on selecting produce. Apparently the greengrocer comes on Tuesdays. With seven children, the simple act of talking with each in turn takes them through the soup and the meat course, and Dick judges it safe to let silence lapse while they enjoy their dessert. Even Tim and Damian would rather eat chocolate cake than express their continued annoyance at Dick’s presence.

Finally the dessert plates are cleared. Dick dismisses the teenagers to their solitary evening pursuits, reminding them that he’ll be by later to ensure they’re all in bed at the proper time, and takes Babs, Kate, and Cass off for bedtime now. Maria had taken Terry back to the nursery after the meat course, dessert being too rich for a two-year-old’s stomach. Dick gets the three middle children settled and leaves the west wing with a sigh of relief.

Second day of being a governess, and first without Captain Wayne, successfully accomplished. Dick takes a relaxing bath, dons his nightclothes, and settles down with his sewing basket. Rain is drumming against the windows, making Dick gladder than ever to be indoors by a roaring fire. He’s humming to himself as he sorts out which pieces he’d basted earlier and which still need to be done, anticipating a pleasant hour or even two of warmth and comfortable solitude before bed. 

Which is why it comes as such a shock when the window-sash flies open and a soaking wet seventeen-year-old Alpha flops through it like a landed fish.

“What on Earth - Jason!” Dick scrambles to his feet, barely stuffing the pins into his pinball in time to save them from scattering everywhere. “What are you doing?”

“Sorry, Miss Grayson,” Jason wheezes from the floor. “Sash on my window jammed. Happening more often lately. Knew yours would be open. The others lock theirs.”

Dick gapes at him. “If I had known it could be locked - ”

“Yeah.” Jason grins, blithely careless of the fact that water is still streaming down his face from his sopping-wet hair. “Lucky for me.”

“Lucky for - ” Dick shuts his mouth with a snap. Repeating Jason in increasing incredulity isn’t actually going to help anything. Dick counts to ten, then stalks over to the tub and grabs his towel. “Dry yourself off,” he instructs, tossing it to Jason. “You’re dripping on the rug.”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry. Wasn’t expecting it to rain, either.” Jason rubs ineffectually at his clothes. “Uh…”

Dick sighs. “Get out of those wet things,” he says, resigned. “You can wear my other suit of clothes to get back to your room. Barefoot. I can’t have you squelching your way through the house. Bad for the floors.” And Dick’s reputation.

Jason eyes Dick appraisingly and shrugs. “Yeah, your clothes will probably cover the essential bits. You’re pretty built for a governess.”

“Do you know how much laundry we did in the orphanage?” Dick yanks open the wardrobe.

“Fair,” Jason says, accepting the clothes philosophically. “Meanwhile I’ve been wastin’ away here in the lap of luxury.”

“Spare me the crocodile tears,” Dick says, amused.

“Oh, I ain’t saying I’m not lucky.” Jason looks around, then ducks behind the bathing screen as the best option for privacy while changing. “Just that it’s hard on the conditioning. You must know how it is.”

Dick sighs. “Toss your wet things in the tub. I’ll rinse them out and hang them to dry. No one will know.”

“Thanks.” Jason emerges, and though the shirt is a little tight around the shoulders and the pants a little short in the leg, the clothes do indeed cover the important bits. Of course, they’re obviously Dick’s clothes, not Jason’s; the material is the coarser fabrics of St. Mary’s orphanage, and the cut and fashion are decidedly Omegan. Jason’s decent, but he’s not going to fool anyone up close. He’ll have to stick to the shadows until he can get back into something that was made for him. “Knew you wouldn’t sing.”

For a brief moment, Dick considers feigning ignorance and saying something about never having had vocal lessons. The notion is short-lived. He remembers Jason’s casual comments over dinner last night on the matter of eating rats, and the increased respect with which Jason has been treating Dick since. “Course not.”

Jason still has the towel, and he’s scrubbing it over his hair now. “You on the streets long?” he asks abruptly.

“Depends how you call streets,” Dick says. Mirroring Jason, he lapses back into the cant of his youth. The nuns had trained him into a politer manner of speech, but the old way of talking still lingers at the back of his mind.  “Grew up in the circus. Had my folks, but we was wanderers.”

“You’re gypsy folk, ain’tcha.” It isn’t a question. “Knew some when I was on the streets. Fortune telling, dancing, that kind of thing.”

“Surviving,” Dick says warily. “Same as we all do.” Even among the poor, there can be distinctions. Not everyone thinks Dick’s people are the ‘right’ kind of people.

Jason knows it, too. “No bother to me,” he says right away, making his position clear. “Way I see it, we street kids got more in common with each other than I do with the other WASPs.”

Dick feels his shoulders slide down a few notches, relaxing. He teases a little. “You’re not a street kid anymore. You’re a gentleman.”

“Yeah.” Jason’s laugh is like the crack of a piece of coal splitting. “Ain’t that a kick in the teeth?”

“How’d you come here?” After Steph’s confession this morning, Dick has been curious about the histories of all the children. He’d thought he’d have to wait until Captain Wayne returns to ask him about it. But Jason is in a chatty mood, it seems, and he certainly owes Dick one.

“I tried to steal the wheels off one of Wayne’s cars.”

Dick boggles. “You what?”

Jason shrugs. “Hey, parts for cars ain’t cheap. The bootleggers down by the docks go through wheels fast, running their stuff all over town; the broken glass gums ‘em up. They pay top dollar for replacements and don’t ask any questions.”

“So you stole - tried to steal - ”

“So one day I’m walking along past the Bank of Gotham and I see this real swanky car parked down the alley next door. Empty, no driver like most of the rich folks use. No cops around neither. Real quiet. So I slip into the alley and I get to work. Next thing I know I’m dangling from my collar and Captain Wayne’s asking me if I’m familiar with sentencing guidelines for grand larceny.” He grins. “He talks like a swell, but anyone who can hold me up with one arm ain’t soft. Figured I’d stick with him for a while. Haven’t regretted it yet.”

“You respect the Captain.”

“He’s eaten rats.” Jason shrugs. “Like us.” 

He doesn’t say any more. He doesn’t need to. His rough edges speak for him. Anyone who survives on the streets as long as Jason evidently had develops a knack for judging character. Whatever Captain Wayne had said to Jason about becoming a gentleman, Jason had believed it. Believed it would be possible, and that it would be something Jason would want. With the exception of Kate and Cass, any of  the children are old enough to fend for themselves on the streets, though it’s Dick’s private judgment that Babs, Damian, and Tim have never actually had to try. Jason has. 

Yet he stays. Not the way Dick had stayed at the orphanage, partaking in ritual in exchange for meals. Jason believes in Captain Wayne.

And - though he hasn’t said so explicitly - he believes in Dick, now, too. Now there’s an us.

Jason won’t thank Dick for making any of that explicit, though. So Dick just nods. “Yeah. Like us.”

Dick finds his duties get markedly easier after his late-night conversation with Jason. Steph has turned into a strong partisan of Dick, and Jason makes his support clear in his unique way. Dick and Babs continue to ride in the afternoons, and with her support the mornings with the younger children go smoothly. He’s made the hour of rest after riding and cooking a standard part of their day, and Maria knows to expect him in the nursery now. She confides in him with a grin that she’s coming to love her afternoon nap. Dick, meanwhile, is coming to love Terry, who begins to open up to Dick, showing Dick his many drawings and going off into long lectures about what each is, all unintelligible to anyone but him. He also begins refusing to go to sleep at nights until Dick has sung to him. Not knowing what lullabies Maria usually sings, Dick had simply gone with his own favorite, a Roma lullaby his own mother had sung to him years ago. Terry now insists on having it every night, three times over, and had been furious the time Kate and Cass got into a fight over the basin and had to be redressed in dry clothes. Dick had been fifteen minutes late getting to Terry, and Terry’s toddler scolding had sent Maria off into gales of laughter behind a closed door.

Only Tim and Damian remain holdouts. With so much other support for Dick, the two of them can’t rain out the parade, but they’re clouding it over with all their might. Dick lets them be for the moment. They’re not the kind of children who can be won over with a frontal assault. Thinking of Captain Wayne’s military background with a grin, Dick settles in for a siege. 

The weekend arrives. Dick had been nervous about his first full day with all the children, but it goes remarkably well. Steph, of course, is working in the laundry. Terry will spend the day with Maria. The remaining children pair off in what is clearly an accustomed pattern. Jason and Tim take Cass and Kate out riding bicycles, to the amazement of Dick, who learns that every single Wayne, including the Captain himself, owns one. 

“He’ll get you one if you want,” Jason says with casual confidence as he swings Kate onto hers. “It’s not hard to learn to ride.”

“Look, Miss Grayson! I can pedal all by myself!” Cass says proudly, and cycles away so quickly that Jason has to hop onto his bicycle and chase her dust. Tim and Kate vanish soon after.

Meanwhile, Damian and Babs disappear into the woods with a picnic lunch. Dick would worry, but Alfred, who oversees their departure, assures Dick that this is usual for them.

“They were fast friends in the schoolroom, you see,” Alfred says. “Until last September, they were the ‘middle children’ of the family. Damian has had a hard time adjusting to going to school and being one of the teenagers, and Babs somewhat resents having to be left behind. These little weekend escapades are their way of coping. I assure you, they’ll come to no harm. The grounds staff look out for them.”

All this leaves Dick at something of a loose end. He spells Maria for his usual hour and reads a book to an unusually lazy Terry, then reads, sews, and takes a walk around the grounds. The four bicycle riders return for a late lunch, and the afternoon is spent in indoor pursuits. The surprises of the day aren’t yet over, as Jason reveals that Captain Wayne owns a hand-cranked tin moving picture projector, and that the eldest three children are allowed to operate it, if they’re careful and an adult is supervising. Dick absolutely refuses to take on that particular responsibility without training, so Alfred is summoned yet again to watch as Tim carefully threads what he calls ‘tape’ and Jason cranks away enthusiastically. There’s no orchestra to provide accompaniment, but it’s still astonishing to see the pictures flicker on the wall, one after another, for whole minutes at a time.

“One day I want to go see a movie palace,” Kate says afterwards. “Hear the music play, and see the longer films. And the newsreels! We listen to the radio, but imagine seeing the news, Miss Grayson.”

Her sigh is wistful. Dick resolves to have a word with Captain Wayne, when he gets back, about an outing for the children.

Damian and Babs finally turn up at dinner, with their clothes rumpled, leaves in their hair, and smiles on their faces. Seeing Damian smile is odd, but since it seems to come with a healthy appetite, Dick takes it as a sign of a day well spent. Better yet, Damian with his mouth full has too good of manners to make sly comments. It’s a pleasant meal, and Dick is feeling good about his new role as he falls asleep on Saturday evening.

He really ought to know better.

“Good morning, Miss Grayson,” Alfred greets Dick the following day as he steps outside his room shortly after dawn. “Will it be convenient to have the car at the usual time this morning?”

“The usual time?” Dick stares at Alfred somewhat blankly. It’s not a weekday, so it won’t be for the teenagers being taken to school; there’s nothing he needs to shop for, and anyway he’s learned that things are generally sent for and brought up to Wayne Manor by a variety of servants. What could he need the car for?

Alfred coughs apologetically. “For Mass, Miss Grayson.”

Oh. Dick immediately feels like ten kinds of a fool. Five days away from St. Mary’s and he completely forgets - “Is there no chapel on the grounds, then?” he asks, trying to play it off like he simply hadn’t realized they’d need to travel to attend services.

“No, Miss Grayson. The Waynes have always worshipped along with their fellow Gothamites.” 

“How nice,” Dick says. A sinking feeling is making itself known in his stomach. Of course there are several churches within Gotham, the Waynes could attend any number of places, but if Dick had to guess… “The family worships at St. Mary’s, do they not?”

“Quite so. Master Bruce usually attends the eight o’clock service. Along, of course, with the children.”

“Of course.” Dick and the other orphans had had Matins along with the nuns, and then helped with cleaning the church after the regular services. Occasionally an orphan had been called upon to assist a parishioner in some small way - helping the elderly to a pew is the most common - but still, Dick would never have seen the Waynes. And of course none of the Sisters would have dreamed of bragging. But in retrospect, Dick really should have realized. Gotham is crowded with orphanages. What would lead Captain Wayne to pick St. Mary’s to supply his latest governess, except that he’s a parishioner? “The usual time will be fine, Alfred, thank you. I trust breakfast will be moved up to accommodate this?”

“It will be served at seven o’clock. We then have a formal Sunday dinner in place of luncheon at twelve-thirty, and then a lighter supper at seven in the evening, before retiring early to bed.”

“Splendid. Well.” Dick looks down at himself and his daily clothes. “I must just…”

“Naturally, Miss Grayson. I have matters to attend to as well. The car will be around at seven thirty.”

“Thank you, Alfred.” Dick escapes back into his room. 

At least yesterday’s lull in labor had left Dick time to finish one of his new sets of clothes. He hadn’t intended it to be the nicest; it’s been a long time since he’s sewn anything that wasn’t straight seams and practical hemming, and he’d planned to gradually work his way up in terms of flourishes. But the navy wool suit and snowy white cotton shirt is far nicer than the orphanage-issue black he’d arrived with. Dick changes quickly, then goes back to the washbasin and combs his hair again, trying to make it lie down flat. Sister Mary Clarence had always despaired over Dick’s cowlick. 

The clock on Dick’s mantel chimes six-thirty, and Dick abandons the futile attempt. He’s got half an hour to get his charges up and dressed in their Sunday best, another half an hour to get them fed, and then - but he can worry about the rest later. The next hour is worry enough, for now.

Dick should have worried more in advance.

Getting the children dressed is familiar at this point, and while they all hurry a little at breakfast, it’s no worse than any school day. It’s when Alfred announces the car that things change.

Dick isn’t sure what he’d expected - there are ten of them, for God’s sake - but a luxury stretch car isn’t it. A minibus, perhaps. This is no minibus. This is a gray Pierce Arrow with three wide, flat benches and two swivel chairs on the sides. It looks as if it could carry all of St. Mary’s orphanage and cross the trenches of Europe in comfort and style. Alfred emerges behind the children to make an eleventh and starts opening doors. Everyone piles in: Maria with Terry on the front bench next to the driver’s seat, the four middle children on the center bench, and three of the teens in the back. Jason takes one of the swivel seats and Dick settles into the other. He briefly wonders what the other children at St. Mary’s will think when they see Dick arrive in such style. Then he has bigger things to worry about. They don’t even make it off the grounds of Wayne Manor before the first fight erupts. If all of the children are telling the truth, they are each individually perfect angels while every other child is kicking, punching, shoving, lying on top of them, mussing their clothes, making faces or annoying noises, or poking them in various soft places. Dick goes hoarse trying to be heard over the bickering. So much for luxury. By the time they arrive he’s halfway to decreeing that they’ll all walk back.

But the sight of St. Mary’s - with its stone walls rising stately above the street, the squat orphanage dormitories tucked behind, convent to the left with its little cut-off square of grass in between, and the sounds and smells of the city all around them - make Dick forget everything in a sudden, overwhelming wave of nostalgia. His years at St. Mary’s had been the longest stationary period of his life. Though he’d always known he would have to leave when he turned eighteen, and though the rules and daily prayers had sometimes been uncomfortable, Dick had put down more roots there than he’d realized. Coming back awakens a yearning for a simpler time.

Never thought I’d miss laundry and kitchen work, Dick thinks, trying to jolly himself a little. He steps out of the car with Alfred’s assistance and turns to take Terry so Maria can exit. The older children file out on their own, assembling on the sidewalk the way they’d assembled at Wayne Manor’s entry hall on Dick’s first day. Dick looks them over, twitching Kate’s hair ribbon into place and straightening Damian’s cravat. Maria reclaims Terry, Alfred climbs back into the car to move it out of the street, and Dick leads the procession up the church stairs.

He’d been worried about getting pew space together, given the lateness of their arrival, but the Mother Abbess himself is waiting by the door. He must have known to expect them. “Richard,” he says warmly, taking both of Dick’s hands in his and patting them with his gnarled old ones. “Welcome back.”

Dick feels something pricking behind his eyeballs. “Thank you, Reverend Mother,” he says.

‘Go on up to the front two pews. Sister Mary Clarence kept them for you.”

“That’s too good of her.”

“God bless, Richard.”

Walking into the church at the head of the column of well-dressed Wayne children is a surreal experience. A week ago, if Dick were to have walked in here, it would have been because he’d been sent to help an elderly parishioner to their seat or to hand out prayer-books to those who hadn’t brought their own. His clothes would have marked him as a resident of the orphanage, and those attending worship would have either ignored him or looked at him with pity. Today, in his new navy woolen suit, with the Wayne children in their even nicer clothes at his heels, Dick is nodded to, smiled at, and generally looked on approvingly by all and sundry. 

He divides up the children between the pews strategically. Jason and Steph go in the front with Babs, Kate, and Cass. The older children can be trusted to behave themselves, and Jason and Steph will handle any minor behavior issues that come from Kate and Cass being six and five, respectively. In the second pew, Maria and Terry take the far end, where Maria can easily escape with the toddler should Terry begin to act up. Dick takes the aisle seat, with Damian and Tim between them. They’re the two still most opposed to Dick taking the role of governess, and Dick wants them where he can see them. That being said, they’re also the two with the most polished manners of the entire bunch, and it may be that propriety and piety will combine to keep them well-behaved. Dick says a brief prayer to that effect, and crosses himself with unusual fervor for good measure.

The organ strikes up, the verger appears, and the congregation rises. Damian hands Dick a hymnal, already open. Dick glances down and blinks. The organist is playing Hail, Jesus, Hail, but the hymnal is open to hymn 216. Clearly a mistake; as the board confirms, Hail, Jesus, Hail is hymn 214. Dick turns the extra page back and joins in the singing. He holds the hymnal out so Damian can see, but the teen only stares at the page. 

Dick has his own prayer-book, so when Damian tries to hand him one, Dick pulls his from his pocket and shows it to Damian with a smile. Damian takes the prayer-book back to use himself, but as he does,  something catches Dick’s eye. Damian has to turn several pages before he can read the prayers. He’d once again opened the book to the wrong place. 

Once might be a mistake. Twice is suspicious. Damian makes another attempt to hand Dick an open book during the chant, and then Dick is certain. It’s on purpose. Damian is probably trying to make Dick look foolish, singing the wrong hymn or reciting the wrong prayers. Dick shakes his head and chants from memory. Damian looks put out. 

The homily is on the subject of the greed of mankind and the importance of tithing. Dick conceals his amusement. The Black Cat must have struck again. Anytime the notorious jewel thief carries off a heist in Gotham, the rich and even moderately well-to-do begin agitating for a greater police force. This naturally requires funding, and charitable donations are always the first to be cut. In the orphanage, they could always tell when the Black Cat had struck by the thinning of their breakfast porridge. St. Mary’s parishioners learn it from the homily. Everyone else will probably find out by reading the afternoon paper. Dick wonders idly where the Cat has burgled now.

Mass finishes with a final hymn, and this time Dick is ready. He takes the hymnal Damian offers, holding it firmly with one hand in the center so that it remains open to the page Damian had chosen. Dick puts his other arm around Damian, smiling sweetly, a dutiful governess minding his charge. Then Dick sings the entirety of Rise Up, Believers from memory, watching Damian the entire time, never once glancing at the hymnal where The People Who in Darkness Walked is clearly visible.

Damian pulls away sulkily the second the procession passes, ostensibly to bow reverence to the cross, and puts himself outside Dick’s easy reach. When the final blessing is said Dick hands Damian the hymnal to put away and waits.

Damian looks like he wants to play it off, but bracketed in as he is, there’s nowhere for him to go, and Dick isn’t letting up. At last Damian mutters, “You know the service very well, Miss Grayson.”

“I was an orphan here for years,” Dick says dryly. “I certainly ought.”

“You should have known that, Damian,” Tim says from Damian’s other side. His smile, directed at Dick, is poisonously sweet. “After all, Miss Grayson didn’t learn etiquette or French, so he must have occupied his time somehow.”

Damian glances at his adopted sister, looking uncomfortable. “Piety is a worthwhile trait.”

“But will it assure Miss Grayson’s future?” Tim lacks several inches of Dick’s height, but he still manages to look down his nose at Dick. “Our father may choose to employ someone from St. Mary’s as an act of charity, but other families will insist on certain competencies for any governess in their employ. What will you do, Miss Grayson, if you cannot get another governess job after you leave us?”

“Something else,” Dick says calmly. “I find it interesting that you mention etiquette and French, Tim. Can you eat those?”

Tim stares.

“Well, that’s what you’re worrying over, isn’t it?” Dick asks. “You talk about my future, but that’s just a polite way of asking how I’ll keep from starving.”

Over Tim and Damian’s heads, Maria catches Dick’s eye. Terry is beginning to fuss. “Let’s go on out,” Dick says. “This isn’t a conversation for a church, anyway.”

Enough of the congregation has already dispersed that it’s possible for the ten of them to keep together as they make their way outdoors. The sounds of the city close in around them as soon as they emerge from the shadow the church building casts. Behind them, Dick knows, the orphans are finishing up their own Sunday lessons. Soon they’ll be dispersing to their daily chores; Sunday or no, the church must be cleaned, the meals gotten, and the young children tended. Then the soup kitchen will open and it will be long hours of labor in the kitchens, cooking stews and baking bread, wiping dishes and washing linens, with barely enough energy left over for evening prayers before collapsing into bed.

The Wayne children are standing about idly on the sidewalk, watching as Alfred pulls the car around. They’re warmly dressed in well-fitting frocks and thick coats, but they don’t need them; they’re not expected to walk home. When they arrive there, they’ll do nothing more onerous than eat a Sunday dinner that’s been cooked for them by others. And after that? What will they do on this day of rest, these children who do nothing but rest?

The Pierce Arrow glides to a stop against the curb. Alfred emerges, turning to open the near door.

Dick makes a snap decision. “Alfred, take Maria and Terry home,” he says. “The rest of us have duties here. You may return for us at one.”

The children stare. “But our dinner,” Tim says blankly. “It’s served at twelve-thirty. If we’re not picked up until one - ”

“We will dine at two,” Dick says. “We had a plentiful breakfast, and there are others who are in need. Today is the sabbath. We owe a duty to help the many who don’t keep it as you do.”

“But Miss Grayson,” Damian begins.

“Very good,” Alfred says, ruthlessly cutting Damian off. “I shall return for you at one. Here?”

“Yes, here. Thank you, Alfred.”

“But Miss Grayson!” Tim cries.

The rest of the children look varyingly amused and interested. Kate and Cass are young enough that everything is adventure. Steph looks confused but willing, and Babs reaches out and puts her hand in Dick’s with a trust that’s heartwarming. Jason looks like he’s a moment away from laughing at Tim and Damian’s antics. “Right on, Miss Grayson,” he says. “What do you have in mind?”

“Is something wrong with your vehicle, Master Alfred?” the Mother Superior asks, noticing the delay and coming up from the grassy square to cast a worried eye over the Pierce Arrow. “Can I be of some assistance?”

“It’s we who hope to be of assistance to you, Reverend Mother,” Dick says. “The Wayne children have expressed a desire to be of service to the people. Are you beginning to prepare for the soup kitchen yet?”

“What a Christian act,” the Mother Superior says, beaming. “Yes, indeed we are. You will all help?”

“All except Terry and Maria,” Dick says. “Alfred - ”

“Two o’clock, Miss Grayson. And may I say,” he raises his voice slightly, casting an eye towards Tim and Damian. “It’s simply splendid of all of you.”

“Thank you, Alfred,” Dick says. He takes a breath and starts back towards the orphanage. “Come along, children.” To himself he smirks. If three hours up to their elbows in suds or stews doesn’t manage to tame some of Damian and Tim’s unruliness, at least it may give them more of an appreciation for the many competencies Dick has at his command. “Time to do our Christian duty.”

Chapter Text

Sunday dinner that day is unusually quiet in addition to being held nearly two hours late. The sounds of forks and knives clinking, interspersed with the occasional weary sigh, are easily to be heard. Terry is excused entirely, as Sunday dinner takes place during his usual nap. Kate and Cass are very nearly asleep at the table and would clearly benefit from a nap themselves. Babs is doing a little better, probably having gained strength from her recent horseback riding. Steph, with her lacrosse conditioning, only seems somewhat tireder than usual. Jason is practically bursting with energy. That doesn’t surprise Dick, though it does make him wonder what exactly Jason is doing when he sneaks out of the house at night.

Tim and Damian, though, are both in a pitiable state. Damian is struggling to conceal it, soldiering on through the meal’s four courses and trying to conceal his yawns behind his wineglass. Tim is drooping like an unwatered flower. He barely manages a few sups of soup, perhaps half a dozen bites of fish, and refuses the meat course entirely. Dick sips at his own wineglass and declines to take pity on him. 

“Well, I think that was bully,” Jason declares, apropos of nothing, as the dessert course is brought in. “We should do that every week. It’s good to help folks out.”

“I’m certain the Reverend Mother would be glad of your help,” Dick says. Damian’s eyes widen. Tim shrinks down in his chair as if he wishes to become one with the floor. If they were the only two involved, Dick wouldn’t care, but Babs is also staring down at her strawberry cake in dismay and Cass’ lower lip is wobbling. “But I believe it was rather too much for the younger children. Perhaps, next week, we can bring food with us from the kitchens here to contribute, instead of cooking it on site.”

“Oh, yes,” Tim says fervently. He, like Damian, is utterly ignoring his dessert. “That would be wonderful.”

“Would you care to lead our efforts, then, Tim?” Dick turns to him approvingly. “I think Saturday afternoons would be ideal.”

“Saturday afternoons?” Tim blinks. “I thought - after church?”

Dick is savoring a forkful of cake. He waits until he’s fully enjoyed it before swallowing and answering Tim’s question. “Oh, to drop the items off, certainly. But I was speaking as to when we’d prepare them.”

Kate brightens at this. “Cass and I can help!” she says. “We’ve been practicing with Cook.” Cass nods.

“Yes, we will all help,” Dick says, taking another bite of cake. “Tim shall set the menu and oversee our efforts.”

“I - well - ” Now Tim begins to look dismayed. Had he thought that the servants would do all the work and he would simply hand off the results and take the credit? Dick’s eyes narrow.

“It will be good practice for you,” Dick says airily. “As the future lady of a great household, learning how to interface with the servants and oversee large programs will benefit you greatly, whether you apply those skills to hosting large parties or performing acts of worthy charity. What better way to learn than to begin at home? We shall put ourselves in your hands. I will tell Cook you will speak with her this afternoon, and write the Reverend Mother so he knows to expect our donation.”

“I - I - ” Tim is stammering now. Dick has him, and he knows it. The younger children, having bolted their desserts, are all beginning to talk happily about how much fun it will be to cook together every Saturday afternoon. Jason is smirking around the rim of his glass, and Damian looks at his adopted sibling with sympathetic horror. Steph is paying no attention to anything but single-mindedly working her way through dessert. 

Dick takes another forkful of cake and nibbles it delicately. “Remember, this is cooking for a group, so your menu should focus on bulk. Potatoes are an excellent staple food and I advise you to start there. Cook will help you purchase the ingredients once you’ve planned the menu. You must also be certain to arrange with her what spaces we will use. Don’t forget, the kitchen is her domain. A wise lady never tyrannizes over their servants. You must be a gracious leader, and then all will be harmonious.”

“You sound like you have experience with this,” Damian says. “But you’re not a - ” he glances sideways at Tim, and visibly changes what he’d been about to say. “ - a hostess.”

“There were many children at the orphanage,” Dick says cheerfully. “We elder ones were expected to help out, and many of us were preparing for a life in service. I may not know it from the side of a hostess, but I know it well from the side of the cook.”

“Ah,” Damian says woodenly. 

“In fact, Damian, I venture to say that you could learn a great deal from this effort, too,” Dick goes on. “If Captain Wayne were here, I know he would agree that managing a military unit is very similar to managing a household. Perhaps you could assist Tim. Serve as his aide-de-camp.”

“Oh.” Damian looks panicked. “I would not want to interfere - ”

“Nonsense. Tim will need the help, at least at first.” Dick lays his fork down on his empty dessert plate and beams on them both. “You do intend to join the armed forces one day, don’t you?”

“Yes, Miss Grayson,” Damian mumbles. It’s the sound of defeat, and he knows it.

“Then we shall look forward to the fruits of your joint efforts, and working under your command next weekend.” Dick lays his napkin on the table and smiles. “I’ll let Cook know that you two wish to speak with her. The rest of you may spend the afternoon as you choose.”

“Right now?” Tim’s eyes are wide and pleading. “Surely this evening - ”

“No time like the present,” Dick says cheerfully. “No, don’t get up, Cook will come to you here. Everyone else is dismissed.”

“Thank you, Miss Grayson,” five voices chorus. The other children file out of the room, several not even bothering to hide their yawns. Dick rises as well.

“Miss Grayson - won’t you please consider - ” Tim’s voice is as pleading as his eyes. His face is delicate and heart-shaped, his skin fair, his eyes a cornflower blue and ringed with light brown lashes. It’s a winning combination, and one that probably gets Tim his way more often than is good for him. Captain Wayne may not quite know what to do with Tim, his eldest daughter and the first to reach maturity under his roof. Fortunately for him, Dick does.

“If you wish,” Dick says, “I will call your father and ask his opinion.”

Tim shrinks back. “No, Miss Grayson.” He swallows. “I don’t think that’s necessary.”

Dick transfers his gaze to Damian, raising an eyebrow. Damian shakes his head. “No, Miss Grayson.”

Dick nods. “Then I will go tell Cook you await her here. Good afternoon, children.”

“Good afternoon, Miss Grayson,” they say, and sit there miserably as Dick departs.

Dick finds Cook in the kitchen, simultaneously kneading bread, overseeing a pair of scullery maids scrubbing a large cauldron, and carrying on a comfortable chat with Alfred, who is polishing silver at a nearby table. “Miss Grayson!” Alfred says, rising politely. “Is everything well?”

“Perfectly well, Alfred, thank you. Good afternoon, Cook. Please, you needn’t get up.”

“Nonsense.” Alfred’s smile is warm. “Someone has to demonstrate a gentleman’s manners around here.”

Dick laughs at this, though he feels guilty. “Surely Captain Wayne,” he says delicately.

“Oh, yes,” Alfred says quickly. “I meant no disrespect to him.”

“I know you didn’t mean disrespect,” Dick says, quick in his turn. “Why, you must have known him his whole life.”

“I held him as a baby,” Alfred recalls, a certain softness in his voice. 

“A winning lad he was,” Cook says. She finishes shaping her loaf and sets it back to rise before taking another bowl of dough and dropping it on her floured work-surface. “The apple of his parents’ eyes.”

“Ah, me. It was a long time ago.” Alfred shakes his head. “Forgive a foolish old man’s ramblings,” he says to Dick. “Today’s news has me scattered.”

“Today’s news?”

“Yes, Master Bruce called,” Alfred says. “His work will keep him away for at least another week.”

“It’s a shame, that’s what,” Cook says. “Eight children growing fast as weeds, and him not around to see it. They need him.”

“They have Miss Grayson,” Alfred says, but doubtfully.

“And it’s a good thing they do, or else who would be raising them?” Cook’s kneading thumps grow more vehement as she expands on her theme. “Don’t think we’re not glad you’ve come,” she says to Dick. “You’ve been good for them already, and it’s plain to see you’ll be better still as you go. But children need more than a governess. They need a parent.”

Dick looks down uncomfortably. “Children make do.”

“Ah, there, I forgot for a moment you were an orphan.” Cook sighs. She dusts excess flour off her hands, then reaches up into a cabinet and pulls out a pie. “Come, have a piece and forgive an old servant.”

“No forgiveness needed, but I’ll take a piece, and thanks.” Dick hasn’t yet been at Wayne Manor long enough to turn down food. He accepts the plate and fork Cook hands to him with a smile. 

“Here, sit down,” Alfred says, nudging out a chair from the table he’d been seated at. Dick accepts, and Alfred reseats himself, taking up his work again. Polishing silver is usually a messy business, but Alfred is remarkably neat about it; there’s a pile of red dust and a pile of silver, but none of the blowing scattering flakes that Dick is used to being scattered everywhere. Alfred asks, “How did the children take their lesson in humility this afternoon?”

Dick laughs. “Well enough, but I think a little more will help it stick.” Between bites of the pie, which proves to be apple well-spiced with cinnamon and nutmeg, Dick tells them both what he’d backed Tim and Damian into. Alfred looks approving, and Cook laughs outright.

“That’ll learn them,” she says comfortably. “They’re not bad children, Miss Grayson, but they’ve had far too much of their own way. Especially those two.”

“Too much of their own way, and not enough of anyone else’s,” Alfred says. “You may not have been told, but Master Damian and Miss Timothy have a somewhat different history than the other children.”

“I was told very little.” Dick knows better than to make such an admission to Captain Wayne or the children, but Alfred and Cook are the closest thing to equals he has in this house, and he’s not above asking for help. “What are their histories?”

“Miss Timothy was Master Bruce’s goddaughter,” Alfred says, meditatively scrubbing at a silver spoon. “He is a Drake by birth. Do you know the story of the Drake family?” Dick shakes his head. “A sad tale. The family hails from the east coast, but Miss Timothy’s father was something of a black sheep.”

“He was the prodigal son,” Cook disagrees. “Taking his inheritance and coming out west.”

“Yes. Well.” Alfred sets down the spoon he’s polished to a high shine and takes up the next utensil in his pile, this one a knife. “Jack Drake prospered at first, and he moved in Gotham’s elite circles. His wife was an Elliott before their marriage. But when Miss Timothy was eight, Jack Drake invested in the wrong company. The Caribbean Economic Front.”

“He wasn’t the only one, either,” Cook puts in. “Lots of the swells did. Master Wayne was one of the only who stayed away.”

“It was too good to be true,” Dick guesses.

“The owner of the Front was arrested, the assets were seized, and the investors were left with nothing,” Alfred says. “Most had enough other interests to survive the loss, but not Jack Drake. He was ruined.”

“So Captain Wayne stepped in? As Tim’s godfather?” Dick tries to imagine his own parents giving him up for any reason, let alone for something as trivial as poverty. It doesn’t compute. “What happened to his parents?”

Cook and Alfred stare at Dick with identical expressions. “Jack Drake put poison in the wine one evening at dinner,” Alfred says at last. “He and his wife had a lethal dose. Miss Timothy was still a child, and he took his wine watered. He was very ill but survived. As his godfather, Master Bruce naturally took him in.”

“Oh,” Dick says softly. Desperation he understands, yes. So Tim will not only have the raw wounds of losing his parents, but the knowledge that one of them had chosen to go, and had taken the other away against their will. And compounding all of that is that Tim has never lived a life of penury. This glittering world of servants and privilege is the only one he’s ever known. 

“As for Master Damian, his history is somewhat… murkier.” Alfred sets the brush aside, but holds on to the knife, turning it so it catches the light. “He came to live with Master Bruce from overseas, after the war. Master Bruce says he is a war-orphan, and that Master Damian’s mother had been kind to Master Bruce while he was fighting overseas.”

“He had some strange ways at first, he did,” Cook says. “Some laughed at him. He didn’t like that. Never seen a child study etiquette so hard. Set out to master every rule there is here in Gotham, so’s no one could laugh at him anymore.”

“There are… rumors… about Master Damian’s parentage,” Alfred says. He lays down the knife he’d been holding. 

“Aye, the evil-minded say he’s Captain Wayne’s bastard and his mother weren’t naught but a whore,” Cook says. She shakes her head. “Well, Damian’s got summat of the Wayne look about him, there’s no denying that. But anyone could tell his mother were a lady.”

“Just so,” Alfred agrees. “Anyway, Master Bruce has never spoken of those rumors to us.”

“I understand.” Whether or not it’s true, Captain Wayne has chosen not to claim Damian, and so Damian has no special rights. He is an adopted orphan, neither more nor less entitled to the Wayne name and inheritance than any of the other seven. If Captain Wayne is Damian’s father, and Damian knows it, that would be bad. If Damian only suspects it, it would be worse. If Captain Wayne isn’t Damian’s father, but Damian believes that he is… it all adds up to a massive chip on Damian’s shoulder. As well as explaining several of Damian’s choices, most notably wanting to go into the army. He seeks to emulate Captain Wayne, either to follow in his father’s footsteps or, perhaps, to conjure up a parentage where none exists.

“At the end of the day, they’re all children,” Cook says. “Love and discipline’s what they need. A balance of both.”

“Yes,” Alfred says. “Striking that balance is the difficult part. But I may say, Miss Grayson, you are doing very well.”

“Aye,” Cook agrees.

Dick looks down at his empty apple-pie plate and resists the urge to sigh. Life might have been easier if he’d gone as a servant. But he’s starting to care for these children. Even, yes, Tim and Damian. And he’s never been the kind to give up, either.

“Thank you,” he says to them both. “For the pie, and the company… and the counsel.”

“You’re welcome.” Cook finishes kneading the last loaf, sets it back, and starts untying her apron. “Now, I’d best go speak with the two you left waiting for me in the dining room. They’ve had enough time to stew, I think.”

“When you’re done, tell them I said they may be excused from supper,” Dick says. It’s to be a light affair, since on Sundays the main meal of the day is the afternoon dinner, and they’ll be too tired to comport themselves well. “They will both turn in early, I don’t doubt.”

Cook gives a crack of laughter. “Nor I!” She’s still chuckling as she leaves the kitchen.

Dick makes to stand up, but is forestalled by Alfred. “If I may just mention one thing, Miss Grayson…”

“What is it?” Dick settles back into his chair.

“It might turn out to be unnecessary,” Alfred says apologetically. “If Master Bruce does return this Friday as he hopes, then… but then again he may be delayed yet further. I thought it best you have as much advance notice as possible.”

“Go on.” 

“Miss Timothy’s academy, miss. They have quarterly recitals for their students. To show off their accomplishments.”

“Yes? Of course, I’ll attend. Even if Captain Wayne is home, I should go, unless it conflicts with another of the children’s needs.”

Alfred coughs gently. “Well, there’s no point in showing off one’s accomplishments if there’s no one to watch. All the students’ parents will attend. As will some parents whose children don’t attend.” Dick looks at him blankly. “Parents of young gentlemen.”

Oh. “Checking out future brides. That’s… cold-blooded.”

“None of Gotham’s social classes can afford to marry for love, Miss Grayson.”

“Too true, Alfred.” Dick sighs. “So you’re saying that I may have to run the gauntlet of Gotham’s social elite, for the first time, alone?”

“Master Bruce may be back in time,” Alfred says hopefully.

Only if my luck changes, Dick thinks. He pushes himself to his feet with a rueful grimace. “Pray for me, Alfred.”

“Nightly, Miss Grayson. Nightly.”

Having turned Tim and Damian over to Cook, and given the rest of his charges liberty until supper, Dick finds himself at a loose end. Even Terry has deserted him; when Dick checks the nursery, he finds Maria sitting with her mending, and she tells him Terry is still napping. He usually sleeps longer on Sundays, she says. Dick goes back to his room and tries to sew himself, thinking that he’ll appreciate the quiet pursuit after an afternoon of noise and work, but he soon finds that his body, having been reawakened to its previous habits of near-constant physical labor, refuses to settle down. Odd as it seems, the cure is more exertion. Dick abandons his needle, puts on his wraps, and goes to take a walk about the grounds.

It wants two hours until supper, but its being early March means that dusk is already settling on Wayne Manor as Dick steps out of doors. He keeps within sight of the house. In the dusk it would be far too easy to be lost in the woods. Even near the lights of Wayne Manor, the stars are brighter than they’d ever been at St. Mary’s. Dick tips his head back and drinks them in. As a child, traveling from place to place with the circus, they’d traveled across vast empty prairies and grasslands, camping for the night with no one else for miles around. He’d learned to love the stars then, looking up at them from his bedroll and feeling them like friendly lights in the sky. He isn’t sure if he believes in the Heaven the nuns had taught him, but if it’s real, it will be an expression of the old stories his mother had told him: that every light in the sky comes from the soul of a departed one who was loved while they were alive. Somewhere up there, whether as an angel or as a star, Dick’s parents are looking back down at him.

Full dark falls while Dick wanders and watches. The wind picks up, cutting through his thin orphanage wraps and making him shiver. Perhaps when he’s done making up his new clothes he’ll ask Captain Wayne for something heavier to make a shawl or coat from. In the meanwhile, he’d better head indoors. Supper will be soon. 

As he’s heading back towards the house, an old instinct makes Dick suddenly still and step behind one of the trees that line the avenue. He scans the area, seeing nothing, but hearing a faint screech - like tires spinning on gravel. Someone visiting? 

A shadow detaches itself from the woods and starts heading towards the house. It’s walking openly, and as it gets closer Dick recognizes Jason. He relaxes and steps out from behind the tree.

“Good evening, Jason,” he calls. “Taking a walk before supper?”

“Miss Grayson!” Dick gets a wide smile; if Jason is startled, he hides it well. Of course, that’s a survival skill, in some parts of the city. Jason had already admitted to having consorted with organized crime. “Yeah, wanted to get outside. You too, huh?”

They stroll back to the house together, and Jason keeps up a flow of light chatter. All very natural and easy. Except that it’s Jason, and chatter. Dick may have only known Jason for a week, but he knows that the two don’t go together. Jason is generally taciturn, and rarely says three words when two will do. This very ease is a tell of its own.

Dick is meditating on possibilities and deliberating on whether to press Jason when he gets a clue. As they reach the end of the avenue and come into the radius of lamp-light shed by the house, Jason turns his head slightly to look past the house and Dick spots it. A faint bruise, just under Jason’s chin. At first Dick thinks Jason has somehow managed to find a brawl on the grounds of Wayne Manor. Then he sees the faint reddish tinge to the bruise, and it clicks into place.

“So who are they?” Dick asks, when Jason turns back.

Jason plays it cool. “Who?”

“You know.” Dick smirks and nods at the hickey. “The Omega you were meeting in the woods.”

Jason’s jaw drops. Then he bursts into laughter. “Hell, Miss Grayson,” he says through his chuckles. “I can’t get anything past you, can I?”

“I imagine you get quite a lot by me, actually,” Dick says dryly. He holds up a hand before Jason can argue or take offense. “You’re, what, five months from your majority? And you have Captain Wayne’s trust. You don’t really need a governess. But I’m curious. I can’t imagine Captain Wayne would have a problem with you bringing a paramour for a formal visit. What’s got you sneaking around in the woods?”

They’ve stopped walking, and are stood just outside the pool of light cast by the entryway lanterns. Jason looks out into the darkness for a while before he speaks. “Her name’s Harley,” he says. 

“Like the motorcycle?” The sound Dick had heard earlier comes back to him. The hiss of tires, indeed. That explains how this Harley had gotten up from the city. It’s not beyond a walk, but several hours each way is a bit much for just a necking session. A motorcycle would be far easier.

“Yeah.” Jason rubs the back of his neck. “She likes bikes. She likes all kinds of things that go, actually. Bikes, motorcars, streetcars… We go way back. Since when I was on the streets.”

“You think Captain Wayne wouldn’t approve?” Dick can’t argue otherwise. Captain Wayne seems to be a devoted, doting, understanding parent, but after having gone to such lengths in his children’s education, he can’t possibly be happy at the idea of one of them going back to their old life. Especially when, in Jason’s case, that old life had involved crime.

Crime. Like trying to steal the wheels off of Captain Wayne’s car to sell to the bootleggers down by the docks. He takes a guess. “Harley works for the bootleggers, doesn’t she.”

Jason doesn’t bother denying it. “She’s the main guy’s daughter. Keeps all their vehicles going. Doesn’t make her a bad person, Miss Grayson. It’s just how her life is. You know.” Jason looks at Dick. “You ate rats, too.”

“You were trying to impress her, weren’t you? That day you tried to steal Captain Wayne’s tires?”

“They would’ve been the nicest tires she’d ever have got her hands on.” Jason sighs. “Too bad.”

Dick is startled into a laugh. “You can’t say it didn’t work out for you.”

“In a lot of ways,” Jason agrees. “But I miss it, sometimes. You know?”

Dick tips his head back. Looking at the stars again. “I know.”

The front door to Wayne Manor opens. Alfred steps out. “Miss Grayson, Master Jason, supper will be served in approximately ten minutes,” he calls.

“Thank you, Alfred.” Alfred nods and politely disappears. “I guess we’d better get inside and wash up.”

“Wait,” Jason says. “You won’t tell Bruce?”

“I may have to,” Dick says. “I won’t lie to him, if he asks me.”

“But if he doesn’t?” Jason looks as pleading, in his own way, as Tim had earlier. “Me and Harl, we got history, but it’s complicated. I don’t know if we’re going to stick together. Pretty soon I graduate school, and I gotta choose what I’m going to do next… join up with the army, go to college, something else. You know? Right now we’re just having fun. We’re not ready to decide yet.” Jason shakes his head. “Bruce would make us decide. He’d want to know, am I serious about Harley. Is she serious about me. And we don’t have an answer yet. I just want time to figure it out.”

“As long as it’s not hurting anything or anyone,” Dick says warningly.

“It isn’t. Cross my heart.” Jason is so earnest that Dick believes him. “This ain’t about the bootlegging or the cars or anything anymore. Just about me and Harley. Swear to God.”

“Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain,” Dick says automatically. He sighs. “All right. I won’t mention it to Captain Wayne unless it becomes necessary, or he asks me straight out.”

“Thank you,” Jason says. “Thank you so much.”

“Thank me by being on time to dinner,” Dick says, turning towards the house. 

Jason takes Dick at his word, jogging past him to reach the door first and pull it open. He lingers a moment, holding the door for Dick. The open door shows a square of light and warmth. From it waft the sounds of childish feet hurrying and childish voices laughing. It draws Dick in, calling to him with promises of comfort, of belonging. Of family. 

A dangerous feeling. He is a governess - an employee. Unlike the children, whom Captain Wayne had chosen to make his own, Dick can be dismissed at any time. Captain Wayne’s frequent, lengthy absences means he needs a governess, but it need not be this governess. And those same absences mean that while Dick is growing ever closer to the children, his employer remains an enigma, who has no reason to view Dick as anything other than someone in his employ.

Dick could so easily fall in love with his life here. The children are starved for affection; over half of them already adore Dick, on only one week’s acquaintance, for no better reason than that Dick shows them tenderness and care. Dick himself hadn’t realized how much he’d been longing for some creature to love until he’d come here and found that love pouring out of him. He loves the feeling of Kate and Cass cuddling in his lap during story time. Of Terry quieting in his arms as Dick sings him his mother’s lullaby. Of Babs grinning at Dick with joy when they race across the fields and pull up by the orchard, Babs half a length ahead and crowing her triumph. Of Steph telling Dick she’s glad he came to Wayne Manor. Of Jason, trusting Dick enough to confide in him, despite his self-confessed disdain for authority.

Alfred goes out of his way to ensure Dick has everything he needs. Cook sends up meals so fine it would make the nuns say extra prayers as penance for the indulgence. Maria thanks Dick every day for coming; she must have led a hectic life, managing the schoolroom children as well as Terry since Sister Mary Roberts had left. Even the grooms and the maids and the stablehands have all taken the time to tell Dick how good it is to have him here, and how much better the children and thus the house are managed now he’s come.

The room Dick sleeps in already feels like his. Wayne Manor already feels like home.

The only one who might disagree - is the one with the authority to take it all away.

What am I doing? Dick asks himself despairingly. Don’t I know any better than to set my heart on something I can’t keep?

“Miss Grayson?” Jason is still waiting by the open door, looking at Dick questioningly.

The stars in the sky twinkle overhead, urging him on.

Slowly Dick comes inside. “Yes, here I am,” he says. “Thank you, Jason.”

He means for holding the door, but Jason takes the words a different way. “You won’t regret it, Miss Grayson,” he says. “Not for a moment.”

Then he runs off to wash and brush his hair. Dick stands there in the entryway for a moment longer, hearing the soft click as the exit closes behind him.

Chapter Text

Alfred’s prayers - and Dick’s - go unanswered. Captain Wayne calls on Wednesday night to say, with regret, that he will not possibly arrive home until Sunday. The recital at the Gotham Omegas’ Finishing School is Friday evening. Dick will have to attend alone.

“You should take some of the older children,” Captain Wayne says over the long-distance line. It crackles with static, but Dick understands him perfectly. “Damian needs more opportunities to become comfortable in society. And Jason might be thinking of marriage before too much longer.” 

Dick, newly burdened with the knowledge of what Jason’s exact thoughts on marriage are, confines himself to a noncommittal hum. “Steph has a lacrosse game at the same time. Alfred has agreed to attend.” Dick is given to understand that this is common. Alfred is something between an honorary grandfather and uncle to all the children, and often supplies the place of a father in Captain Wayne’s absence. “Maria will stay with the younger children.”

“Excellent. It sounds well in hand.”

“Yes. Captain, I - ”

“Now, tell me how Kate and Cass’ lessons are going.”

Dick dutifully does so, assuring the Captain that both children are making excellent progress towards learning their letters. “Cass can say the whole alphabet now, and Kate is beginning to learn the sounds each make.”

“And their orthography?”

“Both are learning to fill and hold a pen and to blot their drawings. We will begin working on letter formation soon.”

“How does their mathematics come along?”

The conversation proceeds along these lines, Captain Wayne peppering Dick with minute questions about every element of each child’s education in turn. Dick answers them all to the best of his ability, stressing the wonderful progress each has made. If this is the only way he gets to communicate with his employer and convince him of the merits of his choice of governess, Dick isn’t going to let it pass him by.

Tim is highly stressed all week, and Dick begins to regret, not that he’d added charity work to Tim’s slate at all, but that he’d chosen this particular moment to do so. The recital seems to be a source of great worry for Tim. Everything from the song he’ll be singing (Voi che sapete), the clothes he’ll be wearing (a lovely suit of organdy in maroon), and even the way he’ll do his hair (back, in a low queue, with a few strands framing his face). None of these things can be changed at this date, except, perhaps, the hair. Dick offers to trim it for him, if Tim wants a shorter look. This offer, made Wednesday night, is not well received. 

By the time Friday rolls around, Tim is a nervous wreck. He boards the car to be taken to school like he’s going to the gallows, and returns looking three parts dead. While his Alpha siblings chatter and shove their way inside cheerfully, Tim trudges along hollow-eyed and pale. Dick instantly puts an arm around him.

“It will all turn out well,” Dick encourages him.

Even Tim’s shove away is half-hearted. “What do you know?” he snarls.

This won’t do. Dick pulls the bell. “I know that you can’t go on like this,” he informs Tim. When a maid pops out to see what’s needed, Dick says, “Miss Timothy needs a hot bath and a cup of strong tea. In his room, please.” The maid curtsies and vanishes. To Tim Dick says, “Now, you’re going to take a warm soak and calm yourself somewhat. The tea will brace you up. I’ll have a snack sent up for you on a tray. We’ll leave at six.” There will be food at the post-recital reception, but Dick knows better than to expect Tim will eat a bite.

“I don’t need a snack.”

“Then feed it to Steph’s mice. Don’t argue with me,” Dick says firmly when Tim opens his mouth again. “You are in no fit state to try to decide anything right now; you look like a stiff wind could blow you over. Rest and relax, and then make decisions.”

“The bathwater is coming, Miss Timothy,” the maid says, reappearing. “Should you like it to be scented?”

Tim look at Dick questioningly, as if even this decision is too much for him. Dick takes this as a very bad sign for Tim’s mental processes, and says, “Yes, with lavender, please.”

“Right away, miss.” The maid vanishes again.

“Come on,” Dick says, propelling Tim back towards the west wing. “Let’s get you settled.”

It takes some chivvying to get Tim back to his room and his school-clothes off. Less, Dick learns, because Tim is inclined to resist, and more because TIm apparently hasn’t been sleeping. At all. For several days. “What have you been doing with yourself?” Dick asks, appalled. “I know you’re in your room overnights.” If nothing else, Jason would catch Tim if the latter were sneaking out.

“Practicing,” Tim mutters.

“Practicing what? If you were singing I’d have heard it.” He has been hearing it, afternoons and evenings, as Tim has been practicing obsessively. Dick tries to think what else Tim might have been worrying over. “Your mathematics are excellent, your literature knowledge thorough- ”

“Decisions.” Tim’s voice is so quiet that Dick can barely hear it. He slumps down on his divan, his dressing-gown pooling around him. In the adjacent bathing-room, the maids can be heard filling the bathtub, can by can. “You don’t know what that’s like, do you. You’ve been making decisions for yourself your whole life.”

“Well, yes,” Dick admits. He sits down on the floor cross-legged, putting himself lower than Tim, and watches him in worry. Tim really seems down, his head lolling against the divan’s high back. “Haven’t you?”

“Yes,” Tim says. There are tears in his voice. “That’s the problem.”

“I don’t understand,” Dick says. “Aren’t you supposed to make decisions for yourself?”

“No!” Tim cries. “Don’t you get it? I’m supposed to be a young lady! I’m never supposed to have made a decision for myself in my entire life! That’s how it is for high society. My mother should decide what I wear, teach me manners, choose my friends. My father should select my school and my husband.”

Dick stares. “And you want that?”

“I want to not be alone!” Tim flings his hands out, pleading. “I want help! I can’t choose it all myself! I don’t know how!”

“The recital,” Dick says, understanding. “Your hair, your clothes - ”

“I’m always getting it wrong,” Tim says. “The other ladies never get it wrong. They won’t tonight, either. But somehow, I - I just don’t know how to do it right.” Tim looks down at Dick, his lower lip trembling, his lashes wet. “And you don’t either.”

It isn’t an accusation. For once, Tim isn’t trying to be insulting. He’s crying out in despair. 

“I’m sorry,” Dick says helplessly. It’s true. He doesn’t know. He’s no high society lady. He can’t teach Tim what he doesn’t know himself.

“If Father were here it would be better,” Tim says. He wipes impatiently at his eyes. “But Father’s never here.”

There’s a rap on the inner door, the one that leads to the bathchamber. The maids have done filling the tub.

“We’ll figure it out,” Dick says. “Somehow.”

“If you have any bright ideas, I’m all ears,” Tim says.

Silence.

“That’s what I thought.” Tim stands up from the divan and starts towards the bathchamber, untying his dressing-gown’s sash as he goes. One hand on the door to open it, he pauses and half-turns back. “But thank you. For trying.”

He goes into the bathchamber and closes the door, leaving Dick standing there, helpless and hating it.

Even if Dick had some kind of a plan for learning how to be a society matron - which he doesn’t - he wouldn’t be able to execute it in the next two hours. Whatever is going to happen tonight, it’s going to happen on the strength of what knowledge and capabilities Tim and Dick already have between them.

Dick tells himself that, and then does his best to put it out of his mind for a bit. He goes and visits all the children he’s leaving behind, making sure they’re settled for the night. Kate and Cass are playing together in the schoolroom, excited for the evening’s promised treat: dinner in the kitchen with Cook. Steph’s game also begins before the regular dinner hour, so with so many absent, formal dinner has been canceled. Babs will have a tray in her room where she may enjoy the unusual happiness of reading without having to pause to eat. Kate and Cass, offered the choice, wanted to spend the extra time with Cook; Friday night is pastry night, and they are both plotting how to make away with as many fruits, candied nuts, and bits of pastry dough as possible. Dick hugs them both and leaves them excitedly chattering.

At Babs’ door, Dick doesn’t even bother to enter. He merely raps on it and calls through, “Have you enough books?”

“Yes, Miss Grayson!” Babs calls back.

“Then have a wonderful evening.”

“I will!” The joy is clear in her voice, and Dick leaves her to it.

Dick’s tour then takes him to Steph’s room, where she is bolting what is either a substantial snack or a small dinner from a tray while pulling on thick socks. “Good evening, Miss Grayson,” she says, somewhat indistinctly, owing to the large bite of roast beef she’d stuffed into her mouth just as Dick had appeared. “‘Ow are you?”

“Well, thank you. And yourself?”

Steph chews heroically and swallows a morsel large enough that Dick can see the lump moving down her throat. “We’re going to win tonight. I know it!” She pumps one arm, eyes bright and eager.

“I know it too,” Dick says faithfully. “I’m sorry I can’t be there.”

“That’s okay,” Steph says, and from the earnestness of her tone, Dick knows he may believe it. “We all have to take turns. And I’d far rather have you come to the next game anyway. That will be against our rivals!”

“Who are your rivals?”

“The Gotham Catholic Alphas’ Academy. Oooh, they’re the worst! We’re going to rip them to shreds!”

Steph looks ready to charge enemy fire with a knife held between her teeth. Dick offers a devout, if silent, prayer of thanks to the Almighty that wars are over and done with at last; the same ferocity Steph shows here over a lacrosse game is that which had led so many young Alphas to enlist and then die in the trenches of Europe. “I’ll look forward to it, then. You have everything you need?”

“Don’t worry about me, Miss Grayson. Worry about the other team!”

Dick laughs. “I don’t think they’re worth my time,” he says, teasing. Steph looks about ready to burst out of her skin with pride. “Good night, then. I’d say good luck, but I don’t think you need it.”

“Good night!” Steph is back to shoving food in her mouth before Dick is even out the door. Growing teenagers need a lot of sustenance. Especially those who are about to spend sixty minutes running about a field at full tilt.

One more stop to hug Terry good-night and sing him his lullabies early. Terry is predictably unhappy about the change in his routine and clings to Dick as if that will stop him going. “Little one, your older sister needs me tonight,” Dick says, rocking him.

“Stay,” Terry demands. “M’s G’y’sn, stay.” He’s been trying to say Dick’s name lately, but it’s a mouthful for a toddler. Dick has been trying to suggest he stick with “Miss” or perhaps “Gray” as shorter forms, but Terry, once he has an idea in his head, is stubborn. It’s a common trait among the Wayne family. Dick rather partakes of it himself.

“It’s just for tonight,” Dick reassures Terry. He settles Terry in his crib and snuggles his favorite stuffed animal close to his side. “Tomorrow will be back to normal. You’ll see.”

Terry seems doubtful. “You’ll see,” Dick repeats, and makes his escape, shamelessly leaving the ensuing tantrum to Maria and going back to his own room to dress. 

Since Alfred had given Dick warning about the recital, Dick had had time to make up a second suit of clothes, this one even finer than the first. He’d felt a trifle guilty about the earlier one - surely there’s a better use for such fine fabrics than dressing the governess - but after attending Mass in that first suit, Dick’s opinion had changed. He’d not been out of place, but his clothes had decidedly been on the more sober and staid end of the spectrum. Well enough for church, but when attending what Dick has to think of as a society event, and as the only adult representative of the Wayne family, Dick feels the need to borrow as much confidence as possible. So he’d sewn the second suit of clothes with laborious back-stitches at the jacket’s waist for a more fitted look, knitted lace to go at the collar and sleeves of the cotton shirt, and trimmed the jacket with fine blue piping, sourced by Alfred from some long-ago curtains that had once hung in the very room Dick occupies. Sponged and pressed, the cord looks like new, and no one will ever guess it had originally come from drapes. Dick has no jewelry, but the lace on his collar and cuffs is an inch wide, which does very well for his throat and wrists. There’s nothing he can do for his ears. His few ear-rings brought from the circus had long since broken or been lost in the hustle and bustle of St. Mary’s orphanage, and he hasn’t received any pay yet to buy new ones. Even if he had, the kind of ear-rings Dick could afford on a governess’ pay aren’t likely to show well against the rich jewels Society ladies will be wearing. Better to leave the area bare then try to compete with mere baubles. 

Finally, just as the clock is striking a quarter till six, Dick takes a final look in the mirror and runs the brush a final time through his hair. As he emerges from his room, he encounters Alfred. “The car will be around in fifteen minutes, Miss Grayson,” Alfred assures him.

“Thank you,” Dick says. He proceeds down the corridor to the common area of the west wing to collect his charges.

“Good evening, Miss Grayson,” Damian says. He’s already there when Dick arrives. Naturally, his suit is perfect in every particular, his shoes shined and his hair impeccably slicked. An Alpha customarily does not wear jewelry, but his cufflinks are shining and gold. They flash and wink in the flickering lamplight.

“Good evening, Damian,” Dick says. He’d thought about this while dressing, and he’s decided on a course of action. “I’m glad to see you’re ready so early. I was hoping to have a word with you before we depart.”

“Oh?”

“I know we have our differences. But tonight isn’t about that. Tonight is about Tim. Whatever your feelings or opinions about me as a governess, or more specifically as your governess, this recital is neither the time nor the place to express them. Tim needs your support. Making me look foolish, or trying and making yourself look foolish instead, will only undermine your sister. Save it for another day. Am I clear?”

Damian looks at Dick, evaluating, and then nods once. “Crystal.”

“Thank you.” Dick turns to see Jason, who has just arrived in his own formalwear. Other than his cufflinks, which are silver, he’s dressed identically to Damian. But while Damian looks coolly elegant, Jason’s suit makes his shoulders look broader and his arms and legs thicker. He looks like he could bust heads. Dick grins. “I may want you to play the belligerent elder brother at some point tonight.”

“Just give me the signal,” Jason says, theatrically cracking his knuckles. “I’ll be ready.”

“Excellent.” Dick looks at the clock and frowns. “Maybe I should check on Tim.”

“I’m here.” Tim’s door opens, and he emerges. He’s still pale, and his eyes may be slightly reddened, but by candlelight no one will notice. His hair is neatly brushed and braided. His clothes are fashionable and elegant, showing off his figure. He wears a beautiful matched set of jewelry, including ear-rings, a bracelet, and a dazzling ruby pendant all set in gold. Against his pale skin and maroon organdy, the gems burn like flame. He’s gorgeous. Dick is suddenly convinced that Tim is absolutely miserable, and fighting hard not to show it.

Dick isn’t going to be the one to puncture the illusion. He knows too well that the kind of bravery Tim is displaying is very, very fragile. Instead he only smiles and, saying, “Then let’s be off,” leads the way to the foyer. 

Alfred has brought around the Rolls-Royce this evening, a much smaller car than the Pierce Arrow that can seat the entire Wayne clan. Cabinet doors open onto two benches which face each other. Dick and Tim slide in across from Jason and Damian, who sit backwards. A uniformed driver slides behind the wheel. Alfred closes the door on them, and the light from Wayne Manor’s entry lamps is cut off. There’s the faintest glimmer of sunset still visible in the western sky. Spring is coming, but slowly.

If Dick were Tim’s mother, or any other governess with actual experience at rearing and launching a young lady into society, now would be an excellent time to offer last-minute advice and reminders about tonight’s recital. Dick racks his brain for something useful to say. Break a leg is probably not what Damian needs to hear. But what does a former circus performer and later convent orphan know about upper-class etiquette? 

Tim’s hands twist in his lap. His lips are pinched together. He looks straight ahead, and not at his brothers.

Lord, help me, Dick prays. It’s all a convent orphan knows how to do. 

Wait.

Not all.

“When being approached by the parents of your schoolmates,” Dick says, “show respect by keeping your eyes lowered until they address you. When they do address you, keep your responses short. Don’t go into detail unless they ask for it. This way, you’ll appear modest.”

Tim’s head has turned. So have Jason’s and Damian’s. “What?” Tim breathes.

“You were right before,” Dick says. “I don’t know anything about society. But I do know how to behave in church, before the altar, with the nuns and the monks, and when the bishop visits. You don’t look at the bishop, you wait for them to talk to you. When they ask you questions, like how you’re doing with your studies, they don’t want to hear a lot of detail. They just want to hear you say ‘Well, thank you, your Excellency’. If they actually do want to know more, they’ll ask it. But if you start telling them right about your struggles with algebra, they’ll think you’re forward and scold you.” Dick shrugs. “What’s good enough for a bishop ought to be good enough for a tycoon, right?”

“Makes sense to me,” Jason says. Tim is still staring at Dick, something like wonder on his face.

“So. Keep your steps small, and your movements slow. You don’t rush in church. Never raise your voice…”

Dick runs out of wisdom about halfway through the drive, but that’s okay. Tim has drunk in every word like a flower in the desert being watered, and seems much calmer to have something new to think about. Calm enough, even, to lean back against the car seat and close his eyes. Dick raises a finger to his lips, and Jason and Damian nod. Rest is what Tim needs more than anything. Rest, and confidence. Dick hopes he’s managed to give Tim some of each.

Gotham’s streetlamps sweeping the car with their light rouse Tim from his doze, and he has time to pat his hair and smooth down his dress before the car glides to a stop before the Gotham Omegas’ Finishing School. The wrought iron gates stand open, inviting guests inside. Dick does not hop out as he usually would. His actions tonight, as well as Jason’s and Damian’s, reflect primarily not on themselves but on Tim. Thus Dick waits demurely until their driver rounds the car and extends a helping hand. Dick extracts himself as gracefully as possible, and sets himself to stand as elegantly as possible on the sidewalk outside the school’s gates while the rest of the Waynes exit likewise.

Their vehicle isn’t the only one stopped and offloading passengers. The street has been cleared for several car-lengths around the gate, as far down as the stone walls that protect the school’s grounds extend. All around Dick, other families are walking towards the gate. All are actively engaged in scanning those around them, not just faces but clothes, hair, shoes, jewels. The measuring behind the looks is as plain as if they all carried scales in their hands. Dick knows it when the gazes land on the Waynes. The pitying flicker of eyelids and twist of lips are virtually identical to those bestowed on the orphans of St. Mary’s by those more fortunate.

So, we’re the needy of the elite set, are we? Financially, Dick knows, Captain Wayne is more than rich enough to support his large family in style; he’s one of the wealthiest people in Gotham, and the name is old, too. But the current bearer of that name is apparently not living up to the standards of the other swells. Money they may have, but class, the glances seem to say, they do not. Dick is forcibly reminded of another orphan from St. Mary’s who’d been adopted by a parishioner who’d wanted some help around their household - they’d had four natural children under six, and a husband who drank all day and never worked. The adoption had been legal, and the orphan had theoretically become a full daughter of the family. In practice, though, she’d been a servant - and one they didn’t even have to pay. When Dick would see her come into St. Mary’s on Sundays with her new family, wearing raggedy clothes and carrying the babies, he’d also see everyone else in the pews look at her the same way the elite of Gotham are looking at he and the children now.

Charity case. Ought to be grateful. More than she deserves. The parishioners of St. Mary’s had said all that and more, standing about after church. As if the orphans darting about couldn’t hear them talking. As if they weren’t important enough to matter.

“Shall we, children?” Dick says, sweeping his cloak around him. He thinks of the Mother Abbess, never seeming to hear the crude jokes of those who would visit the orphanage while considering their charitable donation. The Reverend Mother had been always confident, and, somehow, victorious in obtaining funds far more often than chance alone could explain. Dick tilts his chin up in his best approximation of the Abbess’ and says, “Let us go forth in the name of God, whose children we all are.”

The matron passing Dick with two children breaks in her stride, just for a moment. She recovers her poise quickly, but Dick had seen the misstep. So had Tim. He, too, tilts up his chin. “Yes, Miss Grayson,” he says demurely.

They sally forth through the gates of the Gotham Omegas’ Finishing School, joining a small crowd on the modest but well-cared-for grounds. Lamps are lit all around, guiding arrivals through the winding paths to the great double doors that give access onto the school’s main hall. Dick looks at the flowerbeds as they pass. The grounds are fallow now, but they look newly mulched and ready for spring. The flowers on the altar at St. Mary’s had been supplied from meager plots in the small pockets of soil around the church. “Which flowerbed will be yours, Timothy?” Another family matron, overhearing the question, gives Dick a shocked look and doesn’t even try to conceal that he’s eavesdropping.

“Oh - I don’t know yet,” Tim falters. “We haven’t…”

Dick raises an eyebrow. If judgment is the order of the day, a little judgment of their own won’t go amiss. “Do you tell me that the importance of floral arrangements goes overlooked at this school? How do they expect you to adorn your future house?”

Tim looks shocked, but Damian is nodding. “An excellent question, Miss Grayson,” he says. “I have noticed that the arrangements in the entryway and dining room have improved markedly since you came to us, both in variety and in style. I take it you have studied botany?”

“Yes, the Sisters of Perpetual Grace placed a high value upon it. We learned both theory and practice. One of our highest duties was adorning the altar for Mass.” Dick shakes his head. “I wonder at this institution for neglecting it.”

The shocked matron has recovered himself and quickly moves on, tugging his daughter along with him. Jason chuckles. “They can’t disapprove of us if we disapprove of them first - is that it?”

“The best defense is sometimes an attack,” Damian says. “Many great military leaders thought so.”

“This isn’t a battle,” Tim protests.

Dick raises an eyebrow. “It isn’t?”

“I - uh - huh.” Tim frowns. “It… shouldn’t be.”

“What it should be and what it is are two very different things, I’m afraid.” A particularly vigorous breeze rustles the bare branches of the landscaping’s bushes and trees, and Dick starts moving again, ushering his charges before him. “Let’s get inside. It will be warmer there.”

As they enter the main hall, a valet steps forward. A week ago this would have caught Dick flat-footed. Thanks to Alfred’s impeccable manners and gentle hints, though, Dick slides his cloak off with economy if not ease and hands it over. The children do likewise, and the valet bows and withdraws. Dick knows, again thanks to Alfred, that the valet will memorize their faces, names, and wraps, so that he can reunite the latter with the former later in the evening, without any of the Waynes having to say a single word. 

“What time is it?” Tim asks nervously. The stream of guests continue to arrive sends them mingling deeper into the grand hall. “I’ll have to go back with the others half an hour before the recital begins - ”

“You still have twenty minutes,” Jason says, checking his pocket watch.

“Oh.” Tim looks as if he wishes it were later and he has an excuse to escape. Dick knows the feeling. This large, open space is intimidating. It’s all stone, from the smooth floors to the high arches that form openings in the walls, effortlessly demonstrating the age of the building. Large iron chandeliers depend from the ceiling. They must hold fifty candles each. There’s no way the school lights that many for daily lessons, no matter how many millionaires’ children attend, but tonight they fairly blaze with light. Decorative bunting graces the walls, no doubt hung by the students themselves, and Dick is amused to see that fresh flowers in beautiful vases stand on nearly every surface.

“Timothy, my dear,” a voice says. Dick looks in its direction and sees a formidable lady approaching. From her demeanor and sober suit of good broadcloth, Dick deduces that this is the headmistress of the school. Tim, Dick sees, keeps his eyes properly downcast until the headmistress has come within reach of them and extended a hand. “You look lovely. And these must be your guests?”

“Yes, Headmistress. My governess, Miss Grayson - ”

“How do you do,” the headmistress says. 

“Ma’am,” Dick murmurs. She hasn’t actually given him her name. He wonders if it’s deliberate. “A pleasure.”

“My eldest brother Jason,” Tim continues. Jason bows over the headmistress’ hand. “And my younger brother, Damian.” Another bow.

The headmistress continues smiling, but she is also looking around, as if expecting to see someone else appear behind them. “And your dear father, Captain Wayne? Could he not join us tonight?”

“The Captain is unavoidably detained on business,” Dick says. If this were the orphanage, and a bishop conducting an inspection, any questions the bishop asked a child would be answered first by one of the nuns. From the flicker of surprise on the headmistress’ face, she hadn’t expected Dick to field her question, though whether that’s because she didn’t expect him to know the etiquette or whether she hadn’t considered Dick to hold the equivalent rank is debatable. Either way, Dick keeps his smile polite. “I look forward to carrying him an excellent report of Timothy’s performance this evening.”

“Such a shame.” The headmistress doesn’t quite frown, but it’s close. “I had so hoped to show him how Timothy has thrived under our care. His own dear mother was a pupil here, you know. As were several of his other illustrious ancestors.”

And Captain Wayne has two other Omegan children at home, who will one day need to attend a finishing school. Not to mention the school’s stock will rise with each advantageous marriage their graduates make - and there are quite a few Waynes who will one day need brides, too. The headmistress’ eagerness to woo Captain Wayne is unsurprising, if mercenary. Dick smiles his sweetest smile. “Perhaps at the next recital, Headmistress.”

That’s definitely a frown now, though the headmistress recovers herself quickly and turns it back into a smile. “Well, thank you all for attending. If you’ll excuse me, I must greet my other guests. Timothy, please be backstage in fifteen minutes.”

“Yes, Headmistress,” Tim says obediently. She gives them all one more obviously forced smile, then quickly strides off towards the next wave of arrivals.

“Tim,” Jason says, “remind me, after this, to ask you a lot of questions about what school life is like for you.”

“It’s not so bad,” Tim says. 

Jason’s unimpressed expression speaks volumes. “How often does the old dragon there give you trouble?”

“Oh, no, it’s not like that,” Tim says quickly. A little too quickly. “The headmistress is merely… attentive.” He looks around for a distraction and brightens. “There’s one of my friends. Shall I introduce you?”

Dick allows Tim to lead them over to a well-dressed matron accompanied by an elder son as well as a daughter. Melody Elliott introduces Tim to her family with beautiful poise, but not, Dick judges, much warmth. Well, friendships at this age can be difficult. He exchanges nods with Mrs. Elliot and has the wholly surreal experience of having young Mr. Elliott bow to him in introduction.

Those formalities complete, there’s a momentary pause as Mrs. Elliott looks unsure of how to start a conversation with a social inferior. Dick takes the reins. “What piece will we have the honor of hearing you perform tonight, Miss Elliot?” he asks. “I understand you are a superior performer.” He’s heard nothing of the sort, of course, but it’s the kind of thing every visiting choir-master and musician had loved to hear.

And, indeed, Miss Elliot preens a little. “I shall be playing Vivaldi’s Winter on the pianoforte.”

“How appropriate to the season,” Damian says gallantly. “That is sure to give great pleasure to all your listeners.”

“And you, Miss Wayne?” Mr. Elliott asks, taking up the social cue.

“Oh, I - I shall be singing.” Tim falls silent, as if those few words have taken everything he’d had.

“A piece by Mozart,” Dick says, stepping into the gap. “Voi che sapete. Tim has been quite devoted to practicing it.”

“How nice,” Mr. Elliott says. “I do love Le Nozze di Figaro.”

Mrs. Elliott glances at her son. Her face is bland, but her eyes give her away. Young Mr. Elliott has spoken twice now to Tim, and she clearly wishes to prevent there being a third time. “I see you’re wearing the Drake rubies tonight,” Mrs. Elliott says, in a transparent bid to change the topic to one only Omegas will engage in, and get a little dig in, as well, just in case Tim might dare think her son admires him. “I wonder at your choice. Were there no Wayne pieces you might wear?”

Dick looks at her narrowly. Is she implying that Tim doesn’t have access to the Wayne jewels? Is this meant to be a denigrating reference to Tim’s adoption? At his side, Jason is alert, waiting for a signal. But the insult, if insult it is, is sufficiently oblique - and the Elliotts a sufficiently old family, being another of Gotham’s founders - that Dick decides to take a more subtle approach. “Well, a young lady must know their worth, after all,” Dick says, smiling as one indulgent adult to another. “And our Timothy’s is far beyond rubies.”

Mrs. Elliott’s lips thin, but she inclines her head in acknowledgement of the return fire. “Just so.”

An awkward silence threatens to fall. “I do believe it’s time for the ladies to withdraw,” Dick says quickly. The best time to quit is while one is ahead. “The Headmistress was most particular about the timing. Timothy, you’d best go along.”

“Yes, Miss Grayson,” Tim says. He looks a little surprised, and a little awed. Can this really be the first time someone has stood up for Tim at a social event? “I’ll see you after the recital.”  

“We look forward to it,” Dick says. Tim retreats expeditiously. Mrs. Elliott glares a moment longer, but finally shoos Melody off after Tim and turns away herself, ostensibly to accept a glass from a circulating waiter, her son at her heels. None of the Waynes try to stop them going.

“Just so I’m clear,” Jason murmurs, barely loud enough for Dick and Damian to hear. “That was an insult?”

“Maybe?” Dick shrugs. “It’s complicated. A lot of whether it was an insult depends on how Tim reacts. If he doesn’t care, it doesn’t land.”

“But he does care,” Damian says. 

“Yes.”

“And you shut them down,” Jason clarifies. 

“Without escalating,” Damian says. “Miss Grayson put them on notice that their behavior was not passing unnoticed or unanswered, and invited them to cease fire. They accepted.” He looks impressed. “It was very well handled.”

“Whew,” Jason says, shaking his head. His posture doesn’t relax. “I’m starting to think I’ve been letting Tim down a bit.”

“There’s nothing you could have done, and no way you could have known, if Tim didn’t say,” Dick says. He may not have attended a private finishing school, but he knows full well how dragons like headmistresses or nuns circle around Omega charges to insulate them from the wider world. “Our Tim has a lot of pride.”

“But if he doesn’t tell us, we can’t help him,” Damian objects. He looks disgruntled. “Why doesn’t he want our help?”

“I don’t think it’s a case of not wanting your help,” Dick says gently. “I think it’s a case of not knowing how to ask for it without feeling ashamed. And…” he hesitates, unsure if he should say the rest, but Damian’s unhappy frown drives him onward. “As a brother, and a younger brother at that, there’s simply very little you could have done. This was a job for…” Dick stops short, wishing he’d never opened his mouth.

“For a mother,” Damian says quietly.

Dick wants to hug Damian. Both because he can’t hug Tim right now, and because Damian clearly needs a hug, too. The child is visibly thinking of his own struggles for acceptance among Gotham’s elite, and it can’t be a happy thing to recall. Dick wants to help them both, and only the knowledge that publicly hugging Damian at Tim’s recital would hurt Damian and Tim in the very areas they value most keeps Dick from reaching out.

“Hey, don’t take it so hard,” Jason says. The kindness in his voice is surprising, though it really shouldn’t be. Dick has seen enough of Jason’s character to know that he has a good heart underneath his rough surface. “The past is the past, but now we’ve got Miss Grayson here, and you just said he dealt them a good set-down. Could you do it again, Miss Grayson?”

“I imagine so,” Dick says. It hadn’t been particularly difficult. Just a matter of actually saying all the things that had always been going through his head, whenever someone had been condescending to him. His own mother had always said his tongue had been born sharpened and ready for battle. 

“Then let’s circulate,” Jason says with a sly grin. “Give Miss Grayson a chance to do some good work. After tonight, I bet a lot more folks will respect the Wayne name.”

Damian laughs a little. “All right, let’s,” he agrees. “I must say, that was refreshing. I wouldn’t mind experiencing that again.”

Chapter Text

Forty-five minutes later, Dick, Jason, and Damian enter the auditorium at the first performance call. This puts them slightly out ahead of the larger crowd, who linger in the main hall for a few more minutes of socializing, backstabbing, and snacking on hors d'oeuvres. In addition to letting them choose excellent seats with prime views of the stage, it also lets them conference about what they’ve learned.

“I knew people weren’t thrilled with the Captain adopting a bunch of orphans,” Jason says in disgust, “but I didn’t realize they could be so sneaky and underhanded about it. Anyway, what’s that got to do with Tim? I can kinda understand about us,” gesturing to himself and Damian, “we’re going to inherit a lot if Bruce doesn’t change his will, but why get so mad over adopted daughters? A dowry is a dowry, right?”

“A dowry may be a dowry, but adoption isn’t blood,” Damian says. “They’re thinking about their grandchildren. After putting all the time and effort in to have natural sons, and raise them to inherit their businesses and investments, they want to see their daughters-in-law come from similar backgrounds. Getting someone with the Wayne name without the Wayne bloodline must feel like a cheat.”

“So let them marry someone else. Who cares?” Jason doesn’t flop into his chair, but every line of his body is eloquent of disgust.

“Tim cares,” Dick says. “He wants to be accepted here. And he wants to marry well.”

“There are four or five founding families of Gotham, depending on who’s counting,” Jason says. “But there’s got to be fifty students here at the academy. Even if the Elliotts and the Kanes never change their minds, Tim can marry well. After all, the Drakes weren’t founders, either.”

Damian frowns. “I’m not quite ready to write the founders off entirely,” he says, “but it will certainly be easier for Tim to befriend students from some of the newer families.”

“Yeah, plenty of people here would be happy to know Tim. The founding families have been too insular for too long.”

“Not the Waynes,” Damian says. “Not anymore.”

“Yes and no,” Jason disagrees. “Yeah, there’s the adoption bit, but when’s the last time Father held a social gathering at the Manor?”

“There’s the Christmas ball.”

“Yeah, and he usually does a garden party in the summer, maybe something else in the spring, but that’s it. Meanwhile the other families are having gatherings every few weeks. And it’s not like Father attends those, either. Face it,” Jason says. “We’re pretty insular.”

“What about Tim’s debut?” Dick asks.

Jason and Damian both stare at him.

“Well, he’s turning sixteen in a few months, isn’t he?” Dick asks. “There will have to be a ball then. Hasn’t Captain Wayne been preparing for that? He’ll need to plan who to invite, who will attend - ” Jason and Damian continue to stare, wordlessly, and Dick grows concerned. “What? What is it?”

“There has been no planning,” Damian says tonelessly. “No preparation.”

“Honestly,” Jason says, glancing around at the rapidly filling room and lowering his voice, “I’m not entirely certain Bruce remembers which age Tim is turning.”

“But these things take months,” Dick says, astonished. Everyone knows that. Circus performers turned convent orphans know that! So Captain Wayne must surely be aware - “Who are Tim’s sponsors to be?”

Jason and Damian exchange looks. “To my knowledge,” Damian says apologetically, “No one has yet been approached.”

Dick’s jaw drops. “Tim’s birthday is - when?”

“July 19th,” Jason says.

“That’s less than five months away,” Dick says in horror. 

“Isn’t that plenty of time?” It’s Jason who has asked the question, but Damian is also looking hopeful. They’re both looking at Dick expectantly. As if Dick is the expert here. As if Dick will know what to do.

Dick doesn’t have the first idea. Except that he knows that if Tim’s debut goes poorly, it will damage his social credit possibly beyond repair, and certainly sabotage his chances of marrying well. And he knows that every highborn lady that had ever crossed St. Mary’s doorstep had started planning their daughters’ debuts a full year in advance.

No wonder Tim is too stressed to sleep. He can’t know exactly what is to be done for a proper debut, or he’d be doing it. But he must know that not enough is being done. Attending this school, Tim will be seeing all the other maidens his age preparing for their debuts, chattering endlessly about this or that related to it. Tim will know that none of that is being done for him. He can’t be expected to know how to throw his own debut; he’ll know just enough to know that the future he wants - the future he’d been born to - the future that should have been a legacy from the parents he’d lost - is slipping away, day by day, as his sixteenth birthday approaches. 

There’s no analogue in church or orphanage for this. Dick can’t draw on manners learned for a Bishop’s visit or logistics for running a soup kitchen to manage Tim’s debut. Dick has got to do something. But he has no idea what.

“Miss Grayson?” Damian’s hopeful look is fast slipping away, to be replaced by concern. Dick has no idea what’s visible on his own face. “Surely… surely there’s something you can do?”

Dick is saved from having to answer that question by the sound of a bell ringing, and a sudden influx of people into the auditorium. The buzzing hum of conversation grows louder, as does the rustle of clothes and the click of shoes. Slowly people find their seats. A family of four sits next to Jason. Another group comes in on Dick’s side, but they leave a seat empty between they and Dick. Dick, wrapped up in his newfound horror, takes no notice. Damian does, and frowns. 

When the room is about three-quarters full and the doorways are empty, the headmistress makes her way to the front and climbs up onto the small platform. She’s holding a small handbell, which she rings for attention. The room responds near-instantly, falling into silence. 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” she begins. “It is my honor and privilege to welcome you here tonight for the winter recital of the students of the Gotham Omegas’ Finishing School…”

It continues like that for some little while, and Dick listens only long enough to know that he need not listen further. If he substitutes only a few proper nouns, it’s virtually indistinguishable from any other homily delivered during a financial shortfall. The headmistress touches on the proud history of their illustrious institution, the high standards maintained by their instructors, and the exceptional quality of the students entrusted to them. She concludes by thanking all the honored guests for their attendance and then introducing the first student.

The one and three-quarters of an hour that follow are among the most excruciating of Dick’s life. He tries to remind himself that is sitting at his ease, on a padded chair, in a warm room, with a full belly. It’s not actually that bad. But Dick thinks he might actually prefer being back in the orphanage laundry, sweating in the summer heat and wrangling a heavy clothes-fork while wishing for supper. Because before Dick had been that orphan, he’d been a performer whose daily bread had depended on pleasing his audience. And while these children up on the stage may be well enough for an evening at home among friends, none of them could possibly survive by these talents.

Nor do they have to. Dick remembers Tim’s taunts about French and etiquette. Dick had asked: Can you eat those? The answer to that question is before him now. Someone of Dick’s class could never put bread in his belly with such accomplishments as are being displayed before him. But Timothy Drake Wayne, and all the other young ladies here showing off their skills, will earn their life’s maintenance by just such arts. Along with the necessary support of a proper launching. Which Tim may not have. How will Tim eat, if Dick can’t be the kind of governess Tim needs?

The quality of the performances improves steadily as one student succeeds another. The headmistress, at least, has some instincts for show business. By putting the weaker students first, no one is embarrassed with a performance noticeably poorer than the ones the audience had just heard. The subtlety of the increase also conceals the very poverty of the first students; by creating the illusion that there’s not much difference between members of the class, and by filling the audience’s ears with better-performed music towards the end, the earlier performances are burnished in retrospect by the quality of the later.

Tim’s performance comes third to last, a respectable position in a roster of about two dozen; the younger students, Dick has learned, will not be performing tonight. Tim is accompanied by another student on piano who had already performed a solo concerto earlier in the evening. The pianist does Tim no favors, but TIm’s voice is good, soaring effortlessly to the high notes and sustaining them in good chest. He’s a little weaker in the lower registers, but Dick judges that practice - and possibly a few more pounds of weight - will take care of that. What Tim really lacks is anything unique and different about his performance. His voice is better than everyone who had come before, but that won’t make him stand out in this crowd. The threshold for a society lady who hopes to be a society wife is more focused on providing entertainment for their spouse and guests of an evening. That means it’s better to be entertaining than good, provided a certain minimum of skill is met. Tim is good - he may even be great - but he isn’t entertaining. He stands in one place for the entire performance, one hand on the lid of the pianoforte, the other resting on his breast. His eyes are fixed on some point in the middle distance, and he performs as if to a blank wall. There’s no engagement with the audience. No motion, no fluidity. He sings as precisely and as emotionlessly as a player piano plays. 

Oddly, this heartens Dick. Here is something he can fix, some area where he has the skills necessary to be of use. He doesn’t know how to handle a debut, but when it comes to tuning up an act to please a crowd, Dick is aces.

Tim is the last singer, too, which means that he’s the best in the school as far as vocal quality. The last two students perform on flute and violin. Then the headmistress reappears to give a brief closing speech. It’s much less listened to than her opening had been. Everyone is waiting for the moment when the headmistress claps her hands, and the students all file out to take their bows and be mobbed by their adoring families.

Tim rushes over to them as soon as the students are released; they’re sitting in the front, so he hasn’t far to go. “Oh, it’s over,” he gasps. He looks like he’s about to fall over. Dick puts an arm around Tim’s shoulders to steady him, and Tim doesn’t object, slumping against Dick gratefully. “I was so nervous. I’m sure I didn’t hit a note.”

“You were perfectly on pitch the entire time,” Damian tells Tim primly. Tim breaks into a relieved smile.

“Thank goodness,” he says. “All that frantic praying paid off.”

“Here, sit down for a moment,” Dick says, guiding Tim into the seat he’d just vacated. It’s warm in here, and perhaps Tim would do better in the fresh air, but his face is the color of old porridge, and the crowd is thick enough that he doesn’t want to try and get Tim through it. “Jason, go get our wraps. We may need to make a quick exit.”

“I’ll come,” Damian says. “You may need an extra pair of hands.” Dick nods, and the two set off.

Dick sits back down next to Tim, and Tim, without prompting, leans against him. “I was so glad you were here tonight, Miss Grayson,” he confesses. “I kept thinking about what you said to Mrs. Elliott. It made me brave.”

“About your worth?” Tim nods. “It’s true.”

“I could tell that you believed it,” Tim says. “Mrs. Elliott could tell, too.”

Dick chooses his words carefully. “Do you believe it?” Tim is silent long enough that Dick knows he’s hit on it. “Everyone who knows you values you, Tim.”

“Not everyone,” Tim says. He glances around the room and sighs. “But you know, I think maybe they’re going to.”

“Tim!” A new voice calls out, and Tim looks up. “Tim, you were marvelous! Congratulations!”

Two Omegas are approaching them, one clearly a pupil, the other a young adult. Tim’s face breaks out into a real smile. “Cecily,” he says happily. “You were great, too.”

“Oh, I was so nervous.” The younger lady plops down onto the seat next to Tim, the one that Dick isn’t already occupying. “You looked so calm! How did you do it?”

Tim glances at Dick again. “I didn’t want to let anyone down.” He looks up, then gets to his feet as the young adult approaches. “Miss Kyle,” he says, dipping a shallow curtsy. “May I present my governess, Miss Grayson?”

Dick rises as well, exchanging a handclasp with Miss Kyle. She’s elegant in a black dress, exquisite diamond earrings, and heels tall enough that Dick thinks she could probably be trained to walk a tightrope. “Richard Grayson.”

“Selina Kyle,” Miss Kyle returns. “Cecilia here is my younger sister. I’m pleased to meet you. Very pleased. Bruce was telling me he’d found someone he thought might stick at the job this time.”

“You must know Captain Wayne well,” Dick says, taken aback by this familiar way of talking.

“Childhood friends,” Selina says with a smile. “Both of us are children of prolific society hostesses. We were thrown together so much at parties that we developed a friendship out of self defense.”

Dick laughs at this pleasantry, as he’s clearly meant to. Cecily and Tim have fallen to chatting in quiet tones. This leaves Dick to entertain Selina. “Are you a hostess yourself, Miss Kyle?”

“Let us say I’m a hostess in waiting,” she says lightly. “One can’t truly begin until one is married, of course.”

A new idea shoots through Dick’s mind. Childhood friends can mean many things. Might it, in this case, mean… romance?

Selina is grinning. “You’ve just had the thought that everyone has when I tell them that,” she says knowledgeably. “Fear not for your position, Miss Grayson; I’m not out to marry Captain Wayne. Oh, yes, we’re gossiped about, and I won’t lie and say my mother wouldn’t be pleased, but between you and I… it would be like marrying a brother. You understand me.”

“Oh,” Dick says, dismayed at being so easily read. “Yes, I - I can quite see that.” Which is an utterly inane thing to say, but it’s better than the first thing that had popped into his mind, which is something along the lines of: No, I don’t understand at all; what do you mean you don’t want him? It’s just that, well, clearly Captain Wayne is a catch. From an entirely objective point of view, Dick means. He’s a millionaire with an old and respectable family name. Who wouldn’t dream of living out such a Cinderella story? 

And it would be so good for the children to have a mother. They need one, especially Tim and the younger four. Dick has no idea if Selina Kyle is maternally inclined, but almost anyone would be better than the no one they have now.

No, Dick tells himself bravely. They at least have me. And he has an idea.

 “If you aren’t interested in the role of Mrs. Wayne,” he says tentatively, “perhaps I can interest you in a different kind of hostessing. You know our Timothy is turning sixteen this summer.”

“Oh, yes,” Selina nods. “Goodness, and you’ve only just started as governess. You must be up to your eyeballs already in planning his debut.”

It doesn’t escape Dick how automatically Selina Kyle, who by her own profession has known Captain Wayne nearly all his life, assumes that the governess is planning Tim’s coming out. Maybe that isn’t as abnormal as Dick had thought? Other governesses, though, probably aren’t former circus performers and have at least a passing familiarity with the requirements of the event. Dick doesn’t. So he needs to enlist some. Fast. “As a friend of the family, I don’t mind confessing to you that I’m quite overwhelmed,” Dick says disingenuously. “It’s all new to me.”

“Well, it isn’t meant for one person to handle alone,” Selina says sympathetically. “I remember how much my mother slaved over mine. Of course, we were expected to make a certain number of mistakes. Oh, yes,” she says when Dick must look blank. “We’re new money. If we hadn’t been at least a little gauche, the founding families would have been most uncomfortable.”

Selina Kyle’s laugh is full-throated and infectious; Dick can’t help but laugh along. “If only I had such an escape hatch,” he says wryly. “Unfortunately, Tim is a Wayne.”

“Yes, there’s much less room for error,” Selina agrees. She hesitates for a moment. “Would it be terribly forward of me, Miss Grayson, if I offered to lend a hand?”

“Not at all,” Dick says with fervent gratitude. “I would be most exceedingly obliged.”

“Then you may consider me at your disposal.” 

“Thank you, Miss Kyle.”

They shake on it. Selina’s smile is conspiratorial, and Dick wonders if perhaps he’s just made a friend.

Tim unknowingly interrupts the moment by saying, loud enough to be heard, “I wonder where Jason and Damian are.” He looks around. “Surely they couldn’t have gotten lost? Perhaps I should go look for them, Miss Grayson?”

Dick blinks at Tim a few times before a significant look from Selina Kyle illuminates the matter. It’s improper for a lady to actually say anything about nature’s call, so Tim is employing a blatantly flimsy excuse to both cover his absence and hint to all and sundry about its actual purpose. “Yes, please do, Tim. Thank you.”

“Thank you,” Tim echoes, making a beeline out of the auditorium. Cecily goes with him as naturally as the night follows the day. Selina smiles after them both.

“I had better not move until they return, lest Cecily be unable to find me,” she says. “I hope you won’t mind putting up with my company a trifle longer, Miss Grayson.”

“Please, call me Dick,” Dick says.

“Then I am Selina,” she replies. They take the seats Tim and Cecily had just vacated and chat for a few minutes on idle topics - the performances they’d seen tonight, historical performances, and music. Dick carries his end of the conversation well, for though he’s never attended an opera or sat in a concert hall, performing had been his life for his first decade. He converses knowledgeably on the composers of the day and compliments Cecily Kyle’s fingering on her ’cello.

The comfortable moment is interrupted by Cecily herself, all but flying through the auditorium to fetch up white-faced and out of breath before her sister and Dick. Selina frowns, clearly about to administer a scolding about not running in public, but Cecily never gives her the chance. “Oh Miss Grayson - Oh, Miss Grayson! Come quickly! You must, you must come at once! Damian and Jason - ”

Dick is on his feet in an instant. “Where?” 

Cecily seizes Dick’s hand and starts pulling him along. The remaining guests in the auditorium have taken notice of the commotion, and Cecily has to push through them, preventing her from breaking back into a run. “Damian is fighting,” she gasps out, “and Jason is there, and Tim says to get you at once - ”

Selina crowds at Dick’s heels, glaring around them to clear the path. “Where, Cecily?”

“Outside,” Cecily pants. They break through the knot of people at the entrance to the auditorium and find themselves in the main hall. It’s nearly empty, and Cecily takes to her heels, running clear across it and to the large double doors. “Oh, please come quick!”

Dick doesn’t run, but he hurries, and Selina Kyle hurries with him. At the double doors he stops short. Not because he wants to, but because there’s an almost impenetrable wall of people stretching from doorpost to doorpost, three or four bodies deep. It’s like the crowd around the bearded lady’s booth on the nights she’d brought out the boa constrictor. Dick stands on tiptoe, but he can’t see over the crowd. There’s only one thing to do. He deploys his elbows. He’s not as skinny as he’d been when he’d been with the circus, but swells always flinch when they catch a pointy elbow to the side. Dick eels his way through the crowd and breaks out into the center of the ring.

Damian is on his knees on the muddy grounds, straddling another tuxedo-wearing figure who is flat on their back and bleeding profusely from their nose. Despite this, they keep their arms up to protect their face, a wise precaution considering that Damian is continuing to throw wild, uncoordinated punches. It’s clear that Damian has never actually been in a fistfight in his life, but adrenaline and rage are carrying him through. Dick wonders briefly why no one else is interfering before he sees Jason standing a few feet away from the combatants. His arms are crossed, and he’s glaring fiercely at anyone who puts a toe out from the safety of the crowd. The message is clear: the first person to try to step forward and intervene gets to deal with Jason. No one has yet been brave enough to try.

“Take it back!” Damian shouts, throwing another punch. This one glances down his opponent’s forearm and connects with their cheek. The contact of flesh on flesh makes a sound like a wafer cracking. “You better, you better, or I’ll - ”

The person on the ground doesn’t say anything. Maybe they can’t. Tim is standing in the front rank of the ring of guests, twisting his hands together repeatedly in distress. His mouth opens and closes, as if he wants to call out, but is afraid to draw more attention to himself. He looks horrified. Dick can’t blame him.

Dick steps forward from the crowd. Jason’s gaze swings around and lasers in on Dick, but he doesn’t move. Dick, clearly, is permitted to approach. Approach he does, his hands outstretched, keeping his movements slow, his voice low. 

“Damian,” Dick says gently. “You’ve won. It’s over.”

“Not until she apologizes,” Damian pants. “Not until she takes it back.” His next two swings are wild and miss.

“She's had enough, Damian.” Dick takes another few steps forward, approaching cautiously. The déjà vu of the moment is strong. How many children new-arrived at St. Mary’s had snapped over some careless word and gotten into fights over nothing - nothing, that is, except the rage they had within themselves at a world that had cheated them? Dick doesn’t know what this person Damian is punching had said or done. It may actually have been something worth fighting over; he knows that society can be insensitive about many things, including orphaning, adoption, and unclear parentage. Then again, it may have been nothing at all. The weather. The time of day. The time of year. Nothing that would mean anything to anyone but Damian. Dick knows. 

“She hasn’t had enough,” Damian insists. He catches his opponent on their already-swollen upper lip, and it splits, adding more blood to the gore already scattered on their face. “Not until - ”

“‘m sorry!” the person on the ground gasps.

Immediately Jason turns away from the crowd and grabs Damian under the armpits, hauling him off his opponent. “She’s apologized,” he says. “The matter is settled.”

The other combatant attempts to stagger to her feet. She fails, ending up back on her back in the snow. Jason nods in the general vicinity of the crowd, and two people rush forward. They haul the downed combatant to her feet.

“What is this!” The headmistress appears, another pale-faced student at her side. She breaks through the crowd into the clearing and looks from Damian to the other combatant and back again, then at Jason, Tim, and Dick all in turn. “Were you gentlemen fighting?” The scathing tone in which she says gentlemen makes it clear that she views their boorish behavior as anything but gentlemanly. 

“Yes,” Damian says defiantly. The other combatant jerks her head in a sullen acknowledgement. 

“What on earth for?” Once again the headmistress’ tone takes up the cause of communication. This time it makes it clear that no reason could possibly justify such an act.

Damian opens his mouth again, but Jason steps forward. “They argued over whose sister is prettier,” Jason says. “It got out of hand. They’re both very sorry.”

The headmistress frowns thunderously. “Is this true, Mr. Wayne? Mr. Kane?”

Jason has his arm around Damian’s shoulders now, and his heel is grinding into Damian’s boot. “Yes,” Damian mutters, and “Yes,” the other combatant says.

“Of all the foolish - I’m sure I speak for both of your sisters when I say that they would have far preferred you both had kept your hands to yourselves than to be fought over in such a fashion.” The headmistress props her hands on her hips and glares. “The truest ornament to a lady’s beauty is the quality of their family. You have not reflected well on either of them tonight.”

Tim has both hands over his mouth and looks close to tears. Another lady, presumably Mr. Kane’s sister, is being comforted by a lady who must be Mrs. Kane. She hisses to her son, “Apologize, Mary.”

“I apologize, Headmistress,” the other combatant says. 

Damian looks mulish. Dick raises an eyebrow and signals Jason, who shakes Damian like a terrier. Damian’s teeth are chattering when he mutters, “I also apologize.”

“Hmph,” the headmistress says. “I will say good evening to you both, gentlemen.”

“Good evening,” Jason says on Damian’s behalf. He all but bodily hauls Damian away. Dick goes over to Tim, who immediately hides his face in Dick’s chest. Dick puts an arm around Tim protectively and begins steering him towards the exit. Tim is shivering with the cold, in addition to being nearly in tears of frustration and rage. Their wraps are nowhere in sight. Dick isn’t about to go back after them. Better to get Tim into a warm car, and then get he and Damian home. They can send a servant to the academy tomorrow to recover them.

“It’s all right, it’s all right,” Dick says soothingly over and over, holding Tim close and urging him onwards. “We’re almost away. Look, there’s the car. In a moment we’ll be on our way.” The car glides to a stop and the driver all but leaps out, looking shocked at the sight that greets him. Well he might. Damian is dangling from Jason’s grip, bruised and bloody, his necktie gone and his shirt torn open. His jacket and pants are caked with mud. Jason shoves him inside as soon as the driver gets the door open and clambers in after to pin Damian in a corner and keep him put. Dick eases Tim into the car and gets him settled in the corner opposite Damian. Jason silently takes off his suit jacket and hands it across. Dick thanks him and drapes it over Tim like a blanket, then sits close by and keeps his arms around Tim, sharing his own body heat.

The doors are closed behind them, and the car begins to warm somewhat. They accelerate smoothly away from the curb into late-evening Gotham traffic. Dick finds himself rocking Tim gently as the car sways and humming the same soft lullaby Terry loves so. It always soothes him. Maybe it will soothe Tim.

As they head uptown and the streetlights get further apart, Tim settles down, his shivering abated. Dick checks to see if he’s asleep, but he isn’t. He’s just quiet. Across the car, Damian is likewise still. Jason has loosened his hold on his brother, but is still watching over him warily.

“Damian,” Dick says. “Look at me.” He keeps his voice low, but firm. It’s a command. Damian obeys it. “I will now hear the truth about why you fought that other gentleman - Mr. Kane, was it?”

“Mary Kane,” Jason supplies. “Second oldest son of the family. Her sister, Charles, attends school with Tim.”

“Thank you,” Dick says, never taking his gaze from Damian. “I will now hear why you fought Mary Kane.”

“You heard Jason,” Damian mutters. “He said his sister was prettier than Tim.”

“Do I look stupid to you?” Damian’s head snaps back as if Dick has struck him. Dick doesn’t relent. “I don’t believe that. No one there believed that, either. That’s the kind of thing you say when you don’t want to admit what the fight was really about. You knew it, and Mary Kane knew it, and the Headmistress knew it, too. I don’t want the polite fiction. I want the truth.” Tim has started shaking again, and Dick instinctively tugs him closer. “Tim deserves the truth.”

Damian’s gaze flicks to his sister, and he looks stricken. “Tim - ”

“How could you?” Tim bursts out. “Do you know what they’re all going to be saying about me on Monday?”

“I’m sorry, but - ”

“Why?” It’s only one word, but it seems to echo through the car, a cry of need.

Damian looks away - not at Tim, nor at Dick. He even avoids Jason’s eyes. “I would rather not repeat it,” he says stiffly.

“Your delicacy is noted.” Dick is in no mood for macho posturing, and it may make his tone harsher than he intends, because Damian flinches. “Now out with it.”

Damian looks down at his shoes and mumbles something.

“Louder, please.”

“He said…” Damian swallows. “He insulted you.”

Dick blinks. “He insulted me?” This is wholly unexpected. “Not Tim? Not you? Me?” Why on earth would Damian - he barely tolerates Dick. Though tonight had seemed to bring them a little closer, Dick would still have guessed that Damian would rid himself of his inconvenient governess at the first opportunity. And yet he’d been on his knees in the mud, throwing wild punches, nearly incoherent with rage… over an insult to Dick?

Tim seems to share this bafflement, because he says, “What on earth?”

“He asked me - Jason, do I - ”

“Yeah, lil’ bro, you kinda do,” Jason says, not unkindly. “They deserve to know.”

Damian covers his face in his hands. This seems to make it easier for him to talk. “She asked me what it felt like to be taught by a gyp. Then she said that I’d better watch out, or you’d steal everything we had and I’d be back out on the streets. She said that wouldn’t be so hard for me, though, and I could just live with the whores like my mother was.” Damian takes a shuddering breath. “So I hit her.”

“Oh, Damian,” Dick says, distressed. He wishes he were surprised at the exact insults. Living in a circus among other outcasts from polite society had insulated Dick somewhat, but he’s never had the privilege of being ignorant of what some people think about Roma. He’s heard it before, as well as its more well-meaning and commensurately worse variants: well, they can’t help it, they’re just a gypsy, or it’s a shame your skin is so dark, no one will want to marry you, it would be easier if you could pass, and a dozen others. It stings, of course it stings, but he hates most right now that Damian had had to hear those things about Dick. Now they’ll be in his head, and who’s to say they won’t poison him, even though he had made the other Alpha eat her words this time? Worse, Damian’s loss of control will have hurt Tim’s reputation, and that might damage any rapport Dick might have forged with Tim, too. “I’m sorry you had to hear that, and the part about your mother must have been particularly distressing, but violence - ”

“Was exactly the right answer,” Tim interrupts. “Mary Kane actually said that? I’m going to slap Charles first thing Monday morning. That bitch.” 

“I don’t know that Charles had anything to do with it,” Jason says mildly.

Tim tosses his head. “If one child is saying it, they’re all thinking it. I’ll do my part to make sure they know we won’t tolerate that.”

Dick becomes aware that his mouth is hanging open. “You - you don’t - ”

“Of course we do!” Tim looks furious. “How dare they insult you that way! And Damian, too!”

“Their words were of course inappropriate,” Dick agrees. “But - ”

“You don’t know about my mother, do you, Miss Grayson?” Damian asks.

“I know a little,” Dick says carefully. “Including that she was a respectable lady.”

“That’s not what I mean.” Damian lowers his hands from his face, and his eyes are damp, but his expression is fierce. “She was Middle Eastern. Not the same as Roma, but the people in Gotham wouldn’t care about the distinction. Her skin color was a lot like yours, Miss Grayson. If she had ever lived to come here, they’d have insulted her in the exact same way they insulted you.”

“Oh,” Dick says, beginning to understand. “So when they said those things about me, in a way you felt like they were saying those things about her, too.”

“No one else knows,” Damian says. “About my mother’s heritage, I mean. They know she was a refugee and Captain Wayne took me in after her death. But my father must have been European, because of how I look.” Indeed, Damian, though perhaps on the tanner end of the spectrum, still passes easily for having an English or similar ancestry. The rumors about Captain Wayne being his secret father could hardly have gained traction otherwise. “I’m not ashamed of it, nor of her,” Damian says, “but… well, you understand, don’t you, Miss Grayson? There’s being unashamed, and then there’s inviting trouble, and it’s just… easier, not to.”

“I do understand,” Dick says quietly. “I understand it very well.” He’s not ashamed of his heritage, either. But it’s just sensible to keep it to himself. Most of the time people don’t ask. Most of the time, especially in the summer, people just assume he spends a lot of time outdoors. The laborers who work down at the docks or in the warehouses burn as dark as Dick. It’s only the rich who have the privilege of parasols and creams and glassed-in cars to preserve a fair complexion. They can always tell. Dick should have known better. He should have realized in advance that his presence would cause problems. “I’m sorry, children. I should have sent Alfred with you tonight.”

“What? No!” Tim throws his arms around Dick, startling Dick badly. “No, Miss Grayson. You were amazing. What you said to Mrs. Elliott was brilliant. And you had the idea to ask Miss Kyle to help with my debut! Don’t say you shouldn’t have come. Please don’t.”

“But,” Dick says in helpless bafflement. “Surely - I mean, you don’t really want - ” he looks from Tim to Damian. “You don’t even want me as your governess.”

“If Father tries to fire you, I - I - well, I won’t have it!” Tim sounds near tears again. “I’ll interrupt him constantly when he’s working! I’ll use my knife to eat with during dinner! I’ll put Steph’s mice in his bed!” He sniffles. “You’re helping so much,” Tim says plaintively. “You’ve just got to stay.”

Dick looks across the car at Damian, expecting him to argue with his sister. But to Dick’s surprise, Damian is nodding. “I was unsure at first whether you brought any value to our family, but I see now that you do, and quite significantly at that,” Damian says. “And the thought of you being driven away because of your ancestry is abhorrent. You shall and must remain in Father’s employ.”

Jason pats Damian on the shoulder and grins at Dick. “For what it’s worth, I agree with them,” he says. “I don’t think anyone else in the family objects any more. You’re one of us now.”

One of us. Dick’s vision wavers, and he finds to his surprise that he’s crying a little, too. He’s been alone for so long. This had just been supposed to be a job, but it isn’t. Not anymore. Now it’s his life. He wants to keep living it, as long as possible. To help Jason figure out his life after graduation, to launch Tim as a success in society. To assist Steph and Damian and Babs through the leap from childhood to maturity. To see what Kate and Cass and even little Terry choose to become, as they grow from happy children into strong-minded teenagers and then well-formed adults.

He wants to love them all, for as long as they will let him. 

“Thank you,” he chokes out, and the children take that as permission to swarm him until Dick is at the center of a somewhat muddy, somewhat sniffly, and wholly sincere group hug. “I will stay. I will. I will.”

Chapter Text

Dick wakes up slowly, yawning. Mark is hogging the bed again, pressed up against Dick, but at least he hasn’t stolen the blanket. Dick is still warm. Actually, he’s warm on both sides. Has little Jenny snuck into their bed again? She does, sometimes, when she’s had nightmares. Dick had better send her back to her own pallet before Sister Mary Clarence comes in to rouse them all for morning prayers.

The sound of a coal hod being dropped to the floor brings Dick to a higher level of consciousness. That’s going to mean a double scrubbing, and a scolding besides. Who’s on morning duty? Dick’s one of the oldest still at St. Mary’s, so he’d better get up and - 

“I’m so sorry, Miss Grayson, I - Lord!” When Dick sits up, the sight that greets him is very different than the one he’d anticipated. It’s not a frightened orphan staring at a scant spill of the low-quality coal that heats St. Mary’s, but a uniformed parlor-maid, and she’s dropped a hodful of the grade A that is the only fuel Dick has yet seen in Wayne Manor. Which is where Dick happens to be, sitting up in a comfortable, spacious bed, heaped with down comfortables and sheets of the finest linen. And next to him - where the parlormaid’s gaze is fixed in astonishment - is Tim. “Oh, Miss Timothy, you gave me a fright,” the parlormaid says in relief. “I thought you was a burglar or something. Gave me a turn.”

Memory returns as a yawn fights its way out of Dick. All four who had attended the recital last night had arrived back home to a still and quiet house; the younger children all asleep, while Steph and Alfred had yet to return. Too keyed up to sleep themselves yet, but loathe to disturb the others, they had adjourned to Dick’s room. Tim had gone to wash his face and change into his nightgown first, and afterwards had made free to lay on his belly on Dick’s bed, chin in his hands and heels kicked up. Dick had sat against the headboard after a quick wash himself, and Damian and Jason had sat on the floor, claiming to be too muddy for chairs. The fire had been burning merrily, emotions had been running high, and they’d talked late into the night. At some point Dick recalls hearing Steph’s footsteps go by and knowing he really ought to send the children to find their beds. At some later point he remembers seeing the fire burn down to coals. Then he’d blinked, and the parlor-maid had dropped the coal hod…

“Oh, Becky, I’m sorry,” Tim is apologizing. “I should have thought…”

“Lord, no, Miss Timothy,” the parlor-maid says, bending to pick up the hod. A few pieces have fallen out, and she starts to chase them where they’ve rolled. “Nothing to apologize for. Why shouldn’t you be in whatever room you please?”

“But I gave you a start.”

“That’s naught but my own foolishness,” Betsy laughs. “I ought to have known better; what burglar hides in a bed? It’s just that there’s been all those robberies lately, and we had the jewels out last night for your recital, so it’s been on my mind.”

“Oh, you mean the Black Cat?” Dick asks, interested. “You mean last week’s attack?”

Betsy nods, fishing up the last lump of coal and moving over to the fire to begin arranging it. “Yes, miss, a week ago today.” Today is Saturday - this would have been the same attack that had prompted the sermon at St. Mary’s about greed. Dick had never actually learned anything more about it, and he’s curious. Happily, Betsy is disposed to share what she knows, chattering eagerly as she plies broom and dustpan. “At the Elliott’s house, it was. They were attending a ball that evening, so all the jewels were out, for Missus and the Misses to choose from. When they got back that night and went to put them away again, weren’t they startled to find the rest were all gone! Nothing left but what was on their necks, tis said.” Betsy finishes sweeping out the fire and hangs the brush up on its iron hook, then begins building it up again with fresh fuel. “So last night when Miss Timothy was picking out his rubies, I was all over thinking to myself, what if the same thing happened to us.”

“Alfred put the rest of the jewels right back in Father’s big safe, after I got dressed,” Tim says. “And I stayed up last night until Alfred got back, so we could put the ones I wore away.” Dick remembers hearing Steph come home; Alfred, of course, would have been with her. Tim must have gone out to return the rubies to Alfred after Dick had fallen asleep. Speaking of which…

He takes a quick look around. Aside from Tim in the bed next to him and the parlor-maid on her knees picking up coal, the room is empty. Jason and Damian must have had the good sense to take themselves back to their rooms at some point. That must have been when Tim had returned the rubies, as well. 

“And thank you, Miss Grayson,” Tim is saying. “For letting me stay with you last night. After what transpired I was in need of comfort.”

“I’m glad I was able to provide it for you,” Dick says, giving Tim a hug before he thinks about what he himself must be wearing. Tim had changed into his nightgown, but Dick hadn’t done more than remove his jacket… but when he looks down, he sees his crisp white shirt had been exchanged at some point for his pajamas, and his socks and belt removed, though he’s still wearing the same slacks he’d worn last night. “You helped me change?”

“I wanted you to be as comfortable as I could make you,” Tim says. “Is that okay? I would have asked, but you were so tired, you didn’t wake even when I shook your shoulder.”

“It’s all right,” Dick assures him. As long as Jason and Damian had been gone by then, at least. Dick would ask, but the parlormaid would hear, and that’s the sort of thing he doesn’t want to put into anyone’s mind. Dick knows that the idea of looking at Jason or Damian romantically makes him shudder, but an outsider might well see a young governess not quite eighteen and an Alpha just past seventeen and draw a very different conclusion. Better not to wander in that direction. 

“If you’d had a maid, I would have rung for them instead of doing it myself,” Tim is saying. “But Father didn’t say anything about a maid when you arrived.”

“I don’t think governesses have maids,” Dick says, amused.

Tim frowns. Then he laughs. “A week ago I would have agreed with you!” he says. “But this morning I want to argue and say, why not? As Father said that first night at dinner, you’re the lady of the house.”

“I’m as close as there is, he said. That’s not quite the same thing.”

“I suppose.” Tim looks down at the coverlet, then up at Dick again. “If you wouldn’t object, Miss Grayson, I’ll mention it to Father when he returns. I think you should have one just like I do. You’re going to be helping me so much with my debut, I - it only seems fair that you should have less to worry about in other areas.”

Something warm and soft fills Dick’s chest. It’s curiously difficult to breathe around it, but Dick can’t imagine ever wanting it to go away. “I don’t object.”

The fire is crackling merrily, and Betsy rises from before it, shouldering the empty coal-hod and giving them both a cheerful smile. “I’ll be bidding good morning to you both, then, Miss Timothy, Miss Grayson,” she says with a curtsey. “And if’n you need anything - before or after the Captain is back - I can lend a hand. Just ring the bell and ask for me.”

“Thank you, Betsy,” Dick says, touched. “I shall.”

“Always wanted to be a lady’s maid.” Betsy grins. “Got to take chances where we find ‘em, in this world.” 

She bobs again and leaves with a wink. Dick laughs. “She’s right about that.”

Tim smiles. “I shall go as well, Miss Grayson. I’d best dress before breakfast.” He looks at the clock. “I’ll have time for a wash, too.” The morning meal has been set back an hour in consideration of last night’s late pursuits, and punctuality for it is not so strictly observed.

“Don’t get too clean. We’re cooking all afternoon,” Dick reminds Tim.

“I won’t. Promise.” Tim hugs Dick again before slipping from the room. Dick watches him go, marveling at the change. From cool and standoffish to hugging Dick at every opportunity, even seizing a chance to sleep in the same bed - Tim must have been absolutely starved of affection. Especially, Dick thinks, from an older Omega. Captain Wayne is an affectionate parent, when he’s around, but that is the affection of a father. Tim - well, he’d said it himself. He needs a mother.

Can I be what Tim needs? Dick asks himself. Then he takes heart. The first and most important thing Tim needs is to be open to having a mother - for, as much as he clearly needs one, he’d closed himself off so tightly since losing his own that he’d rejected everyone who might have filled the role since. Dick hasn’t forgotten what Babs, Kate, and Cass had told him about the parade of nannies and governesses who had preceded him. Any of them would have been quite willing to mother Tim. None of them had been deemed acceptable. For whatever reason, Tim has opened himself up to Dick. By that metric alone, Dick can be what Tim needs. The rest can follow from there.

That settled, Dick throws off the comfortable and climbs out of bed. He’s in desperate need of a wash himself.

Said wash, a change of smallclothes, and the nicer of the two sets of clothes he’d brought from St. Mary’s bring Dick back to a semblance of himself, though coffee would be even better. He can smell its rich, dark scent the moment he opens his chamber door. Dick follows his nose to the dining room. 

“Good morning, everyone,” he says as he enters. Breakfast is a relatively informal meal in the Wayne household, and the first arrivals are already seated and enjoying eggs and bacon. “Steph, I’m surprised to see you awake! How did the game go last night?”

Steph has to chew several times and swallow before she can speak. “I was too hungry to sleep in,” she laughs. “We thrashed ‘em, Miss Grayson! Oh, I wish you’d been there!”

“I’ll be there next time,” he promises. “Did you score at all?”

“Yes, I had three points! It was a great game.” She sighs happily and forks more bacon into her mouth. The serving-maid sets a plate before Dick, and he thanks her. Babs passes Dick the toast and butter.

“And you three? How did you make out?” Dick asks the right hand side of the table, buttering his bread. “Babs, I hope you went to sleep at a reasonable hour?”

Babs grins sheepishly. “Well, I suppose that must depend first on how one defines ‘reasonable’.”

“Forget I asked,” Dick says, laughing. “But if I were you, I’d take it easy this morning. Remember, our afternoon is spoken for. We are to prepare food for the soup kitchen at St. Mary’s.”

“Oh, yes!” Kate pipes up. “We helped Cook with the preparations last night!”

“Did you?” The eggs are delicious, fragrant with green onions and well salted. The bacon is crisp and fatty. Dick takes another piece and savors it.

“I scrubbed potatoes,” Cass says self-importantly. “And Kate peeled some. Cook said there were too many to peel today and still have time to make the food after.”

Dick smiles to himself. So Tim had taken his advice after all. “I hope you didn’t work too hard. Everyone must do their fair share.” Come to think of it, he’d better check in with Cook after breakfast and make sure that everything truly is ready for the afternoon’s plans. Tim has had a difficult week, and it would be no surprise if he hadn’t quite gotten all his ducks in a row.

Jason walks in next, yawning. His hair is sticking up every which way, but it’s damp from washing, and his clothes as well as his skin look freshly cleaned. He takes his seat and smiles at the serving-maid. “Double portions, please, Julie.”

“Yes, Master Jason.” Julie snags Steph’s empty plate and puts a full one in its place, then casts an appraising look around the table. “Miss Grayson, should you like more bacon?”

A momentary struggle is quickly silenced by the memory of exactly how wealthy Captain Wayne is. “Yes, thank you.”

Julie disappears and Dick eats a few more bits of eggs while he considers his approach. Jason saves him the trouble by stretching and remarking, “Last night was sure something, wasn’t it, Miss Grayson? Have you seen Damian yet this morning?”

“What happened with Damian?” Babs frowns across the table.

“He got in a fight,” Dick says repressively. “It was most unwise, but his grounds were valid. He has yet to be out this morning.”

“Here I am,” Damain says. He looks more rumpled than Jason, which is unusual; Damian is usually the best dressed of all of them. He slides into his chair as if he wants to ooze into the floor. “I didn’t sleep much.”

“Coffee,” Julie says, appearing from the servants’ door with a steaming carafe. She fills Damian’s mug and refills Dick’s and Steph’s. From a tray she deposits a heaped plate in front of Jason and a smaller one containing only bacon in front of Dick. “Master Babs, Miss Kate, Miss Cassandra, anything for you?”

“I’m done,” Cass announces, pushing back her place. Julie whisks it away.

“I’m good,” Babs says. She’s finishing her last rasher, chewing meditatively. Kate just shakes her head no to Julie, as her mouth is full. Julie vanishes again.

“You had a fight?” Steph asks.

“They insulted Miss Grayson,” Damian mumbles. “About his skin.”

“His what now?” Steph blinks, then looks at Dick. “What’s to say about it?”

“My people are Roma, or Romani,” Dick says, figuring he might as well be up front about it and get it over with. “You may have heard us called gypsies. Some people don’t like my kind of folk. There are many unpleasant stereotypes about us.”

A gentle hush falls over the table. Not hostile, but surprised, and wondering. Babs breaks it first. She’s round-eyed and looking at Dick with a new kind of kinship in her eyes. “You’re like me,” she declares. 

“You’re not Roma,” Steph objects.

“No, but people look at me different, too. Cause of my legs.” Babs twists around in her seat and hoists one up, depositing it, brace and all, on the corner of the table. Thankfully only her shin is on the tablecloth, the scuffed shoe dangling free in midair, but several of the other children make startled and disapproving noises regardless.

“Put those down,” Jason says, laughing. “We’ve all seen them.”

“Sometimes people don’t notice I have them,” Babs says, taking her leg down but insisting on her point. “Once they do they start treating me different. They think I can’t do even normal things like standing, or that I’m an idiot in my mind, just cause of these. Sometimes I try to hide it, just to make it easier. Even though I know it shouldn’t matter.  And then sometimes I meet other kids who had polio, and when I look at them and they look at me, it’s like, we recognize each other. Even though we never met. Cause we’re the same.” She nods emphatically. “That’s what it’s like for you, too, right, Miss Grayson? That’s what you’re saying.”

“Yes,” Dick says, smiling softly at her. “That’s what I’m saying. It’s a lot like that, yes.”

“Gosh,” Steph says, wide-eyed. “I would’ve never known.” She takes another bite of eggs. “Damian, did you know? Cause of your mom?”

Damian nods. Jason says, “I knew some gypsy - sorry, Roma - folk when I was on the streets. Struggling to get by same as all of us.”

“Where’s Rome on the map?” Babs wants to know. 

Remembering Babs’ struggles with geography, Dick neither laughs at her nor takes this as an insult. “Actually, my people have no country in particular,” he tells her. “Later on we shall look at the maps of Europe, and I’ll show you where my principal heritage comes from.”

“So it’s not the same as the Roman Empire?”

Something a lot like a snort of laughter comes from Jason. Dick sends him a quelling look. “No. Quite distinct.”

“Oh.” 

Dick looks down the table. “Kate? Cass? Do you have any questions?”

The two of them shake their heads. They’re both more preoccupied with folding their napkins into interesting shapes than in the silly distinctions of grown-up people. Being light of skin and eye, they have no need to worry about such things. Dick decides to leave them in ignorance a while longer.

Julie reappears at this opportune moment to take their dishes, as well as Dick’s and Steph’s, and places Damian’s breakfast in front of him. “Miss Timothy should be down soon,” Dick tells her. “You may as well bring his plate out.” Julie bobs acknowledgement and goes back through the servants’ door again, and Dick turns his attention to Kate and Cass. “You may be dismissed,” he tells them. As they rise, he scans their frocks. Play clothes, both of them, and well suited to working in the kitchens later. “You may spend the morning as you like, as long as at least an hour of it is spent out of doors. We will regroup at luncheon and go to the kitchens after that.” 

“Thank you, Miss Grayson,” Kate says for them both. Taking Cass by the hand, they leave at a decorous pace. Dick can hear them break into a run as soon as they’re out of sight. He conceals a smile behind his coffee mug.

“Here’s Miss Timothy’s breakfast,” Julie says, reappearing and a covered dish in front of the empty seat. “Begging your pardon, Miss Grayson, but if he’s not down soon, I’ll take it back to warm.”

“A good idea,” Dick endorses, “but unless I miss my guess - ” and just as Dick says it, Tim walks in hesitantly. “Good morning, Tim.”

Julie whisks the lid off the steaming plate, flips it upside down over her arm, and begins stacking Kate and Cass’ empty plates on it. She also slips Dick’s first plate from before him, leaving him with his last few pieces of bacon, and carts the lot back to the scullery.

“Good morning, everyone.” Tim sits down in his chair and stares at what’s before him as if he doesn’t quite remember what to do with it. Jason, to his left, nudges a fork towards him unsubtly. Tim levels him with a withering glare.

“How are you feeling this morning?” Dick asks, striving for normalcy. He isn’t sure if Tim will want to talk widely of it.

“I’m very well, thank you,” Tim says absently. Then he blinks, shakes himself, and looks up with a real smile. “I am well, truly.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Dick says sincerely.

“It takes more than a fistfight to dampen our Tim,” Jason crows. Then he yelps and rubs his leg, almost as if a sibling has delivered a swift kick to his shin under cover of tablecloth. Dick helps himself to a little more of the bacon and takes no notice.

“Actually, I’m excited because Miss Grayson has had some good ideas regarding my debut,” Tim says. He sounds almost proud, which is an odd turn of events - the child being proud of the governess - but given how topsy-turvy yesterday had been, Dick decides not to think about it too hard. “Miss Kyle is to assist in the planning. Isn’t that clever?”

“Oh, that’s a splendid notion!” Steph, who hadn’t heard this last night, looks cheerful. “I know you were worrying.”

“I wasn’t worrying,” Tim says. “A lady doesn’t worry. Whatever happens, a lady is patient, serene, and accepting.”

“Well, whatever you were, then.” Steph finishes devouring her latest serving of eggs and pushes her plate away at last, sighing a little from fullness. “Now you don’t have to be it anymore, and that’s a win in my book.” She grins. “I did tell you, though. Miss Grayson’s full of good ideas. If you’d listened to me when I said so last week - ”

“One week more or less isn’t going to make any difference to planning Tim’s debut,” Dick says hastily. The last thing he wants is for the peace and harmony of the breakfast so far to devolve into an old-fashioned sibling spat, and the words I told you so are too often a precursor to just that. “I shall send to Miss Kyle today, and I hope she will grace us with a visit some time this week so we may begin our preparations.” Dick thinks about this for a moment, balancing logistics of managing the various children in his head. “If she can come for a morning call, Kate and Cass can see parts of the process, too. It’s a while until they’ll make their debuts, but it’s as well to be prepared.”

“Too true,” Tim says fervently.

Julie comes back into the room. She asks, “Does anyone need anything?”

Everyone but Tim declines; they’re all on second (or, in Steph’s case, third) helpings already. Tim asks for more toast. As the last to the table, he’s been left a little short on that score. Julie produces it and clears away the others’ plates and mugs.

“This morning is free time for everyone,” Dick says, folding his napkin and setting it at his freshly-cleared place. “If you’re not already wearing something you don’t mind getting dirty, change before luncheon. Right after we eat we’ll be headed down to the kitchens. If anyone decides to go riding this morning, please ask Babs if she’d care to join you.”

“She can’t ride alone?” Jason asks.

“Father hasn’t said so,” Damian answers.

“I’ll be speaking with the Captain about that when he returns, but in the meanwhile, no, she may not,” Dick says. “So if any of you are taking a horse out on a Saturday, it would be a kindness to invite her. She’s riding five days a week with me, so no need if you aren’t already planning on it for yourself.”

“I might,” Damian says. “Babs and I usually spend Saturdays together anyway.”

“Right,” Dick says. “I’d forgotten. Enjoy your day, then.”

“Thank you, Miss Grayson,” several people say, in several different ways, as they exit the dining room. Dick himself hesitates to leave, unsure about the wisdom - never mind the etiquette - of leaving Tim at table alone.

“Go on, don’t mind me,” Tim says, correctly interpreting Dick’s hesitation. “I’m not moving very fast this morning. I’ll probably spend the time resting - I didn’t sleep much this last week, and it’s catching up to me now.” His smile is rueful.

“If you’re sure,” Dick begins.

“I am. But thank you.”

Dick nods. Spontaneously, he comes around and gives Tim a quick hug, seated as Tim is, just leaning down to put his arm around Tim’s shoulders and squeezing. “See you at lunch, then.”

They troop down to the kitchens en masse after luncheon is complete, even Terry toddling along with his hand in Dick’s. Dick had gone to see Terry after breakfast, to make up for missing bedtime last night, and Terry had promptly latched on to him and refused to let go, so Dick had figured he might as well come along. Terry won’t actually do any cooking, of course, but it wants half an hour until his nap, and he’ll enjoy being in the thick of things. Another servant brings along a high chair, which gets placed in an out of the way corner. Maria buckles Terry into it and arranges several enticing objects on its tray - dried pasta, a steel spoon, a handful of oyster crackers. Playing with them, babbling to himself, and watching the activity all around, he’s happy and cheerful until Maria quietly whisks him away for his nap.

Everyone else lines up, just as they had that first day in the foyer of Wayne Manor. Dick solemnly ranges himself to Jason’s free side. Tim steps forward, turns, and addresses them all.

Everything is in readiness; Dick has assured himself of that. Cook had admitted freely, when Dick had asked, that she’d helped quite a lot in the preparations. “But my goodness, Miss Grayson, there was so much on Miss Tim’s plate this week, and he’d never done aught of the sort before, I didn’t see the harm. He did a deal more than I expected anyway. And he’s proud as pie about it, too.” Indeed, the pride beams off Tim’s face as he marshals his troops. They’re making potato-and-pea casseroles, three of them, in Cook’s largest roasting pans, and then preparing and chopping vast quantities of vegetables to add to St. Mary’s soup pots and bolster the nutritional value of the stews. That suggestion had come from Damian, who has apparently been reading a great deal lately about Arctic exploration. Woody carrots and peppery radishes from Wayne Manor’s cellars won’t stave off scurvy, but they’ll be appreciated nonetheless. Kate and Cass are put to peeling the carrots, since they’d already practiced on potatoes the night before. Damian and Steph are stationed next to them, watching that they don’t cut themselves, cutting the carrots into chunks once they’re peeled, and slicing radishes between times. The chopped vegetables are loaded into freshly laundered cotton sacks and placed in the icebox to keep until tomorrow. By the time they’re done, there will be a bag of carrots for every child to carry, and the older ones will have radishes, too.

While that’s happening, Tim is leading Jason, Babs, and Dick in the preparation of the casseroles. Dick tackles the remaining unpeeled potatoes while Babs slices the ones Kate and Cass had peeled already. Jason cuts open can after can of preserved peas, picking each over carefully before pouring them into a clean mixing bowl. Next to them on the stove, Tim carefully melts butter and thickens it with flour, then adds water, stirring all the time. Cook is ostensibly busy on other tasks, but she keeps a close eye as Tim carefully measures milk and adds it. Just when the mixture seems as if it will boil over, she leans over and slides one of the stove’s drafts closed. The reduced heat settles the mixture back down.

Dick has finished peeling the potatoes, and taking the slices Babs has been making begins layering them at the bottom of the roasting pans. Every time he completes a layer, Jason pours a thin layer of peas on top from the bowl, and then Dick puts in another layer of potatoes. They build the casseroles up like stick houses until at last all three of the enormous pans are full. 

“Tim?” Dick checks. “How are you doing over there?”

“Just about finished,” Tim says. “Babs, can you fetch me those jugs?”

“Yes, here they are.” Babs brings over three large glass bottles saved from the milk deliveries. They’ve been scoured and steamed and are now ready for their duty - holding the broth to be put in the casseroles until it’s time to bake them.

Tim starts to pick up the pot with the broth, then stops. “Don’t be afraid to ask for help,” Tim mutters, as if he’s quoting something. “Jason, will you lift this for me?”

“Certainly,” Jason says promptly, wrapping his hands in kitchen towels like he’s preparing for a boxing match. Babs laughs at the sight. Kate and Cass, done with carrot-peeling duty and now snacking on bread and cheese from Alfed’s worktable, stand back up and crane their necks to watch as Jason carefully lifts the enormous pot full of thick broth and pours its contents carefully into each glass bottle until they’re full to the brim.

“Now into the icebox,” Tim says, then gasps, suddenly stricken. “I forgot to make sure we had stoppers!”

“Your helper did it for you,” Cook says, nodding at Damian. Steph is working alone on the last of the vegetables, and Damian has been whittling down three large pieces of cork. When he hears Tim’s cry, he looks up and nods.

“I think they’re just right, Tim,” he says. “Let’s try them out.”

“Let’s get the casseroles into the icebox first,” Jason says practically. “They’ll take up more space.”

“Here, you help,” Tim says, hurrying to open the icebox doors. “You, Steph, and Damian all take one.”

Under his direction - somewhat more close direction than actually necessary, which is understandable for a first time chef, though Dick will have to speak with Tim if it starts to be a habit - the three eldest Alphas each take up a roasting pan. They carry them across the kitchen, careful not to spill a pea. One by one the pans are slid into the icebox. Triumphantly Tim shuts the doors on them. 

“Now the stoppers for the broth,” Tim says. Damian brings his whittled pieces over, and they’re each carefully fitted into the openings of the bottles. A few rough edges are smoothed down, and the broth is snug. The three bottles then join the roasting pans. The final carrots and radishes are swept from the counters into the cotton bags and the drawstrings pulled tight. “Everyone take a bag,” Tim says, “and we’ll store these down cellar until tomorrow morning. Then we’ll get up early and bring this all to the soup kitchen before church starts. The casseroles will start heating in their ovens, and the vegetables can go right into the stew, and it’ll all be ready by the time the soup kitchen opens.”

“Perfect,” Dick says approvingly. Tim’s smile is wide and sincere. Under his direction, everyone grabs a bag and heads down the cellar stairs to deposit it proudly in a corner.

“Now we just have to clean up,” Tim says. He puts a hand to his head and then suddenly sits down at Alfred’s worktable. “We can’t leave the kitchen a mess.”

“I think you can go lay down,” Dick says. He lays his own hand on Tim’s forehead and feels no unusual warmth. It’s overwork and anxiety, coming after a difficult evening yesterday.  “You did excellently, Tim. The rest of us can clean.”

“No,” Tim protests. “It’s my responsibility. I have to leave the space as I found it.”

“That’s right noble of you,” Cook puts her two cents in, “but no one can do that whole job themselves. I don’t, Miss Tim, that’s a fact. In my kitchen we all help each other.  I’ll not say you can’t do your part, but it isn’t all for any one person to do. And today your part was cooking. Leave the cleaning to me and my girls.”

Tim looks torn. Dick says, “You can deliver the fruit of your hands tomorrow with a clean conscience. Ask the Mother Superior and he will tell you so too. What we all need now are baths and a rest.” He makes an executive decision. “Dinner will be informal. You may take it as a tray in your room if you wish, or come to table, where we shall be relaxed.” Captain Wayne wouldn’t approve, but he isn’t here, and the children have shown more than enough discipline for one day. Dick grins. “We shall eat off our knives, with our elbows on the table and our mouths open, if we like.”

That makes most of the children laugh, and even Tim manages a wan chuckle. “If you’re certain it’s all right, Miss Grayson, Cook.”

“Quite certain,” Dick says, and “Lord, yes,” Cook says emphatically.

That makes Tim smile. “Thank you.” He stands, swaying only a little and making it look like he’s holding on to the chair for no other reason than he forgot to remove his hand. He looks around the kitchen at all of his siblings. “Thank you all.”

“Aw, Tim, it was nothing,” Jason says. He slings an arm around Tim’s shoulders as if he’s giving Tim a hug or a slap on the back. Dick guesses how much of Tim’s weight Jason’s actually supporting as he maneuvers them both out of the kitchens. “Like I said last week, it’s good to give back. Course, we got to think about next week. I was wondering if we might get some mushrooms…”

“All right, let’s get a move on,” Dick says to the remaining children, taking Kate and Cass by the hands and starting for the door. “Cook wants her kitchen back, I’m sure.”

“If I can have dinner on a tray, I’m going to read all night,” Babs says ecstatically, bringing up the rear. “Two nights in a row! It’s like Christmas.” She yawns. “But I think I’m going to lie down a bit before then.”

She doesn’t say it, but it had been a lot of standing for her. Dick kicks himself for not putting the vegetable chopping at Alfred’s table. Well, he’ll know better next week. “Excellent idea. Kate, Cass, you’re to spend time in your rooms as well. You needn’t sleep or lie down, but you must play quietly and not exert yourselves.” He could have saved his breath; both of the young girls look like they’ve barely got the strength to yawn. “Steph - ”

“I’m all right, Miss Grayson. I’m going to do some studying.”

Exercise for the mind after an afternoon of exercise for the body - Dick nods approvingly. “All right. Knock on Babs’ door when you come down for dinner. Just in case she’s asleep.”

“Won’t she need her sleep?”

“She’ll need dinner more. She can sleep after she eats.”

Steph laughs. “Will do.”

“Go on, then, children,” Dick says, stopping at his own door. He watches them go each into their own room before turning into his. 

He doesn’t need a rest himself - he’s used to long days in a kitchen, though after two weeks at Wayne Manor, he finds he’s glad to settle into the settee in his room with a book. Alfred had located a few volumes for him on the subject of proper etiquette for young ladies, and each has devoted considerable space to the occasion of one’s debut. Dick is reading those chapters in preparation for Miss Kyle’s visit on Thursday morning.

He tucks his legs under him and opens his book with a smile. For the first time since coming to Wayne Manor, he’s starting to feel as if everything might just be under control.

Chapter Text

Sunday morning dawns crisp and clear, and Dick throws back his curtains to see steam rising off the ground like fog in the dawn sun. It will be a cold day. He must make certain the children bundle up well before they go off to church.

At breakfast everyone is wide awake and chattering despite the hard work of the day before. The excitement of getting to deliver the results of their labor is sparkling in everyone’s eyes and tugging up the corners of everyone’s lips. Even Terry beats his spoon on the tablecloth and talks about being a helper. Dick judges that they’ll find themselves drooping after Sunday dinner, but that’s no harm. Sundays are the orthodox day to take naps, in the Wayne household. 

Down in the kitchens again after breakfast, Tim supervises as a milk crate is fetched from the pantry and the three bottles of broth are placed inside it, thickly padded with straw to prevent cracking. The roasting pans are pulled out from the iceboxes and carried out to the car along with the milk crate. Dick leads the parade down cellar to fetch the sacks of vegetables. Laid close around the milk crate and roasting pans, they’ll keep them from shifting in the Pierce Arrow’s trunk. With the food settled, the children bundle into their warmest wraps. Then everyone piles into the car and they’re off.

The change from last Sunday’s drive to church is remarkable. No one is pinching, poking, or pulling hair today. Everyone is too busy speculating on how many people their efforts will feed, how the casseroles will taste, how surprised and happy the soup kitchen’s visitors will be to discover vegetables in their stew in March. 

“Last night, Babs said getting to read through dinner two nights in a row was like Christmas for her,” Dick says at one point. “Well, this food is going to make today like Christmas for many other people.”

The younger children variously clap their hands and squeal in delight. Even the older ones look pleased and proud. 

When they pull up to the church, they’re early enough that the sidewalks are empty except for a tall figure dressed in a black habit and wimple. “Reverend Mother!” Dick says as he climbs out of the car. “It’s too cold for you to stand out here. Please tell me you weren’t waiting for us?”

“I’ve waited in much colder places for less beloved people,” the Mother Abbess smiles, patting Dick’s hands gently. “Children, you are all blooming! Have you come to deliver your donation to our soup kitchen?”

“Yes, Reverend Mother,” Tim says, stepping forward. The duties of leadership include the privilege of speaking for the group. “We have vegetables chopped and prepared to add to the stews, and we have three potato-and-pea casseroles to be cooked, along with the broth.”

“Wonderful,” the Mother Abbess says. “Here are some other children to help carry it all in.” He claps his hands, and the orphanage door springs open. Dick remembers waiting by it, one of the younger children standing on his shoulders to see out the high windows and watch for the Reverend Mother’s signal. It would usually be a horse-cart rather than a motorcar pulled up outside St. Mary’s, containing provisions purchased from or donated by the grocers of Gotham. When Dick had first come to Gotham, the carts that had pulled up had been full, and all the children of the orphanage had taken many trips to carry it all inside. Then they had been less full, and there had only been one or perhaps two trips. Then, more recently, the last few children to arrive at the cart had found nothing for them to carry at all.

Rich as the Waynes are, they still can’t donate in the kind of volume a greengrocer can. Dick had told the Mother Superior in advance exactly what they were bringing, and when the orphanage door opens, only a half-dozen of the older children come out to help carry. But the Waynes have put time and effort into their gifts as well as money. Every potato they’ve peeled, every carrot they’ve chopped, are one fewer that a nun or an orphan have to prepare. Remembering days spent picking over peas until his fingers had cramped, Dick doesn’t underestimate the value of what they’ve provided.

The Mother Abbess leads the way into the kitchens. Jason, Steph, and Damian set down the roasting-pans. Dick works the corks carefully loose from the mouths of the bottles, and Tim pours each the contents of each into a casserole until the liquid brims up nearly to the rims. Sister Mary Clarence opens the oven doors, and the roasting-pans are placed gently and shut up inside, there to bake slowly until the soup kitchen opens later this afternoon. The vegetable sacks are piled more prosaically in corners. Stews will be making in various stages all day, and they will be added at the appropriate time by whomever is tending each pot.

“Thank you all,” the Mother Superior says warmly. “It’s truly a blessing to have such gifts. I hope and pray the Lord will bless you all, my children.” 

“Thank you, Reverend Mother,” Tim says for the group.

“We’d best be getting over to Mass now, Reverend Mother,” Dick says. “I’ll be in touch about next week’s donation.”

“Go with God, Richard.” He smiles benevolently.

The church is beginning to fill, but there are still two pews together near the front, so Dick begins shepherding the children down the aisle. Father Gideon intercepts them. “Richard!” she says. “Good morning to you. Good morning, children.”

“Good morning, Father,” they chorus.

“I understand you’ve just dropped off a generous donation to our soup kitchen.”

“It was nothing, Father,” Tim says modestly.

“Nonsense. The Mother Abbess tells me you all worked in the kitchens to prepare it. A labor of love is an offering acceptable to the Lord.”

Every face beams with pride. 

“Since you have done one good deed, I hope to enlist you for another,” Father Gideon goes on. “Several of our parishioners are ill lately, and two are bed-bound. Normally I would send some of our brother monks to bring them the host, but I thought I might commission you as extraordinary ministers instead. Jason, you’re the eldest. Will you undertake this charge? I hope your siblings will help carry it out.”

Dick’s jaw nearly drops. “Father Gideon!”

Jason blinks. “Uh… yes?” He sounds as if he has no idea what he’s getting into.

“This is an enormous honor,” Dick says, trying to make Jason understand. “Father Gideon will call you up before the congregation after communion and commission you to take the sealed package…”

“It’s a kindness,” Father Gideon says. “These parishioners live several miles away, and our motorcar is currently out of commission. The time our brothers would have spent walking can instead be used in service of the poor. If you would put your vehicle and your labor in the service of the church once more?”

“Oh… yes, certainly, Father,” Jason says. He still doesn’t sound as if he quite appreciates the gravity of what he’s been asked to do, but he bows politely, and Father Gideon pats him on the shoulder. 

“Thank you, Mr. Wayne,” she says. That makes Jason puff up proudly. Dick meditates a homily on humility, but this is neither the time nor the place. After the service, while they’re driving over, Dick can try to bring Jason to a better sense of appreciation. “Go on up with you, now. Mass will begin shortly.”

They take seats on the front left-hand side of the church, and Dick makes Jason sit on the aisle of the forward pew so he can step out easily. Jason seems bemused by the whole thing. Damian sits next to him, talking quietly but seriously. Dick, in the rear pew with the younger ones sandwiched between he and Maria, can’t quite hear what they’re saying. He hopes Damian is explaining matters to Jason. Certainly Jason seems to grow graver as the service goes on, and when Father Gideon calls him forward, he approaches with a becoming gravity and bows to the altar. The service concludes shortly after. 

“Okay, I’ve got the thingy,” Jason says, eying the sealed box in his hands with some trepidation. “What do we do with it?”

“The - oh, for Heaven’s sake,” Dick says, exasperated. “It’s not a thingy, it’s a pyx, and it - ”

“We shouldn’t wait around,” Damian interrupts. “Isn’t it inappropriate to delay?”

“It is,” Tim agrees. At least those two have paid attention in Sunday School. “Come on, Jason. Don’t let it out of your hands.”

The crowd is still thick, but it parts when Dick puts Jason at the head of the pack. An extraordinary minister is a rare sight at St. Mary’s; with an attached convent and monastery, not to mention a rector in her prime and a motor-car of their own. The inevitable conclusion drawn by most parishioners is that Father Gideon had wished to show the Waynes favor for some reason. They draw back respectfully, and one or two even bow as Jason passes, though Dick hopes the reverence is for the pyx and not for the person. 

Out in the fresh air, Alfred is pulling the car up to the curb. Jason hops in before it’s even stopped, clearly uncomfortable with the amount of attention he’s getting. The other children pile in, but Dick stays back to accept a scrap of paper from Sister Mary Clarence with the two addresses written on it. “You’re doing so well, Richard,” she says to him in parting. “God is with you.”

“Thank you, Sister,” Dick says with a lump in his throat. He’s starting to believe it’s true.

Alfred is waiting by the car when Dick turns to him. “I understand we’re making some special stops, Miss Grayson?” His eyes twinkle.

“Yes, here are the addresses.” Dick hands Alfred the scrap. “Jason has been entrusted with a great honor.”

“Indeed he has. I’ll drive most carefully.”

Alfred is as good as his word, and the Pierce Arrow glides around corners and crests hills as decorously as a maiden aunt on their Sunday walk. Their first destination is a stately old brick home in a respectable neighborhood, with tracts of greenery between each building and a maid in a starched apron opening the door. Maria has stayed in the car with Terry, but otherwise all the Wayne children are permitted to follow in one by one behind Jason to watch him awkwardly fumble open the pyx and present the host to Mrs. Carrington. That worthy thanks Jason gravely and imbibes. The maid bows them all back out.

Back in the car, Alfred takes them downtown again, through the Financial District and out towards the Bowery. The children watch from the windows as greenery gives way to board sidewalks and then to poorly paved roads. Alfred slows down.

“Miss Grayson, our destination appears to be a little further on yet.” His choice of words is delicate, but Dick sees immediately what he’s getting at. This road continues on through tenement neighborhoods and ultimately dead-ends at Dixon Docks. “How would you like to proceed?”

“We’d better not take the car down there,” Jason says quietly. Dick remembers how Jason had come to be part of the Wayne family and is forced to agree. He doesn’t think Captain Wayne would appreciate returning home this evening to find the Pierce Arrow missing all of its tires. But neither does he want to parade the entire Wayne clan through these neighborhoods, especially not while dressed in their Sunday clothes.

“The older children and I will get out and walk the rest of the way. The younger will wait here, with you, Alfred, and with Maria,” Dick decides. “Let me see that address again.” Alfred pulls to the side of the road - there’s no curb here, at the poor end of the Bowery - and passes the scrap of paper back to Dick. “All right. I know where this is.” Jason peers over Dick’s shoulder and nods. The address isn’t in the slums proper, and it’s not too close to the docks for safety, not really. The younger children must stay behind, but Jason had lived on these streets, and Steph and Damian can take care of themselves. Tim is more of a concern, but he’ll take it poorly if Dick orders him to remain behind. In the company of Dick and three of his brothers, Tim should be all right. “Maria, you’re in charge of the children while I’m gone. Alfred, wait here for us if you can. Circle the block if necessary. We’ll walk down to Mr. Jones’ residence, deliver our charge, and then return. We should be no longer than…” Dick calculates. 

“Three-quarters of an hour,” Jason says.

“Yes, that’s about right,” Dick agrees. He doesn’t say if we’re not back in that time, call the police out loud; he doesn’t want the younger children to worry. Or the older, for that matter. He trusts Alfred to understand it without being said.

And  Alfred nods solemnly, accepting the trust. “Understood, Miss Grayson.”

“Right, then. Let’s be on with it.” Dick pops open the door from inside - in this neighborhood, Alfred prudently remains behind the wheel - and climbs out. Jason follows him, as do Tim, Steph, Damian - 

“Babs?” Dick had meant her to remain in the car. She looks at him defiantly, and Dick’s mind races. She’s not that much younger than Damian, and she’s not from as privileged a background as Tim. But she hasn’t got her growth spurt, and though Dick hates himself for thinking it, her bout with polio - 

Babs looks at him definitely, and Dick reads it all written plain across her face. She knows he’d meant her to stay behind. She knows he’s thinking of her leg braces. If he tells her to stay behind now, she’ll never forgive him.

“Babs,” Dick repeats, “close the door behind you.”

She flushes with triumph and does so. Dick meets Alfred’s eyes through the windshield, hoping he hasn’t just made a mistake. But they’re not in the slums. And there are enough of them, with enough height and bulk and street smarts between them, that they should be safe.

They set off down the street. Babs points to the first greengrocer’s they pass. “That’s where my dad nabbed a thief one time,” she says.

Dick realizes with a start that he doesn’t know Babs’ history. “Did you grow up in this neighborhood?” he asks, kicking himself. If she’s a street kid herself, him coddling her would be worse than foolish. “Before you came to live with Captain Wayne?”

Babs shakes her head. “We were a few miles up, in the Bowery. My dad was a cop.”

“Oh,” Dick says, understanding. There’s an entire history in that one sentence. “Killed in the line?”

Babs nods. “When I was five. Mam was already dead then, along with my baby brother.”

“I’m sorry to hear it.”

“At first I was real mad.”

“I can imagine.”

“Not at the shooter,” Babs clarifies. “At my uncle.”

“Your uncle?” Dick blinks.

“Uncle Gordon’s a cop, too.” Babs scuffs a foot against the road, and Jason nudges her away from a passing motorcar. Damian and Tim are listening avidly. They don’t know this story, either. “He and my dad were on the case together. Dad got shot instead of Uncle Gordon. And then, afterwards, Uncle Gordon tried to take me in, but he couldn’t do it.” 

“Why not?” Damian asks.

Babs shoves her hands in the pockets of her pants and slouches along angrily. “He said he was working a lot and couldn’t take care of me. He isn’t married, you see. But Dad wasn’t married either, not after Mam died, and he worked a lot, too. I took care of myself. Uncle Gordon didn’t think I could take care of myself.” Babs stares down at her leg braces. “He thought I needed to be cared for. He was gonna put me in a home.”

“Oh no,” Dick says, horrified. Every orphan knows what a home is like. They’d all lived in fear of being sent to one. But to send Babs, when she’s got living flesh and blood - 

“One day we fought about it down at the station. Uncle Gordon forgot his lunch pail, so I brought it to him. He was angry that I’d walked so far on my own. He said I was hurting myself, and I was in danger. He said I couldn’t run away if there was trouble.” Dick gives fervent thanks that he’d never voiced that same thought, which had crossed his own mind mere minutes before. “Captain Wayne was there that day. It was right after Jason tried to steal from him, and the Captain was talking with the chief about juvenile - juvenile - about how to stop kids from turning into criminals. The Captain heard Uncle Gordon and me arguing, and he told Uncle Gordon that he’d take me in.”

“And Gordon agreed,” Dick says softly. “Your Uncle agreed that you should go live with someone else.” Babs hasn’t said that that hurts her. Babs hasn’t said a thing about her uncle, not one single word, not about even having an uncle, the entire time Dick has known her. 

“Yeah.” Babs doesn’t say any more.

“I’m glad you’re one of us,” Jason declares, wrapping an arm around Babs’ shoulders and squeezing.

“Me too,” says Steph, and “Me too,” says Tim. Damian says nothing. But he walks along next to Babs, and their shoulders bump.

“Here we are.” Dick leads the children across one final street crossing, carefully ignoring the group of kids loitering on the catty-corner. They’re petty thieves, in Dick’s estimation, but they can see from the Waynes’ body language that they’re not easy pickings. It’s been a smooth journey all told. Only a few gangs to dodge, and all of them had read the signs and decided against messing with the Waynes. There are easier pigeons to pluck in tenement Gotham. “Third floor.”

They climb the stairs, Babs no slower than anyone else. I can run as fast as Damian, she’d told Dick at their first meeting, and I don’t wanna sit down and rest, and I do think I can climb that tree, and I don’t wanna be told otherwise! No one at Wayne Manor, Dick remembers, had ever said or implied anything of the sort. That particular list of grievances must predate her adoption by Captain Wayne. This Uncle Gordon had probably said all of those things to her at one time or another. Probably more than once. No wonder Babs had been so insistent. No wonder she loves her horseback riding, and her Saturdays roaming the woods with Damian. No wonder she refuses to be left behind. Dick must remember. He must never make that mistake and lose Babs’ trust.

The door is opened here not by a starched and aproned servant, but by a raggedy child who stares at the Waynes in round-eyed surprise. A nephew or a cousin of some sort, Dick guesses, if not an orphan herself, taken in by an older man in need of help. She lets them in when they explain their errand. Mr. Jones is in a ratty old armchair, a knitted afghan covering his lap, a worn flannel shirt the only garment visible. It’s cold in the room. The difference between Mr. Jones and Mrs. Carrington is sharp. Jason, Steph, and Babs show no surprise. Tim and Damian do.

It’s nearly noon, so they don’t linger, lest Mr. Jones try to offer them food he doesn’t have to spare. Jason presents him with the host, accepts murmured thanks, and they’re back out on the tenement stairs almost as soon as they’ve entered. Tim and Damian look preoccupied as they climb back down to the street.

“Miss Grayson,” Damian begins, as they start walking back uptown to where they’d left Alfred and the others. “Do you think - ”

“There’s always gonna be poor folk, lil’ bro,” Jason says, not unkindly. “Mr. Jones has a roof over his head. He’s lucky.”

Damian frowns unhappily. Dick knows Jason is right, knows that even a millionaire like Captain Wayne couldn’t spend everyone in Gotham’s way out of poverty, but he also knows that Damian’s kind heart is worth preserving. He debates with himself. Two blocks from here, Dick knows, is a public park, and a Hoover village has sprung up there. The detour would be short enough that it shouldn’t worry Alfred. Maybe if Damian saw the people they are currently helping, with their work in the soup kitchen and other charities, he would understand why someone like Mr. Jones can’t be their priority. Then again, maybe it would just break his heart. Despair helps no one. Dick hesitates, doubts, and wishes he could ask Jason’s opinion. He’s noticed that Jason is protective of Damian and knows him best out of all Damian’s other siblings. Unfortunately, Jason is walking close next to Damian, and Dick doesn’t see a way of detaching Jason without Damian taking notice.

Then Jason does it for Dick. His steps slow, and his head turns. He looks startled. “Harl?” he says. Then suddenly Jason has bolted across the street, around a corner, and out of sight. “Harl!” he calls as he goes. “Wait up!”

“No, don’t,” Dick says sharply when it seems as if some of the other children might try to follow. Jason is more than capable of taking care of himself, but Dick has Tim and Damian to think of: if the pack splits up further, some of the petty gangs who had ignored the Waynes up until now might rethink their position. “Keep walking. Jason will catch up.” The vital thing is to act as if this is normal and expected. Steph helps, staying close to Tim and talking to him, distracting him from turning to look after Jason. Dick does the same with Damian and makes sure Babs stays in the middle of them all. 

Pounding footsteps from behind announce Jason’s return before they’ve gone much more than a block without him. Dick breathes a little easier and drops back to let Jason join him, leaving Damian to Steph. “Harley?” he murmurs, keeping his voice low.

“I thought so,” Jason says. He sounds a little out of breath and a lot bewildered. “I was sure it was her, I saw her clear as day, but she didn’t respond when I called to her. Thought I saw her disappearing up into one of the squats in the Hoover village, but then when I called no one popped out. She musta seen it was me.” He shakes his head in confusion. “I can’t figure out what she’s doing here. I mean, the bootleggers run through here all the time, sure, but she doesn’t usually get involved with that part of the business.”

“She does their cars,” Dick remembers.

“Yeah. She usually stays by the junkyard or the warehouses. This ain’t her kind of neighborhood. Not enough to tinker with.”

“Maybe it wasn’t her,” Dick suggests.

“I guess it must not have been,” Jason agrees, but doubtfully. “I guess I - ”

The blare of a horn cuts Jason off. Dick had been aware, peripherally, of a motor-car coming up the street behind them. That kind of awareness is automatic. But he hadn’t taken any serious notice of it. A motor-car, down in this area, means bootleggers. Bootleggers aren’t going to stop and mess with a group of kids walking, and the Waynes certainly weren’t going to mess with them. So Dick hadn’t been paying it any mind. But now it’s honking at them, and and they all look around in surprise. Dick sees a Daimler luxury car. The children see something else - the man behind the wheel - and burst into cries of happiness. 

“Father! Father!” they shout, running towards the car. “You’re home! You’re back!”

Indeed, it’s Captain Wayne maneuvering the car to a stop and throwing open the door. He’s mobbed as soon as he does, Tim and Babs throwing themselves bodily on him and preventing him from even getting out of the car. Jason, Damian, and Steph, are more restrained, but they join the crowd around the Captain, talking excitedly and all at once about everything that’s happened while the Captain’s been away. 

Dick stays a decent distance away, giving them space for their reunion. He’s happy to see the Captain back, and even happier to see the gladness with which the children greet their adoptive father. They have all missed him, and all, in their own ways, have expressed to Dick how much they wish the Captain would spend more time with them. Dick himself is hoping to gain Captain Wayne’s authorization on a number of points - Babs being permitted to ride independently, Kate and Cass beginning riding lessons, several orders of sample items for Tim’s debut - as well as generally needing to hear more about Jason’s post-graduate options, when Babs is to start school, and a dozen other matters. Two weeks is really too long for any head of household to stay away. Perhaps Dick can gain permission to phone Captain Wayne on his business trips to discuss matters of import - 

“That’s enough,” Captain Wayne says. His voice cuts through the chatter and the merriment, and the children fall back, visibly confused. The Captain doesn’t sound warm and happy to be greeted. He sounds cold and hard and almost annoyed. “All of you get in the car. Miss Grayson, where are the rest of my children?”

“With Alfred, in the Pierce Arrow,” Dick says, thrown off by Captain Wayne’s unexpected demeanor. “About ten blocks north. We didn’t want to bring the car farther into this neighborhood.”

“At least you cared about the car.” Captain Wayne sounds angry. “Climb in, Miss Grayson. I will take the children back to Alfred, and then you will be my guest on the drive back to Wayne Manor. I wish to discuss your management of my children.”

There’s a shocked silence as Dick mutely gets into the Daimler and Captain Wayne puts it into gear. It’s broken a block later by Tim, who says, “Father, Jason - ”

“I will hear your grievances against each other later, Timothy.”

“It’s not a grievance!” Tim sounds shocked. “Jason was chosen as an extraordinary minister by Father Gideon this morning! We were delivering communion to the housebound.”

Captain Wayne takes a deep breath in through his nose. “That is good to know. Thank you. You may tell me the rest of your news later.”

“But Father - ”

“Later.”

There’s a note in Captain Wayne’s voice that makes Tim fall silent, and no one else dares to say a word. The Daimler pulls up behind the Pierce Arrow. Alfred has seen them coming and gets out of the car. Captain Wayne does likewise and pulls open the rear door. “Out,” he tells the children.

“Welcome back, Master Bruce,” Alfred says. “I’m sure the children have told you - ”

“I have told them we will discuss their grievances later. Please take my children back to Wayne Manor. I will drive Miss Grayson. We have much to discuss.”

“Master Bruce,” Alfred says repressively. “You must certainly be tired from your travels. I think perhaps you should postpone your discussion until you have settled in.”

“Thank you, Alfred, I feel quite settled.” The older children have gotten into the Pierce Arrow. Dick can see them through the windshield, their heads together as they speak rapidly amongst themselves. The younger children, he thinks, will be clamoring to get out, to greet their father. The older children are keeping them back. Terry has seen Captain Wayne through the window and is struggling in Maria’s arms. “Take my children home. We will speak tonight.”

Alfred presses his lips together and gives Captain Wayne a significant look. “Very well, Master Bruce,” he says. He gets back into the car, and the Pierce Arrow pulls away.

“Now,” Captain Wayne says, getting back into the Daimler. He closes the door, but doesn’t put it into gear. “You will explain to me what my children were doing in the slums.”

Dick opens his mouth, offended, and then closes it again and takes a deep breath. Watch your temper, Richard, Sister Mary Clarence murmurs in his memory. Captain Wayne does not look as if he would appreciate a lecture on the difference between the tenements and the slums, nor an explanation of how conflating the two is insulting. Best stick to the facts. “This morning, after the children made their weekly donation to the St. Mary’s soup kitchen, Father Gideon honored Jason by commissioning him as an extraordinary minister and charged him to bring eucharist to two parishioners who were bed-bound,” Dick says concisely. “We were fulfilling that commission.”

Captain Wayne’s fingers tap on the steering wheel significantly. “Jason has spent the majority of his life in these neighborhoods and knows them well,” he says. “No doubt Father Gideon had that in mind when he selected Jason for this honor. While I would prefer that Jason remain… apart… from his former life, naturally he could not refuse Father Gideon. But the others, Miss Grayson? What on Earth possessed you to bring them down here?”

“They wished to come,” Dick says.

“I see,” Captain Wayne says. “They wished to come. And since you are their governess, in a position of authority, whose duty it is to guide them properly, naturally you gave in.”

“With all due respect, I do not see the harm in allowing the elder children to participate in Christian charity.”

“Christian charity is donating to the soup kitchens at St. Mary’s,” Captain Wayne says cuttingly. “It is not traipsing through the dangerous areas of the city, making themselves a target for all manner of criminality - ”

“This is a poor neighborhood, yes, but a respectable one,” Dick says. He’s beginning to lose his grip on his outrage. “To say it’s a hive of illegal activity is untrue and offensive.”

“On the last mile of our drive alone we passed two pickpocket rings and a mugger.”

“None of whom bothered us,” Dick points out, “because we possessed between us the knowledge and awareness of how to pass unmolested.”

“And you think this is appropriate knowledge for my children to have?” Captain Wayne looks incredulous. He sounds angry. Dick can’t understand it.

“Your children have that knowledge already, most of them,” Dick says, trying to make him see. “Jason, Steph, Babs, they came from this world. Tim and Damian didn’t, but they ought to see it, to know it, because it’s part of Gotham, and they’re part of Gotham - ”

“Miss Grayson,” Captain Wayne says, biting every word. “I know that your own background may dispose you to think these matters are of some use, but the fact is that my sons are gentleman, and my daughters are ladies - ”

“And before they were your sons and daughters, they were someone else’s!” Dick cries, goaded beyond caution and beyond caring. “They were poor, or middle class! And then they were orphans, and if they were lucky they were in an orphanage and worked all day for their meals, and if they weren’t lucky they scrabbled and worked all day and probably didn’t get meals! They met all kinds of people and did whatever they had to do to survive! Just because they’re your children now doesn’t mean they’ve stopped being whoever they were before! It’s part of them, it will always be part of them, and that part of them needs love and acceptance, too, or else you don’t really love and accept them at all! You can’t just wave a magic millionaire wand and erase anything you don’t like from their history - ”

“That. Is. Enough.” Captain Wayne doesn’t shout. It would be less frightening, somehow, if he shouted. He doesn’t pound his fist on the steering wheel or box Dick’s ears. He merely stares at Dick with his eyes burning with fury and his words firing out like bullets from a gun. “I will now take you back to Wayne Manor, where you will pack your things and receive your pay for services rendered. Alfred will then drive you back to St. Mary’s.” He puts the car in gear. “Tonight.”

Dick opens his mouth, then closes it again. There’s nothing more to say. Or, rather, there’s nothing more that Captain Wayne will listen to. There’s more Dick should say, more the Captain ought to hear, and if he’s fired anyway Dick has nothing more to lose by saying it. But if the Captain won’t hear it, Dick will only be wasting his breath. 

They’re silent the entire drive back to the Manor. Dick is holding his tongue and trying, at the same time, not to cry. He’s determined not to show weakness in front of the Captain. The Captain wouldn’t understand it. He’d think Dick is crying because of the Captain’s harsh words, or because Dick is afraid of what he will do after being turned out of Wayne Manor. He won’t understand Dick wants to cry from sheer rage at what the Captain is doing to his children, all out of some misguided idea of love for them.

Chapter Text

Captain Wayne drives the Daimler like he’s flying an airplane. He’s perfectly in control at all times, but they careen around curves, accelerate up hills, and go flying over bumps and potholes with casual disregard for the cost of shocks and belts. Despite their delay for conversation, they arrive soon enough after the Pierce Arrow that it’s still sitting beneath the portico. Captain Wayne parks behind it. He comes around to open Dick’s door and offers Dick his hand. Dick looks at it with contempt, and silently gets out on his own.

Alfred opens the front door before either of them can reach it. “Master Bruce,” he says, stepping outside. “I would like a word with you.”

“Not now, Alfred,” Captain Wayne says. He strides past Alfred. Dick follows him, still angry, and then comes to a forced stop. Captain Wayne has stopped too, just inside the doorway. Neither of them can proceed. The children have made a semicircle around the door, preventing them from going any farther. Even Terry is there in Maria’s arms, though Maria herself looks anxious and worried.

“Go to your rooms, children,” Captain Wayne says sternly. “I will come see each of you later.”

“We call a meeting of the family council,” Jason says. 

“Now is not the time.”

“Now is the only time.” 

Dick stares. This is a side of Jason he’s never seen before. Playful he’s seen, rough he’s seen, even vulnerable. This firm, unyielding, adult demeanor is new. Jason isn’t acting angry or antagonistic, though some of the middle children are openly glaring and Cass looks near tears. Jason looks firm, and as immovable as the proverbial rock.

Captain Wayne takes a deep breath in through his nose, just as he’d done in the car, earlier. It must calm him, because he says, “Very well. Then we will meet now.” To Dick: “Miss Grayson, go and pack while I speak with my children. Then come see me in my study for your wages up through today - ”

“Miss Grayson’s presence is also required,” Jason says inflexibly. 

“Miss Grayson is not a member of this family,” Captain Wayne says.

Tim looks murderous. Jason puts an arm out to his side without turning his head, preventing Tim from stepping forward, and says, “That is not solely your decision to make, Father.”

Captain Wayne attempts the breathing technique again. This time his nostrils flare and turn white at the edges, and he doesn’t look noticeably calmer when he’s done. “Let us have this farce and be done with it,” he snaps. He turns on his heel and strides, not towards the east wing and his office, but towards the dining room. The children part to let him pass and follow behind him in perfect order. 

“Go on,” Alfred murmurs quietly from behind Dick. Dick can’t help his start. “Take your seat. Take what you’ve earned.” He nods towards the door to the dining room significantly.

“I never wanted to cause problems between the Captain and the children,” Dick says to Alfred. He hears the upset in his own voice and wishes he’d kept his mouth shut.

Alfred shakes his head. “All you’ve done is reveal what was already there,” he says. “Go. Please.”

Dick feels like he’s in a nightmare, where one’s body moves without one’s conscious intent. What Dick should do is go to his room and pack his things and leave Wayne Manor before he can make anything any worse for this family. What he actually does is follow Alfred’s instructions, enter the dining room, and take his now-customary seat at the end of the table.

As soon as Dick does so, Jason says, “This meeting of the family council will come to order.” He rises. “For the information of the newcomer - ” bowing to Dick. “The family council is an organizational body introduced by the Chairman, Captain Wayne, and modeled on the board of directors of a large corporation. Its purpose is to give all members of the family input into matters concerning them. Mr. Frank Gilbreth, whose name you may have heard mentioned, pioneered the idea of applying it to a large family with great success.”

“Get on with it,” Captain Wayne snaps.

Jason turns to him. “It has come to the attention of the membership that the Chairman intends to dismiss Miss Grayson from his duties,” he says. “We object.”

Captain Wayne’s teeth can be heard grinding clear across the table. “I will now hear from the membership.”

Jason is seated. Tim rises in his turn. “Miss Grayson,” he says, “has been an exemplary governess to date. His social graces have improved my own standing and helped me navigate difficult situations successfully. He is an example to all the young ladies of the household.”

Steph is next. “Miss Grayson has demonstrated grace and empathy with our transgressions and inspires us all with a wish to improve ourselves.”

Damian says, “Miss Grayson has brought us into a fuller understanding of our religion and how we can assist the needy of our city.”

Babs: “Miss Grayson respects us all as individuals and teaches us tolerance and kindness.”

Kate stumbles over her words, but manages to say, “Miss Grayson does new things with us, like take us to learn how to run a kitchen so we’ll know how when we’re great ladies.”

Cass stands up at her turn, but whatever she’d been coached to say, she never gets it out. She looks at her father’s stern face, bursts into tears, and sits back down.

Captain Wayne looks at Terry. Terry looks back, and Maria says, “Nothing from Terry, sir.”

“Very well,” Captain Wayne says. “Now it is my turn.” He stands. “Miss Grayson,” he says, “has jeopardized your safety by taking you into dangerous parts of the city without adequate protection or provision. He has exposed you to rough elements that imperil your social standing and will reflect poorly on you in the class to which you belong. He lacks a background of gentility himself and is ill-equipped to support you in the rank you have attained. None of the points you have raised obviate those concerns, and as such, my decision to dismiss Miss Grayson stands.”

The Captain sits down to utter silence. He glowers around the table, and says in a deceptively mild tone, “Is there any other business?”

“Yes.” It’s Tim who speaks out this time. Dick has pushed Tim out to become a leader and a spokesperson for his family over their donations to St. Mary’s soup kitchen, and he’s wrought better than he’d known, because the Tim who had been frightened of performing in front of a crowd at his recital is nowhere to be seen. This Tim is grimly determined, sure of his righteousness and ready to damn the torpedoes. “If the Chairman is unwilling to listen to the membership’s desires, and insists on enforcing his own singular will at the expense of the expressed will of the remainder of the membership, then I call for a vote of no confidence in Chairman Wayne’s leadership.”

Captain Wayne rears back like he’s been struck. His face turns a red so dark it’s nearly purple, and his mouth flops open. “You - you would - ” he sputters. He looks around the table at his children, and while several of them look frightened, and Cass is still crying, no one gainsays Tim. “You would really choose - he’s only been here for two weeks!”

“That’s two weeks more than you’ve ever been here for us,” Tim says cruelly.

Dick is out of his chair before he even realizes he’s moving. “Tim, no!” he cries. He forgets Captain Wayne, forgets this bizarre family council with its rigid-seeming rules and formal dialogue. He only knows he can’t let Tim do this. “You’re angry, and you want to hurt your father, but you’re not thinking. He loves you! He wants what’s best for you! You don’t want to destroy your relationship with him.”

“He wants to destroy our relationship with you,” Tim says. “I won’t let him! I won’t!”

“You don’t need to be cruel. Tim, it’s okay.” Dick is finding it hard to speak around the lump in his throat, but he comes around to Tim and enfolds him in a tight hug. “I know how you feel, but this is your home. Captain Wayne is your father. That’s more important than anything.”

“You don’t get it,” Tim says. There’s a damp patch on Dick’s shoulder when Tim pulls back, and his eyes are wet, but he throws his head back proudly and stands like a statue of a Greek goddess, supremely certain of his own rightness. “Captain Wayne is my adopted father, yes, but he chose our relationship. He chose me when I was a baby, and I’m grateful to him, and I care for him, but he doesn’t know me, not this me, not really. You do. And you love me for me.” He wipes at his eyes, not faltering a bit. “I’m choosing this time. I need a mother, and I want it to be you.”

“Me too!” Babs says, jumping up from her chair. 

“Yes,” Damian says, standing up and coming to stand next to Dick protectively. “I, too.”

“Children,” Captain Wayne says weakly. “You - you can’t mean it.”

“Yes we can,” Jason says. “We all can, and we all do.”

“Mama Grayson,” Terry says suddenly and distinctly into the silence that follows this pronouncement. He squirms out of Maria’s hands and toddles around the table to grab Dick’s leg. “Mama stay.”

Dick scoops him up and hides his face in Terry’s stomach, blowing a raspberry to distract from the fact that he’s near tears. “It’s okay, Terry,” he says, cuddling the child close. “It will all be okay.”

Captain Wayne looks thunderstruck. And, underneath it, heartbroken. “You all feel this strongly?”

“We do, Father,” Steph says. “We were going to tell you, when you got home. You - you never gave us a chance.”

There’s a long, long silence. Captain Wayne looks at each of his children in turn. Each of them nod. Even Terry.

“I would never deprive you of someone you care about so strongly,” the Captain says at last. “Miss Grayson, will you accept my apology?”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Dick says. The children grumble, but Dick silences them all with a look. “You were concerned for them. The children will appreciate that once they’ve had more time to think it through.”

“Perhaps,” Captain Wayne says, but not as if he particularly believes it. “Then you will retain your post?”

Dick inclines his head. There’s something about the moment that calls for formality, though Terry is drooling on the shoulder that’s not already wet with Tim’s tears. “I shall.”

“Thank you, Miss Grayson.” Captain Wayne pushes himself to his feet. “This meeting of the council is adjourned.”

“Thank you, Father,” Jason says for them all. Captain Wayne seems not to hear him. He walks from the room as one in a daze, and through the foyer Dick can see him go into the east wing and disappear from view.

“Oh, children,” Dick says. He doesn’t know what to say first. He wants to say, you shouldn’t have done that, but he can’t break their hearts like that. Nor, truth be told, his own. He feels full and overflowing with love for them all. He does want to stay. He does want to be their mother. “I - I love you all so much.”

“We love you too,” Cass says, the first thing she’s managed to say since Dick had returned to Wayne Manor, and then it’s Dick who is disappearing between a pile of arms and legs and hugs and kisses and not a few tears - and not just from the ladies, either.

“I told you we wouldn’t let him fire you,” Tim says.

Dick manages a watery laugh. “And you didn’t even have to resort to eating with your knife.”

In the hall, the clock strikes one. Dick had had no idea it had gotten so late. Alfred must have told Cook what’s happening and asked her to hold dinner. Otherwise, the servants would have come into the dining-room to set the table in the middle of the family council meeting. 

In the pile of children, several stomachs growl. “I’m hungry,” Babs says, with a preteen’s blithe disregard of emotions when mealtimes are concerned.

“We should eat,” Dick says.

“I don’t know if I can manage a bite,” Tim says.

“We all had a long walk after church. I think once you’ve got food in front of you, you’ll think differently.” Dick hesitates. “Someone should go tell Captain Wayne we’re to dine.”

“I’ll do it, if you like, Miss Grayson,” Damian offers. He looks at Terry, then says, “Mother Grayson.”

“It had better still be ‘Miss Grayson’ in public,” Dick says regretfully. “At least for you older ones. You know, don’t you, that others would look down on you for it.” 

“Yes,” Tim agrees. “At least for now.”

Dick isn’t sure what that means, but he lets it go for the moment. “As for Captain Wayne…” Dick sighs. “I’d better do it.” He doesn’t want to, but he wants even less to seem as if he’s hiding behind the children. Having failed to shut down this entire destructive episode before it had begun - and having accepted Captain Wayne’s apology and consented to stay on as governess - Dick had better once again begin as he means to go on. And that means reclaiming his footing. “Jason, ring the bell and let Cook know we’re ready for dinner. Then I want all of you to go wash your hands and faces. Comb your hair if it needs it. We’ll reconvene in ten minutes, and let’s all try to put this morning behind us. It’s the Captain’s first dinner back home in two weeks. This should be a joyous occasion. Shall we try to make it one?”

From the looks Damian and Tim exchange, this wouldn’t have been their chosen approach, but after a moment Damian nods. “We shall, Mother Grayson.”

“Thank you, children.” He watches them file out of the room, with Jason hanging back to pull the bell-pull. Dick shakes himself and sighs. He doesn’t feel particularly joyous himself. More like a wash-rag that’s been used to scrub a pot hard, and then wrung out and hung to dry. But he’s said he’s going to do this. And the alternative, giving up, is no more palatable than it had been when Captain Wayne had offered his apologies.

Dick takes himself through the foyer and into the east wing. He hasn’t been here since Captain Wayne had summoned him to discuss Steph’s punishment after the mice-in-the-bed episode, but he remembers the way. At least, he remembers the way if Captain Wayne is in his study. Belatedly it occurs to Dick that there are many rooms in the east wing, and Captain Wayne might be in any of them. His steps have slowed, and he’s considering his options, when he hears his name and he stops stock still.

“ - special about Miss Grayson?” Captain Wayne is saying, bafflement plain in every word. “They were happy enough to see the back of every other governess I tried to hire.”

A gentle cough is Alfred’s way of easing into an unpalatable truth. “You said yourself that you thought the children would take better to a governess from a similar background as they,” he says. “It somewhat undermines your position to now take umbrage at Miss Grayson’s success. Especially when you were right about the reason.”

“He took them down to the docks, Alfred.”

“You were down there yourself, sir.”

“Yes. That’s the problem.”

A sigh. “Master Bruce, I understand that your surprise led to an overreaction on your part. But you chose to adopt these children. You accepted the risks that came along with that.”

“I know, Alfred. I know.”

“Miss Grayson is good for them. You’ll see now that you’re home.”

“I see it already.” Unexpectedly, Dick hears the Captain chuckle. “Did you hear the way Tim fired up at me? And Damian! Anyone who can get those two on their side is a force to be reckoned with.”

“Miss Grayson certainly is that, sir. And more.”

“Terry called him ‘Mama’.” The Captain’s voice is softer now, and there’s a note of longing in it so strong that makes a lump rise in Dick’s throat. “That’s a word that hasn’t been heard in this house for a long time.”

Dick can’t bear to listen any longer. He retreats a few steps until the voices are barely audible, then starts again, deliberately knocking an open door closed as he passes. The whisper of voices dies immediately. Dick comes around a corner to find Captain Wayne contemplating a painting and Alfred dusting a nearby vase.

“Excuse me, Captain Wayne,” Dick says. He’s amazed at the sound of his own voice; it sounds steady and calm. “The children are washing up from church and will be ready to dine in fifteen minutes.”

“Ah… thank you, Miss Grayson.” He looks off-kilter, but his voice is creditably steady. “I shall be there.” Dick nods and retreats back to his own room as fast as he can without breaking into an all-out run.

He’s done it. Their first interaction as employer and employee after the fracas. Not easy, but not awful. They can go on from this, Dick believes. He has to believe that they can go on for this.

Except…

You were down there yourself, sir.

In the midst of the emotions of the morning - the childrens’ unfettered glee at seeing their adopted father, the sinking sense of realizing that all had not been right, the torrent of anger Captain Wayne had unleashed, Dick’s own anger at Captain Wayne’s obtuseness, the gauntlet of the family council meeting and the relief, even the euphoria, of knowing he could stay…

Yes. That’s the problem.

The best offense is a good defense, as Damian had said and Dick had demonstrated at Tim’s recital. The Captain’s anger at finding the children down by the docks had neatly swept away any opportunity to ask - to even think of asking - what the Captain had been doing down there himself.

Dick sits down blankly before the roaring fire in his bedroom and tries to think. The Captain had said he’d be home Sunday evening. Perhaps he’d arrived via boat. But no, they hadn’t been anywhere near the docks for the passenger steamers. Those were all in more respectable, middle-class parts of town, or at least what had been middle-class parts of town before the Depression had turned the world into the haves and the have-nots. Besides, when one arrives via steamers, one doesn’t speak of the docks, as Captain Wayne had been doing. Where Dick and the children had been today had been near Dixon Docks - what everyone in Gotham means by the word. Dixon Docks is where the bulk cargo ships tie up and unload everything under the sun. Both legal and illegal. The bootleggers run out of Dixon Docks; everyone knows that. And other smugglers, too. Some run guns. Some run jewels. Dick suddenly remembers being awoken by Betsy this morning and her worry that the Waynes would be a victim of the Black Cat. No one knows what happens to the jewels the Black Cat steals. Maybe they’re shipped out on the same boats that bring in alcohol and firearms. Shipped out from Dixon Docks - where Captain Wayne had been coming from when he’d encountered Dick and the children.

But no. No, that’s ridiculous. There are plenty of warehouses in the area used by legitimate businesses. Wayne Industries must be among them. After all, coal comes through Dixon Docks, too. Wayne Industries certainly uses a lot of coal. And iron pellets, and fertilizer, and…

And why would Captain Wayne need to go check on those things himself?

Dick’s thoughts are going in circles. He doesn't know what to think. Wayne Industries is a legitimate business, he’s sure of that. It employs thousands in Gotham, and its charitable donations are the only thing keeping thousands more from starving to death. During the war, it had supplied everything from molasses to canvas parachutes to the War Department. Captain Wayne has no need to engage in smuggling or bootlegging. But some people do it without a reason. Some people do it for the thrill, or just because they like what they get. 

Jason had thought he’d seen Harley. His special lady friend Harley, daughter of the leader of the bootleggers, who had vanished when Jason had chased after her and called her name. Maybe Jason had been mistaken. Or maybe it really had been Harley, and she’d slipped away because she didn’t want Jason to connect her presence with Captain Wayne’s.

Maybe Captain Wayne just likes a drink. Maybe he’d just nipped down to the docks on his way home to pick up a bottle or two. Technically illegal, sure, but everyone does it. Nothing sinister or nefarious about a private drink. Surely that’s it. Surely that’s all.

The first gong rings. Dick takes a deep breath, goes to wash his own hands and face for Sunday dinner, and tries not to remember that he’s never seen Captain Wayne touch alcohol.

The children are all early to dinner, faces clean and hair newly combed. Kate has tried to replait her hair herself. The left pigtail is fine, but the right one is decidedly crooked. Dick comes over, undoes it, and braids it up again. “Thank you, Mama Grayson,” she says, hugging him.

Captain Wayne enters last and looks surprised to see everyone waiting behind their chairs. “I see I have once again underestimated Miss Grayson,” he says, coming around to his seat at the head of the table. “It used to be that if someone said they would be ready in fifteen minutes around here, they really meant half an hour.”

“We’ve just missed you so much, Father,” Babs says earnestly. Dick smothers a grin, knowing Babs is trying to butter Captain Wayne up so that she can wrangle the privilege of riding solo. She’s young enough not to consider that, after this morning’s fracas, it would be better to wait a day or two before plying her father with requests. She’ll dive into her list of demands headfirst if Dick lets her and damage her own cause. 

“Hmm,” Captain Wayne says. He clearly knows this pattern of Babs’ too, but chooses to let it pass without inquiring. “Well, let us all be seated.” There’s the scraping of chair legs and the clanking of silverware as napkins are tucked into laps. “Bow your heads.”

The blessing is asked, the food begins coming in, and Jason opens his mouth, clearly ready to begin telling Captain Wayne about his fortnight. Captain Wayne holds up a hand. “I’m quite certain you all have things to tell me, after I’ve been so long away,” he says, “but first, I have an announcement to make.”

Silence falls instantly. The sound of the ladle scraping the sides of the soup tureen as Julie serves today’s first course is suddenly very loud.

“Come now, it’s not so terrible,” Captain Wayne says with forced lightness. “It’s only that I’m going to be hosting a party.”

“A party?” Damian says blankly.

“Do you mean a formal party, Father?” Kate asks.

“Yes, that’s exactly what I do mean. A formal dinner with dancing. A rather large one. A gala, in fact.”

Several of the children exclaim in excitement - Damian and Tim loudest of all, though Cass isn’t far behind. Steph looks nonplussed, though, and Jason looks downright crabby. “You hate hosting parties,” he accuses his adopted father.

“Yes,” Captain Wayne admits with a sigh. “But I am going to hold this one. In fact, I insisted to the mayor and several others who wanted to host that I absolutely must.”

“Why, Father?” Babs asks.

“Because this party is in honor of the visit to Gotham of Germany’s ambassador to the United States.”

The younger children, who barely know where Germany is on the map, let alone the geopolitical implications of this, exchange confused glances. Jason looks like he’s bitten a lemon. Steph lets out a low whistle of surprise.

“Because Captain Wayne fought in the War,” Dick explains, so that the younger children can understand, “and fought so famously and so successfully, he thinks it incumbent on him to host this party as a show of peace.” There have been rumblings lately, Dick knows. Only what he reads in the papers, and he believes maybe half of that, but still. German rearmament is a growing concern. The recent revelations of Carl von Ossietzky, exposing the German monetary fraud that has let them buy and conceal weapons of war, have been widely reported on. Naval equipment is harder to hide, but Germany’s beautiful new Atlantic passenger liners could be turned into battleships easily. No one in the U.S. has forgotten the Kaiser Wilhelm der Grosse. Nor, for that matter, the Lusitania. 

The idea that the Great War may all have been for nothing, that there might be another such conflict, is too horrible for anyone to contemplate. Surely the Germans don’t actually want to plunge the world into another conflagration. At least, that’s what the German ambassador has been saying. According to the newspapers, he’s been traveling around the country, giving speeches in major cities about the new Germany’s love of peace. Gotham is certainly a large enough city to merit such a stop, and Captain Wayne hosting the ambassador for a gala in his own home is a wonderful gesture of reconciliation.

“And because of who in particular the ambassador is,” Captain Wayne says. “Rittmeister - Captain - Hans Zeller.”

This means nothing to Dick, nor, it seems, to any of the children, for they all look at the Captain in confusion. The Captain nods to himself. “It’s not widely known,” he acknowledges. “While flying, we used various code names and nicknames to conceal our identities from our opponents. You may know that I was called the Black Bat.”

“Yes,” Damian says. “Your plane was always painted black, to make it harder to see at night.”

“You swooped down on the Huns from above, like a bat,” Cass says. DIck hears the excitement in her voice and remembers her dream of becoming an aviatrix. “And after they could never hurt anyone again.”

If only that were true. Briefly, the Captain’s eyes meet Dick’s, and he sees a shared understanding reflected there between them. Jason, too, looks grim. He’s the only other one at the table who has both the age and the background necessary to remember any of the Great War. Tim, though only two years Jason’s junior, had been by birth the child of a wealthy family. He would have been insulated in his childhood from such things as the horror of war. Steph, eighteen months younger than Tim, would have been too young to remember anything at all.

“The German flying aces did the same thing we did,” the Captain is going on. “Using codenames and concealing their true identities.”

“Cowards,” Damian declares.

“How is it cowardly when they do it and not when we do it?” Jason demands.

“Children, please,” Captain Wayne says wearily. This has the feeling of an old argument.

“They had a famous pilot too,” Babs says, her mind running down a different track. “The Red - Red - Red Something. Red Baron?”

“The Red Joker,” Captain Wayne corrects. “And though many German pilots’ identities remain shrouded in secrecy - as do ours, Damian - ”

“Yours isn’t,” Damian mutters.

“ - the Red Joker’s identity is one we do know, thanks to his membership in the German delegation who signed the Treaty of Versailles.”

“Okay?” Dick says, still confused. “But still, why - ”

“The Red Joker is Hans Zeller,” Captain Wayne says. “And, last year, he replaced Friedrich Wilhelm von Prittwitz und Gaffron as the ambassador from Germany to the United States.”

Chapter Text

It’s fortunate that Sunday dinner is a long meal with an extra course, because after the Captain’s announcement, everyone has a great deal to say. 

“Why change ambassadors?” Babs asks.

“It happens often,” the Captain says evasively. “Sometimes the ambassador themselves wishes to retire, or is promoted to a more prestigious posting.”

“And sometimes it’s because the government has changed their position, and the old ambassador isn’t in favor anymore,” Jason says sourly. “Prittwitz und Gaffron was a supporter of peace.”

“So is Zeller,” Steph says, but not as if she believes it.

Damian looks down at his plate. He’s sitting directly to Dick’s left, and Dick reaches out, under the tablecloth, to take Damian’s nearer hand where it’s clenched into a fist on his thigh. Damian looks up at Dick, and the anguish in his eyes is easy to read. It’s one thing to long to make one’s adoptive parent proud and to serve one’s country. It’s another to contemplate a military career while staring at the potential of a second global conflagration. 

“When will this gala be held?” Dick asks, turning the subject away from politics and into the relative safety of logistics.

“Friday, twelve days from now,” the Captain answers.

“How large will it be?” Babs wants to know.

“Everyone in Gotham society must be invited. Probably fifty couple, once the dust settles.”

“Who will plan it?” Kate asks. “You, Father?” 

The Captain looks discomfited. “No, I must attend to Wayne Industries, especially after my recent absence,” he says. “I had planned to ask Miss Kyle to lend her aid, but perhaps I am overlooking someone already to hand?” He looks at Dick. “I should hate to find I have underestimated you three times in one day, Miss Grayson.”

Dick gives the Captain a small smile to show that this pleasantry is well received. “Miss Kyle is an excellent choice, Captain.”

“And she’s already coming, anyway,” Tim says. He’s actually eating his soup, unlike more or less everyone else. The Captain, perhaps reminded by Tim of soup’s existence, picks up his spoon, but then leaves it dangling in midair as Tim goes on. “Miss Grayson asked her for assistance in planning my debut.”

“He… did?” The Captain’s surprise is evident, despite his clear attempt to conceal it.

“Yes,” Dick says, picking up his own spoon, more out of a need to have something to do with his hands than out of any actual desire to eat cold soup. And the soup is quite cold now, having been served before the Captain had made his announcement and let to sit as everyone had clamored questions. Dick sips at his first spoonful with distaste and then has to laugh at himself and how spoilt he’s become. Less than a month out of the orphanage and he’s turning up his nose at food because it’s cooled down! He takes a second, proper spoonful, and enjoys it more this time. Cream of leek has always been one of his favorites.

The Captain is still staring at Dick, so Dick elaborates. “We met at Tim’s recital, and Tim explained to me that the families are friends,” he says. “I felt in need of some assistance in planning such a major life event for Tim, so I begged her indulgence. She was quite gracious.”

“That’s wonderful,” the Captain says blankly. He shakes himself and says again, more naturally, “Yes, simply wonderful. When did you say Miss Kyle was visiting?”

“Thursday morning,” Dick says. He lets Julie take his empty bowl away. She takes several full bowls, too, but diplomatically says nothing, only begins to carry the fish around. “But we could perhaps reschedule, if you won’t be available then.”

“I should be able to clear my calendar,” Captain Wayne says. “We shall conduct initial gala planning on Thursday, and then I will leave yourself and Miss Kyle to execute the details. Then you can resume planning Tim’s debut, with the benefit of added experience.”

Tim sends Dick a look which is as effective as a telegram, and Dick coughs. “I had intended to ask you, Captain, about Tim staying back from school on Thursday. My idea was to involve him in the planning of his debut, but perhaps it would serve even better to have him begin with a… relatively… smaller event.”

“Hm,” the Captain says. “Missing a day of school is hardly ideal…”

“Miss Grayson said we could reschedule, Father,” Tim says eagerly. “If it were in the afternoon…”

The Captain shakes his head. “No, I won’t be so rude to Miss Kyle, not when she and Miss Grayson have already chosen a time. You may stay home on Thursday.” He looks at Dick again and says wryly, “Three times after all, I see.” Dick conceals a smile and inclines his head in acknowledgement.

“Thank you, Father!” Tim says happily, blissfully ignoring this byplay.

Dick says, “I had also told Kate and Cass they might listen in. Not to assist, but there’s no such thing as too young to begin learning.”

“A sentiment I heartily approve,” the Captain says. “Though it sounds as if our little conclave is growing rather large.”

“We’ll be quiet as mice, Father,” Kate says.

“As two mice,” Cass says.

“I hope not,” the Captain says lightly, sipping his wine. “I’ve heard how Mickey and Minnie squeak at nights. Speaking of whom, how are your pets, Steph?”

“Hm?” Steph looks up, startled. While the conversation has wandered to matters of gala planning, she’s been focused on her dinner, and has eaten up her fish in record time. “Oh, my mice? They’re doing very well, Father. I believe they’ve learned to dance.” She doesn’t glance at Dick. “Somehow.”

Dick takes a bite of his own fish. He has no idea who might have given Steph tips on training rodents to perform circus tricks. The hake, on the other hand, is delicious.

“Four times.” The Captain shakes his head again. “Well, assuming that no one else is going to put a word in for joining the gala planning event on Thursday…” the Captain pauses a moment. No one volunteers. “Then I now look forward to hearing the highlights of the past fortnight. Jason, shall you begin?”

Having Captain Wayne home again changes the tenor of life at Wayne Manor very little, overall. Dick continues to direct the children’s lives day to day, as the Captain often returns home just in time for their late dinner, and then vanishes into his study for the evening. His presence at breakfast is hardly noticeable, as he is usually hidden almost entirely behind a voluminous copy of the Gotham Gazette, which he reads through religiously every morning. At dinner, indeed, he is more of a factor, but here there are decided advantages. With Captain Wayne home, Dick may keep an eye on the children at table who aren’t actively engaged in conversation with the Captain, and if they begin to get bored and play with their knife and fork (Terry), the salt and pepper shakers (Kate and Cass), or their vegetables (Babs), Dick can have a quiet word with them without having to interrupt himself or take attention away from the spotlighted child. Even in the mornings, though the Captain never looks up from the Gazette, he seems to have something of a sixth sense for the goings-on, and he frequently makes a second voice telling Steph to remember her lacrosse stick and Damian his violin while simultaneously making sure the younger children aren’t interfering. 

Captain Wayne clears half an hour in his schedule to meet with Dick every evening and settle any outstanding matters regarding the children that require his approval. His initial proposal for this time is right after dinner, still at the table, while enjoying a second cup of coffee. He suggests this during dessert on Sunday night. Dick doesn’t even have a chance to demur before the children themselves are protesting. 

“No, Father, Mama Grayson’s got to put us to bed,” Cass says. “He always puts us to bed right after dinner.”

“And sings Terry his lullabies,” Babs adds. “Terry won’t go to sleep without Mother Grayson singing to him.”

“Well, he will,” Kate says judiciously, “but not without getting really upset. He was fussing for an hour after bedtime the night Mama Grayson took Tim to his recital.”

“Yeah,” Cass says. “It kept me up.”

“Mama sing?” Terry asks. He’s drooping over his dessert, having been allowed to stay at table a little longer than usual in honor of Captain Wayne’s return. His eyes keep closing, though, and he’s in danger of getting pie on his face. “Sing. Sleep.”

“Well, I mustn’t interfere with bedtime, clearly,” Captain Wayne says, laughing. He pulls his watch from his pocket and checks it. “Shall we say nine o’clock, in my office, then? And we’ll make the coffee decaf.”

“Excellent,” Dick says. Babs is already nodding significantly at Dick, winking both eyes and making it very clear that she hopes for good thing to come from this conference. Across the table, Captain Wayne is trying unsuccessfully to hide his smile behind an inadequately sized piece of pie. 

Their meetings therefore begin that same evening, and while Dick had been afraid of some awkwardness after the morning’s scenes, all passes off well. By unspoken agreement, neither of them refer to the past unpleasantness. Their conversation focuses on the children, and Captain Wayne is pleasant and mannerly as he listens to Dick’s reasoning, offers opinions of his own, and treats Dick as an equal in decision-making and problem-solving. They reach an agreement to have Captain Wayne evaluate Babs’ horsemanship before resolving the matter of her independent riding, and to delay Kate and Cass’ beginning lessons until Babs has earned that privilege, so that Dick need not watch over three inexperienced riders at once. A few other matters are as quickly settled. Conversations about Jason’s future and Tim’s debut will take longer, but they have time. Captain Wayne contemplates no further business travel at least until the gala is over.

The clock is chiming half-past nine on that first evening, and Dick is setting aside his coffee cup preparatory to rising from his chair and retiring, when Captain Wayne says, “Miss Grayson, I wish you would let me apologize to you one more time. I know it’s rude of me to bring up a settled matter again, but I have spent the entire afternoon now growing thoroughly more ashamed of myself. I overreacted terribly earlier.”

“Please, think no more of it,” Dick says uncomfortably. “Your love for your children needs no apology.”

“But my treatment of you does. I have been gone, and having been gone, had thought of matters only as they stood when I left. I didn’t think two weeks enough for the children to grow attached to you, or you to the children, but I have never been more wrong in my life. If nothing else, tonight’s conversation shows how thoroughly I misjudged you. You have learned all the children’s personalities and habits so well that you have told me several things I did not previously know. All the kind things they said of you earlier are more than deserved.”

 Dick puts his hands over his cheeks and looks down to cover his embarrassment. “You’re too kind.”

“I don’t think I am.” But the Captain seems to notice his embarrassment and takes pity on him. “Thank you, Miss Grayson. I will see you tomorrow at breakfast?”

“Yes, sir,” Dick whispers, and gladly escapes.

So with that firmly behind them, the days pass away, until Thursday morning arrives. “Have a wonderful day,” Dick says to the Alphas as they pile out the door. Steph is still stuffing toast in her mouth, but she smiles and nods. Jason throws his trademark wave-over-his-shoulder-while-walking-away. Only Damian bows properly and says, “Goodbye, Father Wayne; goodbye, Mother Grayson” before departing to get in the car. Dick, looking after their departing backs fondly, wouldn’t change a thing about any of them. 

Captain Wayne checks his watch. “I wouldn’t expect Miss Kyle for another half hour,” he says. “What shall we do with the time?”

“Oh - I assumed you’d need to take care of work,” Tim says, surprised. “You’re taking off half the day as it is.”

“I happen to have cleared my calendar,” Captain Wayne says. Dick conceals a smile, knowing what he has planned. 

Babs perks up, and Dick knows she’s about to ask, but before she can actually speak, she’s interrupted - metaphorically - by Terry making an unwonted fuss. “Don’ wanna!” he shouts, and runs from Maria to hide behind Dick, clutching Dick’s legs. “Stay! Stay with Mama.”

“Now, Terry,” Maria says coaxingly. “It’s time for us to go to the schoolroom.”

Terry looks confused, and Dick can’t blame him. “He sees his father still here, and Tim, too. He must think it’s the weekend.” He kneels, detaching Terry’s hands from his legs to do so, and holds them in his own hands as he puts himself level with the toddler. “It’s still a school day, dear,” Dick assures him. “Your father and sister are here for a meeting. A very boring one, with lots of sitting and talking.”

“But not for a little bit,” Captain Wayne says, “so how about some time with us first?” He swoops down, scooping Terry up and swinging him onto his shoulders. Terry shrieks with glee. “I think I’m about to take a walk out to the stables, where a certain older brother of yours is going to assure me she’s ready to ride alone. Would you like to come, Terry?”

“Come with Papa!” Terry says happily.

“Father!” Babs cries in delight. “Do you mean it?”

“You must convince me,” Captain Wayne says repressively. “I will require a great deal of persuasion.” 

If Captain Wayne’s hands weren’t firmly on Terry’s shins, holding the toddler in place, Babs would probably have grabbed one or both and started yanking. “Yes, yes! I’ll show you how well I ride! Come on, come on!”

They go out the door before Dick can call after them to take coat or wrap. Terry will be warm enough in the stables, Dick reasons, and Captain Wayne is an adult. But Babs will be up on her horse in the cold morning air of early March. Dick sighs. “Kate, go put on your own wraps and take Babs’ out to her,” he says. Seeing Cass’ pleading face, he says, “You may go too, Cass.”

“Whoohoo!” Kate whoops and tears off towards the coat-room, excited to not have to go immediately to her books. Cass is hardly a step behind. Hellions, the both of them. Dick shakes his head fondly.

For his own part, Dick goes down to the kitchens to confer with Cook about a midmorning refreshment tray to be brought for Miss Kyle’s benefit, and what to do about luncheon should Miss Kyle stay long enough. “We’ll want the dining room,” Dick says, “but still plain fare, I should say. Sandwiches, fruit…”

“I’ll toss you up a nice salad,” Cook says. A knife in one hand makes rapid cuts at a poultry carcass held in place by the other, butterflying it for tonight’s dinner. “For a relish, like.”

“That sounds very elegant,” Dick says, pleased. “I almost hope she will stay. Though I should hate for it to make more work for you,” he adds hastily.

“Eh.” Cook shrugs. “No more work putting it on the table than on trays, I’ll be bound. Now, as to the event itself, end of March it’ll be, you’ll be wanting to think about what’s in season…”

Dick is broadly familiar with what kinds of food can be gotten cheaply at what times of year, but Cook is more concerned with what can be gotten in quantity without diminution of quality; price is not an object, but with fifty or more guests to dinner, volume certainly is. He listens attentively as Cook enlarges on the price of beef, the comparatively wider choice to be had in the realm of poultry, the prejudice against pork in certain circles, and the types of fish to be found at market in the early spring. “As for greens, we’ll have to look at our own cellars,” Cook says, “but we laid by plenty of green beans last fall, and there’s still plenty of carrots and radishes. They make a pretty picture arranged on a plate with their bright colors. Canning is truly a wonderful invention, Miss Grayson. It’s such a comfortable feeling to eat vegetables all year round.”

Dick couldn’t agree more. “Especially for growing children.” Rickets is a common complaint among orphans, though thankfully, the only sufferers at St. Mary’s are those who had contracted the condition before arriving. The food there may not have been as plentiful as growing bodies would have preferred, but it had been sufficient, and nutritious. Dick knows how lucky they’d all been.

Further conversation is interrupted by the jangle of one of the bells hanging in a corner of the kitchen. Cook and Dick both look over. Unsurprisingly, it’s the bell for the front door. “Excuse me,” Dick says, heading out of the kitchen to greet his guest.

Captain Wayne is there already, entering the house with Miss Kyle, presumably having heard her arrival and come over from the stables. Babs is no longer with him, by which Dick deduces that she had been given leave to ride alone. Terry is clutching Captain Wayne’s hand. He immediately lets it go and makes for Dick. Dick scoops him up and smiles as Terry begins telling him with great volume all about the horsies and the saddles and big brother jumping big, BIG, over many gates and piled sandbags. 

Dick’s ears may be reserved for Terry, but his eyes keep being drawn across the foyer. The Captain and Miss Kyle are laughing together at some joke. Miss Kyle is taking off her wraps, and the Captain is taking them, as Alfred has not yet appeared. Dick is immediately struck by the change in Captain Wayne. The smile transforms his entire face. His posture is relaxed and casual. He looks comfortable with Miss Kyle in a way he doesn’t with anyone else. Not even the children bring out this side of him.

Childhood friends, Captain Wayne had said. Dick supposes that Captain Wayne has very little else of his childhood left. No siblings, parents gone; only a few old servants such as Alfred and Cook who remember a time before he had been Captain Wayne, hero of the flying corps, respectable pillar of society, and father of eight. 

Alfred arrives and takes Miss Kyle’s coat as well as charge of Terry. “I’ll alert Kate and Cass for you,” he says, shooing Dick on and waving off Dick’s thanks. Captain Wayne urges Miss Kyle onward. 

“We’ll use the small parlor,” he says, and Miss Kyle sets off confidently. She clearly knows what room is meant by ‘small parlor’. Captain Wayne walks beside her, that open smile still on his face. Dick, who doesn’t know where they’re going, trails behind them awkwardly.

The small parlor turns out to be a comfortably furnished drawing room off the foyer. The sofas are as rich as the rest of the house, but not quite in the same style. If Dick had to guess, he’d guess that this room hasn’t been used regularly since Captain Wayne’s mother had died. It seems a room furnished by and meant for ladies. Captain Wayne seems oddly oversized in these surroundings. But Miss Kyle fits perfectly in the space. She sits at once in a particular chair and turns on an electric lamp sitting on the mahogany carved table next to it. Dick observes that Miss Kyle doesn’t search or fumble at all for the electric switch; she clearly knows exactly where it is, and operates it with a confident flick. 

Captain Wayne takes the chair on the far side of the mahogany table, which is sitting at an angle, letting he and Miss Kyle easily see each other and converse. Dick, perforce, takes the seat on Miss Kyle’s other side, making the third point of a rough triangle. He opens his mouth to offer Miss Kyle refreshments, but Captain Wayne beats him to it. “What will it be, Selina? Ratafia?”

“Too early in the morning for that,” Miss Kyle smiles. “Coffee would be lovely.”

“Of course. Miss Grayson, would you be so kind as to ring the bell?”

Ears burning, Dick rises again and goes to do so. Of course he is Captain Wayne’s employee - his servant - and employing him in this way is perfectly within Captain Wayne’s rights. It’s just that Captain Wayne has been absent, and Dick has been in charge of the children, had arranged this meeting in the first place. He’s been thinking of himself as one of the hosts of this meeting. Captain Wayne evidently has a different view.

“So you’re giving the ball for the German Ambassador,” Miss Kyle says as Dick steps over to the wall and tugs the bell-pull. “I’m surprised, Bruce. You hate hosting, and the mayor was dying for the chance to have the Ambassador under his roof.”

“Given our history in the war, it seemed appropriate,” Captain Wayne says. A soft knock on the door announces the maid in response to the bell, and Dick murmurs a request for two coffees for Captain Wayne and Miss Kyle and tea for himself and the children, who he hopes will be arriving shortly. He feels distinctly like a third wheel in the current situation. It’s not a comfortable state.

Miss Kyle is nodding in agreement. “What better way to show that we’re committed to peace than to have the Black Bat and the Red Joker break bread under his roof?” she asks rhetorically. “Of course, with logic like that, the mayor had to yield. I’m just surprised you wanted it.”

Captain Wayne shrugs uncomfortably. “As I said. It seemed appropriate.” 

His desire to change the subject is clear, so Dick tries to assist. “The children should be here shortly. Miss Kyle, would you - ”

“Oh, Selina, please!” Miss Kyle interrupts. “You must call me Selina. Do you know, I absolutely hate being called Miss Kyle? So I beg you to use my Christian name.”

“Oh,” Dick says, caught off guard. “I - I wouldn’t wish to presume - ” Having just been handed an object lesson in his place by Captain Wayne, Dick really doesn’t want to annoy his employer by being over-familiar with one of Captain Wayne’s guests.

“She means it,” Captain Wayne says, perhaps correctly interpreting Dick’s hesitation. “Nothing irks her more than being addressed as Miss.”

“Such a small-seeming word, I’ve always thought,” Miss Kyle - Selina says with distaste. “Now, Master has a nice ring to it. I could do with being called Master Kyle.”

“When she was younger she used to tell all the servants to call her Master Selina,” Captain Wayne says. The fondness of this recollection is unmistakable. “Your parents were furious.”

Selina sighs. “I’m wasted as a lady.”

Dick stares at her, bewildered. The difference between then couldn’t be more stark. Dick had never in his life been called Miss before he had arrived at Wayne Manor. To him, the form of address had represented something new and wonderful, a chance to be more than he’d ever been before. He still gets a thrill anytime someone calls him Miss Grayson. He can’t imagine ever scorning it. But Miss Kyle - she’d been born into a wealthy family. Maybe being new money instead of old has kept her out of certain events of the highest rank; Tim has alluded to as much. Yet while Dick can imagine maybe the address becoming commonplace enough to be dispensed with for a casual morning chat, he can’t imagine outright rejecting it. It’s not something he thinks he’ll ever understand.

Maybe that’s just another difference between them. 

Regardless, Dick’s path is clear. He may not have a birthright of riches, but he has manners, and he has respect for others. “Master Selina it is, then,” he says.

Selina laughs with delight. “Perfection!” she crows. “We shall be good friends, I know. Now I will be perfectly rude and ask if I may call you Richard.”

“Dick, if you please,” he says. “No one calls me Richard, except the Mother Superior.”

“Fearsome company. I’d rather avoid it,” Selina says cheekily. 

“You could stand to attend Mass more often, Selina,” Captain Wayne says. “I worry about you.”

“We all practice in our own way,” Selina says. Now she’s the one who looks like she wishes to move off an uncomfortable topic. She’s aided in this, not by Dick, but by the door opening and Tim appearing, Kate and Cass at his heels. 

“Come in, children,” Captain Wayne says unnecessarily. Tim takes the seat Dick had used earlier. Dick settles Kate and Cass in a comfortable love-seat a little outside the main ring of conversation, reminding them in a low voice to not make too much noise and to keep their questions for later. He makes for another chair, but is diverted by the door opening a second time and a maid appearing with a tray. The bustle of drinks being served out occupies another few minutes and provides a welcome buffer between the general bustle of arrival and the business of the day.

“Bruce, you always have the best coffee,” Selina says happily when everyone has been provided with their cup. She spoons sugar into hers, stirs it, and takes a luxurious sip. “Ahhh. Now we may begin. Tim, name a topic for us.”

Tim freezes mid-sip of his own tea, looking like a deer in headlights. “Ah… shall we discuss the menus?”

They settle the menus, the linens, and the invitations in rapid succession. There is then some consideration of the rooms to be used for the event. Of course, the ballroom will be used for dancing, and the large formal dining-room will host dinner. Those rooms are in the north wing, which Dick has never seen. When Selina learns this, she insists they go take a brief tour so that Dick understands the spaces they’ll be working with. “For I don’t conceal from you,” she says, leading them down the hallways of Wayne Manor as confidently as if she lives there too, “that I am absolutely awful at decorations. So the floral arrangements and any bunting or banners are going to fall entirely on you, Dick. You’d better know the challenge before you.”

Dick sees immediately why Selina calls these rooms challenging. The ballroom is cavernous, with a high arched ceiling taller than Dick could reach even if he were to stand on Captain Wayne’s shoulders. There must be accesses somewhere - there’s a small loft overlooking the space that must be for the musicians, and those performers will need some way to get up there. Alfred will know. But while Dick can enlist the assistance of the house staff in deploying decorations, he’ll have to decide on them himself. It will take rather a lot of bunting to turn this into a festive space.

The dining room is better. It’s large enough to accommodate multiple tables, which will dramatically smooth the seating arrangements and allow for multiple centerpieces. The room also features a pale blue wallpaper above the chair rail and chairs upholstered in a complementary navy brocade. Flowers will likely be enough to complete the space. That’s a relief; it will leave more time for the ballroom.

The biggest question mark is what rooms will be set aside as withdrawing spaces for ladies and smoking spaces for gentlemen. The former is easy enough; the spaces meant for ladies are still present, though the furniture in them is covered neatly with clean white sheets and the rooms will have to be aired before use. The smoking-room is more difficult. Normally the host would have a library-den of sorts to serve this purpose, but Captain Wayne, Dick learns, not being a smoker himself, had converted the space some years ago into a staging area for the servants to use when serving dinner. 

“It means that no one is getting cold soup by the time the tureen reaches them,” Captain Wayne says in defense of this choice.

“Yes, and that’s lovely, but you still need a smoking-room when hosting a party,” Selina replies with exasperated fondness. This is clearly an old debate, and it goes back and forth between them without any useful input from Dick. At last they agree that a small annex originally intended as a cloak-room will have some furniture moved in and be used as a smoking-room instead. It means that wraps will have to be taken farther away for storage, which Selina decries. “Slows down arrival and departure,” she says. “You’ll be lucky if you get your house back before dawn.”

“Better an extra few moments in a warm house than cold soup at dinner,” Captain Wayne argues. Selina just rolls her eyes.

Kate and Cass are openly bored at this point, dawdling behind the main quartet and chattering between themselves, so Dick dismisses them back to the nursery to play with Terry and each other until luncheon. Tim is also somewhat visibly flagging under the mental load, but after having stayed home from school on purpose to be part of the planning, he can hardly beg off. His relief on returning to the small parlor and finding the midmorning spread Dick had arranged is palpable. “Thank heavens,” he says, taking a glass of lemonade and sinking back in his former chair with a sigh of relief. “I was beginning to feel peckish.”

Selina laughs, not unkindly, and fills a small plate for herself with two watercress finger sandwiches and several apple slices. “Your hospitality has certainly improved since Dick has joined you,” she says to Captain Wayne. To Dick she confides, “I would have had to hint, and hint, and hint again, and finally come right out and say it  before it would ever occur to Bruce to ask if I were hungry.” The apple slice crunches satisfyingly when she bites into it. 

“Bah,” Captain Wayne says. “Alfred would have fed you far before it got to that point.”

“That’s true enough. But Alfred’s baked goods are absolutely terrible for my digestion.” Selina winks at Dick.

“What else have we to discuss?” Tim asks, helping himself to a pate sandwich. His lemonade glass is already half-empty. 

“Musicians?” Captain Wayne suggests, but doubtfully. “I had intended to just hire the usual ensemble, but if you think something more is necessary…”

“The children,” Selina says. “Specifically, which of them will attend the dinner and dancing portions of the evening. I believe Tim should be permitted.” 

Tim sits up straight in his chair, the sandwich dangling forgotten from his fingers. He looks eagerly at his father for his reaction. Captain Wayne looks dubious. “Tim isn’t out yet,” he objects.

“But this party is in his own home,” Selina counters. “And he needs to begin gaining experience in how to behave in society, or else he won’t know how to act at his own debut. Most ladies Tim’s age have already attended a series of smaller, intimate gatherings hosted by family or close friends, but… well…”

“But I don’t host them, and I don’t attend them, either, and so I’m not even invited to them anymore,” Captain Wayne says wryly.  “All right, that’s fair. But this is a rather large affair, Selina. And as you say, Tim is inexperienced. Is this really the right moment for him to start practicing?”

“Oh, Father, let me,” Tim pleads. “How will I ever get experience if I’m always too inexperienced?”

“He won’t start any younger,” Selina agrees. “And the very largeness of this affair makes it more eligible for him to appear. It’s not strictly a society gathering. Look who you’ve got on the guest list. The Commissioner of Police, the assistant District and State’s Attorneys, local charity leaders… how many of them had formal debuts?”

“That’s true,” Captain Wayne admits.

“Besides all that,” Selina goes on, “Tim doesn’t have to be thrown to the wolves alone.”

“Jason can attend, he’s old enough,” Captain Wayne says doubtfully, “but his manners aren’t always… and Steph and Damian are still too young.”

Selina laughs at him. “And what are you employing Dick here for, then? Of course, the proper person to chaperone Tim is his governess.”

“Him?” Captain Wayne says, at the same time Dick says, “Me?” Dick kicks himself twice, first for his grammar and second for his own self-doubt. Captain Wayne’s obvious surprise makes Dick wish he’d kept his own mouth shut.

“Yes, he,” Selina parrots grammatically. “Who else? You’ll be far too busy hosting to keep a watchful eye. Dick will be there for the first part of the evening anyway while all the children are present. All he has to do is stay.”

“I suppose that will do,” the Captain says.

“So we may attend?” Tim clasps his hand together, pleading.

“You may attend,” the Captain concedes. He raises a stern eyebrow and adds, “But you will behave with modesty and remember that you are not out. No dancing, except with your brother and perhaps a few close family friends. You will not have a card. You’ll be seated down at dinner - ”

“Yes, Father,” Tim says willingly. Dick suspects he’d agree to anything in order to be allowed to attend. 

Well enough for Tim, but Dick? “What on Earth will I wear?” He looks down at his sober, practical clothes, brushing one hand against the hem, where he’d made a mistake in the over-stitching. No one else would probably be able to notice it, but Dick knows it’s there. “I don’t think I have anything suitable.”

“Nonsense. What about that lovely little number you wore to Tim’s recital?” Selina grins. “Half the gentlemen there were giving you the eye, you know.” Tim nods in agreement, though, with his mouth full of watercress sandwich, he doesn’t attempt to speak.

“Wha - I  - certainly not!” Dick feels his cheeks heat, and puts his hands up to his face to try to conceal the fact. “You’re flattering me.”

“I most certainly am not. Mrs. Elliott’s been venting to anyone who will listen about how Captain Wayne’s latest hire is far too pretty to be a governess. Apparently her son couldn’t keep his eyes off of you while you were being introduced.” Selina takes in Dick’s blush and her tone softens. “If you didn’t notice, you must start paying more attention. It doesn’t do for a lady not to realize when a gentleman notices us.”

Dick doesn’t know how to respond. He knows on some level that he’s staring at Selina Kyle, and that that’s rude, but he doesn’t seem able to stop, either. “Well,” Captain Wayne says, breaking what threatens to become an awkward silence. “I suppose that will give Miss Grayson experience to draw on when teaching Tim how to handle admirers.”

“Yes indeed,” Selina says briskly. “So you will wear that suit, Dick?”

“A moment,” Captain Wayne says. “Miss Grayson, I trust this suit isn’t one you brought from the orphanage?”

“No, sir,” Dick says, well understanding the reason behind the Captain’s question. “I have made it since.”

“Hm.” Captain Wayne frowns slightly. “But it is still home-made, is it not?”

“Yes?” Understanding deserts Dick. How else are clothes made?

“If you are to chaperone Tim, your appearance will reflect on him, as well.” Captain Wayne appears to consider. 

“For that matter, Father, I don’t know if I have anything fine enough for a great gala,” Tim says slyly. “Such an occasion as this, hosting the German Ambassador…”

Captain Wayne nods. “I shall have the tailor come tomorrow. You will both have new clothes for the occasion.”

Tim looks pleased, but “No, Bruce,” Selina says, sounding longsuffering. “Your tailor may have done well enough while Tim was a child, but it’s time he began forming the professional relationships he’ll need as an adult. He should select a dressmaker to make his clothes.” Tim’s eyes go round, and his mouth shapes an excited oh. Wisely, he says nothing, leaving Selina to argue his case, but the sudden excitement is plain on his face.

“Oh dear,” Captain Wayne says somewhat blankly. “Yes, I see your point. But I have no idea how to select a dressmaker.”

“Leave it to me,” Selina says briskly. “Shall I choose a hairdresser while I’m at it?”

Captain Wayne glances at Dick, perhaps checking to see if Dick has any ideas. Dick shakes his head slightly. He would be utterly at sea in choosing these professionals. The most hairdressing he’s had in years has been Sister Mary Clarence’s semiannual trims. Before that his mother had done his hair. Dick is happy to braid Kate’s and Cass’, but anything more complicated is beyond him. Selina is right. Tim is going to begin appearing more and more in public, and it’s time he had the services of professionals.

“Please,” Captain Wayne sighs.

“Then may I have Tim this Saturday? I’ll take him around town to see a few candidates and he can choose the ones that suit.”

Tim claps his hands together in eager delight. Captain Wayne sighs again, but nods permission. “As long as whomever he chooses for dressmaker can make two new sets of clothes by Friday.”

“They’d hardly be doing business in Gotham if they couldn’t, Bruce. Don’t worry so.”

Captain Wayne smiles ruefully, and this time, when it’s Selina who gives Dick the sideways glance, Dick is able to return it with a knowing look of his own. His experience of Captain Wayne may be small, but the Captain’s capacity for worrying is already well known to him. It will fall to Dick to make sure that the Captain doesn’t fret himself into a tizzy. He nods slightly, letting Selina know that he’s up to the challenge.

“Then if that’s settled,  let’s discuss the dances,” Selina says. “We should have a good mix of German and American…”

Chapter Text

The days until the gala seem to fairly fly by. Dick has his regular duties, and diligently he gets the elder children off to school, teaches the younger, sends Babs for riding and Kate and Cass to the kitchens, plays with Terry, welcomes the teenagers back, has dinner with the family, oversees bathtime and then sings and rocks and braids hair until everyone is asleep or settled for the night in their rooms. In every spare minute he’s working on the party. Selina has helped a great deal, but there are linens to choose with Alfred, menus to settle with Cook, invitation cards to select and approve before they’re sent to Captain Wayne’s secretary, visits from the dressmaker to be measured and fitted and measured again, and visits to the milliner’s in between. If this is what it’s like to entertain, Dick can only be grateful that Captain Wayne doesn’t do it more often.

Dinner conversation increasingly turns towards politics and the world stage. Captain Wayne still insists on hearing each child’s daily goings-on, but the older ones hurry through their reports to get to the latest news. No longer does Jason recite entire soliloquies using silverware as props. Nor does Damian eagerly retell the story of an old battle by moving salt-shakers and butter-dishes around the table in lieu of armies. Now it’s all about the results of the recent Reichstag elections, the platforms of the various political candidates, and the meteoric rise of a new party, nicknamed the Nazis. Dick is learning more about foreign policy than he’d ever known or wanted to know. He turns the conversation whenever he can, to the appreciation of the younger children who find the entire thing utterly boring, but none of the teenagers - nor Captain Wayne - can be distracted for long.

“If the citizens want a more repressive government - ”

“They say the Nazis were patrolling the polling stations with firearms - ”

“Still only got forty-three percent of the vote - ”

It goes back and forth all night long, until Dick’s head aches and his dreams turn into nightmares of the children dying on a new Western Front. He throws himself into the gala planning as the only thing he can do that might possibly have any effect on the destiny of nations. Maybe if the ambassador has an amazing evening in Gotham, he’ll become, or remain, a voice of peace in the German councils. And if the correctness of the flower arrangements or the ideal selection of fruits can achieve that effect, then by God, Dick is going to make sure everything is perfect.

“What will happen to us if there’s a war, Mama Grayson?” Cass asks one night, tucked trustingly under Dick’s arm as he prepares to tell them a bedtime story. Kate is draped over Dick’s feet and Terry is listening from his crib, ready for his lullaby as soon as Dick will have finished tucking his sisters in. They both prick up their ears to listen.

“To us in this room, very little,” Dick answers truthfully. “None of us will be asked to fight. We may have less of some of the things we like, such as sweets or new clothes. The biggest change for us will be that some of your siblings may go away to fight.”

“You mean Jason,” Kate says. “He’s oldest.”

“Yes, he’s oldest.”

“Will Jason fight, Mama?” Cass asks.

“Yes, if there is a war, Jason will fight,” Dick answers. A moment later he wonders if he’d been wrong to speak so definitively, as Cass’ lower lip trembles and Kate buries her face in the sleeve of her robe. It’s always possible that Captain Wayne will purchase a deferment for Jason, or pay another Alpha to take his place in a draft. Jason may have some heretofore unknown medical defect that will make him unsuited for combat. Or perhaps, in the time between now and the outbreak of war, Jason will take a job that is deemed essential in some way - firefighting, perhaps - and be exempt from going to war. But in the moment Dick had spoken what he truly believes. Captain Wayne is not the kind to purchase his sons’ lives at the expense of others, nor would Jason accept such a trade if it were offered him. He’s healthy as a horse, and not fitted for a firefighter. Most of all, he isn’t fitted to remain behind while others go. Dick knows it in his heart. Steph would hesitate, if her time comes. Damian would consider, and possibly decide that his duty after all lies in performing some other task here on the home front. But Jason - Jason will go. 

“I don’t want there to be a war,” Cass whispers.

Dick hugs them both tightly. “Neither do I, dear ones. And neither does your father. Whatever we can do to prevent it, we will.” The children cling to him, barely comforted, and it takes extra hugs and kisses and lullabies before any of them will let Dick out of their sight that night.

Tim’s anxieties run along a different track. The prospect of war, to him, is dim and far away. Dinner conversation on the topic just makes him impatient, and he refuses to be drawn onto the subject at any other times. His concerns are all for making sure he acquits himself well at the gala itself. “German dances,” he says fretfully in the doldrums of a long Sunday afternoon. “Why must we have German dances? We don’t study them at school. What is a Ländler, anyway?”

“A type of German folk dance,” Dick says, who had learned this information only recently himself. “I’ve been studying the steps.” He has a natural advantage - growing up in show business has made picking up new dances easy, and a few evenings’ practice alone in his room have left him feeling quite mistress of the subject. None of that helps Tim, of course. “Here, let’s get a couple of your brothers to partner us, and I’ll show you how it goes.” 

Jason and Steph are promptly shanghaied, but neither of them know the Ländler, either, which means that before they can assist Dick in showing Tim the ladies’ steps, they must be taught the gentlemens’. Dick checks down the line, learns that Damian and Babs also doesn’t know the dance, and ends up with all the children from Babs on up in the common area of the west wing, to teach them how to dance the Ländler. 

It’s harder than it sounds.

“Now you bow, Jason, and Tim, you curtsey.” They do so, which heartens Dick unreasonably. “Now you go for a little walk. Like this - ”

“Should I pause the Victrola again, Mother Grayson?” Damian asks, watching his siblings falter for the sixth time.

“Better just start it over,” Dick sighs.

Alfred appears thirty minutes later, as Dick is about to give up in despair. He brings a pitcher of lemonade, six glasses, and the offer of himself as a teaching partner. “It has been some time for me,” he says, “but I believe I still remember the steps. Miss Grayson, would you do me the honor?”

“Certainly,” Dick says, too happy at this new opportunity to wonder how Alfred comes to know an obscure German folk dance. Damian restarts the Victrola yet again.

By the time the lemonade is drunk and Dick sends the elder children off to their beds, everyone is at least competent at the Ländler, though none of them will win any dancing competitions. Jason and Tim are a little better at it than their younger siblings. “But I’m having you partner each other for it,” Dick decides. “The Ländler will be the first dance, in honor of the German ambassador, so you’ll begin together. That way if you aren’t perfect no one but you will notice - everyone’s eyes will be on the guest of honor, anyway.”

“Do you know who he’ll dance with?” Tim asks.

Dick frowns. “From what I’ve learned, it should be the primary hostess,” he says. “But we don’t really have one. Maybe Miss Kyle would know? If not, I suppose we’ll have to see who the ambassador asks.”

Tim and Jason exchange looks as they head to their respective rooms. There’s a meaning there that Dick is too tired to decode. Dancing for an hour isn’t that fatiguing, but trying to teach five children with about eight left feet between them a complicated German folk dance is exhausting. Dick sinks into a warm bath that night with a sigh of relief. 

Monday night Dick is delayed long in the kitchens, with the butcher and the greengrocer arriving at the same time and both needing to be attended to right away to make sure everything is ready in time for the gala dinner. Cook has the menus in hand, but then it turns out that duck is not to be got in reasonable quantities, so a substitution must be chosen, and then all the groceries resettled as well in light of the change to beef. Dick is still in the kitchens when the first gong rings and has to hastily finish what he can, consign the rest to Cook, and run upstairs as fast as he can. A quick moment to wash his own hands and face and comb his disarranged hair is all that can be spared. His hair is currently something of a trial to him; growing out as it is, it’s now just too long to get away without much maintenance, but not long enough to hold a style for any length of time. Dick barely makes it to the dining room before the second gong, hot and out of breath and having had to leave the children entirely to their own devices in dressing. Entering just as the second gong rings, he sees Kate’s braids are crooked again and Cass’ pinafore is buttoned askew. Babs and Tim are presentable, but Dick suspects none of the older Alphas have done much in the way of washing. He drops into his chair expecting a scolding from Captain Wayne. Instead he gets a round of suppressed smiles around the table and a sudden burst of conversation on a jumble of subjects. Dick sits, mystified, as the soup appears. What is going on?

His suspense lasts all through the first two courses, while Captain Wayne conducts his usual round of questioning and the children pretend to eat normally. When Babs isn’t scolded for leaving her vegetables or Cass her meat, Dick knows something’s up. That’s only confirmed when Maria doesn’t rise and take Terry off as the dinner plates are being taken from the table. Dick opens his mouth to demand an explanation. Then he closes it again as the servants’ door opens and the children all burst into spontaneous song.

“Happy Birthday to you!” Kate is so excited she jumps out of her chair and dances along with the singing, which is loud, vaguely on-key, and mostly in unison. “Happy Birthday, Miss Grayson! Happy Birthday to you!”

Julie is bringing an enormous cake to the table. She sets it in front of Dick and presents him with a cake-knife and a smile. “Pound cake, miss,” she says. “With buttercream frosting. Cook’s compliments, and all the servants wish you many happy returns.”

“Thank you, Julie,” Dick says reflexively, and then looks around the table at the beaming faces and says, “Thank you all.” He suppresses the wild urge to ask what day it is and quickly counts back. Sunday had been… oh, it is the twentieth of March, isn’t it? Dick is eighteen today. He’d managed to utterly forget, with how busy things have been. Really, his birthday had effectively been the day he’d left St. Mary’s and come to take this position. But it’s so sweet of the children, and of Captain Wayne too, to have the actual day celebrated. “How did you know?”

“I asked at St. Mary’s after Mass last Sunday,” Captain Wayne says. “It occurred to me - ”

“Father,” Jason says.

Captain Wayne laughs. “Very well, then, it occurred to the children that you must either have just turned eighteen or be very shortly about to, since you were known to be aging out of the orphanage. They insisted I find out the exact date. Everyone was very excited to learn that they hadn’t missed it yet. They have been planning this since.”

“You helped too, Father,” Tim says.

“Yes, as your pack-mule.” The Captain’s wide smile indicates that this is meant in jest. “They all gave me very particular instructions as to what to purchase, and swore me to secrecy.” 

“To purchase?” Dick says blankly. Even bigger grins break out around the table, and suddenly several pairs of hands produce a variety of packages and set them on the crisp white cloth with a flourish. Cass fumbles hers, drops it, and has to dive under the table to get it again. Maria shifts Terry to her other arm and fishes another out of her pocket. And then, to cap the astonishment, Captain Wayne produces one of his own and sets it before him with great ceremony.

“Presents!” Babs cries, seeing Dick’s face and laughing with delight. “We got you presents! Have you ever got presents before, Miss Grayson?”

“Not in a great while,” Dick says honestly. “Not since I was your age, I think.” The orphanage had had no money for such things. Dick and the older children would often cobble together something small for the younger on their birthdays - a rag-doll, a hair-ribbon, a treat of some kind to eat - but it has been a long time since he himself had received anything to mark the occasion. His last gift had been a tin horse, Dick remembers. On his last birthday with his parents. They had purchased it at the San Francisco’s World’s Fair. Haly’s Circus had been stopped and performing there for six months to sold-out crowds, and money had been good. On Dick’s birthday his parents had taken him to the fair itself, and at the end of a long, wonderful day, after watching the fireworks over the San Francisco Bay, they’d presented him with the gift. He’d treasured it for years until it had finally fallen apart under the effects of too many little hands in the orphanage. 

“Open them, open them!” Kate cries, bouncing in her seat.

“No, cake first!” Steph says eagerly.

“Perhaps we can divide and conquer,” Captain Wayne says. “Miss Grayson, should you choose to resign the office of cake-cutter to me, I can serve while you unwrap. Does that suit?”

“Perfectly,” Dick says. Julie comes round and moves the cake, cake-knife, and stack of dessert plates down to the head of the table. The children pass presents down the line until there’s a heap in front of Dick, tall enough that only Captain Wayne’s hair and the top tier of the cake are visible over it.

“Mine first!” Cass cries.

“No, mine!” Kate says.

“I will open them in order,” Dick says, then, taking pity on the crestfallen faces of the younger children, “youngest first. Which is Terry’s?”

Terry’s gift is a drawing made by the young maestro himself, an explosion of pinks, purples, and blues in an abstract array. He insists on coming to stand next to Dick and explain each portion of the drawing, pointing at seemingly random spots and babbling about horses, books, and himself and Dick, who are apparently depicted enjoying these and many other delights. Dick makes approving noises for a full sixty seconds before gently interrupting Terry’s recital to thank him gravely.

Cass and Kate’s gift is next, a joint present from the two of them that had apparently consumed much of their time during Babs’ horseback riding the last few days. Dick unwraps the tissue paper to find a new pinball, painstakingly cross-stitched in a pattern of slightly lopsided flowers and a letter that is recognizably ‘D’. “For your sewing, Mama - Miss Grayson,” Cass says shyly. “You’re always making pretty things.” She brushes at her pinafore, where Dick had embroidered flowers last week at her request. 

“Maria helped,” Kate says, as one who will be honest although it kills her. “But we did all the cross-stitching.”

“It’s perfect,” Dick assures them gravely. “I have never had one of my own before.”

“Never?” Cass asks, round-eyed. “I had one when I was three. Ow!” Kate has elbowed her in the side.

“Never,” Dick confirms. “I used my mother’s when I was little. Then at the orphanage we all shared work-baskets. Since coming here I used the one that was left in my room for me. This one will be all my own.”

“I’m glad,” Kate says. They both throw their arms around Dick in two very sticky and very sincere hugs, then retreat to their chairs to begin devouring their waiting plates of cake.

“Mine now,” Babs says, shoving her package at Dick. She has already eaten half her dessert, and there’s a blob of icing on the present. Dick folds that particular corner under as he removes the wrapping so that Captain Wayne won’t see. He might not scold, though, even if he does see. The Captain is sitting looking benevolently over the gathering and sipping his coffee, looking as if he could never say a cross word in his life. “It’s a book!” Babs cries, too excited to wait. Indeed, as Dick unwraps it, he finds a handsomely bound volume of Dickens’ Pickwick Papers. “It’s one of my favorites,” Babs says. “This is a new edition.”

“The one found in Miss Cobblepott’s library?” Dick asks, recollecting his first day at Wayne Manor.

Babs grins shyly. “Yes. I have one too.”

“Then we are book twins. I shall treasure it.”

“Mine is a book too,” Damian announces, shoving it towards Dick abruptly. 

“How kind,” Dick says, undoing the twine Damian has bound it in, expecting to see a volume of military history beneath the wrappings. But the lettering he uncovers takes Dick by surprise. In gold gilt bordered about with much scrollwork, the book proclaims itself to be Etiquette in Society, in Business, in Politics, and at Home, by a Mrs. Emily Post. 

“I studied a lot when I got here,” Damian says quietly. “I wanted to know everything. Manners here are so different from where I was born. I learned. You can learn, too.”

“Damian,” the Captain says in surprise. He’s looking at Damian with a kind of tender astonishment, and his voice is soft when he says, “That’s very kind of you.”

“Thank you,” Dick breathes, shifting the heavy tome under one arm and hauling Damian into a hug with the other. Damian stiffens at once, but then tentatively puts his arms back around Dick and lets himself be thanked. “This is just what I needed.”

“You’re welcome, Mother Grayson,” Damian says. He clears his throat and mutters, “I have other volumes you may borrow, too, but this is by far the best one. I wanted you to have your own copy.”

“I will treasure it.” Aware of the other children watching, Dick lets Damian go and sets his gift atop Babs’. He says, “Now I have two fine books to put on my night-stand. No other governess can boast so much.”

This makes Damian frown. Several of the other children visible in his periphery - Steph and Tim most notably - also look upset. Dick reviews what he’d just said and wants to kick himself. But he doesn’t quite know how to set it right, either. 

“That’s ‘cause you’re not just a governess anymore,” Kate pipes up. Dick blesses her silently. “You’re our adopted mama.”

“Of course,” Dick hastens to say. Happily, the stormy faces begin to clear. “That’s what I mean to say. I was just terribly clumsy about it. Adults can be clumsy, too.”

“And you’re an adult now,” Jason says. “You have the cake and everything.”

“Was Mama Grayson not an adult before?” Cass asks, wide-eyed. “But he was in charge.”

“Let’s just open the next present,” Steph says.

“I wanna know,” Cass says, but subsists when Captain Wayne gives her a quelling look.

“It’s… complicated,” Dick says, reaching for Steph’s, only for Steph to pull it away.

“Do Tim’s first,” she says. “Jason and I went in together, and we’d like to go last.”

“All right,” Dick says, bemused. Tim shyly presents Dick with his gift. “Now what could this be?” 

“You didn’t have anything to wear at my recital,” Tim explains as Dick unwraps the paper and opens the small box it contains to find an amber pendant nestled in a bed of cotton wool. “I thought you might like something.”

“It’s lovely,” Dick says. He lifts it out and admires the setting. “Did you go with Captain Wayne to choose it?”

“I had no part of this one,” Captain Wayne says, when Tim doesn’t immediately answer. “Tim said he’d handle it himself. But I believe I recognize the piece.”

Tim fidgets. “I had it already.”

“Wait, is it a Drake piece?” Jason leans over and peers at the amber. He frowns. “I don’t recognize it.”

“I can’t imagine a society lady like Mrs. Drake wearing amber,” Dick says.

“No, it was mine,” Tim admits. “When I was little I always wanted to wear my mama’s jewelry. She didn’t want me messing with it, so she bought me a few smaller pieces to keep me happy. Things a chid could wear. I guess that makes it a weird present for someone who’s an adult, but I wanted to give you something special, Mother Grayson. Something from a jeweler’s didn’t seem right.”

“I will treasure it,” Dick says. He puts it around his neck at once and pats it into place. “How does it suit me?”

“Very well,” Captain Wayne says gallantly. 

“It’s not fine enough to wear to the gala,” Tim says apologetically. “But for school events or church…”

“And those will occur far more often than large parties, if what I’m told about the Captain is true,” Dick assures Tim. “I will always be having opportunities to wear this, while a finer piece would languish. Thank you, Tim. It’s truly thoughtful.”

“Well, now I feel a little ordinary,” Jason says, laughing. “But I think you’ll like our gift just the same. The real thing is parked outside, but here’s a picture.” He exchanges grins with Steph and hands across a card.

Dick opens it with a sense of trepidation. Parked outside immediately makes him think of a motor vehicle, but Dick has no idea what he would do with one, nor can he readily believe that even Jason would have access to one - though he does consort with a lady who goes by the name Harley - and all told, it’s relief to open the card and find a picture of a bicycle, carefully cut out of a magazine and pasted in.

“It’s a Schwinn Aerocycle,” Jason says, and goes on to give particulars of speeds and gears and tires in such detail that the Captain eventually has to cough several times to remind Jason that the topic might not quite be of general interest. Dick is fascinated, though, and resolves to ask more later. 

“It sounds almost like a motorbike,” he says, consulting the picture from the magazine again. 

“That’s on purpose!” Jason says. “If you like cycling, perhaps one day - ”

“One thing at a time, please,” Captain Wayne says, longsuffering. “I’m not entirely sure I approve of you having a motorbike.”

“But now you can come bicycling with us, Mother Grayson,” Steph says, grinning. “We like to go on Saturday mornings. We’ll teach you how. You already can ride a horse, so it will be easy.”

Dick thanks them both earnestly. “It does look so fun when you all go riding. I’ll look forward to learning and coming along.”

“With all of this, you might think that what I have for you is a bicycling costume, but I”m afraid I had already made my own choice of present before Jason and Steph decided on theirs,” Captain Wayne says. He slides the final package towards Dick, and it is helped down the long length of the dining table by many small hands, who maneuvre it deftly or not so deftly around the varying plates long empty of cake. 

“Don’t worry about bicycling costume,” Dick says. “I’m not that fashionable. And I can always sew another set of clothes if necessary. But what could this be?” He looks at the children to see if any of them can give him a hint, but they’re all watching him curiously. None of them appears to have a clue. “Only one way to find out,” Dick concludes, undoing the paper. Then he stares.

“What is it, Mama Grayson?” Kate wants to know, and “Father Wayne, what is it?” Tim is asking at the same moment.

The Captain is the one to answer, while Dick simply stares down at the undone package in mute silence. “In many older families such as ours,” he explains, “there is a book of needlecrafts that is passed down and added to in each generation. When you children began coming to live with me, I brought out my mother’s book, which contains knowledge from both the Wayne and Kane families, and took it to one of the best bookmakers in Gotham City. Several copies were prepared. I wasn’t sure how many of you I would end up with - ” here Captain Wayne makes a face, and the younger children laugh. “ - so I had half a dozen made. I had planned to give the first to Tim at his coming out. But this seemed like a better idea.” The Captain glances at Tim a trifle warily. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all, Father,” Tim says. He’s come around to look over Dick’s shoulder, but looks up long enough to give Captain Wayne a heartbreakingly beautiful smile. “I’m so glad you did.”

The Captain looks briefly stunned, then his eyes meet Dick and they share a look of mutual, half-amused horror. Tim is going to be an absolute heartbreaker. The two of them, in the role of Tim’s parents, are going to more than have their work cut out for them.

“You haven’t said how you like it, Mother Grayson,” Kate says. “It’s important to always say thank you for a gift.”

That makes Dick laugh, and the Captain, too, and even the older children. “You’re quite right,” Dick says to Kate, and then to the Captain, “Thank you, very much. I - I’m honored.” He lets the book fall open in his hands, and the leaves show him a pattern of lace like waves, or flames. “How beautiful this would be on a dress for you, Kate. Think of it as trimming on a new poplin for summer.” Dick glances up, reminded. “Captain, we must discuss clothes for the children, at some point.”

“After the gala, please,” the Captain says wryly. 

“But what about yourself?” Babs asks. “Aren’t you going to make any pretty things for yourself?”

“We’re getting new clothes for the gala!” Tim tells her excitedly. “Both Mother Grayson and I! From a couturier downtown!”

“Oooh,” Babs says, suitably impressed.

“I can’t wait until I’m old enough to go to balls,” Cass says wistfully.

“You’ll still get to go to this one,” Damian says.

“To stay at balls.”

“Why would you want - ” Steph begins.

Sensing an imminent descent into discord, Captain Wayne picks up the cake-knife. “Would anyone like a second slice?” he asks. 

“Me!” everyone cries, and the topic is forgotten.

When at last all the cake is eaten and the children are settled for bed, only a little late despite the extra sugar, Dick takes his pile of gifts back to his room and spends some time happily arranging everything to his satisfaction. Babs and Damian’s books go on his nightstand, as he’d said they would, and he looks forward to reading Etiquette through before the gala is held. Captain Wayne’s gift goes in a drawer for greater protection from accidental knocking about. After the gala there will be time for Dick to read it through and plan how to integrate some of the patterns into the childrens’ summer wardrobes. Tim’s necklace Dick leaves around his neck for now. He’ll have to get somewhere to store it; he has no jewel-box. Similarly, Terry’s drawing is propped up on the mantlepiece for the moment. In the morning he’ll ask Alfred for something to hang it with. The pinball Cass and Kate had cross-stitched goes into his sewing kit with all his pins stuck in it, and Dick sets the loaned one aside after, for Betsy to take back down to the stillroom. 

At last, sleepy and content, Dick changes into his nightclothes. He turns down the luxurious electric lighting, but leaves it bright enough to read. Climbing into bed, he opens Emily Post’s Etiquette, and reads until his eyes grow sandy and impossible to keep open. It’s been an incredible birthday. Dick hasn’t felt so loved since his parents had died. The best part of it all, he thinks as he finally closes the book and turns out the light, is that it’s going to last a long, long time.

Chapter Text

Friday rolls around at last, and all the anxious preparations for the gala are ready to be put to the test. Tim remains back from school again. He and Dick spend the morning overseeing final preparations. Cook and all her staff have been hard at work in the kitchens since the night before. Under Alfred’s gimlet eye, linens have been ironed, silver shined, and plates polished. Now the tables are erected set in long, gleaming rows and covered with crisp white tablecloths. Waterford crystal wineglasses are set out, reflecting the colors of the flowers Dick and Tim arrange in the Waterford crystal vases. A small army of footmen brush and buff every upholstered seat and clean every thick pile carpet. In every room and hallway, each glass pane of each lamp is carefully cleaned until the light shines through it pure and clear. The last of the buntings in the ballroom are being hung as Tim watches. Chairs are being set up in the musician’s gallery. Everything is under way in good time and in good order.

It reminds Dick of the day after the circus would arrive in town. Nighttime is when the acts would shine, but the daylight hours that first day would be crowded with work. All the tents had to be erected, the furnishings unloaded and set up, the animals exercised and picketed, the stalls with their games and their merchandise prepared… to an outsider it must have looked overwhelming, but it had its own internal logic, and all the pieces moved like synchronized clockwork to produce a breathtaking effect.

Selina arrives after lunch, bringing with her Dick’s and Tim’s new clothes, which she’d offered to pick up along with her own. The three of them retreat to Tim’s room to begin the extensive process of toilette. First the undergarments, all new, and bedecked with more ribbons and lace than Dick has ever seen in his life, though they’re not even meant to show. Then dressing-gowns over them - Selina has brought a spare of hers for Dick - and the hairdresser arrives. First Dick, then Selina, then Tim sit for his ministrations. With Dick’s hair at such an awkward length, he isn’t expecting much, but the hairdresser brushes it satin-smooth and threads a beaded chain around his head. The effect, once it’s pinned in place - the beads being sewn to a thin strip of black silk, which won’t show against Dick’s dark hair - is astonishing. No wonder the hairdresser commands such high wages! Dick knows it’s only frippery, and he’d been part of making many a sparkling outfit in the circus that had relied for its flash on cut-up pieces of tinfoil and jewels made of colored glass, but knowing is one thing. Seeing is another. Dick turns before the mirror, knowing it’s vanity, but unable to shake his astonishment at how such a simple change to his hairstyle instantly makes him look so much more grown-up and refined.

Dick’s having gone first with the hairdresser lets him slip out to go check on the other children while Selina and then Tim have their turns. Maria has taken charge of Kate and Cass’ preparations, and they’re already in their wrappers having ribbons braided into their hair. Terry is too young even to attend the before-dinner portion of the engagement. He’s already washed and in his night-clothes, though it’s not yet dark outside. He’s sitting in his crib watching the proceedings with great interest and attempting to braid the hair of one of his dolls. He laughs when Dick picks him up and kisses him. “Sing tonight, Mama Grayson?” he asks winningly. 

“Little imp,” Dick says, amused. “You know I’ll be at the ball later.”

Terry lays his head on Dick’s shoulder and widens his eyes. “Sing now?”

“Hah!” There’s no resisting such an appeal. Dick rocks and sings to Terry, then sets him back in his crib to resume his doll play. Kate and Cass are done with their hair and beginning to rustle into starched underlayers. Dick gives them a kiss apiece and promises he’ll be by to collect them later.

After that he’s got just enough time, he judges, for a quick check on each of the other children. They’re all getting into tuxedos, even Babs, who is excited for her first chance to wear black tie; until tonight she’d been young enough to have been left in suits. She’s been practicing putting it on for a week, ever since it’s been delivered, so Dick isn’t actually too terribly worried, but he’s still glad to see Jason, already dressed, is in her room coaching her through folding her bow tie. He winks at Dick over Babs’ shoulder, and Dick discreetly withdraws. Babs will be happiest if she believes she’s done it all by herself. Damian is already dressed and reading a book when Dick checks on him. It’s another guide to etiquette, and they share a look of mutual understanding and support. Steph is buttoning up her shirt. “Am I the last, Mother Grayson?” she asks, worried.

“No, you’re just right,” Dick reassures her. “Now remember, when you’re all dressed, take your siblings down to the kitchen. Not the dining room.” Since the children from Steph on down will not be staying up to join in the formal dinner, they’re having their meal now. Eating in the kitchen will save the staff the extra work of setting and clearing the usual dining room and allow them to use it as a staging area for the many dishes they’ll be bringing around later in the evening.

“Don’t worry. I’m on it.” She grins. “Besides. Jason says he’s going to join us, so I’ll have help. He says two dinners are better than one.”

Dick laughs. “That’s a very Jason thing to say! All right, but let me know if you have any troubles.”

“I will,” Steph assures him, picking up her tie. 

Assured that everything is in hand, Dick returns to Tim’s chambers, arriving just as the hairdresser finishes packing up and takes themselves off. Selina’s hair is dressed in an accustomed style, not too dissimilar from how she’d worn it at Tim’s recital, but Tim’s is put in an updo for the first time, and the effect is equally amazing on him. Without the curl of his hair obscuring it, the slim column of his throat rises from milky shoulders. He really looks like a young lady, and when Tim turns from the mirror to look at Dick with joy-filled eyes, Dick can’t resist giving him a hug.

“All right, ladies,” Selina says gleefully, unzipping the clothing bags. “Time for the fine feathers on we fine birds.”

Even though Dick had seen the new garments in various stages of development, the finished products still impress. The latest style for Omegas is a tunic cut to about mid-thigh, at a subtle angle, to accentuate one’s height. A scoop neck will show off Tim’s jewels. The sleeves are tight to the elbows and then flare into a bell shape whose graceful drape just brushes the wrist. Beneath the tunic are pants in a soft, clinging material. Like the sleeves, they are narrow through mid-shin, then bell out slightly to accommodate a formal shoe. Colors are rich dyes of subdued shades. Tim has chosen a burgundy that gives warmth to his skin and brings out red tints in his hair. Dick had stuck with his usual navy. It always brings out his eyes, and with no jewels to speak of - Tim’s amber necklace would be too paltry, against the rich gems of society - he’ll have to rely on the sparkle nature has gifted him.

The tunics lace up the back, so they form a line, with Dick doing up Tim and Tim doing up Selina. Selina returns the favor by doing up Dick’s, and then they delve into millinery, donning stockings and shoes, tucking handkerchiefs in sleeves, pinning on collars. The finishing touch will be the lacy gloves, so clean and white that they gleam. Those are left in the glove-box until the very last moment. Otherwise their outfits are complete. Tim twirls a bit to make his hem flare out, giggling, and Selina tucks a curl behind Dick’s ear for him with a smile. Dick had always thought of formal dressing as a somewhat fearsome routine. But in this company it’s light and easy, even relaxing. He starts to understand better why so many ladies are fond of it.

At last comes the rap upon the door that Dick’s been listening for. He checks that they’re all three decent, then opens it. Alfred stands outside. He’s even more dapper than usual in a formal tuxedo. He says, “If you’re all ready, ladies, Captain Wayne will shortly be opening the safe for Miss Timothy.”

“We’re ready,” Dick answers. Tim comes up behind him, already breathing fast from nerves and excitement. Tonight will be the first time he’s allowed to pick his jewels from the full Wayne collection, not merely the set deemed appropriate for a young lady not yet out. He’s been agonizing over the choice of diamonds or emeralds for days. Selina brings up the rear. 

Alfred leads them down the hallway, through the foyer, and into the east wing. The door to Captain Wayne’s office is open. The Captain himself is already standing to greet them. Dick’s breath leaves his lungs in a sudden, wholly uncommanded rush. Handsome enough in suits, Captain Wayne in black tie is devastating. His blue eyes need no assistance from navy dye to sparkle like the brightest sapphires, and his hair needs no assistance from Dapper Dan to lie as smooth and black as his dinner-jacket. His shoulders look broad enough that Dick wonders, dizzy, how the Captain had ever managed to squeeze them into the tiny cockpit of a fighter plane. Most unfair of all is the Captain’s smile. White and dazzling, it flashes out brighter than the electric lights. Dick wishes he could sit down for a moment.

Thank God, the Captain notices none of this, turning almost immediately from greeting his guests to pulling on the side of a large painting of his parents. It swings out, revealing the safe within, and the Captain bends to turn the knob. Tim hurries over, eager for the first sight of the full collection of Wayne jewels. He doesn’t seem to have noticed either. Dick can’t be so sure about Selina. There’s something cheerfully amused about her smile that makes Dick wonder, something not at all unkind but more than a little knowing. 

She doesn’t say anything, though, merely takes one of the two chairs arranged opposite Captain Wayne’s desk and beckons Dick to the other. Selina is already wearing her jewelry, having selected it in advance and brought it from home. “I have something for you,” she says to Dick now. Opening the small reticle she carries, she draws out a jewel-case and opens it before Dick’s disbelieving eyes.

“For you,” she says, her own eyes dancing at the surprise. “I brought three sets, so you could choose.” Indeed, nestled among folds of black velvet are sets of rubies, emeralds, and sapphires, all flashing their dazzling colors around the room. 

“Oh, how kind,” Dick says, truly touched. “What a generous loan, Miss - Master Selina. I’ll be careful with them, truly.”

“More than a loan!” Selina hands Dick the box, tempting him to dip his fingers inside and run them over the gems. “I absolutely insist you accept a set as a gift. No, I won’t hear a word against it!” She holds up her hands to forestall Dick’s protests. “If you must appease your conscience, think of it as a belated Christmas present. Or else - when’s your birthday?”

Dick has to laugh. “March 20th.”

Selina actually claps her hands in glee. “It’s perfect! So then these are my gift to you, my new friend. Choose whichever set you like best.”

Dick shakes his head. “This is far too much! You can’t really mean to give me - ”

“Oh no, you needn’t worry,” Selina says, reassuring. “They’re paste. My family bought quite a lot of costume jewelry when we were first getting into society. Now that we’ve started replacing them with the real thing, there’s boxes and boxes knocking about no one’s wearing.”

“What’s this?” The Captain comes closer and looks over Dick’s shoulder. Something immediately changes when he sees the jewels, something indefinable in the air. Dick can’t even see the Captain, but he has a sudden sense of foreboding. “Selina, these - you don’t mean to say you’re giving away your jewelry?”

Dick reaches out and touches a sapphire pendant tentatively. If they’re truly paste, it might be all right - the metal is real, gold warm beneath his fingers, but the well-paid governess of a wealthy industrialist like Captain Wayne might afford gold. Especially when caring for eight children. The stone, though - Dick holds it up to the lamp, watching it sparkle. 

“You know how much of it I have,” Selina is saying lightly to Captain Wayne. “None of these sets have seen the light of day in - oh, forever. I won’t miss them.”

The circus had used glass stones extensively. They glitter just as bright as true gems under the lights of the big top, and one can cover a leotard with rhinestones in a way that one never could with diamonds. Dick has seen glass stones all his life. Handled them, sorted them, chosen the best quality ones. Sewn them into costumes and taken them back off again. Made them into ear-rings and necklaces and sold them to young ladies in small towns across the midwest for a dollar, ladies who could never have afforded the real thing but who will shine brightest at their next church social wearing colored blue glass. 

“Selina, be sensible,” Captain Wayne snaps. “How can I have any pleasure tonight knowing - ”

“Hsst!” Now Selina sounds angry, too. “I certainly can’t have any pleasure in shutting them away when Dick here is going to go into a ballroom tonight with nothing more than a string of beads in his hair! Honestly, Bruce, sometimes I think - ” 

Dick is still holding the sapphire up to the lamp. He knows glass stones intimately. And he knows - incontrovertibly - that this stone isn’t glass.

He looks up, a question on his lips. It dies as soon as he sees his companions. While Tim remains oblivious, holding up a string of diamonds and admiring the effect of them around his neck in the mirrored shine of the safe door, Captain Wayne and Selina are glaring at each other. They’ve stopped talking aloud, but Dick has the distinct sense that they haven’t stopped speaking. They’ve just moved their conversation into one of expressions. They are carrying on an argument entirely through the movements of eyebrows and eyes, the twist and shape of lips, the sideways glance of eyes.

Dick looks down again at the jewel-box. The sapphire pendant had nestled next to two ear clusters of blue and white stones. He picks them up. Neither color are glass. He puts them down and takes up the matching bracelet. Also not glass. There’s a ruby set and an emerald set in the box as well. Dick handles each in turn. He can’t say absolutely that they’re real - he’s no jeweler - but he can say, and with a fair amount of certainty, that none of them are false. At least, not in the way Selina has claimed them to be.

And on top of that - Captain Wayne is angry.

Suspicion blooms, hot and awful. No one gives real jewels to a governess. Certainly no one gives real jewels away to anyone while pretending they’re fake. Unless they need to get rid of them. Unless they’re stolen goods.

You were down at the docks yourself, sir, Alfred had said to Captain Wayne

At the docks, where the bootleggers and the smugglers and the fences lurk…

While flying, we used various code names and nicknames to conceal our identities from our opponents. You may know that I was called the Black Bat.

Only one small step from bat to cat. And the newspapers had come up with the ‘Black Cat’ nickname, anyway. 

Could Captain Wayne be the notorious jewel thief and cat burglar that’s been plaguing Gotham for months?

It makes a horrible kind of sense. No one is immune to bank collapses and market fluctuations. If Wayne Industries had run into trouble, or if Captain Wayne had overextended himself - say, by adopting eight children and putting them all in expensive private schools, hiring nurses and nannies and governesses for them all, buying them tuxedos and bicycles and other fine things… Dick knows perfectly well how easy, how tempting, it can be to turn to a life of crime. And while the poor folk must steal from each other, meagre pickings though those are, Captain Wayne will have access to prey of a different kind. How easy to slip away during an evening event, claiming a need for the lavatory, and slip a few items from a jewel-case carelessly left open on a vanity into his picket? Or to know, from the social calendar, that a certain family will be out, and slip in on the same night, having learned the layout of the house from a previous visit?

At the Elliotts’ house, it was, the parlor-maid’s words come back to Dick. They were attending a ball that evening, so all the jewels were out, for Missus and the Misses to choose from. When they got back that night and went to put them away again, weren’t they startled to find the rest were all gone! Nothing left but what was on their necks, ‘tis said…

No one would suspect Captain Wayne, the wealthy, the philanthropic. If he were ever caught where he oughtn’t be, how easy would it be for him to make up some excuse? A wrong turn, a mistake? It could be blamed on the wine, or even spun into an attempt at seduction. Gotham’s elite would never believe Captain Wayne to be a thief. He’s one of them. They’d blame every servant they employ before they ever think of looking in a mirror. 

So Captain Wayne could steal as he pleases, and then sell the yields down by the docks. Or, if Gotham is too hot, he can simply take them with him on his business trips and sell them quietly in other cities. He may also give them to his friends. He and Selina are close, after all. Childhood friends. Both of us are children of prolific society hostesses. We were thrown together so much at parties that we developed a friendship out of self defense. When the Kyles began to buy real jewels, why wouldn’t he sell them to his good childhood friend at a discount? The Kyles, Dick thinks, have never been robbed. And neither have the Waynes.

“Miss Grayson,” Captain Wayne says, startling Dick badly and making him jump. His knee bangs the desk, and for a moment the jewel-box in his hands droops. Dick nearly has a heart attack thinking of the valuable jewels being strewn across the carpet. Fortunately, he rights himself before this can come to pass. Hastily he sets the jewel-box down on the edge of Captain Wayne’s desk, staving off any further accidents.

“Yes, Captain?” Dick asks, hoping his voice sounds steady. He can hear his pulse thundering in his ears. 

“I have been persuaded by Miss Kyle that she is sincere in her wish to make you a gift,” the Captain says. He still looks displeased, but resigned. “You may select a set and keep it. But I strongly counsel you against wearing them tonight.”

“Whereas I,” Selina cries, eyes flashing, “absolutely insist on it!”

“I should hate to be the cause of discord,” Dick says, desperately wishing himself elsewhere. “Perhaps it would be best after all if I declined the gift - ”

“On no account!” Selina has the same look on her face - incongruously - as Damian had worn when Dick had come across him at Tim’s recital, on his knees in the mud throwing angry punches at Mary Kane. “Dick, you’re about to walk into a ballroom full of Gotham’s elite. If you go in there without anything by way of jewelry, you’ll lose ground in their estimation you’ll never recapture. Trust me, I know!”

We’re new money, Selina had said when speaking of her own debut. If we hadn’t been at least a little gauche, the founding families would have been most uncomfortable. She’d said it as a joke, but how much of that self-deprecating humor had formed as a shield? How many rooms had she walked into with nothing but flowers in her hair and lace at her collar? There’s an old hurt there, one that Dick is powerless to soothe. Except perhaps by accepting her gift. He doesn’t know whether Selina actually realizes the jewels are real. Perhaps she does, and is lying to cover for Captain Wayne. Perhaps she doesn’t, and thinks she’s merely making a kind gift to a new friend. Either way, how can he refuse her?

“I understand,” Dick says, fighting for calm. “I will treasure the gift, Miss - Master Selina.”

“I know you will,” Selina says. She’s triumphant. “Come, now, which will it be? The rubies will put some color in your cheeks. And you know what the Bible says about them.”

A virtuous lady who can find? Their price is beyond - “No, thank you,” Dick says, choking at the thought of taking those particular stones under false pretenses. 

“Then, the emeralds? No,” Selina says, considering. “With eyes like yours, the sapphires. Wouldn’t you agree, Bruce?”

Dick picks up the sapphire pendant again. It’s a large stone, the size of his thumb to the first knuckle, carved in a teardrop shape with tiny white stones set around it. Could they possibly be diamonds? Is he, Dick Grayson, holding real diamonds right now?

“Miss Grayson,” the Captain says abruptly. Dick looks up, away from the pull of the sapphire pendant and its seductive blue glitter. The Captain’s eyes are blue, too. They, too, seem to be afire. “I… that is…” The Captain hesitates, swallows, seems to visibly gather himself. “The truth is,” he says, more firmly, “that Miss Kyle has somewhat preempted me. I apologize for my seeming churlishness of a few moments ago. The truth is, I had planned to offer you your choice of the Wayne jewels to wear tonight, and was unprepared to find that Miss Kyle had already produced a gift of her own.”

“Father!” Tim cries in happiness. He’s drifted closer, diamond necklace now firmly around his neck, ear-rings in his ears, and is holding out the bracelet as if he had been about to ask someone to help him put it on. From the expression on his face, he seems to have entirely missed the awkward byplay of the past few minutes. He’s only heard his father make an incredibly kind offer to his adored governess, and is accordingly pleased. “That’s splendid! Mother Grayson, what will you have? There were some beautiful amethysts - oh - have you chosen already?” Tim peers at the sapphires Dick is still holding. “Those aren’t from our collection.”

“They are from mine,” Selina says. The slight widening of her eyes in surprise tells Dick that she’s picked up on Tim’s form of address, but she shows it by no other sign, and carries on as if she hadn’t noticed anything out of place. “I had also brought some pieces for Miss Grayson to consider, and we were looking at them when your father made his own kind offer.”

“That’s so sweet, Miss Kyle,” Tim says. “But - now Miss Grayson must disappoint one of you!”

“Nonsense,” Selina says briskly. She reaches out and closes Dick’s hand around the sapphire pendant. “I had intended to make Miss Grayson a gift of some old paste jewelry of mine. Between that and the Wayne jewels, there’s no contest. He shall borrow from the Captain tonight, and my set will keep in his jewel-box for the next performance at your school, that’s all.”

Dick doesn’t even have a jewel-box - and that is not what matters right now. What matters is that he knows he’s holding real sapphires, and Captain Wayne knows it, too. What matters is what Dick is going to do about it.

For some folk, he knows, the answer would be automatic. Go to the police and tell all. But that’s not how Dick had been raised. Dick knows too well how often the police punish the innocent and pin blame on the most convenient scapegoats - usually those who aren’t a long-term part of the community, or those who come from less than Anglo-Saxon backgrounds. Born to Roma parents and reared in a carnival, Dick cannot think innocently of the long arm of the law.

“Here, Miss Grayson, if you like sapphires, there are some beautiful choices,” Tim is saying, tugging on Dick’s arm. “Here’s a set with diamonds, and here’s another with aquamarines - isn’t it pretty? That one doesn’t have a bracelet with it, though. There’s a ring, but I don’t know if you wear rings.”

The code of the circus would be to keep his mouth shut. But Dick isn’t sure if he can do that, either. This isn’t someone pilfering bread to fill an empty stomach. This is the kind of theft that can ruin a family - even a rich family. In the midst of this terrible Depression, has Captain Wayne been taking in orphans with one hand and creating them with another?

“Ooh, but look, there are some beautiful pearls.” Tim has lifted out a rope of the milky-white seeds and is running them through his hands lovingly. “Such a long string, too.”

The click of the pearls between Tim’s fingers, like beads on a rosary counting off prayers, help center Dick’s thinking in the here and now. He has to be practical about this. What’s most important, tonight, is Tim acquitting himself well at his first ball of any size, and the diplomatic relationship between the United States and Germany. Absurd as it is to Dick that anything he might do could possibly have any such far-ranging import, it seems to be the case. If Dick loses his head and runs out of the Manor right as Captain Wayne is toasting the German Ambassador, who knows what offense Herr Zeller may take? The horrors of the Great War are too real in Dick’s memory for him to take even the slightest chance of doing anything that might lead, however indirectly, to another conflict.

And Tim, who is holding pearls between his fingers like prayer-beads, has become as dear to Dick as his own child. The feeling is wrenching, when Dick considers that, if he doesn’t handle this right, he may soon find himself unemployed and at the mercy of the notorious Black Cat. But Dick would do much to see Tim achieve his dreams. Not least of which is holding his tongue for one night, at least. 

Tomorrow, then. Tomorrow will be soon enough to decide. Tonight he will forget what he suspects and throw himself into making the night a success. Tomorrow he will find an excuse to go into the city, see the Mother Abbess, and take his advice. And it wouldn’t hurt for Dick to say a rosary or two of his own, for good measure.

“Those pearls are opera-length,” Selina says, coming over to the safe and shaking her head over the milky strand Tim holds. “For tonight, something jewel-length would be best, so it will be shown off by the scoop neck.” She lifts up a set of aquamarines, holds it up to Dick, then puts it back. “Against your complexion, something bolder. Let’s see…”

Dick’s gaze snags on another set, tucked in the corner of the box. It reminds him of the kind of jewelry his grandmother had favored, in the few dim memories he has of her from his earliest childhood. That probably makes it old-fashioned. It’s probably in the corner there for that very reason, not often worn by modern young ladies. Dick shouldn’t - but he slides his fingers under the necklace and lifts it out.

Most of the sets in the case tend to feature a maximum of one colored stone, sometimes with and sometimes without diamonds set among them. This set is different. It’s a mix of rubies and emeralds, set into thick, heavy gold that makes this more of a chestpiece than a modern necklace. The weight of it is comforting in Dick’s hands. It will lay flat across the wearer’s neck and collarbones, unmoved by the motions of dancing or dinner, throwing its red and green and golden colors around its wearer like a halo. Instead of modern ear-rings, there are two ear clusters with an old-fashioned clamp clip. A bracelet nestles nearby, as well as a ring, showing a central ruby stone flanked with emeralds and then again with tiny inset diamonds around the remainder of the band.

“An old piece,” Captain Wayne says quietly, taking it from Dick’s hands and undoing the clasp. Dick feels like he’s in a dream as he bends his head and lets Captain Wayne fasten it again around his neck. “My mother wore it at her debut. A long time ago now.”

Selina picks up the ear clusters and attaches them, first the left, then the right. Tim fastens the bracelet on Dick’s right wrist. Then Selina draws Dick over to the open door fo the safe, positioning him so that he can see himself in its highly polished surface. “Look,” she says.

Dick looks. First he looks at himself. Then he looks at the others’ reflections. Selina looks pleased with herself. Tim is back to admiring his own diamonds. And the Captain looks - Dick can’t tell how the Captain looks. Not displeased, not any more, but not happy, either. Impassive. Except that he’s staring at Dick, and the intensity of his stare seems to burn. Dick drops his eyes. Something about that gaze frightens him.

“Beautiful,” Captain Wayne says quietly. 

“I thought you might think so,” Selina says, and in her tone Dick hears nothing but pure self-satisfaction.

Chapter Text

“It’s so beautiful,” Cass breathes. Dick hears the rustling behind him as Cass peeps out to stare at the illuminated ballroom and the glittering crowd moving gracefully around and through it. “I didn’t know it could be like this.”

“You were there when we planned it,” Tim says. He’s nervous, twisting his bracelet around and around his wrist, fidgeting with the lay of his necklace and hemlines. “You heard what we were thinking.”

“I wasn’t listening,” Cass says with five-year-old dignity.

“I was,” Kate says. She’s next to Cass, which means she’s also next to Dick. While Cass is hiding behind Dick, overawed, peeping out only from time to time to glimpse the magnificence, Kate is staring openly. One of her hands has found its way into Dick’s, though, and she is holding it tight, an anchor point in a dizzying world. “I still didn’t think it would be this pretty.”

A passing gentleman nods and smiles as he goes by. Dick doesn’t recognize him, but Damian murmurs, “Mayor Cobblepot.” The elder children, which in tonight’s division includes Babs, all offer slightly deeper bows and curtseys in return.

Situated as they are, towards the back of the foyer and reception rooms tucked into a convenient nook that usually holds an elegantly carved table adorned with a tasteful arrangement of objets d’art, they can see most of the assembly without being too easily seen. Of all the Wayne children, only Jason is formally out, and he’s remaining with the rest until the beginning of dinner dismisses all but he and Tim to their rooms. Captain Wayne stands alone at the front of the foyer, a one-person reception line, greeting his guests as they enter. The children will be acknowledged in passing by close friends of the family, as well as those with strong political or business ties, such as Mayor Cobblepot. Otherwise, they’re essentially part of the decorations. There to be observed as part of everything else in Wayne Manor tonight: an example of Captain Wayne’s successful life. 

“One day,” Tim whispers, “I’m going to be standing right up there next to Father, receiving our guests. I’ll talk with all of them, and have a dance card of my own, and - ”

“Please don’t,” Steph shudders. “We’re not all as eager to grow up as you are.”

Dick, with Cass clutching him from behind and Kate hanging on to his hand, can’t reach Steph to hug her. He signals Damian instead with his eyes. Damian takes the hint, putting an awkward but sincere hand on Steph’s shoulder and giving her an encouraging squeeze.

“Well, we don’t have to be up much longer,” Babs says to Steph, clearly trying to cheer her up. “Soon we’ll be able to get out of these monkey suits and into some nice comfy… pajamas…”

Babs’ voice trails off. Alarmed, Dick looks over at her. He can’t see anything the matter, except that she’s suddenly still, mouth hanging slightly open, eyes wide and staring at something or someone in the crowd.

“Babs?” Dick asks worriedly.

Babs closes her mouth and swallows. “Uncle Gordon,” she says in a choked voice. “I didn’t know you would be here.”

An older gentleman has detached himself from the crowd and approached them. His hair is silver and his face lined, with thick glasses obscuring his eyes, but he moves with an agility that belies his seeming age. He’s simply dressed with an aura of command about him like a cloak.

“Commissioner Gordon,” Jason says, stepping into the moment with more polish than Dick would have expected of him. “So good of you to come.”

As the gentleman comes closer, Dick can see that he looks distinctly uncomfortable. “Yes, well, when the Mayor and half the founders of Gotham invite me somewhere, I don’t really have a lot of choice.” He looks at Babs. “You look well, Barbara.”

Babs looks at him silently and doesn’t speak. “She has begun going by Babs,” Dick says, drawing the Commissioner’s attention. “I am Miss Grayson, her governess. You must be her uncle?”

“Yes. James Gordon.” He bows slightly. “I hope my nephew hasn’t been too much trouble.”

This could be a pleasantry, but Babs stiffens, and Dick remembers a few of the things she’d said about this uncle. “On the contrary,” Dick says brightly. “She is thriving. Her geography is much improved, and her horse-riding is exemplary. She has recently begun practicing jumps. Such a light seat she has; polo is a distinct possibility when she begins attending Gotham Prep.”

“It is?” He looks surprised, but also, as he glances at Babs, unexpectedly pleased. “You can ride?”

“I can already do a Liverpool jump,” Babs says loftily. “I will begin learning the hogsback soon.”

James Gordon’s surprise visibly increases. A moment later it seems to soften, and a previously unseen affection creeps into his countenance. “That’s marvelous,” he says. His voice sounds somewhat hoarse. 

“Do you ride yourself?” Dick asks curiously.

“Oh, yes. It’s required on the force. Still a lot of police horses in use, though we’re using those newfangled motorcars more and more.” He doesn’t look at Dick while he answers, though, continuing to gaze at Babs instead. This could be rudeness, but Dick, watching him, is suddenly unsure. There’s a decided gruffness about this Commissioner Gordon, and Dick doesn’t doubt that Gordon had behaved patronizingly towards Babs, but he begins to wonder it that comes more from ignorance than malice. Babs hadn’t felt it to be so, but Babs is nine, after all. Children see the world so much in black and white.

“Can you jump?” Babs asks.

“I used to.” Gordon chuckles a little. “Never very good at it. Your father was better. He loved horses. Wanted to be in the mounted units, when he got enough seniority.”

“I didn’t know that,” Babs says quietly.

Dick glances between them. Babs sees him looking and looks back. Dick raises an eyebrow in question. Babs’ eyes widen, and she looks down, but nods, shyly.

“Commissioner, since you are yourself an experienced horseman, perhaps you’d like to see Babs’ abilities for yourself,” Dick says. “She rides every weekday in the early afternoon. You could join her some time, should you be free.”

Gordon blinks and finally looks at Dick. His gaze returns quickly to Babs. “Would you like that?” he asks her.

“Yes,” she mumbles to her feet.

“Then I’ll see what I can arrange. My schedule isn’t regular,” he says apologetically, “but I’ll do my best.”

Babs nods.

“Right… well.” Gordon takes a step back. “It was good to see you, Babs. Children. Miss - uh - Miss Gray.”

“Grayson,” Babs mutters. Gordon doesn’t hear her. He simply beats a hasty retreat.

“He didn’t seem mean,” Damian says, as soon as the coast is clear. “Not really.”

“He seemed confused,” Steph says. “I wonder if he’ll really come.”

“Miss Grayson?” Babs asks timidly. “If he comes, will you stay with me?”

“The whole time,” Dick promises. “I think he will come. But if you change your mind about having him, I’ll write to put it off. You don’t have to see him if you don’t want to.”

“He used to be really fun,” she says. “Before I got sick.” Her hand brushes against her pants leg. Her braces aren’t visible, being worn today beneath the generously tailored tuxedo, but the odd bumps and thickness distending the cloth tell plainly what’s beneath. 

“Maybe he just didn’t know how to be fun after,” Damian says. “Maybe he wants to learn.”

“If he doesn’t, I shall show him the door at once,” Dick says firmly, and Babs smiles, just a little.

“I know you will,” she says. “That’s why I want you there. Just in case.” 

The subject is left there for the moment, and the children are variously silent or talk of other indifferent matters. A handful of additional guests pass by and greet them. District Attorney Dent pays his respects, as does a Mr. Fox, whom Dick learns is Captain Wayne’s second in command at Wayne Industries. Two members of the city council and a state senator also find it expedient to show their faces to the Wayne children, who, after all, may one day be in a position to extend some political patronage of their own. The children all greet them politely. A few nothings are exchanged. No interaction lasts longer than a minute or so.

Then a sudden hush falls over the crowd. The quiet murmur of conversation cuts off as cleanly as a hot knife through butter. Heads turn, and everyone moves suddenly towards the front door before stopping again, just as suddenly, only a few feet from where they’d started.

“What’s happening? What’s happening?” Kate asks. Her voice is low, but in the silence it’s clearly audible. 

Tim stands on his tiptoes, the better to see through the crowd. Babs does the same. Jason and Steph can see without having to stretch.  Cass hides her face. Damian looks down at his polished shoes. Kate looks at Dick, wide-eyed, waiting to hear him speak. He answers her, “The German ambassador has arrived.”

“What does he look like? What does he wear? How does he act?” Questions pour in on Dick and the taller Waynes from all sides. 

“He’s kind of a mousy-looking person,” Steph reports. “No more than middling height, brown hair, light eyes…”

“Wearing a tux,” Jason says. “Rose in the button-hole. Fake smile. Fake cufflinks.”

“How can you tell that from this far?” Kate asks, amazed.

Jason shrugs. “Marks don’t usually let you get close enough to inspect the goods before you lift them.”

“He’s bowing to Father,” Damian narrates. “Father bows back. They shake hands.” A light round of applause is picked up by the crowd. The Waynes and Dick join in. “They’re talking a little. Now they’re beginning to move into the crowd. I suppose the Ambassador is last to arrive, or near enough. Father is showing him around. Introducing him to the mayor now.”

“All right, children, remember your manners,” Dick says in a low voice, bringing the elder ones in order with a glance. He draws Cass out from behind him and takes her by the hand, keeping Kate’s in his other hand likewise. “If the Captain is introducing him around we’re going to be on the list. This is an important visit, so don’t do anything America will regret later.”

Steph gulps.

“And over here are my children.” The crowd is enough that Captain Wayne’s voice is heard before either the Ambassador or the Captain himself come into view. They appear a moment later. Dick squeezes Cass’ hand to prevent her from trying to hide again and curtseys, drawing the two youngest attending children down with him to make their own bobs. Out of the corner of his eye he sees the bows from Jason down through Babs, with Tim in the middle making his own graceful curtsey. “My eldest, Jason…” 

The introductions go down the line, leaving Dick for last. “And their governess, Miss Grayson.” Dick extends a hand, and the Ambassador takes it, bowing smartly. 

“Ah yes,” Captain Zeller says. “The lady of the house.”

Dick looks up and catches the Ambassador’s gaze. Instantly he has to suppress the urge to shiver. There is a flatness to the Ambassador’s eyes, a lack of acknowledgement that what the German ace is looking at is another human being and not simply an object to be disposed of according to his will. Dick drops his gaze and his hand as soon as propriety allows, hoping it will be taken for modesty and not revulsion. 

“Children,” Captain Wayne concludes, “Miss Grayson, here is the ambassador from Germany to the United States, Captain Hans Zeller.”

“How do you do,” Dick says on behalf of the children. 

“Very well, thank you,” Captain Zeller says courteously. “And yourselves?”

“We are all quite well, sir,” Tim answers. “Your presence in our home honors us.”

“Ah!” It’s said softly, but it still makes a shiver run down Dick’s spine. “Your children have manners, Captain Wayne. You are to be commended.”

Captain Wayne’s face remains perfectly polite and smiling, but Dick is suddenly convinced that there is something boiling beneath the surface of both men that had better not erupt in the middle of a social event. “Have you any children yourself, sir?” Dick asks, desperate enough for a distraction that he overrides his own desire to go take a bath and never speak to Herr Zeller again.

“I?” For some reason this makes the Ambassador smile a wide, colorless smile. He has a scar on his cheek, Dick notices. Scars on both cheeks, in fact. They aren’t easily visible when the Ambassador’s face is at rest, but when he smiles, they stretch and turn white. “No, indeed. Like your Captain Wayne, I, too, am unmarried.”

“Oh, I - I see.” Dick kicks himself. He should have thought of that possibility. And had an insult been implied in saying that he has no children due to being unmarried, when the equally single Captain Wayne has eight by adoption? He isn’t experienced enough to tell, but he files it away for later. Selina may have a sharper insight.

“Perhaps one day,” Captain Zeller is saying smoothly. “Will you be remaining throughout the evening, Fräulein Grayson?” 

“Yes, sir.”

“Will you will honor me with your hand for once of the dances?”

Dick smiles out of sheer reflex. It’s that or punch the Ambassador in the teeth and run screaming from the room. Much as he would love to do that, old instincts have kicked in. The Ambassador has something Dick wants. Not money - it would have been money, back in the circus, back when Dick had learned the art of smiling instead of punching - but peace. Too many have died already. If another war breaks out - Jason will be old enough to be drafted in only a few months. Damian wants to go. Steph, Dick thinks, would go out of a sense of duty, if there were still war when she turned eighteen. Babs won’t medically qualify, thank God, and Terry is too young, surely no war could last sixteen years - but then again, all the adults had said that the Great War would be over by Christmas. Dick had been little then, younger than Babs, remembers that first war-Christmas, everyone drinking too much and laughing too loud over too little food. Before they had started doing patriotic performances and donating part of the proceeds to war bonds, they’d had trouble filling seats. 

This man in front of Dick, this Captain Hans Zeller who smiles like a snake and makes Dick’s skin crawl, could help prevent there being any such war. Rather than hear of the death of any of the children, Dick would dance with him until he dropped. 

“I will look forward to it,” Dick says steadily.

Captain Wayne twitches, his entire face pinching, as if he’s about to sneeze. The expression lasts only for the fraction of a moment. Then his face smooths out again. “Come, Ambassador, there are others who wish to meet you,” he says.

Captain Zeller bows. “Good evening, children. Fräulein.”

“Good evening, sir,” Tim says properly.

There’s a breathless moment as Captain Wayne conducts his distinguished guest away. Then Steph lets out an enormous breath and seems to slump. “I didn’t like him,” she says.

“You were so brave,” Babs says to her oldest sister in awe. “You talked to him! I couldn't have said a word.”

Tim laughs shakily. “It’s just practice, Babs. You’ll learn to do it too. But Miss Grayson!” He turns to Dick. “You agreed to dance with him! Father said we weren’t to dance except with close friends of the family.”

“Captain Wayne also said that we were to do whatever it took to make Herr Zeller welcome,” Dick says. He feels shaky himself. A steadying breath helps. “Besides. He said you weren’t to dance. You’re not out yet. I am.” Insofar as a circus orphan can ever be considered out. Dick is an adult with an occupation, which will have to do. “It won’t be improper.”

“I’ll keep you company while Miss Grayson is dancing,” Jason says to Tim. “He’s right. Father wants tonight to be a success. If the ambassador wants a dance, then that’s what he gets.”

A gentle chime fills the air, and Dick sighs in relief. “Come along,” he says to the younger children. “Dimmer will be served in a quarter of an hour. Time for you to go to bed.”

“Come tuck us in, Miss Grayson?” Cass asks, lower lip trembling. Kate looks at Dick with mute, beseeching eyes. The older children have more self-control and don’t openly plead, but they all look as if they’d like that.

Frankly, so would Dick. A moment away from this unexpected morass, and a chance to gather himself in safe surroundings. “Yes, I’ll come,” he says. “Jason, stay with Tim.”

“You got it, Miss G.” Jason looks unusually worried. “We’ll be right here. I have a feeling you should watch your back.”

Dick does, too, but in front of the children, he doesn’t want to say so. “We’ll be fine,” he says reassuringly instead, and takes his charges off to bed.

The second chime’s ringing is still hanging in the air when Dick returns to the festivities. The children are all safely settled, the older ones undressing and preparing for bed, the younger ones already in nightclothes and tucked up snugly with warm bricks at their feet. Maria is sitting up in the nursery, knitting, with Terry in the crib beside her and the connecting doors to Kate’s and Cass’ rooms open so she can see or hear the slightest peep. Dick doesn’t know what he’s afraid of, but he knows he doesn’t trust Captain Zeller. Maria needs no convincing. She’d lost a brother in the Great War.

The crowd in the reception room is on the move as Dick arrives back, streaming towards the dining hall at the sound of the second chime. He finds Jason and Tim, as promised, faithfully waiting for him. “Here I am,” Dick says. “Shall we go in to dinner?”

Tim is fanning himself. It is somewhat warm, but nerves probably have more to do with his sudden need for cool air than anything else. “I don’t think I’ll eat a bite,” he says. 

“I’ll eat your portion,” Jason says generously, offering his sister his arm. That makes Tim laugh, and they sweep into the dining hall with creditable looks of enjoyment on their faces. Dick follows a step behind as chaperone, and does his best to beam graciously on all and sundry. Whatever he really feels, a veneer of conviviality must be maintained. Or as they’d have said in the circus: the show must go on.

The dinner service goes off without a hitch. Seated down towards the far end of the dining hall, they’re several tables away from the German Ambassador, who sits in a place of honor at Captain Wayne’s right hand. Other dignitaries such as the mayor fill out the head table. Down at the far end, Dick has Tim on his right and a Mr. Hubbard on his left. Jason is on Tim’s far side, and he splits his attention between his sister and a young Miss Smythe. Dick finds Mr. Hubbard a pleasant enough companion for the space of dinner, willing to talk lightly on common subjects whenever Dick can give her his attention, and seemingly just as willing to focus on her food or converse with the lady on her left when Dick needs to attend to Tim and Jason. When the final palate cleanser of fruit is being carried around, Mr. Hubbard takes the opportunity to solicit the honor of Dick’s hand later in the evening during one of the dances. Dick has to suppress a wild giggle. Unwilling to offend any of Captain Wayne’s guests, Dick answers with a polite “If my duties permit,” smiling and indicating Tim with a tip of his head and a what-can-you-do expression. 

When dinner ends and they join the crowd moving from the dining room into the ballroom for the main portion of the night, Captain Wayne appears abruptly next to them, and without the German ambassador. “Selina’s distracting him,” the Captain says when Dick asks. He waves Tim and Jason on ahead and stays next to Dick, lowering his voice. “Miss Grayson, as to his request to dance…”

“I know it’s not usual,” Dick says, keeping his own voice low. “But it seemed better to acquiesce.”

“From a diplomatic standpoint, you are most undoubtedly correct. But you are no diplomat, and this is not a sacrifice I can ask you to make. The ambassador is - well, he is - ”

“Shall we say, he follows a somewhat different creed than we do?” Dick glances sideways and catches a look of wry appreciation for this turn of phrase on Captain Wayne’s face. “I assure you, I had noticed.”

“That’s… good. Truly, Miss Grayson, if you don’t feel up to this - ”

“Will dancing with him reduce the chances of another war?”

Captain Wayne is silent for a long moment. The crowd eddies around them. Heads are turning, whispering, noticing Captain Wayne’s private conversation with his governess. Dick keeps his gaze modestly lowered, for whatever good that might do.

“If it does,” the Captain says at last, “it will only be by the smallest amount, I’m afraid.”

Dick nods once. “If there’s even a chance, I’ll take it.”

They’re nearly into the ballroom. The electric lamps blaze through the open double door, bathing everyone in light. “You fear war that much?”

“I fear Jason coming home in a body bag that much,” Dick says bluntly. “Don’t you?”

He looks up as he speaks, and sees the look on Captain Wayne’s face, a look of raw fear and horror that the Captain had surely not meant for Dick to see. It vanishes a moment later, but Dick can’t forget it. May never forget it. “Yes,” is all the Captain manages in reply, but Dick reads nightmares and waking fears into that one word, as well as an iron determination to do whatever it takes to prevent it.

“Then tonight I get to be a soldier.” Dick pastes a smile on his own face, seeing the eddy in the crowd as Selina Kyle and Captain Zeller make their way over. No particular dance had been stipulated for, but somehow Dick had known that Herr Zeller wouldn’t delay. He remembers telling Tim that the ambassador should dance first with the primary hostess. Remembers, too, his introduction to Captain Zeller. Ah, yes, he’d said. The lady of the house. Dick wonders if a subtle dig is meant by the Ambassador’s behavior: an insult to his host, suggesting that Captain Wayne can produce no better hostess than one in his employ. Or perhaps the dig is aimed towards Gotham’s high society. The first dance is always a prestigious one. Choosing his host’s governess slaps the many higher-ranking ladies present in their collective faces. Then again, perhaps he merely wishes to annoy - to tease. To swat at his onetime rival, in an arena where the stakes are considerably lower.

He’s thankful that Tim and Jason are already paired off on the dance floor through his previous arrangement. Dick watches with a sense of inevitability as the ambassador approaches, holding out his hand and smiling his horrible fake smile. 

“I believe they are playing our song, Fräulein,” Herr Zeller says, civilly enough. “Captain Wayne, I hope you will be dancing as well? The Ländler is a favorite of mine, I confess.”

“Certainly I will,” the Captain says. He holds out his own hand to Selina, who accepts it readily. Her eyes seem to be trying to telegraph something to Dick, but whatever it is, he can’t quite read it. He smiles what he hopes is reassurance back her way as he lets Herr Zeller take his hand and lead him into the center of the set.

The musicians, who have been tuning their instruments amidst the chatter of the crowd, suddenly fall silent. Conversation pauses briefly, and the bows sweep downwards. Dick steps into the opening passages of the dance.

For the first few steps, nothing is said. The dance is a complicated one, with several passes back and forth that require precise timing, as well as the maintenance of enough space between each dancing couple to prevent collisions. Dick thinks at first that the ambassador must be concentrating on his own steps. Then he thinks twice: the ambassador had said this is a favorite of his, and anyway, Captain Wayne would never have chosen an opening dance for his guest of honor that wouldn’t show said guest to best advantage. So then - 

“You dance well, Fräulein,” the ambassador says at the end of a long chain of interchanging steps. He says it grudgingly, and Dick suddenly understands. The Ländler is a complex dance, and it’s not Herr Zeller who might reasonably be supposed to be unfamiliar with it; it’s the governess. Which suggests that Herr Zeller had chosen this dance to partner with Dick, and Dick to partner with him for this dance, in the expectation of finding Dick unfamiliar and inexperienced with it, and therefore casting Captain Wayne’s hospitality in an unflattering light.

None of which Dick can possibly say out loud. “Your Excellency is too kind,” he settles on as being both polite and innocuous. “I confess, I am very fond of dancing.”

"Of course. Blood will tell." The ambassador continues speaking before Dick can respond to this. “I understand you are lately of a convent orphanage here in Gotham. Were there many opportunities to dance there?”

With an effort Dick keeps his face bland and his steps free. The ambassador has researched him? Gotham society, of course; his host, Captain Wayne, naturally; the children, as wards of the Captain, understandably. But Dick Grayson, the governess? Why?

The music slows, entering the waltz portion, and Dick perforce steps closer to his partner, allowing Herr Zeller to put his arm around Dick’s waist. “For the eager student,” Dick says at last, “opportunities are always to be found.”

“Excellent,” the ambassador murmurs. “An admirable philosophy.” He turns Dick around at the proper moment and studies him more closely. “Lovely eyes,” he says casually. “What a pity the rest of you doesn’t match.”

There it is. The reference to Dick's blood earlier had been just ambiguous enough to ignore; this is not. Nor is it a surprise. If anti-Roma sentiment is often to be found in America, it’s practically universal in Germany; the Bavarian ‘anti-gypsy’ laws, first enacted in the last century, had driven many of Dick’s people to come to America. The governmental noose has only tightened since then. No, the only real surprise Dick ought to feel is that the ambassador had chosen to dance with Dick at all, given that Zeller clearly subscribes to those beliefs. It had been kind in Captain Wayne to try to warn Dick, but Dick had known very well what he’d been saying when he’d alluded to the ambassador’s different creed. 

Zeller is watching Dick, clearly waiting for a reaction. Dick hates to let the remark pass unchallenged, but the threat of war is hovering over his head, and besides, he knows - every Roma child knows - that fighting back just makes things worse. He swallows it as he’s swallowed a dozen other such remarks in his life and casts about for another topic. Standing closer together in the waltz, Dick sees for the first time a small pin glittering on the ambassador’s lapel. It is a circular pin, depicting a design of black lines on a red field. “What is that?” he asks, nodding towards it. “A signet?”

“A symbol,” the ambassador says. “Of a new Germany. One unbowed by the mistakes of the past, looking towards a bright future.”

The rhetoric sounds familiar. One of the ambassador’s speeches? No - another speech, that had been reprinted in a newspaper lately - “You’re a member of that new political party,” Dick says. Remembering the dinner conversations, he draws upon his new knowledge of international politics and says sweetly, “The socialists, isn’t it?”

“National socialists.” The ambassador’s correction comes swift and angry, though he quickly recovers his poise and resumes his charming mien. “Quite different, I assure you. I believe you may be more familiar with our nickname - Nazi.”

“I have heard it,” Dick acknowledges as calmly as he can. Thank God, the waltz section comes to an end, and the tempo picks back up into the faster folk portions again. “May I offer my congratulations on your party’s success in the most recent parliamentary elections?”

“You are well versed in politics,” the ambassador says musingly. “Surprising for one of your kind. But of course, the children of such a war hero as your Captain Wayne must be taught well, must they not? They must learn to navigate the new world that is being created around them.”

Ice slides down Dick’s spine. He knows what that kind of rhetoric means, what it leads to. “The creation of a new world can take many forms,” he says carefully. “It is my hope, and the hope of millions, that there will never need to be any more heroes like Captain Wayne.” He hesitates, but it must be said. “Or yourself.”

“Ah, Fräulein.” The ambassador smiles and shakes his head, walking sedately around Dick, clapping his hands to the beat. “The myth of heroism died in the last war, did it not? Come, you agree. I can see it in your face.”

“I - ”

“Look at me.” Zeller leans in closer, under the pretense of whirling Dick through the next set of steps. “Do you see the scars on my face? The mark of heroism, some would say. But no, we know better, yes? To fall to the Earth trapped in a prison of burning metal, to crawl out of the wreckage only to be captured as a prisoner of war - is this heroism? Is it heroism to then come and visit the home of the very warrior who shot you down? To smile in his face and eat his food and be toasted by his friends, while the scars he gave you still carve your flesh?”

Dick licks his lips carefully. “The Great War was a terrible time,” he says carefully.

“Terrible? You say terrible? What terror was there for you?” The ambassador’s genteel mask is slipping now, anger peeking out from behind the polished forms of social interaction. Anger, and something else. Something Dick has seen before. A kind of desperation, turning inexorably into madness. “America’s war was fought over the sea, far from her shores! And with America’s assistance her allies found victory. But my country, my noble homeland, who should have risen up in triumph and been exalted among all the nations, cast down instead into collapse, poverty, shame, denied the standing that is ours by right, denied - ”

The last, long note from the violins fades from the air. The dancers stop, and perforce, Dick and the Red Joker stop too. 

“While my old nemesis,” Captain Zeller says quietly, looking over Dick’s shoulder at what must be the approaching Captain Wayne, “lives in an unblemished country with riches and power, and even his servants wear beautiful jewels.” His gaze lingers on the pendant around Dick’s neck, and Dick flushes cold. Not a direct word has been said by the ambassador, but Dick knows, in a way he can’t explain, that the ambassador has noticed the jewels, recognized their origin, and drawn a conclusion from seeing them on Dick that hadn’t occurred to Dick to anticipate. 

“Yes.” The Red Joker sneers. “So much for heroism.” Captain Zeller steps back and bows ceremonially to Dick, ending their dance and their conversation.

A warm hand settles on Dick’s back. He knows without looking that it’s Captain Wayne. The deep, heavy scent of cedar gives the Captain away, as does the traitorous shiver down Dick’s spine. The weight of the jewels Dick wears - the clusters on his earlobes, the pendant around his neck, the bracelet on his wrist - suddenly seem too heavy to bear. Dick had not thought about what it would mean to step into this ballroom tonight wearing Wayne jewels. Had the Captain? Had he, too, been making a statement of his own?

“Did you enjoy yourself, sir?” Captain Wayne asks. His bonhomie seems thin and frayed, too insincere to penetrate the aura of menace wrapped around the German ambassador.

Then, like the switching off of an electric light, that aura vanishes. The ambassador smiles, once again urbane, polished, charming. “A delightful dance,” he declares, and honors Dick with another bow. “With a most charming partner. Fräulein, my thanks. I did not expect such a partner for the Ländler to be found in America. I am honored.”

The gentle strains of a cotillion begin to waft over the air. Selina, who has come up on Dick’s other side, extends a coquettish hand to the ambassador. He laughs and takes it. “I have learned before that the ladies of America are more forward than those of Germany,” he says. “But with such beauty, how may I refuse?”

“Your Excellency does me the greatest honor,” Selina says.

The dance swings into full motion, and Dick has to step sideways quickly to avoid being trod on by another passing couple. “Let’s step off,” he says to the Captain. To his surprise, the hand on his back doesn’t fall away, but instead passes around Dick’s waist.

“Dance with me,” the Captain says. He tugs Dick closer, and Dick, perforce, goes along with it. This is a slower dance, a chance for recovery after the activity of the Ländler. They sway languidly to a measured beat. “Are you all right?”

“It was just a dance.” Despite saying this, Dick feels suddenly exhausted. Captain Wayne’s chest is a broad expanse right before him, and he longs to lay his head against it and rest. Just for a short while. Just for the space of a dance. Captain Wayne will hold him up, he knows. He has strength enough for them both. At least for a little while.

“What did you speak of?” Captain Wayne whirls Dick carefully through a small flourish in time with a scattering of triple notes from the cellist above. They settle back into the rhythm, swaying gently, occasionally parting, always returning, as the dance dictates.

Dick swallows. “Heroism.” He looks up, meeting Captain Wayne’s eyes, the ambassador’s words echoing in his mind.  To fall to the Earth trapped in a prison of burning metal - “Did you give him those scars?”

“I don’t know,” Captain Wayne says. He must see Dick’s surprise, because he says, “War in the skies is very different from war on the ground. We don’t see our enemies. We don’t see what happens to them after we shoot them down.”

Dick looks away. “No, I - I suppose not.”

He hears, rather than sees, Captain Wayne’s sigh. “Did he say anything else?”

“Nothing… coherent.” Dick struggles for a moment with his phrasing, wishing to be diplomatic, but in the end, he waits a moment for the music to swell, leans in close, and speaks quietly. “He’s mad. Isn’t he.”

Slowly, seemingly unwillingly, Captain Wayne says, “Yes.”

Dick lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Are they all?” The Germans, he means. 

“Enough of them,” Captain Wayne says heavily.

The weight of the jewels Dick wears is suddenly nothing compared to the weight of those words. “Then there will be another war.”

A hand appears in his field of vision; it slips gently under Dick’s chin and urges him to look up, to meet Captain Wayne’s eyes. Strangely, the Captain doesn’t look resigned or despairing. His face is set in lines of grim determination, and his eyes fairly blaze with a blue fire. “Only if they have their way,” he says.

Dick can’t look away, caught by the sudden hope that seems to be pouring into him through the intensity of Captain Wayne’s gaze. “Can we prevent them?”

“I don’t know,” the Captain says. “But we’re trying. Believe me, Miss Grayson. We’re trying.”

Chapter Text

Dick goes to bed well into the small hours of the morning with a pounding headache. Although he’d thankfully been allowed to spend much of the rest of the evening decorating the wall with his presence while overseeing Tim’s occasional forays onto the dance floor, the effects of his own two dances and the ordeal of appearing polite and relaxed while knowing half the room is gossiping about him wear him out. Plenty of the guests share the ambassador’s beliefs about Roma and the other favored punching bags of Europe. The jewels Dick wears, too, had created what in retrospect is a predictable splash. Caught up as he had been in his suspicions about Captain Wayne, it hadn’t occurred to Dick to worry about his own reputation. But the jewels had been noticed, and half the guests had left convinced that the Captain is dallying with his governess. Dick had had his hands full, not just in keeping his own actions polite, but in holding Jason back from positive rudeness. Jason had made plenty of comments on the wrong side of polite as it had been. Selina had noticed the situation and pulled Jason out on the dance floor for a few dances, much to Dick’s relief, and on the positive side of the ledger, Jason had managed to keep his fists to himself. Small mercies.

At least Tim had been too starry-eyed with the excitement of his first ball to notice anything. Dick hasn’t forgotten that Tim had, in fact, slapped Charles Kane the first day back at school after the recital. He’d been sent straight to the headmistress’ office, of course, and Dick had had to go into town with Alfred to pick Tim up personally and receive the headmistress’ disapproval. She had particularly dwelt on how one cannot help one’s brother’s behavior - especially when said brothers are adopted - but that a lady will remain above such things. Dick had been tempted to slap her, but contented himself with a thin smile and whisking Tim away as quickly as possible. Regardless, Dick knows that it’s well within Tim’s capabilities to overhear what the guests are gossiping about Dick and Captain Wayne and decide to express himself violently on the topic, and is grateful that Tim remains largely oblivious. He does come to Dick frowning at one point, saying, “Miss Grayson, about father’s loan of jewelry - ” but Dick says something about how kind the Captain is, and then Selina appears with a nervous young Alpha who is simply dying to be introduced to Miss Wayne, and the moment passes.

Selina, that lucky lady, had gotten to leave in the first wave of departures, her duty done and her younger siblings needing her at home. Dick, along with Tim and Jason, and, of course, Captain Wayne, had had to stay until the final guest had been seen off. Then Dick had had to help Tim undress and make sure both of their sets of jewels are returned properly to Captain Wayne and locked back in his safe, a proceeding which had reminded Dick forcefully of his own suspicions in regard to the Black Cat. Altogether, Dick fairly collapses into bed, and leaves strict orders that he’s not to be called in the morning. It will be Saturday - it already is Saturday - and the older children can shift for themselves for a few hours. Maria has promised to mind Kate and Cass for the day. Sleep comes quickly, and Dick is lost to the world as soon as his head hits the pillow.

Waking comes far more slowly, accompanied by gummy eyelids, an aching neck, and an overall sense of fatigue. At some point in the night Dick had tossed and turned, sending his pillow to the floor. He groans pathetically, rubbing at his neck as he sits up groggily. 

He’d been too exhausted last night to even contemplate bathing, despite the exertions of the prior evening, and trusted to the quality of his new nightgowns to protect the bed-linens. Cleanliness therefore becomes the first order of the day. He rings for bath-water. Betsy, bless her, brings a tray along with the hot cans and a hod of new coal for the fire. “You look right done in, miss,” she says. “Cook sent up some of these muffins. Shall I split one and butter it for you?”

“Betsy, you’re a treasure.” Dick slides into the hot water, groaning again with happiness as the heat seeps into his bones. He accepts the buttered corn muffin from Betsy with a twinge of guilt. He really oughtn’t be acting so much the fine lady. But it’s so easy to do here. The servants seem to want to pamper him, from Betsy bringing the tray to Cook saving him muffins. It makes Dick feel guilty at what he might have to do. To reveal Captain Wayne’s thefts as the Black Cat would mean the destruction of the way of life for everyone here at Wayne Manor. 

If he is the Black Cat. After last night, Dick isn’t so sure. About anything. The Captain had looked so serious, so determined, when he’d talked about preventing war. Could someone so upright really be a thief? And if they were - where does the greater moral good lie?

“Just taking my chances.” Betsy winks. This has become something of a running joke between them, since the morning after Tim’s recital. She settles the tray with its ready-buttered muffins and gently steaming teacup on a small table next to the bath-tub, where Dick can reach for it without having to emerge, and builds up the fire again before taking herself off.

If Captain Wayne really is the Black Cat, and Dick exposes him, what will happen to all of the people who have been so kind to Dick? What will happen to the children? If Dick were wealthy, he would take them all in, hire them all, buy Wayne Manor and keep everything the same… but he’ll be out on the street like the rest of them, if Wayne Industries truly is bankrupt. Doubts swamp him. Even if Captain Wayne is the Black Cat, what can Dick do about it that won’t cause immeasurable harm to those he loves?

This is why you’re going to seek the Reverend Mother’s advice, Dick reminds himself. He isn’t going to just march straight down to the nearest police station and blurt out his suspicions. He’s going to be measured. Reasonable. Gather information, and only then act. He pretends that this plan makes him feel better.

When Dick has soaked away most of his weariness - if not any of his worries - he emerges and dresses, then quests out in search of the rest of the family. It’s just past midday, and most of them are at various individual pursuits. Tim is still abed. Jason is somewhere about the grounds, as are Damian and Babs. Steph is practicing lacrosse on the field just south of the Manor. Kate and Cass are pretending to work at samplers in the nursery while Terry plays with blocks and Maria spins and tells them a story.

“All right, Maria?” Dick asks. “Will you be okay to keep them for a little longer?”

“We’re snug as bugs here,” Maria says. “Don’t fret about us. Take it easy a bit longer. Last night must have been a lot.” She smiles. “Even Kate and Cass here are worn out.”

“Thank you,” Dick says gratefully. “Let’s all take it easy today.”

Heading out of the nursery and back down the hallway, Dick glances at the clock again, wondering whether he ought to try to get into town today to speak to the Reverend Mother. It would be easier to wait until tomorrow; snatching a few moments to speak with him after church, while Captain Wayne is with the children, would raise no eyebrows and provoke no questions. Going today might, though Dick can offer the excuse of needing to discuss further charitable work. But then, if the Captain suggests Dick use the telephone instead, what will Dick say? He doesn’t want to discuss this over the telephone. Anyone else at Wayne Manor could overhear him. Waiting until tomorrow is the sensible thing to do. But Dick feels unsettled, ill at ease. With this matter hanging over him, he doesn’t know what to think or how to act. Even spending time with the children will be difficult when Dick knows he might be getting ready to destroy their faith in their adoptive father, not to mention their entire way of life. How can he wait, knowing what’s potentially at stake?

Dick’s deliberations are interrupted by the last person he’d expected to encounter - Captain Wayne himself, who comes around the corner and looks first surprised, then pleased. “Miss Grayson,” he says warmly. “I wasn’t sure if you’d be awake yet. It must have been a rather late night for you.”

“For us all,” Dick agrees automatically. Thank goodness, the habit of politeness has kept him from revealing how badly rattled he is at the Captain’s appearance. It must be anxiety that has his heart stuttering in his chest and leaving him feeling as if he’s been caught doing something he oughtn’t. He can’t look at the Captain without thinking of the jewels, the rumors at the gala, the thefts of the Black Cat…

“Have you breakfasted?”

“Yes, I had a tray.”

“Excellent. Then, may I command your time for a few moments? Among other matters, I believe I owe you several weeks’ worth of wages.”

“Oh, I - yes, thank you, sir.” Dick gives himself a mental shake, disbelieving his own foolishness. Living here at Wayne Manor where his every need is met, his food provided, his rooms warmed, his linens changed and his clothes laundered, he’d actually forgotten that he is to be paid on top of all of this. The value of his board is already greater than anything he’d earn in any of the other lines of employ open to him. But now that Captain Wayne reminds him, it would be nice to have another pair of shoes. The formal pair purchased for last night won’t do for everyday. A nice sturdy new pair will be better for church and other semiformal outings, and then he can consign his current pair to everyday pursuits…

“Then come along.” Captain Wayne leads Dick back through the foyer and into the east wing to his study. “You’ve been with us about a month now, haven’t you?”

“Has it been so little?” Dick sits in the chair Captain Wayne indicates, opposite Captain Wayne’s desk, startled into frankness. It seems much, much longer. It seems at times as if he’s lived here always. 

“Truly, it does seem longer.” Captain Wayne continues smiling as he seats himself behind his des and pulls open a drawer. From this drawer he produces a stack of bills that makes Dick boggle and begins counting them out in a businesslike manner. He pauses halfway through. “I should have asked, Miss Grayson, whether you would prefer a check?”

“I - no, sir.” Dick feels the urge to duck his head in apology and steps on it firmly. “I do not bank.” Which is nothing to be ashamed of. A gala night in rich company mustn’t let Dick forget his background. Circus performers don’t stay in any one place long enough for banking, and orphans certainly have nothing to bank. “Cash is quite acceptable.”

“Hm.” Captain Wayne resumes counting bills, but his mind now seems to be elsewhere. “I hope I’m not forward in asking this, but - you intend to stay with us for some time, I hope?”

“Oh, yes, Captain!” For a moment doubt swamps him, but Dick shakes it off. His feelings are his feelings, and besides, to give Captain Wayne any hint of Dick’s suspicions is unthinkable. “If you’re forward, then let me be likewise. I love the children with all my heart. If my own wishes were all that mattered, I’d stay for the rest of their lives.” 

Dick hasn’t lied. If he could, he’d overlook anything that would disrupt the cozy life he has here, including their adopted father’s potential thievery. He shouldn’t feel like that. But he does. He cares too much for them - for all of them - to want to  ruin the family they’re building here. A family they’ve extended to include him. Even the Captain, whether he’d meant to or not, had extended Dick membership before all of Gotham last night at the ball, by dressing him in Wayne jewels and dancing with him before the assembled crowd. How can Dick betray the Captain after that?

The Reverend Mother will know what to do, he tells himself. There will be an answer that doesn’t involve destroying what the Captain has created here. There will.

Captain Wayne nods. “I confess, I’m glad to hear it.” He finishes counting out the stack and puts the rest of the bills back in the drawer, but doesn’t slide the assembled pile over to Dick yet. “I… you have been honest. Let me be likewise. Your coming here has changed everything, and in the very best way. I’ve never seen the children happier. They turn to you, Miss Grayson. They turn to you in ways they’ve never turned to me. They have taken you to their hearts as much as you have taken them. I know that you and I didn’t quite - that is, that I behaved - upon my recent return from business - ”

The Captain is floundering. Dick smiles at him, feeling an odd mixture of pity and tenderness. “I have already accepted your apology,” Dick assures him, “and we need never mention the matter again. Honestly, I’ve entirely forgotten it.” This, too, is the truth. The business of the Black Cat has entirely pushed it out of his mind. 

“Thank you, Miss Grayson,” the Captain says in relief. “Then, with that behind us…” He pushes the stack of bills towards Dick, but doesn’t take his hand off them. “If you are to remain with us for as long as it seems we all desire, then it may benefit us to move past a strict employer/employee relationship.” He seems to realize what he’s said at the same moment Dick does, and an astonishing dusting of pink appears high on the Captain’s cheekbones. Dick stares, fascinated. “Financially,” the Captain says hastily. “I mean to say, financially.”

“Of course,” Dick says weakly. The Captain is certainly not propositioning him. That’s good. It means that the gossip from last night had been totally unfounded. Dick’s opinion of the Captain may remain relatively intact, and not have to be revised downward for dishonorable behavior. Dick is absolutely not disappointed by this. “Financially.”

“Yes.” The Captain breathes out through his nose, the calming technique Dick has already observed him to favor, and goes on hastily, as if speed and a large number of words can erase his blunder. “I propose that you enter into an account with the Bank of Gotham, my own preferred financial institution. While this would naturally benefit you in a secure, interest-bearing place to store your own earnings, its real advantage would be to enable me to add you to several of the household accounts. This would give you drawing power on funds for such matters as the children’s clothes and extracurriculars, the charitable work you’ve undertaken with them, and any necessities of your own.” 

Dick’s jaw nearly hits the floor. Later on Dick might feel guilty over not immediately thinking of the power this gives him to further investigate his suspicions about Captain Wayne’s financial situation and the possibility of his being the Black Cat. In the immediate moment Dick can only gape. “But then I’d be spending your money,” he says, as if the Captain can somehow possibly have not realized this. “I could spend it on anything I liked! I could spend all of it!” Well, perhaps not all of it; Captain Wayne will still have many personal accounts, not to mention the profits from Wayne Industries and the sums he could raise on his estate and manor. But still! Everyone knows profligate spending can ruin families. Dick has been known to the Captain for only four weeks. How can the Captain trust him? Especially since - since - 

He must not care, Dick thinks in dawning astonishment. Either he hasn’t heard the stereotypes about my people and money - or he has, and he doesn’t care. He doesn’t believe them. He doesn’t - he sees me. Me. Not anything else. Just me.

It makes a feeling of warmth spread through him, and Dick forgets everything in smiling foolishly.

Captain Wayne doesn’t laugh at him, which is really more than Dick deserves. He only smiles in return. “You already have control over what I value far more than money,” he says. “To promote the happiness of my children, you have my express permission to spend whatever you think best. That includes spending on yourself, for as I have been told - and since seen for myself - your happiness has a direct bearing on theirs.”

Dick can’t speak for fully thirty seconds, a state of affairs which the Reverend Mother would have taken as a sign of the imminent return of Christ. “I will be worthy of your trust, Captain,” he finally manages to say. “You won’t regret this.” All he wants, in this moment, is to make sure the Captain never regrets trusting Dick.

“As for the jewelry which Miss Kyle last night gifted you,” Captain Wayne goes on, “I would be glad to store it safely for you. I’m sure it’s just as valuable to you as the Drake jewels are to Tim.”

And just as valuable to others, too? Reality intrudes, like a knife wound in the belly, puncturing Dick’s gladness. Dick glances in anguish towards the safe. Worse, the Captain catches the direction of his gaze. “That’s very kind of you,” Dick says carefully, “but I’m sure that to anyone else, a necklace with glass stones isn’t worth stealing.” He hesitates, but he has to try. “I don’t suppose the Black Cat would bother with my room were they to visit Wayne Manor.”

Captain Wayne doesn’t so much as twitch. “I most sincerely doubt they would.” He laughs a little, as if at a joke Dick has made, or perhaps one known only to himself. “No, I don’t imagine they would at all.”

Because they’d know that stealing the governess’ jewelry would give rise to great suspicion? No thief worth their salt would bother with servants’ things when rifling a place such as Wayne Manor. Even if they couldn’t get into Captain Wayne’s safe, there are enough objects of value sitting around in plain sight to make up a good haul, unless a thief already knew that Dick’s gems aren’t glass. And how could a thief know that?

“Then, have you any plans this afternoon?” the Captain asks.

“Plans?” Dick stares at him in sudden fear. Does he know? Does he suspect? Has Dick somehow betrayed - 

“Yes - am I misinformed? Are not Saturdays your afternoon out?” 

“I get an afternoon out?” Dick winces in embarrassment and forbears to clap his hands over his mouth like a misbehaving child. He is an adult. Besides, if the Captain can accidentally imply having amorous intentions towards his governess and then recover, Dick can certainly move past this with grace. With dignity he says, “I had not considered.”

Captain Wayne smiles kindly. “You are entitled to one, though the demands of my business travel will sometimes make that impossible. I had thought you had chosen Saturdays since I myself would often be available and would wish to spend time with my children regardless.”

“That sounds very wise of me,” Dick says, which makes the Captain laugh, as he’d intended it to. “Saturday afternoons it is.” And it provides a neat excuse for going to St. Mary’s - what more natural that, on his afternoon out, he would wish to visit the orphanage where he’d spent so many years? “I had thought to go into town.”

The Captain’s smile widens. “Wonderful,” he says. “I myself have some errands in town. I thought perhaps we could travel together. We can visit the Bank of Gotham first and attend to our business there; then you are only a short walk from the shopping arcade in Park Row.”

Park Row? Captain Wayne expects Dick to go shopping in Park Row? How much money is in these accounts the Captain intends to give Dick access to? 

“Or I could take you wherever else you wish to go in town,” the Captain is saying. “Perhaps you meant to visit St. Mary’s?”

“I - I had thought so - ” Dick stutters, still stuck on the idea of shopping for anything in Park Row. Of course the dressmaker had been located there, and the milliner’s, but - 

“Of course. You will convey my compliments and best wishes to Father Gideon and the Mother Abbess, I hope. Then when we are both quite finished I will drive us back - hopefully in time for dinner. If all that is agreeable?”

“That’s very kind,” Dick temporizes. He doesn’t quite know what to say. He’s so muddled about with guilt and confusion that he’s halfway to calling off his errand entirely, going back to his duties, and forgetting about the whole thing. Having Captain Wayne with him on the drive, having him actually give Dick access to a substantial chunk of funding, and then being delivered to St. Mary’s by him, seems like it will give Dick very little courage to actually confess his suspicions to the Reverend Mother and ask for his advice. But there’s no way to say no without being incredibly rude, at the absolute minimum. After the conversation they’d just had, about Dick staying for a long time and Captain Wayne trusting him with funds for the children’s care, Dick can’t stomach the thought of rudeness. 

A new thought occurs to him. “Surely the bank will be closed?” Dick may not have ever banked, but he knows banks aren’t open on Saturdays. They keep very limited hours, and never on the weekends.

“Usually,” the Captain acknowledges easily. “But when a large enough depositor has business on a Saturday, the partners have been known to make an exception.”

A large enough depositor… and the suggestion that Dick visit the arcade in Park Row. Captain Wayne clearly does have ready funds of some magnitude. Where he’d gotten them is another matter, but the cash in his desk drawer doesn’t represent the entirety of the Wayne fortune. Neither, apparently, does the jewels in the wall safe. Whatever their source. 

Maybe he isn’t the Black Cat? Can Dick hope? 

There are too many maybes. Too many indications pointing in too many directions. Dick has to know. One way or another, he has to know. He can’t go on living in a comfortable dream if the cost of that dream is coming out of the pockets of others. 

So Dick pastes a smile on his face and does his best to sound gracious. “In that case, your company would be delightful.”

“Excellent.” Captain Wayne lifts the pile of bills. “Then should you like this to form your first deposit?”

“Please,” Dick says.

“In that case, if you have no objection, I will write out a check after all. Bankers prefer it so.”

“Not at all.”

The Captain puts the bills back in the drawer and extracts a pad of paper and small note-book instead. He reaches for his pen. “In the future I can arrange for your pay to be automatically transferred as a draft from my main accounts, so that - yes?”

A knock has come on the door. At Captain Wayne’s call, it’s cracked open, and Alfred appears. “Excuse me,” he says. “Maria asks if Miss Grayson could come down to the nursery for a moment? She’s worried about Kate and Cass.”

“Worried?” Dick gets to his feet at once. “Are they hurt? Ill?”

“I believe illness is her concern, yes.”

“I will come too,” the Captain says, rising. “We will have to delay our outing, it seems.”

“The bank will still be there another day,” Dick says. The pleasantry neatly disguises how relieved Dick is at this escape. 

Maria is waiting for them in the nursery when they arrive, Captain Wayne, Dick, and Alfred bringing up the rear. She’s twisting her hands in worry and looks relieved by their arrival. “It’s likely nothing,” she says at once, more to the Captain than anyone else. “They’ve neither spots nor rashes, but neither of them has wanted to do more than laze about yet this morning, and that’s odd, never mind how late they stayed up. And then they didn’t eat a bite of their luncheon, either. Nor did they more than pick at their breakfast. And they’re both warm - not hot, but warm - ”

“Alfred,” Captain Wayne says at once, “please fetch the fever thermometer.”

“Right away, Master Bruce,” Alfred says, already halfway out the door.

“Where are they now?” Dick looks around the nursery, but sees only Terry, drowsy in his crib. In the regular way of things he’d be having a nap about now, but the noise and bustle is keeping him awake. Kate and Cass are nowhere to be found.

“They wanted to go back to bed. In the middle of the day!” Maria says. “Of course I let them, but then I sent for you right away - ”

“Mama?” Kate and Cass have their own bedrooms, but they’re connected to the main playroom and still considered part of the greater nursery complex. The door to the right opens now, and Cass appears in it. She’s back in her nightgown, her hair in two braids down her back. She, too, looks glad to see both Dick and Captain Wayne standing there with Maria. “I thought I heard your voice.”

“Yes, I’m here.”

Cass comes over to Dick and buries her face in his midsection. “Don’t feel so good, Mama.”

“I know, dear. Let me feel your forehead.” Dick lays the back of his hand against her skin and nods to himself. “You’re warm. When did you start feeling ill?”

“In the middle of the night. I wanted a glass of water. So I went to get it, but everything felt all swimmy. I thought I must be dreaming.”

“How does the idea of eating something sound?”

Cass shakes her head. “It makes my stomach unhappy.”

“All right. Let’s get you back to bed.” Captain Wayne makes a movement like he’s going to scoop Cass up and carry her, but Dick shakes his head at him. A motion like that will just make Cass more nauseated. Dick helps her walk instead, slowly, leaning on him to keep her balance. It’s only a few steps to her room. Captain Wayne helps get her tucked in, and Maria brings over a wet cloth and spreads it on Cass’ forehead. “There. Now, you get some rest - ”

“Master Bruce? Miss Grayson?” Alfred appears in the door. “I’ve brought the thermometer.”

“Let’s get your temperature before you rest,” Captain Wayne says. He is clearly experienced in the device’s use, coaxing Cass to open her mouth and slipping it under her tongue. Dick watches in fascination. He’d had his temperature taken once, in a hospital in Crystal City, after he’d mistimed a somersault on the back of a galloping horse and fallen. It had been an odd sensation to have the piece of metal under his tongue and watch the mercury climb. He hadn’t had a fever, though. Just a broken arm. Cass’s case is different. The mercury goes past the red ‘normal’ line, which Dick knows means illness.

“A mild fever,” Captain Wayne says eventually, taking the thermometer from Cass’ mouth. “Not too bad. Rest for you, young lady.” Cass nods, already nestling down in the pillows, her eyes slipping closed. The Captain smooths her hair away from the wet cloth, making sure it’s in full contact with her forehead, and leads a soft-footed procession from her room. 

“How high was her temperature, Master Bruce?” Alfred asks.

“A shade over a hundred,” the Captain answers. Dick must look as blank as he feels, for the Captain expands, “Warmer than normal, but not a very bad fever. The temperature is measured in degrees Fahrenheit.”

“Ah,” Dick says, as if he regularly measures things in degrees of any sort. “Of course.”

“Let’s see how Kate is doing.” Captain Wayne crosses the room and opens the door to her room gently. He pulls back to whisper, “She’s asleep. I’ll see if I can get her temperature without waking her.”

He’s gone for a few minutes. Alfred takes the opportunity to explain more about degrees Fahrenheit to Dick, who nods along, grateful to learn. “As for the actual use of the thermometer, it’s simple enough,” Alfred finishes. “You will no doubt get plenty of practice on the young misses during this little bout. Once you get the hang of it it’s really quite straightforward, and making sense of the numbers will soon be natural to you.”

“I hope so,” Dick says. “Or perhaps I don’t.” Alfred nods in acknowledgement of this sentiment.

Captain Wayne emerges at last, shaking his head. “Kate’s temperature is 101. I think we’d better have the doctor, just to be safe. It may be an influenza.”

Dick stifles a worried gasp at the last minute, remembering the Spanish flu and the deaths of the Captain’s own parents. The last thing he wants to recall that to the Captain’s mind, any more than it will already be there. “What of Terry?” he asks instead. 

“We’d best take him out,” Maria says. “In case it’s catching.”

“Yes. Miss Grayson, will you - ”

“Of course.” Dick goes right over to the crib and picks the fussy toddler up, soothing him with a few low words and a snug cuddle. Terry, exhausted from the delayed nap and the unwanted activity, buries his head in Dick’s shoulder and bids fair to drop right off into sleep. 

“Thank you.” Captain Wayne turns to Alfred. “Call Dr. Thompkins, please, and have her come by as soon as is convenient.”

“Yes, Master Bruce,” Alfred says, heading out the door again and down the hall to the nearest telephone.

Dick tries to think what else must be done. “Has Tim had all the usual childhood illnesses?” he asks.

“Yes, miss,” Maria says. “All the older children have. Master Babs hasn’t the measles, but she’s had all the rest. But Kate and Cass have only had the chicken pox, and I don’t believe Terry has had any.” She looks quickly at Captain Wayne, who shakes his head.

“Well, if this is one of them, it’ll be just as well if Terry has it now and gets it over with,” Dick says to Captain Wayne, trying to strike the brisk-but-comforting tone the Sisters of Perpetual Grace had always deployed when illness had swept the orphanage. “As for Kate and Cass, likely it’s just the effect of having stayed up too late last night. Perhaps they snuck a few sips of wine and upset their stomachs to boot.”

“Perhaps,” Captain Wayne agrees, though uneasily. “I’ll feel better once the doctor has seen them.”

“In the meanwhile, rest is what they need,” Dick says firmly. Terry murmurs sleepily against Dick’s shoulder and turns his head in quest of a more comfortable position, as if reinforcing Dick’s words. “Maria and I will take turns watching over them.”

The Captain looks surprised, then smiles tentatively. “Are you telling me not to worry?”

“I suppose I am,” Dick says. Any thoughts of the Black Cat and stolen jewels have flown straight out of Dick’s mind. He sees only a concerned parent when he looks at the Captain now. “There’s nothing worrying will accomplish. Kate and Cass will be the better for some peaceful sleep; you’ll see.”

Alfred returns. “Doctor Thompkins is at leisure and will drive right over. We may expect her in fifteen minutes. And Cook reports that some lovely bone broth is at a low simmer on the stove and will be ready the moment either of the children feels up to having some.”

“Thank you, Alfred,” Captain Wayne says, not taking his eyes off Dick. “I suppose I really don’t have anything to worry about, then.”

“No, indeed, sir.”

“Then I’ll be in my study. Call me when the doctor arrives.”

“Very good, Master Bruce.”

Dick nods and smiles at him. The Captain smiles back, and leaves shaking his head in a kind of pleased disbelief.

“Now, I think we’d better prepare to have Terry sleep elsewhere for the next few days,” Dick says when the Captain is fairly gone. “Certainly he’ll need to play elsewhere. The school-room will do for that. He’ll want some of these toys. The blocks, I think, and the Crayolas - ”

The fifteen minutes until the doctor arrives pass quickly after that. Alfred calls additional help, and a second crib is brought down from the attic and set up in the school-room and made up with fresh linens. Toys are moved, as are clothes. Alfred even undertakes to roll up the thick rug from the nursery and move it to the school-room to increase Terry’s comfort and sense of familiarity. Dick settles Terry down in the second crib with his usual blanket and stuffed animal and has the satisfaction of seeing him go straight back to sleep after only a moment of resettling. 

“I’ll stay with him, miss,” Maria says, settling herself down in Dick’s usual chair. “I know you’ll want to see the doctor.”

“Thank you,” Dick says gratefully. Maria will be worried as well, and has just as much of a claim to the children as Dick does, or even more, since she’d been their nursemaid. It’s good of her to defer to Dick. Perhaps Dick ought to demur and insist she go, but if so, Dick will have one more thing to confess to the Reverend Mother, because he gladly takes Maria’s offer and goes back to the nursery.

Dr. Thompkins arrives shortly after, and Dick hurries to the door to greet her, meeting up with Captain Wayne as he does. “Well, where are my patients?” she says cheerfully after introductions have been performed. “Captain Wayne, I declare you keep me in business. Most fathers wouldn’t call me for a mild fever.”

“Most fathers haven’t lost loved ones to influenza,” Captain Wayne says wryly.

“Entirely untrue,” Dr. Thompkins says. She sets off towards the nursery, clearly needing no directions. “But folk react differently to death. Ah, well, that’s human nature for you. Now, Miss - Grayson, wasn’t it? Tell me what experience you have of nursing, please, and leave nothing out.”

The full history of Dick’s nursing experience would take longer than the walk down the hallway affords, but once Dick mentions having spent the better part of a decade at St. Mary’s orphanage, Dr. Thompkins starts nodding in satisfaction. “You’ll have seen it all, then,” she says. “Had everything yourself? Diphtheria?”

“Yes, and typhoid right after I came to the orphanage, too. Not to mention the usual; measles, mumps, scarlet fever - ”

“Had you had any of them before you were orphaned?”

“Yes, mainly. I hadn’t had mumps, but I got them in the first year.”

“Spent most of your time after that on nursing duty, then?”

“Unfortunately,” Dick sighs. “The Sisters always took care of the worst ill, but there were never enough hands.”

“Of course. It’s always that way in orphanages. Well, I shan’t worry, then. I’ll wager you’ll do as well as any hospital nurse. Captain Wayne, your children are in good hands,” Dr. Thompkins says cheerfully as she turns the handle and steps into the nursery.

“I’m glad to know it,” the Captain answers, but he’s looking at Dick as he says it.

“Now, who’s first? Ah, I see a volunteer.” Kate’s peeping around her door, awake now and attracted by the noise of the doctor’s arrival. “Back in bed with you, miss, and let me take your temperature.”

Twenty minutes of examination follow, ten for each child. Dr. Thompkins leaves them tucked back into bed with a few cheerful words before ushering Dick and Captain Wayne back out of the nursery and into the common space of the west wing. “Well, they’re definitely ill,” she says in response to their queries. “No, Miss Grayson, I’m sorry to say it’s not just the effect of staying up too late or too many sweet foods. They were at the gala last night?”

“Yes, all the children were,” Captain Wayne says.

“All?”

“No,” Dick says, “not Terry. The youngest,” he adds, in case Dr. Thompkins isn’t clear on the childrens' ages.

She nods. “And little Terry’s not ill, is he?”

“Not yet, anyway.”

“I thought it must be like that,” Dr. Thompkins says in satisfaction. “The older children have all had influenza before, but the younger haven’t. Someone last night probably had a mild case and didn’t even realize it. That’s common with adults who have had the Spanish flu. Then they pass it along like a bad penny. The older children aren’t likely to take ill again; maybe a little sore throat, or some weariness - I know you value education, Captain, but if one of them complains of feeling laggard, I’d let them stay home from their academies for a day or two. Otherwise you haven’t anything to worry about with them. As for Terry - I don’t advise exposing him. No, Miss Grayson, I know it’s the usual thing, and if it were measles or scarlet fever or any other kind of childhood illness I’d be first to say he should have it and get it over with. But influenzas aren’t like that; you can have them more than once, and they’re just as hard on the young as the old. Keep him apart. And don’t care for him yourself, if you’re going to nurse the young ladies.”

“I am,” Dick says at once.

“Then hand Terry’s care off to someone else for a while.”

“He is still young enough to have a regular nurse,” Captain Wayne says. “She will stay with him.”

“Good. Now. If you have any servants who haven’t had the Spanish flu, better have them stay clear of the childrens’ wing for a while. No, Captain - ” Dr. Thompkins holds up her hand before Captain Wayne can do more than turn pale. “I don’t believe that’s what they have; it seems like a much milder influenza, and it is winter, you know. I only mention the Spanish flu because anyone who’s survived it seems to be much less susceptible to the general run of influenzas et al. Anyone who hasn’t had it is more likely to catch this one, and I’d prefer not to set up a pandemic ward in your basement.” She smiles, so this is meant to be a joke. Dick doesn’t find it very funny. From the look on Captain Wayne’s face, he isn’t amused, either.

A few more detailed instructions on nursing follow, and then Dr. Thompkins hands them a bottle of medicinal syrup with instructions to give the sick children a spoonful apiece twice a day. “And I’ll return to check on them on Monday, by which time I expect to find them much improved.”

“Thank you, Dr. Thompkins,” Captain Wayne says. “Alfred will show you out.”

“I’ll bring a teaspoon back for you, Miss Grayson,” Alfred says over his shoulder.

“Thank you, Alfred. Thank you, Doctor,” Dick says.

Captain Wayne takes a deep breath. “Nothing too serious, then,” he says, as if to himself.

“Not at all,” Dick says encouragingly. “I’ll take on the nursing duties, if you can assign someone else to look after the older children for a few days? Mainly Babs - the elder can get themselves to and from school well enough, though their homework may suffer a little.”

“Of course,” Captain Wayne says. He takes another breath. “And - you’ll let me know the moment anything changes?”

“Right away,” Dick promises. “You’ve had the ’flu yourself, haven’t you?”

“Yes. In Europe.” Captain Wayne folds his lips closed, as if the memory is unpleasant.

Dick hurries past it quickly. “Then you’re in no danger, and needn’t stay away. Why don’t you come back in a few hours, after Kate and Cass have finished having their post-doctor’s visit nap? They’ll likely be going a little stir-crazy by then, and would enjoy having someone read to them.”

“Oh,” Captain Wayne says, sounding startled. “I wouldn’t be in the way?” He tries to smile, unsuccessfully.

“Not a bit of it. It will give me a break to get something to eat.” Dick lays a hand on the Captain’s arm, wanting to ease his worry. He’s familiar with all the stereotypes about Alphas and sick-rooms, and sees the way the Captain is torn between wanting to see his ill children and wanting what’s best for them, which he clearly thinks is him staying away. Dick knows otherwise. “Please come. They’ll love to see you. And so will I.”

The Captain’s smile becomes a little firmer. “I can bring them broth, and help them eat, too.”

“So you can. That will be lovely.”

“If you’re really certain - ”

“I am.”

“Okay.” The Captain is really smiling now. “Then I will.”

“Thank you, Captain Wayne.”

“No,” the Captain says. “Thank you.”

Chapter Text

The next few days pass in a blur. The children take their medicine without complaining, but it doesn’t seem to do them much good. They remain feverish, listless, achy and tired. Even Captain Wayne coming to read to them fails to elicit more than brief smiles and briefer attention spans. They sleep for long stretches and continue to refuse food. 

The older children attend church on Sunday with Alfred. Dick tries to send Captain Wayne as well, but he refuses to go. Terry is kept back for his own protection. He’s too young to get anything from divine service anyway. The remaining children come back having lit candles and said extra prayers for their sisters’ health, and bring a promise from Father Gideon that she and the nuns will say prayers as well. This brightens Captain Wayne up somewhat, as does both the children finally taking some of Cook’s bone broth later that afternoon. The good feeling doesn’t last. Kate vomits all over the Captain’s shoes shortly after, and Cass isn’t far behind. That sets off a cycle where the two trade off vomiting until the small hours of the morning.

“They’re getting sicker,” Captain Wayne says morosely, after he’s changed Kate’s sheets for the third time while Dick had bathed her. “Do you think - ”

He doesn’t finish the sentence. He doesn’t need to. Dick can fill in the blanks.

Kate is asleep again already as Dick tucks her into her newly clean bed and makes sure the hot-water bottle at her feet is warm. The fire is built up and the blankets are thick and heavy. Kate barely even stirs as Dick settles them around her.

Still, Dick keeps his voice low. “Illnesses often progress this way. They get worse, and then they get better. It takes the body a little time to catch up, you see - it doesn’t realize it needs to fight back until you’re already sick. Especially with children.”

“You must have seen a lot of sick children,” the Captain says tentatively. “You would certainly know.”

“Oh, yes. At least once a year, usually two or three times, some new child would bring in measles or such, and everyone who hadn’t had it yet would go down all at once.”

“And they recovered?” The fear in the Captain’s voice is palpable. Dick takes his hand as if he’s one of the children and leads him away from Kate’s bedside, back into the common nursery, and the Captain follows as docilely as a child, too.

“Most of them,” Dick says gently. “The ones who didn’t - you know the conditions a child might face before they come to an orphanage. Many of them were weak to begin with. Underfed, or ill with something else, or broken-hearted, which matters more than most doctors think.”

“Not like Kate and Cass,” the Captain says hopefully.

“No. They’re strong and healthy, and have no lack of will to live. And they’re receiving excellent care. Dr. Thompkins is very skilled.”

“So are you.” The Captain dredges up a smile. “You’re even taking the time to comfort me. My apologies. I shouldn’t be piling more on you at such a time.”

“You’re tired. You could do with some rest.”

“As could you.”

There’s a long, quiet moment in the dim nursery where they only look at each other in wry acceptance of this mutual truth. “It’s late,” Dick says at last. “Why don’t you go on to bed?”

“And leave you here alone?” The Captain looks mulish. “You need help.”

“We shouldn’t both wear ourselves out.”

“Then you should be the one to sleep. You were with them all day,” Captain Wayne says, raising his voice slightly when Dick tries to protest. “Come now. We’ll divide the night. You sleep for four hours, and then I’ll sleep. Is it agreed?”

“If you need help - ”

“If I need help, I shall get it from one of the many servants in the Manor. Just as you were planning to do when it’s my turn, yes?” The Captain raises a challenging eyebrow, and smiles when Dick sighs acknowledgement. “If anything serious happens, I do promise to wake you at once. I worry, you know.” His smile wavers, and he doesn’t look nearly so commanding, all of a sudden. “I worry a great deal.”

“I know,” Dick says softly. He offers a smile of his own. “I suppose I will have to take your worry as a guarantee, then. Surely you’ll wake me if you’re the least bit uncertain.”

“Surely I will.” The Captain’s smile looks a trifle firmer. “So you’ll rest?”

“A quick bath first, if you please,” Dick says, flinging out his hands in mock entreaty and earning himself a rueful nod from the Captain. “But yes, afterwards, sleep. I promise.”

“All right.” Captain Wayne hesitates, as if he wants to say something more, but then thinks better of it. “Good night, Miss Grayson,” he says at last.

“Good night, Captain.”

Dr. Thompkins arrives the next morning, checks on her patients, and says the same thing that Dick had said. “All part of the process,” she says cheerfully to Kate and Cass, who are both crowded into Cass’ bed for the moment while the linens are being changed - again - in Kate’s. “I’m surprised you even tried to eat anything yesterday. Usually you don’t start feeling hunger again until the fever’s broken.”

Cass looks down, and Kate glances at her father warily. Dr. Thompkins follows Kate’s gaze and nods. “You wanted to reassure your father, hm?” she says. “A lovely thought, but foolish. The best thing you can do is learn to mind what your bodies are telling you. No more eating, now, until I say so. I’ll be back every day to check on you until you’re well again.”

“Yes, Dr. Thompkins,” Kate says obediently. Cass nods without looking up.

“Especially you,” the doctor says to Cass. “Your fever is up a degree today. You must rest, not exert yourself, so your body can heal.”

“Yes’m,” Cass whispers. Dick puts his arm around her in reassurance.

“I’m sorry,” Captain Wayne says as soon as they’re out of the nursery. “I didn’t realize they felt - ”

Dr. Thompkins holds up a hand, and the Captain falls silent. “It’s not unusual,” she says. “Parents often take their childrens’ illnesses worse than the patients themselves. But I must insist that you dial it back. If you cannot - ”

“I will.”

“Hmph.” Her gaze cuts to Dick. “You can keep him in line?”

“Er,” Dick says, startled. “I - that is - technically speaking - ”

“Absolutely he can,” Captain Wayne interjects. “Nurse Grayson’s word will be my law.”

Nurse Grayson, is it? Dick cuts his eyes towards the Captain, realizing only after he’s done so just how much of Jason has clearly rubbed off on him. The Captain looks unrepentant. 

“You’re on your honor,” Dr. Thompkins says threateningly. “Don’t think I won’t banish you from the sick-room.”

Captain Wayne puts his hand over his heart and bows. Dr. Thompkins rolls her eyes, but lets it be.

The Captain is true to his word. He looks to Dick before trying anything the doctor hasn’t specifically endorsed, and when Dick does have to issue a negative, he accepts it meekly and without protest. As if to reward this behavior, Kate’s fever breaks the night after next. Dr. Thompkins examines her Wednesday morning and pronounces her to be on the mend.

“Though you’re not to get out of bed quite yet,” she adds, “nor try to eat anything stronger than broth or toast. Take a nap whenever you feel sleepy, and continue to bundle up - the heat is good for you.”

“Yes’m,” Kate says obediently.

“Now, let me see my other patient,” Dr. Thompkins says. Cass’ fever hasn’t broken, and it seems to Dick that her sleep last night had been more fitful and less restorative. He communicates these worries to Dr. Thompkins in a low voice, and though she makes light of them, Dick sees the way she frowns when Cass has trouble sitting up long enough for Dr. Thompkins to listen to her chest. “All right, to sleep with you, then,” she says at last, settling Cass back down again and glancing significantly at Dick and Captain Wayne.

“What’s wrong?” the Captain demands at once they’re out of the nursery. “Why isn’t Cass getting well?”

“Different people heal at different rates. One of them was always going to mend faster than the other,” Dr. Thompkins says in exasperation. “Go back to your office and stop hovering.” Captain Wayne has been staying home from the office except for the odd hour here and there, bringing stacks of paper home and conducting business by telephone as much as possible. Yesterday afternoon Mr. Fox had come by to visit and stayed shut up with the Captain for nearly four hours. They’d taken dinner in his office, and Mr. Fox had only left when Captain Wayne had come to read the sick children a bedtime story. “I’ve got a few more instructions for Miss Grayson, but I don’t want you trying to hurry those children into wellness.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Captain Wayne says with uncharacteristic obedience. Dick frowns after his retreating back, but lets the matter go when Dr Thompkins touches his arm and commands his attention.

“I don’t like Cass’ breathing,” she says in a low voice. “The influenza is going for her lungs.”

Dick’s own chest seizes up, and for a moment he can’t draw in air. He has to put his hand out blindly for balance, which he finds on a nearby end table, and lean against it. “What can we do?”

“I’m not leaving tonight. You go get some sleep. Four hours, nothing less. I’ll wake you if the crisis comes sooner. Otherwise, get your strength. I’ll need your help when it comes.”

Dick goes back to his room in a daze. He lies down on the bed fully clothed. He knows Dr. Thompkins is right about him needing his strength, but Cass - Cass - he won’t be able to sleep a wink - 

His eyes blink open into darkness. No - not full darkness. There’s a shaft of light coming from his open door. But he’d closed the door. Hadn’t he?

“Miss Grayson,” a voice calls urgently. Betsy’s voice. “The doctor says to come quick. You’re needed.”

Dick rolls out of bed and runs for the nursery.

The next hours blur, mercifully, in Dick’s memory. Only a few moments remain clear, like polished glass in concrete. Captain Wayne arriving at the nursery at nearly the same time as Dick, shamelessly admitting to having eavesdropped on Dr. Thompkins earlier and then bribed Alfred to wake him when the doctor raised the alarm. Holding Cass upright enough to swallow some medicine that Dr. Thompkins holds to her mouth. Wetting towel after towel and putting them on Cass’ forehead, her neck, her wrists, to try to cool her head, and warming the hot-water bottle by her feet to draw the fever down and away from her brain. The look on Captain Wayne’s face as Cass coughs and coughs and can’t draw breath. 

The clock advances mercilessly, and Cass lies limp in the bed, breathing raspily, sweating with the fever. “Sulphur,” Dr. Thompkins says at last. “We must smoke out her lungs.”

Alfred, sleepless himself and on the watch, goes to fetch it at a run. Dick sits on the edge of the bed, holding Cass up to make breathing as easy as possible. “It will be all right,” he says over and over - to Cass, to Captain Wayne, to himself. “We’re here. You’ll be all right.”

Captain Wayne puts his hand over his eyes and turns away.

“Here,” Alfred says, skidding to a halt in the doorway. “What shall I - ”

“On the fire,” Dr. Thompkins says. “Bring the child over to it - ”

Captain Wayne scoops Cass up in one motion, hefting her as if she weighs nothing. He hesitates at the fire. Alfred has scattered the sulphur over the flames, and a noxious cloud is rising from it. “Surely it’s not - ”

“Do it!”

Dick helps him. Together he and Captain Wayne support Cass in kneeling over the fire. She tries to flinch away. Dick smooths back her hair and points her chin towards the choking fumes, while Captain Wayne keeps her torso in as straight a line as possible. “Breathe in, Cass,” Dick urges. “As deep as you can - come on - ”

The breath rattling in Cass’ chest is the sound of death. Captain Wayne nearly sags. “I can’t, I - ”

Dick turns on him in a sudden fury. “God damn it, Captain, you will do this!”

Cass’ rasping breaths suddenly catch. The room, the people in it, the very air seems to freeze, hanging on the moment. Then suddenly she coughs, horrible and gasping and like it’s tearing out her chest - coughs, and coughs, and then breathes in just as suddenly, a real breath, a full breath, and she falls back against Captain Wayne choking and gasping and breathing again. 

“Thank God,” the Captain whispers, staring down at her. “Thank God.”

“Keep holding her up,” Dr. Thompkins says. She’s got her stethoscope to hand and is listening to Cass’ chest. “Her lungs aren’t clear yet - but they’re clearing.” She takes the stethoscope from her ears and sets it on the floor with a hand that trembles. “They’re clearing. The fumes have broken up the major blockage in her chest.”

“Thank God,” the Captain says again. He blinks tears from his eyes, and reaches out a hand blindly. It finds Dick’s, and the Captain squeezes. “Thank you.”

“Dr. Thompkins,” Dick tries.

“I am grateful to Dr. Thompkins,” Captain Wayne says. “More than words can say.” The doctor bows her head in acknowledgement, busy adding more sulphur to the fire. “But - if you hadn’t yelled at me right then - ”

“I won’t apologize,” Dick says. 

“Never apologize for that,” the Captain says. 

Cass opens her eyes. The glassy look is gone from them. “Mama,” she whispers, her voice nearly gone. “Papa.”

“We’re here,” Captain Wayne tells her. “We’re both here.”

Dick doesn’t remember going to sleep, after that. He remembers helping hold Cass over the fire again, to clear out her lungs further. He remembers reaching for the water-jug to find it empty. He remembers stepping outside the sick-room, the coolness of the rest of the Manor lifting him up as if he’s going to float away. He remembers Dr. Thompkins stepping out after him and saying something to him, and then Captain Wayne’s arms around him - though that must surely be a dream. He doesn’t remember returning to his room or laying down on the bed. The next thing Dick knows is opening his eyes on midafternoon sunlight.

Cass is his first thought, and he swings his legs over the side of the bed at once. The sound of his shoes hitting the floor make him look down at himself and see that he’s still fully dressed from last night. These clothes are rumpled and smoke-stained and have doubtless stained the coverlet, but Dick can’t make himself care about that right now. He has to see Cass.

That’s easier said than done. Running down the hallway proves to be impossible, after Dick’s legs shake and refuse to hold him up. A sedate walk, with occasional pauses to lean against the wall, seems to be the most he can manage. Belatedly it occurs to him that he hasn’t eaten in over twenty-four hours.

The sound of pounding feet catch Dick by surprise. He turns slightly and sees the oldest children pouring down the hallway, clearly just home from school. “Mother Grayson!” Tim says happily upon seeing him. “You’re awake!”

“Yes, I - I was just going to see Cass.” A faint sense of guilt makes itself known; Dick has been neglecting the other children in his worry about Kate and Cass. “Are you all well?”

“Right as rain,” Jason assures him. “None of us had so much as a tickle in our throats.”

“Nor I,” Babs said. She’s with her older siblings; Dick is too exhausted to wonder why. 

Steph adds, “Terry seems to have escaped it entirely.”

“Father says Cass had a bad bout, though,” Damian says. He looks at Dick solemnly. “He says you pulled her through.”

“Dr. Thompkins pulled her through,” Dick says.

“Father says Dr. Thompkins couldn’t have done it without you. He says your nursing kept her strong enough to beat it, and when the crisis came, your cool head kept him calm.”

Calm. Dick would laugh if he weren’t so tired. He’d shouted at the Captain, which is the opposite of calm. “I think he’s just so grateful Cass is all right that he’s crediting everyone he can.” 

“That’s not like father,” Damian says. His steady look is beginning to make Dick nervous. “He never gives anyone more than their due.”

“Are you going to see Cass?” Steph asks, thankfully redirecting the conversation. “We’d like to visit her, if it’s allowed. Or at least Kate. Kate’s been mending longer, right?”

“Yes, since last night - or rather night before last,” Dick corrects himself. “You may come along to the nursery door, anyway. Dr. Thompkins will make the final decision on whether Cass or Kate may have visitors.” Assuming Dr. Thompkins is still here - but Dick rather expects she will be. After the scare Cass had given them all last night, Captain Wayne is not likely to have let her leave.

Indeed, as they approach the nursery door, Dr. Thompkins herself steps out and closes it behind her. She looks at the approaching crowd with a frown. “What are you all doing tramping here like a herd of elephants?” she demands. “Your sisters need rest.”

“We just wanted to see for ourselves that they were getting better,” Tim says. “We’ve been worried.”

Dr. Thompkins sighs, rubbing at the bridge of her nose. “Yes, of course. I’m sorry I snapped. It’s very natural that you would be concerned.” She thinks for a moment, then says, “Cass is sleeping now, and she oughtn’t be disturbed. But you may go visit with Kate for five minutes, if you promise to keep quiet and not rouse her to exertion.”

“Yes, ma’am!” the children chorus - well, except for Jason, who has probably never said ‘ma’am’ in his life, but who nods seriously, which for him means the same thing. They file in to the nursery quietly and practically tiptoe through the common area to Kate’s room. She’s sitting up in bed with a book in her lap and looks happy to see her siblings come piling in through the door. Dick eases it closed behind them so their chattering won’t disturb Cass. 

“She’s doing very well,” Dr. Thompkins says, indicating Kate’s door. “She may eat a little more today. Soups, oatmeal, rice pudding. That sort of thing. I’ve already spoken to your cook.”

Dick nods. “And Cass?”

Dr. Thompkins sighs. “She’s past the worst of it, but it was a close thing. I’m hopeful it won’t have done her lungs any lasting harm. She’ll be a whole recovering yet, poor child. Let her stay in bed at least until the weekend. I’ll come back on Saturday to see her again.”

“All right.” Dick looks towards her door. “Is Cass really sleeping?”

“Yes. And you should be, too. I know you’ve been nursing her night and day. You just about collapsed yourself last night, you know. Don’t overdo it and leave me doctoring you too.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Dick says with as much of a smile he can muster. Now that Dr. Thompkins mentions it, he is quite tired. If Cass is asleep, she doesn’t need him, and Kate will probably nap as soon as her siblings leave. The older children can take care of themselves for another day. “I should see Terry.”

“Take my advice, Miss Grayson, and wait another day before you do, just to be safe.”

“You think I might - ”

“I think we still don’t know a great deal about how the ’flu is passed along, and it’s better safe than sorry. Tomorrow will be soon enough.”

“All right,” Dick says reluctantly. He’s sure Terry is missing him, but he’d hate to get Terry sick after so much had been done to keep him safe - and certainly not after seeing how sick Cass had been. “Then - ”

“Then you’ll go back to bed,” Dr. Thompkins says firmly. 

“I haven’t eaten.”

“Have a tray in your room. Then sleep. Doctor’s orders.”

“All right,” Dick surrenders. The door to Kate’s room opens at the same time, and the elder children emerge. Damian holds up a pocket-watch.

“Five minutes,” he says proudly. 

“Well done,” Dr. Thompkins approves. “Now I have another task for you. Your governess is dead on his feet. Help him back to his room, get him some food, and then make sure he sleeps. Understood?”

Jason promptly comes over and gives Dick his arm. Dick discovers he’s very glad to have something to lean upon, and doesn’t complain when Steph comes over to support Dick on the other side. Damian goes straight over to the bell-pull, then glances towards Cass’ door and says, “I’ll just run down to the kitchen myself.”

“I’ll go on and get your room ready,” Tim says to Dick, heading for the door behind Damian. 

Dick thinks he really ought to protest all this fussing, but his legs are starting to feel like limp string again, and laying down actually does sound really lovely. “All right,” he says.

“Come on,” Steph says encouragingly. “Just a few steps down the hallway.”

The walk to his room feels like climbing a mountain. By the time they arrive, Tim has aired out the bed-linens, changed the now-soiled daytime coverlet for the nighttime comfortable, and brought the small side-table over to the sofa so Dick can eat while resting. Damian appears a few moments later with a tray from the kitchens. He looks like he intends to spoon-feed Dick, too, but Dick flatly refuses. Happily Cook has sent foods that are easy to eat; breads, and cheeses, and dried fruits. Dick chews industriously, fighting the pull of fatigue. The children hold a hasty, low-voiced conference in the corner of the room, which ends with the three Alphas leaving while Tim goes into the bathing chamber. Dick finds he’s too tired even to be curious about this. He lays against the sofa, eating bread and cheese, and watches without surprise as the Alphas reappear holding cans of hot water. They too vanish into the bathing chamber. A few minutes later they reemerge, Tim coming behind them and making shooing motions. “I’ve got it from here,” he says.

“Sleep well, Mother Grayson,” Damian says cheerfully as the Alphas leave.

Dick reaches for more bread and discovers the tray is empty. “Come on, Mother Grayson,” Tim says, coming and slipping an arm around Dick’s waist and helping him up. “Let’s get you undressed. There’s hot water for washing.”

“I think if I try to take a bath I shall fall asleep in it,” Dick says ruefully, letting Tim help him slip his day-old clothes off.

“Just a sponge bath,” Tim urges. “I shall help you. You’ll feel ever so much better after.”

Dick isn’t so sure, but arguing would take effort, so he does as Tim says and finds that he does, indeed, feel better. Tim hands Dick a towel and then a fresh nightgown, helps him into bed, and then turns out the lights.

“Now who’s the mother?” Dick murmurs from his pillows, half asleep already.

“Just repaying the favor,” Tim says quietly. He comes over to the bed and hesitates for a long moment. Then, with the suddenness of decision, he darts in and kisses Dick’s cheek. “Good night, Mother.”

“It’s only evening,” Dick says, or tries to say. The world slides away before he can even open his mouth, and then he’s asleep.

Dick wakens to the early morning sunlight streaming through the window and Betsy coming in with a stack of linens. He blinks at the opened curtains and sits up. “How long did I sleep?”

“Not a minute less than you needed to,” Betsy says firmly. “Doctor’s orders, and Captain’s, too. No one was to wake you.”

“Have I missed the children going to school?” The idea distresses him. It’s Friday already; he’s missed nearly the whole week. Dick doesn’t regret what he’d done for Kate and Cass, of course not, but he’s eager to retake the reins of his life.

“No, miss,” Betsy says. She grins conspiratorially. “It seems I neglected to close your curtains when I built up the fire last. The sunrise has woken you.”

“Oh, wonderful!” Dick practically leaps out of bed, grinning at the simple pleasure of a fed and rested body doing what he asks of it. The clock reads barely after seven-thirty. He throws open the wardrobe.

“I’ll change your linens while you’re at breakfast,” Betsy says comfortably, sorting the pile she’d brought onto three different stacks on the sofa. “And should you like hot water brought in to bathe?”

“Yes, please,” Dick says devoutly. He strips off his nightgown and looks at it uncertainly. It goes against the grain to send anything to the laundry after having worn it so few times, and he had had a sponge bath last night, but he feels like the sulphur and the indefinable sense of illness have seeped into his skin, and then back out of it, too. “Betsy - ”

“Just put it on the pile, miss. I’ll be taking down all the bed-linens anyway. One more garment won’t make a bit of difference.”

“Thank you,” Dick says gratefully, doing so and then returning to his wardrobe. He takes out his oldest, shabbiest clothes, the lesser of the two suits he’d brought from the orphanage, which he’s already worn enough times to justify washing after today, and shrugs into it. Betsy hurries over to help. 

“I’ve been getting into these clothes on my own since they were made for me,” Dick says, amused, watching her do his buttons.

“A proper lady doesn’t do such things themselves. The magazines all say so.”

“Besty, I’m not - ”

“You saved Miss Cass.” Betsy keeps her head bent over Dick’s shirtwaist, but the catch in her voice does its own expressing. “You’re lady enough for all of us, miss.”

“Thank you,” Dick whispers, at a loss for what else to say.

Betsy finishes doing the buttons and then steps over to the vanity. “Jewelry today, miss?”

Jewelry. Dick stares. The last few days have been so overwhelming that Dick has forgotten everything but fevers and nursing and the fight for Cass’ life. But - jewelry. Selina’s gift. Captain Wayne. The Black Cat.

“Are you all right, Miss Grayson?” Betsy asks tentatively. “You seem a tad… abstracted.”

“Last night was a lot,” Dick says hastily, grateful to have the excuse ready. “But a necklace would be lovely. Thank you.”

Betsy interprets this correctly and brings the amber pendant Tim had gifted him over to Dick. He takes it from her and puts it around his own neck. He can’t help but remember a very different weight on his chest - the beautiful ruby and emerald piece Dick had worn to the gala. And then, with it, comes the memory of Selina’s jewels glittering in his hand. They had come with an entirely different weight. Not physical. Moral. 

The clock chimes the quarter-hour. “Go on, if you like, miss,” Betsy says, already busy stripping linens from Dick’s bed. “I’ve got it all handled here.” She takes a moment to look up at Dick and smile. “You must be eager to go see the children again. Especially Miss Cass.”

It isn’t right, Dick thinks. Captain Wayne, Betsy, Alfred, the children - they’re all looking at Dick as if he’s some kind of, of savior. As if Wayne Manor had been like the castle in the Sleeping Beauty story, all asleep, until Dick had come to wake it up. This had been supposed to be a job. A position. A lucky break for an orphan with a circus background. He hadn’t been supposed to find family here. But the children had needed a mother, and the house had needed a lady, and the Captain… what does the Captain need? Dick shies away from the thought, but it keeps intruding. The Captain needs assistance with the children, certainly. He needs a hostess so that he can open his home and begin involving himself more with his social class. He needs… support? Companionship? Well, who doesn’t?

Slowly Dick walks out of his room and down the hallway towards the dining-room. As he does he prays anew that the Reverend Mother will have some good advice for him. He sees no way out of this tangle that doesn’t hurt someone. He can only hope that the Reverend Mother will.

Whatever it is the Captain needs, Dick thinks, it certainly isn’t a Judas.

Chapter Text

Breakfast is a joyous affair, all of the children glad and happy at Kate and Cass’ recovery and Dick being back among them. Captain Wayne, too, is greeted with extra joy. The children chatter more than they eat, catching the Captain and Dick up on the highlights of their own lives over the past few days. Dick marvels at how much can change in so short a time. Five days doesn’t seem long, but it’s enough to make everything seem new. Babs, it emerges, has been going to school with her older brothers, by special dispensation, and sitting with Damian in first-year courses. She begs hard to be allowed to go today as well - “For after all, father, the headmaster gave permission for a full week, and it’s only one more day; we don’t want to appear ungrateful, and I’m sure Mother Grayson will want to stay with my sisters rather than teach today - ” and Captain Wayne agrees, though not after glancing at Dick and seeing his nod. It’s bittersweet, for Dick knows that come September, Babs will be enrolled full-time, and he already feels the emptiness the school-room will have with only Kate and Cass in it. But Babs looks so excited. Dick wouldn’t dream of holding her back.

To Dick’s surprise, all of the children, even Jason, give Dick a hug and a kiss on the cheek before leaving for school. Even more surprising is the way Captain Wayne beams clear approval as they each do so. It’s demonstrative, and a clear sign of maternal affection in full sight of the servants. Then again, the family has just come through the illness of two of their youngest. Perhaps a little demonstration is acceptable in Captain Wayne’s view, under the circumstances. The Captain himself shakes his sons’ hands gravely, and gives Tim a smile as they head out. Alfred, looking rested himself, is already waiting to drive them away.

“A preview of next year,” Dick says with a sigh. “I shall miss Babs’ energy about the house.”

“They grow up too fast, I think,” the Captain agrees.

“Well.” Dick offers the Captain a smile of his own. “I’d best be checking on Kate and Cass. Will you be going in to Wayne Industries today?”

“No; I have business to take care of here in the morning. But if I may…”

“Yes?”

“If you find Kate and Cass’ recovery progressing as Dr. Thompkins had forecast, what would you say to resuming our planned outing to Gotham this afternoon? I must go to the bank anyway, and it would be convenient to combine the errands.”

“Oh,” Dick says, startled. “I hadn’t thought of leaving them so soon - ”

“I completely understand. I hadn’t, either. But Dr. Thompkins charged me to get you some fresh air if I could.” Captain Wayne smiles. “She says you rather over-exerted yourself these last few days, and I saw as much myself. An afternoon’s outing will do you good.” He must see Dick’s continuing hesitation, and says coaxingly, “I promise we shall be back by supper.”

“Well - all right,” Dick consents. “If Dr. Thompkins advises it. But only if Kate and Cass seem well enough.”

“I’ll trust your judgment on that. Until luncheon then?”

“Until luncheon.”

The drive into Gotham proper is pleasant. Dick had found Kate and Cass much better than he’d dared to expect. Kate has begun to leave her bed, sitting in a comfortable armchair before her warm fire and reading quietly or even working short stretches at her sampler. The empty plates on her breakfast-tray attest to a returning appetite. Cass is farther behind in her recovery, of course, but she too is beginning to sit up a little, though in her bed, and had embarked upon some toast for breakfast that had put some of the pink back in her cheeks. 

Maria had been back on duty after a good rest of her own, and had assured Dick that she is more than equal to watching over the two invalids for the entire afternoon. “Terry will be taking his nap anyway, you know, miss,” she’d said, smiling down at the toddler, who has been restored to the nursery along with his rug and his toys, and had been engaged in industriously taking every toy out of the toy-box and then putting them back in again. “You needn’t worry. And if the doctor said an airing will be good for you…”

So Dick had gone back to his room, taken a longed-for warm bath, and then dressed himself anew in his second-best suit, reasoning that a visit to the Bank of Gotham merits a certain quality of appearance. He’d left Tim’s amber pendant in place, but slipped the fold of fabric containing Selina’s jewels into his pocket before leaving. He’ll want it to take with him to show to the Mother Superior. 

A light luncheon had followed, comprising only himself and Captain Wayne, and then Captain Wayne had handed Dick into the car for the trip into town. The Captain is driving, of course. With the sun up high the day is more like May than March, and Captain Wayne has brought out an open Packard roadster that lets the wind in to ruffle Dick’s hair. Dick takes deep breaths of it as they glide down the hill from Wayne Manor. The miles pass like glass beneath the excellent suspension. The Captain seems relaxed, almost gay, and more talkative than Dick has ever seen him. In his nice clothes, with a charming gentleman beside him, and being conveyed in a luxurious open-top car, Dick feels glamorous, like a movie star.

Nor does the Captain do all the talking himself. He draws Dick out to speak as well. More, he seems to really listen, and really care about the opinion he has solicited, when he leads to the topic of charitable work and asks about Dick’s experience in St. Mary’s various ministries.

“So many people think that dropping off their castoffs is the whole of their Christian duty,” Dick is saying warmly as the buildings begin to crowd closer together around them. “I’m not saying clothes aren’t helpful, and linens are always needed. But there is so much more need than that. These magnates, they see the people working in their factories, their barefoot children and ill-clad wives, and they think that’s what it looks like to be poor. It doesn’t seem to occur to them that those people are the lucky ones. They have jobs. Of course they’re grateful for a second suit of clothes and something warmer for the winter so the children can go to school. But there are so many people who don’t even have a roof over their heads or a crust of bread to eat! If those swells were to just walk by Jackson Park some day and see a real Hoover Village, they’d know the need is so much greater than a few discarded garments could solve.”

The subject is one Dick is passionate on, and Captain Wayne asks incisive, pertinent questions, keeping Dick on the theme until Dick realizes how long he’s been running on and stops abruptly. “Forgive me, Captain. I didn’t mean to lecture.”

“I, however, meant to be lectured,” the Captain says, smiling. “My parents did a great deal of charitable work, but since their deaths I have not been continuing their legacy the way they deserve. Your work with the children at St. Mary’s has recalled me to my duty.”

It somewhat belatedly occurs to Dick that he’s been remiss in a particular social duty. “I have never said to you how sorry I was to read of their passing,” he says quietly. “They were good people.”

“Did you meet them, then?” The Captain doesn’t sound surprised. “While you were at St. Mary’s, I suppose?”

“No - well, yes, there,” Dick says. “But I had met them once before that.“ Had the Waynes ever written of the circus tragedy to their son overseas? He guesses not, or Captain Wayne would have spoken to Dick of it sooner. It’s possible the Captain has merely forgotten, but Dick thinks it more likely, on balance, that Thomas and Martha Wayne would have chosen not to burden their son with news of deaths in Gotham, not when there were so many burdens and deaths already on his shoulders. “Your father was there when my parents died. He tried to save them. When that failed, he arranged for me to come to St. Mary’s.”

“I see.” The Captain is silent for a long moment. When he speaks, his voice is stilted, as if hiding some deeply-buried emotion. “I’m sorry he couldn’t help your parents.”

“There was nothing anyone could have done. They fell from the high trapeze.” Dick sighs. “I owe your father my life. If I had tried to go it alone, I would probably have died of starvation or exposure when the Depression came. At St. Mary’s we ate two meals every day, even at the worst, and there was warmth enough in the winter.”

“I’m glad of that,” the Captain says quietly. The suppressed emotion is stronger than before. They drive in silence for a few minutes while he struggles to master it. Dick feels a warmth, a tenderness, towards his companion. The unique losses they’ve both suffered, like the crucible of illness they’d just passed through, bind them together here in this quiet moment, and Dick temporarily forgets even the Black Cat in the sense of kinship forming there between them.

Then, in startlement, Captain Wayne says, “Did you say your parents fell from the high trapeze?”

Dick laughs. It feels good to laugh, with someone who will know that this levity doesn’t mean he’d loved his parents any less. He laughs not to make light of their deaths but to remember their lives with joy. “We were performers with Haly’s Circus. Our tour brought us to Gotham, where the accident befell them.”

“Where are you from originally, then?” Captain Wayne still sounds surprised and bemused. “You’ve always seemed such a Gothamite to me.”

“I should certainly be by now. But I was born in Keystone City.”

“Have you ever been back, since your parents died?”

“Captain Wayne, I haven’t been back since I was born there.” Dick says it gently, knowing that someone like the Captain, whose roots go back to the founding of Gotham, won’t understand Dick’s lack of connection to Keystone. “Haly’s Circus just happened to be there on the day my mother gave birth, that’s all. It isn’t my native turf. As a child I would have said my home was the circus. Since my parents died, it’s been Gotham. And since I came to Wayne Manor - ” Dick cuts himself off abruptly, shocked by what he’s almost said. They’ve been conversing so easily, and Dick had been feeling kinship and warmth, and he’d forgotten to guard himself from speaking freely. “I’m sorry, I spoke out of turn - ”

“No. No, don’t be sorry.” The Captain stops the car next to a curb; only then does Dick notice the forest of skyscrapers soaring around them, and the sign, next to the car, proclaiming their arrival at the Bank of Gotham. “When I came home from the war, Wayne Manor felt like a tomb. Even though I’d known my parents were dead, even though I’d gotten leave to attend their funerals, it still hadn’t quite seemed real until then. Until I was expected to sleep in my father’s old room, and sit at his old place in the dining table… until the only footsteps I heard echoing off the walls were my own.” He’s not looking at Dick, although the act of driving no longer demands his attention. One of his hands closes into a fist over the steering wheel. “I couldn’t bear it. But then Damian’s mother died, while I was back overseas helping with the peace. He had no other relations I could trace; she had fled persecution in her native land with only the child on her back.”

“That poor lady.” Dick himself had been born in the United States, but he’d grown up hearing stories from other Roma who had been turned out of Germany, Turkey, Greece, Serbia… pogroms and purges had chased them all from the plains of Europe to the shores of America. “She was an ethnic minority?”

“A religious one. Christians were not looked upon kindly in the country of her birth.” Dick nods in silent understanding. Captain Wayne goes on, “I had to take Damian in. What else could I do? I had no idea how to care for a child, but I could hire nannies and nursemaids enough, and there was no one else. He knew me, a little - at least, I was not a stranger to him, as everyone else was - and he clung to me. He needed me. And I needed him.”

“And the others…?”

“Came to me one by one, in their various ways. I imagine you’ve heard most of their stories by now. With every one, the emptiness got a little less. Now I hardly notice it at all.”

“I’m glad,” Dick says quietly. He hesitates only a moment, then reaches over and places his own hand over Captain Wayne’s closed fist. Captain Wayne is not a child, and he’s not, nominally, under Dick’s care. But he, too, seems to need something. Something that Dick can provide. Something that Dick wants to provide.

Captain Wayne’s hand is cold to the touch. He’s been driving for a long while, and he isn’t wearing gloves. Alfred should have made sure the Captain had worn his driving gloves. Dick will make sure, next time. But the skin warms beneath Dick’s palm, and Captain Wayne turns at last and looks at Dick, and smiles. It could easily be a mask, but the tinge of sadness in it convinces Dick that it’s genuine.

“I think in some ways we are very similar, Miss Grayson,” the Captain says. “And if you, too, have found Wayne Manor a home, I am only too glad to hear it.”

The blare of a car horn cuts through the silence of the car, and Captain Wayne smiles more truly. “The sound of my native turf,” he says, joking lightly. He reaches for the handle of the door. “Shall we, Miss Grayson?”

“Yes, let’s,” Dick says, and exits likewise.

“Hm,” the Reverend Mother says.

The set of jewels Selina had given Dick sits spread out on his desk. In the dimness of the Mother Abbess’ office, they don’t sparkle as they had at Wayne Manor, where electric lights make every room bright as day. Here in St. Mary’s candles and oil lamps still have their reign, and their use is hoarded to make funds available for more necessary things. 

Dick sits miserably in the small chair that is the only concession to a visitor’s comfort in the space. He has poured out the whole of his worries and fears in an incoherent jumble and now awaits the Reverend Mother’s advice - or else his judgment. Dick knows not which to expect. He knows only that he feels wretched at having spoken aloud his suspicions, even to the Mother Abbess, with whom they are objectively safe. If Dick’s mother were alive, surely no one would have thought it odd that Dick went to her for counsel. This can be no different. It doesn’t make sense for him to feel guilty at having come to the Mother Abbess. He just does, as if he’s betrayed a trust.

“What do I do?” Dick asks desperately. “Please, Reverend Mother, give me your wisdom.”

“Your primary suspicion centers around these jewels not being fake. Is that right?” The Reverend Mother picks up the bracelet and turns it around and around, contemplatively.

“Yes, Reverend Mother.”

“You have no other reason to suspect? No absences that coincide with thefts? No evidence of clandestine activity?”

“No.” Even as Dick says it, he suddenly remembers the first time he’d ever visited Captain Wayne’s study, and how upset the Captain had been - not when Dick had knocked over the stack of papers, but when Dick had tried to pick them up.

“Where was the Captain last Friday night?”

“Last Friday?” Dick blinks himself back to the present, startled. “At the ball for the German Ambassador, of course.” The German Ambassador - there’s something about him, something connected with that moment in Captain Wayne’s office - Dick frowns, trying to put it together.

“All night?”

“All day and all night.”

“You were with him? All night?”

“I stepped out briefly to put the younger children to bed,” Dick says, recollecting. “The rest of the night - I wasn’t staring at him every minute, but he wasn’t out of my sight for any interval of more than perhaps half an hour.”

“Not nearly enough time, then, to leave the gala, travel to the Kanes’ home, burgle them, and return?”

“Reverend Mother, what are you - ” The penny drops. “The Kanes? Last Friday night?”

The Reverend Mother nods. “You’d have heard yourself, I’m sure, if your children hadn’t been ill. Police believe the theft occurred while the Kanes were at the gala. All was well when they left, but when they returned, they found their jewels missing.”

“Just like the Elliots,” Dick breathes. The gossip Becky had shared with him weeks ago repeats itself in Dick’s mind. They were attending a ball that evening, so all the jewels were out, for Missus and the Misses to choose from. When they got back that night and went to put them away again, weren’t they startled to find the rest were all gone! Nothing left but what was on their necks, tis said. Becky had been speaking of the Elliots; now the Kanes have been robbed. But Friday night, Captain Wayne had been - “The Kanes were among the last to leave. The Captain saw them off personally.” 

Which means - 

Captain Wayne isn’t the Black Cat. He can’t be. He simply can’t be.

Dick is abruptly glad he’s sitting; his knees, his ankles, all of his joints, feel suddenly weak as water with relief. He doesn’t need to fret about the Wayne fortune or the childrens’ futures. He doesn’t need to worry about having Commissioner Gordon come visit his nephew and perhaps stumble upon evidence prejudicial to the Captain. Dick doesn’t need to stop believing that Captain Wayne is a good person, a kind, warm, loving person - who errs, yes, and who doesn’t know his children as well as he ought, but those things can be corrected, the love is already there - 

“The Kanes live some twenty miles away from the gala, according to the papers,” the Reverend Mother says. “In the new part of town. Whereas Wayne Manor still remains in the old part. No small distance to travel. You are certain the Captain could not possibly have been absent for any notable length of time? He owns a motor-car, does he not? An hour might be enough.”

“No, never,” Dick says, still giddy with relief. “It’s completely impossible. He was next to the German Ambassador nearly all night and always at the forefront of everyone’s attention. First in the receiving line, then at the head of the table at dinner, and then on the dance floor after. Even half an hour is quite impossible, between times I saw him or spoke to him…” Or danced with him. Dick doesn’t mention that. The few times his thoughts have touched the dance since it had occurred have left him unaccountably hot and desirous of movement - of what kind, he can hardly say. He’s too respectable to turn somersaults anymore. 

“It sounds as if you were keeping your eyes on the Captain rather attentively,” the Mother Superior says. His voice is perfectly calm and free of judgment. Nevertheless, Dick flushes from his collarbones to the roots of his hair.

“It isn’t like that,” he says. It sounds weak even to his own ears.

“Far be it from me to meddle in the course of human affairs,” the Mother Superior says. “But if this be God’s will for you, there is no shame in embracing it. Happiness is a blessing wherever or however it is to be found.”

“I am very happy there,” Dick says in a low voice. It feels like a confession. He wonders if the Reverend Mother will grant him absolution. He wonders what he thinks he might need to be forgiven for.

“And I have no doubt that you are the cause of much happiness as well.” Astonishingly, the Reverend Mother comes around his desk and bends to place his old, worn hand over Dick’s young brown ones, clasped worriedly in his lap. “My child, I knew not long after you came to us that you would never be a nun, but in this time of Depression I despaired for your path after you left us. I should have had more faith. When the Lord closes a door, somewhere he opens a window. You have so much love to give. My advice to you, Richard, is to not be shy of giving it.”

A lump grows in Dick’s throat. If he speaks, he will cry. He bows his head. He feels too many things, too many jumbling and confused things. A hot sense of wanting, of longing, that feels like it will overwhelm him. A countervailing cold fear of the unknown. A deep ambivalence about risking what he already has, which is more precious to him than any words can say. 

“I wish I knew what to do,” Dick whispers. He looks down at his hands. Capable hands. Hands that have always done so much. Dick’s good with his hands. He’s bandaged knees and sewn rag dolls and made food by the ton in the soup kitchen in the orphanage. Before that he’d swung from trapezes and turned handstands on horses, juggled for money or turned card tricks to lure patrons - 

Card tricks. 

It comes to him then, with the suddenness of a dream.

The Red Joker. The German Ambassador. The playing card in Captain Wayne’s office, that first night.

Captain Wayne in the Bowery. Angry at seeing Dick and the children there, but offering no explanation for his own presence, and no real explanation for his own anger, either, which is what had led Dick to suspect, in the first place, that the Captain might be hiding something. And then that very same day at dinner - 

“I’m going to be hosting a party.”

“You hate hosting parties,” Jason had protested.

“Yes. But I am going to hold this one. In fact, I insisted to the mayor and several others who wanted to host that I absolutely must.”

Babs had looked confused. “Why, Father?” 

Why indeed. Dick remembers his own, naive assumptions. That Captain Wayne hosting the party had been a gesture of good will. A sign of amity, peace, reconciliation with an old enemy. A stand-in for the peace everyone - almost everyone - hopes will abide between the United States and Germany. 

Dick remembers dancing with Captain Wayne. Remembers saying: “Then there will be another war.” But more than that, he remembers the way the Captain’s eyes had blazed when he’d replied: “Only if they have their way.”

What if the Captain’s presence at the docks had had nothing to do with the jewels, and everything to do with the Red Joker? What if what he’d been bringing in - or sending out - has more to do with war than with his private fortune?

Captain Wayne isn’t the Black Cat. That much is certain. Dick can trust the Captain. 

Can we prevent them?

I don’t know. But we’re trying. Believe me, Miss Grayson. We’re trying.

The Reverend Mother pats Dick’s hands gently. “Shall we pray together, my child?”

For a moment Dick hesitates, rather feeling that he ought to refuse than really wanting to. He’s not Catholic, that’s why he hadn’t become a nun, and he hadn’t ever wanted to let growing up at St. Mary’s change him. He can still hear his mother’s voice saying we are still who we are, at the end of the day. He’d held on to that as a part of her, one of the few things he has left of his parents. But he misses them both so much, and he looks up at the stars at night to see the light of their souls shining down at him, and maybe that’s close enough. If there is a God, maybe he doesn’t care what one calls themselves. Maybe prayer is prayer, no matter what. Dick would like to think so, anyway.

“I would like that,” Dick whispers.

After praying together, the Reverend Mother must return to his other duties, and Dick is left to wait for Captain Wayne to return for him with the car. The Captain had not been able to give Dick a particular time, and the only telephone at St. Mary’s is in Father Gideon's office where Dick hesitates to ask to go. But it’s Saturday, and there is plenty to do. Dick goes to the orphanage, where he spends a joyful hour reuniting with his old companions. He receives hugs, answers questions, and mends many small rips and tears in clothes that their possessors had concealed from the Sisters for fear of a scolding. Then everyone is summoned to begin food prep for tomorrow’s soup kitchen. Dick is carried along with the flow, Jenny on one hip and Mark still clutching one hand. He doesn’t resist, and only shares a smile with Sister Mary Clarence when she hands him a knife and points him at a wash-tub full of potatoes. Dick sets Jenny to scrubbing and Mark to peeling, then gets down to chopping. The kitchens are warm with the many roaring fires and the press of dozens of bodies and full of the cheerful noise of many pairs of hands working. Knives thunk against cutting blocks as vegetables are reduced into chunks. Bones are fished out of cooked chickens and tossed clanking into empty pots, along with the vegetable peels, to be used to make nourishing broth for the ill. Dough is thumped and kneaded for the dozens of loaves of coarse brown bread to be baked all night in the brick ovens. And voices are always chattering, for the nuns of St. Mary’s have never held that tongues must be silent for work to be done well. The orphans talk and laugh and tell stories and sing songs all afternoon as they labor in the service of the city’s poor. 

Dick falls back into his usual role as if he’d never left. He presides over the potato section, with half an eye always on the pots nearest him and another half an eye on the younger children who run back and forth, toting wood, water, potatoes up from the cellar, chopped vegetables down to be stored again with a dash of lemon juice for freshness, dirty things to be cleaned and clean things to be dirtied again. The kitchen is full of hot things and sharp things and heavy things being flung around at top speed. Everyone old enough to worry is always watching for the ones too young to mind. Dick catches Jenny at one point before she trips headfirst into am open fire, and another time stops little Anthony from putting a knife in his mouth to lick up the streak of chicken fat still on it. “Wipe it off with your finger,” Dick shows him, “lick it off, and then wash your hands afterwards.” Little Anthony is new to the orphanage, only having been there for a month before Dick had left, and is still underweight from having been on the streets before someone had brought him to St. Mary’s with a donation to make room in the orphanage for him. A little chicken fat will do him good, as long as he doesn’t cut his tongue off getting it. 

At last, though, all the prep is done, the church-bell rings, and the children troop off to wash up for their supper. Dick lets the crowd sweep him out of the kitchens but doesn’t go back in to the dormitories, stopping on the small quadrangle outside to push his hair out of his face and sigh with gladness at the cool March air. The sun is behind the skyscrapers already, though the sky is still light. 

“Still with us, Richard?” The Mother Superior has some outside too, tucking his hands inside his sleeves against the early-spring evening chill. “Join us for supper.”

“No, I couldn’t,” Dick demurs. “I can’t take food out of your mouths. Captain Wayne feeds me plenty. A late supper one night won’t hurt me.” He’s barely hungry anyway, used now to the later hours kept at Wayne Manor. What he is is surprised: he hadn’t expected to be left so long, nor, he thinks, can Captain Wayne have intended to leave him so long, or he would have said as much. Everything Captain Wayne had said had indicated an expectation for a relatively short time spent on business, followed by a prompt return to St. Mary’s. “You don’t suppose…” Dick begins, then stops.

“Suppose what, my child?”

“Nothing, Reverend Mother. I was just thinking out loud.”

“About?”

Concealment is useless; the Mother Superior is too experienced at coaxing out confessions. Dick admits, “I was wondering if some accident might have befallen Captain Wayne. He spoke of only being gone a short while, but it’s been all afternoon.”

“I’m sure there’s no need to worry.”

“Yes, Reverend Mother.”

“But you will anyway, hmm?” The Mother Superior’s tone is knowing, and there’s a twinkle in his eye. “We worry about the ones we care about.”

“I - ”

The church-bell rings. “I am summoned,” the Reverend Mother says ruefully. “Don’t wait outside, Richard, it’s too cold for that. At least go into the sanctuary. Your Captain will surely find you there.”

“He’s not my - ” further argument is useless. The Mother Superior is already halfway across the lawn.

Dick sighs, contemplating the empty evening. The streets around St. Mary’s are quiet at suppertime; it’s a residential area primarily inhabited by the working class, who eat their meals promptly and turn in early. Already the light is growing dim. A few candles are lighting up the windows of the houses down the street, but not many. Soon enough they’ll be put out as the last chores are attended to in each dwelling and the family retires to catch what sleep they may before dawn brings another day’s labor. It makes Dick feel awfully alone, to be standing by himself in the courtyard, with the houses darkening around him, and the noise from the supper-room behind him.

“Hey,” a strange voice says suddenly. “Aint’cha the Wayne governess?”

Dick turns, blinking. The speaker is a young - no, a child, really - not even really a young adult - but she stands up straight with one hand on her hip and frowns at Dick with a self-assurance that speaks to a lifetime of taking care of herself. She’s got blond hair is pulled into two tails, not plaited, and streaks of grease decorate her nondescript clothes and one high cheekbone. He doesn’t know her, but there’s something faintly familiar about her. He frowns.

“You are,” she says with the same confidence her manner shows. “Listen, where’s your boss? The Cap’n?”

“I don’t know,” Dick says in surprise.

“Hmph.” She frowns, and turns to look down the empty street as if it has answers. Seen in profile, Dick suddenly recognizes her.

“You’re Harley,” he says. “Jason’s Harley.”

“I ain’t nobody’s Harley but my own,” she snaps reflexively. Then she sighs. “But yeah, me an’ Jason got a thing. You mind?” 

“No.”

Harley has hunched up one shoulder, as if she’s afraid of being hit. When Dick says ‘no’, though, she lowers it again and gives him an appraising look. “Jason says you’re one o’ us,” she says abruptly. “Wandering folk. Circus folk. No proper home, like. Did what you hadda do. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Dick says. He shifts his own stance carefully. Now that he’s over the initial startlement of being accosted by a stranger, his wits are gathering back around him. There’s a kind of dance that goes on when one person meets another in the gray zones of society. A can-you-be-trusted, an are-you-like-me kind of interchange. Dick hasn’t done this in the wild for years, but he’d kept his skills up gentling orphans new-come to St. Mary’s, and he hasn’t forgotten. “Haly’s Circus was my group. Went all about the country. Best performance you can buy.” He grins. “And we always left town before anyone could get their money back.”

“Hah!” Harley relaxes, letting the hand propped on her hip swing loose at her side and grinning. “Never seen a circus myself. Can ya still do any of it?”

“‘Course,” Dick says, just the right amount of offended. “Pipe this.” He drops into a handstand, easy as breathing. Old reflexes prompt him to shift his weight, preparatory to lifting one hand, but older instincts stop him. It’s been a long time since the circus, and he hasn’t been practicing. The last thing he wants is to fall in front of Harley.

“Coo,” Harley says, impressed plenty by the two-handed stand. “Doncha get dizzy?”

“Nah.” Dick flips back upright. “Used to do it on horses.”

“Ever fall off?”

“Few times.”

Harley bobs her head in sympathetic understanding. “Went off a motorcycle once, when I was a littlie. Only way to learn.”

“Yeah.”

Harley looks down the street again, then back at Dick. “You gonna see the Captain soon, right?”

Dick nods cautiously.

“I’ve got something for him. Thought I’d catch him downtown, but I was late, an’ he wasn’t where he was s’posed to be. So I came here.”

“He’ll be here soon.”

“Yeah. But I can’t wait.” She still looks wary, but then shakes herself out and seems to make up her mind. “Pass somethin’ along for me?”

“Sure.”

Harley takes out a small scrap piece of brown paper, the kind the grocer uses to wrap things in. It’s folded up on itself clumsily and gummed together. “Promise you won’t look,” she says suspiciously.

“Cross my heart,” Dick says. He says it glibly, but with as much weight as he’d given when assuring a young, new orphan that they were safe now. That St. Mary’s wasn’t a workhouse or a baby farm or any of the other nefarious places that took in children under some guise of doing good only to turn around and chew them up. That they’d have to do chores and they’d have to say prayers, but the food would be good and the walls sturdy and no one would mess with them nohow. “Hope to die.”

“Okay.” Harley looks at the paper in her hand, then holds it out quickly, as if she’s doing this before she can change her mind. “Take it. And don’t tell no one else. No one, mind!”

“No one,” Dick promises. He takes the folded paper and puts it right in his pocket. There’s a shift in the air around him, and he purposely keeps looking down at his pocket, fussing with it, giving Harley an extra minute to get clear. It’s a small kindness, but as much as she’d take from him, Dick thinks.

Indeed, when Dick does look up, Harley is gone. He’s alone again in the courtyard. The wind blows, cutting through his clothing. It’s good cloth and Dick has sewn it well, but he doesn’t have a coat, and even in March winter still has a grip on Gotham. He sighs and goes to head into the sanctuary, as the Reverend Mother had suggested.

Lights cut through the darkening gloom, and Dick turns back to the road. Headlamps are turning onto their street. Dick takes a step towards the curb in anticipation, and indeed, a moment later the headlights fade into the body of a white car, with Captain Wayne behind the wheel.

“Forgive my lateness, Miss Grayson,” Captain Wayne says, after he’s stopped the car. “I was delayed. I hope you were not too inconvenienced.”

“No, I helped with the children.” He doesn’t mention Harley. Not yet. He wants to wait until they’re a little farther away from here.

“Come into the car and get warm. You must be freezing out here. Were you waiting outside long?”

“Not too long.” Dick climbs gratefully into the passenger seat, though, and holds his hands out to the warm air coming through the wing vents. It is chilly.

“I’m glad of that, at least. But I really must apologize again.” Captain Wayne frowns. “I should have brought a closed car. The nights still get chilly.”

“You were delayed?” Dick asks.

“Yes, most unaccountably.” The car pulls smoothly away from the curb, and the Captain begins to negotiate the streets that will take them out of the city proper and out to where the rich have their estates. “My business should not have taken long, but at every turn there was some little friction, some annoyance, almost as if… but I’m rambling.” With a rueful smile, he says, “Forgive me again, Miss Grayson. I ramble when I’m frustrated.”

“Not at all.” 

“I had thought there might be time for us to take a short drive - I have heard that the magnolias are in bloom - but I’m afraid we’ll have to head straight back if we don’t want keep the children waiting for their dinner. I feel bad enough having deprived them of both of us all afternoon. Especially Kate and Cass.” He keeps his eyes on the road, for which Dick is thankful, but Dick has the distinct sense that the Captain is somehow looking at Dick without looking. 

“They will have kept each other company,” Dick says, since something seems to be expected of him here. “Kate was moving around this morning. And Maria was there. Not to mention Alfred.”

“Yes, Alfred practically raised me.” Captain Wayne laughs a little. “Do you think it strange that I should have been largely raised by servants when both of my parents lived?”

“I understand it to be the usual thing in rich families.”

“Yes. Yes, it is, but - I have always wanted differently in my own life. Yet I seem to have ended up just as the others of my class.” The Captain is silent for a long moment, negotiating an awkward turn through a poorly paved road onto a broader thoroughfare. “It strikes me that I went about creating a family exactly backwards. Perhaps that’s the cause of my troubles. Children should have parents to raise them, but I had eight children before I had found anyone who could be a mother to them. Or a partner to me.”

Dick’s mouth is dry. He can’t pretend not to know that Captain Wayne is talking about him, but - “A partner?”

“I have never even tried to find one,” the Captain says. “Nor have I formed a full list of the qualifications such a partner must have. But it strikes me, Miss Grayson, that anyone who can earn the respect and love of eight very different children is someone whom I should consider very strongly in the role.”

“I - consider?”

“Get to know, perhaps.” The lights of the city are beginning to fade. Or they should be; the sky is still unaccountably bright. Perhaps the sun still hasn’t quite set, though Dick had thought it had been later. “You see, I - you have many extraordinary qualities, I am not blind to them - in fact I have been noticing - been thinking - that perhaps - ”

A siren wails in the distance, growing louder with every moment. The light in the sky isn’t fading with sunset. If anything, it’s growing brighter. And then there’s a sudden rush of air as a large vehicle barrels past Captain Wayne on the right side. Dick catches a glimpse of red paint and men with hoses before it careens around a corner and out of sight.

“Captain,” Dick gasps. “Wayne Manor!”

Captain Wayne’s face sets hard and tight. “Hold on, Miss Grayson,” he says, downshifts, and presses the pedal to the metal of the floorboard.

Chapter Text

The last time Captain Wayne had driven Dick back from downtown Gotham to Wayne Manor, Dick had thought the Captain had driven like he must fly his airplanes: perfectly in control, but always up at the limit of the device’s capabilities. Tonight, the Captain is driving like he must fly in wartime. There is no respect for the car’s mechanical limitations. The Captain demands, and gets, every ounce of speed that can be wrung from gears and pistons. He takes several turns on only two tires and makes no allowance for rises or falls of road as he races along. Dick hangs on grimly, watching as the sky before them gets redder and redder. 

The turn onto the private road that services Wayne Manor is blocked by police vehicles. Captain Wayne slows unwillingly, looking ready to explode at whomever has delayed them. The area is strange, the illuminated sky before them petering out into the twilight around them. Cars’ headlights are blinding in the half-light. Shapes loom out of them, and it takes the eyes precious moments to adjust, to make out the blue uniforms and many-sided caps of police officers. One of them lurches closer, leans down to shout. The words die in the officer’s mouth as he recognizes Captain Wayne. Dick recognizes him, too: Babs’ uncle, Gordon.

“He can go through!” Gordon shouts, talking now to the other officers. “Pull back the barricade! Let him through!”

“The children?” Dick asks, leaning over Captain Wayne to catch Gordon’s attention. “Are the children safe?”

“I don’t know,” Gordon says. “I just got here. Can I - ”

“Get in,” Captain Wayne says.

Gordon yanks the rear car door open, wedging himself inside as the other blue-clad officers finish moving one of the police cars blocking the road out of the way. Captain Wayne floors it, barely clearing the cars’ chrome bumpers and throwing Gordon against the back of the car.

“Tell me what you know,” the Captain demands, not taking his eyes off the road.

“Very little,” Gordon says, scrambling back into a seated position. “Call came in about twenty minutes ago. We only just got the roadblock set up. First fire truck arrived maybe ten after the call. You’re too far from the city, Wayne. Horse-drawn engines can’t make it in a reasonable time. The stations with motorized engines sent those, but they’re coming from farther away.”

“I’ll buy motors for all the ladders in town,” Captain Wayne says tersely. “Is it under control?”

“Like I said, I just got here. I don’t know anything.” Frustration bleeds from Gordon’s voice. He’s worried for Babs. Dick understands. He’s worried for all of them. 

“We’ll know soon enough,” the Captain says. He glances sideways for the first time, looking at Dick. Dick doesn’t look back. His hands are clenched tight in his lap, and he’s praying in earnest. 

The jolts and bumps beneath their wheels play havoc with the car’s traction, threatening to send them skidding back down the hill up to Wayne Manor. Captain Wayne curses under his breath but downshifts. The car’s engine whines a higher note, but paradoxically, their speed up the hill improves. They go airborne briefly as they crest it, landing back on the road with a crash that would be terrifying under any other circumstances. Not this one. Dick can’t spare any terror for the car. He doesn’t even have any for himself as a passenger. All of his worry and fear is concentrated on the sight before him.

Wayne Manor is ablaze. Three fire engines are already present and fighting the flames; a fourth, the one which had passed them at the police barricade, is swarming with activity as its complement of firefighters get ready to join the fray. Milling around on the grounds are the occupants of the house. Dick sees Cook comforting the maids, Alfred sitting on the ground with someone hovering over him and a towel pressed to his forehead, Jason and Tim and - 

Dick is out of the car and running before it’s even fully stopped. “Children! Children!”

“Mother Grayson! They won’t let us back in!” Tim is soot-streaked, and he clutches at Dick like a lifeline. “We got out, we were supposed to just get out, but Kate and Cass - ”

“Where are they?” Dick looks around frantically. He sees Damian sitting on the ground with Babs, Steph cradling her mice and looking shocked, Jason - “Terry?”

“Maria brought Terry out, they’re with the police nurse because Terry was coughing so much,” Jason says rapidly. “But Kate and Cass - I was just about to go in the back, Tim was going to cause a distraction for me - ”

“Stay here,” Captain Wayne says with authority. He’s come up behind Dick and heard the whole thing. Gordon has come too, hugging Babs tightly. 

“I’m not leaving them behind!” Jason cries. “They’re still recovering, they can’t get out on their own - ”

“No, I’m not leaving them behind,” Captain Wayne snaps. “You are staying here and taking care of your siblings.”

“They won’t let you in, either,” Tim says. “You’ll need a distraction. I’ll create it.”

The Captain nods. He looks at Dick. “Take care of them for me.”

Dick stares at him blankly for the sum total of five seconds - five ancient, eternal seconds. Then he smiles. Widely. With all of his teeth showing, bared, in the firelight.

“Tim?” Dick says.

Tim nods. Then he turns and runs straight for the nearest group of police, screaming his head off. The effect grows even more distracting when he trips and sprawls to the ground, a striking figure in his white robe over his nightgown, unmissable, instantly the focus of every eye. He did well, Dick thinks. Later - if there is a later - Dick will tell Tim how proud of him he is. But first things first. Two of Dick’s children are in danger.

Dick runs into the fire.

The foyer looks almost normal. The fire is on the ceiling, and if Dick doesn’t look up, it could just be the candles, lit up and illuminating the room. It’s a trifle warm, but that’s typical for March: fires are still lit in all the rooms, and necessarily so, to protect against spring damp, but that can lead to some stifling environments when the day gets warm. Dick tells himself that that’s all it is - a warm day. Just a warm day, and he’s just going to wake up his two next-youngest from a nap. The rest of the children are outside for a picnic, and Kate and Cass will want to join in.

Thinking about it that way makes it easier to keep going forward. The corridor to the childrens’ wing is wreathed in flame. Circus folk fear fire. They live next to it, around it, every day. Their tents are waterproofed with paraffin wax dissolved in gasoline, and one careless match can cause an inferno. All the old-timers in Haly’s Circus had had a story of a fire they’d survived, or seen the remains of in a town’s fairgrounds, or heroically put out themselves just in the nick of time. Every piece of advice they’d ever given Dick runs through his head at once. He plucks at his shirtwaist, pulling it up to cover his mouth, and throws his other arm above his head to defend himself from falling cinders. Then he squeezes his eyes nearly shut and runs.

Heat slams into him. Not heat like an oven. Dick knows the heat of an oven. Week after week he’d stood in the kitchens at St. Mary’s, larger even than those at Wayne Manor, from sunup to sundown. He’s limped out at the end of a long August day dripping with sweat and thought he’d known what heat is like. The fire isn’t like that heat. The fire is grasping, eager, determined to burn him up. Kate and Cass, he thinks, and runs onward. I have to get to Kate and Cass. They must be so scared - 

The heat lessens somewhat as Dick emerges into the common area of the west wing. The fire isn’t so strong here. It’s flickering in corners - more than one corner - and a quiet voice in the back of Dick’s mind, which sounds an awful lot like Jeremiah the Strong Man, says, this isn’t how an accidental fire burns.

Dick shoves the thought away. All that matters now is his children. Dick runs straight for the nursery, but he barely makes it two steps before a terrible groaning sound comes from beneath his feet. He jumps back. His reflexes save him: he lands safely, while the floor that had moments ago been beneath his feet collapses into the cellar.

But there wasn’t even fire in that part of the room, Dick thinks wildly. Nor are there flames roaring up through the hole from the cellar. 

Something yanks Dick back by his collar. It slips down from his nose and mouth, and he inhales a lungful of smoke which steals the scream from his lips. Coughing and nearly retching, he stumbles back, flailing wildly. He collides with something solid and warm and - through the smoke - smelling heavily of cedar.

“You little idiot!” Captain Wayne yells. “Do you have any idea how dangerous this is?”

“Just about as dangerous as it was when you were going to do it!” Dick yells back. “Why didn’t you stay with the others?”

“Why didn’t I - why didn’t you!”

“My children are in danger!”

“Exactly!”

They stare at each other for the space of three heartbeats. The timbers above their heads creak ominously. “Then let’s hurry,” Dick says. “Before they lose us both.”

He turns to study the hole in the floor and try to figure out how best to cross it. Captain Wayne grabs Dick again, this time by the hand. “We can go around,” he says into Dick’s ear. The fire is loud enough that he has to lean in and shout to be heard. “Through the servants’ corridors. Come on.”

Dick follows him to one particular wall, where the wallpaper is paneled in long stripes and breaks around the outline of a small door. Captain Wayne is apparently expert in the use of the small catch that servants’ doors typically use. Dick himself is baffled by both its existence and its mechanics; what’s so unsightly about an extra doorknob in a house full of them? And why, if anyone is going to be inconvenienced in the name of aesthetics, is it the class of people who are frequently called upon to carry heavy or unwieldy loads, such as full cans of hot water or armfuls of pillows? Nevertheless, that’s how it is in Wayne Manor. Though Dick thinks somewhat better of Captain Wayne for knowing the use of the catch, and the location of the servants’ corridors, so well as he clearly does. The Manor had been built well before the Captain’s birth, Dick knows; he couldn’t possibly have chosen the fittings, so he must have chosen to familiarize himself with them. Few would bother.

The corridors are whitewashed and reflect a clean, bright light, making the best of their somewhat sparsely placed lamps, which have been upgraded to electric power along with the rest of the house. The floor is swept clean and even sports a thin strip of rug down the middle - nearly worn flat with the tread of many feet, it’s true, and made of braided rags, but a rug nonetheless. Dick has never heard of servants’ corridors having rugs. Or electric lights. Or whitewash. It’s almost peaceful in here. Even the roar of the fire is less.

Much less. And there’s not an eddy of smoke in sight, let alone a flame. The fire hasn’t reached here. Why hasn’t it reached here? Dick reaches out and trails the fingertips of his free hand along the wall. It’s ordinary brick, which does retard fire some, it’s true, but the brick isn’t even warm to his fingers. And yet on the other side of this wall, if Dick’s spatial sense hasn’t deserted him, the west wing is aflame. How can that be? Unless…

“Here,” Captain Wayne says, turning a corner and going up a small set of three steps. He works the catch again - it’s easier from the inside, Dick sees, its workings exposed instead of concealed with paint and putty - and swings the door open into the nursery. 

Instantly smoke billows into the servants’ corridor behind them. Inside the nursery there’s carnage. The rocking chair is smashed to pieces, as is the window, and the casement shutters are hanging loose from the window-frame. The wardrobe in the corner has tipped over but not reached the floor, having been stopped mid-fall by the crib. Dick’s heart twists in his chest at the sight of the crib’s bowed-in wooden side, the ash and glass scattered on its linens. Terry is fine, he reminds himself. He wasn’t even here, he was in the school-room still. Maria was with him and took him out. He’s fine. Dick wrenches his gaze away. 

“Carefully,” Captain Wayne says. The nursery sports a large thick rug in the center of the room, and it’s smoldering angrily. The drapes are, as well. Fortunately the ceiling here is old wood instead of more modern paint or paper, and it’s resisting catching flame. They have a few minutes. Probably. Unless Alfred has started using an oil-based polish on it - 

Captain Wayne starts towards the nursery’s connecting bedroom doors. The one on the right belongs to Cass. That’s where the Captain is going. Dick goes to the left and opens the door to Kate’s room, his heart in his chest.

The doorknob is warm but not hot beneath his hand. Dick opens it carefully, fearing a blast of flame. None comes. He opens it further. “Kate!” he calls. “Kate! Can you hear me?”

There’s no answer. Dick opens the door fully, looking inside. The room is hot and full of smoke, but otherwise undamaged. The coverlets on Kate’s bed are thrown back, as if she’d gotten out of bed. Had she tried to leave and been caught by the smoke? Dick runs back out into the central nursery, looking wildly around for signs of her passage. Something catches Dick’s eye. His stomach drops. Carefully he kneels and picks it up. A playing card. He turns it over, already knowing what he’ll see.

“Cass!” Captain Wayne is calling from across the nursery. There’s a pause, and then, louder, as if he’s turned in Dick’s direction - “Miss Grayson!”

Dick scrambles to his feet, racing into Cass’ room. There are the two children, climbing tearful and frightened out from beneath Cass’ bed. Kate is soot-streaked and trembling. Cass is pale and coughing and can barely stand. Dick snatches them both into a tight hug. Captain Wayne had apparently had the same idea, and it ends up being a group effort, the two children crushed between them and Captain Wayne’s arms disturbingly warm around Dick’s waist. Dick can’t even reach completely around Captain Wayne. The proximity sends a skitter up Dick’s spine, despite the gravity of the situation.

“Are you all right?” Captain Wayne asks the two of them.

Cass sniffs. Kate says, “We’re okay. We hid, and they didn’t see us. But then the fire started - ”

“They?” Dick says, at the same time as Captain Wayne says, “You hid before the fire?”

Cass sniffs. Kate says, “We hid from the scary people.”

“Scary people?” Dick pulls away from the hug, and Captain Wayne lets him go, after a moment where he tightens his arms as if trying to keep Dick in place. Dick goes to show Captain Wayne the playing card, but his hands are empty. He must have dropped it in his rush to get to the children. “Were they - ”

“Tell me what you saw,” Captain Wayne interrupts.

“Betsy had gone to get us both some supper,” Kate says. “I - I guess it was naughty, but I came in to see Cass. I wanted to read her a story.” Her trembling increases. “I’m sorry, I - ”

“It’s all right,” Dick reassures her. “You’re not in trouble. But you said there were scary men - ”

“I heard a big crash and looked out through the key-hole. I thought it was Betsy come back and I was going to be in trouble. But it wasn’t. Something had come through the window and broken it.” Kate sniffs. “Three people came inside. They looked mean. One of them went right to the crib. He said, ‘The brats ain’t here. What should we do?’ And another one said, ‘Try to find them.’ They hadn’t seen us yet. So I ran back to the bed and got Cass and we hid.”

“Under the bed isn’t,” Captain Wayne begins, then checks himself. “They didn’t find you?”

Kate shakes her head. “They didn’t even look in our rooms. I think they didn’t realize they were bedrooms and not closets or something. They looked for a few minutes and said a lot of bad words. Then they went out into the rest of the house. I didn’t see any more. I counted to one hundred, like you taught me, Mama Grayson, and then I said to Cass we should try to run out, but then I saw the fire - ”

There’s an ominous creaking noise from the ceiling, and the heat intensifies, as if in warning. “We can figure out the rest later,” Dick says. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Yes.” The Captain bends down and beckons Kate, who clambers on his back. “Can you carry Cass?”

“I can.” Cass is a light weight in his arms, and Dick shifts so she’s partially supported against his hip, where his center of gravity makes the carry stable. “Go. I’ll be right behind you.”

The Captain starts back towards the servants’ door. Kate squeaks when he ducks to go through; the doors are small, and her head barely clears the lintel. Dick follows with Cass, and he has to turn sideways to get them both through the narrow aperture. Nor can he close the door behind him without putting Cass down and falling behind the Captain. Cass hasn’t said a word, and that worries Dick, knowing how little strength she has. She’s shaking minutely in Dick’s hold, and her own arms, thrown around Dick’s neck, are loose enough that he’s afraid she’ll slip. He tightens his own hold to keep her safe. Her breath rasps against his ear. Dick wishes he could hold Kate as well. He’s never before had any desire to change his assigned sex, but there’s a first time for everything. If Dick were an Alpha he could probably carry them both. Captain Wayne could, certainly. Dick wonders why he hadn’t. Why the Captain had let Dick take Cass. Surely he must want both of the children in his arms where he can protect them.

Could the Captain have come to trust that Dick feels the same way? No - well - yes, he must, clearly, Dick thinks as they hurry through the servants’ corridors. But it’s not enough to trust in Dick’s feelings. Feelings won’t save the Wayne children’s lives. The Captain must trust in Dick’s capabilities. The Captain must believe that Dick is both willing and able to protect Cass’ life, for Dick holds one of the most precious things in Captain Wayne’s world on his hip. 

And Captain Wayne carries one of the most precious things in Dick’s world on his back. So how must Dick feel about him? 

The thought makes Dick dizzy. Either that, or the smoke. Opening the servants’ door again, and leaving it open, is allowing the fumes from the fire to seep in behind them. Dick blames that on the fact that his mind is wandering from the very lethal danger they’re in. He takes a fresh grip on Cass and hurries, staying close on Captain Wayne’s heels.

They reach the door they’d entered through. Captain Wayne bends forward slightly, balancing Kate’s weight, and reaches out to open it. Dick is already starting to move, eager to get out of the corridors and out of the Manor, when Captain Wayne yanks his hand back with a hiss of pain.

“Father!” Kate gasps, terrified. Cass buries her face in Dick’s shoulder. 

Dick brutally forces his voice to remain calm. “The fire?”

“Yes. It must have spread. We can’t go out here.” The Captain’s voice is just as tightly controlled as Dick’s, flat and terse, his diction clipped. “Let me think.”

“My room,” Dick suggests. “It’s off the hallway, closer to the main entrance. If the obstruction is in the common room - ”

“We can bypass it. Yes.” Captain Wayne turns and heads back down the corridor, faster than before. 

Dick follows, trying not to cough in the increasingly smoky air. Cass keeps her face buried in Dick’s shoulder, breathing through the cotton weave of his shirtwaist. Dick can’t reach up to tug it over his own face without letting go of Cass. Kate coughs, and Dick calls to her, “Don’t breathe the smoke! Pull something over your mouth and nose.”

Kate pulls one hand from around Captain Wayne’s neck to pull a fold of her dress’ skirt, already rucked around her knees, over her face. The Captain hears Dick’s call as well and demonstrates another of the advantages of Alphaic strength by supporting Kate on his back with one hand while he tugs his cravat from his shirtfront and winds it clumsily around his lower face. Dick ducks his own head, trying to work his chin down into the collar of his shirtwaist without losing his grip on Cass.

It seems like forever until they reach the next door, though it can’t be more than a few seconds. The beat of Dick’s heart is loud in his ears. This time the Captain doesn’t pull his hand away. He works the catch and the door swings open. But the air in Dick’s room is no clearer than the air in the servants’ corridors, and when the Captain approaches the door to the east wing hallway, he doesn’t even manage to put his hand on the knob before he has to step away and shake his head. The heat radiating off of the door and the wall facing the east wing hallway is enough to keep Dick halfway across the room.

“Now what?” Captain Wayne mutters.

Dick tries to think. He shifts Cass to his other hip, sweating. She’s practically limp in his arms. Kate doesn’t look much better. They can’t take much more of this. There must be something he can do. Something - “The window,” he croaks.

Captain Wayne moves quickly over to it, repeating his feat of balancing Kate on his back while he opens the window. A blessed gust of cool air rushes in, and Dick gasps at it gratefully. In the long term that extra oxygen will only fuel the fire. But they don’t need to worry about the long term as long as they can get out.

The Captain is leaning partly out the window, both hands firm on Kate’s shins to keep her in place. He pulls his head back in and shakes it. “Too far,” he rasps. “You and I, perhaps, but the children - the fall will kill them.”

Although they’re still on the ground level of Wayne Manor, whence they had entered, the Manor is built at the crest of a hill and into the back side of it. Past the foyer and the lush green, the ground falls rapidly away from the foundations of the house and turns into forest. Dick’s room is easily twenty or twenty-five feet off the ground. Dick knows how to fall safely even from a great height, and he would bet that Captain Wayne does as well, but the children - the Captain is right. The children would never survive the drop.

But they don’t have to drop. “Climb down,” Dick says. Croaks, really. It hurts to talk. “There must be a way.”

“To climb?” Captain Wayne’s skepticism is clear, but he peers down again.

“Jason,” Dick manages to say. “Climbs in.”

“Jason what - I’ll be damned. There’s handholds chipped into the brickwork.” The Captain pulls his head back in. “The children can’t climb that.”

“We’ll tie them to your back.” Dick hates to do it, but he lays Cass gently on the armchair by the fireplace. She curls up into a tiny ball, her eyes wide and frightened in her sweat-streaked face. Then he begins pulling sheets off his bed. “Can you take them both?”

“One at a time will be safer. Then I’ll come back for you.”

Dick shakes his head. “You won’t be able to carry me, not after you’ve already done two trips with the children, and with all this smoke. I’ll climb down myself.”

“It’s too dangerous.”

The top sheet comes free. Dick rolls it longways and begins wrapping the cloth around Kate and Captain Wayne, tying them together with the same knots they’d used to hold the trapeze to its wires. “I’ll be fine. If worse comes to worst I can jump. I grew up in a circus,” he says, when Captain Wayne looks mulish. “I know how to fall.”

Kate is secure. The Captain looks like he wants to argue, but the steadily increasing heat and the ominous creaks of the timbers make it abundantly clear there’s no time. “I will be back,” he says. 

Dick helps him get through the window, no easy feat with the added bulk of a child on his back. Kate has her eyes closed the whole time, opening them only briefly when Captain Wayne finally begins to descend and Dick’s hand leaves Kate’s shoulder. “Mama,” she whispers plaintively.

“Father’s got you, dear one,” Dick calls down to her. “Close your eyes. You’ll be safe soon.”

Dick doesn’t stay to watch their descent. Kate is as safe as he can make her, but Cass still needs him. He rushes back to her side, worried by her apathy. She opens her eyes briefly at his touch, but closes them again and tries to burrow even deeper into the armchair’s cushions. She’s so little, and her lungs have been through so much. Even with a piece of cloth covering her mouth, it won’t take much for her to be overcome. Dick tries to think. Everything the old-timers had ever said about fire - 

“Hot, mama,” Cass says suddenly, opening her eyes. “Too hot.”

“Hold on, little one.” Dick looks around. The wash-basin is still sitting on its saucer. He snatches up a washcloth and dunks it in the little remaining water, then lays it over Cass’ forehead. She coughs, and it slips down to cover her nouse and mouth. Her next breath sucks the cloth in, but it rasps a little bit less. “Father will be back soon.”

“‘M scared,” she mumbles.

Dick picks her up and takes her over to the window, where the air is a little fresher, and sinks to the floor, rocking her gently. He should probably stay standing so he can move out of Captain Wayne’s way when he returns, but Dick’s legs feel like rubber. He tries not to think about how he’s going to climb down. Maybe it would be better to plan to jump, he thinks. “I’m here.”

The minutes tick by, punctuated by the rasping of their breath and the pounding of Dick’s heart in his ears. He resists coughing as long as he can, but at last he can’t resist anymore, and then once he starts, he can’t stop. He coughs and hacks, hunched nearly double over poor Cass, feeling his throat tear raw. He’s dragged his collar back up over his nose, but it hardly seems to be doing any good anymore.

It seems like an eternity before Captain Wayne’s hands, then his head, appear at the window again. The Captain hauls himself inside by what seems like sheer willpower. His eyes are reddened and there’s soot streaking his face. His hands are scratched up from climbing the brickwork. Dick has never seen a more beautiful sight. 

“Thank God you’re both still all right,” the Captain rasps. “We must go, now. Part of the east wing roof has already caved in. It won’t be much longer. Help me tie Cass on. You’ll have to climb yourself.”

“I know,” Dick says, hurrying to get the other sheets from the bed. Cass doesn’t want to let Dick go, but he coaxes her into relaxing her grip and then transfers her to Captain Wayne’s broad back. He winds the sheets around them as tightly as he dares, torn between fear that Cass will suffocate and fear that she’ll pass out on her father’s back and tumble free to the ground below. “Do you have her?”

“I have her,” the Captain says. “You must take care of yourself. You will have to climb.”

“I can climb,” Dick reassures him. He has no idea if he’s telling the truth or not. “You go first.”

“No, you had better - ”

Dick stops him with a hand on his chest. It’s a shockingly forward touch, and Dick would be astonished at his own daring if the circumstances had not rendered him past caring about social mores. “You have Cass. You go first.”

The Captain’s gaze burns hotter than the fire. “Miss Grayson - I - ”

“Dick,” Dick says, his heart pounding suddenly for a different reason than the lack of oxygen and terror for his children’s lives. “My name is Dick.”

Captain Wayne’s mouth opens and closes. “Bruce,” he says.

“I’ll be right behind you, Bruce.”

The Captain wants to say more. Dick can read it plainly on his face. But there’s no time. He turns towards the window.

Once again Dick helps steady he and Cass as they go through. “Watch the handholds when it transitions from brick to cement,” the Captain - Bruce - warns Dick as he begins climbing. “They get farther apart. Don’t be fooled.”

“I won’t,” Dick promises. “Cass, hold tight.” She nods her head against her father’s shoulder, eyes screwed shut and breath coming short. A gust of wind catches the washcloth still stretched over her nose and mouth, tearing it away and sending it fluttering down to the ground, far below.

This time Dick doesn’t turn away. There’s no one else who needs him. He hangs out the window watching as the two dark heads of Capt- of Bruce and Cass inch slowly down the wall. The air is moderately cleaner here, but only moderately: the window has been open long enough that it’s acting like a chimney, pulling the smoke out through it and feeding the fire with oxygen in turn. Even if the fire weren’t eating through the support timbers of the Manor, it wouldn’t be safe to linger here. Dick has already taken too much smoke as it is. He knows it, can feel it in the ache in his chest and the lethargy in his limbs.

Who ever heard of a flying Grayson who couldn’t fly? Dick demands of himself, swinging a leg out to straddle the casement as soon as he won’t kick someone’s head in by doing so. One night only, in an exclusive performance, performing the daredevil climb… 

He swings his other leg out.

Dick’s feet scrabble for a moment over empty air, but that’s nothing. That’s almost familiar. He knows how to tense his shoulders, tighten his core, lock his arms to support him while his feet feel about for footholds. First one and then another, Dick finds them. He looks down, seeing the wedged-out bricks from his new perspective. All right. First the left foot, then. Then the right arm. Now the right foot…

Bruce is moving at a steady pace. Dick tracks Bruce’s progress only long enough to be sure that Dick won’t overtake him before tuning Bruce out and focusing solely on his own climb. There’s a rhythm to it, and though Dick hasn’t done this in years, it comes back to him as easily as breathing. More easily, actually, since breathing is something of a problem for him right now. He’s panting, but he can’t seem to catch his breath, nor draw in a full lungful of air. Worry about that later. Climb. First the left foot. Then the right…

The right foot encounters empty air where the next foothold should be. Dick freezes, survival instincts kicking in. His handholds are secure. So is his left foot. Okay. Shift the balance, bend the knees. Lower his center of gravity. Feel around carefully. Nothing. Bend the knees more. His arms burn at the stretch. Feel, feel…

There. The next foothold is quite a ways farther down. And it feels different beneath the toe of his shoe. Concrete. The cellars of Wayne Manor had been dug into the side of the hill and then the walls made of poured concrete. Only the living quarters had been built of brick. 

This foothold is shallower than the others had been. Brick is easy to jimmy. Just loosen the mortar and tug a corner of a brick out, and presto, there’s a support for climbing. Jason couldn’t have done that with concrete. He would have had to chip away laboriously at each handhold, and using what, Dick can’t even imagine. An icepick, maybe? The footholds are narrow and pointed, just barely enough for a big toe to grip. When it comes to fingers, Dick can barely fit three in each, his pinky jammed off to the side like a society lady holding a teacup. And Dick’s fingers are narrow. He imagines Jason doing this climb with only his pointer finger and has to suppress a shudder. Dick would never have been able to be so blase about Jason sneaking in and out along this route if he’d realized the dangers involved. The fact that Bruce and Cass are perched only a little farther down on this same concrete face is - not something Dick can afford to think about right now.

The transfer to concrete means he’s halfway down. Dick takes a deep breath, and reaches down for his next foothold.

And slips.

Instinctively, desperately, Dick scrabbles for purchase. His fingers tighten in their clasps on their handholds. His left foot tries to jam itself in as far as it can. But Dick’s center of gravity is too low. An Alpha could hang on with two hands and a foot. But the slip of Dick’s other foot has pulled too much of his body mass down past where he’s got it balanced, and the force of this shift pulls his right arm away from the concrete wall, too. 

There’s a heartstopping moment where Dick hangs, suspended. He doesn’t dare to breathe. Maybe, he thinks, just maybe, he can hold on until Bruce Wayne can get down to the ground with Cass and then come back up for him. Or maybe he can swing around and reclaim a foothold or a handhold on the right side. Dick can do this. He’s got to do this. He takes a deep breath, and - 

The coughing fit takes him without mercy. All the smoke he’d breathed in while searching for Kate and Cass feels like it’s swirling in his lungs, and he coughs and coughs, and his body shakes, and he can’t hold on, he’s slipping, he’s falling -

He doesn’t remember hitting the ground.

Chapter Text

His eyes hurt. So do a lot of things, actually - his chest, his legs, his arm, his back - but his eyes hurt the most. Something is stabbing into them, something bright and awful. He tries to open them so he can see the source of the awfulness. This is a terrible mistake. The awfulness is on the other side of his eyelids. He slams them back closed again, but it’s too late. The awfulness has gotten inside, and now his entire head is on fire.

Fire. Wait. There had been - 

“Don’t move!” The voice is familiar; Dick will place it in a moment. Firm hands take his shoulders and press them back against the softness beneath him. “Don’t try to move. You were badly hurt. The worst hurt. All the children are fine. Alfred had a concussion. No one else had anything more than cuts and bruises and a few minor burns. The children are fine, do you hear me? Lie still. All of the children are fine.”

The scent of cedar wafts into Dick’s nose. He relaxes. Bruce is here. Bruce wouldn’t lie to him. Bruce trusts him, and Dick trusts Bruce. If Bruce says the children are all fine, Dick may believe him.

But wait. Wait. There is another person - Dick’s lips part. He tries to speak. This is a colossal failure.

“Hold on, hold on.” Bruce Wayne’s hands leave Dick’s shoulders, and he’d whine about that if he could make any noise. The scent of cedar briefly lessens, then returns again, just as overpowering as before. “Keep your lips open. That’s it.”

Something cold and hard is placed between Dick’s lips. Instinctively Dick sucks. The outer layer melts on his tongue, turning into water. Plain water. Ice. It’s ice. Dick sucks again, and the pain in his body recedes before the unimaginable luxury. Bruce has brought Dick ice, and given it to him. A proposal of marriage would, at this point, be less astonishing.

Dick wishes he hadn’t thought about that. It does no good to think about that. Trust is one thing, a normal and acceptable thing to feel towards one’s employer; loyalty is all right, provided one doesn’t take it too far too quickly. But marriage - 

Well, Captain Wayne (Dick had better stop thinking about him as Bruce as soon as he can) may be perfectly capable of marrying without love. The Captain is a millionaire, after all, and Dick has read enough scandal sheets to know that they marry for things like money and property and social standing. Love is a very common-place notion, and something really only available to the poor, who have no fortunes to unite and no chance of elevating their wealth or status by marriage. Two poor folk who marry will be just as poor as before, and likely to very shortly have more mouths to feed. There’s no reason for poor folk to marry unless they’re in love. Dick had never expected to marry for anything less. 

Truthfully, he hadn’t expected to marry at all. Under-servants generally don’t. Certainly they don’t marry their employers, even if a governess is technically an upper servant. 

While Dick has been settling this in his own mind, Captain Wayne has been moving around wherever this is - some kind of room, with a bed, is all Dick knows - and making several sounds that indicate he’s starting to talk and then stopping himself. The last of the ice chip melts in Dick’s mouth, and he tries speaking again. “Tell.”

Tell me everything, he means. The first word is all he gets out. Fortunately, Captain Wayne seems to understand.

“You slipped and fell perhaps ten feet,” the Captain says. “I have no doubt that you are well trained in falling, as you assured me - ” there’s anger in his voice. Dick would shrink back, if he could. Flat on what he’s concluded is a bed, there’s nowhere for Dick to go. He can only lie there and accept the Captain’s anger. “ - but you failed to take into account that the vast amount of smoke you had inhaled might cause you to pass out. You were unconscious before you hit the ground, the doctors assure me. Not that I required their assurance. I saw you as you fell.”

Oh no. Dick works his tongue, thick and heavy, and tries for another word. “Cass?” 

“Her eyes were closed,” the Captain says. “Thank God.”

Yes, thank God indeed. Dick exhales. It would be too much to say that he’s relaxed, since he’d never actually had the muscular command to tense up, but emotionally, that’s how it feels.

The Captain goes on. “You were taken at once to the nearest hospital. Fortunately I was heard when I shouted for help - or perhaps the sound of your body impacting the ground was what summoned assistance.” The Captain’s voice flays. “I had to remain behind to speak with the chief of police, and the firefighters, and arrange for the other wounded to be cared for, and find somewhere to house my children - ”

His voice rises with each grievance he enumerates. Dick tries to keep still; any kind of movement will hurt, he knows with a kind of animal premonition. His throat is dry again despite the ice. He’s simultaneously starving and nauseated. He wants to cry. And when, on the word children, Captain Wayne’s hand - or fist - hits the sheets to Dick’s right, he can’t help flinching away and then crying out with the pain of it.

The Captain stills. Dick wants to return to his previous supine position, to try to ease some of the pain he’s in, but he can’t stop cringing away. He’s weak right now, and he knows it. Knows it in his hindbrain. Trapped in a room with a hostile, enraged Alpha is not where he wants to be. 

“Dick,” the Captain says slowly.

Dick licks his lips and makes a valiant effort to respond. If only he could de-escalate the situation somehow. But the words catch in his throat, and he coughs and coughs.

Warm hands catch him as he tries to curl up and help him onto his side. Dick’s eyes squint open, and he sees that he’s balanced on the edge of what is definitely a bed, with a basin held beneath his open mouth. “Spit it all out,” Captain Wayne orders. “The doctor says the more of it you get rid of, the better your lungs will heal.”

Dick couldn’t have stopped coughing if he’d tried, which he is very tempted to do, given how much it hurts. His throat is as raw and torn as a loin of beef pounded flat under Cook’s muscular arms. His torso feels like it’s bound with iron bands. That’s not far from the truth, he discovers as his hands curl helplessly over his chest. The bands are cloth, not iron, but they’re tied so tightly that Dick isn’t sure if he would succeed in pulling in a full breath if he even dared try. He doesn’t. Something in his body is telling him it’s not a good idea.

“Better?” the Captain asks when Dick’s coughing fit finally subsides. “Here. Lay back down.” Dick would prefer to remain in a fetal position, but the Captain maneuvers him ruthlessly to lie on his back. “Now.” A chair appears in Dick’s limited field of view; the Captain pulls it up next to the bed and sits down. “Let’s talk.”

If Dick could speak, he’d beg the Captain not to. Dick isn’t sure how much more recrimination he can deal with right now, when he feels as if he’s been run over by the fire-wagons that had failed to save Wayne Manor. “I - ” he manages.

A warm, thick finger lays itself on Dick’s lips. Dick blinks, the only way he can show his surprise. “Don’t try to speak,” the Captain says. “Have another ice chip.” The Captain’s finger disappears, only to return with another cold, hard sliver in just the right size. Not only is Captain Wayne feeding ice to his governess, but someone - perhaps even the Captain himself - has chopped them into perfectly sized pieces. 

Dick sucks on the ice and looks up at Captain Wayne, quite thoroughly lost.

The Captain sighs. “I,” he says, “have never been so terrified in my entire life.”

Dick can understand this. Of course Captain Wayne has been in mortal peril before, but - 

“This wasn’t like war,” the Captain goes on, echoing Dick’s train of thought. Dick lies back and lets him spell it out, too weak to bother thinking for himself when he doesn’t have to. “I’m used to risking my own life. But this wasn’t just my life. This was the lives of my children, my servants, my staff - and you.”

Me? 

“Yes, you,” the Captain says. “I think perhaps you don’t understand. You think I’m angry at you.”

Dick nods, just a little.

“I am, slightly,” Captain Wayne admits. “I oughtn’t to be, and I understand that rationally, but my heart is quite a different matter. It may not surprise you to learn that it has been ungoverned, or at least poorly governed, for some time now. War is not a kind place to those who fight in it, Dick - Miss Grayson. When my parents died, I had no time to truly deal with it. It was not until I came home that I knew - that I confronted - ”

He breaks off, covering his face with a hand. Dick would look away, if he could, to be considerate of the Captain’s pain. As it is he can only close his eyes.

“I told you that I went about building a family backwards,” the Captain goes on after a moment, his voice controlled again, and Dick reopens his eyes to look at him again. “I didn’t tell you that I took in the children to try and fill a hole within myself - a hole that, while they helped patch, they could never truly fill. The hole was never child-shaped. All they could do was need me. They could not help me. And that was what I needed - a helpmate. A partner. Someone who could share my burdens, and make them less.”

“Yes,” Dick says, the second ice chip giving him something of his voice back. “I understand.”

The Captain - smiles at him. Dick stares, too shocked to look away. Captain Wayne has looked at Dick with many expressions, sometimes even with amusement, but never with - happiness. Never with a true, open smile, untouched by the sardonic or rueful. 

“I believe you do,” Captain Wayne says. “I believe that you have felt that emptiness yourself. And I dare to hope, Miss - Dick - may I call you Dick?”

“Yes,” Dick says again, or tries to. His voice comes out barely above a whisper. But the Captain is leaning close over him, and catches the sound, or else sees the shape of Dick’s lips and infers.

“Thank you,” he says, and there’s the wryness in his smile, in his voice. “I confess it has been ‘Dick’ instead of ‘Miss Grayson’ in my head these past hours already, and I find it would be extremely difficult to revert.”

Hours? Is that how long Dick has been out? He wants to know, wants to be told everything - but the Captain is choosing his own order of telling, and he isn’t done with the topic to hand.

“I knew that you were worthy of my respect when the children revolted against me to preserve your place in their lives,” the Captain says. “I learned to esteem you when I saw how you moved among them, soothed their discontents, promoted their growth, and protected their vulnerabilities. I thought - in my careful, guarded way - that I should like to know you better. To explore whether I could feel something for you greater still, something beyond respect and esteem.”

You see, Dick remembers the Captain saying, as they’d left St. Mary’s to return to Wayne Manor, before they’d seen the flames and realized what had been happening. I - you have many extraordinary qualities, I am not blind to them - in fact I have been noticing - been thinking - that perhaps - 

Then, Dick had squashed the instinctive hopes that that statement had created, and the discovery of the fire and the danger had wholly banished any such thoughts. But the Captain had meant it - had intended his words to be understood in the way that Dick’s heart had wished to understand them. Dick is silent now from an entirely different cause than mere pain. He watches Captain Wayne closely, watches his lips, impatient for the Captain - for Bruce - to continue.

“Little did I realize that my heart had already run ahead of my mind,” Bruce says ruefully. “I did not know that I felt anything more for you than a beginning attachment, something to explore, until you ran into the fire to save my children.” He stiffens, and puts a hand over Dick’s, engulfing it as if to hold Dick in place, as if he fears Dick will run. “Our children. You have my word, I will never try to keep you from them, or them from you, whatever else happens here today. You risked your life - you were ready to give your life to preserve them. You are their mother, and I will never stand in your way, I swear it.”

Tears well up in Dick’s eyes and slip, hot and itchy, down the sides of his face to splash on the bed. Their trails quickly cool to discomfort. He would hate himself for weeping, if he had anything like pride left. He doesn’t. He’s too grateful for what Bruce is saying - and too afraid of what else Bruce might not say.

The Captain’s hands are warm as he wipes the tear tracks from Dick’s face. “There, don’t cry,” he says, sounding distressed. “I’ll stop, if you like - only give me a sign. You can’t speak - close your eyes if you wish me to stop.”

Dick stares at him, eyes burning, lids held apart by sheer will.

Bruce’s breath leaves him in a huff of relief. “Thank you.” He looks away, clears his throat, and then looks back at Dick with determination, as if Dick is something he must face. “When you ran into the fire, and my first thought was that I might lose you, too, I knew that you were no mere object of my respect and esteem. But when we were inside - when we were trapped in your room, and the only way out was that climb, and I couldn’t carry you - ” His voice breaks.

His hand is still in Dick’s. Dick directs all his will to his fingers, and they close around Bruce’s. 

“And yet, if you hadn’t been there - I would never have known about the climbing route. I don’t think I would have seen it if I didn’t know to look for it. I would have failed to get Kate and Cass out. Failed - to save them - but to know that they were only saved because of you, because you had risked yourself, and that you were injured and might never wake up, because I could not carry you too - ”

Dick strokes his fingers across the back of Bruce’s hand. He hears a low, rasping, yet oddly tuneful sound, and realizes it’s coming from him. He can’t speak, but he can hum. It’s the lullaby.

“My darling,” Bruce says, shaking his head and dashing tears from his own eyes. “Forgive me for calling you so when you can’t tell me if I’m wrong to do so - but though I have been slow all my life to know my own feelings, that does not make them weak. I was angry at you, yes, a little, because I foolishly thought that if you hadn’t run into the house, I would not have had to worry about you. But I am more angry at myself, for not being strong enough to take care of you all.”

Sounds from outside the small room they’re in filter through, footsteps and raised voices and the clanking of trays. “Forgive me,” Bruce says guiltily. “I have chosen a terribly poor moment to - and you haven’t even seen the children yet, nor heard the half of what happened. We will continue this conversation later.”

No, Dick wants to cry. Yes, prudence whispers. Dick doesn’t know what to think - what to feel - and he should figure both of those things out before this conversation proceeds any farther. And yet he feels nothing but bereft at the thought of it ending. Which is, perhaps, its own answer. 

“Later,” Bruce repeats, and squeezes Dick’s hand in his before releasing it and going to open the door.

The noises from outside resolve quickly into a party of worried adults, including Alfred, Cook, Betsy, and Dr. Thompkins, who sets at once to poking and prodding Dick in various ways. Dick suffers this resignedly and is glad to find, from the way she moves his limbs around, that he seems to have escaped a broken bone. “You will do very well,” she says at the conclusion of her examination. “You didn’t fall from that great of a height, truly; it was the smoke that has put you in this state more than anything else. Rest is the main of what you need. Rest and ease. Are you in much pain?”

Immediately Dick shakes his head.

“Liar,” she says with a smirk. “I’ve seen the brave type before. Okay, why don’t you want laudanum?”

Dick shudders involuntarily. “Once,” he manages to say. “Bone, when - a child. Trouble.”

“Trouble like it didn’t work, or trouble like it was a problem when it ran out?” Her gaze is knowing.

“Nightmares,” Dick manages to get out. “Couldn’t sleep.” Not that that had spared him. The nightmares had come even when he’d been awake, moving past his closed eyelids, stealing minutes and hours, blurring the line between dreams and reality - the pain would have been better, would have been a blessing, but he hadn’t been able to say that in a way that his parents had understood. The opium had garbled his tongue as well as his senses, and they’d continued to dose him for a week until the supply had run out. There had been two more weeks of withdrawals after that, and Dick will never touch the stuff again, if he can help it.

The doctor nods. “Yes, it can have that effect. Particularly on children. I can give you a lighter dose.”

“No.” Dick presses his lips together to express the firmness of his stance.

“Rather have the pain? Well, it’s your body.” Dr. Thompkins shrugs. “I won’t force you.” Dick feels all his muscles go weak in relief. Some doctors do force patients, he’s heard. Or perhaps they only force poor patients, gypsy patients, circus performing and orphan patients - perhaps being under Captain Wayne’s auspices protects him. He’ll take it, either way.

“I can brew him up my grandmother’s tisane,” Cook volunteers. “She swore by it any time she was ill. Can’t do any harm here, can it, Doctor?”

“Depends what’s in it,” Dr. Thompkins answers. “Willowbark would help with the inflammation - ”

Cook is already nodding. “Yes, and honey for the throat. Queen Anne’s lace for the pain - ”

Their conversation goes on from there, naming increasingly more esoteric herbs and quickly leaving Dick’s rudimentary knowledge of home remedies behind. It ends with Dr. Thompkins giving her full approval to Cook’s grandmother’s tisane and recommending that Dick drink a mugful every eight hours, which makes Cook beam and Dick, unwisely, pull a face. It’s not that he doesn’t appreciate the thought - the ache of moving his facial muscles tells him he could definitely benefit from some willowbark and Queen Anne’s lace - but he knows from long experience of such passed-down remedies that the concoction will taste more than foul. And judging by Cook’s and Betsy’s expressions, he won’t be allowed to decline it the way he had the opium.

“Now don’t keep him talking too long,” Dr. Thompkins says as she packs up her black bag and prepares to leave. “Rest is what he needs most, now that he’s awake.”

“You will stay with us at least until tomorrow,” Captain Wayne says. His courtesy makes it sound like a request; the look on his face makes it clear it’s a summons. 

“Yes, I will,” the doctor agrees. “I still have those other patients of yours as well. I’m going to tend them now. Remember, Miss Grayson - Captain Wayne - rest. Otherwise I will insist that he return to the hospital. Am I clear?”

So Dick isn’t in a hospital. He looks a question as best he can.

“This is my summer home, down by the lakeshore,” Captain Wayne says, catching the expression and seeming to understand. “The Manor is in no shape for us at the moment. We have relocated and will stay here until it has been repaired. It means a slightly longer drive for the older children to get to and from school, but otherwise we are quite well settled and can remain here as long as we need with no inconvenience. And I won’t let Dr. Thompkins out of the house until you’re well. So you mustn’t worry about a thing.”

“No indeed,” Dr. Thompkins says comfortingly to Dick. “As I said before, Miss Grayson, you will be quite well with proper rest. Nothing broken, and I don’t believe your ribs are cracked after all. We’ll take those bindings off tomorrow and see how they do. You must keep your lungs clear as much as you can; I expect you will be coughing soot for a solid week, but it’s better out than in, so don’t fret. I shall remain as long as you need.”

“And I’ll get to brewing that tisane,” Cook says, patting Dick’s hand where it lies on the bed. The difference between her large, tanned, work-roughened paw and Captain Wayne’s elegant hand should be comical, but Dick is warmed by her evident affection. “Betsy, are you coming?”

“In a minute, ma’am,” Betsy says. She takes a trembling step forward and drops a curtsey. “I just wanted to say, miss, I’m so glad you’re on the mend. We were all worried, and I’m charged to say from all the servants that anything you need, you’ll have.”

“Thank you,” Dick croaks. The talking is getting more doable with practice, though it’s still far from easy.

“Captain Wayne has agreed I may take care of you while you recover,” Betsy says. A ghost of a smile flitters over her face. “Like a real lady’s maid.” Dick smiles in return, trusting his facial muscles more than his voice just now.

“He will need your best care, Betsy,” the Captain says. “I am depending on you.”

“Yes, sir!” She drops another curtsey, lower than before.

“For your first task, I will take my best attempt at reading Miss Grayson’s mind and say that what he most wishes for now is to see the children.” Bruce turns to look at Dick. “Am I right?”

“Yes,” Dick manages to say eagerly. “Oh, yes.” He closes his lips over the further words that try to tumble out. He must save his strength.

“Then fetch them, please, Betsy.”

“Right away, sir, miss,” Betsy says, eager in her turn. “They’re not far; they’ve all been waiting to see you. I’ll fetch them at once.”

“Thank you, Betsy,” the Captain says for both of them. Betsy all but runs from the room. “After this you must rest, as the doctor says,” Bruce goes on to say to Dick. “But I know that I wouldn’t be able to rest, without seeing for myself they are all safe and whole, and I believe you must feel the same.”

Dick smiles fondly up at him. From the widening of his eyes, Bruce appreciates this very much.

The sounds of shrieks and pounding feet prevent the moment from growing into anything warmer. The door is nearly flung off its hinges, and seven excited children pour through. All seem to be trying to talk louder than the others, and the majority of them attempt to throw themselves across Dick’s bedside. Thankfully for Dick’s aches and bruises, they’re blocked by the combined efforts of Jason and the Captain. Maria does her part by keeping Terry firmly clasped in her arms, despite the bandage on one of her hands.

“You will only hurt Miss Grayson more if you try to hug him,” the Captain says repressively. “I know it is very cruel, but we must think about what’s best for him. As soon as he is well again he will hug you all as much as you please.”

A small hand creeps its way inside Dick’s. Dick looks down to see that Kate has crawled under Steph’s legs and managed to reach Dick’s bedside. “Mama,” she whispers. “Oh, Mama, I thought - I thought you were dead.”

“No,” Dick manages to say. “I’m here.”

Kate lays her head on the bed next to Dick and squeezes her eyes shut. “You weren’t moving.”

“He was knocked out, Kate.” The Captain kneels beside her. “It’s like sleeping. When you’re injured, sometimes your body puts you to sleep, so it can heal itself better.”

“But you’re still not healed, are you,” Kate says.

“He is much better,” Captain Wayne answers. “And he will be better still as he rests more. Just like you.” He frowns. “Should you even be - ” 

“Shhh,” Dick says, stroking Kate’s dark head where it lays against him on the sheets. She can go back to bed in a moment.

The Captain continues frowning, but says, “We will only stay a short while for now. Later, as he gets stronger, we can visit more. Soon it will be as if nothing ever happened.”

“Is that the truth, Mother Grayson?” Damian asks quietly.

“It is,” Dick says. The Doctor had said as much while she’d been examining Dick, and he had found her competence reassuring. Nothing in life is ever certain, but Dick has no burns to fester, no broken bones to catch infection. Dick is bruised, battered, and had a nasty fall and got far too much smoke in his lungs, but with rest and as much coughing and Cook’s tisane as he can manage, he will mend. He smiles reassuringly. “I will - be - well.”

Saying as much nearly exhausts him, and Dick suddenly wants nothing more than to sleep. Captain Wayne seems to sense this. “All right, children, one stop at the bedside each, and then off with you. Your mother needs his rest.”

Tim looks up at his father with a new expression. “Yes,” he agrees.

One by one they come close and offer their tokens of affection. The older Alphas squeeze his hand or say a few gruff words. Maria lowers Terry close enough for Dick to kiss his cheek before whisking him away. Kate asks for two kisses. “One for Cass,” she explains. “Since she’s still in bed. Dr. Thompkins says she may get up tomorrow.”

“Good,” Dick sighs in relief. He’s glad to hear her ordeal hasn’t set her recovery from the influenza back too much. 

Tim accepts and gives a kiss of his own, and looks as if he wants to throw his arms around Dick, too, but he manages to restrain himself. “You were wearing the necklace I gave you when you fell,” he says quietly, opening his palm and showing the amber pendant and chain to Dick. “The doctor at the hospital said it had to come off so you wouldn’t choke. It’s safe for you when you’re ready to wear it again.”

“Thank you,” Dick croaks out. It may well be the only one of his birthday presents to survive. But it’s also the only one that couldn’t be replaced. If given again by each of the children, replacement books or bicycles will be just as dear to Dick as the originals, for it’s the thought and love behind each that he had valued. Tim’s childhood necklace, a gift from his birth mother, could have no substitute. Dick is painfully glad he’d been wearing it. 

Jason is the last to approach, both by virtue of seniority and by a little clever maneuvering that he probably thinks Dick doesn’t notice. He waits until the other children are nearly out of the room before speaking, and then the words burst out of him, as if he’s been bottling them up the entire time Dick has been unconscious and can’t keep them inside any longer. “It’s my fault,” Jason says. His hands are clenched in fists at his side. “I didn’t think about anyone but me climbing up and down there. I should have made the footholds bigger. I’ll fix it, you’ll see. When they rebuild the Manor I’ll make sure there’s a real ladder for you to use if you ever have to again! I promise!” 

Dick wants to laugh, a little, and wants to comfort Jason, more. None of this is Jason’s fault; he hadn’t set the fire, nor had he made it so that the only escape route they’d had had been Jason’s makeshift climbing path. If not for that same path Kate and Cass and Captain Wayne and Dick might have all died. “I know you will,” is what Dick manages to say. It’s an effort, and his throat still feels raw, but his reward is the way Jason’s shoulders straighten a little, and the hangdog look fades some from around his eyes. 

“We must let you rest now.” The Captain stands, already shooing Jason before him.

“Wait,” Dick manages. “Maria - her hand - ”

“A small burn,” Captain Wayne reassures Dick. “She had to knock aside a burning curtain as she carried Terry out. Dr. Thompkins has already cared for it and says it should heal without even a scar.”

“Okay.” Dick’s eyes slip closed. Sleep already calls him.

A knock on the door sounds, and Betsy bustles in with a steaming mug on a tray. “Now, drink all of this, miss - let me prop you up a bit - ” she starts arranging pillows, interrupting Dick’s slide into slumber. “Doctor’s orders, and then you can rest - ”

Jason, his nose averted and mouth screwed up in distaste at the mere smell of the tisane, beats a hasty retreat. The taste is every bit as foul as Dick had anticipated. Dick drinks it with as much grace as he can manage, and his reward is Bruce’s approving look as Betsy helps Dick lay back down.

“‘Back soon,” Dick mumbles. His eyes won’t stay open.

Bruce’s hand is gentle as he smooths the wrinkles from Dick’s forehead. “I will be here when you wake.”

That doesn’t make sense - Bruce will have much to do, and need of rest himself, after the night they’d had - but Dick no longer has strength to debate the matter. He takes a breath, and then sleep claims him.

Chapter Text

Dick awakens after an indeterminate amount of time feeling stronger. With attention to spare for more than his immediate needs, he can see that he’s in a luxuriously appointed room - a suite, really - with large bay windows overlooking what appears to be a well-kept garden. The light from the windows is golden and slanting low, indicating that Dick has slept most of the day away. 

A faint buzzing sound is coming from the left. Dick turns his head without too much difficulty and beholds an astonishing sight. Bruce Wayne, millionaire and war hero, is asleep in an easy-chair pulled up to the side of the bed. A stack of papers sits on the floor to Bruce’s side, tall enough to be nearly level with Dick’s bed. A lap secretary is in danger of sliding off of Bruce’s lap as he dozes, his chin against his chest and his hair all askew. The affection Dick feels at the sight is strong enough to drown out the mild indignation he feels at the Captain’s ill-use of himself. 

Bruce, he calls, or starts to call. He’s given pause not by the soreness in his throat but by his own misgivings. Perhaps the intimacy they had shared in the midst of the fire will have been extinguished along with the blaze. But then, Bruce had spoken so warmly of his feelings just now - that is, a few hours ago - and Dick finds that he wants to be brave. “Bruce,” Dick calls, firm with himself. His voice comes out with a rasp, but is otherwise strong.

The Captain startles awake. The lap desk falls to the floor; he tries to catch it, without success. Fortunately it misses the pile of papers. “Dick,” he says in surprise. “You’re awake. Don’t you need to rest longer?”

“It’s evening,” Dick says gently.

Bruce blinks, rubs his eyes, and looks towards the window. “So it is.” He runs a hand through his hair, achieving nothing but further disorder. “I must apologize for drifting off like that.”

“You should have gone to bed,” Dick says. Surely, if nothing else, he’s earned the right to gently chide his employer. Even if the offer of his forename proves to have been hastily made and immediately regretted, they’d run into a burning building together to save their children. “You must be exhausted.”

“I’ve stayed awake for longer stretches.”

“When you were a youth in the army?”

The Captain’s smile is embarrassed. “And since.”

Dick forbears to give his opinion on this. “You need sleep. Go on, seek your bed. I’ll be all right on my own for a while.” If nothing else, Betsy will be coming with another dose of Cook’s grandmother’s tisane soon.

“Well, there’s a slight problem with that.” The Captain’s hand has unaccountably found its way into Dick’s, and his thumb rubs small, soothing circles against Dick’s wrist. “My bed is occupied at the moment.”

“Occupied? By whom - oh.” It takes Dick a moment, which he will blame on his wits still being addled from the fall he’d taken. “This is your room?” It explains the size of it, certainly. And the view. Both are rather nicer than is usual for a governess’ room, now that he comes to think about it. “But why?”

“Must you uncover all of my embarrassing secrets in one day?” The Captain’s grin flashes white in the gathering dusk. “Perhaps you’ll let me say that it’s because the bed here is more comfortable than that of the governess’ chamber?”

“Only if you wish me to think ill of you,” Dick says before he can think. “Surely you don’t actually try to save money by spending less on servants’ beds.”

The Captain is silent for a long moment, long enough for Dick to realize how far he’s overstepped. He’s opening his lips to apologize when the Captain laughs, unexpectedly. “You’re absolutely right, I don’t,” he says, still chuckling. “But I’ll wager I’m the only person in this city who doesn’t. What made you so certain?”

“It’s not who you are,” Dick says simply. 

The chuckles die, but the Captain remains smiling. “I am glad to have your good opinion.” The quiet between them, as the evening falls, is inexpressibly soothing. Dick feels rested in soul as well as body. “The truth, then,” Bruce says. “I wanted you here. Perhaps it was more selfish than anything else. I justified it by saying that you would need the best of everything for your recovery.”

“Then why not put me in the lady’s chambers?” Dick’s heart beats fast with the daring of this question. 

“There is no lady’s chambers.” The Captain’s smile is smaller now, like he’s sharing a secret. “The summer house is smaller than Wayne Manor, and built in an older style. The fashion at those times was for a married couple to share a bedchamber.”

Dick swallows with difficulty and tries to sound stern. “We are not married, sir.”

Bruce’s eyes are large and dark in the gathering dusk, and the touch of his hand as he places it on Dick’s arm seems to burn. “No,” he says in a low voice. “But perhaps, if you - ”

A knock on the door interrupts them. The Captain says a word under his breath that isn’t suitable for a lady to hear. Dick lets his breath out with a rush - he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding it. But it had seemed, in that moment, as if - 

“Come,” the Captain grits out.

The door opens to reveal Betsy with a tray and a steaming mug, exactly as she had appeared earlier. She swoops in and immediately begins clucking over the lack of light in the room. “And you sitting here trying to do sums without so much as a candle!” she exclaims to the Captain, lighting three of a candelabrum by the bedside before taking one and going over to the gas-lamps on the wall. “Not as convenient as the electric lights at Wayne Manor, I know, sir, but not worth ruining your eyes over, neither. There, that’s better.” With the lamps lit, the room is quite bright again, and the candles unnecessary. Betsy blows out the one she’d carried before setting it back in its holder. “Now if you’ll excuse me, sir, I must just set this tray here…”

Bruce bows to inevitability and steps away from the bed to let Betsy in with the steaming mug of awful-tasting herbal blend. “All down now, miss,” Betsy coaxes, just as if she’s the governess and Dick a sick child. “There you are. And I brought some lovely rolls with butter, and dried-apple sauce, and some of Cook’s good chicken broth. Dr. Thompkins says you may eat as much as you’re hungry for. Oh!” Betsy turns to the Captain and says, “Begging your pardon, sir, I nearly forgot. Doctor’s orders, and you’re to get some sleep yourself. The governess’ room is made up for you, since you made yours over. And Alfred says to tell you that you aren’t to try to disturb Miss Grayson by crawling in with him, or he’ll have to get up from his sickbed to scold you himself. Begging your pardon.”

Dick smothers a laugh. Bruce says, “Thank you, Betsy,” in a tone of great patience.

“How is Alfred doing?” Dick asks, to change the topic as well as in genuine concern. “He had a concussion, you said?” A worry strikes him. “Did one of the firesetters hit him?”

Betsy, who had turned away to set an empty plate down on the tray, misses her mark and lets it fall to the floor with a clatter. “Firesetters?” She turns back in open distress. “The fire wasn’t an accident?”

“Of course it was an accident,” Captain Wayne says firmly, sending Dick a warning look at the same time. “Miss Grayson is still confused from his fall.”

“Oh, I - yes - I thought someone said - but it must have been a dream,” Dick says, unsure but willing to follow the Captain’s lead. “Didn’t the fire chief come visit here and say they’d caught the firesetter?”

“Bless you, miss, the fire chief hasn’t been here,” Betsy says, relaxing now and laughing. “You were dreaming right enough.”

“And no wonder with that fall you took,” the Captain says. “No, no, Alfred had the bad luck to be standing beneath a picture-frame when it fell off the wall. He’s just glad it didn’t break his collar-bone into the bargain. Dr. Thompkins has him on bed rest, like Maria. He doesn’t seem to be following the good doctor’s prescription, though.” This is accompanied with a significant look at Betsy. “Do tell him, from me, that rest means rest.”

“Yes, sir,” Betsy says, her good humor fully restored. “Will there be anything else, sir? Miss?”

“No, thank you,” Dick says for them both. “I think I’ll just chat with the Captain a bit.”

“Shall I help you lie down again?”

“I’m sure I can manage it.”

“I will help,” Bruce says, before Betsy can scold.

Betsy accepts this. “Yes, miss. Ring for me the moment there’s anything.” With a final bob, Betsy takes the tray and herself back off to the kitchens.

As soon as the door closes, Dick looks at Bruce expectantly. “All right, what was that about? We know perfectly well the fire was set.”

“Yes, and it’s my fault for letting myself get distracted by other matters before talking with you about it.” The edge of self-censure in Bruce’s voice is unpleasant to hear. “About the fire being set - that’s not to be made public knowledge.”

“It sounds as if it’s not to be made private knowledge, either.” Dick tries to look stern. “If I hadn’t been there to hear Kate and Cass tell their tale, would you have told me?”

“Yes,” Bruce says promptly, “for it affects you. And I’m doubly ashamed, for I had no right to talk of feelings to you before making sure you thoroughly understood what has happened, and what it means… Are you able to listen a little longer, or must you rest?”

“You had better tell me everything at once.” Dick endeavors to look as awake and alert as possible, which feels more difficult than he thinks it ought, given how he’s just slept the day away. Nevertheless Dick must succeed in convincing Captain Wayne, as Bruce reseats himself in the armchair and nods.

“The fire was set, and I believe I know by whom - ”

“The Red Joker.”

Bruce stiffens. The small bit of emotion he’d been beginning to show bleaches right out of his face, and he sets his hands carefully on his knees. “What makes you say so?”

“What do you mean? The playing card in the nursery, that’s what makes me say so.”

“The what?”

“Yes, when we got to the nursery - oh,” Dick says, remembering. “I dropped it when you called out to me, didn’t I? I meant to bring it and show you, but I was worrying about the children, and I lost it.”

“He left a card.” Bruce blows out a long, slow breath and leans forward, forming a bridge with his hands and resting his chin on it. “That bastard. He wanted me to know it was him.”

“He really should have had more confidence in you.”

“The Red Joker hasn’t gotten as far as he has by taking unnecessary risks.” Bruce looks at Dick carefully. “You still made quite a leap, connecting the playing card you found with the German ambassador.”

“I’d made the leap before,” Dick says, suddenly and uncomfortably aware that he has things he must confess, too. “I saw the card on that first night at Wayne Manor. When I knocked down the pile of papers in your office.”

“Ah.” Bruce nods. “I thought you may have, but hoped that, without context, you would forget it.”

“I did forget it. For a while. But then while I was afraid you were the Black Cat - ”

“You were what?”

In for a penny. “The jewels Selina gave me,” Dick says. “They were real.”

“You knew that?” 

“In the circus we used fake jewels liberally. Those weren’t glass.”

“And you suspected me?”

“You were down by the docks when you had no reason to be. And you got mad at me for taking the children there, but your reasoning made no sense. Damian is always saying that the best defense is a good offense. I thought, what if you were smuggling jewels out through the docks and didn’t want us to know - ” Dick breaks off, because Bruce is laughing. “What is it?”

“I am a fool,” Bruce says, without rancor. “I thought surely I’d ceased underestimating you, but no. Well, and you took all of this to mean that I was the Black Cat. Which reminded you of the playing card?”

“It reminded me that there was paperwork you didn’t want me to see - ”

“My smuggling records, no doubt.”

“ - and that reminded me of the card, yes.”

“I am well served,” Bruce says ruefully. “I should have taken you into my confidence earlier, I see. If I had done so, you may even have helped avert last night’s events. Who can say?”

“I know that you’re not the Black Cat now,” Dick says apologetically. “They struck the same night of the ball, and you were never out of my sight long enough to sneak out and rob the Kanes.” He shakes his head, looking down at the coverlets still atop his lower body and tracing patterns over them absently. “I suppose I still don’t know why Selina would give me true jewels.”

“Don’t you?”

Dick looks up sharply. “I hadn’t had time to truly think, but - if the jewels are real - ” Realization crashes over him like a wave breaking against the shore. “Selina,” he whispers. She had been at the gala - but she had left early, claiming a headache and a duty to tend her younger siblings. Dick remembers being jealous of her escape from the heat and press of the ballroom. Now he sees that she had had the perfect opportunity for a raid and hadn’t wanted to waste it. After the high profile she’d cut at the ball, no one would think of her as a possible suspect. And her sex, too, will protect her as much if not more than her social profile. “Of course.”

“She took it up shortly after I first met her,” Bruce recalls, his voice soft. “Her family had just crossed the rubicon into high society, and they were finding that maintaining a place there required far more in expenditure than they’d anticipated. The money was running short. They economized where they could…”

“Like wearing glass instead of gems,” Dick murmurs.

“Yes. But folk could tell. There’s a great deal of snobbery in these ranks. Even the littlest things, like serving fruit that’s in-season instead of spending more for hothouse, made tongues wag. I think at first it was just a matter of opportunity. And of course Selina wanted to support her family’s success. But most of all I think she liked the revenge aspect of it.”

“I can understand that. Oh, yes.” Dick remembers the way the matrons had whispered about him at Tim’s recital, at the gala. Remembers Selina saying,  If you go in there without anything by way of jewelry, you’ll lose ground in their estimation you’ll never recapture. And then, I certainly can’t have any pleasure in shutting them away when Dick here is going to go into a ballroom tonight with nothing more than a string of beads in his hair! And then he remembers something else. Says, slowly, “The Elliots were robbed after Tim’s recital.”

“Yes.” That’s all Bruce says, but the single word is heavy with meaning.

“She did that for revenge, too. For us.”

“And then the Kanes, the night of the gala. The Elliots for insulting you during the recital. The Kanes for the same reason Damian fought Mary Kane. Selina didn’t find out about the exact reason until a week later, when Cecily finally got it out of Tim, or she would have robbed them first.”

It’s unbelievable - yet it all makes perfect sense. And so does something else. “This is why you loaned me the Wayne jewels for the ball,” Dick says. “Because if I went in there wearing a piece Selina had stolen, someone might have recognized it.”

“Even if no one did, they would have seen you were wearing true jewels, and wondered why,” Bruce says. “Whereas if you were wearing a Wayne piece, everyone would understand.”

“Of course.” Dick feels a little lightheaded, and leans his head back against the headboard, where a pillow cushions it. “Of course.” He shakes his head a little, realizing he’s been distracted from the original topic. “So the Red Joker set the fire. Why? Revenge?”

“Revenge, and opportunity,” Bruce says. “The Red Joker never does something for one reason when he could do it for three. First, yes, revenge. Second, I believe they had hoped to take advantage of the early stages of the fire - the smoke, the alarm - to raid my house after the occupants had fled. Unfortunately for them, Alfred was still in my office securing my papers when the firesetters arrived. He fought them off, though he was injured himself in the process.”

“He fought?”

“There’s more to Alfred than he seems. He was my batman during the war. A very capable man. He served my father the same way during the Spanish-American War.”

Dick processes this. “He’s an excellent butler.”

“I believe Alfred would consider it a moral failing to be less than excellent at anything he does.”

That makes Dick laugh. “True. Very well. And the third reason…” He sobers abruptly. “The children. The people Kate saw - they were looking for the children.”

Bruce inclines his head in acknowledgement.

“But why? To hurt you? Revenge, from the War? No,” Dick says, answering his own question. “Zeller wouldn’t need to go to such lengths if that were all he wanted. Driving a motor-car into the crowd at St. Mary’s one Sunday after Mass would have much the same effect, and at far less effort.”

“Especially if he hired it done by someone else, as is so often his style. No,” Bruce says. “I’m afraid - leverage.”

“Over you?”

“Yes. I am involved - that is - ” Bruce sighs. “You must understand there are still limits to what I can share.”

Dick doesn’t really, actually, need it spelled out for him. Not at this point. “You are involved in an organization - an official one, I hope - ”

“Fully sanctioned.” 

“ - which seeks to prevent the outbreak of another war through… clandestine means.”

“Admirably put.” Bruce inclines his head in acknowledgement. “I have been especially focused on my old nemesis, whom I believe to be high in the councils of his new political party, and whose zeal for another war I know to be strong and deep. What I believe, and cannot yet prove, is that he is engaged in more than mere passive wishing. I believe he is attempting to obtain intelligence, or materials, or both, which would be of use to Germany in the event of another conflict. Were he to successfully kidnap some of my children, he could compel me to tell him everything I know about our defense posture and likelihood of involving ourselves in another war. Given that America’s involvement turned the tide in the last one…”

If Dick were physically capable of it, he would leap from his bed this instant and run - to strangle the Red Joker on the spot, or to go lay his hands on his children and validate that they’re safe, or possibly both. Anger sweeps him, and his fists clench. But he’s still weak, and he knows it. And there’s nothing he can do. 

Unless - “Can we prove it? Any of it?”

Slowly Bruce shakes his head. “I intend to go back to the Manor and search for evidence, but I doubt I will find any. At least none of any use. Zeller is an ambassador; it would take a great deal for him to face any consequences. And he is no longer in Gotham.”

Dick swallows and looks down at where his fingers are still tracing patterns on the duvet. Bruce’s hand appears in his vision, covering Dick’s with his own, sending warmth through his body that can’t all be explained by body heat.

“So now you understand,” Bruce says quietly. “There is danger around me. And around my family. You have chosen to be mother to my children - you deserve to know.”

Dick looks up. “Thank you,” he says. It’s a reflexive reply, and all he can manage, at the moment. His thoughts are occupied almost entirely by the rearrangement of his world. It’s one thing to have suspected that Bruce is involved in clandestine affairs - it’s another to have it confirmed, and to understand at once both how noble and how perilous this involvement could prove. Has already proved. Dick has the bandages and the bruises to demonstrate exactly how dangerous it is to be around Captain Bruce Wayne. 

“You have questions,” Bruce begins.

Dick holds up a hand. “I’m certain that I will,” he says, “but not - I am all a-whirl. And tired,” he has to admit. Worn through like an old sheet, might be more accurate: this isn’t the general kind of tiredness Dick is used to feeling after a day of labor, but the more bone-deep kind of exhaustion that he knows from various bouts with childhood illnesses. “I do not mean to be rude - nor to spurn your willingness to talk - ”

“No, say no more,” Bruce says, rising. “I understand completely. I should have known better than to tax you with all of this at once. But you needed to know.”

“I did,” Dick says, “and I am more grateful to you than you know for trusting me with it.”

Bruce is looking at Dick gravely, even as he helps tug the pillows from behind Dick’s back and rearrange them so that Dick may lie down comfortably. “You may not be so grateful when you have had time to really think it through,” he says.

“I - ” Dick closes his mouth before it gets him in trouble. Can he, after all, promise that this information changes nothing, before Dick himself has had time to determine whether that can be true? And yet, what choice does he have? Leave the children? 

Bruce half-turns his head, and Dick hears a moment later the distant sound of the dinner-gong. “I should go eat with the children,” Bruce says. “They’ve been through a lot, and you must rest; they need at least one of their parents. Will you be all right?”

“Of course,” Dick says. He plucks weakly at the quilt, and Bruce picks up the knit blanket folded at the foot of the bed and spreads it over top of Dick. Dick snuggles down gratefully into this extra warmth. “Betsy will check on me. Go, be with the children. Give them my love.”

“I will,” Bruce promises quietly. “If you will trust me to carry it with me.”

“Yes,” Dick says, or thinks he says.  But perhaps he only dreams that he says it, because the next thing he knows, he’s asleep.

Dick sleeps heavily and does not dream, but wakens on his own some time long past midnight and well before dawn. The house is quiet. The lights are all out, but the curtains aren’t drawn, and the moonlight streams silver in through the window to make shapes of light on the floor. Dick watches them, idly making patterns of them, while his mind wanders on other topics. Despite the lateness of the hour, he feels oddly clear-headed.

There is danger around me. And around my family. You have chosen to be mother to my children - you deserve to know.

So much meaning in so few words. Dick should be thinking about the danger - will think, soon, about the danger - but his memory keeps catching on a different phrase. 

You have chosen to be mother to my children.

Bruce had meant, of course, that Dick had been accepted by his adopted children as a second mother, just as Bruce himself had been accepted as a second father. But the other possible interpretation of the phrase haunts Dick. Bruce had spoken about wanting - about feeling more for Dick than respect and esteem -

It is possible, always possible, that Dick has misunderstood. But he doesn’t think so. Not really. The Captain had been clear enough for understanding. Especially when they had spoken of the arrangement of bedchambers.

We are not married, sir.

No. But perhaps, if you - 

Dick spends a moment endeavoring to convince himself that Captain Wayne had intended to propose an affair. He doesn’t succeed, even in his own imagination. Perhaps it’s hubris - or perhaps it’s the benefit of hindsight, having already misunderstood Bruce once, and significantly - but Dick doesn’t think he’s mistaken. Bruce means to pay his addresses. When next they speak seriously on the topic of feelings, Dick may expect a proposal of marriage.

What Dick must therefore decide is whether he means to accept it.

If his own feelings were all that he had to consult, his answer would be easily arrived at and even more easily uttered. He would confess his own feelings to Bruce, they would kiss - Dick blushes to think of it - and then they would be wed, and live happily ever after. The children would have two full parents and live long and happy lives as part of the completed Wayne family.

The children…

There is danger around me. And around my family.

Captain Wayne had involved himself in matters of international espionage - and Kate and Cass had nearly died.

How much of this danger had Bruce known about? How many times had the children’s lives been jeopardized before? How much risk did they live under, all unknowingly?

Most importantly - how many of them had yet to be adopted before Captain Wayne had undertaken his duties?

As an adult, Bruce is more than welcome to risk his own life. To do so for his country could even be said to be honorable and noble. But to involve innocent children, and to risk their lives, without even warning any of them - 

Dick wants to believe that the Captain wouldn’t do that. But he’s been wrong before. And as much as he might love Bruce Wayne - how could Dick marry someone who could treat his own children so… callously?

He has to know. Beyond a guess, beyond a doubt, Dick has to know, for a fact, that Bruce had had no idea about the danger when he’d brought the children into his home. Otherwise… Dick isn’t sure. He can’t leave the children, certainly. To remain as their governess with these feelings between he and Bruce is difficult to imagine. To take the children away from the Captain is impossible. To stick his head in the sand would be far easier. But Dick can’t. As Bruce had said. Dick deserves to know.

It’s a long time before he falls back asleep.

*

Morning dawns bright and beautiful, and before the sun is fairly up in the sky Betsy comes in with a breakfast-tray and the morning’s tisane. By the time the tray is empty Dr. Thompkins is already hovering over Dick’s bedside. She barely waits for the last bites to be chewed and swallowed before she’s listening to Dick’s lungs, making him cough, and feeling his sides. “No,” she says to herself, “those aren’t broken. And if they’re cracked, it’s little enough that these bandages aren’t helping. About all they’re doing - ” her focus switches, abruptly, to Dick. “ - is reminding you, Miss Grayson, not to twist yourself about and make anything worse. May I trust you to remember that on your own?”

“Yes, Doctor,” Dick says as meekly as he can. 

Dr. Thompkins eyes him, unconvinced. “You still need rest,” she begins.

“I won’t exert myself,” Dick promises.

“I’ve heard that before,” she mutters, but relents. “Very well. Unbutton your night-shirt.”

The bandages come off without much fuss, revealing an impressive constellation of bruising on Dick’s torso which had formerly been concealed by the linen cloths. Dr. Thompkins produces a salve. “I’ll rub it on this time, and you pay attention,” she directs. “Firm but not too firm, thoroughly covering the bruised area - ”

Dick plucks the salve from her hands and begins applying it himself, demonstrating his mastery of the correct technique. “Did I ever tell you I was in a circus before my parents died?” he asks. “Bruises every day and twice on Sunday.”

“I can see you know what you’re about,” Dr. Thompkins concedes, watching Dick with an approving gaze. “Then you also know the prescription. Rest, no twisting, moderate stretching to retard the growth of scar tissue and maintain flexibility - ”

“- hot soaks as I can come at them, and don’t stop the willowbark and Queen Anne’s lace until the soreness is entirely gone,” Dick completes. “You needn’t worry I’ll slack. I did, once, when I was eight and fell off the low trapeze. I regretted it for a month after. It was a lesson thoroughly learned.”

“Would that all my patients were so wise,” Dr. Thompkins smiles. “In that case, you may get out of bed this evening, if you wish, and dine with the children. I had thought to order you to bed-rest until tomorrow, but I think I may trust you.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Dick says gratefully. If this compliment is designed to make Dick agreeable, it’s succeeding. “I won’t let you down.”

Betsy pops back into the room at this opportune moment. “Are you ready for me to take the tray, miss? And what does the doctor say about a bath?”

“The doctor says by all means,” Dr. Thompkins says, “and as hot as Miss Grayson can handle it. Then a nice rest before luncheon, hmm?”

“Perhaps with a book?” Dick asks hopefully.

“Yes, certainly. Just keep to your bed and wear your dressing-gown while you’re sitting up. We don’t want you catching a chill on top of your fall.”

“I’ll see to it, Doctor,” Betsy promises. “And I’ll keep the fire high. Let me take this tray, miss, and I’ll let Cook know about the bath-water. Then I’ll be back to help you undress.”

“Thank you, Betsy. Thank you, Dr. Thompkins,” Dick says.

They both leave, and Dick has a few minutes to contemplate his plan of attack. Betsy enjoys gossip very much, so it shouldn’t be hard to get her talking about past incidents where the Wayne children might have been in danger. The trick will be in approaching the topic so as not to reawaken any suspicions about the fire. He needs as much information as he can get, but not at the cost of national security.

Betsy reappears before Dick has quite settled his approach, smiling cheerfully and going to close the curtains and put back the door to the bathing-chamber. “Should just be a few minutes on the hot water, miss,” she says. “Cook had started it boiling before I’d even asked. I’ll fetch you some slippers.”

Dick watches her go over to a standing wardrobe in one corner of the room. “You must come down here with the family every year,” he says tentatively.

“Oh, yes. Ever since I took the place.” Betsy’s voice is muffled by the thick wooden door. She pops free a moment later, holding a comfortable-looking pair of slippers Dick has never seen before. They’re probably Tim’s, or maybe Jason’s. They’re not big enough to be Bruce’s, Dick thinks. Probably.

He asks, “How long ago was that?”

“Near five years. Right after Master Stephanie came, it was. The household was getting larger, so more staff was needed, and I’d heard it was a good place, so I applied.”

Dick nods. “Has it been a good place?” 

“Yes, miss, very good.” Betsy smiles, setting down the slippers by Dick’s bedside and taking his arm to help him swing his legs around without toppling over. “You were at an orphanage, weren’t you? St. Mary’s?”

“Yes.”

“Then you were trained up for service yourself. You know what the usual run’s like, or at least you were told what to expect.” Dick’s feet are in the slippers now, and he’s standing on his own two legs, albeit somewhat shakily, while Betsy chatters on. “Wayne Manor’s the best place I’ve ever worked or heard of working. The pay is good, and the master is generous in other ways, too. No making over worn-out clothes three or even four times to eke out the last use from a bit of cloth. No cramming maids four to a room and two to a mattress. Electric heat and light in the servants’ quarters, and if we want to heat our bath-water, why, as long as Cook isn’t in a rush to get dinner out, no one minds us using the kitchen fires; no one complains about the waste of fuel.”

Dick remembers the strip of carpet in the servants’ corridors, the whitewashed walls, and has to agree. “But that’s not all that makes a place good, is it,” he says. 

Betsy helps him shrug the already unbuttoned night-shirt from around his shoulders, then kneels to help with his undergarments. “Well, you can tell one from t’other, can’t you? If the master were ill-tempered, or Alfred, or Cook, they’d complain about us eating too much or using the kitchen fires even though the master has money to burn. You’re right to say it’s not just the money. It’s the attitude. I may be in service, but I’m still me, miss, and no one minds it.”

Dick nods slowly. He thinks he knows what she’s getting at. Betsy is wearing the classic servants’ uniform, with starched white apron over sober black clothing. The same uniform Dick had expected to wear some day. But Dick had also expected - as Betsy had no doubt experienced, if she’d been in service in other houses - to be as interchangeable as that uniform. To be one of a legion of anonymous maids or under-cooks or laundresses. Individuality is not a commonly encouraged trait in a servant. But Betsy, and all of the other servants at Wayne Manor, are themselves. They are also highly competent - Captain Wayne pays well, and is served well - but they smile, and make suggestions, and take the occasional liberty in the name of meeting their employers’ needs as well as the letter of their expressed wishes. They also have ambitions, such as Betsy’s desire to be a lady’s maid. A desire that Betsy had not been afraid to share - and one that the Captain had remembered, and honored. 

As with giving Dick drawing power over his household funds - the Captain sees people as they are. Not according to a predetermined definition.

But Dick had not needed further proof that Captain Wayne is a good person. “Does this scare you?” Dick asks. “The fire?” What he really wants to ask is - has this happened before? If not a fire, something else? Does this come as the latest in a string of unlucky incidents that have befallen the Waynes?

But Betsy, with her arm under Dick’s shoulders and helping him totter towards the bath-chamber, is shaking her head. “Not a bit, miss,” she says. “I’ve never been much bothered by fire myself. Of course I know some folk are. Oh!” Betsy looks suddenly worried. “Are you, miss?”

“Well…” Dick trails off, not sure what answer best serves his purpose.

“Don’t you worry,” Betsy says comfortingly. “There’s never been a fire before, and I’ll warrant there won’t be one again, neither. The master’s going to have the Manor rebuilt with the latest in technologies, you see if he doesn’t. That’s always his way when something happens.”

“Something?”

“Like when Master Jason was learning to drive the motor-car and tumbled down the hill. Something with the brakes. The Captain brought in a mechanic to take care of the cars directly. Or when Master Stephanie’s horse threw her. Now all the children wear those new-fangled riding helmets.” Betsy nods in earnest satisfaction. 

Dick swallows. “Does this kind of thing happen often?”

“Bless you, miss, with eight children, there’s always going to be some kind of scrape or another.” They make it into the bathing-chamber without incident, and Betsy looks approvingly down at the full, steaming tub. The servants’ door is just clicking closed behind a maid, speaking to the freshness of the water. “Now let’s get you in.”

This proves to be somewhat more complicated than it would otherwise be, as Dick is vigilant about not twisting or bending in any way, but they manage it at last. Betsy pads the back of the tub with several soft towels and encourages Dick to relax against it. “Can I bring you anything else, miss?” she asks.

“No. Thank you, Besty.” Dick leans his head back and sighs. The water is hot enough to sting. His bruises thrum with the force of their aching, and his unblemished skin is already turning pink, but his muscles are beginning to unclench. “I’ll just soak for a while.” And think. Always going to be some kind of scrape or another… it’s hard to imagine that the Red Joker somehow contrived for Steph to fall off a horse. The fire is indisputable, but the rest… how much danger had the Captain known to expect? When had he learned it? How much of the childrens’ peril can honestly be laid at his feet?

“Of course, miss.” Betsy puts another two towels down where Dick can reach them. “I’ll have another round of water heated in case you want to stay in longer, and check on you in fifteen minutes. If you need anything sooner - ” She pulls an old-fashioned handbell out of one voluminous pocket and sets it within easy reach, on top of the towels. “Since you shouldn’t be getting out of the bath to ring the bell,” she says with a friendly smile.

“Thank you, Betsy,” Dick says, touched. If nothing else, there’s this: a household that revolves around a good person, which makes even orphans welcome. “I appreciate it.”

Chapter Text

Washed, dried, and bundled back into bed with a book, Dick falls asleep before he can even crack the cover. Bathing is apparently exhausting when one is recovering from a fall. At least, it is as an adult. Dick misses the inexhaustible well of energy he’d had as a child. Then he laughs at himself. Not even twenty and he’s already thinking of himself as washed up. Then again, I have eight children now, so perhaps I’m entitled to put on a few matronly airs…

When Dick wakens again, it’s to Besty arriving with the lunch-tray. “Did I bother you?” she asks, clearly distressed. “I didn’t mean to.”

“No, I was awake already,” Dick assures her. This is somewhat undermined by the yawn that splits his jaws, but the way his stomach grumbles helps balance the scales somewhat. “I’m hungry as a bear.” And he should know; he’d helped feed the bears.

Betsy helps him sit up again and sets the tray in his lap. “Dr. Thompkins said you might dine with the family tonight?”

“Yes, I hope to.” Dick takes up his fork and smiles ruefully. “If I can avoid falling asleep in my soup.”

“A nap this afternoon will likely take care of that.” Betsy smiles. “More iced tea, miss?”

“Yes, please.” Dick sips the slightly sweetened beverage. “Do you know, I almost feel guilty drinking this in April?”

“It’s traditional here at the summer house, no matter what time of year.” Betsy’s head comes up from where she’d been bent over the tray, and she turns towards the door. “Captain Wayne, sir.” She curtseys.

“Good afternoon, ladies.” Bruce has clearly bathed himself since last night, and is casually dressed in slacks and a buttoned shirt without jacket or vest. “I came by to see you earlier - ” this is to Dick. “ - but as you were sleeping, I withdrew.”

“You are very kind,” Dick says politely. He glances at the tray - only crumbs left - and nods to Betsy. “Thank you, Betsy, that will be all.”

“Yes, miss.” She picks up the tray and winks. “I’ll check on you later.” 

This leaves Dick and Bruce alone, and Dick expects Bruce to immediately seize the opportunity, but instead he seems hesitant. Silence stretches. It’s not uncomfortable, but it is faintly ominous. Dick forges forward.

“Sit with me?” Dick indicates the armchair still pulled up next to his bed. “Since I’m still on bed-rest for the time being.”

“Gladly,” Bruce says. He still hesitates, though, and at last shuts the door before taking the offered armchair. Despite having secured privacy, he keeps for a moment longer to ordinary topics. “The children are all quite well,” he says. “Kate is back to her usual self, and Cass is recovering apace. Dr. Thompkins allowed her to leave her bed today, though she’s still to remain in her room and rest. Her siblings are taking turns amusing her in their various ways. I expect she will be a thorough terror by the time she is let out.”

Dick chuckles at this, as he’s meant to. Then he lets himself grow serious and watches Bruce do likewise. “I have been thinking about the matter we discussed yesterday. About your… activities.”

“Of course.” Bruce looks somber, but meets Dick’s gaze squarely. “You have questions?”

“Just one, really.”

“Ask it.” Bruce’s gaze is open and intent.

“The children,” Dick says. “Do the children know?”

“No.” Bruce pauses. Considers. “Jason, I think, suspects something. But I haven’t told them.”

Dick nods. “And yet, they’re in danger. Just by being your children.”

That makes Bruce look down. He folds his hands in his lap, as if seeking to control himself through the motion. “Yes.”

“When did this start?”

“The adoptions? When Damian’s mother - ”

“No. Not the adoptions. Or, rather - ” Dick swallows hard, aware of how much an accusation this will sound, but it can’t be asked any other way, and he can’t not know. He presses on. “How many of the children did you adopt after knowing the danger they’d be in?”

Bruce lets out a long breath. “That’s… not an easy question to answer.”

“Of course it is. When did you start working for this organization of yours?”

“You don’t understand.” Bruce looks up, leans forward. “It started in the last war - but then the War ended. It ended, Dick. And we all thought it had ended forever. That was the idea - the goal. No more war, not ever. So what did it matter what I had once done?”

“But at some point,” Dick persists. “At some point they must have asked you to start working for them again  - ”

“Not the way you think. You have to understand,” Bruce says. Despite his words, he doesn’t sound pleading, but almost strident. “I was over in Europe, helping rebuild. The devastation - they couldn’t grow enough to feed everyone in France, after what the Germans did to the fields there. The Ottoman Empire had collapsed, Russia was in revolt - we had just fought a war on a scale humanity had never seen before, and it had destroyed the world we’d all known. A new one was being born. Everyone was trying to understand it. That was how it started.”

“It was about diplomacy,” Dick says, trying to frame this in a context he can understand. “Not about fighting.”

“Exactly!” Bruce sounds relieved. “There was no danger in it. Not then. And not for a long while after. At least not to realize. Looking back now, I see a few incidents that, perhaps - but then again it could all be random chance. That’s the problem with this sort of thing, Dick. It’s so hard to be sure.”

“Jason and the motor-car,” Dick says softly. 

“Exactly. Were the brakes cut? Or were they just worn out? Cars break down all the time. And Jason was a new driver. Perhaps he’d made a mistake, and the brakes were damaged by the accident, rather than causing it.” Bruce spreads his hands helplessly. “How can I know? Perhaps I was blind. I believed it, you see. I believed the promise that there would never again be war. Maybe that caused me to overlook things. By the time I saw the truth, it was too late.”

“They were all with you?”

Bruce hesitates. “Not all,” he says, with the air of one who will tell the truth though it damn him. “Kate came after.”

“Why - ”

“Her father.” Bruce is silent for a long moment, then says, “You should know. Her father served with me.”

“He was a pilot?”

Bruce shakes his head. “No.”

Dick blinks at him for a long minute. Then his eyes widen. “He was in - ”

“We call it ‘the organization’.”

“In the organization, then?”

“Yes. And his death wasn’t on the field of battle.”

Oh, Dick tries to say. He doesn’t quite manage to get the words out.

Bruce goes on. “He’d been identified in an earlier activity - you understand I will remain vague - ” Dick nods his understanding. “ - and was followed back to the US by German spies. They wanted to capture him, to know what he knew. They thought his family would be leverage.”

“Kate - ”

“By the time we got there, she was the only one still alive.”

“Oh God,” Dick whispers.

“He went to pieces. I thought I had persuaded him that he still had one daughter who needed him, but - are you familiar with battle fatigue?”

“I am,” Dick says quietly. “St. Mary’s doesn’t only help orphans. Many who come to the soup kitchen suffer from that ailment.”

“I should have thought of that.” Bruce is silent again, then sighs. “I suppose he tried, but it was too much for him. I found him one day - well, there’s no need to go into that. He’d told me once that he hoped I’d take care of his family if he died.”

“So Kate came to live with you.”

“Yes.”

“Does she remember?”

“No. Not - that. She remembers a little of her parents and sister, or says she does, but sometimes I think it’s only what I’ve told her of them.”

“Perhaps, at least for now, that’s for the best,” Dick says softly. “When she’s older, you must tell her everything.”

Bruce nods. “Of course.” He sighs. “You asked me earlier when I knew. In retrospect, perhaps, should have known sooner - but in the end, that was when I was sure.”

“And the other seven were with you already?”

“Yes. It was only about eighteen months ago.”

“Terry must have been quite young,” Dick says inconsequentially.

“His mother died in childbirth. She was a servant here. There was no father, or at least, not one that she ever spoke of. I couldn’t let Terry go to an orphanage.”

Dick nods. They sit in silence for a long moment.

“I know it’s dangerous,” Bruce says, almost pleading. “But to send the children away - think how it would hurt them. And that’s before taking into account - would sending them away stop me from caring about them? Wouldn’t they still be targets?”

Yes, Dick can see that. Someone like the Red Joker, who just wants to hurt Bruce, wouldn’t care that the children no longer lived in Wayne Manor or enjoyed the status of being adopted Waynes. The Red Joker would only care that hurting the children would hurt Bruce. 

“The only thing I can do is try to protect them,” Bruce is going on. “And the best way to do that is to keep them close.”

As Waynes, the children can travel in private cars, have servants with them, attend private schools. Safer, indisputably, than living on the streets or in orphanages. And suddenly Dick thinks of all of the other dangers in the world, the kind of dangers that are inherent to simply living, but that nevertheless manage to disproportionately affect the poor. One needn’t be the adopted child of Captain Wayne to be thrown from a horse or have an accident with a motor-car. Nor, even, to have one’s house catch flame. How many die every day just from crossing the street at the wrong time? From catching illness? From going to the theatre and being trapped in a fire? Life is dangerous. And, when Dick considers how much more Captain Wayne’s children are protected from ordinary hazards like starvation or factory-work, even balanced against a madman like the Red Joker, they’re still probably in no more danger than anyone else. 

“Dick?” Bruce asks. “Say something?”

Dick feels suddenly, thoroughly guilty. Of course there’s danger here - but there’s danger everywhere. In the end, Dick thinks, it comes down this. Does one run from danger, and spend one’s life cowering - or choose to accept the danger, and the joy that goes with it?

“I understand,” Dick tells Bruce. 

Bruce breaks into a relieved smile. “Thank you,” he says sincerely.

Dick reaches out his hand. Bruce takes it, cradling it like something precious.

“So what now?” Dick asks, leaning back against his pillows, weariness swamping him. “The Red Joker was thwarted this time, but he’ll try again. He hates you. Even if there weren’t another war brewing, he’d still want revenge, I think.”

“I’m afraid you’re right,” Bruce says quietly.

“How do we stop him?”

“We don’t know where he is right now. Until he resurfaces, there’s little we can do.”

“We just - wait?” Dick wants to cry in frustration. “While at any minute he could strike at us?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“And do nothing?”

“Oh, no, Dick. We do something.” Dick looks over eagerly, and Bruce smiles, wry. “We live our lives. We enjoy each others’ company. We seek happiness. We revel in our possession of what the Red Joker will never have.”

“What’s that?”

“Peace.”

Dick looks down at where his hand is still held in Bruce’s. Peace. The Red Joker is still embattled. For him, the war had never really ended. But even if he does succeed in tipping the world into another conflagration - he hasn’t yet, and until then, albeit with occasional interruptions, they may have peace.

“I won’t claim the waiting is easy,” Bruce says softly. “But it’s part of war. This kind of war, as well as the louder kind.”

“I will have to take your word for it.” Dick sighs. “How do you deal with it? The waiting?”

“You find ways to make the waiting pleasant.” Bruce’s thumb has started gently tracing circles on Dick’s skin. “In the service, daydreaming was a common pastime. Thinking of how life would be when the war is over.”

“And now?” Dick finds himself out of breath, and not because of all the smoke he’d taken. 

“I find myself daydreaming still. But the topic has changed. May I tell you what my dreams have been about, lately?”

Dick looks up at Bruce. He could say no, even now. He could demur. Draw back. Lower his eyes, mumble something about fatigue, turn the conversation. Perhaps he even should. Loving Captain Wayne is a dangerous thing. Not just because of the Red Joker and the looming war, no. Society will not fall over itself to accept a working-class Romani orphan as the bride of Gotham’s favored son. The sneers at Tim’s recital, the whispers and snide remarks at the gala, will only be the beginning. 

But Dick can’t help it. It isn’t only the children he loves. Not anymore.

“Tell me,” he whispers.

He should have known that Bruce would choose action over words. Bruce leans in slowly, giving Dick plenty of time to pull away or protest. Dick does neither, only watching in fascination until he can no longer focus on anything. He’s never been kissed. Not really. He doesn’t count the exploratory pecks he’d swapped with a few of the other orphans, drunk on puberty and devoured by curiosity. Those hadn’t meant anything. This…

Bruce’s lips are dry, almost papery. They press against Dick’s with gentle insistence. A warm hand caresses Dick’s cheek. Something elemental seems to flow between them, making Dick feel light, almost dizzy. He kisses back as well as his limited mobility and experience allows. Only when they desperately need breath does Bruce pull back, letting Dick pant for air and curse his weakness.

The Captain doesn’t want to seem to curse anything. “Marry me,” he says.

Dick had once said, and he’d meant it, that if he had his way, he’d stay in their lives forever. And that had been before he’d realized he loves his Captain. The rest of it - they can figure it out. They’ve already begun. And none of it matters as much as the love shining from Bruce’s eyes. 

“Yes,” Dick says. 

“Dr. Thompkins will be quite cross with me,” Bruce says, quite some time later. His sleeve cuffs are rolled up now, the top button of his shirt undone, and he himself is sitting on the unused part of the large bed, toying with Dick’s hair in a distracting way. “You were supposed to rest this afternoon.”

“I have been in bed this entire time,” Dick says virtuously. 

Bruce laughs. “Yes, but I think you were supposed to be in it alone.”

“Do you impugn my honor?” Dick raises a challenging eyebrow.

“Never,” Bruce says, still laughing, “but your veracity - ”

“Bah.” Dick swats at him. In truth, he is tired; though they have done nothing more than kiss, he still feels the effects of his fall. But instead of admitting it, he declares, “I am unjustly maligned.”

“What you are is tired,” Bruce says, contrite. “Perhaps I should let you rest. There’s still a little time before dinner; you could doze. And I hope you weren’t thinking of trying to dress.”

“Perish the thought.” 

Silence settles between them again, comfortable and warm. Despite his words, Bruce shows no sign of moving.

“Why did you host the gala?” Dick asks suddenly.

Bruce blinks down at him. “For the German Ambassador?”

“Have you hosted any other galas recently?” Dick wants to know. “Was it just to throw off suspicion?”

“To throw off any suspicion - and to be sure of a time when Zeller’s hotel would be empty.” Bruce smiles at Dick’s surprise. “A few of my compatriots broke in that same night. To see what they could find.”

“What did they find?”

“Very little, I’m afraid. And nothing at all on the most important matter - what, exactly, the Red Joker is smuggling.”

Dick frowns. Something is beginning to come together in the corners of his mind. “The docks,” he says slowly. “You believe Zeller to be smuggling something out via Dixon Docks. Something physical, not just information.”

“I do.” 

“Via the bootleggers,” Dick says, taking the next step.

“If the intelligence service had a dozen of you, Dick, I would not fear so much for the future of our nation.” Bruce sighs. “Very well. Yes, I believe the Red Joker to be using the bootleggers. I’m aware of Jason’s paramour, by the bye; I’ve persuaded Miss Harley to tell me whenever she encounters the Red Joker. I hoped, as she is fond of Jason, she would be honest with me.”

“Harley!” Dick sits up straight. “Oh my God! Harley!”

“What?” Bruce catches Dick by the shoulders and makes him lie down again, effectively preventing Dick from getting up. “What about Harley?”

“My clothes! Where are the clothes I was wearing the night of the fire?"

Bruce blinks at the rapid change of topic. “In the laundry, I believe. Why?”

“The night of the fire, at St. Mary’s, Harley was there.” Quickly Dick fills Bruce in on their conversation and what Harley had given him. “I put it in my pocket. We must get it before it goes through the wringer - ”

Bruce jumps out of bed and pulls the bell. Betsy pops back into the room before the echoes have fully died away.

“Yes, sir?”

“Betsy, Miss Grayson was carrying some items of personal significance in his pockets the night of the fire,” Bruce says. “Naturally he would wish them not to be sent through the laundry - ”

“Oh, no, sir. I emptied the pockets out myself. Everything’s in the drawer there.” Betsy nods towards the bedside table.

Bruce looks down immediately and opens the drawer. Dick turns his head to look. There, amongst the detritus - a piece of string, a few nickels and dimes pocket-money Captain Wayne had insisted Dick keep with him after their visit to the bank, a handkerchief, a hair-tie - is the small brown scrap of paper, still folded tight.

“Thank you, Betsy,” Dick says in relief. “Would you give us some privacy, please?”

Betsy looks at the rumpled empty half of the bed, Bruce’s shirtsleeves rolled up and top button undone, and Dick’s disarranged hair. “Oh, yes, miss,” she says wickedly. 

“Betsy!” She pauses at Dick’s call. “Don’t - that is - we’ll be making an announcement later,” Dick says, his cheeks heating. “Until then - ”

“Not to worry, miss. I won’t spoil your good news.  But may I be the first to congratulate you both?”

“Thank you, Betsy,” Dick says.

“Looks like you’ll be a lady’s-maid after all,” Bruce says.

She smiles widely. “Thank you, sir!” The door nearly slams with how quickly she closes it on them. 

“We must tell the children,” Dick says. Sudden worry swamps him. “What if they don’t like it?”

“Dick, the children were ready to evict me if it meant you got to remain,” Bruce reminds him, amusement coloring every word. “I think they will be ecstatic.”

This is perfectly logical and does nothing to allay Dick’s worries. “What does it say?” Dick asks instead, nodding towards the scrap of brown paper in Bruce’s hand.

Bruce looks down at it. “I don’t know.” He opens it up and looks inside, then stares. “I - I don’t know.”

“May I?” Silently Bruce hands him the paper. Dick looks at it in his turn, and then blinks and looks again. It doesn’t make any sense. There, in what is probably Harley’s best penmanship, are written two letters that make up a single word: He.

“He what?” Dick asks. “He who? The Red Joker?”

“Presumably,” Bruce says. He takes the paper back from Dick and inspects it carefully. “Was it larger when you got it from Harley?” he asks. “Could it have become torn? Maybe while you were climbing down the brickwork? Could there have been more to the message?”

“It was in my pocket,” Dick objects. “It should have been protected. Besides, even if it were ripped, the pieces would still have all been together.” Dick frowns, thinking back. “I don’t think it was any larger when Harley got it to me, either,” he says.

“Perhaps she was interrupted in writing it,” Bruce says.

“She did say she was in a hurry. But what’s the point of giving you a message without a meaning?”

“It must have a meaning. I just don’t understand it yet.” Bruce reads the paper one more time, then shakes his head and folds it up. “I’ll have to consult with some of my colleagues. Maybe they’ll have a clue.”

A gong sounds faintly through the house. Dick startles. “It can’t be dinner already.”

Bruce pulls out a pocket-watch and consults it. “Yes, it is,” he says. “I seem to have lost track of time.” He looks faintly ashamed. “You distract me.”

This should probably not make Dick feel as giddy as it does. “You should dress.” 

“The rules are more relaxed at the summer-house. Let me help you instead.” Bruce goes to the wardrobe and draws out Dick’s dressing-gown. “Just the thing for the fashionable young lady,” he says, brandishing it with a laugh.

“Oh dear,” Dick says fondly. “I should perhaps have thought of your sense of humor before falling in love with you.”

Bruce’s smile turns soft. “And do you truly love me, darling?”

“You aren’t certain of that?” Dick doesn’t mean to sound coquettish, but it comes out that way. He blushes and looks down at the coverlet. “I’ve said it enough over the past few hours.”

“Perhaps you’ll indulge me,” Bruce says. He comes over to the bed, holding out his hand.

Dick takes it and is helped to his feet. “I do love you,” he confesses.

Bruce drapes the dressing-gown around Dick’s shoulders like a royal cloak and smiles. “And I you.”

The dining room at the summer house is, unexpectedly, larger than the one at Wayne Manor. It could easily seat the entire Wayne clan twice over. The children have all taken approximations of their regular seats, although they’re seated at two large circular tables pushed together instead of a large rectangle as at home. Everyone is present, even Cass, though she, too, is wearing her dressing-gown over nightclothes, and Maria is hovering as anxiously over her as she is Terry, who has taken advantage of his nursemaid’s distraction to steal his siblings’ tableware and begin arranging the knives and forks into a pattern whose meaning is only known to him. Their seating order quickly ceases to matter when most of them leap up at once upon seeing Dick enter.

“Gently, gently,” Bruce scolds, passing an arm around Dick’s waist to better support him. “Dr. Thompkins has kindly allowed Dick to come have dinner with us, but - what?”

The children have all stopped moving, and are staring at the Captain in varying degrees of astonishment.

“What?” Bruce asks. “What is it?”

Jason starts smirking. “You call our governess by his first name now, hmm?”

Tim is practically vibrating with suppressed excitement. Steph actually squeaks. Damian looks self-satisfied in the way only a thirteen-year-old can. Babs just looks confused. Then she looks at her siblings’ faces, looks back at Dick and Bruce, and her eyes go big and wide. Cass and Kate are looking hopeful. Terry steals Jason’s butter-knife to add to his pattern.

“Oh dear,” Dick says weakly.

“Well?” Damian prompts, still as smug as the cat who ate the canary. “Don’t you have something to say to us, Father?”

“I - well,” Bruce says, floundering. “I have - that is - Miss Grayson has graciously, er, graciously agreed - to - well - ”

And Dick had thought he’d been worried about how the children would take the news. “Children,” Dick says gently, putting a hand on Bruce’s shoulder to quiet him. “I’m afraid that I will shortly no longer be your governess.”

Babs gasps. 

“But I hope,” he goes on, “you will continue to accept me as your mother.”

Bruce puts his hand over Dick’s. “And my wife.”

Tim’s self-discipline gives way and he and runs towards them, throwing his arms as wide around them both as he can. This opens the floodgates, and all of the children able to stand swarm them. They keep their hugs gentle, but their joy can’t be contained. Dick doesn’t want them to contain it. The happiness is worth the physical ache.

Eventually, though, one of the children - in the mob Dick isn’t even sure which - forgets themselves and squeezes just a little too tight for Dick to suppress the woof of pained breath leaving him. His ribs may be neither broken nor cracked, but they’re certainly sore. Bruce stiffens at once, and the children break apart from the huddle. “Sorry!” Damian says, and “We’re sorry!” Tim says. Steph pulls out a chair, and Jason helps Bruce practically carry Dick over to it. Dick can’t help but laugh.

“I’m just sore, I’m not that badly off,” he says, but Jason shakes his head.

“You fell quite a ways,” he says. “Dr. Thompkins said to be gentle with you.”

“You were all very gentle. I just need to sit down a minute.” Dick leans his head against the high back of the chair and feels a wave of dizziness. “A few minutes.”

“Put your feet up here,” Bruce says, dragging over another chair and positioning it just right. “There you are.” Silently Damian brings over several cushions robbed from other seats. Bruce tucks them behind Dick’s shoulders and head, making a kind of padded chair for him. Tim goes to a jug standing on the side-board and brings Dick a cup filled with iced water flavored with cucumber and lemon.

“Thank you,” Dick says to all of them, sipping at the flavored water. The cool beverage clears his head, and being able to relax his muscles lessens their ache. “That’s much better.” He looks down the table at Cass, who hadn’t been able to get up with the others, and holds out his hand to her. She reaches back. They clasp hands and squeeze for a moment, and Cass is smiling when she resettles in her seat.

“Will you be eating dinner with us, Mother?” Tim asks, then smiles. “I like calling you Mother.”

“I like hearing it,” Dick admits with a smile of his own. “And yes, Dr. Thompkins says I may eat whatever I’m hungry for. I suppose I’ll see what tempts my appetite.”

“Then let’s start!” Babs says. “I’ll ring the bell!” She runs to do so.

“Someone’s hungry,” Bruce says, amused. His usual seat at the notional head of the table is empty, but he shows no inclination of taking it, instead hovering beside Dick. Dick looks at him in amusement and makes a shooing gesture. Bruce makes a face at him, but moves around and takes his place.

“We were out riding all day,” Damian is saying as Bruce goes. “The sand here is tricky for the horses. We had to be careful. It made us hungry.”

“Wait until you’re better and you can go down to the lakeshore!” Babs says, coming back to the table after having run the bell. “You can swim - ”

“Can you swim, Mother?” Steph asks.

Dick nods. “Yes, I learned as a child. And all of you can as well?”

“Oh yes,” Steph assures Dick. “When Father first brought us all to the summer home, he wouldn’t let us out of his sight until we proved we could.”

“Not all of us,” Cass contradicts. “I can’t yet. And Kate isn’t good enough to be on her own, either.”

“I will be soon!” Kate says, sounding offended. “I can dog-paddle!”

“Until you can swim two lengths of the lake without assistance, you must stay with an adult or remain inside the house,” Bruce says firmly. 

“Yes, Father,” Kate mutters, slumping down in her chair, the picture of dejection.

“I like having you stay with me,” Cass says. By the face Kate makes, this does not seem to make her feel any better.

“You will both have plenty of time this summer to learn,” Bruce says. “Wayne Manor won’t be ready to receive us for a little while, I’m afraid. By the time the damage is all repaired it won’t make sense to return only to have to move back here for the summer a few weeks later. We’re settled here, so we’ll just stay until the end of August, and go back for the start of the school year as usual.”

“Yay! Extra long summer!” Babs cheers.

“You must still do your lessons,” Bruce begins.

“But won’t Mother be busy getting ready for the wedding?”

This gives Bruce pause. “Well - that is, I suppose - ”

“Your father and I will have to discuss that,” Dick says smoothly. “There are many things still to be decided.”

Julie appears then with the soup course, and there’s a lull as everyone is served and takes up their spoons. The moment she’s done, Tim asks, “Will I be bridesmaid?” He’s barely waited for Julie to leave in his eagerness, and Dick distinctly hears an indulgent chuckle coming from the other side of the servants’ door. 

“Of course you will,” Dick says. “And I hope Kate and Cass will be flower-girls.”

“Oooh,” Kate says, swimming instantly forgotten in this fascinating new topic. “Can we wear pretty dresses?”

“Indeed you may,” Bruce says.

“And throw the flowers everywhere?” Cass wants to know.

“Only on the aisle,” Dick says firmly.

“Will the wedding be at St. Mary’s?” Jason asks.

Dick looks down the table at Bruce. The family worships there, and Dick had been at the orphanage there, so it makes sense. He doesn’t have anywhere else he wants to be married, however tenuous his connection to the Catholic faith actually is. Bruce, looking back, gives a ghost of a shrug, so Dick says, “Yes, at St. Mary’s. We must communicate with them to select a date.”

“Forget that,” Damian says impatiently. “Where are you going to travel?”

“Travel?” Cass looks startled. “But St. Mary’s is right here in Gotham!”

“Not for the wedding.” Damian appears to have entered the phase of teenage-hood where everything he says is liberally garnished with scornful emphasis. “For their honeymoon.”

“Their what now?” Kate asks, but she’s almost drowned out by Babs blurting out, “Are we going to have more siblings?”

Dick nearly drops his spoon. “That matter is… still under discussion.”

“Bet you we will,” Steph says.

“I don’t even want to think about it,” Damian mutters.

“Mama?” Cass asks shyly.

“Yes, Cass?” Dick says.

“Can I have another sister?” She pauses and thinks for a minute. “Two sisters?”

Damian makes a gagging noise. Bruce shoots him a stern look. Jason appears to be choking back laughter along with each spoonful of soup. Tim is sipping his own soup serenely, but there’s a distinct pinkness to his cheeks.

“We will consider it,” Dick says diplomatically. On the one hand, anyone in their right mind would think that eight children are enough. On the other hand, no one has ever accused Dick of being rational, and the idea of carrying Bruce’s child is… intoxicating. He meets Bruce’s eyes across the table and sees something in their depths that makes him flush suddenly hot.

“That means yes,” Jason stage-whispers across the table to Cass with a wink.

“Jason, please, some of us are eating,” Damian hisses.

Jason cheerfully ignores this. “Have you heard about the birds and the bees? Once you get mated, you start having heats - ”

“That’s enough,” Bruce says, hastily taking charge of the discussion. “Dick and I will keep you informed of our plans. In the meanwhile, I’m sure Dick would like to hear everything that’s been going on with each of you. Shall we go around the table as usual?”

“But Father,” Cass protests, “I want to hear - ”

“Yes, Father,” Jason interrupts. Despite his behavior of a moment ago, Jason has healthy survival instincts, and can tell when it’s in his best interests to drop a topic. He clears his throat. “Let’s see. Oh! Steph and I have started building that new model airship kit you got for us…”

Dick leans back in the comfortably-padded chair and relaxes. He’s back among his family again, and at the moment that’s all the wants. The rest - the wedding, the honeymoon, and the interesting question of expanding their family further - can wait a little longer.

Chapter Text

“I’m really dreadfully sorry,” Selina says contritely. “I had no idea you would realize the jewels were real and draw all those awful conclusions.”

“We used fake stones all the time in the circus,” Dick explains. 

“It makes sense when you explain it, but it had never occurred to me.” She grins sheepishly. “I suppose I don’t go to the circus often enough.”

Dick laughs. “Next time they’re in town, I’ll take you.”

They’re sitting together in one of the small airy cafe-style rooms at the summer house, with tile floor and wicker furniture and gauzy curtains that would wave in the gentle summer breeze coming through the open windows, if it were summer and the windows were open. As it’s barely April, the windows are closed and a fire burns merrily in the fireplace. Dick has been permitted by Dr. Thompkins to resume much of his daily routine at this point, although the vigorous sports the summer-house offers are still embargoed, likely until after his honeymoon. Part of him feels like he should chafe at this. The rest of him is glad to have an excuse to take it easy for a while longer.

“Do you want to ask me about it?” Selina asks now. She’d dropped by apparently unannounced for a morning visit. Dick suspects Bruce of having made a telephone call after their discussions about the Black Cat in the last few days. “About the stealing?”

Dick looks away, out the window and down the sloping grounds to the sandy lakeshore. “You do it for revenge, Bruce says.”

“Yes. Largely. It doesn’t hurt my family’s coffers, either. But the way they treated us - well. You know. You’ve experienced some of it yourself.”

“Some.” Not as much as Selina, probably. Dick has attended one daughter’s recital and then appeared at one gala. He hasn’t even begun to brave the rounds of polite calls and teas and luncheons and evening entertainments. Selina has been doing all of that, and doing it for years. She’ll have gotten the full blast. “I can certainly understand your anger.”

“But you don’t approve?” Selina has been holding a cup of coffee, occasionally sipping at it, more, Dick suspects, to conceal her nervousness than to actually enjoy it. Now she sets it aside and faces Dick squarely, her chin tilted up. “I won’t stop.”

Dick studies her. “You don’t know, do you,” he says. He’d suspected as much, but her behavior confirms it. “You don’t know who you’re hurting.”

“The rich snobs who think gatekeeping their social status is justification for cruelty?”

“Children. Orphans.”

Selina stares at him. The almost belligerent confidence on her face begins to slip. “What? I’m not stealing from - ”

“Do you know we could always tell, at the orphanage, when the Black Cat had struck?”

“Of course you could. You read it in the newspapers.”

“We didn’t get newspapers, Selina. Oh, we’d pick the discarded ones off the streets, but they were always a few days old. We found out at dinnertime.”

“Because the sisters told you?” Selina’s visibly confused, now.

“No. Because there wouldn’t be any meat in the soup, and the bread wouldn’t go round.”

“What?” Selina’s confusion has riped into open bafflement. “What on earth does that have to do - ”

“Where do you think the money came from, Selina?” Dick sets his own teacup down; it rattles on the saucer. He isn’t angry, not exactly; Selina hadn’t known, and he does think of her as a good person, despite the thefts. But she hadn’t thought, either. Hadn’t seen beyond her own little world. Just like the rich snobs she hates. “St. Mary’s orphanage, every orphanage in this city, it runs on donations. Oh, yes,” raising his voice when Selina tries to interrupt, “there’s money from the city, but not much. Not enough. No one’s paying taxes right now; the poor aren’t working, and the rich get out of them, you know they do. So the funding mainly comes from donations. But when the Black Cat strikes, the donations dry up.”

She stares in horror. “Why?”

“Don’t be silly,” Dick says impatiently. “When their jewels are stolen, the rich go buy more, of course. And then they hire private security, give money to the police, buy bigger safes… what’s dinner for a few orphans compared to that? Which are they going to spend their money on, do you think? Charity is always the first thing to go when the budget gets tight.”

“Oh no.” Selina’s hands have come up to cover her mouth, and her voice is muffled as she speaks through them. “I didn’t think - ”

“Any more than they did.”

That stuns Selina into silence. She stares at Dick wide-eyed and mute.

Dick looks back at her and sighs. He’d thought he’d feel righteous about this conversation, but he just feels tired, and a little bit like he’s kicked a puppy. He picks up his teacup and sips again. “You said you have boxes and boxes of jewels sitting around, didn’t you?”

Selina nods.

“Make a charitable donation, then.”

“Who - ” She clears her throat and lowers her hands from her mouth. They twist together in her lap. “Who would take them? I can’t fence them all that quickly, or I would have already.”

“Put them in the offering-box at St. Mary’s,” Dick suggests. “It’s anonymous.”

“Won’t the church have to give them back once they realize they’re stolen?”

“I don’t think so,” Dick says. “At least, they didn’t a few years ago. That bank robbery, remember?”

“Oh, right,” Selina says. Some of the color is beginning to return to her cheeks. “In Central City, wasn’t it?”

Dick nods. “The cops were on the robbers’ tails, so they went into the church, claimed sanctuary, and then stuffed all the money in the offering box. There was nothing on them when they walked out, and the priest wouldn’t testify, so the cops never made their case.”

“The bank sued, didn’t they? To get the money back?”

“Yeah. And they lost. It was big talk at St. Mary’s. We were all laughing about it in the orphanage, saying we wished those same thieves would rob the Bank of Gotham and donate it all to us.”

Selina smiles a little, though it’s still small and rueful. “It’s nice to think I can make a childhood dream come true.”

“So you’ll do it?”

“I will. If you’ll make sure St. Mary’s will share the funds with the other orphanages in Gotham.”

“I promise.”

Selina picks up her coffee cup up again and drains it. As if summoned by this act, Julie opens the servants’ door and brings over a pot, refilling Selina’s cup. Julie looks over, sees Dick’s cup is also nearly empty, and says, “I’ll be right back with more tea, miss.”

“So,” Selina says, glancing at Julie’s retreating back and clearly making an effort to return to more ordinary and non-incriminating topics. “Where are you to be married? St. Mary’s?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Tim must be excited to be bridesmaid.”

“Oh, yes,” Dick says. “It’s a good thing too. I hadn’t realized, but having a wedding and then going on a honeymoon is going to cut badly into the planning time for his coming out. If he weren’t so excited about being bridesmaid I think he’d be fretting himself into a panic.”

Selina frowns. “I can continue to work with him on it while you’re away,” she offers. “Are you taking a long honeymoon?”

“Just the usual month. Bruce wanted to make a European tour, but I didn’t think that was wise, with the tensions as they are right now. That awful new German law…”

“Yes. I’ve heard of it.” Selina shudders. “The Enabling Act, they’re calling it. I’m surprised Bruce even considered setting foot on the continent, given what it does.”

“I’ve never been. I think he wanted to show me,” Dick says. “He spent so much time there, in the last war, and afterwards, rebuilding… he said something about it possibly being our last chance for a while. But I couldn’t stop thinking, what if something happens while we’re there? What if we can’t get home?”

Selina nods. “Yes. I’d be afraid of that, too.”

“So we’re staying in America. I’ve never seen Niagara Falls. We’ll probably spend a few days in Metropolis, too. The circus never went there. Too fancy. We were a midwestern traveling show. After that I’m not sure. Maybe the beach.” Dick stays determinedly cheerful. He doesn’t want to think about what might happen in Europe and why they aren’t honeymooning abroad. “I’ll still be able to write letters and make phone calls, so hopefully the preparations won’t fall too far behind. They’ll go faster, anyway, once I’m married.” Vendors who would insist on having Captain Wayne rubber-stamp his governess’ orders won’t make nearly the same fuss when Mrs. Wayne is the one doing the purchasing. And Dick will be able to get higher priority on their requests, too. “Even with the month for the honeymoon, I think we’ll still get things done sooner this way. Especially if you help.”

“Of course I will. I’ll take Tim everywhere with me while you’re gone - parties, teas, calls - it’s the least I can do…” Selina touches the necklace she’s wearing, frowning and looking guilty. “I was going to gift Tim the jewelry for his coming-out. Now I don’t know. It feels wrong.”

“Gift him the stones,” Dick suggests. “Then take him to the jewelers’ and let him pick the setting. Gemstones tell no tales, and Tim will like getting to choose.”

“That’s a good idea. I’ll do that.” Selina taps her finger against her coffee cup thoughtfully. “What is he wearing to the wedding?”

A conversation on millinery ensues, Selina offering news on the latest fashions from Paris and suggesting shops Dick might want to patronize for his trousseau. Once that’s all settled, Selina asks, with an air clearly meaning to suggest she’s only just thought of it but actually revealing that she’d planned to bring this up all along, “Who will be groomsman?”

“I’m not sure.” Dick hesitates. “I know Bruce would prefer to ask you…”

“And I’d love to be asked.” Selina sighs. “Well, there’s no sense getting maudlin about it. I suppose we all have things we’d like to change in the world, and maybe we will, one day, eh?”

“I hope so.” 

“Is Bruce worrying about it?”

“A little. If you were to talk to him…”

“Certainly.” Selina grins, her usual sauciness returning. “I was planning to stay for lunch anyway. You were going to invite me, weren’t you?”

“Of course!” Dick smiles back. “Let’s just pretend I already did.”

“Excellent. I’ll take him for a walk afterwards and tell him I understand. He should ask Harvey.”

“Harvey?”

“Harvey Dent. The DA. They were roommates in college. It looked like the beginning of a beautiful friendship, but the war came between them, I’m afraid.”

“The distance must have been difficult,” Dick says understandingly.

“It was the philosophical distance, more than the physical. Harvey’s a pacifist. When Bruce enlisted they both said some fairly hurtful things to each other, and their friendship’s never recovered.” Selina sighs. “I think they’d really both like to be friends again, though. This is a good opportunity. Can you arrange to have him invited for dinner?”

“I’ll need an excuse.” Dick frowns. “Is he godfather to any of the children?”

“No, their rift predates that. But after all, there may be… future opportunities.” 

Dick resists the urge to put a hand over his stomach. There’s absolutely no cause for that, no cause at all. Nor is there reason to blush. “We haven’t discussed it yet.”

“I shall say no more, then.” Selina goes to sip from her coffee cup, probably to cover the awkward moment, then frowns down at it. 

“More coffee?” Dick glances at the clock. “Other refreshments?” 

Selina shakes her head. “No, you lunch early enough for me as it is.”

“Early?” Dick laughs. “It’s late compared to the orphanage.”

“Whereas all of polite society gossips about Captain Wayne’s military habits.”

“Well, soon they’ll have something else to gossip about.” Dick shifts in his seat and sighs. The engagement announcement has already gone to the papers. Soon society can be all a-twitter about Captain Wayne’s choice of bride.

Selina sets her coffee cup down. “Think of it as a pious act,” she suggests mischievously. “If you didn’t give them something to talk about, who knows what sins they’d get up to?”

“Hah! My service to Gotham.”

“You don’t mind it?”

“I mind it.” He stares moodily down at his own empty cup. “But it’s not as if they aren’t already gossiping about the Waynes. Eight adopted children were enough to set tongues wagging. It makes it easier, in a way. I’m not coming into a peaceful family and turning it on its ears. I’m just the latest excuse.” He rolls his shoulders to loosen them, shrugs. “They’ll say what they’ll say. We don’t have to care.” His father had said that, often. “As long as we’re happy.” And healthy, Dick doesn’t add. That’s one concern he’s more or less escaping for good. A poor Roma family might be the target of violence, but a Wayne, whatever their blood or birth, will be safe from physical harm. Society can sneer and snub, but the police still work on money and political power, no matter their racial prejudices, and the Waynes have plenty of both. 

“You will be happy,” Selina says. It’s said a trifle too fiercely for politeness, but Dick understands the sentiment. “You will.”

Lunch is a lighter affair, with the conversation all on safe, mundane topics. Selina takes Bruce off after lunch, as promised, and Dick takes the opportunity to check in with the children. He’d seen them at breakfast, but that doesn’t mean they haven’t gotten up to mischief since. Happily, everyone seems to be making good choices today. Dick privately worries that this uncharacteristic stretch of good behavior speaks to ongoing shock from the fire at Wayne Manor, but he’s decided to let it go on for a few more days before he starts poking at that particular possibility.

The bulk of the children run back to their rooms as soon as lunch ends to change into bathing costume and head down to the lakeshore. “Come with us, Mother!” Tim says excitedly. “It will be refreshing!”

“It’s April,” Dick says blankly.

Steph laughs. She’s the only one of the elder children not getting changed, and her grin is smug as she nudges her sister in his ribs. “See? I told you you were crazy for wanting to bathe this early in the year.”

“Bah,” Jason says, appearing from his room with his towel over his shoulder. “Spoken like someone who doesn’t remember when their bath-water wasn’t heated.”

“I remember, all right,” Steph retorts. “That’s why I don’t want to go back to that. If you had any sense you’d stay inside where it’s warm.”

“Sea-bathing is healthy,” Damian says, appearing in his own bathing costume. “When I was a child in Europe we went sea-bathing every day, even in winter.”

“It’s warmer in Europe,” Steph says. “And this isn’t sea-bathing, anyway. Lake Gotham is freshwater.”

“Close enough,” Babs shrugs. She’s the last to appear, and she looks inquiringly at Dick. “Are you coming, Mother?”

“I don’t have bathing-dress, actually,” Dick says, sidestepping the issues of water temperature and salt vs. freshwater lakes. “I’ll have to purchase some, now that I know it will be needed.”

“Oh, yes,” Tim says understandingly. “I suppose the costume you had as a child won’t fit anymore.”

Dick has to grin. “What costume? We swam as God made us.”

“Sounds about right,” Jason chuckles. He plucks at the costume he’s wearing and sighs. “Father insists, though. He says the lakeshore isn’t actually private property, so we have to wear them.”

Babs shrugs, already heading for the door. “Doesn’t bother me. Come on, let’s go! Last one to the shore is a rotten egg!”

This has the predictable effect, and the four swimmers depart the room with all the calm and quiet of a herd of raging elephants. Steph shakes her head at their departing backs. “Take my advice and wait a few months to buy that bathing-costume, Mother Grayson,” she advises. “I’ll wager they’ll be back in an hour, shivering and complaining.”

“Maybe so,” Dick says. “How are you going to put in the afternoon?”

“Painting the new model. Jason helped with the structure, but he always leaves the detail work to me.” She brightens. “Want to see? It’s a zeppelin!”

“Of course,” Dick says, following Steph down the corridors while she chatters on about airships and paint and fine brushes. He pauses on the threshold to her room and blinks, both to let his eyes adjust and to make sure he’s really seeing what’s before him. The walls are covered with shelves, and on each is some scaled-down machine. Dick sees an airplane, several locomotives, two motor-cars, and even a model hot-air balloon. “Did you and Jason make all of these?”

“Yes! He does the insides, and then I paint them. I love painting them. It’s so peaceful. I just get lost in it and don’t even realize how long I’ve been doing it.” She laughs a little sheepishly. “Once I was so late to dinner Father had to come looking. He bought me an alarm-clock for my next birthday and told me that from now on I had no excuse.”

“Your room at Wayne Manor doesn’t have any of these.” Dick walks over and peers into one of the train-cars. There are small seats inside, and gleaming brass handrails.

“I keep them all here. I don’t really have time during the school year, anyway, between class and lacrosse. But over the summer Father encourages us to practice different hobbies. He says we need variety and to rest from our usual labors.” Steph picks up a particular locomotive, this one only an engine, and holds it up for Dick’s inspection. “This was the first one I ever built. Father gave it to me my first Christmas with him. Jason wasn’t with us yet, so I did it all by myself. I didn’t think I’d like it, but now I do.”

“I’m so glad, Steph.”

Steph sets the locomotive engine back carefully on its shelf and then turns to her desk. Her school-books have been neatly stacked up and set aside to make room for a palette, several paints, an array of brushes, and a scraper, all laid neatly out atop sheets of old newspaper. “This is the one we’re working on now,” she says, picking up a wooden structure with cloth stretched somewhat haphazardly around it and showing it to Dick. “It’s the LZ 127 Graf Zeppelin. Can you believe they actually fly across the Atlantic? One day I hope to ride it.”

Dick shudders. “I hope they’re safer than they used to be,” he says. “Were you old enough to remember when the Wingfoot Express crashed?”

“No. I have heard about it. But they really are safer. The new Akron-class uses helium instead of hydrogen to lift!”

“Use what instead of what?”

“Helium instead of hydrogen. Different gases, for the lifting airbags,” Steph explains. “Hydrogen catches fire really easily, but helium doesn’t, you see.”

“That would certainly help,” Dick agrees. 

“Right now helium is all used by the military, but I’m sure it will make its way to passenger travel soon! And when it does - ”

“Well, if it ever does, maybe I’ll consider it,” Dick smiles. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

Steph settles herself in her desk chair and reaches for a paint-pot, a look of concentration already settling over her face. “See you at dinner.”

Dick closes the door softly behind him and goes down the hallway with a smile. He meets Terry and Kate partway, with Maria in tow. “Hello, you two! I was just coming to see you.” He bends down to kiss Terry in greeting and puts an arm around Kate for a snug hug.

“We go beach,” Terry declares.

“I’m taking him down to play in the sand, Miss Grayson,” Maria explains. “He can’t swim yet, but he loves the sand. And he likes to watch the older children swim, too. Miss Kate can wade in the shallows next to us.”

“Sounds lovely,” Dick says. Unlike the older children in their bathing-costumes, Kate and Terry are dressed appropriately for an early Gotham spring, with a warm sweaters over short dresses. Kate is wearing sandals for wading in. “Perhaps I’ll come join you later.”

“Mama sand!” Terry says eagerly. 

“No, come wade with me!” Kate says. “I’m learning to swim! You can learn, too!”

“I know how to swim,” Dick says, “but I don’t think Dr. Thompkins would approve of me doing it this early in the year. Do you have her permission to wade?”

Kate nods virtuously. “She says I mustn’t go in above my knees,” she says, indicating the appropriate portion of her anatomy. “So I just put on an old summer-dress and bloomers. My clothes won’t even get wet, see?” 

“Yes, I see,” Dick says approvingly. The dress is indeed on the short side, even for a child, and the buttons strain against Kate’s growing frame. She won’t get any more wear out of it for anything except bathing. ”That’s a good choice. If you get chilly, you must come out of the water at once and sun-bathe instead.”

“That’s what Dr. Thompkins says,” Maria agrees. “I’ll make sure of it.”

“Is Cass doing well?”

“Oh, yes, or I wouldn’t leave her. She’s got that new book you ordered for her. It was at the post-office when the fire happened, so Alfred was able to fetch it here with the rest of the letters.”

“That’ll certainly keep her busy,” Dick says. He’d hesitated on the purchase, balking at the cost, but finally gone ahead after Alfred and Cook had both assured him that Captain Wayne wouldn’t mind. Cass has a firm enough grip on her letters now that the new reader should be riveting for her. Kate will get use out of it, too, and one day it will be Terry’s, so Dick had made the purchase.

“She has promised to take a nap when she’s tired,” Maria says, “and the other servants are on hand if they’re needed.”

“I’m certain it’s all well,” Dick assures Maria, not wanting to give the impression that he disapproves of her taking Terry and Kate down to play in the sand and shallows. “I’ll just peep in on Cass. Then perhaps you may see me down at the beach for a little sun-bathing.”

“Yay!” Terry cheers. “We go now!” He’s tugging on Maria’s hand, and she laughs and lets him take her on with a respectful nod to Dick. Kate patters eagerly after them. Dick continues down the hallway and knocks gently on the door to Cass’ room.

It takes two repetitions of the knock for Cass to hear him, and by the time Dick opens the door and enters, her nose is already back in her book. Looking over her shoulder, Dick can see she’s studying a beautiful illustration of two children, with the caption, in large text, reading Look, look! Dick can run! “You’re feeling better, then?” he says.

“Oh, yes, mama,” Cass says. She puts her finger underneath the words. “Is this your name?” She spells the letters out carefully: “Dee… eye… cee… kay. Dick?”

“That’s right!” he praises, letting his pride show. “How clever you are to figure that out! Names are difficult, but you got it right away.”

“Not right away,” Cass says shyly, looking down. “But I kept trying.”

“That’s perfect, dear. I’m so proud of you.”

Cass gives a happy sigh and looks back down at the book, running her fingers over the page. “It’s so pretty. And look!” She turns a page and points to another illustration. “They have a cat! Ess… pee… ooh… tee. Spoot.”

“Spot,” Dick corrects, shortening the oh sound. “Yes, isn’t he adorable?”

“Can we have a cat, mama?”

“First you want two sisters, and now a cat?” Dick laughs. “I don’t know if we can quite manage all of that.”

Cass frowns. “Maybe only one sister then?”

“Your father and I will discuss it.” This statement, mundane though it is, gives Dick a thrill. He’s said some variation on it many times before, but always with the implied meaning of a servant needing to consult with their master. Now decisions will be made jointly between he and Bruce, as equals. Because they are to be married. Dick finds himself rubbing his thumb against the base of his ring finger, already imagining the circle of gold to be placed there. 

“Okay.” Cass snuggles back down into her chair. “Read to me?”

Ordinarily Dick might insist that she practice reading on her own a bit longer, but she’s clearly already practiced to some purpose today, and she’s still getting well, after all. He takes the reader from her. “Go, Spot, go,” Dick reads, slowly and clearly, pointing to the words as he says them aloud. “Go away, Spot!” 

Twenty minutes later, Cass tucked up in bed already dozing off for a morning nap, Dick is easing the door closed behind him when Bruce’s voice makes him jump and spin. “Is she sleeping?”

“I didn’t realize you were there,” Dick says, trying to calm his breathing.

Bruce holds up his hands in a gesture of peace, chuckling. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“I was trying not to disturb Cass,” Dick explains. He’d been so focused on that that he hadn’t heard Bruce approach. “Yes, she’s sleeping. Steph is painting her new model, and everyone else is down at the beach. Maria is watching Terry and Kate.”

“They actually went swimming today? They’re hardier than I thought.” Bruce looks as if the very thought is giving him chills. “I’d better tell Cook to start warming bath-water by the gallon. They’ll all be freezing when they come back.”

“Steph said much the same thing.” Dick puts his face up for a kiss, which Bruce gives him tenderly. It gives him a thrill, to be kissed so openly in the halls of the Wayne summer home. 

“How did Cass like the new reader? Alfred said it had arrived?”

“Yes. It was still at the post-office, so they sent it here with the rest of the letters.”

“Ugh,” Bruce groans. “I’ll have to deal with them this afternoon. There’s bound to be a great deal of paperwork for the insurance claim.”

“From the fire? You have fire insurance?”

“Yes. Good thing, too.” Bruce smiles. “Otherwise I’d have to turn to jewel theft to refinish the Manor.”

Dick laughs. “I saw your account balances at the Bank of Gotham, remember. You can’t fool me.”

“So much for my mystique.”

“Speaking of jewel theft - Selina spoke with you?”

“About wedding attendants, yes. You really think I should ask Harvey?”

“I don’t think anything,” Dick says, “I’ve never met him.” Well, that’s not strictly true; DA Dent had attended the gala for the German Ambassador, and he’d come over and greeted the Wayne children, but that hardly counts. “But Selina does, and she’s your closest friend, isn’t she? So I think she’s probably right.”

Bruce sighs. “The war was hard for him.”

“For everyone,” Dick says gently. “You included.”

Bruce brings them to a stop there in the corridor. He looks somber. Dick longs to comfort him, and realizes suddenly that he can. They’re engaged. He’s permitted to let the urges in his heart out. So he pulls his arm from Bruce’s, and then puts both arms around him. Bruce holds him in return, and hides his head in Dick’s shoulder, the way Terry sometimes does.

“You’re doing the best you can,” Dick says, speaking by instinct rather than directly from what had just been said. He has the feeling that Bruce is his own harshest critic, sometimes. 

“I’m lucky,” Bruce says. “I have a family again. Some days, the children were all that kept me together.”

“You have them.” He kisses Bruce’s temple. “And me.”

“Thank God,” Bruce says quietly. 

They stand there for a long moment, while slowly Bruce turns from stone back into a human. At last Bruce sighs and raises his head. He still look somber, but not so unhappy. Impulsively, Dick kisses him. 

Bruce kisses back, his strong arms around Dick, the curl of his hair tickling Dick’s cheek, and Dick knows in his bones how he loves this man. He wants to comfort Bruce, to share his burdens, and to share his own burdens and be comforted in turn. And he could happily be kissed by Bruce every day for the rest of his life. 

Fortunately, that’s the plan.

Chapter Text

Their wedding day dawns bright and sunny, if chilly in the early morning beneath the late spring sun. The earth is greening slowly; summer’s heat is still weeks away. St. Mary’s looks its best beneath the ascending sun. Its grey stone is brightened beneath the golden rays. The vines climbing its walls lend it an air of antiquity, and the steeple rises stately above the roofs of the surrounding neighborhood, the highest point for blocks around.

Dick gets out of the car alone. The others will come later, the children and the guests and his husband-to-be, but Dick has arrived early, so that he may disappear inside the walls of the convent one last time and hear the wisdom of his elders. At least, that’s how the Reverend Mother had described it when he’d spoken of the plans for the day. Dick will dress within the convent, with help from the sisters and from Selina, who will be admitted later by special dispensation to bring the gown and jewels and cosmetics Dick will need. Tim, as bridesmaid, and Kate and Cass, as flower girls, will also come and get ready inside the bastion of eternal maidenhood. Selina will help Tim, and Maria will be overseeing the little ones. Alfred has stayed back to take charge of the rest, who will arrive at the church at the appointed time. Neither Bruce nor Dick are supposed to worry about anyone but themselves today. It’s a perfectly reasonable arrangement for couples who don’t already have children, Dick thinks, but - as Bruce had memorably said - they’d gone about building a family somewhat in reverse. Thankfully, they have all the assistance anyone could ask for, with a household as eager for their marriage as Dick and Bruce themselves can be.

“My child,” the Reverend Mother says, stepping forward to take Dick’s hands between his and pat them welcomingly. “Come in, come in. You still belong to us. For a little longer, at least.”

There’s a pang at the thought. As much as Dick loves Bruce, as much as he wants to be married, the Reverend Mother’s words are a reminder that everything comes with a cost. Today will be the last day Dick may set foot inside these cloistered walls. Once he’s married this door will be barred to him forever. No longer will he come to the Mother Abbess’ chambers seeking advice or solace. No more will he sit listening to the nuns sing vespers in their private chapel. No more…

Dick gives himself a mental shake. It’s not as if he will never see the Reverend Mother again. They will simply have to meet on neutral ground. Dick may still come to the orphanage, the soup kitchens, the church. They can encounter each other while doing charitable works in the community. There’s no reason to feel as if he’s losing a second mother all over again.

“Don’t be sad, Richard,” the Reverend Mother says. He’s paused in the cool of the cloister corridors and turned to smile at Dick, displaying that uncanny knack he’s always had of reading the childrens’ hearts and minds. “This is a joyous day.”

“It is, it’s just…” Dick trails off and puts his hand on the wall, cool in the spring morning. “I will miss…”

Miss what? Being an orphan? Being dependent on the charity of others? Laboring for his daily bread, and looking forward to a life of the same unvarying toil? Saying the prayers of a religion which only overlaps in some places with Dick’s beliefs? None of that seems as if it should be something Dick will miss. And yet. And yet.

The Reverend Mother seems to understand. “Growth is never easy,” he says gently, “and change, too, is often hard. But this is your past, Richard. Tell me - would you come back, if you could?”

“No,” Dick says softly. He’s already refused the chance to take orders, and does not repent it. Even if he could come back here by another path - if he could turn back time, and become a child again - how could he, knowing what he’d leave behind? Bruce. The children. Betsy and Alfred and Cook and Maria. No, everything in him rebels at the thought. Of course Dick will go forward. He wants to go forward.

“When the Lord closes a door, He opens a window.” The Reverend Mother starts moving again, tracing the familiar path to his small office. “And sometimes you can even look back through it.”

“Yes, Reverend Mother,” Dick sighs wistfully.

They reach the Mother Abbess’ office with no further interruptions for maudlin feeling, and Dick is gestured to the small postulant’s seat while the Reverend Mother seats himself in his usual chair. He tucks his hands into his habit and studies Dick. Dick sits as still and patient as he’d learned to do while in the orphanage, and after a few minutes, the Reverend Mother nods.

“Now, my child,” he begins. “We must speak of something new.”

Dick nods calmly. He had anticipated this. The church has a great deal to say on marriage and the proper behavior of husbands and wives towards each other and towards God. While Dick had had catechism classes every Sunday since he’d come to the orphanage, he hadn’t really expected that he could get married at St. Mary’s and not have the topic revisited by the Reverend Mother. He nods and composes himself to listen attentively - or at least appear to - while he is instructed in his Christian duty. 

Which is why it’s so unexpected to hear the Reverend Mother say, “I know you’ve been a diligent student in Sunday School, so I won’t recap what you know so well,” as his opening line. “But there are some things that are not taught until one is older. As you are on the point of marriage, it is time you knew. And while I am aware that children of a certain age are prone to gossip, and you may, therefore, already have some confused idea of what goes on between Alphas and Omegas, I am certain any information you may have is incomplete, not to mention possibly inaccurate, and so, as the person who stands in the place of your mother, it is my sacred duty to prepare you for holy matrimony with facts.”

“Of course, Reverend Mother,” Dick murmurs out of sheer reflex. He supposes he ought to have expected this, too, but he hadn’t. That there is usually such a conversation before marriage he had known; but as an orphan, with no one standing in the place of a mother except someone who had taken orders… well. He’d thought, if he’d thought about it at all, that the topic would be omitted. In retrospect he really ought to have known better. When had the Reverend Mother ever omitted any topic, taboo or otherwise?

“So. After you say your vows today you will be united before God; however, another step remains to unite you in the flesh. There is a place on your body where, once touched, will cleave you to your husband forever - ”

“Reverend Mother!” Dick yelps, scandalized. 

“I refer, of course, to the mating gland.” The Mother Abbess’ scowl is chilling.

“Oh,” Dick says, heroically striving to keep his calm and not dissolve into nervous giggles. “The - the mating gland. Of course.”

“It is located on your shoulder - ”

“I am familiar with it, Reverend Mother,” Dick says hastily.

“On your wedding night, your new husband will bond you with blood. I am told it does not hurt.”

“Ah,” Dick says, floundering here. Something seems to be expected of him, but he knows not what. “That’s… good to know.”

“Indeed. However, the matter is not concluded there. Once you have been bound, your body will change to prepare you suitably for childbirth.” The Reverend Mother looks away for a moment, a distant look coming over his face. “This is important,” he says in a less formal tone. “It will be an uncomfortable time for you, but in my years I have seen many Omegas who have gotten pregnant without that preparation. It is not… safe… to do so. The church discourages it on moral grounds, but it should not be forgotten that the Lord gives His teachings for our betterment, and the prohibition on copulation outside the sanctity of marriage is one of the more direct examples of this mercy.”

Dick swallows. “I know,” he says quietly. It had been supposed to be a secret, the orphans who had no fathers, whose mothers had died bearing them. All orphans are equal, at St. Mary’s. But still everyone had known. Just as everyone had known about those who had come to the church for a different fault, and stayed only a few weeks as novices before being sent to the Magdalene houses in the countryside around Gotham. No one in the orphanage had learned how many had died in bearing; that had been kept secret, the bodies buried in the small cemeteries the church maintains outside Gotham. But they had known how few had ever returned from the countryside.

The Reverend Mother blinks, seeming to come back to the present moment. “You will not have to suffer that, Richard. After your mating you will begin to undergo the change into full maturity. This is uncomfortable, but not dangerous. And it is your husband’s holy duty to to care for and support you during this time.”

“Yes, Reverend Mother.”

“Some time within the first season of your mating, you will begin experiencing your heats. This is a sign that your body is ready to carry children. It is unlikely you will conceive while you are going through the change, so do not fear danger in doing your wifely duty in that time.”

“I’m glad to know that.” He is, too. Dick has been fairly familiar with everything the Reverend Mother has said up until now, but this is something he hadn’t known. He’d assumed it would just be a risk every time they were together between their mating and Dick’s first heat - a risk that every Omega since Eve has run, along with the risks inherent in childbed itself. 

The Reverend Mother nods. “By the same token, after you give birth, there will be a delay before your heats resume. Usually they do not return until the child is weaned. It is similarly unlikely to conceive during that period.” Dick nods his understanding. “One word more on this duty, my child. You have received the teachings of the church…”

Lust is sinful. Alphas are more prone to it than Omegas, and it is an Omega’s duty to hold them back from it to the greatest extent possible. Coupling should only occur within the bonds of marriage, and then only for the purpose of conceiving children. Certainly it should not be enjoyable. Of course, a wife must obey their husband, and the production of children is a holy duty, but beyond that… Dick looks down. He doesn’t believe it, not really, but it’s hard to put it aside completely. All those years of teaching have left their mark on him. He tells himself he doesn’t believe it, but some part of him thinks that perhaps it is true. All the lies and jealousies around mating he’d seen in the circus, all the bastard orphans and unwed mothers at St. Mary’s, all the unhappy couples, even in high society… it can’t all come from nowhere. His parents’ marriage had been happy, and they’d never made it seem as if being together intimately were some kind of chore, but they’d been the exception. Dick had always known that, even as a very young child.

“I will do my best, Reverend Mother,” Dick says quietly.

“I have heard it said,” the Reverend Mother says unexpectedly. “I have been given to understand that… in some cases… when there is a deep affection between the parties… that it is not… unpleasant. That some ladies may even… enjoy it. Somewhat.”

Dick draws in a breath so sharp that the sound it makes is audible. The Reverend Mother is not looking at him. His gaze is fixed on the effigy of Jesus on the cross hanging on the wall behind where Dick sits. Dick can’t see the cross from his position, but he knows it’s there, has seen it often enough. Has touched the crucified feet for piety as he’d come and gone. What would Jesus think of the Reverend Mother’s words now?

“It may be a sin,” the Reverend Mother says, as if his thoughts are running along the same lines. He sounds troubled. “Certainly we are taught so. But I would not like to think… it is our duty.” Dick listens, disbelieving. The Reverend Mother is an Omega, of course, or else he could not be a nun and an abbess, but never before has he spoken as if he’s aware of his sex. That had been something he’d seemed to have shed when he’d taken the habit. “Though duty is often unpleasant, it’s true, and martyrdom can be the lot of any Christian, but…” The Reverend Mother is almost musing to himself at this point more than talking to Dick. He must realize it as soon as Dick does, for his gaze returns to Dick and he clears his throat. “I merely wished to make sure you knew. Should you find the act… not unpleasant… that is not, necessarily, a sin.” He nods, proclamation made. Almost as an afterthought, the Mother Abbess adds, “Though it would do you no harm to confess it, either.”

“T-thank you, Reverend Mother,” Dick stammers. He’s grateful, and overwhelmed. He’d thought himself prepared for an awkward conversation about marital duties - and this is, indisputably, an awkward conversation about marital duties - but it’s also, somehow, turned into a quietly powerful act of maternal love. For the Mother Abbess even to admit that the act may not be entirely shameful and abhorrent is astonishing. It goes against everything he lives as a nun. But he cares about Dick, in the end, enough to want him not to be afraid. “I - thank you.”

The Reverend Mother shakes his head, suddenly impatient, and rises. “I have kept you long enough,” he says. “Come, let us go meet your attendants and make you ready for your groom.”

Dick gets to his feet obediently, but as he does so the knowledge that this will be the last time they will speak like this swells up in him, and he comes around the office and hugs the Reverend Mother.

“Richard!” The Mother Abbess sounds shocked. “You oughtn’t - it isn’t - ”

“I’ll confess it later,” Dick says, smiling a little. “Just in case.”

“It’s not a sin,” the Mother Abbess demurs. “Merely improper. But perhaps, given the occasion… it can be permitted.”

“Thank you, Reverend Mother,” Dick says sincerely. “For everything. For taking me in and raising me, for teaching me and for being a living example of your faith, and for your wise counsel.” He swallows. “You make me believe in God.”

“Oh, my beloved child,” the Reverend Mother whispers. He lays a shaking hand on Dick’s head in benediction. “You have always brought joy wherever you go. You go now where you are called, and I am glad of it, but I will miss you.”

“I, too.” Dick takes a deep breath, steps back, and discreetly wipes his eyes on his sleeve. It’s just dusty in here. He must have a word with whichever novice is currently responsible for cleaning the Reverend Mother’s office. “I too.”

“Come.” The Reverend Mother opens the door and beckons. “Your future lies before you.”

The time of preparation, of being dressed and adorned and perfumed for his groom, passes as if in a dream. Selina has the gown already hanging from a fixture on the wall in the small dressing-room when Dick arrives. Its fine white silk glimmers like a candle shedding its own light. The jewels, diamonds that have been worn by Wayne brides for four generations, throw fire against the black velvet they nestle in. White lilies of the valley lie on the table, already sewn to black cloth. As he had on the night of the gala, the night he’d first danced with Bruce, Dick will go to his wedding with flowers in his hair.

At last the tolling of the bell announces that the moment has come. Selina has vanished some time ago to attend to Tim, and most of the sisters who had come to help or speak their good wishes have long since returned to their other duties to pass the time until the ceremony. Only Sister Mary Clarence has stayed. She helps gather up Dick’s train and leads him to where the Reverend Mother is waiting with the other nuns.

The Mistress of Novices, who had believed she would one day count Dick among her flock, sighs as she makes the sign of the cross over Dick. The Mistress of Postulants, who had briefly shepherded Dick while he had been shown what taking vows would entail, had always known that one day she would kiss Dick once on each cheek in benediction as he goes to be wed. The Reverend Mother, who had set Dick on this path and encouraged his every step down its length, drapes the veil over Dick’s head with his own hands. Sister Mary Clarence spreads a clean cloth on the floor, and Dick kneels before the Mother Abbess. The Mother Abbess blesses Dick gravely, as befits his holy station, and then takes Dick’s hands in his own to raise Dick to his feet, as befits one who stands in the place of a mother. Tears sting Dick’s eyes. 

The journey to the sanctuary is filled with ghosts. How many times has Dick paced these halls? He’d run them raucously as a child engaged in mischief, plodded them while carrying burdens to serve the poor, walked them soberly as recently as February when he’d come to speak to the Reverend Mother about his future upon reaching adulthood. The offer of the governess’ job had seemed like a miracle then. Who could have predicted, at that time, that Dick would return to St. Mary’s beneath a bridal veil?

His dress is heavy with embroideries and small seed pearls sewn into it. Dick must walk slowly. Bruce had wanted to drape Dick in gemstones in some kind of misguided desire to show the world Dick’s value. The pearls had been a compromise. Dick’s steps are slow, but his heart is light. He is going to his destiny.

The convent’s entrance to the sanctuary is barred. The Reverend Mother lifts the latch and opens the gate. He will go no further. On this side of the gate is Dick’s old life. On the other side is the new. Dick steps through fearlessly. 

Tim is waiting with Dick’s bouquet, which he hands to Dick with a radiant smile. Kate and Cass, sharing the duty of flower-girls, wait clutching their baskets. All are dressed in white as well, with lace in the place of pearls. They are also wearing diamonds, even Cass, whose ear-rings are tied on with a bit of white silk. All wear flowers in their hair. Dick smiles on his children, thinking how beautiful they all look.

Having handed off the bouquet, Tim hurries to arrange Dick’s train, then shoos his younger sisters down the aisle to begin scattering rose petals. There’s a moment more before Tim has to start off. The look on his face is nearly transcendent. Dick wonders if Tim is imagining his own future wedding. If there is someone, even, Tim is sweet on - someone Tim envisions in the role of bridegroom. Tim looks as if he’ll hug Dick, but that would muss Dick’s finery, and having played a large role in the selection of Dick’s wedding-gown, Tim’s desire to keep it pristine wins out over his tactile nature. He only smiles, and then, when the music subtly changes to cue him, turns and begins his own walk down the aisle.

Only Dick remains now. Dick, and the Reverend Mother waiting behind the invisible line dividing the nunnery from the sanctuary. For a moment Dick turns to him, looking once more at his childhood. It had been a good childhood, taken all together. The loss of his parents is Dick’s greatest tragedy - how he wishes they could be here today - but he had known their love while they had lived, and had been happy and content in his youth. After their passing Dick had fallen into good hands and been well taken care of in a time when many others, even those with parents living, could not say the same. Dick does not leave childhood in order to escape it. He leaves because of a greater joy waiting before him, one he goes eagerly forward to meet.

“God bless you, Richard,” the Reverend Mother says one final time.

Dick bows his head in acknowledgement, and then begins his journey towards the altar.

Dick has heard many songs played here, over the past years. Hymns have boomed triumphantly from the organ on Easter morning, carols played merrily during Christmas, dirges in a minor key during Lent. Today the organ plays something new, something Dick has never heard before. Bruce had asked to be allowed to choose the music. Dick, having no preferences himself, had readily consented, and while Bruce would willingly have told Dick the names of the pieces he’d chosen, Dick had preferred to be surprised. The tune is stately and regal. He finds himself matching his steps to the tempo, walking as he’d been instructed, bringing one foot forward to meet the other before stepping forward again. The aisle of the sanctuary has never seemed so long, as the faces of Gotham society turn towards him. Ladies and gentleman dressed in elegant gowns and jewels pass by on either side. They haven’t changed since the night of the gala. Dick has, perhaps. Or perhaps he had loved Bruce even then, but not been able to see it yet, kept from self-knowledge by his suspicions and his fears. 

In the front pews wait the children who are not involved in the ceremony, Dick’s sons, all dressed in their gala finery. Jason looks like he’s barely holding himself back from starting a cheer. Steph tugs surreptitiously at her collar, only to be elbowed in the side by Damian. Babs is clutching the wooden rail and looking at Dick the way small children in the circus audience would look at the fire-tamer or the elephant-riders - awed and a little scared, as at someone very brave, and very daring, as well. Terry watches solemnly from Maria’s arms. He had had some difficulty understanding that Dick and Bruce were to be married. They had tried to explain it to him to no avail until they had learned that his confusion had been centered around their use of the future tense. To Terry, Bruce is his father, and Dick is his mother, and so, clearly, they must already be married. Explaining that they had yet to take care of that formality had been difficult, and even now Dick isn’t sure how much Terry really understands of what’s happening. But he’s content and not causing a fuss, which is as much as can be expected of a toddler at a wedding. Dick smiles at them all as he passes by.

Behind the children in the reserved pews are Alfred, Maria, and a handful of the other senior servants who have claimed the right to see their master wed. They look approvingly on their new mistress, which comforts Dick. He wants Wayne Manor to be a scene of comfort and warmth. They will help him achieve that. Cook winks as Dick goes by, and Betsy looks about ready to burst with excitement. Even Alfred is wearing a small, serene smile. Dick has seen that Alfred is as much another parent to Bruce as the Reverend Mother is to Dick, and he’s glad Alfred approves Bruce’s choice of bride. 

Then, with deceptive suddenness, the aisle opens before Dick. The pews are past, and there is the altar - and Bruce. He’s wearing his army dress uniform. Dick has never seen Bruce in the uniform before. It makes Bruce look even taller than he already is, and his shoulders look broad enough to carry the weight of the entire country. They’ve done it before, Dick remembers. But it’s not for strength alone that Dick loves his husband-to-be. Beneath that strength is kindness. Respect. Tenderness. Bruce has neglected himself in the past in his quest to shoulder the burdens continually laid upon him. Dick will now take on the responsibility and the joy of protecting Bruce, while he protects others. 

Dick holds out his hand as he reaches the front of the sanctuary. Bruce holds out his in return, and, joined hand in hand, they approach the altar.

Tim comes to take Dick’s bouquet, and a tall, blond man in tuxedo steps out from the reserved pews to balance the formation at Bruce’s right. This is Harvey Dent, the Gotham District Attorney, former and perhaps future close friend of Bruce. Following Selina’s advice, Dick had invited Harvey to the first and most select of the evening entertainments he’d held to introduce himself to polite society. The first entertainment had been all very close connections - distant cousins of the Waynes (Bruce’s mother had been a Kane); relations of the children (Commissioner Gordon had attended, looking decidedly uncomfortable); intimate friends of the couple (Father Gideon had been delighted). And Harvey Dent. Who had accepted the invitation, much to Bruce’s surprise. Dick suspects Selina of meddling. He isn’t going to complain. 

Bruce and Harvey had spent the first half of the evening watching each other from across the large parlor like a couple of cats meeting on the edge of their territories and trying to figure out whether they would need to fight. Dick had made a point of chatting with Harvey and found him clever and thoughtful, if a bit prone to nerves. The break had come after dinner, when the coffee had been passed around. The last of the sugar in the silver bowl had run out before it had reached Harvey, and Julie, hovering in the background, had immediately offered to fetch more, if the gentleman would let her take the bowl - 

Harvey, in a fit of politeness, had declared he needed no sugar. Julie, not knowing any better, had been about to accept this at face value, when Bruce had burst out accusingly, telling Harvey that he loved sugar in his coffee, and why wouldn’t he ever just ask, why did he always have to be so dratted polite and self-sacrificing - 

It had been a bit of the pot calling the kettle black, as Harvey had pointed out, but the results had been good. Julie had fetched more sugar, and Bruce and Harvey had talked non-stop through the rest of the coffee hour, barely sparing a word for anyone else. That had technically been rude, but the other guests had all been close enough connections to understand. Dick had taken the precaution of having the older children stay with the gathering after dinner, and between them all they’d managed not to neglect any guest too much. The press of hosting duties and the general noise of any gathering of this size had kept Dick from being able to hear what Bruce and Harvey had discussed. But at the end of the night Harvey had clapped his hand on Bruce’s shoulder as they shook at parting, bowed over Dick’s hand with a look of sincere gratitude, and accepted Bruce’s request to be groomsman with genuine affection. Now Harvey stands very nearly at attention, though he’d never served, and steps forward with the rest of the wedding party as they approach and then kneel before the altar.

Father Gideon stands before them.

“Dearly beloved,” she says, beaming over the entire sanctuary. “We are gathered here today…”

The ceremony passes by in a blur, broken up with unpredictable flashes of clarity. Father Gideon makes the sign of the cross over them. Bruce says, repeating after her, “...to have and to hold, from this day forward - ” Harvey reaches over to hand Bruce the ring, and Dick feels the unexpected weight of it as the cool metal slides on Dick’s finger. It’s the fourth piece from the set that Dick had worn that night at the gala, the rubies and emeralds that Martha Wayne had had for her debut. Dick had only worn the other three pieces, that night. Now, the next time he wears the chest-piece, the ear-rings, and the bracelet, he will be wearing the ring, as well. 

Still kneeling at the rail, Dick’s hand is lifted with the ring still on it, and Bruce’s is placed in his. The handfasting cloth is tied around their joined hands, and Father Gideon says, “What God has joined together, let no man tear asunder.”

Then Dick’s being helped to his feet, his veil is being lifted, and there, in front of God and Gotham, Bruce is kissing Dick at the altar, the bells are ringing out joyously above, and Dick and Bruce are married.

Chapter Text

Alfred pulls the car to a stop and kills the engine.

Dick blinks. “Are we there already?”

“I could have sworn I told him to take the long way,” Bruce says, raising his voice slightly so that Alfred will clearly hear his reprimand.

Unfortunately for him, Alfred is unruffled. “I did take the long way, Master Bruce,” he says. “We left the church approximately thirty minutes ago.”

Dick smiles at Bruce from the distance of inches away, where they’d been industriously enjoying each others’ company - and lips - in the back of the Mercedes-Benz S that had taken them from St. Mary’s to the St. Regis Gotham Hotel. The usual approach to matters would have been to simply go from the church straight back to Wayne Manor, from whence the children would have already been sent to varying and sundry friends and relatives to stay while the newlywed lord and lady spent their wedding night at home before setting out the next day on their honeymoon. The fire at Wayne Manor had effectively derailed those plans. Dick and Bruce could have gone back to the summer house, but both of them had agreed that displacing the children again, after the fire had already driven them to their warm-weather retreat, would be unkind. There are many fine hotels in Gotham. It’s no hardship to spend their wedding night at one of them instead of the summer-house. Dick has actually never stayed at a hotel; he’s rather looking forward to the experience.

Alfred, in the driver’s seat, clears his throat. “I believe the bellhop is approaching, sir and ma’am.”

Which is a hint for the two of them to make themselves more proper. Dick sighs regretfully, then cheers up at the recollection that, once the door to their suite closes behind them, there will be no need for propriety - and no interruptions - for the rest of the day and all of the night to come.

That pleasant thought lets Dick smile politely as he’s handed out of the car, as Alfred directs the bellhop to the luggage in the trunk, as Bruce offers his arm to Dick and sweeps them both into the foyer of the St. Regis. It’s breathtaking on the inside, all gold foil and intricate carving, beautiful statuary and exquisite paintings. It’s an overt display of more wealth than Dick has ever seen at once, including at Wayne Manor. And it’s just a trifle ostentatious. After his first moment of awe, Dick starts to wonder if perhaps a little less gold-leaf might have been a better choice, and whether the molding really needed to be both carved and gilded. The lobby looks exactly the way everyone Dick had grown up with thinks a richly decorated room should look like. But at the price of the St. Regis’ rooms, the only people who will stay here are those, like the Waynes, who already have money. That leaves Dick to wonder whom, exactly, the decorations are supposed to impress.

They only get a few steps into the lavishly appointed foyer when a smiling, uniformed attendant appears. “Mr. Wayne!” he gushes in the kind of voice that makes it immediately apparent that he’s angling for a large tip. “And Mrs. Wayne! Welcome to the Gotham St. Regis!” The panting bellhop appears in Dick’s peripheral vision, holding two of the many suitcases that had been packed for them. The trunk of the Mercedes-Benz holds everything they’ll need for a month’s tour on the continental East Coast. Only a fraction of those items will be needed for their short stay here, though, and the Wayne servants had packed accordingly. These two suitcases will be the only ones Dick and Bruce will use tonight. “Allow me to show you to your room.”

The elevator attendant opens the grating as they approach, and Dick marvels as he steps inside the moving box. It’s his first elevator, too. Still on Bruce’s arm, his wedding-dress bustled up behind so the train doesn’t snag, Dick stands calmly as if he does things like this every day, but secretly watches every movement the elevator operator makes, delighting in watching the indicators illuminate and then extinguish themselves as they ascend. A gentle chime sounds as the elevator slows. “Tenth floor,” the operator announces, and pulls the gate open again.

“This way, sir, ma’am,” the superior attendant says, leading the way. Dick and Bruce follow while the bellhop brings up the rear. “Number thirty-three. Here we are.” He produces a key and unlocks the door, then throws it open with a flourish. “Our finest suite.”

They enter into a sitting room that looks like nothing so much as a miniature version of the foyer, except done in silver and mahogany instead of gold and cherry-wood. A discreetly paneled door to one side doubtless holds the bath-room. Another door is already open to reveal a closet. The attendant is quick to take their wraps and hang them up while the bellhop takes their suitcases directly through yet a third door, through which a glimpse of a palatial bed can clearly be seen. 

“The telephone is here,” the attendant says, indicating it, “and someone is always available to cater to your every need. Will you be wishing to dine in the restaurant tonight?”

“I think tonight we would prefer room service,” Bruce says, smiling at Dick. “What is the menu this evening?”

The attendant recites a list of dishes gravely, while Bruce alternately nods or shakes his head. A few substitutions are agreed upon, a time is named, and the bellhop reappears from the bedroom, no longer burdened by suitcases. Bruce gravely shakes the attendant’s hand. Dick catches a flicker of green as a banknote passes from hand to hand. The attendant nearly bends double with his bow, indicating his approval of the denomination, and repeats his assurance that someone - with a clear implication that it will be he, personally - will be available for any of their potential needs.

“Right now,” Bruce says, turning a smoldering gaze on Dick, “my only need is for some privacy with my new bride.”

The attendant vanishes. Dick doesn’t even see him go. The moment the door snicks closed, Bruce has covered the distance between them in two short steps and swept Dick up in his arms.

“Bruce!” Dick gasps, twining his arms around Bruce’s neck in sheer reflex and tensing his core to make himself an easier burden. “What are you doing?”

“Did your folk not do this?” Bruce asks. “Carry the bride over the threshold?”

Dick makes to shake his head, then reconsiders and uses his words instead. “No. Nothing like that. An exchange of bread and salt, sometimes. Most of the Roma I knew never bothered. Once you’re married, you’re just married. That’s it.”

“Meanwhile my culture surrounds it with ritual.” Bruce is silent a moment, thinking. He’s holding Dick effortlessly; his arms don’t even tremble. “I wonder if we do so because we’re afraid marriage isn’t enough on its own. Especially in my class, we marry so often for practical considerations, not for love.”

“I like your rituals,” Dick offers. “They feel… permanent. My people are wanderers, but it wasn’t by choice, not originally. We had to embrace impermanence.”

“You don’t mind the idea of settling down?”

“Not if it’s with you.”

Bruce’s eyes seem to darken. He says, “Then come with me.”

Of course, Dick has no choice. Bruce is holding him up with as much effort as Dick might expend to hold his fork suspended in the air between place and mouth. When Bruce starts again towards the bedroom, Dick has little alternative but to hang on for the ride. Once this might have been terrifying. But they’re married now, and Dick had accepted Bruce’s proposal knowing that he is willing - even eager - to be carried along wherever Bruce might choose to take him.

The bedroom is every bit as opulent as the sitting room, with beautifully joined furnishings and a bed that is wide enough for Dick to stretch to his full height on in any direction. Bruce deposits Dick onto the center of this decadence, and Dick immediately sinks into a softness that must rival the clouds. He runs a hand over the linens, reflexively trying to guess thread and weaving, but it’s so fine and so finely done that it feels like a smooth unbroken silkiness beneath his fingertips. There had been a coverlet when Dick had glimpsed it earlier through the door. Now it’s folded neatly across the foot of the bed. The bellhop’s doing, no doubt, as is the fact that their suitcases are nowhere in sight. The contents will have been expertly decanted and stowed in the drawers and on the shelves in the magnificent armoires and wardrobes in the corners of the room. 

A warm hand cups Dick’s cheek. All of Dick’s attention abruptly refocuses on one point - one person. “Wait,” Dick says suddenly, sitting up. Bruce, who had been bent over the bed, straightens in confusion. Dick hastens to explain himself. “My dress.” 

“Ah,” Bruce says, face clearing. “Of course. Er - ” He helps Dick back to his feet willingly, but looks at the dress itself in some consternation. “How do I - ”

“Bruce,” Dick says gently. “Do you take off your own cravats?”

Bruce laughs. “I’m not used to being married,” he says. “You’ll have to forgive me. Shall I ring for your maid?”

“Wait. I should take off my jewelry first.” Dick has to smile at the absurdity of the situation. No doubt any other society bride would have this kind of undressing down to a science, but Dick is new to it, and this is one area where his groom’s experience is of no help. “Where should I put it? Is there somewhere on the vanity?”

“No, wait,” Bruce says, suddenly looking gleeful. “I have somewhere.” He turns and looks around the room somewhat blankly. “Now where will they… aha!” He goes towards the night-stand on the right side of the bed and opens the drawer. “Excellent,” he says victoriously, and pulls from the drawer a package.

“What’s this?” Dick looks at it with interest, taking it when Bruce holds it out to him. “A package?”

“A present,” Bruce says, “though one that I didn’t have time to wrap, as it was only finished this morning. I trust you won’t mind. You’ll need a bigger one for home, but it wouldn’t have been ready in time to give you as a wedding-present, and besides, as we’re traveling on our honeymoon first, I thought you’d better have this right away…”

“Wait, wait,” Dick says, laughing, as he undoes the packaging. It’s tied up with ribbon instead of the twine he’s used to, and the item itself is wrapped in some kind of fine cloth and cotton wool instead of brown paper. What he finally uncovers is a beautifully joined box in some hard wood he doesn’t recognize. It’s decorated simply, with mother-of-pearl inlaid around the edges, and his initials - his new initials - engraved in classic script in the center of the box. Dick briefly gives in to the temptation to trace the carving, but even the delicate loops of the W can’t keep him long from opening the lid. Within the space is subdivided into several recesses of different sizes - two large, four medium, and eight small along the bottom. The whole is lined in black velvet, with a panel of rich black silk protecting the inner lid. And inset into that lid is a mirror, polished to a high shine, reflecting Dick’s delighted expression back at him as he looks.

“It’s a jewelry-box,” Bruce explains, quite unnecessarily. “Small, for travel. Just enough to carry a few sets. You can put your wedding jewelry in there. And if you tell Betsy tonight, she can fetch over any other pieces you want for our honeymoon before we leave for the airport tomorrow.”

“It’s beautiful,” Dick says. He imagines how his wedding ring will look when he places it inside, the red and green and gold held safe and snug amidst the soft blackness. “Thank you.”

Bruce reaches around Dick’s neck, feeling gently for the clasp of the diamond pendant. Dick bows his head slightly to help Bruce see. Bruce finds it a moment later, undoing the chain and pulling the necklace free. Dick takes it from him, reattaches the clasp to prevent tangling, and lays the pendant and its chain carefully inside one of the large spaces. It’s clearly sized for a necklace and fits perfectly. Dick goes over the vanity and sets the box down on its polished surface, then, using the larger mirror hanging from the wall, removes his earrings and bracelet and sets them carefully away as well.

He reaches next for his wedding-ring, then stops. He doesn’t want to take it off. Yes, it’s expensive, and an heirloom, and he ought to take good care of it, which probably doesn’t mean constantly wearing it. Society brides don’t wear their wedding-rings every day and everywhere the way normal folk do. But Dick looks down at the stones and feels an overwhelming sense of reluctance at the thought of removing it.

Warmth behind Dick is Bruce’s presence coming closer. Arms around Dick are Bruce’s, closing over Dick’s and stopping him from removing the ring. “I like seeing it on you,” Bruce says.

“It was your mother’s,” Dick says.

“Yes. And now it’s yours.”

Dick hesitates. “I don’t want anything to happen to it.”

“Wear it for now,” Bruce says, half suggestion, half plea. “When we return from our honeymoon, if you wish, we can commission something else for everyday, if you’re worried - something similar, something that would complement it if worn as a set. But it won’t be harmed if you wear it for a while first.”

“All right,” Dick says, giving in the more easily because he wants to keep wearing it too. He closes the jewel-box and smiles at Bruce in the mirror. “I will, then.”

Bruce rests his hands on Dick’s shoulders. “Are you sure you want your maid?” he asks, doing a poor job of concealing his eagerness. “I’m sure I could manage - there’s a row of buttons here - ”

Dick turns his head, the better to study his new husband. “You want to?”

“To undress you? Dick,” Bruce says softly. “You have no idea how much.”

“Very well, then,” Dick consents, rising from the chair and turning to give Bruce access to the back of the dress.

Dick watches in the mirror as Bruce undoes the buttons, one by one. The shoulders and sleeves keep the bodice up, at least as long as Dick stands still, and from the front, in the mirror’s reflection, there’s nothing to say that anything is changing. But as Bruce’s hands dip lower, Dick feels the air of the room moving against his newly-bared skin, and though it’s warm, he shivers with anticipation.

Once the buttons are undone, Bruce steps back, and Dick shrugs his arms through the sleeves. Then at Dick’s direction Bruce slips his hands under the collar and lifts the entire dress off of Dick. Then Bruce stands still, holding the heavy, embroidered garment, looking at Dick as if he’s never seen him before.

“I’m still wearing undergarments,” Dick reminds Bruce’s, laughing gently at the poleaxed look on his husband’s face. “Though I suppose you can see my ankles now.”

Bruce shakes his head slowly, still looking dazed. “I can’t describe what I’m feeling now.”

“Here, give me the gown.” Dick takes it and turns towards the door, his petticoats swishing as he does. Bruce swallows so loudly that Dick can hear it.

There’s a bell-pull by the door from the bedroom to the sitting room, but before Dick can even reach it there’s a demure knock on the door to the corridor. Dick crosses the sitting-room, dress still in hand, and opens it a crack, mindful of his state of dishabille. Betsy is on the other side. She takes in the situation with a single glance and says, “Shall I take that for you, ma’am?” Her words and tone are quite proper, but there’s mischief in her eyes.

“Yes, thank you,” Dick says with dignity. Reassured that there’s no one in the hall to observe him, Dick opens the door a little wider and passes the garment through. “As for the rest, I… er… will handle it myself. Tonight.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Betsy says wickedly. “And shall I tell Alfred he won’t be needed, either?”

“If you please.”

Betsy sweeps the gown around to drape over her shoulder and hang dangling. She manages a brief bob without letting the dress touch the floor, a feat Dick could never have matched. “Alfred and I are next door, ma’am, if you need us when you go to retire. I’m on the left and Alfred on the right. Bid you good night, ma’am.”

“Good night, Betsy.”

Dick closes the door again, then, thoughtfully, locks it for good measure. He turns around to see Bruce lounging in the doorway to the bedroom. When Dick reaches him, Bruce takes him around the waist. “I can do the rest,” Bruce says, and tosses Dick onto the bed.

Dick almost yelps with the suddenness of it, but then his back hits the mattress and he needs his breath for other things, both from the landing and from the sudden, breath-stealing sight of Bruce practically stalking his way over to the bed, tugging at the collar of his dress uniform as he goes. It’s not the first time Dick rues how much easier Alphaic clothing is to manage, and it probably won’t be the last, but there’s a new, strange thrill to the knowledge, born of the eroticism of watching Bruce effectively strip in quick, efficient movements, going from fully dressed to nude in the space of four swift steps. Unlike Dick’s gown, which he had treated so carefully, Bruce sheds his clothing as he goes. His jacket and tie make a heap by the vanity, medals clanking against each other as they fall. Bruce’s shirt, with its buttons flashing, joins his belt in a pile of their own. Next come his pants and most of his underclothes. Bruce toes off his shoes and socks in two swift motions on the last steps, and when he leans over to put his hands on either side of where Dick is splayed out on the bed, Bruce is as naked as a jaybird, and Dick loses his breath all over again just looking at him.

It’s far from the first time Dick has seen a naked Alpha - though the nuns of St. Mary’s would twitter at the thought - but Dick had grown up in a traveling circus, and bodily modesty had been a decidedly limited commodity, even among the adults and especially among the children. Dick had swum naked with all the circus children of both sexes whenever they had come across a pond or a river. He’d changed clothes between acts in the crowded spaces behind the big top and skinned out of a dirty outfit after cleaning the stables with as much thought as he’d use when taking off his shoes before climbing into bed. But that had been as a child, and surrounded by other childrens’ bodies. They had looked at each other, of course - curiosity not being limited to adults - but they’d been too young to take a mature interest in each others’ bodies, so after a little anatomical investigation, the physical differences between the sexes had been rendered as uninteresting as a cow’s udder or a bull’s testicles. And while Dick had occasionally recalled those memories and wondered how it would translate to an adult, nothing could have prepared him for what he sees before him.

Bruce is huge. Intellectually Dick knows that Bruce isn’t actually any larger, physically, than he’d been a moment ago. But somehow, rather that removing his clothes making him seem smaller, it has had the opposite effect. As if all the trim lines and expert tailoring of Bruce’s dress uniform has actually been serving to contain rather than enhance the massive physique now exposed before Dick. Bruce’s shoulders are broad and his torso thickly muscled. His legs look powerful, and even his arms, which Dick has seen exposed to the elbow before, suddenly seem stronger than Dick had ever realized them to be. Bruce looks like he could split an anvil with his bare hands and uproot a tree trunk with a bend of his knees. Bruce’s hair is not black only on top of his head; his chest is lightly furred, and the trail leads downwards to a veritable forest of short, curly hairs where his legs meet his torso, all black as coal. His testicles nestle there, looking obscenely large, making Dick wonder what it would be like to always have them hanging there like balloons waiting to pop. But they can’t hold his attention long. Because, even larger, jutting out from that forest…

Dick swallows hard.

“Darling,” Bruce says, tender and low. “Darling, it won’t hurt. I promise.”

“I believe you,” Dick says hoarsely. It’s even true on a purely intellectual level. He’s seen newborn babies, and impressive as Bruce’s manhood is, it doesn’t come close to the size of an infant’s skull. Clearly, it will all fit inside Dick, and given that Omegas routinely have multiple children, it logically follows that they can also stand having repeated intercourse. But as Dick eyes the length and girth of what he has to grapple with, he can’t help but feel intimidated. It probably isn’t actually as long as his forearm, Dick tells himself. That’s just the angle. And it’s definitely not really as thick around as his wrist. It only looks that way due to the lighting. Dick tells himself this firmly and feels a little better, even though he knows it’s a pack of lies.

Bruce leans forward further, and Dick inches back, thinking that Bruce wants to get onto the bed and making space for him to do so. Bruce takes the invitation and does indeed climb on, but then he continues pursuing Dick until Dick’s head bumps the headboard and Bruce leans down in triumph to capture Dick’s lips. 

They’ve kissed before, since their engagement. Passionate kisses, soft kisses, quick kisses and long, lingering kisses. But they’ve never kissed like this - in a bed, Dick lying below Bruce, he naked and Dick in only his undergarments, with the knowledge that soon Dick will be wearing nothing at all and that soon after that they will be joined together in the most intimate of ways.

“I promise,” Bruce murmurs caressingly, even as his hands seek out the ties of Dick’s chemise and begin to undo them. “I’ll take care of you.”

Dick shivers again. A wanting, a longing, is rising up deep inside him. He knows that what he desires is here in this bed with him, but the exact nature of it escapes him. He only knows that he wants. He needs. Bruce’s hands feel hot on his skin as Bruce slips them beneath the hem of Dick’s petticoats and draws them down from his waist. Instinctively Dick lifts his hips to assist. Bruce takes Dick’s hands and helps lift his torso briefly from the bed to remove his chemise, and then Dick, too, is naked, and he blushes to be looked at. 

“Beautiful,” Bruce says quietly. He’s gazing at Dick as if Dick is a painting or a sculpture, some masterpiece of art to be hung in a museum and admired by all. As if Bruce had had the same thought, he repeats, “Beautiful,” then adds, in a voice that has suddenly dropped an octave, “and mine. ”

“Bruce,” Dick whispers. He wants to throw his arm over his face and hide from that appreciative gaze. He wants to slide his hands down his chest as he’d seen the belly dancers in the circus do and entice his husband to draw closer. He trembles, caught between the two desires. “You - do you - ”

“Like what I see?” Bruce finishes the sentence when it becomes clear Dick isn’t going to. “Want you? Oh, yes. Very much.”

“What do I do?” Dick asks, lost. “I don’t know anything.”

“Tonight, nothing,” Bruce says. “I will do everything. Later I will teach you whatever you wish to learn - but this time, please. Let me.”

Relief is sweet. “I will.” He lies back trustingly, waiting for whatever will happen next.

Bruce kisses him again. His kisses leave Dick’s lips too soon, but Dick has no voice to complain when they trail downward. Bruce spends some time exploring the small hollows of throat and collarbone before going still lower. Chest - still flat, but when Bruce stops to kiss one pebbled nipple, Dick has a sudden vision of a future where he nurses an infant of his own. Then down further, with a reverent kiss on Dick’s belly, and then - 

“What are you - ” Dick swallows the rest of his question when the answer becomes perfectly clear and simultaneously steals his voice right from his throat. With one thumb placed on the nub of Dick’s vestigial penis, so different from Bruce’s fully formed organ, Bruce has put his mouth right on Dick’s opening. With gentle licks he teases Dick’s inner lips apart until suddenly, shockingly, Bruce’s tongue goes right inside and makes Dick scream.

Bruce’s chuckle is felt more than heard, and then his tongue returns, slipping again inside Dick to the accompaniment of pressure from his thumb against Dick’s pleasure center. Every sense Dick has overloads simultaneously. Good, they all shriek simultaneously, even sight and sound joining the chorus. Good, good, good…

The pleasure rises and falls like the measures of a concerto, all building towards some inevitable crescendo. “Bruce,” Dick gasps, unsure and desperate. “Am I - should I - is it - ”

“Yes,” Bruce pulls away long enough to say, before he dives back in with renewed ferocity and everything abruptly goes white and shining behind Dick’s eyes.

There’s a little slice of eternity there within Dick for a moment. It must only last a brief time, but it also, paradoxically, lasts a very long while. When Dick’s sight clears and he sees Bruce again, he’s almost surprised to find that he’s still lying in a bed in a hotel room in Gotham. For just an instant, Dick had been certain that he’d been flying, having leapt from the high platform and now somersaulting lazily through the air, with all the time in the world before he has to reach out to grab the trapeze.

Should you find the act… not unpleasant… the Reverend Mother had said. Dick has to smother a snort. What an understatement. If this were all that wifely duties consisted of, no one would ever have cause to repent of being married.

But there’s more. Dick can’t find the prospect nearly as terrifying as he might have before, though. If it will feel for Bruce as good as it had felt just now for Dick, Dick finds himself suddenly more than ready to meet his husband’s needs.

“Dick,” Bruce says hoarsely. He’s kneeling between Dick’s spread legs, and his hand is working himself eagerly. His manhood seems to swell even larger as Dick watches. “Now, while you’re relaxed - may I - ”

May he? Even floating on a haze of pleasure as he is, Dick feels a thoroughly mundane wave of foolish, helpless love. Any other husband would have rutted in already, insisting upon their rights. Not Bruce. Bruce will watch Dick like a starving child watches someone eat, and still ask before he takes.

“Yes, now,” Dick says. He fumbles, reaching down to try to take Bruce’s hand, to draw him in. Bruce is too far away for Dick to reach, so Dick just holds his hand out, pleading. It’s his left hand, and his wedding ring glitters in the lamp-light. “Please, Bruce.” He wishes he knew what to say. Surely there must be words to say to make Bruce understand that it’s all right, that Dick wants Bruce to feel as good as Dick feels now.

Please must be good enough. Bruce groans, and he reaches back for Dick, tugging and pushing until Dick’s knees are bent and splayed and his hips canted upwards. Bruce’s hand fumbles briefly at Dick’s entrance, seemingly to confirm that Dick is still open and wet for him. Then his fingers disappear and are replaced by the feeling of something large and thick pressing inwards.

Dick sucks in a deep breath, then closes his lips firmly on a scream. Bruce is huge. Part of Dick’s mind gibbers in panic: no, no, too big, too big, he’ll hurt me…

He won’t, Dick tells himself desperately, and rather than repeat his earlier lies about size and babies’ heads he reminds himself, Bruce promised. He promised he wouldn’t hurt me.

The world seems to hold its breath as Bruce rocks himself by inches deeper and deeper inside Dick. What had started as a stretch soon becomes a burn, as of a muscle overworked and beginning to complain. Dick bites his lip and closes his eyes. It doesn’t hurt, he reassures himself. Just pressure, a little cramping, maybe, but that’s not the same as pain. You aren’t in pain. Pain is breaking a bone falling from horseback, burning a wrist against a hot cooking pot, cutting a finger open on a kitchen knife. This isn’t pain. This is something other than pain, something beyond pain, something to do with weight and stretch and Dick’s body opening itself up to accommodate something he’s never taken before. This is about the breathy, eager sounds Bruce is making as he brings them closer and closer together. About the pounding of Dick’s heart, and the answering pounding of Dick’s pulse in his shoulder, where a simultaneous rush of heat indicates that Dick’s mating gland is swelling in preparation for mating. And it’s about the way Bruce suddenly exhales in a long sigh, bottoming out, and Dick actually does shriek this time as an unexpected spike of sheer pleasure rockets through him from deep, deep inside.

“Dick - ” Bruce gasps, and Dick’s eyes fly open at the jagged edge of fear in Bruce’s voice. “Are you - did I - ”

“Good,” Dick answers, all he can manage as Bruce rocks in again, seemingly unable to stop, and that sense-stealing pleasure begins to creep over him again. “Please, good, it’s good - ”

It’s as if something within Bruce snaps. Any self-control Bruce has had before this point goes completely out the window. He grunts, beyond the ability to communicate in words, and ruts into Dick like someone possessed. And it should hurt, it should burn, it should make Dick scream in pain or fullness or the gut-twisting clench of churning insides - but all Dick feels is pleasure, and all Dick can do is hold on, tight, to Bruce’s shoulders, and moan and moan and moan, until with a roar of triumph Bruce shoves forward one further time, an even greater fullness binding them as his knot swells. Driven entirely by instinct Dick rears up. Bruce bends down. Bruce’s teeth close over Dick’s shoulder, biting deep into his swollen, angry mating gland, and they are together, they are one, they are bound together for now and all time.

Chapter Text

“I can’t believe the catalpa are blooming already,” Dick says, looking out the window as Alfred drives them home again from the train station. “When we left on our honeymoon they were all still buds.”

“A month makes a difference,” Bruce says. His smile hints at both his meanings. Dick blushes a little, but doesn’t look away. Their hands are clasped together across the seat between them. He’s wearing a stylish walking suit in robins’-egg blue, and it no longer feels awkward or unfamiliar, any more than the dozen other sets of clothes packed away in his suitcases do. The discreet sapphires in Dick’s ears and on a pendant around his neck feel like natural things to be wearing. His wedding-ring flashes in the sunlight. It, too, feels like part of him, and when Bruce had asked if Dick still wanted to pick something else out for everyday, it had been an easy matter to decline.

Nor have the changes all been only skin deep. The mark on Dick’s neck, healed already to the light brown of an old scar, has done for Dick what it has done for Omegas since time immemorial. The changes had begun almost right away, starting with a low fever the day after they’d arrived in Metropolis. In the midst of his annoyance at having to stay in the hotel room and rest, it had occurred to Dick that perhaps one reason the upper class choose European journeys for their honeymoons is that the ocean voyage gives the lady time to rest. Bruce had insisted he didn’t mind staying in Metropolis as long as it would take for Dick to feel better. Fortunately, Dick’s fever cleared up on the third day, and they were able to venture out and see the sights. Fine dinners and spectacular shows had enriched every evening, and then at nights they had had each other. 

After a fortnight in Metropolis, they’d gone up to Niagara Falls, where aches and pains had set in just as Dick had wanted to hike around the beautiful wildlife. They’d ridden the electric streetcars instead. The experience of handing over nickels and dimes for every trip had shocked Dick at first, but by the end of their week there it had become almost routine. The streetcar had taken them to Devil’s Hole, Great Gorge, and of course, to the top of the falls themselves. Dick had stared down into the foaming, churning cascade in awe. 

“They say a woman went over the falls in the barrel, back before the war,” Bruce had remarked, looking down as well. “I can’t imagine.”

“Oh, I can,” Dick had breathed. “What excitement.”

Bruce’s sideways glance had been rueful. “Please, restrain yourself. For my sake if nothing else.”

“Very well,” Dick had said. He’d winced and puts his hand over his stomach as another cramp kicks in. “I suppose I should think of the children as well.” Both the ones he already has and - as he had just been actively reminded - the ones his body had been making ready to one day have.

A few more days had finished their sojourn in Niagara Falls, and they had wound up their honeymoon with a tour of the lakes before finally boarding a train back to Gotham. From where they’d finished up at Lake Superior they had been able to catch an express directly, as it’s a common summer destination for Gothamites. Sitting in a private compartment they’d enjoyed a last bit of solitude before arriving. Alfred had been waiting outside of the station to welcome them both warmly and oversee the redcaps unloading their trunks from the baggage tender. 

Now, speeding over the smooth Gotham roads and heading out into the countryside to the summer home, Dick feels the anticipation of approaching home. “I know they’re all doing well,” he says to Bruce, “but I still want to see them with my own eyes.”

Bruce nods agreement. “Letters and phone calls aren’t the same.”

“Though there were certainly plenty of those.” Every evening at least one of the children had called, and each time they’d arrived at a new destination they’d been greeted with a stack of envelopes dispatched from their brood. The letters had ranged from long and elegant (Tim) through short and terse (Steph, Babs) and encompassed everything in between, including Kate’s very first ever missive, with half the letters written backwards and nearly every word spelt wrong. Dick had put it into his jewel-case straightaway, next to his diamonds and equally precious, to keep forever as a memento of this time in his life.

“And telegrams too,” Bruce teases. “When are you going to tell me exactly how much I’m spending on Tim’s debut?”

“No more than he deserves,” Dick says primly. “You know how important this is.” Dick had made sure Bruce knows, by telling him, at great length, when Bruce had protested the necessity of continuing to plan the event during their honeymoon. Bruce’s attempt to gain more of his bride’s undivided attention had thoroughly backfired, as he’d not only failed to gain his point, but also had had to listen through several lectures on the importance of Tim’s debut, the rift Bruce’s own neglect of the event had nearly caused between he and his oldest daughter, and the many things Bruce is going to do to make up for it. Looking back, perhaps Dick had gone on a bit much. But every time he’d tried to stop, he’d remembered Tim saying that’s two weeks more than you’ve ever been here for us, and then another half an hour would suddenly have gone by.

Bruce raises his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Believe me, I am quite thoroughly aware of its importance.” A smile takes any possible sting out of the words. “I’m just glad that it will be a decade before we have to do this a second time.”

“As long as you don’t adopt any more children,” Dick teases in return.

That makes Bruce’s grin turn sly. Bruce leans over and kisses Dick, careless of Alfred in the front seat, leaving Dick flushed and grinning irrepressibly. “I’m thinking of other avenues for growing my family,” he murmurs. 

Instinctively Dick puts a hand over his belly. “It could be a few months before we can start trying,” he says, as much to rein in his own eagerness as to temper Bruce’s. “We don’t know exactly when my heats will start.”

“Soon, I hope,” Bruce says even more quietly. Despite this, Alfred is beset with a sudden coughing fit from the front seat. Dick gives Bruce a look that is meant to be stern but ends up being more fond than anything else. This is certainly not a topic for polite conversation. But Bruce looks unrepentant. “I’ve been dreaming about what you’ll be like in heat. I’ve wondered - ”

“We are nearly there, Master Bruce,” Alfred says loudly over his shoulder. “I believe we have just now passed the five-mile marker. It will not be much longer at all. Did you have a pleasant journey?”

Bruce falls back in his seat, laughing. “Yes, we did, thank you,” he says, admitting defeat, though a look in his eye says that it’s only for now. “What’s the latest on the Manor?”

Repairs and renovations take up the remainder of the drive back to the summer-house. Everything seems to be progressing on schedule, with a move-home date planned for the middle of August. Tim’s debut will be held a bare few weeks later, right before the academic year begins. It will be the first event held in the refinished Manor. A statement to Gotham society about the Wayne family’s strength and resilience.

Someone must have been watching the road from one of the attic windows, because the car hasn’t even stopped in the carriage-loop before the front door opens and half a dozen children tumble out. This inevitably results in a logjam down the veranda stairs as elbows are deployed and shoves are dealt to move dilatory siblings out of the way. Improbably, Cass pops out of the jumble first, and runs shrieking towards the car with her braids flying out behind her. “Mama!” she shrieks. “Papa!”

She reaches them and doesn’t even slow down, leaping straight into Bruce’s arms. He catches her, laughing, and pretends to reel back against the car with the force of her jump. Damian makes it out next and embraces Dick, and then there’s a general hugging and cheek-kissing and patting of backs. Barely has the din begun to quiet when the door opens again and Tim appears. In contrast to his siblings, he descends the porch stairs with calm serenity. His approach shows the results of intensive posture training: one hand lightly resting on the balustrade, back straight, chin tilted just so. He’s wearing a lovely afternoon dress that wouldn’t be out of place on any Gotham matron hosting an intimate tea. His ornaments are few and tasteful, befitting a maiden, but he wears them well, and in his air altogether is an indefinable elegance that whispers that they’re in the presence of a lady.

Then Tim gets to the bottom of the stairs, and he grins and flings himself into Dick’s arms. “Did you see?” he asks breathlessly. “Did I move well? Selina says I’m making splendid progress and my entrance at my debut is sure to be a success - ”

“You were splendid, absolutely splendid,” Dick enthuses, hugging him warmly. “You’ll be the belle of the social season. I can’t wait to see them all turn green with envy when you appear.”

“Do you think so?” Tim fairly glows with the praise.

“I do. And your father thinks so too, don’t you, Bruce?”

“Absolutely,” Bruce affirms. He’s got Cass up on his shoulders, Kate under one arm, and Babs under the other. All three are giggling madly and trying without much success to wriggle away. “You’ve grown so much.” He pulls an exaggerated face. “Makes me feel old.”

Dick looks around counting heads. Terry will be with Maria, probably having his afternoon nap, but… “Where’s Jason?”

“In town,” Steph says jealously. “Alfred wouldn’t let us both go, and Jason won ‘cause he’s older.”

“Why did you want to go into town?” Bruce asks curiously. Dick hears the undertone of worry in his voice and slips a hand around his waist. He’s still sensitive to signs that his children are slipping back to their old lives. Dick now knows that Bruce’s worry comes as much from fear that the children are unhappy living with him and the dread of losing them as from snobbishness and a desire to make them all cookie-cutter gentleman and ladies. Still, Bruce hasn’t learned to express these feelings in any other way, and Dick has taken it upon himself to make sure his Captain doesn’t inadvertently hurt the very children he loves so much.

“There’s a new model ship I wanted to buy,” Steph says, and Bruce relaxes immediately. She turns to Dick. “It’s the Akron -class I told you about! The helium-powered one! It’s a military airship,” she explains importantly. “That’s why it gets to use helium. Only the US military has access to helium. The Germans don’t. That’s why their airships use hydrogen instead.”

Beneath Dick’s hand, Bruce’s back stiffens. Dick immediately looks to him, worried, but Bruce doesn’t look ill or angry. He looks triumphant. He sees Dick looking and shakes his head minutely. “That sounds splendid,” Bruce says to Steph. “If you’d like to go into town now to buy your model, Alfred will take you. You can purchase it and then meet up with Jason.”

“Oh, yes! Yes, Father, thank you! I would like to!” Steph bounces on her feet, grinning.

“Go put on something suitable,” Bruce says. Steph, like most of the other children - Tim being a notable exception - is looking rather down-at-the-heel, wearing ratty old clothing eminently suitable for swimming and horseback riding and badminton and the dozen other active pursuits of the summer house, but not particularly for shopping in the fashionable part of town. “Alfred needs a little time to get our luggage out anyway.”

“And to refill the gas tank,” Alfred adds from the trunk, where he’s directing the stream of suitcases into the house. “I shall be perhaps twenty minutes, Master Stephanie, so there’s no rush.”

“Okay!” Despite this, Steph tears back into the house at a dead run.

“The rest of you children should go on inside as well,” Bruce says. “It was lovely to have you all welcome us home, but now your mother and I need some time to get settled.” He pulls out his watch and consults the time. “We shall see you for dinner, all right?”

“Yes, Father,” the children chorus. A few final hugs are distributed, Cass is swung down from Bruce’s shoulders, and they all scatter, returning to whatever pursuits Dick and Bruce’s arrival had interrupted. Dick doesn’t miss the significant look Bruce exchanges with Alfred before he strides purposefully into the house, Dick hurrying behind him.

“What was that?” Dick asks. “Why did you get so excited when Steph was talking about her airship?”

“Helium,” Bruce says. He has an office at the summer house, just as he does at Wayne Manor, and he goes straight into it, behind his desk, and picks up the phone. “Close the door, please?” he asks Dick.

Dick complies, but he keeps himself on the inside of the door, moving over to the desk as Bruce dials. “What about helium?”

“Its chemical symbol - yes. It’s Wayne. I’ve got it. Yes. Helium.” There’s a pause as Bruce listens. “I think through the docks,” he says. “The alcohol smugglers. It’s in bottles - exactly.” Another pause. “No, I don’t. He’s what?” This is said sharply. “When? All right.” Dick holds his breath. “Yes. Keep me posted. Good-bye.” Bruce hangs up the phone and exhales, pinching the bridge of his nose. To Dick he says, “The Red Joker is back in Gotham.”

Dick clutches at the back of the nearest chair. Bruce hurries around the desk and takes Dick by the hand, helping him sit down. Then he goes to a side-board, pulls out a decanter, and pours a finger of something amber into a glass. “Drink this if you think you’re about to faint,” he orders, putting the glass into Dick’s hands.

The fumes are enough to tell Dick it’s liquor. “I thought you never drank,” he says numbly.

“Not for pleasure,” Bruce replies, sitting against the edge of his desk where he can remain within arms’ reach. “But I keep spirits for medicinal purposes. They make excellent disinfectant, and can help with shock or lightheadedness.”

Dick stares into the glass. “I don’t think I’m going to faint,” he says, and sets it aside on the small table conveniently located at his elbow. “I was just surprised. And worried. The Red Joker came after us once.” The memory of that night, of Cass limp in his arms, Kate with her eyes closed on Bruce’s back as Bruce climbs out the window of Dick’s old rooms, is seared into his mind. “What will he try next?”

“Smuggling,” Bruce says. His grin isn’t expressing ordinary pleasure; there’s something vicious to it, something vindictive. “Smuggling helium. I’ve got it at last. The message Harley gave you. That’s what it means. Helium.”

“Oh,” Dick says, sitting up straighter. “So she was interrupted in writing it after all? Only had time for the first few letters?”

“I’m sure time was short,” Bruce says, “and then, too, Harley has an interest in making sure the wrong people won’t understand it if it falls into their hands - but no, that’s not why. ‘He’ is the chemical abbreviation for helium.”

“They have abbreviations?” Dick blinks.

“They do. Every chemical has one. They’re almost all two letters, and they’re all unique. I ought to have realized it at once.” Bruce shakes his head in self-recrimination. “Chemicals are a big part of our business at Wayne Industries. We manufacture them as well as using them at nearly every stage of our factory processes. I feel a dunce. My only comfort is that I wasn’t the only one baffled. None of the others figured it out either.”

“I don’t understand,” Dick says. “Helium is a gas, isn’t it? How do you smuggle a gas?” He pictures an airship. “In a balloon?”

“No,” Bruce says. “In bottles. And the liquor traffickers at Dixon Docks are the perfect patsies. They probably don’t even realize what the Red Joker has hired them to move. They smuggle bottles between ports all the time, and the Red Joker will have given them bottles. The weight will be unusual, but with the way everyone is home brewing, they must figure it’s just a new kind of moonshine. And I doubt not the Red Joker is paying them enough to silence any curiosity they might have.”

“Harley figured it out,” Dick says. “She figured it out months ago. Might they not have shipped it all out by now?”

“Helium is incredibly rare. Only the United States possesses enough of it for practical use in military applications.” Bruce is practically rubbing his hands together with glee. “It’s tightly tracked, and we’ve heard nothing about it going missing. Whatever the Red Joker’s source, they can’t be abstracting large amounts away from the supply at any given time, or it would be noticed. It’s going to be a slow, steady operation that they’ll have to maintain for months if not years to get a meaningful volume of the gas. The Akron -class ships Steph is so excited about require 6.5 million cubic feet of helium apiece.”

Dick whistles. “Okay, yeah, I doubt they’ve gotten enough for an airship yet, if they need that much. Not if they’ve got to get it on the sly and then ship it out from Gotham in liquor bottles,” he agrees. “Which means it’s not too late. Even though it did take you a while to figure out Harley’s message. We can still stop him.”

Bruce frowns. “Dick…” he says.

“What?”

“You said ‘we’.”

“Well, of course I said we!” Dick says indignantly. “This madman threatened my family and my children, burned down my house, and wants to plunge the world into another global conflict! Did you really think I was going to sit at home doing embroidery while he was at large?”

“I think you’ve misunderstood,” Bruce says. “This isn’t like the pulp novels. I’m not going to dress up as the Shadow and go try to bust the smugglers single-handed. I’ve passed on the knowledge. Now it’s in others’ hands.”

“The police?” Dick says dubiously. “Can they really handle him?”

“Probably not,” Bruce says calmly. “They won’t be alerted. It will be the Pinkertons, most likely. Along with some military associates who will be pretending to be Pinkertons.”

“What are they going to do?” Dick wants to know.

Bruce shrugs. “I don’t know. And I won’t. Unless something goes wrong, the next thing that will happen is I’ll pick up the paper some morning over breakfast and learn about a ruckus down at the docks. The details won’t be true, either.”

“So that’s it?” Dick slumps back in his chair. “We don’t get to finish what we started?”

“We didn’t start this, Dick,” Bruce says gently. “And no, we don’t finish it, either. We were - I was - a link in the chain, that’s all. It’s safer that way. And more effective, too.” He straightens from his lean against the desk, leaning forward to emphasize his words. “We don’t want another incident like what happened to Kate’s father.”

Dick sighs. “I hate it when you’re right,” he says.

Bruce’s smile is gentle, too. “It’s not always easy,” he admits. “But it’s better than war, Dick. Take it from me.”

“Gladly.” Dick shudders. “Bruce, if there’s war despite all of this - ”

“I can’t stop Jason from going, Dick.” Bruce’s expression shifts indefinably, then settles into a mask of resignation. “I went, after all.”

“If there were ever a time to be a hypocrite, that would be it.”

“It would,” Bruce agrees. “But Jason would never forgive either of us.”

“He’d be alive.” Dick hates himself for saying it, but it’s true.

Bruce comes forward and puts one large hand over where Dick is twisting his own together. “There’s being alive and then there’s living, Dick. I’ve seen both. I know which one I want for my sons.”

Dick looks down at where their hands are joined together. Then he closes his eyes. He doesn’t have anything to say to that.

Dinner is noisy and cheerful in a way it hasn’t been for the last month, and despite the noise and having very much enjoyed having a romantic meal every evening, Dick looks around at the happy, chattering faces of his children and feels contentment stealing over him in spite of himself. The specter of war still looms, but he reminds himself that it’s gotten a little farther away, today. Perhaps none of his worry will ever be necessary. And in the here and now, his family is alive, happy, together. For today, that’s enough.

Cook has outdone herself to welcome Bruce and Dick home, and the courses served rival the Metropolis restaurants’ for quality while retaining a simplicity and homeliness that the restaurants had never aspired to. Everything tastes delicious. Half of that’s the food, and half of that’s the joy of eating it with his entire family around him. Dick beams over the table and feels as if nothing can possibly be wrong in the entire world.

The pleasant feeling lasts for several days. Dick and Bruce settle back into their lives like a stone sinking into a pond, ripples quickly submerged into a placid, even tenor of life. Dick spends time with the children, with the senior servants, with his husband. Bruce retakes the reins of Wayne Industries, oversees the rebuilding of Wayne Manor, and begins to make some efforts in the social sphere, paying calls with Dick and even co-hosting an informal luncheon. The planning for Tim’s debut is in high gear, but everything is coming together splendidly. The days slip by like beads on a rosary. On Saturdays they all go bicycle-riding, even Terry, riding in a small wagon tied behind Bruce’s wheel. On Sundays they take two cars to church and send the children home in one while Dick and Bruce go motoring around the Gotham countryside with a picnic lunch. Summer’s heat grows, and Dick puts his new bathing-costume to good use swimming and wading in Lake Gotham. Tim’s birthday is celebrated on the 19th of July with a small handful of family and friends. The big event will be his debut in the fall, but they mark the day with cake and sparklers on the beach. 

The first sense Dick has that something is amiss comes at dinner one evening, as the meat course is being cleared away, and it’s nothing Dick can put his finger on. It’s not the way Kate and Cass are teasing Damian - that’s just sibling fun. And it’s not because Babs is sulking; that is because Bruce has said she isn’t yet skilled enough to join the older children on a planned excursion in the small sailboat Bruce keeps on the lake. Dick wholeheartedly agrees with that. No, what has Dick worried is Jason. And he isn’t exactly sure why. By most measures, Jason seems totally ordinary. He’s willingly making plans with Tim, Steph, and Damian for their sailing adventure tomorrow. He’s letting Terry filch his silverware to play with uncomplainingly. He’s even teasing Babs gently about the way Babs blushes every time Cass loudly asks if she’s getting a baby sister yet. Despite all of this, despite not being able to say exactly why, Dick is certain that something is weighing on Jason’s mind. 

He doesn’t ask about it. Not yet, and certainly not in front of the others. Jason’s confidences are not to be forced. If he wants to talk to Dick about them, he will.

Dinner ends with a clearing of dessert plates and the usual general disorder of eight children and three adults trying to exit a room all at once. The days have gotten longer, and the school year has long since ended. The family are running on summer hours, which means later bedtimes, even for the younger children. Only Terry is still whisked away to begin being settled for the night. Kate and Cass are permitted an extra hour to laze on the veranda or try to catch the first fireflies in the slowly gathering dusk. Babs is openly rebelling against her final summer of being grouped among the younger children. Having lost the argument over going sailing, she’s now tackling her father on the topic of bedtimes, and trying very hard to enlist Dick as an ally. “I’m going to school in the fall,” she argues passionately. They’re sitting on the veranda steps, watching the sky over Lake Gotham turn brilliant pinks and oranges, and she’s earnestly engaged in making her case.  “You said yourself this is a summer of transition for me. Well, let me transit! If I have to get measured for uniforms and buy new schoolbooks and get my hair cut, why can’t I stay up, too? Why is it all the boring stuff and none of the fun?”

Dick can tell at a glance that Bruce is already more than half convinced, and is only drawing the debate out in order to give Babs an exercise in persuasion. Still, Dick joins in on Babs’ side in response to her mute pleas. “It’s best to transition gradually instead of all at once. Babs has many changes awaiting her this fall; why not bring some of them forward, if we can?”

At last, after several more minutes of talk along these lines, Bruce holds up his hands in defeat. “All right, all right!” he says, chuckling. “You’ve convinced me. You may stay up as late as Damian from now on.” Babs squeals and jumps into Bruce’s arms, proving that she’s not quite so grown up yet, and Bruce’s chuckles turn into all out laughter as Dick joins the sandwich and they all three tumble off the lowest stair onto the grass. Kate and Cass see the fun and run to join in, landing atop the trio with twin oofs, and the whole pile ends up rolling around, laughing fit to burst their sides, forgetting any semblance of dignity. Bruce sits up with an enormous grin and grass stains on his white linen shirt that will take an hour of scrubbing to come out, and Dick tries to feel guilty on behalf of the laundresses, but he finally has to give up the attempt and just enjoy the contentment of the moment. The laundresses will just have to be paid a little extra. 

After Kate and Cass have been put to bed, and Babs and Damian have been sent up to their rooms as well - Babs grinning and Damian grumbling, which just further goes to show that contentment is in the eye of the beholder - Dick and Bruce sit on the veranda together, in chairs this time, sipping iced tea and talking occasionally of nothing at all. The children not in bed are off on their own independent pursuits. The sun is gone beneath the horizon, but the sky is still brilliant where it had been. 

Alfred comes out as the last strands of color are beginning to fade from the western sky. “Master Bruce, there’s a telephone call for you,” he says. “One of your wartime associates, I believe.”

Bruce sighs. “Duty calls, my dear,” he says to Dick, setting his coffee cup aside and rising from his chair. He stretches, and Dick watches the play of muscles beneath skin with unconcealed delight. “Shall I see you inside when I’m done?” Bruce leans down to kiss Dick, leaving no doubt as to his meaning.

“I’ll stay outside until the childrens’ bedtimes,” Dick says, meaning the older children, “and then yes, I will join you.” He smiles back, secret and small. The Reverend Mother’s words - when there is a deep affection between the parties, it is not unpleasant… some ladies may even enjoy it - are still with him, have proven their truth time and again. Dick’s marital duties have not been a burden to him at all. Quite the opposite.

“It’s a promise.” Bruce goes inside, whistling cheerfully.

Dick drinks the last of his iced tea, watching the stars come out and saying good night to Steph and Tim as they return from whatever solitary ramblings they’d enjoyed in the dusk. Jason alone remains out and about. Dick frowns up at the sky when the crescent moon appears. It’s getting late, and while Jason can certainly take care of himself, Dick can’t help but remember the feeling he’d had at dinner, that something is bothering his oldest. 

As if summoned by the thought, Jason appears at last from the side of the house. His trousers are rolled up to the knee and he’s holding shoes and socks in one hand, indicating even before the tang of salt reaches Dick’s nose that Jason has been wading in the twilight surf. “Mother Grayson,” Jason says, startled. “I didn’t realize you were still out. You weren’t waiting for me, were you?”

“Only a little,” Dick says. “I was enjoying the evening, too. Your father had to go take a phone call.”

“Ugh. Business.” Jason patters up the stairs, but doesn’t immediately go inside, instead lingering on the veranda like a houseguest uncertain of his welcome. “He wants me to go into it, you know. Business. Wayne Industries needs an heir, and I guess, since I’m the oldest…”

“You needn’t be that heir, if you don’t wish it,” Dick says carefully. “You have plenty of brothers. If Steph doesn’t want it, Damian will, I think. The business won’t go to ruin.”

Jason rubs a hand through his hair, then sits down with a sudden whoof of displaced air. He sits right on the boards, leaning against the wall and stretching his long legs out in front of him, disdaining any of the chairs, and shrugs. “Dunno if Father feels that way about it. I’m the oldest.”

“The oldest in age, but not the oldest in family membership,” Dick points out. “Damian has seniority over you there.”

That makes Jason laugh, though it’s a brief, short bark rather than an outpouring of true mirth. “And don’t I know it.”

This seems like an opening, but Dick doesn’t take it. He senses that it’s a distraction. This isn’t what Jason is truly upset about. Oh, this is probably weighing somewhat on Jason’s mind, and the issue is one that will have to be tackled sooner rather than later, but it isn’t the reason the corners of Jason’s mouth keep tugging down into a frown. Dick waits, letting the silence stretch and the breeze blowing off Lake Gotham begin to cool in the settling dark.

When Jason does finally speak, it’s in a rush, and in the middle of a thought, as if he’s been talking to Dick this whole time, silently, and is now simply beginning to give voice to a dialogue they’ve been carrying on regardless. “You love father, though,” Jason says. “I know that you do. I can see it. Not the way you love us kids. A different way.”

“Yes,” Dick acknowledges simply. “I do.”

“What’s it like?”

Dick takes a moment to gather his thoughts. The first crickets begin to chirp from beneath the veranda. “Like having the sun shine on you, when all your life you’d only ever see the moon,” he says at last. “It’s not that I’ve never loved before, but loving my parents, the nuns, you children, it’s not the same. Loving Bruce is an entirely different kind of love. As different as sunshine is to moonshine.”

“As different…” Jason shakes his head. “What I feel for Harley,” he says. “It isn’t different. Not like you’re saying.”

“Ah,” Dick says softly. 

“I really like her,” Jason says miserably. “I do, I do! But it doesn’t feel… I mean, I like kissing her.” He turns his head to look at Dick and seems to draw strength from the sight. “I can tell you,” he says. “You won’t be shocked if I tell you we’ve fooled around.”

“As long as you’re careful,” Dick says. “It would be dangerous for her to catch.” He shifts his shoulders, and for a second he thinks he can feel his mating bite drag against the fabric of his shirtwaist. Nonsense, of course. It’s not raised at all, and the skin is shiny like an old scar. But the changes in Dick’s body since his marriage have taught him more effectively than any catechism or class exactly how important it is to wait for mating to try and bear children. 

“Oh, we never - ” Jason trips over his own tongue, hesitant to actually put words to deeds. “You don’t need to worry about that, Mother Grayson,” he says, recovering. “I know what you mean. I was on the streets. I wouldn’t do that to her.”

Dick nods calmly. “I believe you.”

“But you know,” Jason says, reverting back to his previous theme, “I don’t think - I mean, I’m very fond of Harley. And I liked what we did, you know - ” his cheeks pink slightly. “Fooling around. But I don’t - it wasn’t - ”

“You’re a teenager,” Dick says, gentle of Jason’s feelings. “You don’t have to be in love with someone to enjoy your bodies together.”

“Yes. Yes, that’s exactly it.” Jason sighs. “I guess it shouldn’t surprise me that she feels the same way.”

Ah. Yes, Jason wouldn’t just be upset over the revelation that what he feels for Harley is not the kind of love that leads to marriage. “You and she have parted ways?”

“Yeah.” Jason looks down at his shoes. “Or, at least, I guess so.”

“You guess so?”

“We haven’t. I mean.” Jason shrugs uncomfortably. “The last few times we were supposed to met, she didn’t show up. And she hasn’t come down here at all. I know the summer house is farther to go than Wayne Manor, I thought maybe that was all it was, but she’s not in town, either. I don’t even see her around the docks anymore. I think she must be avoiding me.”

“Oh, Jason,” Dick says softly. “I’m sorry.”

“It wasn’t going to last forever,” Jason says, but his voice sounds hollow. “I know that now. I wasn’t sure, before, but now that you and Father have been home, the way you look at each other now… I don’t think that was ever in the cards for Harl and I.” Jason shrugs again. “I guess I’ll go to college after all. Father will be pleased.” Jason does not, himself, sound particularly enthused by the prospect.

“If you go to college, let it be for yourself,” Dick advises. “You needn’t go right away. You can take another year at Gotham Prep. I know they’re willing to graduate you, but you’re only seventeen.”

“I finished all the courses. I don’t know what I’d even do for another year.”

“Make friends. Make enemies.” This, at least, makes Jason laugh. “Try new things. Clubs, sports. Be a leader. You may find you like it after all.”

“You’re going to start entertaining more, aren’t you?”

Dick nods. “Yes. I know you haven’t experienced much of Gotham’s social scene. You could try mingling in society. Tim would be happy to have you as support during his first season.”

“He’s got you,” Jason says. “What does he need me for?”

Dick laughs a little, kindly, to make it clear that he isn’t mocking Jason. “A brother and a mother are two very different things, dear one.”

Jason is silent for a long moment, long enough that Dick worries that the endearment has offended him. Jason isn’t usually one for sentiment, and Dick has tried to respect that, steering clear of the pet names that some of the other children adore. But when Jason speaks again, he sounds choked up. “I told you when you came to be with us that I didn’t like authority,” he says. He gets to his feet, not looking at Dick. “I think I like yours.”

Before Dick can say anything to this astonishing statement, Jason has gone inside. The screen door closes behind him with a wooden thunk. 

The western sky is a deep blue now, and the sky overhead is even darker. Dick tips his head back and looks at the stars, thinking. By heartbreak standards, this seems to be a fairly gentle one, but it’s Jason’s first, and that will make it sharp. It’s no use to tell Jason that there will be others. Jason knows it already, on some level. But it won’t help ease the present sting. Distraction will be best. The sailboat outing tomorrow will help. Perhaps it will be best for Jason to begin college this fall after all. He could enroll easily in Gotham State, or go East to one of the big universities, if a chance of place would be better. Perhaps it would. 

Dick comes back to reality when the increasing night chill gets too strong to ignore. Alfred looks at him oddly when Dick comes back inside and heads straight for the main room’s large fire, rubbing his hands over it to warm up. The fire is remarkably well-built; the parts of Dick facing towards it break out into a sweat almost immediately. 

“Are you all right, my lady?” Alfred asks carefully.

“Fine, fine,” Dick says. “I just got chilled sitting out so long. The nights do get cold on the lakeshore, don’t they? Much colder than in the city.”

“Indeed the breezes from the lake are… refreshing,” Alfred says. He approaches within a few steps of Dick and then stops. “However, they are not particularly cold tonight.”

“You must not have been outside lately,” Dick jokes. His front is now almost over-warm. He turns to give his back to the fire. This puts him facing Alfred, and therefore Dick sees when Alfred takes a hasty step back and his eyes widen. “What is it? What’s wrong?” Dick takes a step away from the fire, too. Perhaps Alfred is just hot. The fire does seem to be throwing a lot of heat. Dick had been chilled to the bone only moments ago, but just a few moments by the roaring blaze and Dick is giving in to the urge to fan himself with his hand.

“I think you are experiencing temperature fluctuations, my lady,” Alfred says. “I believe you may… er… wish to retire.”

“I’m not tired,” Dick dismisses. “Though I suppose it is getting late. Is Bruce done with his phone call?”

“Not quite yet, but I believe I should fetch him regardless. Won’t you go lay down?” Alfred continues to retreat towards the door, as if Dick is catching. “I shall fetch him at once.”

“Alfred, what’s wrong? I’m fine,” Dick says. “Just a little warm. Okay, and I guess I’m a bit achy, and…” Dick trails to a halt and blinks a few times. “Oh,” he says out loud. Aching, but oddly energetic, despite the lateness of the hour. Cold, and then warm. More than warm. Hot. 

Heat. 

Maybe he should be more nervous, but Dick’s only thought is that he’d never realized the name would be so literal. 

“May I suggest you return to your chambers immediately, my lady?” Alfred is nearly out of the room entirely. “And I shall send Master Bruce to you.”

“Yes, Alfred,” Dick says, striving for calm. “I think that would be best.” He begins making for the door himself. “Tell the children - ” Dick stumbles to a halt. Tell them what, exactly? While heat is a fact of life for every married lady, it’s not openly advertised. There are a dozen euphemisms a lady is meant to use. In this moment, Dick can remember none of them.

Alfred rescues Dick from his embarrassment. “I shall alert the household, my lady.”

“Thank you,” Dick manages to say. Alfred vanishes down the hall, and Dick starts moving again towards the bedroom, and Alfred vanishes down the hall. His head is spinning. Some of that is the hormones. And some of that is the knowledge that this is really here - this is finally happening. Dick’s heats have begun. Which means that their dreams of growing their family can finally, maybe, start to come true. 

A baby for Easter, Dick thinks. If they’re lucky - 

He hopes Bruce’s phone call ends soon.

Chapter Text

Thankfully Dick and Bruce’s chambers are only a few doors down from the great room. Dick stumbles inside and leans against the door after he’s closed it, tugging frantically at his shirt buttons, suddenly unable to stand the feeling of fabric against his skin.

The buttons defeat him. Dick can’t make his suddenly clumsy fingers work. He lets out a sound in frustration and then again when he realizes that the sound he’s making can best be described as a whimper. Heat, he thinks again. So this is what it’s like. 

He sprawls on the bed like an aggravated teenager, pressing his hot cheeks against the cool pillows and sighing at the relief. The softness beneath suddenly aching muscles is welcome. It’s ridiculous; Dick’s done nothing but be luxurious and pampered, but it’s like he’s spent the last month doing soup kitchen prep every day. 

“Dick?” The door to the bedroom opens, and Dick whines again, quite unintentionally. Bruce comes into the room, eyes wide in a pale face. “Dick, I - you - ”

“Help me get these buttons,” Dick says. He sounds petulant but he can’t bring himself to care.

“Oh, er, certainly,” Bruce says. He sounds as if he’s floundering, but comes forward willingly enough. Dick rolls over so he’s face-up, and Bruce leans down and undoes Dick’s shirtwaist for him.

“And the trousers,” Dick demands. Obediently Bruce undoes those buttons as well. Dick skins out of them as fast as he can, groaning in relief as he bares heated skin to cool air. His clothes are made of fine fabric, nicer than anything he’d ever owned before his marriage, but nothing is as silky-smooth as the bed-linens. “Much better,” he sighs.

“You’re in heat?” Bruce asks inanely.

Dick rolls his head to the side and looks at Bruce. “I assume so.”

“Oh.”  Bruce swallows. “You aren’t sure?”

“I haven’t exactly done this before,” Dick reminds him. 

“Right. Sorry. Neither have I.”

“Oh,” Dick says, surprised, and then surprised at himself for being surprised. Of course Bruce has more sexual experience than Dick - not difficult, considering that Dick had been raised in a nunnery - but heats only come to mated Omegas. For Bruce to have shared a heat with someone before, he would have had to sleep with a married lady, and that’s certainly not like him. So they are new to this together. Dick discovers he likes this. On their wedding night the balance of their experience had been all tipped towards Bruce’s side. Over the course of their honeymoon Dick has learned much, but still, the knowledge had all started out as Bruce’s. But this is something new to them both. Something they will discover together. 

“What do you need?” Bruce asks.

Dick isn’t entirely sure what he needs - but he knows what he wants. “Get in bed with me,” he says. When Bruce makes to obey, though, Dick stops him. “Naked.”

“Oh, of course,” Bruce says, fumbling with his own shirt buttons. It doesn’t take him long to shed shirt and tie, pants and shoes, and then he’s climbing into bed next to Dick. Normally Bruce is the warmer of the two of them, and Dick enjoys snuggling up to him and tucking his toes under Bruce’s shins to steal that warmth. Today that pattern is reversed. Bruce feels delightfully cool, and Dick happily presses in close.

“That’s nice,” Dick sighs.

“Glad to help.” Bruce sounds nervous. Dick smiles at him from a distance of inches, reaching up to brush the wave of Bruce’s hair off his forehead. A wave of tenderness rolls through him. It feels heightened, potent. He strokes Bruce’s cheek, feeling the roughness where stubble is beginning to grow in. Bruce had shaved this morning, of course, but his facial hair grows in so fast that he suffers the proverbial five o’clock shadow. And it’s well after five o’clock. “Do you want me to shave?” Bruce asks.

“No.” Dick reconsiders. “Maybe, but I don’t want you to leave me to do it.”

“Then I won’t.”

“Good.” Dick kisses Bruce to show his approval. He thinks heat might be making him a little giddy. He wants to kiss Bruce again, so he does. Then he wants to kiss the dimple on Bruce’s cheek. And the cleft of his chin. And the hollow of his neck. Bruce makes a choking kind of sound, and Dick draws back. “Are you okay?”

“Tickles,” Bruce says apologetically. “Your hair.” It’s long enough now that it curls around Dick’s ears, and it had brushed against Bruce, just the fine prickly tips of it. Dick dips his head again, watching the strands caress Bruce’s skin, dark against the paleness of his chest. Bruce makes a sound somewhere between a cough and a sneeze. Dick laughs and has mercy, lifting his head.

“I want to look at you,” Dick says. “I want to explore you.”

Bruce reaches for a pillow and tucks it under his head. He arranges himself in a relaxed position, supine on the bed, and then nods. “Go ahead.”

This is actually something Dick has wanted to do for almost his entire honeymoon, but hasn’t quite gotten up the courage to ask. It isn’t that Dick thinks Bruce would deny him, or mock him, or anything of the sort. It’s just that it’s an awfully vulnerable thing to ask somehow. For Dick, and for Bruce, too. Dick hasn’t felt comfortable either asking it or actually doing the exploring. Oh, Dick had touched Bruce, kissed him, trailed fingers down his chest, hefted his manhood and even daringly placed his lips upon it, but not all at once. One at a time, one on any given night, and always as a stepping stone to something else, something greater. Not just for the sake of exploring.

Until now. Somehow, with waves of heat making Dick burn and turn languid by turns, he feels emboldened. No - he feels free. Nothing can touch him, not embarrassment, not hesitation, not anything. He can ask for what he wants and receive it. And what he wants is to know Bruce’s body the way he knows Bruce’s heart, inside and out. 

Dick starts with Bruce’s torso, twining his fingers in Bruce’s coarse chest hair and marveling at how much of it there is. Dick himself has never had any hair outside his face and genitals, and even that has been fine, thin. Bruce tucks one arm under his head to prop himself up a little and watch as Dick curls it, tugs it, hand-pats it into place and then runs his fingers through it in the opposite direction to make it stand up. It covers his pectorals in a light mat, and then narrows down to a thicker trail leading down past his belly button and ending at the vee of his legs. Before Dick goes there, though, he pauses to appreciate Bruce’s small, flat, lightly peaked nipples. Dick knows there’s variation within the sexes as well as between them, but he still can’t get over how different Bruce’s are from his. Bruce’s areolae are barely the size of a dime, so small, and the nipples themselves are barely thicker across than a pen-nib. Dick rolls one between finger and thumb until Bruce gasps and loses his internal battle to not bat Dick’s hands away. Dick holds up his fingers against his own breasts - two fingers’ widths across and he can still see a little of the areolae peeking out on each side. And his breasts have grown out already, just a little, since their mating. They’ll grow more when Dick gets pregnant. Maybe that will even happen tonight. Dick pats his own belly like a promise. Bruce makes a low, feral sound.

Bruce is hard, of course. Dick views this without surprise; it’s no more than his due. But there are discoveries to make here, as well. He’s already experienced Bruce’s length and girth, but now that Dick’s really looking, he feels and then sees the extra folds of skin at the base of Bruce’s cock that allow his knot to expand. Dick tugs experimentally at them and watches in fascination as Bruce’s cock twitches. A pearly bead accumulates at the head. Dick leans down without thinking and licks it up. Bruce gasps and bucks. Dick lifts his head. “Hurts?” he asks.

“No, no,” Bruce says quickly, practically tripping over his own tongue in his eagerness. “No, not at all. I just. Didn’t expect.”

Dick looks back down at Bruce’s manhood. “Should I not?”

“I hadn’t thought you would,” Bruce says, cautious now, hesitant. “But should you wish to…”

“Why shouldn’t I?” Dick blinks at him.

Bruce is clearly choosing his words with great care. “It is generally believed… that is… the typical lady…” He swallows and looks at Dick with helpless eyes. “It is not commonly accounted as part of a lady’s marital duties,” Bruce finally says.

Dick considers this and nods. “It’s not required,” he says. “But it felt good?”

“Yes. Oh, yes.”

“Then I’m going to do it again.” Dick’s hand is still around Bruce’s cock, and he feels, this time, as well as sees, it shudder and spit out more of the pearly liquid. He laps it up again, holding it on his tongue for a moment, the better to experience its taste. There isn’t much to it, just a saltiness, quickly gone. And perhaps the saltiness isn’t even from the white stuff, but from Bruce’s skin. Thoughtfully Dick licks at the head of Bruce’s manhood. Bruce nearly jackknifes off the bed. Dick frowns at him. 

“I’m sorry,” Bruce says quickly.

“No, don’t be sorry,” Dick says. The idea is distressing. “I want you to feel good. And you do, right? But if you want me to stop, I will.”

“I don’t,” Bruce says. “I…” Perhaps heat is affecting him, too. Yes, that’s right. Bruce will be breathing in Dick’s scent, and that will be bringing him closer in sync with Dick’s needs. 

“Tell me,” Dick coaxes. “Tell me what you want.”

Bruce raises a hand and, slowly, threads it into Dick’s hair.

“Oh,” Dick says, pleased, tossing his head like a cat and reveling in the feeling of Bruce tugging at his hair. “I like that.” He ducks his head again, and this time Bruce’s hand follows him down. It cradles him gently, offering support when Dick begins to experiment with taking the entire head of Bruce’s cock in his mouth, tugging up when it becomes too much, urging him downwards when Bruce wants more. It’s live feedback, a moment-to-moment indication of what Bruce likes, and a constant guarantee that Bruce is enjoying being explored as much as Dick enjoys exploring him. 

Dick can’t get it all in his mouth, though. He wants to, thinks he ought to be able to, but in the end he has to admit defeat. Maybe with more practice. “It’s just too big,” he sighs, sitting back on his knees between the spread of Bruce’s legs. “I’m sorry.”

Bruce blinks at him, then laughs. “I think that’s the first time in history anyone has ever apologized for praising an Alpha’s girth,” he says ruefully. “Generally speaking we like to hear such things, my dear.”

“Oh. Yes, of course.” Dick grins at him. “Well then, my lord, your rod is mighty and your staff long.”

That makes Bruce wince. “Please don’t talk like we’re in church.” He sits up partway, drawing Dick forward to kiss. 

This position makes interesting ideas pop into Dick’s head, and he plops down right on Bruce’s hips, feeling that enormous cock nestle between his own legs. He looks down to get the full effect. It’s bizarre, seeing what could, for a moment, be taken as Dick himself having an Alpha’s organ. But that’s not what Dick is focused on right now. “Could I take you like this?” he asks.

Bruce’s eyes darken and his breath audibly catches in his throat. “Yes.”

“I want to.”

“It’s more work for you,” Bruce warns, though his tone is at odds with the visible eagerness on his face. “And it may be more awkward when I knot.”

“Please,” Dick coaxes. He’s learned so much about his husband; he knows how weak Bruce is to a little coquettish pleading. “I want to.”

Indeed, Bruce groans and starts fumbling between their bodies. “Lift your hips,” he commands. Dick obeys, rising to his knees, letting Bruce hold himself erect. “Now down. Slowly.”

Dick’s first two attempts miss, leaving a sticky trail on his inner thighs as the head of Bruce’s cock drags against them. He can feel his own wetness leaking out, heat making his body ready, eager, needing no preparation, any more than Bruce had needed any to be hard for Dick. On the third try Dick gets the angle right. He misjudges the amount of force needed, and fully half of Bruce’s cock slides right into him, smooth as silk without encountering any resistance. Dick gasps, and Bruce seizes Dick’s hips in a grip that bruises. 

“I’m not hurt,” Dick gasps. He looks down in wonder. It takes a bit of contorting, but Dick has always been flexible, and from this angle he can see the astonishing sight of part of Bruce actually vanishing inside Dick’s own body. “I - more. I want more.” 

“Then take it,” Bruce says, low and eager, and suddenly Dick realizes - he can.

Seated astride Bruce like this, Dick has the power and the control. Oh, Bruce can buck up into him, and does, once or twice, rolling his hips like a wave and crashing into Dick with the force of his desire, but mostly - mostly it’s in Dick’s hands. Or rather, his thighs. He lifts himself up and lowers himself down, setting the pace, reveling in this freedom as much as he’d reveled in exploration. Fast or slow, by inches or all at once, slamming into Bruce’s thighs hard enough to bruise or holding himself suspended, muscles quivering, only halfway impaled - it’s all up to Dick. 

As with all good things, it can’t last. Dick gives himself up to the pursuit of pleasure. Faster and faster he moves, until Bruce’s fingers tighten on his hips and Bruce bucks upward again, beyond control, knot swelling. It’s different, somehow. Dick thought he’d grown used to this feeling. Newlyweds they may still be, but they’ve enjoyed each other nearly every night, and Dick thinks he could have been forgiven for feeling as if he’d accustomed himself to being knotted. He enjoys intercourse - enjoys the petting and stroking of foreplay even more - but the knot itself has always been an exercise in endurance. When it stretches Dick out, he’s always had to breathe deeply, to concentrate on not clenching around it. Bruce has always taken pains to soothe Dick during the fifteen minutes or so it lasts. On one memorable occasion, Dick had had yet to orgasm, and Bruce had kissed and pleasured him until he’d found release even through the stretch of being knotted. That, Dick had thought, had been as good as it would get.

Heat makes everything different. Dick had already felt himself stretching looser than he’s ever been, despite their almost complete lack of foreplay, and he’d taken advantage of that to its fullest as he’d ridden Bruce from above. But the knot - the knot is stretching him wider, and it doesn’t feel strained, it doesn’t burn. It feels like stretching muscles cramped from disuse. Like turning a triple flip on the back of a running horse, landing flushed and smiling and reveling in the feeling of peak physicality while the cheers of an adoring crowd ring in his ears. This is what a knot is meant to feel like. This is what Dick’s body has been changing itself to be for. It feels as if there are electrical wires attached to every inch of Dick’s passage, and Bruce’s knot is pressing up against each and every one of them, completing a circuit that sends a shock directly to Dick’s brain. 

Running on almost pure instinct, Dick shoves himself fully down, taking that entire, enormous, beautiful knot all the way inside himself. Pleasure spikes so intensely that he shrieks with it. The knot seems to pulse within him where it locks them together, and Dick’s toes curl with the feel of it. He swears he can feel Bruce coming within him, painting Dick’s insides with his seed. 

Dick would have thought that speech would be beyond him, but as he looks down at the place where they’re joined, words spill out of him. “Fill me up,” he says. “Make me full, make me - ”

“Dick,” Bruce says hoarsely. He sounds as if he’s been shouting himself. “You - ”

All of Dick’s muscles go abruptly lax. “Oh,” he says, startled, catching himself with his hands on Bruce’s chest. “I - ”

“Here, here,” Bruce says, rolling them sideways. It’s awkward; they naturally want to lie at right angles to each other, the way they’re joined. Dick mulishly shoves himself closer to Bruce, tolerating the awkward stretch and pull of his ass as the knot shifts. Bruce makes an uncomfortable noise himself, but doesn’t protest, gathering Dick to him as soon as he can. “How do you feel?”

“Amazing,” Dick confesses. He yawns. “Tired.”

“I think it’s common to nap between peaks,” Bruce offers. “I was told heat comes in waves.”

“Mmm.” Dick snuggles in as well as he can. He’d like it if he could lie flat against Bruce’s chest, but the position they’d adopted makes it awkward to get that close. He’ll have to settle for what he’s got. 

“Dick?” Bruce sounds oddly tentative, and Dick pries his eyes back open to look at him. “Was it… good?”

“Yes, Bruce.” Dick closes his eyes again and holds out a hand. “It was good.”

“I’m glad,” Bruce says quietly. Dick smiles, and dreams.

The morning of the second day, Dick wakes up, stretches, and stops. Something’s different. He’s not sure what.

“Good morning,” Bruce says. He’s sitting up in bed with his dressing-gown on, leaning against the headboard, and holding a cup of coffee. A book is open on Bruce’s lap and the hand not holding his coffee is carding gently through Dick’s hair. “Your scent went back to normal a few hours ago. How do you feel?”

“Fine,” Dick says, and ah, that’s it, that’s the change. He’s no longer achy, running alternately hot and cold, and - he refuses to blush - no longer unusually aroused. He’s a little sore in the nether regions, but that’s probably to be expected. “I think it’s over.”

Bruce smiles. “Would you like coffee?” He indicates a pot on his night-stand, and a second cup and saucer, empty and waiting. “I’ve been up for a little while, but the coffee is fresh; Alfred brought this pot half an hour ago at most.” 

“I think what I want most is a bath,” Dick sighs, feeling suddenly sticky and aware that the bed-linens are none too clean. “But I’ll settle for coffee while the water is being heated. Pour me a cup?”  

Bruce reaches for the coffee-pot in answer, and Dick swings his legs around over the end of the bed. He goes to stand probably a little too quickly, and has to clutch at the bed-post for a minute as his legs threaten to give out under him. “Whoa,” he says, laughing, as he regains his balance. “You really wore me out.”

He means it as a light-hearted pleasantry, an inside joke between mates, but the smile on Dick’s lips is wiped away when he turns back towards the bed and sees Bruce looking at him in stricken horror. “That’s not a bad thing!” Dick says hastily. “I don’t mean to complain!”

Bruce still doesn’t speak. Dick abandons any notion of ringing the bell, trying instead to climb back into bed, without much success. This at least gets Bruce to shake himself out of his stupor, setting the coffee-pot down - next to the still-empty cup, alas - and helping Dick back in. Dick resists Bruce’s unspoken hints to lie back down and sits back against the headboard himself, patting the mattress next to him until Bruce retakes his previous spot. “How about that coffee?” Dick asks.

Bruce doesn’t say anything to this, either. Dick frowns. “Give me that.” He reaches across Bruce and filches Bruce’s cup from the night-stand, rather than attempt the delicate operation of pouring for himself while draped over his husband. Dick grimaced at the bitterness - Bruce never takes cream or sugar - and then sets the cup down on his nightstand and gives Bruce his full attention. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Bruce says, but he’s not looking at Dick.

“Bruce!” Dick leans forward and takes Bruce’s hands in his. “You’re worrying me. Is it me? Is it something I did?”

“Of course not!” Bruce looks horrified. “You’re amazing. I’m the one…”

“You?” Dick stares in astonishment. “You’re the one what?”

“Look at yourself,” Bruce says. “You’re hurt.”

“I’m what?” Dick looks down at himself. He’s still naked as the day he’d been born. The sheets are pooled around his knees, the blankets long since lost to the floor, and against his pale skin Dick can see the startling shapes of bruises.

“I didn’t realize,” Bruce says miserably. “I must have lost control of my strength. I’m so sorry, Dick.”

Dick reaches down and tries to fit his fingers over five perfectly-arranged bruises on one hip. His hand is a little too small, but Bruce’s will be just right. Heat crawls across Dick’s cheeks and down his chest as he remembers Bruce gripping his hips as Dick had ridden him, staring up bright and intent and moving Dick up and down like he’d weighed nothing. Remembers, too, with a pleasurable shiver, being turned onto his hands and knees, kept in place by a firm hand on his neck pressing his face into the sheets, and fucked into ruthlessly from behind, while Bruce had growled a stream of obscene praise to the paleness of Dick’s thighs and the perfection of his buttocks. And then - Dick feels tired knotting muscles twitch at the memory, too worn out to even get wet again, but wanting to - Dick’s back against the wall, his legs wrapped around Bruce’s torso, at the hottest, highest peak of the entire heat - Bruce with his hands wrapped around Dick’s waist, his head bowed, mouthing at Dick’s shoulder where his mating bite had turned red with the blood pumping through Dick’s body, holding him pinned in place with only his massive cock buried thickly inside Dick - 

“Oh my,” Dick breathes, unable and unwilling to stop the wild, foolish grin he knows he’s wearing, as he measures the various bruises on his body again and again, reveling in the memory each brings. “You certainly did. Can you do it outside of heat?” He looks up to catch Bruce’s gaze, disbelieving and still afraid. “Can you do it right now?”

“Dick!” Bruce yelps.

“Yes, all right, I’m probably too sore right now,” Dick has to agree reluctantly. “But I should be back in trim after a nice warm soak - ”

“I hurt you!”

Laughter bubbles up within Dick and overflows from his lips, making his sides shake and his bruises ache when Dick wraps his arms around his chest to try and contain his giddiness. It’s too mean of him to laugh at Bruce’s dismay, really, but he can’t quite help it; the aftereffects of heat must still be affecting his self-regulation. “If that’s being hurt, I never want to feel ease again,” Dick laughs. “Bruce, every single thing we did was amazing. The memories are going to be what’s keeping me warm the next time you’ve got to travel on business.”

“You’ve got bruises.”

Dick looks back down at his body, then up at Bruce. “Good.”

“But - ”

Dick puts a finger over Bruce’s lips, quieting him. “How can you be perfectly correct and absolutely wrong at the same time?” he asks, fondly exasperated.

Bruce just looks at him, not trying to speak around Dick’s silencing gesture. He manages to look abashed and ashamed at the same time. Dick sighs.

“Yes, I have bruises,” he says. “I bruise pretty easily, actually; it’s the skin tone. This is nothing. You should have seen me after the first time I practiced on the trapeze.”

“That was outside of heat,” Bruce says, as soon as Dick removes his finger to allow Bruce to speak. “That’s something you chose to do of your own free will. Inside heat things are different. You can’t exactly - that is - ” He closes his mouth and looks dismayed.

Dick frowns. Then snippets of overheard gossip among the teenage Alphas at the orphanage fuse with his own experience of the past day and a half and, in a flash of understanding, Dick says, “You think I couldn’t say no?”

“Heat is overwhelming,” Bruce says stiffly.

“In the best possible way,” Dick says. He wants to laugh again, but he has enough control now to keep it inside, guessing how much it might hurt Bruce’s feelings. “I know there are a lot of stereotypes about Omegas in heat, but I never felt like I was out of control or that I couldn’t make my wishes clear. Didn’t I ask to explore you? Didn’t I lead the pace the entire way, that first time?”

“That was at the beginning of your heat,” Bruce says. “Later - ”

“You think I rode you like a circus pony for thirty-six hours and shoved myself down on your knot each time because I couldn’t say no to you? Bruce,” Dick says, letting fondness leak out and infuse every word he says. “I may have come from a convent orphanage, but I am not a martyr. I enjoyed every single moment.” Dick reads the hesitation, the unwillingness to believe, on Bruce’s face, and sighs. “Training in the circus was something I chose. And so is being with you. In both cases, the bruises are a passport - and proof - of something I want very much.” Dick waits a second, then adds, “Which in this case is you. In case that wasn’t clear.”

“Oh, Dick,” Bruce says softly.

“Perhaps next time I will like to be pampered more,” Dick acknowledges. “Will that be okay?”

“Of course,” Bruce says.

“It doesn’t have to be just the same every time, does it?”

“No.”

“So then.”

“I felt like a failure,” Bruce confesses. “Like a brute.”

“You were perfect,” Dick says. 

Bruce doesn’t say anything in response. But he smiles. 

“And now,” Dick says, judging continued momentum to be best, “I would really like a bath and some breakfast.” He bats his eyelashes. “Can you arrange that for me, O Alpha?”

That makes Bruce laugh, and he leans in, kissing Dick thoroughly, and pulling back to show Dick that the smile on his lips has even reached his eyes. “A difficult task,” Bruce says, “but I accept. Would you like me to slay a dragon or two while I’m about it?”

“Why, has someone interfered with Cook’s domain?” Dick grins. “No, that won’t be necessary. But I may need you to help me eat it. I’m still a little uncoordinated.”

“Anything for you,” Bruce says dramatically, and goes to meet Dick’s needs.

A hot bath leaves Dick feeling reborn, and a lazy breakfast on the private porch attached to the master bedroom leaves him feeling decadent. Bruce bathes himself as well before coming out to the porch and joining Dick in a muffin and a cup of coffee. Bruce closes the French door behind him, and various noises from the bedroom indicate that the maids are already hard at work on the soiled linens and disarranged pillows they’d left behind them. 

“There’s mail for you,” Dick says, indicating a small pile of envelopes that had arrived on the breakfast-tray between the salt and pepper shakers. “It never occurred to me before how inconvenient heats must be for anyone who isn’t rich. If you take a day off it’s no serious issue, but how can a laborer manage it?”

“At Wayne Industries, anyone who has to miss a day for heat leave can make it up by working on a Sunday,” Bruce says absently, looking at the letters with distaste but taking them up nonetheless. “We can never fully fill the Sunday shifts as it is, so there’s always room for an extra pair of hands.”

“What if they’re already a Sunday shift worker?”

“Then they can work whichever day they’re off. This one’s for you,” Bruce says, having riffled through the pile of envelopes, handing a heavy, square-cornered one over to Dick. “An invitation to something or other, I expect.”

Dick turns the envelope over in his hand. It’s cream-colored, postmarked from Gotham Heights - the official name of the neighborhood just outside of the city proper where the rich have their homes - and addressed in neat, flowing hand to Mrs. Bruce Thomas Wayne. Seeing the name written out like that still gives Dick a thrill. “It was inevitable,” Dick says, sliding a finger under the flap to open it. “Summer is the slow time, but there are always some outings… let’s see.” He tugs the invitation card out and smiles. “It’s from Selina. A garden-party. Informal. Tim and I shall attend at the minimum. Perhaps some other of the children.”

“What’s the date?”

“August 12th.”

“I’ll come, then. Business won’t be pressing. No one does serious business in August.” Bruce has gone through two of his own letters, setting their contents aside, and is now opening the third and final envelope. “Jason ought to come too, he’ll still be in town, though we really must settle what he’s to do this fall…”

“He’s having a tough time just now,” Dick says, remembering his conversation with Jason the night before last. “Harley seems to be ending their relationship; at least, he hasn’t seen her in a while, and he thinks she’s avoiding him. I think in the next few weeks he’ll be able to make a decision. What is the registration deadline for Gotham University?”

Bruce doesn’t answer Dick immediately. He’s looking down at the piece of paper in his hand, and his expression is intent. 

“Bruce?” Dick prompts. “The registration deadline?”

Bruce startles. “Oh, er - late August, I believe. Jason still has time to decide.”  He sets the letter down and takes up the Gotham Gazette, which had been tucked beside the tray, neatly folded. “Another year at Gotham Prep would let him form valuable alliances with other future heads of companies, but then again there’s something to be said for his starting to learn the ins and outs of the business. He’s starting later than his peers as it is; some of them will have begun overseeing the assembly lines from childhood…” Bruce trails off again, then clears his throat and holds the newspaper out to Dick. “Today’s headline news is very interesting.”

Dick blinks at this apparent non sequitur. Bruce shakes the newspaper slightly, so Dick reaches up and takes it. Smoothing the paper open, Dick’s gaze is first caught by the photograph taking up much of the page: a large group of men in suits, in the middle of arresting an even larger seeming group of nondescript laborers. Babs’ uncle, Gordon, is visible in profile in the right corner of the shot, the only one in uniform. Then the headline snags Dick’s attention. Major Bootlegging Ring Broken Up, it reads, and in only slightly smaller letters below, Police Raid Dixon Docks, Arrest Alleged Ringleader. 

“Oh,” Dick says slowly. Eagerly he reads the article, but it’s extremely vague, speaking of well-placed police informants and coordinations between multiple agencies. Dick reads it a second time, trying to glean more, and turning the page to see if the article continues. It doesn’t.

“I did tell you the paper wouldn't have many details,” Bruce says apologetically, reading Dick’s disappointment on his face. 

“Do you know anything more?” A memory strikes Dick, and he says, “That phone call you got, the night my heat began - Alfred said it was one of your military contacts - ”

“No, that wasn’t about this,” Bruce says. “It was someone I knew from the War itself, who’s since gone into business in Central City; she called me to propose a partnership. Actually, I was going to discuss that with you, before events… overtook us.” He clears his throat, a charming flush sprinkling itself across his aristocratic cheekbones. “I will need to fly out to see her factories. It should only be a couple of days.”

“Well, we don’t have to worry about you missing my first heat, anyway,” Dick says. It would have been a real concern, otherwise. “Better go sooner rather than later. The closer we get to Tim’s debut, the more we’ll have to do. Not to mention how much work it will be moving back into the Manor.” Of course the servants will do the bulk of the labor - and Dick still isn’t used to that - but nevertheless there will be many decisions that only Mr. and Mrs. Wayne will want to make. 

“All right,” Bruce agrees. He takes the paper back from Dick and folds it back along its neat creases. “I must say I’m glad this is out of the way as well.”

Dick glances into his coffee cup, sees that it’s nearly empty, and reaches for the pot to refresh it. “In case something went wrong?”

“Nothing was likely to go wrong,” Bruce says ruefully, “but yes. You know how I worry.”

“I do,” Dick says tenderly. “But it’s all over now.”

“Yes,” Bruce agrees. “It’s all over now.”

Chapter Text

“And then there is the option for gilt edging,” the stationer says, spreading even more sample cards before Dick’s eyes. “It can be done in gold or in silver. Tasteful and elegant.”

Privately, Dick is of the opinion that it is neither, being rather tacky and gauche, but he nods calmly as if he is considering it. “Let me see the cream with the scalloped edges again.”

“Oh, yes,” Tim says, hovering eagerly over the stationer’s counter, far more excited about the choice of invitation cardstock than Dick had thought he’d be. “This is absolutely the right choice. It’s perfect, Mother.”

“I think so as well,” Dick says graciously. The stationer looks briefly put out at not having any of the more expensive options chosen - he’d clearly been expecting to make a season’s profit on the Wayne debut - but Dick knows his own mind, and he has the combined expertise of Selina Kyle, Emily Post, and Alfred Pennyworth to back him up. Simple and classic is the way to go; the timeless never goes out of style. Gilt edges and bleach-white cardstock are for the nouveau riche. Tim is a Wayne. “When can you provide them?”

The stationer names a date. Dick nods gravely, drawing his right glove back on - he’d had it off to handle the stock and ensure it would be up to quality. “And your calligrapher?” 

The stationer brightens up. “Then you will have them hand-written after all?”

“Yes, I think so.” Printing had been under consideration; it’s been an option long enough that it’s no longer considered a novelty, and there had been worry that hand calligraphy could not be completed in time for the invitations to be sent out. But Dick still leans towards the human touch. Perhaps it’s old-fashioned; but the Waynes are old-fashioned. Tim’s debut is doubling as a kind of coming out for the entire new Wayne clan, with its new matron and newly refurbished Manor. How they present themselves here will set the tone for how they are received by Society henceforth. “If you can meet our timeline?”

“Oh, yes, Mrs. Wayne, certainly.” The stationer practically has dollar signs for eyeballs, as in the funny papers. “We’ll work around the clock.”

“Then you may consider yourself commissioned.” Dick inclines his head graciously.

“Thank you, ma’am! Here, take this sample,” the stationer says generously, handing the square of heavyweight board across to Tim, who takes it eagerly. “To show your friends your excellent selection.”

And drum up more business for the stationary shop, no doubt. Well, they’re charging enough that Dick may take the sample with a clean conscience, and Tim will be thrilled to have something to show off at Selina’s garden-party next week. Bruce will want to see, too, when he returns from his Central City trip. From having not understood the significant of Tim’s debut, Bruce has come to be nearly as interested in it as Dick is, now that he sees how it will play into and shape the future of his oldest daughter. “Thank you. Timothy, come along.”

“Yes, Mother,” Tim says, fingering the card with delight. The stationer bows them out of the shop.

Outside on the sidewalk, Park Row is brilliant under the intense sunlight of a midsummer afternoon. Dick fans himself lightly and wishes for a cold glass of Cook’s iced tea. He’ll have one this evening on the veranda after the children have gone to bed, though it would be nicer still if Bruce were home to sit with him… Dick squashes the thought, not wanting to let the loneliness creep in. He thinks instead of the delightful news he’ll have to share with Bruce when his wayward husband returns home. 

“I do wish Father were home,” Tim sighs at Dick’s side, echoing Dick’s thoughts. Tim is still looking down at the precious square of pressed paper. “I want to show him all the things we’ve been buying. The invitations, and the linens… when is he coming back, Mother?”

“Tomorrow night, he thinks,” Dick says. A passing car wafts a temporary breeze in their direction. “He had to extend his stay.”

“Again?” Tim is nearly an adult, but he can still sound petulant when the occasion warrants. “He’s been away more often than he’s been home, the last month!”

“It’s not quite that bad.” Dick takes his bearings on the nearest street signs and sets off, keeping his pace to the leisurely stroll appropriate for the rich shopping district. “It’s only been about half the time.”

“When he first went he said it would only be for a couple of days,” Tim sighs. “Then he extended it to a week.”

“After which he was back for ten days,” Dick reminds Tim.

“Yes, and then was gone for another week! Mother, don’t tell me you don’t miss him.”

“I won’t even try,” Dick admits. “But this new business venture is very important.” He smiles at Tim. “You children aren’t cheap, you know, especially if you insist on growing up.”

“Mother,” Tim says suddenly. They’ve reached the corner and are lingering there, waiting for the traffic to change. “It’s been about a month, hasn’t it, since - since - ”

“That’s right,” Dick acknowledges, as calmly as he can. Drat it, he’d hoped that no one else would be keeping track of the days as closely as Dick himself has been. Most of the children are too young to know when to expect news after a heat; the ones who have learned the basics of reproduction are generally uninterested, as, to be fair, most teenage Alphas are. Several of the servants undoubtedly are marking the days - Besty and Alfred come immediately to mind - but none of them would say anything to Dick before Dick says anything himself. Only Tim has the combination of knowledge, interest, and willingness to speak that makes him a threat to the news that Dick wants to share first with Bruce. 

“Well,” Tim says hesitantly. “I - that is to say - ”

The traffic regulator changes from go to stop, and the motor-cars traveling along Park Avenue obey its dictates, gliding to a halt. Dick leads the way across the street, grateful for the distraction. “I think there’s time today to visit the dressmaker’s and see how your gown is progressing. Should you like that?” Tim has been wild about everything to do with his debut, and his clothes are no exception. If he’d had his way, the dressmaker would never have had time to actually work on the gown, with all the visits Tim wants to make and fittings he wants to have. Usually Dick works to curb this excess, but right now he’s ruthless in his willingness to sacrifice the dressmaker’s time and attention in order to protect his own secret. 

Tim gives Dick a sideways look, as if he suspects what Dick is up to. But he says “Oh, yes,” as eagerly as Dick could wish. They turn and walk west, away from Park Avenue and the high-end stores along it, towards the smaller side-road where the even more exclusive dressmaker’s is nestled. Dick keeps the conversation on millinery, a topic sufficiently absorbing to Tim that the latter soon abandons any attempts to change the subject. The dressmaker’s red-painted door and discreet sign come into view as they’re deep in a discussion about gloves, and Dick permits himself a mental sigh of relief.

The earth shakes.

Dick has to recover his balance quickly, and Tim stumbles and nearly falls. “An earthquake?” Tim gasps, pale. The shaking intensifies, and a nearby tree-branch snaps, falling right in the middle of the street, narrowly missing a passing car. “In Gotham?”

“Quick, in here.” Dick pulls them both into the safety of a nearby archway, built over the entrance to a small service path. The shaking is beginning to ease, but he doesn’t want to take any chances.

“Will it come again?” Tim presses his back against the stone archway, as if greater safety may be achieved that way.

“I don’t know.” They wait, counting the seconds by their breaths. The motorist in the street has gotten out of their vehicle and taken shelter in an alley across the way. They meet Dick’s eye in the uniquely human instinct to assure themselves that help is nearby should they require it. But the minutes tick by, and there is no second rumble.

“Fancy an earthquake in Gotham,” Tim says, still pale but beginning to steady himself. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard the like before.”

Dick makes a noncommittal sound. He isn’t certain that this had been a quake. There had been an earthquake while the circus had been in San Francisco. A small one, Dick had been told, and thank goodness for that, but it had been enough to frighten everyone. Perhaps as a result, he remembers it distinctly. It had lasted for nearly a minute, with rumbling and shaking enough to knock things off shelves and upset weak stomachs, and the locals had said that bigger quakes would last even longer, with many distinct waves to them. A small quake might have only one wave, but it should still last for some little time. This had been one large, earth-shaking rumble and then… nothing.

“Stay here,” Dick says. He leans out of the arch. He’s not sure what he’s expecting to see - earthquakes aren’t visible - but he turns slowly, looking in all directions as far as the skyscrapers of downtown permit, and sees - 

“Fire!” Tim has disobeyed him and come to see, too. Now he points southwards with a shaking hand. “The docks are on fire!”

“And who knows what else,” Dick whispers. There are warehouses full of everything under the sun down by the docks. Things that will burn. If nothing else, liquor, because of the bootleggers - 

No. No, the bootleggers are gone. They had been rounded up along with any of the Red Joker’s people who had been among them, when the Pinkertons had raided the docks. Of course there will eventually be another gang of bootleggers to fill the gap, Dick isn’t naive, but a month isn’t enough for a new group to have set up shop in any significant way. As for the smuggled helium, even if any of it had been left behind, it won’t burn or explode. That’s the virtue of helium as opposed to hydrogen. So this can’t have anything to do with that. 

Nothing at all - except that to have an explosion down by the docks, where the Red Joker had been smuggling military supplies to Germany, a mere month after his operation had seemingly been broken up, is too much of a coincidence for Dick to ignore.

“There goes a fire engine,” Tim is saying, watching a team of glossy bays trotting briskly down Park Avenue hauling the steam engine behind. Across the street, the motorist is climbing back into his car, then steering it carefully around the fallen tree branch before disappearing into the distance. “I hope no one is hurt.” Tim gasps suddenly. “Babs!”

Babs is visiting her uncle Gordon, the only other one of the Wayne children who had taken the opportunity to come into town today. Dick and Tim had dropped her off at Gordon’s small home before coming down to Park Row for their shopping. “She’ll be all right,” Dick says, trying to reassure. “Her uncle doesn’t live that close to the docks.”

“They say the Great Fire started small, but then it covered the whole city!” Tim’s worry is clear, and though Dick is trying to stay calm, it’s infecting him as well. “Let’s go and get her now, Mother. Before the fire spreads. If it spreads, the fire wagons will be all around, and then we won’t be able to get through, or if we do we’ll be in their way. We’d better get her now, shouldn’t we?”

Tim makes a good point about the fire wagons, and Dick gives up pretending he’s not worried. “You’re right,” he says, starting back towards Park Avenue, where Alfred will be waiting with the car.  “Let’s go get Babs now and get out of the city. If nothing else, that will make four fewer people and one fewer motor-car for the fire brigades to deal with.”

“Perhaps we can take Babs’ uncle too,” Tim says anxiously. 

“He’ll likely want to go help, as soon as Babs is taken care of. Remember he’s police commissioner.”

“What can the police do for a fire?”

“Help evacuate people, and direct traffic, take any wounded to hospital… there’s plenty for helpers to do, even if they aren’t firefighters themselves.” Dick looks up and down the street, trying to spot the car. Alfred had dropped them in front of the stationer’s, but of course he couldn’t have remained there, blocking traffic. There’s a shady side-street a little ways down that looks like a promising place for Alfred to be waiting. Seeing nothing better, Dick starts towards it. 

People are beginning to come out of the shops, crowding the sidewalk and making it hard to progress. They’re all chattering excitedly about what they’d just experienced. Some are pointing at the fire visible in the southern sky and exclaiming. The stationer, seeing Dick and Tim trying to pass by, calls out, “All right, ma’am? Miss?”

“Yes, thank you,” Dick calls back, squeezing past two large gentlemen who are hotly debating whether or not there had been an earthquake to go along with the fire, or if not, what had caused the explosion. “And yourself?”

“All well, ma’am, nothing broken,” the stationer calls back, before being lost in the growing crowd. 

Dick and Tim press on, but they’re moving upstream. The general direction of the crowd is southwards, towards the action. Dick slips into a small eddy created by a tree growing from the sidewalk and catches his breath, checking on Tim as he does. Tim’s hat has been knocked askew, but otherwise he’s fine. “What shall we do, Mother?” he asks, looking around at the crowd in dismay. “We’ll never find Alfred in all this.”

The honk of a horn cuts through the noise briefly. People and pigeons scatter, and a familiar motor-car muscles its way to the curb with a familiar face behind the wheel. “Alfred has found us,” Dick says in relief. He takes advantage of the confusion to dart straight through to the door and open it himself, not waiting for Alfred to get out. He shoves Tim inside, then climbs in himself and pulls the door to, narrowly missing closing it on another lady’s flounce.

“Forgive me not opening the door, ma’am, but if I tried I might never make it back to the driver’s seat,” Alfred says, pulling away from the curb. He’s driving the Daimler today, in which Captain Wayne had driven Dick back to Wayne Manor on that memorable day he’d tried to fire him. Paradoxically, Dick is glad to see it now. He remembers how maneuverable it had been, and how sturdy its suspension and shocks. If more tree-limbs are down or other debris blocks the roadways, they may still be able to navigate those obstacles and reach home safely. Already some pedestrians have taken to the street, though fewer than on the sidewalks, and Alfred has to drive slowly, frequently sounding his horn. He asks, “Are you ladies all right?”

“We’re fine,” Dick answers for them both. “Just a little shaken up.”

“I am glad to hear it,” Alfred says.

“We’re going to get Babs, aren’t we?” Tim asks anxiously. 

Dick already knows the answer to that; Lake Gotham and the summer-house are north of the city proper, but they’re speeding south down Park Row as fast as the crowds and the traffic signals will permit. Tim, who doesn’t know the city as well as Dick does, remains stiff with worry until Alfred answers, “Yes, miss,” and then he relaxes back into the seat all at once. 

“And then we’ll go straight home,” Dick says firmly. “We will want to be out of the way of the emergency services.” And anything else that might be involved in this event. Dick would like very much to believe it’s an accident - something left behind by the bootleggers after their arrest, perhaps, disturbed by an unwary group of dockworkers - or a natural disaster. And perhaps it will indeed prove so. But he wants everyone together and out of the city nevertheless. While the fire at Wayne Manor has proven that home is no safer than anywhere else, at least when they’re together they can act as a group if need be. 

“Very sensible, my lady,” Alfred endorses. He turns down a side street, circles a school, then drives past several houses before stopping outside Gordon’s residence. “Shall I - ”

The door of the house is flung open before Alfred can finish his sentence, and Babs runs out, followed not far behind by James Gordon himself. “Mother! Alfred! Did you see? Tim, did you see? Did you feel it?” She skids to a halt by the car, panting, and yanks the door open. “We felt it! A big rumbling, like an earthquake! Only it wasn’t an earthquake!”

“Yes, we felt it,” Dick says.

“Not as strongly as we did, I bet!” Babs is practically bouncing. “Oooh, it shook and shook! And knocked all the plates from the dish-basket, too! Right after I’d finished washing them.” Babs pouts briefly, but her excitement has her perking back up again almost immediately. “Then we went upstairs to look at the fire, Uncle and I! We could see it petty well from up there. Down here there’s too many buildings in the way.” Indeed, although they’re several miles closer to the docks, that hasn’t benefited them in terms of sight: Gotham slopes downwards towards its waterfront, and while Dick and Tim been able to see the fire over the low tops of the warehouses from the heights of Park Row, down here in the residential streets by the industrial district those same warehouses block their view. “It’s a really big fire! At least half the docks are burning.”

“I’m glad you came,” Gordon says, catching up to Babs at last and addressing Dick. “I didn’t know what I was going to do with Barbara otherwise. I have to get down there.”

“Of course you do,” Dick says in understanding. “I’ll take Babs on home and leave you to it. Thank you for your service, Commissioner.”

“Stay safe, Uncle James!” Babs throws her arms around him, then climbs over Dick to get into the car without so much as a by-your-leave. Dick meets Gordon’s eyes in a shared moment of wry understanding. Gordon’s relationship with Babs has improved markedly over the past couple of months, and it’s been wonderful to see how Babs has expanded with having another adult who cares for her in her life. Still, they are going to have to do something about her manners. Eventually.

“You stay safe too,” Gordon says. He’s still looking at Dick. “In fact, I’d go straight home if I were you, Mrs. Wayne.”

Dick swallows, his heart suddenly pounding. “Yes, I’d planned to.” Gordon had been in the picture in the newspaper. “About the docks - ”

“I’m sure it’s just an accident,” Gordon says. He doesn’t look any more convinced than Dick feels about that. “You’d better go.”

“Yes.” Dick still hesitates, but with Tim and Babs listening breathless and wide-eyed, Dick can’t think of anything he feels safe asking aloud. Finally he says, “Thank you again. We’ll go now.”

Gordon closes the car door and waves them off. The last Dick sees of him, as they drive around the corner and back towards the city exit, is Gordon climbing into his own car, getting ready to join the other first responders.

Babs has started chattering about the explosion again. Tim is listening to her, or at least pretending to, though he isn’t saying much for himself. Dick leans back in the seat and closes his eyes. The sound of sirens and the clip-clop of horses’ hooves get louder and then quieter again in his ears as they pass police and firefighters heading in the direction they’d come. Soon, he tells himself. Soon they’ll be - 

The car turns abruptly, sharply, and Dick’s eyes fly open. “Alfred?”

“Apologies, my lady,” Alfred calls back over his shoulder. “The road is closed just ahead. We must go another way.”

“Closed?” Dick looks out the window, expecting to see police vehicles, but instead there’s what looks like a multi-car wreck, with at least three distinct vehicles that Dick can see piled on and around each other. “Goodness.”

“Perhaps they were driving when the earthquake happened,” Tim suggests, “and it startled them so that they crashed.”

“Perhaps so,” Dick agrees. He continues to watch out the window, seeing the fire still blazing away on the horizon. It seems larger rather than smaller; the fire engines must not be gaining any traction. “Hopefully no one is hurt.”

Alfred crosses the main thoroughfare going east, and they are again headed out of the city, if via a somewhat more circuitous route. “I’m sure the police will send someone soon,” he says, “and that wreck will soon be - my gracious!” The car brakes abruptly, the rear swaying uncomfortably for a moment before Alfred brings the car under control. 

“What is it?” Babs shrieks.

“People,” Alfred says. The car starts moving again, but in short spurts, trying to press forward through the crowd that has suddenly all but surrounded them. “All in the streets.”

“Rubber neckers, I suppose,” Tim says, sounding bored. Or trying to. There’s a nervousness underlying it that makes Dick put an arm around him.

Babs shrinks back into her seat. “Oh, I don’t like it,” she says, looking at the crowd. People keep looming large around them. Then the car will creep forward another few feet, and then stop again, and another face will be peering inside.

“I don’t either,” Dick says. This should be an upscale part of town, but he keeps seeing the same types of people in the crowd, laborer types in patched clothing, unshaven and unfriendly-looking. He has an uneasy feeling, as if they’re surrounding the car. “Let’s go another way, Alfred.”

“Very well, my lady.” The car stops again, and Alfred puts it in reverse. Dick looks behind them. There are only a few people there. And yet, when they’d come through it only a moment ago, the crowd had been just as thick around them as it is now. Alfred turns and puts his arm over the passenger seat, the better to look through the rear windshield. Dick sees the moment when Alfred comes to the same realization Dick has. Alfred’s lips thin. “Hold on, everyone,” he says. Then he guns it.

The tires squeal; the motor isn’t geared to accelerate this fast in reverse, but it does it anyway, though they fishtail wildly and nearly spin out. The thin handful of people in their path scatter, shouting in indignation. Alfred catches the last swerve of the car and uses it to spin them about in a maneuver that sends Babs sliding clear across the seat and makes Tim go green around the edges. Then, the moment they’ve rocked to a stop facing the way they’d come, Alfred slams the car into gear and floors it again. The car leaps forward, belching exhaust, and they go speeding back into Gotham proper.

“Shall I try another way home?” Alfred asks. He sounds tense but calm, superbly controlled. Dick wishes he could say he felt the same.

“Yes,” Dick says. “If you please. Perhaps the third time will be the charm.”

“If you say so, my lady.”

They’ve tried north and east. Now they try west. South is the mouth of Gotham Bay and the inlet to the harbor. The ground rises beneath them as they cross Park Row again, and then rises still further as they climb towards Gotham Heights. They would normally go this way as their first choice, to get to Wayne Manor. Today they’re headed to the summer-home, but they can still reach it from Gotham Heights, by going past the Manor and along the coastal road alongside Lake Gotham. If they can get out of the city.

They make it through the Diamond District undisturbed, and Dick begins to breathe a little easier. Tim and Babs are quiet in the seats next to him. Alfred is focused and intent, driving the motor-car with silent precision. The skyscrapers zip by as he picks up speed and heads towards the freeway out of town.

Tim sees it as soon as Alfred does. “Turn!” he shouts. 

The car is already changing direction. The roadway here is divided, planters with attractive flowers splitting the lanes in two, but Alfred shows no mercy to the city beautifiers. The car barrels straight into the concrete planters as they spin wildly around. Dick catches his breath, afraid they’ll be wrecked, but the Daimler comes through, or Alfred’s driving skills, or both. Something in the undercarriage makes a horrible grinding noise and they all jolt around like kernels popping in a hot stove-pot, but then a moment later they’re on the far side of the roadway and speeding back downtown. 

“What was it?” Dick asks, as soon as they’re safely on four wheels again. “I didn’t see.”

“Some kind of barricade,” Alfred says tersely. “It completely blocked the roadway. I did not wait to see what it was made of. But there were sharp things on the road.”

“Broken glass?” Tim suggests doubtfully.

“Some kind of metal.” The flatness of Alfred’s voice speaks louder than words.

Dick takes a deep breath. “The ways out of the city are blocked,” he says. His own voice sound steadier than he’d expected it to be. “We need an alternative.”

“Are we not going home, mama?” Babs asks in a small voice. 

“Not yet, dear.” Dick puts an arm around her absently, his mind working. “We must go somewhere else until… until the fire has been brought under control. The police must be so busy that they don’t have time to clear the roads.”

Tim meets Dick’s gaze over Babs’ head. He may not know any of the details, but he knows something isn’t right. Dick gives him a warning look to be silent. Babs doesn’t need to be worried any more than she already is.

“Where do you have in mind?” Alfred asks.

Dick looks out the window at the familiar Gotham skyline slipping by. They seem to be safe enough while they’re in motion, but they can’t stay that way forever. The gas-tank won’t hold out, and they can be trapped, too, this way. He remembers the crowd pressing in around them as they’d tried to exit Gotham to the east and shudders. No, better to go somewhere safe. If there is anywhere safe to go. 

Naturally, Dick’s first thought is St. Mary’s. He dismisses that almost out of hand. The safety he imagines there is the safety of a child hiding beneath their mothers’ skirts. Nuns and orphans won’t be any help if this really is the work of the Red Joker. He wishes desperately that Bruce were in Gotham instead of away in Central City. Bruce would know what to do, or, failing that, would know who to ask. Dick would go to one of Bruce’s associates, if he knew who any of them where.

Think. Dick does know, or, at least, suspects, who one of them is. Babs’ Uncle Gordon, who had appeared in the photograph in the Gotham Gazette, the only person pictured wearing a uniform. The rest would be the Pinkertons and ex-soldiers Bruce had mentioned. But the paper had spoken of arrests, and that implies legitimacy. Implies the police. Gordon, Dick is fairly sure, had been that legitimacy. But when they had picked up Babs and driven away, Gordon had already been getting into his own car. He’d spoken of needing to go and help. He won’t be at his home any more. And Dick doesn’t think that driving down to the docks will be any safer than trying to leave Gotham had been.

Who else? The only person who comes to mind is Harley. Not as a member of ‘the organization’ herself, perhaps, but she had been informing for Bruce; she may have been informing for others as well. She may know where to go. But Harley hasn’t been seen in Gotham for weeks now. Her disappearance suddenly takes on an ugly new possibility in light of the day’s events. Not a natural, gentle end to her relationship with Jason after all, perhaps. Dick thinks of Kate’s family and wonders grimly if Harley is alive or dead.

But perhaps she had gotten wind of the danger and gone into hiding. Her father had been head of the bootleggers; criminal overlords always had bolt-holes in case the cops came knocking. Where would she hide? Dick doesn’t know. The only places he knows Harley hangs out are down by the docks - the last place he wants to go right now - and St. Mary’s. Not even really St. Mary’s. It’s not a regular haunt of hers. If it were, Dick would have seen her long before. She had only gone there that one time to find Bruce and happened to find Dick instead. What she would she have done, where might she have gone next, if she hadn’t?

Dick frowns. 

I’ve got something for him. Thought I’d catch him downtown, but I was late, an’ he wasn’t where he was s’posed to be. So I came here.

How could Harley have known that Bruce intended to go to St. Mary’s? Bruce isn’t an intimate of the church any more than Harley is. Before going out as the Wayne governess, Dick had seen Captain Wayne maybe half a dozen times, total, in the entire decade Dick had spent in the orphanage. If it had been Sunday morning and Mass about to start, that would be one thing; Harley might reasonably expect Captain Wayne to come to St. Mary’s then. But on a Saturday evening, with nothing going on? 

Bruce had had to come to St. Mary’s that evening to pick up Dick. If Harley had known as much, that would explain it. Jason may have told her about Bruce and Dick’s plans for that Saturday. It could fit, viewed that way.

Or it could be a different reason entirely. 

He wasn’t where he was s’posed to be. So I came here.

To St. Mary’s - to meet Captain Wayne? Or to St. Mary’s - to give the information to someone who would then pass it along to Captain Wayne?

Harley may have come looking for Dick. Maybe. Or maybe… she had come looking for someone else.

Dick can’t be sure he isn’t just seeing what he wants to see. But he’s out of options, and he makes up his mind.

“Take us to St. Mary’s, Alfred,” he says.

“Yes, my lady,” Alfred says, accelerating smoothly.

Tim and Babs sit quietly. Babs is looking out the windows. Tim is looking at Dick. Trustingly. Their lives are in Dick’s hands, and if this isn’t an accident, nor an earthquake nor any other natural thing, but is, in fact, the continued activities of the Red Joker, who had once set fire to their home and threatened all of their lives - 

Dick sits back and waits to find out if he’s delivering them to safety - or if he’s just made a terrible mistake.

Chapter Text

They make it to St. Mary’s without further incident. Alfred takes the car around the corner and several streets down to reduce the chances of its being spotted. Dick herds Tim and Babs directly into the kitchen, where he knows everyone will be, by virtue of its being Saturday. The kitchens are even busier and more crowded than usual. He finds the Mother Superior directly, standing in the center of the storm and giving orders in at least five directions at once.

“There should still be some aloe in the storehouse. Stephen, run and ask Sister Herbalist to help you find all there is. Mary, go set all the milk aside so no one uses it for cooking or drinking. It’s better for burns than water, and Lord knows there will be burns after a fire like this. Double the leeks in that stew, Thomas, it will be good for the injured. Jane, take Polly and Michael and go start turning the oldest sheets in the cupboard into bandages. Hurry now. There will be plenty of folk injured the hospitals won’t take.”

Dick doesn’t dare interrupt this flow of activity, but about this time the Reverend Mother notices Dick hovering over the corner of the crowd, and interrupts herself. “Richard, what are you doing here? Are you all right?”

“Yes, we’re all right, but - ”

“No one injured?”

“No, Reverend Mother. We were shopping when the fire started. But we can’t get out of town, and I didn’t know where else to go.”

In this crowd of children, Dick doesn’t dare say more, but the Reverend Mother seems to read something in his face and voice and nods as if he understands. “Go see Father Gideon,” he says. “He’ll know what’s to be done.”

Father Gideon? Suddenly, as if from a distance of years, Dick remembers that late February morning driving up to Wayne Manor. Father Gideon telling Dick all about Wayne Manor - the electricity, the lavatories - and about the children, too. What schools they attend, their behavior. Some of that could be explained by Captain Wayne being a parishioner. And Father Gideon had said that she attends the charity ball there every year. Dick, ignorant of the world of the rich, had willingly accepted the explanation. But in retrospect… and why does Bruce take his family all the way into Gotham to worship at St. Mary’s, anyway, when there are churches in Gotham Heights that usually serve the rich?

“Thank you, Reverend Mother,” Dick says.

Babs turns with Dick to go to the sanctuary, but Tim hesitates. “Mother, let me stay here,” he pleads. “I can help.”

“So you can,” Dick says. “Reverend Mother, is it all right?”

“Another pair of hands is always helpful,” the Reverend Mother says briskly. “Go to Sister Mary Clarence in the larder; she’ll need things carried, and you look strong enough.” 

“Yes, Reverend Mother.” Tim runs off directly and is lost in the swirl of bodies soon enough.

Dick looks down at Babs. “And you?”

Babs presses closer to Dick, looking a little fearful and rather more overwhelmed. “Oh, Mother, I - it’s not that I don’t want to help - ”

“Go on with your mother,” the Reverend Mother says brusquely. “He’ll need help too, I warrant.”

“Yes, come along,” Dick says, putting an arm around Babs and steering her towards the door along with him. There’s no shame in being intimidated by the press of bodies and blanket of noise the kitchens of St. Mary’s generate. It will be quieter in the sanctuary, with wider spaces and fewer people.

“I’m sorry,” Babs says in a small voice, as they emerge into the relative spaciousness and quiet of the small courtyard and turn their steps towards the main church. “It was all just too much for me.”

Dick hugs Babs one-armed. “It’s all right,” he reassures her. “Father Gideon will find something for you to do, I’m sure. You can go into the monastery, you know, which Tim cannot. There are likely to be tasks that need doing there as well.”

Babs brightens. “That’s awfully nicer than saying I’m a scaredy-cat,” she says. “Thank you, Mother.”

“Here we are.” Dick pushes open the door to the church and enters the nave, looking about. No one is in sight, but the candle is lit outside one of the confessionals. Dick goes over to it and makes to rap gently on the wood paneling. Then he changes his mind. Why rouse Father Gideon out into the main church, to talk where there is more space and more places for ears to hear, when Dick may instead speak to him in the private and quiet of the confessional? 

“Go light a candle for your parents,” Dick says to Babs. “I’ll just be a minute.”

“Yes, Mother,” Babs says obediently.

Dick enters the confessional, breathing the familiar scent of lemon-oil wood-polish, smoke from the burning candles, and mothballs for the cushions. He settles down and crosses himself. “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,” he murmurs on sheer reflex, then has to stop and count days, because it’s been - “Good Lord, have I really not confessed in - ”

“At least a month,” Father Gideon’s voice comes, amused. “But I hear that’s common when one is on one’s honeymoon.”

“Oh dear,” Dick says. “And I’m not really here to confess today, either.”

There’s a rattling sound as Father Gideon slides back the panel, leaving only the grating between them. “You were never really a Catholic, Dick; we all knew it,” she says amiably. “You might try the Episcopalians. I think they may be a better conduit for your relationship with God.”

“Thank you, Father, but I’m not here for religious advice, either.” Dick takes a deep breath. “You know about the fire down by the docks?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I think - that is, I’m afraid - ” Dick hesitates, but there’s no one here but the two of them, and given the seal of the confessional, Dick isn’t even really risking a confidence. “You know about what happened down at the docks earlier? The arrests? The - ”

“I do,” Father Gideon says. Something in her calm voice settles Dick immediately. He is sure, suddenly, that she knows everything.

With that certainty comes ease. Dick pours everything out - the fire, the car, their attempts to leave town, their being blocked at every turn. He conscientiously details his own second-guessing, the possibilities that it’s all coincidence, the ways a major fire in Gotham’s busy industrial district could account, in some way, for all their difficulties. He relays how he had come to suspect that help might be found at St. Mary’s - meeting Harley here that night, and Bruce’s own unusual choices when it comes to religion and worship, and Dick’s frank desperation for some kind of assistance. It all spills out of Dick like ink from a well. When he reaches the end he finds himself breathing hard, as if he’d run a race. Silence falls as he waits for Father Gideon’s response.

“You were right to come here,” Father Gideon says at once. “You must call your home directly and warn them to be cautious. I will make a few phone calls, as well.”

“To - ”

“To those who may help us,” Father Gideon says. She rises and exits the confessional from her side, then opens the door to Dick’s and beckons him out. “There is a phone in my office. It should be safe from prying ears.”

Dick nods, making a gesture to Babs to remain where she is, kneeling by the rows of votives in a corner of the church. Father Gideon leads Dick out of a small door to the left of the altar, down a corridor with hooks for the choir-robes and altar-boys’ robes and a small water closet, and then into an almost equally small, shabby office. It’s wood-paneled in the style of twenty years ago, when St. Mary’s had last known money in any quantity, and dusty enough to make Dick sneeze. Books are piled haphazardly on some surfaces, paper on others, and even the framed portraits of former rectors which adorn the walls are dim and grimy. The acolytes in the monastery need a lesson in diligence. If any of the nunnery’s novices had left the Mother Superior’s chamber half so shabby as this they’d have their ears boxed so hard they’d ring for a week, and they’d be spending the entirety of that week scouring on their hands and knees with a hand-brush and a bit of old rag. Dick had been bawled out many a time, when he’d first come to the orphanage, for not scouring a pot clean or making a bed neat enough. The nuns are sticklers. The monks are… evidently less so.

Father Gideon shifts some things around on her desk, and a candlestick telephone comes into view. It’s made of brass, and it would shine if someone only took the time to polish it properly, but in its current sheen of dull green-gray it had blended in with the rest of the general untidiness. “You call first,” Father Gideon says.

Dick nods and picks up the receiver. The switchboard operator sounds harried, and Dick has a moment of worry that the lines will be full with the emergency, but once Dick says he wants a line up to the Lake Gotham coastal ‘board - there are enough lakehouses up there, owned by the elite, that it has its own exchange, shared with Gotham Heights - the operator sounds immediately more cheerful, and puts Dick through immediately. Then comes the anticipation of hearing the buzzing ring, and finally the distinct click, and Betsy’s familiar voice - “Wayne household, how may I assist you?”

“Betsy!” Dick says in relief. “It’s I - Dick - ”

“Oh thank heavens!” Betsy says, sounding nearly as happy to hear Dick’s voice as Dick is to hear hers. “Are you and the children all right? We can see the flames all the way from here! We’ve been so worried!”

“We’re fine, but the roads out of the city are all blocked.”

Betsy makes a shocked sound. “So you’re not coming straight home?”

“I’m afraid not. But never mind that now. Are the rest of the children all in the house? Are any of them out?”

“All but Jason, ma’am; he went off on a ramble of his own, and hasn’t been back yet.”

Dick gnaws his lower lip in worry, but if any of them can take care of themselves, it’s Jason. “Well, listen to me now, Betsy. Keep the rest of the children inside, okay?” Suddenly it occurs to Dick that he needs to give her a reason for this, and not a true one, either. He casts about frantically and ends up saying, “You see we - we don’t know what caused the fire, or how far it’s spreading, and I don’t want anyone wandering out and getting hurt.” 

“I understand,” Betsy says promptly. “We’ll do so, never fear, and when Jason gets back we’ll keep him in too.”

“Thank you, Betsy. Is there any word from Captain Wayne?”

“No, ma’am, I’m afraid not. We’ve been hoping all day he’d call and tell us when he’s coming home, but this is the first time the telephone’s rung yet.”

Dick sighs. “Well, see if you can call him. You have his hotel?”

“Oh, yes, ma’am.”

“I’d try myself, but Father Gideon needs to use the ’phone too. If you can’t get through to Captain Wayne directly, leave a message with the hotel for him to come back to Gotham as soon as possible.”

“I will, ma’am.”

“And you get any news, call back here. To St. Mary’s. I’ll be staying here, with Tim and Babs, until - until the roads are clear.”

“Yes’m.”

Dick looks up at Father Gideon and raises an eyebrow in a silent question. Father Gideon shakes her head lightly, so Dick says into the speaker, “All right. Thank you, Betsy. Good-bye.”

“Good-bye, ma’am.” The line goes dead.

Dick hangs the earphone back up and sighs. “That’s done,” he says. “Nothing seems to be happening up there, at least.” He looks down, fussing with the ’phone, turning it this way and that on its stand. “I don’t know. Perhaps I am jumping at shadows.”

“I don’t think so,” Father Gideon disagrees. “All the ways out of the city blocked? We used to have a saying - once is happenstance, twice is a coincidence, but three times - three times is enemy action.”

Dick looks up, startled. “We? Were you - ”

Father Gideon nods. “Yes. I did my part, too, during the War.”

“Were you already a priest then?”

“Yes.”

“But not at St. Mary’s.” It had been Father Alexander, when Dick had first come to the orphanage here. Old Father Alexander who had been rector of St. Mary’s since the old-timers had been attending Sunday School. He’d retired not long after the end of the war, as Dick recalled, and then Father Gideon had come in his stead. Father Alexander had continued to live in the neighborhood and assist occasionally. His funeral had been one of the last big events at St. Mary’s before the Great Depression. 

“No. I was a military chaplain.”

“Is that how you met Bruce?” Dick is suddenly hungry to know more about that time in Bruce’s life. Partly that’s because of the current situation - knowledge is power, and Dick needs every weapon he can get - but also because this is a part of Bruce’s life that Bruce has yet to really speak of, even to Dick. Some amount of secrecy is clearly necessary, but - “Were you overseas with him?”

“For a while.”

Father Gideon’s short answers probably mean she doesn’t want to be asked, but Dick presses on. “Does the Red Joker know you? Were you involved in what happened to Kate’s father?”

“No and no. I never crossed paths with the aviators, aside from your husband in the course of my other duties. And I was long retired when poor Jacob Kane died. I heard about it, of course.”

“Retired for real?” Dick asks. “Or retired the way Bruce was retired?”

 Father Gideon smiles kindly at Dick. “Oh, I’m just an old, boring priest,” she says, “who tends to my impoverished flock and my orphans and tries to do a bit of good in the community. Sometimes I tend to a few of my former comrades as well. Everyone needs a bit of spiritual counsel. It’s convenient, being a priest. People tell you things. Then sometimes you get a clearer picture of what’s going on than anyone else.”

“And that lets you give good advice,” Dick says shrewdly. “Better advice than anyone else can, perhaps.”

“Better than anyone who doesn’t understand the full picture, certainly.” Father Gideon is still smiling, but her voice turns firm. “No more questions, now. I have to make a few calls of my own. Why don’t you go back to the chapel and check on your children?”

“All right,” Dick says, guessing that Father Gideon doesn’t want Dick to overhear these conversations. “But perhaps we can talk more, another time?”

“I imagine you’ll be talking more to your husband,” Father Gideon says with tolerant amusement for the doings of the laity. “Go along now.”

Dick goes instinctively, just as if he’s still an orphan, without further questioning or delay. He reaches the door and actually has his hand on the latch when it swings open suddenly from without. Instinctively Dick falls back to make way, and then he nearly trips and has to catch himself on the edge of Father Gideon’s desk, his eyes going wide and the blood rushing from his face fast enough to make his head swim. 

“Calm yourself, Frau Wayne,” the familiar, hateful voice says. “I would have to see anything happen to you before I have a long discussion with your husband, hmm?”

The Red Joker steps into Father Gideon’s office as if it’s his own. The casually contemptuous glance he casts around the space speaks to his own disapproval with the poor state of the housekeeping. He’s armed, but his pistol is held loosely in one hand, pointed at the ground, as if he doesn’t think he needs its assistance to enforce his will. Dick tenses, thinking about springing past him and fleeing. If he could get enough of a head start… but then another two people enter the room. The first is a laborer in the same mold as those who had been part of the crowd blocking their attempt to leave Gotham to the east. Tall, muscled, wearing rough clothing, only partially shaven, and with a look in his eye that says he enjoys drink and using his fists. The second is Babs. 

“Mother,” Babs cries as soon as she sees Dick. She starts to go to him, but the laborer catches her by the arm and stops her from moving. Dick boils up at the rough handling, but the Red Joker makes a soft sound with his tongue that instantly has the attention of all the room’s occupants swinging back to him.

“It was very kind of you to bring one of your children here with you,” the Red Joker says to Dick. “It will make my job much easier today. Thank you, Frau Wayne.”

Dick draws in a shaky breath and wrestles his temper back under control. “It was you,” he says. “You kept us from leaving the city.”

The Red Joker throws his head back and laughs heartily. “You flatter yourself, Frau Wayne,” he says at last, when his hilarity has ebbed. “What do I care for you? No, it was others whom I hoped to catch - but perhaps you can be useful to me after all. A little bait in the trap, hmm? Your Captain Wayne will certainly not want to see his bride discomfited.” The Red Joker’s gaze, as it rakes Dick up and down, is lecherous and contemptuous all at once. “What a fool he is to corrupt his bloodline this way. For sport, certainly, one can see the appeal, but to marry - ” He shakes his head. “A fool,” he repeats. “But a useful fool, in this case. You will contact him - ”

“No,” Dick says.

The Red Joker raises on elegant eyebrow. “No?” he repeats, his voice soft and exquisitely courteous. “And may I know why not?”

“Because I don’t know where he is,” Dick says. “He’s not in Gotham.”

“Not in Gotham!” the Red Joker repeats, as if they are sitting down together at dinner and Dick has declared that they will not be having a fish course tonight. “A failure of my intelligence network, indeed. Where then is he?”

“I don’t know exactly,” Dick says truthfully. “Somewhere in Central City.”

“At which hotel is he?”

“I don’t know.” When the Red Joker looks dubious, Dick doubles down. “He doesn’t tell me about his business dealings." Dick widens his eyes, tries to look silly, foolish, ignorant of money matters - all the things bigots like to believe about Roma, all the reasons why Zeller might believe Bruce wouldn't tell Dick anything of substance. "If I needed to call him, I had one of the servants do it. They know.”

"The servants..." The Red Joker looks thoughtful. Dick holds his breath. And for the first time Dick thinks of Alfred - of Tim. Where are they? How many others does the Red Joker have? Dick pictures the orphans huddled together in the kitchen, under the tommy guns of various criminals whose loyalty the Red Joker had bought with ready cash. God send Tim has the sense to blend in with the rest, one orphan among many, nondescript and overlooked. As for Alfred - Dick isn’t sure. He’d gone to park the car, and hadn’t returned before Dick had followed Father Gideon back to his office. Alfred may be outside St. Mary’s still, and free to get help. Assuming he notices anything is wrong before he walks right back inside the church. Assuming he hasn’t already been ambushed by more of the Red Joker’s hired goons.

The Red Joker frowns, but then shrugs lightly. He has a pair of gloves he holds loosely in one hand and slaps against the other as he talks. “It’s no matter. The servants will come too.”

“Come?” Dick tenses. “Come where?”

“With me. I am taking you and your children away from here to be my guests for a little time. You will remain in my keeping until I have what I need from your Captain Wayne.”

“There are no servants of mine here,” Dick says, desperately hoping it’s the truth.

“No, no.” The Red Joker waves a hand dismissively. “Of course not. But they will come with the children.”

“With the children - ”

“Yes. You will call your children on this telephone I see so conveniently behind you on the priest’s desk, and say that you want them all to come here, along with whichever servants know the whereabouts of Captain Wayne.”

“No!”

The Red Joker sighs, as if Dick is being unnecessarily difficult. Then he lifts his gun for the first time, and holds it out, pointing directly at Babs. 

Babs makes a sound somewhere between a gasp and a cry. She doesn’t move, but her eyes grow very wide, and she swallows convulsively. Dick aches to take her into his arms and comfort her. He doesn’t move, either.

“For shame,” Father Gideon flashes. “This is a house of God.”

“What do I care for your God?” The Red Joker shrugs uncaringly, then returns his attention to Dick. “Now, Frau Wayne,” the Red Joker repeats. “You will call your servants and have them bring the remaining children here.”

Dick licks his lips. Maternal instincts scream at him to do whatever the Red Joker wants. Babs is in danger. Surely he must act. Surely - but no. He wrestles those instincts into submission. Mind must rule here, and he has more children than only Babs.

What will happen if he does what the Red Joker says? He isn’t rational - Dick had known it the night of the ball, and if he had somehow missed it then, it would be clear now in the glint of madness in Zeller’s eye, the insane calmness of his words, the brashness of his instructions. Will Zeller really let them go? Let any of them go? Or will Dick only be allowing the Red Joker to point his gun at more of Dick’s children?

“No,” Dick repeats.

The Red Joker stares incredulously. “No again? I think perhaps you do not understand,” and the tone of his voice has changed to one of pure disgust, impatience with the idiocy he seems to be confronted with. “This, Frau Wayne, is a gun.” He gestures with his free hand, not letting the muzzle waver an inch from where it’s aimed directly at Babs’ heart. “A gun shoots bullets. Bullets are little bits of metal that travel at a very high speed, and when they hit someone, they tend to kill them. Especially if they hit in an important place, such as the heart. You know where the heart is located in the body?” Dick nods mutely, lips pressed tightly together. “Then you see that this gun is pointed directly at your precious little bübchen’s heart. Yes?” Another nod. “So, if I were to pull this trigger - ” The Red Joker’s finger tightens minutely, and Dick’s chest tightens, too. “Then the bullet would fly out of this gun, and strike directly the heart of your child, and kill them. You see?” The Red Joker pauses. This time Dick makes no response, silent or otherwise. “You see,” the Red Joker repeats, tone darkening to something ugly. His English, too, always so polished and urbane, so grammatically perfect and pronounced so exquisitely, fractures along old fault lines, taking on a Germanic cadence, a Germanic slant to his consonants. The Red Joker says, “This is what is called a threat. I will put it for you in simple language. You will call now your servants and speak to them the message I have directed - or else your child who is here will die.” He regards Dick with contempt. “Say to me that you understand this.”

“I understand,” Dick whispers.

“So now you will call.”

“No.”

The Red Joker stares. “You care so little for your child that you will let her die?”

“I care for all my children,” Dick says quietly. If he’d had any doubts before about how this situation will end, he can have none anymore. He speaks his understanding aloud, as the Red Joker has requested, steadily and with full confidence. “You will kill any of us you can, no matter what I do. This isn’t about national fervor for you any more, is it? There’s nothing Captain Wayne can give you for Germany that you can’t get at less risk and more benefit some other way. This is about revenge. And that means that Babs and I are dead already. All I will accomplish by calling for the rest of my children is to sentence them to death as well.”

“Ah,” the Red Joker says softly. His voice is heavy with menace, and he makes no attempt to deny what Dick has said of him. “But there is a great deal of difference made in how one dies, is there not?”

To fall to the Earth trapped in a prison of burning metal - yes, there is a difference. Dick knows it. Hears and understands the threat lurking behind the Red Joker’s words - that he will give Babs a slow death, a painful death, a death that Dick would do almost anything to spare her. Almost. But Dick also knows that he won’t let anything, not even that threat, put the rest of his children in danger. 

“I’m sorry, Babs,” Dick says, not taking his eyes from the Red Joker. He apologizes silently, as well, to the child he has only just begun to carry, who will never be born. At least the Red Joker will not be able to use Dick’s pregnancy against he or Bruce. And Dick may comfort himself to think that Bruce himself will never know. The servants who may have guessed will certainly hold their tongues, in the absence of any proof. It will be one fewer grief for Bruce to bear. 

“It’s all right, Mother,” Babs says. Her voice is choked up, but she’s being as brave as she can be. “I - I understand.”

The Red Joker makes a sound of utter disgust. “One ought never expect the lower races to behave sensibly,” he says to himself. He gestures to the guard he’d brought with him, who produces a pistol of his own and trains it on Babs, Dick, and Father Gideon. The Red Joker holsters his weapon and then turns on his heel. “I will be back momentarily,” he says, still sounding disgusted. “Then we will see.”

Zeller leaves the room. Dick shares a sideways glance with Father Gideon. Only one guard, and three of them. Babs is only a child, but it’s still the best chance they’re likely to get, even if the guard is armed. Father Gideon is thinking the same way. Dick looks at Babs, who is staring down at the ground, her hair falling forward to cover her face. He tries to catch her eye. If all three of them lunge at once it will be their best chance - 

“Here we are,” the Red Joker says in satisfaction, reentering almost immediately. Dick slumps in disappointment. Zeller’s return is followed by the entrance of another guard, and this guard, too, is bringing a prisoner along with them. Bedraggled and disheveled, blond hair lank and tied back in a single limp ponytail, face and hands streaked with dirt, still Dick recognizes her. It’s Harley. Despite the situation, Dick feels a wave of relief. He’d only met her once in person, but Jason cares about her, and talks about her often. Dick feels like he knows her; has come to care about her, too. He’s glad to see she’s alive, even under these circumstances.

“Now,” the Red Joker goes on, speaking to Harley. “Tell our guests here. You wrote a letter as I instructed you, hmm?”

Harley pushes a straggle of hair out of her face. She doesn’t look up or speak, just nods jerkily. 

“Excellent.” The Red Joker looks at the guard. “And you delivered it to the place the Fräulein here said it must go?”

“Sure did, boss,” the guard agrees.

“Splendid.” The Red Joker smiles now at Dick. It is not a pleasant smile. “You see, there are some who still know what is best for them. Fräulein Quinn, here, does.” It takes Dick a minute to realize that the Red Joker is referring to Harley; in all this time Dick had never heard her last name. “So. Yesterday I have her write a little message. To her young man, yes? Your Jason. An error on your part, perhaps, Frau Wayne. One should never permit an undesirable connection in a family of merit. But then, there is very little merit left in your family, with the dilution Captain Wayne has permitted.”

Dick bites his tongue hard and says nothing.

“Fräulein Quinn writes so prettily, apologizing for her absence, asking her Jason to come and see her. And this morning my assistant here takes this note and places it where the young lovers are used to placing their notes. Perhaps already the young man has recovered the note. He is not at your residence, I am told. Soon we shall see him here, coming to meet his lady friend. Then we will have him, too.”

“No,” Dick whispers.

“I suspect young Master Jason will be willing to make a certain phone call for me. If he cares not for his stepmother or his adopted brother, he may care about his lady friend, hmm?” The Red Joker smiles paternally at Harley, who trembles and doesn’t move. Dick feels sick at the thought of what the Red Joker may have already done to her. “Then, when you are all my guests, we will leave this place for a more secure one, and await your Captain Wayne’s return. I expect he will be quite willing to negotiate in that situation.”

“He’ll never give you what you want,” Babs bursts out. “Never, never, never!”

“Tut, tut,” the Red Joker says. His tone is casual and almost bored; his movements are not. With the suddenness of a striking snake he lashes out, striking Babs across the face and making her cry out and fall back against Father Gideon’s desk. “Do you teach your children no discipline, Frau Wayne?” the Red Joker asks, still in that casual, calm tone. “They should know not to interrupt when their betters are talking.”

“They do,” Dick says.

The Red Joker pauses. Then his face darkens, the scars on his cheeks standing out with sudden sharpness. He turns and strikes at Dick, too. Dick catches the blow on the side of his head, where the nuns have boxed his ears so many times that the Red Joker’s strike barely registers. Dick doesn’t let on that he notices at all, merely turning back to the Red Joker with his chin tilted just so and one eyebrow raised in challenge. The Red Joker takes a step forward, expression and body language turning ugly. “Perhaps it is you who need to be taught,” he says softly. “Perhaps - what?”

This exclamation comes in response to a sudden commotion outside the room. Banging and breaking noises are clearly to be heard, and something that sounds a lot like smashing wood. “Go see what it is,” the Red Joker orders the guard holding Harley. 

“Right-o, boss,” the guard says, dropping Harley’s arm and turning towards the door. He opens it and sticks his head out, then pulls it back in, shaking it. “Don’t see nothin’.”

“Then go a little further,” the Red Joker says with exaggerated patience. “It may be something in the church.”

“Oh, yeah, could be.” The guard scratches his cheek and goes out completely this time. A moment later his voice comes floating back. “You better come see this, boss!”

“Mein Gott,” the Red Joker mutters to himself. “You,” he says to the other guard. “The moment someone moves, shoot the child. Not whoever moves - the child. You understand?”

“Seriously, boss, you gotta come!” the other guard calls again, a note of urgency in his voice. “Right now!”

“I got it,” the guard with the gun says. He backs a few steps away from his prisoners, putting his back into the open door as the Red Joker exits, and holds the pistol competently. He looks quite capable of putting a bullet in Babs’ head before either Dick or Father Gideon could stop him. Dick hesitates, wrung by indecision. A clean death by gunshot is probably better than the Red Joker has planned for any of them - but to precipitate it - to give up the hope that life brings - 

“Don’t try any funny business,” the guard says sharply, perhaps sensing his captives’ thoughts. “I was in the War, too, you know. I know how to use this.”

“If you were in the War why are you working for Zeller?” Father Gideon asks. Her voice is soft and persuasive. “You know he’s a Kraut, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I know it. But he’s got greenbacks. Only way to get a decent day’s pay, anymore, and I got a family.” The guard plants himself stolidly, pistol barrel never wavering. “Sides, he’s working to stop there being another war. My oldest boy’s seventeen.”

“So is mine,” Dick says softly. “But if Zeller told you he wanted to stop a war, he was lying. He wants revenge more than anything else in the world.”

“Revenge, yeah. Against ol’ Wayne. The rest of us? Live and let live.”

“By allowing others to come to harm?” Father Gideon asks persuasively. “My son, are you a Catholic?”

“Nope,” the guard says truculently. “Not since I was thirteen. So don’t try and feed me any mumbo-jumbo ’bout God. I gotta look out for me and mine. An’ if there’s one fewer rich swell in the world, then maybe - ”

The sound of a large piece of wood bashing against a human skull is awfully like the sound of an overripe melon splitting in two when a kitchen knife is stuck into it. Dick has heard the latter many a time. Now he gets a chance to compare it to the former. And watches, fascinated, as the guard falls forward to the ground in a dead faint. 

“Hello, Mother,” Tim says, strolling into Father Gideon’s office. He’s holding what looks to be the arm of one of the church pews. A splash of red decorates one end. He’s dressed in a motley mix of rags, his hair is completely disheveled, and he’s grinning wide enough to beat the band. “Hello, Babs, Father Gideon. I trust you’re all well?”

Chapter Text

“Tim!” Dick cries in relief. He surges forward and catches up Tim in a huge hug, pew arm and all. “They didn’t catch you!”

Tim shakes his head and lets the pew-end drop, panting with exertion but flushed with pride. “I was in the larder with Sister Mary Clarence when we heard the ruckus. Another of the children peeped out and saw what was happening before they got to us. We swapped clothes around a bit so I wouldn’t stand out so much.” Indeed, as Dick pulls back to see, still holding Tim by the shoulders, Tim is dressed in an odd mish-mash. His previously neat walking suit has been replaced with a shirt far too big for him and a skirt that barely deserves the name, just a wrap of fabric around his waist, short enough that a full three inches of petticoat shows below. “I thought surely they’d see how ridiculous I looked anyway, but I guess they’ve never been much around ladies, because they didn’t give me a second glance. Just herded me in with the rest down cellar and kept us under guard.”

“However did you get out?” Babs asks eagerly, coming forward. Dick folds her into the hug, too, unable to forget how close he’d come to nearly losing her. She clings to Dick with none of the hauteur that a nearly-teenage Alpha would usually show upon being embraced. Babs had put a brave face on it - had been incredibly brave - but she’d been scared nonetheless. 

“Yes, how did you?” Father Gideon echoes, coming around her desk to stare in perplexity.

“As to that,” the Reverend Mother says serenely, appearing behind Tim with several others from the convent in tow, “I’m afraid I have sinned.”

“Reverend Mother!” Dick hadn’t realized how worried he’d been about the Reverend Mother, or about the other nuns he sees coming up behind him, Sisters Mary Clarence and Mary Lazarus, until seeing them now. He hugs Babs and Tim again in lieu of hugging them, since such a thing would not be appreciated, Red Joker or no Red Joker. “Thank God you’re all right. And the others?”

“Everyone is quite well, never fear, Richard,” the Reverend Mother says. “The Lord protected us quite thoroughly.”

“Even if we have sinned,” Sister Mary Lazarus murmurs.

“Sinned?” Father Gideon sounds even more astonished and disbelieving than he had when his church had been invaded by Nazis, or when Tim had struck down the Red Joker. “You? You have sinned? ”

“Well, perhaps that depends on one’s point of view,” Sister Mary Clarence says, sounding innocent. “Our vows do call us to hospitality. To feed those poor sinners, whatever their crimes, was no more than our duty as members of a holy order.”

“Quite true,” the Reverend Mother acknowledges. “But perhaps we didn’t have to use quite so much ipecac in the stew.”

“Ipecac?” Father Gideon repeats. Babs starts to laugh hysterically.

“As a matter of fact, Reverend Mother,” Sister Mary Lazarus puts in diffidently, “I’m inclined to think it was the castor oil ’twas really the cause of the mischief.”

“Oh, very nice,” Dick says appreciatively. Babs’ laughter turns into positive howls of mirth. Tim pulls back uncomfortably; Babs is being rather loud. It’s the shock, Dick understands. All the emotions and fear of the past half-hour are finding their outlet in this wild outburst of glee.

“I fear we failed to provide the hospitality we meant to offer,” the Reverend Mother says sorrowfully. “Mere minutes after enjoying the meal, all of the guards began at once to vomit, or else to - well - ” He coughs. “They required the privy most urgently.”

Babs is holding her stomach, laughing so hard she’s shaking. Dick feels a smile break out on his own face, and even the Reverend Mother’s stern countenance twitches. 

“They were completely disabled,” Tim says proudly. “We had no trouble disarming them all. What do you think, Mother? Did we do well?”

“Very well,” Dick says. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Though you ought to confess as soon as possible,” the Reverend Mother tells Tim sternly.

“Yes, Reverend Mother,” Tim says, not noticeably dampened. “But as for them - ” he nudges at the body of the guard he’d hit with his foot. “I’ve absolutely no sympathy.”

“A little sympathy would not be amiss, my child,” Father Gideon says. She glances down at the body and says, “A very little.”

Babs’ laughter has trailed off, and she’s started sniffling a little as the reaction fully takes hold of her. Father Gideon picks her desk chair up, hefting it easily though it’s an old heavy wooden thing, and brings it around to where Babs is, urging her gently to sit down. “It’s all right, my child,” she says gently. “You were very brave, and did very well yourself. Mrs. Wayne,” glancing up at Dick. “Do you and your husband object to the use of alcohol in a medicinal fashion?”

“Not at all,” Dick says, already knowing Bruce’s mind on the subject. “I think perhaps Tim could use a draught as well.”

“I’m fine, Mother,” Tim says. “Alfred might need something, though.” He grins.

“Alfred? Has Alfred come?”

“Yes, he arrived shortly after we had disarmed our former guards,” the Reverend Mother answers. “With young Jason in tow. Apparently Jason had been coming to see Miss Quinn?” He looks inquiringly at Harley, who nods jerkily. “They were so kind as to take care of binding up the various guards, and the orphanage children had great fun carrying them all down cellar to be locked in.”

“Some of them were dropped,” Sister Mary Clarence says. “Most unfortunate. But the children persevered admirably. Some of the guards had to be dragged, but they all got down cellar in the end.”

“Dropped,” Babs repeats, a bit of an hysterical giggle. Father Gideon thrusts a glass into her hand. Dick glances at the amount of liquor in it approvingly: there’s barely enough to turn the bottom of the glass amber. It will give Babs a start and a bit of a burn with no real danger of intoxication.

“Drink that all down, young lad,” Father Gideon instructs. “There you go.”

“Ah!” Babs gasps, having followed these instructions trustingly with no warning about what is to follow. “What is that awful stuff?”

“My finest whiskey,” Father Gideon says in amusement, plucking the glass from Babs’ hand and setting it on a tray to be washed later. “Feeling any steadier?”

“Yes,” Babs says slowly. “Yes, I - I think so. Did I - was I very foolish, just now?”

“No more than anyone else would have been in your place,” Father Gideon reassures her. “In fact, as someone who has been in your place, you were far less foolish than I. So you see you did very well.”

“Oh,” Babs says, sounding happier. “That’s good.”

“Where are Alfred and Jason now?” Dick asks. “We had better - ”

“Jason,” Harley says abruptly. It’s the first words she’s spoken aloud since the Red Joker had had her brought in. All the attention in the room swings to focus on her.

“Yes, Harley?” Dick says, since no one else seems to know quite what to say or do, and Dick at least has had the advantage of meeting Harley before now - though, come to think of it, Father Gideon probably has as well. “What about Jason?”

“He came?”

“He did, my child,” the Reverend Mother says. “He wanted to rescue you, I believe.”

“Even though he got my note?”

Dick glances over to the Reverend Mother and gets a nod. “Yes, he got your note. He came for you.”

“That - that - that idjit!” Harley explodes. Gone is the submissive posture; she’s got her hands clenched at her sides, and her eyes spit fire. “Ain’t he read the part where I says not to do it?”

“You would have to ask him that,” the Reverend Mother says in amusement. 

“Wait a moment,” Dick says, catching at Harley’s sleeve. “You told him not to come?”

“’Course I did!” she exclaims. “You don’t think I’d’ve grassed on him?”

“But how did you do it so Zeller didn’t realize?” Babs wants to know.

“That’s no trick,” Harley says. “Jason was street, like me, ’fore he got adopted. Street kids always have a way to say ‘keep out’. That - ” Harley says a word in reference to the Red Joker that makes Father Gideon clap her hands over Babs’ ears and the Reverend Mother look disapproving. “He’d never have noticed. But Jason should’ve.”

“Perhaps he did, and came anyway,” Dick says gently.

“Hmph.” Harley sniffs and crosses her arms indignantly over her chest. “Then he’s a fool.”

Dick nods. It’s the code of the street, sure enough. Jason would say the same himself. Once he would even have done it. When Jason and Harley had first met, they’d been two of a kind, Dick has no doubt. But Jason has changed. A few years with the Waynes has changed him, though Jason would probably never admit it. Unless something changes, Jason and Harley are on different paths.

Hm. Now there’s an interesting thought. Harley is brave, smart - for all she tries to hide it - and from what Jason has said about her in quiet moments, kind. Jason and Harley may be winding down their romantic relationship, but Jason still retains a deep affection for Harley. Dick thinks it would be easy for he himself to feel the same. And Harley also stands with her arms wrapped around herself in a position Dick can read like an open book. It shouts, I don’t need or want anyone. I’m fine on my own. And then whispers, very quietly, where only those who have lived through the same can hear it, I’m lying. 

Perhaps…

Dick doesn’t say anything at once; now isn’t the time. Instead he says, “Let’s go find Jason and Alfred. You can ask Jason about it yourself. And I want to talk to Zeller.”

“Yes,” Babs says fiercely, “and kick him. May I kick him, Mother? I think he needs kicking.”

“We’ll see,” Dick says diplomatically. He understand the feeling - a good kicking would relieve Dick’s feelings, as well - but he has the uncomfortable thought that it isn’t the sort of behavior he ought to be encouraging in his children. Even if Father Gideon does look amused and the Reverend Mother faintly approving.

Dick herds Tim, Babs, and Harley out of the room ahead of him, with Father Gideon and the Mother Abbess following. Sisters Mary Clarence and Mary Lazarus come last of all, dragging the unconscious guard between them. That’s a sight in and of itself. Dick finds himself wishing he’d seen the orphanage children hauling the other guards down cellar. He imagines them going downstairs with their human cargo going bump, bump, bump down each stair and has to stifle a wild laugh. Babs isn’t the only one feeling the strain of the day’s events.

Down the hall and into the sanctuary, and Dick stops dead in shock. The church is a sight. Half the pews are broken, and things are scattered everywhere - Bibles, hymn-books, even an offering-plate, lying in the middle of the aisle dented in on one side. Streaks of blood, dust, and vomit show where the bodies of Zeller’s hirelings had fallen and then been dragged away. Alfred is attempting to tidy, but without much success. Jason is sitting on one of the remaining intact pews nursing a rapidly blackening eye. 

“Richard,” the Reverend Mother says gently, prompting Dick to recall his wits and move forward, clearing the way for Father Gideon and the nuns to enter the sanctuary. The Reverend Mother, who has already seen the destruction, is unfazed. Father Gideon, by contrast, looks horrified. 

“If you’ll excuse us for a moment, Father, we’ll go lock this one down cellar with the others,” the Reverend Mother says, indicating the unconscious guard and Sisters Mary Clarence and Mary Lazarus. He surveys the ruin of the church critically and shakes his head. “Then we’ll be back to start cleanup.”

“Thank you, sisters,” Father Gideon says resignedly. “Well, my children,” looking around, “I suppose the Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away…”

“Father will make a donation,” Tim says. He looks at Father Gideon and clarifies, “Father Wayne, I mean.”

“I’m certain he will,” Alfred says, giving up the attempt to tidy and coming forward. “I’m glad to see you well, my lady, children.”

Jason has leapt to his feet at the sight of them. “Mother! Babs! Thank goodness you’re all right!” He swallows. “Harley…”

“Yes, we’re quite well, thanks to you all,” Dick says, being sure to include Tim in this gratitude. “Where’s Zeller? I want to talk to him.”

“The German Ambassador?” Jason asks. He whistles. “So it was him.”

“Yeah, and rude ain’t in it,” Harley says. She pushes past Dick and marches straight over to Jason, coming a stop right in front of him, a head shorter, twice as determined, and poking him in the chest. “Whaddya mean comin’ out here to get me after I told you to stay away?”

“You couldn’ta thought I’d actually ditch you, Harls,” Jason says, quiet but firm. “Whaddya take me for?”

“Someone with two thoughts in his head,” Harley retorts. “Your mamma had the sense not to put any more people in Zeller’s trap! Why didn’t you?”

“Wasn’t gonna put myself in a trap,” Jason says mulishly. “Was gonna bust you out.”

“Sure. Sure. And if you hadn’t?”

Jason shrugs. “I’d’ve figured it out then.”

“Mm-hmm.” Harley shakes her head. “Sure you woulda. And I betcha didn’t tell anybody you was coming.”

Jason looks abashed. Alfred clears his throat. “I did follow him, young miss,” he says to Harley. “So you see he wasn’t entirely alone.”

“Coulda brought half the National Guard if you’d’ve just told your pa,” Harley says in disgust. 

“Captain Wayne is out of town,” Dick intervenes. “That’s why I came here to enlist Father Gideon’s help in the first place.”

“Still. Still.” Harley looks peeved, and Jason looks ashamed. Dick abandons the lecture he’d been planning to give Jason on the topic of running into danger alone. Harley is handling it masterfully. “You didn’t think before you acted, didja?”

“‘m sorry,” Jason mumbles.

“You’d’ve been sorrier if you’d got dead.” Harley sighs. Dick watches in envy. She’s playing Jason like a fiddle, three parts more-in-sorrow-than-in-anger to two parts moral authority, and he’s like putty in her hands. “I don’t know, Jay. What you did ain’t right.” Harley shakes her head again and brushes past Jason, moving towards the door and the exit to the church. 

“My child, wait,” Father Gideon calls. “It may not be safe out there.”

“Safer than in here,” Harley says. “I gotta go.”

“Go where?” Jason demands.

Harley looks at him over her shoulder. “Away.”

“Away from me?”

“Yeah.”

Jason stands like he’s rooted to the floor. “Are you sayin’ we’re through?”

“I think we been through for a while, Jay,” Harley says. And while it’s not said ungently, it’s said with a kind of finality that is impossible to gainsay. “You’re goin’ somewhere with those Waynes, and I can’t follow.”

“Maybe you could,” Dick says. Now isn’t the time, isn’t the place, but he can’t just let Harley walk out of St. Mary’s like this. They might never see her again, if she goes like this. She’ll know Gotham better than any of them, even Jason; she could hide and never be found. “Look, come by the lake house in a few days, when things have settled down, won’t you? Just to talk?” A few days will give Dick time to talk to Bruce. He may need some talking around on the subject, but Dick is confident he can manage it, if he can get Harley up to the house and in among the family where her true worth can be seen. 

“Thanks,” Harley says with a sudden smile, “but I know what you’re thinking, and I don’t wanna be no Wayne. I wouldn’t make a very good lady.” She laughs at the thought. “Me! A lady! Who’d heard the like?” She glances at Jason. “Though I never would’ve thought Jay could be a gent, and just look at him now.”

“Then why not consider it?” Dick coaxes.

“Cause I like bein’ me,” Harley says simply. “It’s got its downsides, and I won’t say it wouldn’t be nice to be rich, but still an’ all, I’d rather stay me.”

Dick nods slowly. “I understand.”

“Later, then.” Harley throws a wave over her shoulder and disappears out the church’s front doors. Jason, who had watched her this entire time without saying a word, but with a stricken look on his face, sits slowly back down in his undamaged pew. Tim hurries to him, sitting down next to Jason and putting a hand on his knee in silent comfort. 

Dick shakes his own head sadly. He likes Harley’s spunk, and he can see how, under her brash demeanor, she craves a family and a mother. Being the child of a criminal kingpin can’t be easy, especially now that her father’s in prison. But it’s her choice in the end, and Dick has to admit that it may yet be the right one. Being a lady comes with rules, and Harley doesn’t seem to be much of a one for rules.

Regardless, she’s made her choice, and Dick has other matters that need his attention. “Zeller,” he repeats, turning towards Alfred, leaving Jason to his heartbreak. “Where is he? Down cellar with the others?”

“No,” Alfred says slowly. “You do mean Hans Zeller, the German Ambassador?”

“That’s right,” Dick says. A horrible sinking feeling is opening up in Dick’s stomach. “You caught him, right?”

Alfred looks somber. He shakes his head. “We never saw him, my lady. He was really here?”

“You must have seen him!” Babs protests. “He was in the study with us, he had a gun - ” she shudders. “He said he was gonna take us all away!”

“But he didn’t,” Dick says, putting an arm around Babs’ shoulders again when it seems she might devolve into hysterics again. “We are safe now.”

“Indeed you are,” Alfred says. “And I’m certain you were very brave, Master Babs.”

“She was,” Dick affirms.

“Not as brave as Mother,” Babs sniffles. “Zeller said he wanted all of us to use as hostages against Father. He wanted Mother to call home and have everyone come to the church. Mother wouldn’t do it, no matter how much Zeller threatened him!”

Alfred raises an eyebrow and looks at Dick with new respect in his eyes. “Very wise, my lady,” he says. “Once Zeller had gotten you under his control there may have been no escape.”

“He was gonna kill me.” Babs swallows hard. “But I was brave.”

“As brave as any soldier,” Dick tells her.

“But,” Babs says, reverting to her original point, insistent. “You see, Zeller was here!”

“I believe you, Master Babs,” Alfred reassures her. “But the fact remains that we didn’t see him.”

“There was noise from the church,” Dick recalls. “Zeller sent one of his gang out to investigate - ”

“Yes, Master Jason and I intercepted the individual in question and persuaded him that it was in hs best interests to summon any others he may have been with.” Alfred looks professionally disapproving of the Joker’s taste in hired goons. “No doubt you heard him call out.”

“We did. And Zeller went out in response to the call.” Dick frowns. “But if he never made it here…”

“There’s no other exit between where you were and the church?”

“No,” Father Gideon says definitively. “The hallway goes directly between my office and the sanctuary. There’s nothing along the wall except some hooks and the water closet - ” He stiffens. “The water closet!”

Jason and Tim don’t even look up, lost in their own world as they murmur quietly to each other, but everyone else all immediately turn and run down the corridor. It would be funny, if it weren’t so dire, to see the way they cram through the door and into the small space, like clowns getting into the car at the circus. Dick gets to the small door first and goes to throw it open. Father Gideon stops him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Zeller was armed,” she says. “Let me.”

Dick bows to the sense of this and lets Father Gideon take the handle, drawing Babs back a few steps with him, just in case. But there’s no need for concern. Nothing happens when Father Gideon opens the door, nor when they all crowd around to peer inside, except for disappointment. The water closet had been a simple wooden-framed shack, formerly an outhouse, later connected to the church via the hallway built out to the new rectory. Now the wooden walls are splintered and broken. A gap has been opened, large enough for a person to fit through, and there’s no sign of Hans Zeller, aka the Red Joker.

“He gave us the slip,” Dick says hollowly. 

Father Gideon nods. “Zeller must have realized what was happening in time to make a break for it.”

“We’d never have heard the noise of the wall breaking over our own conflict in the church,” Alfred says.

“And now he’s long gone,” Babs wails. “Oh, what shall we do?”

“Did Zeller have a car out front when you arrived, Alfred?” Dick asks.

Alfred nods. “Yes, a Packard. We disabled the chauffeur, but I’m certain Herr Zeller would be able to drive himself.”

“Then we have to figure out where he’s going,” Dick says. “There’s no way to catch him otherwise. Think! Where would he go?”

“He must be trying to get out of the city,” Alfred says. 

“The train station?” 

“No,” Father Gideon says. “Not the Red Joker. He flew into Gotham in his own plane - his old plane, from the War.”

“From the War?” Babs gasps.

“Many flying aces bought their warplanes after the Armistice,” Father Gideon replies. “Your father bought his, as well, and uses it for his private travel. It’s not uncommon.”

“So Zeller’s likely to make for the airport?” Dick is thinking of geography. “That’s outside the city, and if he’s still got the exits locked down - ”

“No,” Father Gideon interrupts. “Zeller was allowed to land inside the city, at the old Grant Park airstrip.”

“Grant Park?” Dick says blankly. That’s where Haly’s circus sets up, when it’s in Gotham. Where Dick’s parents had died.

“Yes,” Alfred says. “There used to be an airstrip there, before the city grew too big and it became too dangerous to have aircraft land and take off within city limits.”

“You remember, Richard,” Father Gideon says. “You were with us when the Wingfoot Express crashed.”

“But,” Dick says, still bewildered by his memories and the imminent threat. “But if they closed it down, how could Zeller land there?”

“He got an exemption. For diplomatic purposes.”

“An old warplane?” Dick cries. “He was allowed to land a warplane in the middle of Gotham?”

“Yes.” 

“But if he got ammunition for it somehow - ”

“I think we can safely suppose that he must have,” Father Gideon says grimly. “That explosion and the fire down at the docks was caused by something, and it wasn’t Mrs. O’Leary’s cow. I’d bet Zeller has had ammunition stored down there for months, just waiting for a need.”

“He’s going to attack the entire city,” Babs says, horrified. “He’s going to bomb Gotham!”

“We have to stop him,” Dick says. “Can we call the National Guard?”

“Once Zeller’s off the ground, there’s not much anyone can do to stop him,” Alfred says grimly. “Gotham doesn’t have antiaircraft artillery.”

“Some of my associates have been staking out Grant Park,” Father Gideon says. “Just in case. They may be able to stop Zeller, if they’re on the ball.”

“And if they’re not?”

“Then we have to do it,” Dick says.

Father Gideon and Alfred both look at Dick in the same movement. “We?”

“Yes, we,” Dick says. “We’re the only ones who know what the Red Joker is up to. Others may suspect, but we know. That makes it our duty. We must to go Grant Park and stop him from taking off and attacking Gotham.”

Father Gideon and Alfred appear to be having a conversation held entirely in facial expressions. “We will go,” Father Gideon says at last, indicating Alfred and himself. “You’re right; it is our duty. You remain here - ”

“Not a chance,” Dick says firmly. “I am coming with you. Zeller is a threat to my children and my home, and I’m going to make sure he goes to prison, at the very least.”

“It’s too dangerous,” Father Gideon begins.

Alfred cuts her off with a wave of his hand, perhaps sensing that this argument will avail them naught. “You’re needed here,” Alfred says instead, persuasively. “Suppose we’re wrong about Zeller’s plans, and instead of going for his airplane he comes back here? Who will defend the orphans and the nuns?”

“The Reverend Mother is more than capable of taking care of them herself, as you saw,” Dick says, unswayed. “It wasn’t I who got us out of captivity just now. Nor was it you, Father Gideon. I believe we may leave the Reverend Mother safely in charge.”

“But someone must also coordinate our side’s movements,” Alfred points out. “Father Gideon can call additional allies before we leave here, but once we do go we will be out of contact. Someone must remain near a telephone so that information can be exchanged.”

“I’ll do it,” Babs says suddenly.

From Father Gideon’s reaction, she had entirely forgotten about Babs’ presence. Jason and Tim are safely out of earshot - or they’d no doubt be clamoring to come along - but Babs has been here the entire time, listening, and now she repeats herself with a determined look upon her face. “I can use the telephone. I’ll stay in Father Gideon’s study and answer every ring, and tell everyone what they need to know.”

“Can you remember, though?” Father Gideon says doubtfully. “There will be a lot to tell them. And then people who call may tell you things, too, and you’ll need to remember those as well.”

“I’ll write everything down,” Babs says. “Ask Mother. I can write very well now. He’s been teaching me all winter.”

“It’s true,” Dick says. Writing had not come easily to Babs, and each letter had cost her much in the way of sweat and tears, but she’d persevered, and now writes as natural and fluent a hand as any nine-year-old can boast. “Babs can do this.”

“But still,” Father Gideon persists. “It’s dangerous for you to come, Richard - ”

“Don’t talk to me about danger,” Dick says. “Just existing in Gotham right now is dangerous. Do you really think the Red Joker’s first target won’t be St. Mary’s? Or else the Wayne summer house?” Father Gideon’s silence proves Dick’s point. “I’m coming,” Dick repeats. “And we don’t have time to argue about it any further.”

“I’m afraid you’re right about that,” Alfred says. Father Gideon still looks mulish, but Alfred shakes his head at her. “Give it up, Sally. We have to be quick, or there’s no point in any of us going.”

“Fine,” Father Gideon gives in. “But if something happens to you, Mrs. Wayne, I’m making Alfred be the one to explain it to the Captain.”

“Agreed,” Alfred says brusquely, saving Dick the need for a response. This settled, Alfred moves directly into practical concerns. “We’ll take the Daimler. I’ll go fetch it from where I left it.”

“Very well,” Father Gideon agrees. “I’ll start contacting our allies. Barbara, come with me. You can write down as I dictate.”

“Babs,” that young worthy says, trotting off at Father Gideon’s heels. “I prefer Babs.”

These departures leave Dick standing by himself in the corridor. He heads back to the sanctuary for lack of anything more useful to do and finds himself faced with Jason and Tim, who have finally emerged from their own private world and are now eagerly watching Dick and clamoring to know what is happening and what they’re to do next. With a sinking feeling Dick realizes that he’s been stuck with the unpleasant duty of telling Jason and Tim what they’re up to without letting them come along. Dick is quite aware of exactly how hypocritical this is of him, having just insisted on his own right to go put himself in danger, but that, too, is parenthood. “The Red Joker has escaped,” he begins, and brings Jason and Tim up to date on what they suspect and what they’ve decided to do about it.

Predictably, Jason is on his feet at once, furious at the Red Joker and eager to take him down. “You just stay here, Mother Wayne,” he says, punching a fist into his palm, “and leave it all to me and Alfred and Father Gideon.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Tim declares, getting up himself. “Mother and I are coming along too. Don’t think you can leave us behind just because we’re ladies.”

“Neither of you are going,” Dick says. He shamelessly appropriates Father Gideon’s arguments and says, “You must stay here in case Zeller returns. Or, if we fail to prevent him from taking off, then it will fall to you to protect the others from his attacks.”

“But Mother,” Tim cries.

“You wouldn’t leave a convent full of nuns and orphans to fend for themselves?” Dick demands. He deploys another sneaky argument and adds, “Babs is already making herself useful here. She is going to stay by the telephone and coordinate assistance. What will you do?”

“Interrogate Zeller’s goons,” Jason says in a flash of brilliance. “What do you bet they know something about Zeller’s plans that would be helpful in stopping him, hey?”

“Excellent plan,” Dick approves. 

“That’s all very well for you, Jason, but I can’t help with that,” Tim protests. “And I won’t stay with the children! I can be useful.”

“Of course you can be, you’re the good cop,” Jason says. “Every interrogation needs a good cop and a bad cop. You don’t think I could be the good cop, do you?”

“No-o,” Tim says hesitantly, with the air of one who will be just no matter what. “Maybe not.”

“And if Zeller does try to attack us, I won’t be able to fight him off by myself.”

Tim’s eyes flash. “I’d like to see you try to do it without me!”

“So you’ll stay and help me?”

Dick holds his breath. He’s not entirely sure what has prompted Jason’s sudden change of heart and evident desire to keep Tim back here at St. Mary’s, but Dick isn’t inclined to argue. If Jason can manage that it will be better than Dick having to put his foot down - 

“Very well,” Tim sighs. Dick conceals a noise of triumph.

“Thank you both,” Dick says. “Now, the Mother Superior is in charge, but if you need to act independently, do so. I trust your instincts. Be careful, watch out for each other, and take care of Babs. If you have to leave St. Mary’s, go somewhere with a telephone as soon as you can and call back to the summer-house. Father Gideon will be alerting them as well. All right?”

“All right,” Tim says, and Jason says, “We’ve got this, Mother, never worry.”

“Worrying is a mother’s privilege,” Dick says, hugging his eldest children close. “But I’ll see what I can do.”

“If it helps,” Jason says with a rare smile, “we’ll be worrying about you, as well.”

Father Gideon’s footsteps announce her return to the church, alone this time. “Babs is all set up in my study with her notes at the ready,” she reports. “She has pen and ink and more paper in case she needs to take anything else down, and I’ve shown her where I have the telephone numbers kept. I think she’ll be all right.”

“Jason and Tim have agreed to stay and act as the Reverend Mother’s lieutenants,” Dick says. The two children stand up as tall and straight as they possibly can. 

“Wonderful,” Father Gideon says, managing to smile at both of them. “I will feel better knowing that you are protecting the home front.”

“We’ll do our best, Father Gideon,” Tim says. He picks up the pew-arm he’d used to cosh the office guard and looks ready to break open a dozen or more heads. 

“Now we just need Alfred with the car,” Father Gideon begins.

“I see him,” Jason says, throwing open the church-door just as the Daimler pulls to a stop. Alfred beckons them from the driver’s seat.

Father Gideon starts for the door, then stops. She’s standing next to Dick, but not looking at him. What she’s looking at Dick can’t exactly say. Her voice is rueful when she asks, “Are you sure I can’t change your mind, Mrs. Wayne?”

Dick shakes his head. “No, Father Gideon. You can’t.”

She sighs. “I was afraid you were going to say that.”

“I always was stubborn,” Dick agrees.

“Very well. Then - after you?”

“Thank you,” Dick says graciously, and heads off to save Gotham.

Chapter Text

The drive is silent at first, with Alfred focused on navigating the streets and Father Gideon staring out the windows, presumably tallying the destruction as they pass it by. Dick himself is battling self-doubt. Inside the church it had seemed such an easy and obvious thing to insist on coming along, on fighting and defeating the threat to Dick’s family and happiness directly. Now that his point has been gained, doubt swamps Dick. He’s never done anything like this before. He has no plan. What’s he really going to accomplish here? Is he going to tackle the Red Joker and hug him into submission? When the Red Joker has a gun? How does this end, if not with Dick getting shot?

Grant Park. The circus always sets up in Grant Park, when it’s in town. It had been set up there on the night when Dick’s parents had died. It had set up there twice more, since, on return visits to Gotham. The first time they’d come back Dick had tried to visit, eager to see old companions and be among half-remembered sights. He’d only been able to stay for a few minutes before the shakes had taken him and he’d fled back to St. Mary’s to be soothed by the Reverend Mother. Despite that, Dick had had nightmares on and off for weeks. The second time the circus had come back Dick had known better than to go. He hasn’t been back to Grant Park since. 

And today he’d insisted on his right to come. He has to do something. Dick had been too young, too unprepared, to try to save his parents. He won’t let that happen again.

Still, a small, craven part of Dick is praying for rescue from some outside source - the ‘organization’, the national guard, even his husband. “Has there been any word from Bruce?” Dick asks. “Was Betsy able to get in contact with him?”

“No, my lady,” Alfred says. “When Betsy got through to the hotel, the concierge said Master Bruce had checked out first thing this morning. They don’t know where he’s gone.”

“Others are trying to reach him as well,” Father Gideon says. “They may have more success. But we must assume that they will not.”

Another thing for Dick to worry about. The Red Joker hadn’t seemed to know that Bruce is out of town - but perhaps he’d been lying. Perhaps Bruce is in danger right now, too. 

“Richard,” Father Gideon says. Dick turns towards her, surprised to see her holding a pistol in her hands. The metal is dull and matte, refusing to reflect light no matter how many sunbeams strike it. The hole in its muzzle is ugly and dark, promising death. She holds it out to Dick. “Here.”

“No,” Dick says swiftly, instinctively. He swallows hard and tries to collect himself. “I’ve never used a gun before. You keep it. I’m sure you’re more experienced with it than I am.”

“I have another.”

“Then give it to Alfred,” Dick says.

Alfred gives a small, apologetic cough from behind the wheel. “I, too, am already armed, my lady.”

“But I don’t know what to do with it,” Dick argues. “Surely it’s more dangerous to carry a weapon I know nothing about.”

“I don’t expect you to have to fire it,” Father Gideon says. “But just pointing it at someone may be useful, too. Please, Richard. Take it.”

Reluctantly Dick accepts the weapon. It’s heavier than he’d expected. He can’t imagine holding it outstretched, in just one hand, for any length of time. Perhaps two-handed. He might be able to manage that. “How do I carry it?”

“In a holster,” Alfred says. “Under the seat, Sally.”

Father Gideon bends and fishes out a strip of leather that looks like an unusually thick belt. “It goes around your shoulder and hips,” she explains. “Buckle it on. Like that.” Dick fumbles it into place after a few false starts. “Now the pistol goes in the holster. There are snaps to keep it in place. That’s it. Now it won’t fall out, and an enemy can’t easily steal it from you. Just remember to undo the snaps before you try to draw it yourself.”

“All right,” Dick says reluctantly. He lets the entire contraption lean against the car’s seat, where its weight isn’t noticeable, and tries to forget that it’s there.

Alred changes the topic as they get closer to the park. “From which side shall I approach?”

“From the south, I think,” Father Gideon says. “There is more tree cover that way.” 

“I agree,” Alfred says. “My lady?”

“Whatever you think best,” Dick says. His nerves are starting to get the better of him again.

“When we arrive, I will circle around to the west, and Alfred to the east, of the airstrip,” Father Gideon says. “Perhaps you will go straight down the center, Mrs. Wayne? Staying back a little, as you will not have as far to go.”

Dick looks questioningly at Alfred, who nods. “A simple plan, which is often the best way. And may I suggest, my lady, that you stay above the ground as much as possible? Humans tend not to look up. It’s one of our blind spots.”

“Right,” Dick says, feeling some of his confidence return. If he can get the drop on the Red Joker, perhaps Dick can hold Zeller at gunpoint until assistance arrives. That could work. “A pity Grant Park doesn’t have a trapeze,” he jokes, trying to lessen the tension.

“I have no doubt you will manage, my lady.” Alfred pulls the car to a stop at the southern edge of Grant Park, tucked behind a few old fairground structures. They must be left from the last time the circus had been in town. Their faded, peeling paint makes Dick feel suddenly lonesome. He gets a hold of himself and climbs out of the car.

“Count to twenty, then go down that path,” Father Gideon says softly, pointing at the one she means. “Stay up in the trees as Alfred suggested. If you find Zeller, hold him at gunpoint and shout as loudly as you can. If he catches you first, shout anyway and then run as fast as you can. Can you drive a motor-car?”

“No.”

“Then don’t come back here. You’re a sitting duck if you can’t use it to escape. Run into the tenements instead.” Father Gideon indicates a poor neighborhood to the west of the park. “You know what to do to blend in and get help if need be.”

“Right.” Dick takes a deep breath. 

“Start counting, then.” She starts off to the west, circling around the dilapidated fairground buildings. Alfred stops to give Dick an encouraging nod, then moves deliberately towards the east. His footfalls make no sound. 

Dick counts to himself, keeping time by the pounding of his heart. When he reaches twenty, he sets off. There’s a large tree with many branches right near the start of the path - ideal for climbing. It’s been a few years since Dick had last had the leisure and the energy to climb a tree, but the knack isn’t easily forgotten. Dick jumps lightly and grabs the lowest branch that looks sturdy enough to hold his weight. He swings back and forth a few times, gaining momentum, and then heaves his legs up and wraps them around the base of the branch. From there it’s a simple measure to roll himself around to the top. 

Once up in the branches, moving from tree to tree is easy, or it ought to be. In the circus Dick had walked the high wire and swung on the trapeze. His balance is excellent and his leaps accurate. The problem is the heavy gun in its loosely slung holster. The weight of the gun wouldn’t be such an issue if it were distributed evenly, but it isn’t; it hangs entirely to one side, and, worse, it isn’t even attached firmly to Dick’s body. It flies out when he leaps, throwing his balance off, and then bangs against his hip when he lands, making him wince. After the third jump he knows he’ll have a dreadful bruise. After the fifth, he starts to favor the leg. On the sixth jump a branch catches on the holster’s leather and nearly pulls Dick up short, wrenching his shoulder badly. Dick swears and starts fumbling for the holster’s buckle, determined not to haul the wretched thing any further, no matter what Father Gideon had said. 

Dick is so caught up in tugging at the holster that he doesn’t register what he’s hearing first. He nearly has the buckle undone when the noise finally forces itself on his notice. It starts like the revving of a car engine, and Dick looks down and back towards the road quickly, suspecting that someone else is driving up to the park. If they’re more of the Red Joker’s goons - but there is no car, and in a moment the noise gets louder still, too loud to be produced by an automobile motor. A high-pitched whine adds itself to the soundscape, and then the feel of a high wind, blowing, blowing, except nothing is blowing, the air where Dick stands perched in the branches is perfectly still - 

Then Dick realizes - it’s an airplane engine he hears. One that’s revving up to takeoff speed.

Dick forgets about the gun, the holster, the bruise on his hip, the ache in his shoulder, and everything Alfred and Father Gideon had said to Dick about running and keeping himself safe. Instead Dick swings down to the ground immediately and takes off at a dead run. The pistol bounces against his hip again and Dick snatches it up, holster and all, and carries it snugged against his chest as he flies down the path, breaking through the treeline and into the manicured grounds of Grant Park just in time to see the unmistakable shape of a war-plane, painted bright red with the Nazi swastika in black relief on its side, leaving the ground and climbing into the sky. 

Father Gideon and Alfred arrive in nearly the same moment, having clearly heard the same sound and come to the same conclusion. They stare in horror as the Red Joker’s war plane ascends rapidly. Already the machine guns mounted behind the propeller are beginning to spin. Dick screams impotent frustration into the uncaring air around him. 

“We’re too late!” he cries.

“I’m afraid so,” Alfred says sorrowfully.

“I found two of ours who were watching the airstrip unconscious behind the fountain,” Father Gideon says. “They had been attacked, and not, I think, by just one person. This was planned. No matter what the Red Joker had accomplished at St. Mary’s, bombing Gotham was always part of his plan. I don’t know what he would have done with you all if he had gotten you - ”

“Killed us, probably,” Dick says.

“Or put you in a car and have you sent elsewhere,” Alfred says. “The Red Joker doesn’t mean to die here, I’m certain of it.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” Dick says numbly. “He doesn’t have us, but he has all of Gotham at his mercy.”

“We must sound an alarm,” Father Gideon says. “We must evacuate the people - ”

Alfred seizes Dick’s arm suddenly. “Look!” he shouts.

Dick follows the line of Alfred’s outstretched arm, his pointing finger. In the distance, where the sun hangs low in the sky, a small black dot is growing steadily larger. Dick stares, though it makes his eyes burn and spots dance in his vision. The reddening sun makes it hard to see - hard to tell. Sometimes he loses track of the dot entirely among all the other afterimages. Sometimes he thinks he’s only imagining it growing bigger. The Red Joker’s plane is beginning to bank, turning towards downtown Gotham, ready to unleash havoc. 

The black dot isn’t a black dot anymore. With almost terrifying suddenness it resolves itself into an airplane. Approaching with the sun at its back, it hadn’t been distinguishable at such until it’s almost right on top of the Red Joker’s plane. It’s painted a dark grey. Dick’s disbelieving eyes see a stylized bat symbol, done in black, on the side of the plane - right next to another set of machine guns.

“It’s Bruce!” he gasps.

“Captain Wayne!” Father Gideon cries at almost the same moment. She starts waving frantically, pointing towards the Red Joker. Whether or not Bruce can make out her movements, it’s clear that he’s grasped his target. The gray plane is flying straight for the red one - and the distance is closing.

Dick holds his breath.

Machine-gun fire rips through the air over Grant Park. It’s Bruce, firing. No - it’s the Black Bat. Time has turned back to the last days of the War, and a climactic duel between the two aces that had never actually taken place. It’s being fought here, now, in the skies above Gotham, and all the passage of years since the Armistice has not dimmed the ferocity of it one iota.

The Black Bat has fired first. The Red Joker kicks his plane into a sudden dive at the first ricochet, and most of the bullets tear harmlessly through the air. He returns fire, and the Black Bat responds with another barrage. Something goes spinning, spinning, and strikes the ground not far from where Dick and the others stand. 

“We must get under cover!” Alfred shouts. “The trees!”

Dick can’t move; he’s rooted to the ground, watching the drama unfold above them. Alfred hauls him back by main force. In the skies above the combatants are wheeling, climbing, diving, each trying to get a clear shot on the other while denying their opponent the same. First the Red Joker and then the Black Bat fire, and fire again. They’re low enough that Dick can hear the scream of their engines and the whir of their machine-guns as the belts feed ammunition into the barrels. The Black Bat’s plane swoops by, and a moment later there’s a splatter like that of rain-drops hitting the ground. Something is leaking from his plane.

“What is it?” Dick cries.

“Oil,” Alfred calls back, raising his voice to be heard over the dogfight above. “His motor will start to overheat if he doesn’t get down soon.”

The breath catches in Dick’s throat. The Red Joker is pushing now, as if he senses his advantage. He harries the Black Bat from every dimension. The Black Bat’s plane seems to be more nimble, but he can’t push it to its maximum with his engine oil leaking out. What the Red Joker lacks in maneuverability he makes up for in firepower. His guns shoot faster than the Black Bat’s, and where they strike the American plane, small holes appear in the fuselage like specks of dirt on a freshly-mopped floor.

Dick moans, terrified. Bruce is keeping Zeller occupied, using up his fuel and his ammunition, and preventing Zeller from going on a campaign of destruction against Gotham and its residents: Dick knows on some level that he should be pleased, and proud of his husband’s skill, too. But all he can think of is the Red Joker sneering, saying: to fall to the Earth trapped in a prison of burning metal -

“Yes!” Father Gideon shouts, and “Well done, Master Bruce!” Alfred cries in almost the same moment. Dick looks and sees that something is wrong with the tail of Zeller’s plane. The moveable piece that seems to help it steer is all the way over to one side, and it shudders with angry jerks, as if the pilot is trying to move it but can’t. The Red Joker’s plane is tearing in a tight circle, losing altitude with every revolution. But his guns are still firing. And now the Black Bat’s plane is beginning to leak an awful-looking black smoke behind it, like a stunt pilot writing words in the sky. 

“Finish him!” Father Gideon is yelling, as if Bruce could possibly hear her. The two planes are spiraling downward together, like two partners locked in a macabre dance of death. Dick’s heart is in his throat. He clasps his hands together tightly, trying to distract himself from his fears. Please, he prays silently. Please, oh, please.

Another burst of gunfire. One of the Red Joker’s machine guns seems to erupt, flinging shards of metal and unfired bullets in all directions. Dick and the others with him all flinch instinctively as shrapnel flies down like rain. It cuts a swath nearly a hundred yards long, lying at a diagonal across the green sward and sending stone chips flying from a nearby fountain in a secondary spray. 

When they look up again, the Red Joker’s second machine gun is spinning impotently, and no more bullets are coming from it. “It’s jammed!” Alfred says. 

“Or else he’s out of bullets,” Father Gideon says. “But Wayne - ”

Bruce isn’t firing, either. The two planes are lower now, much lower, and Dick strains his eyes. He thinks he can see Bruce struggling with the controls of his aircraft. Black smoke is pouring from the tail of his plane, and Dick sees with horror that one of his wings has a large chunk taken right out of it. Dick gasps. “Can he land?” 

“I don’t know,” Father Gideon says.

“Of course he can,” Alfred says sharply, betraying his own worry far more clearly than simply admitting it would have done. “He can land anything. You’ll see.”

A horrible rattling sound comes from one of the planes. Not the sound of a gun firing or a bullet landing, but the sound of an aircraft tearing itself apart. Dick can’t look away. The sun is sinking lower, lower, and he has to shade his eyes to be able to look. The wind is picking up, or else it’s the turbulence generated by the two aircraft. It whips a strand of hair out of Dick’s coiffure and flings it against his eyes, stinging them. Dick blinks, blinks -

The sound gets louder, until with an awful screech of tearing metal the tail of the Red Joker’s plane seems to disintegrate before Dick’s eyes. “The rudder’s gone!” Father Gideon shouts over the noise. “Zeller’s going down!”

The Red Joker’s plane is clearly out of control now, spiraling nose-down towards the ground, propellor spinning in a futile attempt to gain lift. The very air is screaming, drowning out even the sound of the racing engine. When the plane strikes the ground it does so with the force of an explosion. The earth heaves under Dick’s feet and he’s thrown to the ground. Dirt and grass flies everywhere. The nearby fountain crumbles, seeming to do so almost in slow motion, as one of the machine guns flies loose from the Red Joker’s disintegrating plane and impales it right in the center of its central decorative statue. Then the sounds of the crash are drowned out as the remaining fuel in the Red Joker’s tanks catch fire in one loud boom.

“My lady!” Through the ringing in his ears, Dick can just make out Alfred shouting. “We must fall back!”

Hands are tugging at Dick, hauling him to his feet, urging him to flee. The fire is licking up the dry midsummer grass of Grant Park and racing eagerly towards the trees, the wooden childrens’ play structures built along the north side of the park, and the dilapidated fairground buildings in the south. Inside the flames Dick thinks for a second he can see the form of Hans Zeller, the Red Joker, one last time. Then the inferno blots everything out.

It’s fearsome, fire raging on the ground and beginning to catch into the crowns of the trees, the heat and crackle of the flames dragging Dick’s thoughts inexorably back to the night of the fire at Wayne Manor. But Dick keeps his eyes stubbornly on the blue sky. It’s clouded with black smoke and grey ash and white cloud, and he’s staring full west at the blazing sun sinking slowly behind the downtown skyscrapers, but somewhere up there - he prays - is his husband. 

Fire bells start clanging, not too far in the distance. Children from the neighboring tenements will be ringing them. Dimly through the smoke Dick can see adults running with buckets. A burly Alpha in a butcher’s apron takes a wrench to a fire hydrant. The water sprays hard at first, but soon enough a bucket brigade is formed, though the fire from the Red Joker’s burning plane is so hot that no one can get close enough to douse it directly. The bucketeers throw their water on trees and grass and nearby structures instead, keeping the fire from spreading out of control until a fire brigade can arrive. 

Father Gideon puts a hand on Dick’s shoulder briefly, then goes to join the bucketeers. Dick doesn’t budge. Neither does Alfred. Dick still can’t see Bruce’s plane. If it had fallen out of the sky and crashed, would Dick even know it? Would anyone be trying to help him? Or is everyone so distracted by the wreckage of Zeller’s plane that they wouldn’t even notice a second crash?

Wait. Something - there’s something. A speck of ash - maybe - a stirring in the smoke - the wind, perhaps - or else - a glint of metal in the sky - and then - 

Dick starts running before his mind has even finished processing what his eyes have just told him. Overhead the Black Bat’s airplane is flying in a strange curving line, first up and then down, but gently, like a wave rolling onto the shore. The propeller is spinning oddly. It speeds up when the plane dips and then slows down when it rises again. But it is flying, and the wheels slung below the plane look solid. The airstrip is engulfed with flames, but past it and past the childrens’ play structures is a baseball diamond. The aircraft’s nose is pointed directly towards it. 

Even slowed, it’s moving faster than Dick can run. He’s covered perhaps half the distance to the diamond when the plane suddenly drops the last hundred or so feet and slams into the ground hard enough that it actually bounces right back into the air again. The engine revs, and the plane drops back down, this time planting itself down hard enough that the wheels drag furrows through the diamond and dust billows up around the plane, obscuring it from view. All Dick can do is listen to the sound of the engine as he keeps running as fast as he can. At first the engine whines loudly enough to make Dick afraid of another explosion. Then it seems to cough and sputter, sending a cloud of black smoke into the beige dust, intertwining to make a grotesque kind of muddy brown. Into this soup Dick plunges without hesitation. The plane is down but Bruce - Bruce - 

The haze is too thick to see. Dick finds the plane by running into it. It’s sheer luck that the part he runs into is the tail; the propeller, he realizes with a shudder, is still spinning, and could have taken his head clean off if he’d happened to run into it instead. But he has no time for more than a brief worry for himself. The polluted air burns Dick’s lungs, and he yanks the fashionable scarf from around his neck and ties it around his nose and mouth, then closes his eyes against the sting of the fumes and follows the plane’s fuselage towards the cockpit with one hand on its side. The metal is hot to the touch and pits and snags catch at Dick’s fingers as he trails them along it. Some of them must be from bullets. Others from debris and shrapnel. Some even, perhaps, from the impact with the ground. But the plane is still upright.

“Bruce!” Dick shouts, in case his husband can hear him. The crackle of the fire from the Red Joker’s plane is still audible even at this distance, though no longer deafening. Dick strains his ears against it, but hears no returning call. He presses onwards. His shoulder jars against something. A straight line of metal. Dick runs his fingers down it and risks a quick glimpse between narrowed eyelids. His eyes water, but he makes out the outline of a ladder, leading upwards into a cockpit. Dick grasps the first rung and starts upwards.

Climbing blind is no hardship to him; after the first step, once he’s stretched upwards to find the second rung, Dick’s body learns the spacing of the ladder and he ascends it nimbly. It’s not long before his questing fingers touch fabric instead of metal. Dick opens his eyes.

Bruce is still seated in his cockpit, lying limply against the leather seat. A cut on his temple goes through the fat and down to the bone, bleeding freely. He’s got some kind of harness on over his jacket, like suspenders. His eyes are closed behind his flight goggles. He’s breathing, raspily because of the smoke, and Dick thinks it the most beautiful sound in the world.

But they have to get out of here. The smoke is worsening, and there’s a new acrid tang to it that is enough like kitchen oil to worry Dick immensely. The engine had been leaking oil. And it will still be more than hot enough to ignite, should any of that oil or any of the remaining fuel come in contact with it. Or with the aircraft’s machine guns, which are no doubt still hot as well. Even if none of that happens, this air is toxic to breathe. The dust is settling, but the smoke and fumes pouring from the broken aircraft are only intensifying.

“Bruce,” Dick calls, shaking him by the shoulders. “Bruce!” There’s no response. No movement. Not even the flicker of an eyelid. Dick wants to scream his frustration, but there’s no time for that, either. Dick reaches for the straps securing Bruce to the aircraft, fumbling down their length until he finds the clasps that secure him, down by Bruce’s legs. Their configuration is unfamiliar. Dick tugs and swears and wipes tears from his aching eyes until with a gasp of relief they come loose. “Bruce, come on, wake up,” Dick pleads again. “I can’t carry you down myself!”

Still there is no reply. Dick shakes Bruce once more, then slides his arms under Bruce’s armpits. Bracing himself by hooking his feet through the ladder, he heaves with all his strength. Bruce’s body lifts off the seat an inch - two - and then Dick’s strength gives out and he collapses half over Bruce, weeping tears of fury. He can’t. He can’t do this. Strength isn’t his gift. And that means Bruce will die, and Dick will die with him, because there’s no way Dick can leave Bruce - the thought won’t even form - and yet, the children - Dick can’t leave the children - but how can he choose between them? It isn’t supposed to be a choice. Damn it, it had never been supposed to be a choice.

Dick wants to scream again. He wants to collapse. He does neither. He thinks instead. There must be something he knows - something he can do. His life before coming to the Waynes has never seemed so far away, but its lessons have always helped him before. Everything from behaving properly and telling true gemstones from glass have served him well. Surely there’s something in his past that will help him now. 

Nothing comes. Dick tries to haul Bruce up again, but can’t. He slaps Bruce, then even tries kissing him, as if this is a fairy tale and Sleeping Beauty will awake at the touch of their true love’s lips. Of course it doesn’t work. Dick can’t do this. Not alone.

Alone. The word twinges something in Dick’s brain. He had been focused on waking Bruce - but Bruce isn’t the only person here. This cloud of smoke and oil isn’t the entire world. There are people outside of it, and those people can help. Not a lesson from Dick’s past - the circus had been a ragged collection of acts, fiercely individualistic, and an orphan always knows that they can’t ever rely on anyone else - but that’s not Dick’s present. Not anymore. Now Dick is part of a family who will help each other. He doesn’t have to do it all alone.

Dick hates to leave Bruce, but the sudden sense of hope propels him back down the cockpit ladder. It takes only a few steps for Dick to emerge from the cloud, blinking and coughing. He looks around frantically. The bucket brigade are too far away to hear Dick calling, even if he shouts, and his attempt at doing so only yields a croak, even when he tries. But there’s someone else - someone coming towards Dick, towards the wreckage of the Black Bat’s aircraft, someone who had followed in Dick’s footsteps. Not as fleet as an Omega - they haven’t reached the plane yet - but someone who will have the strength to help. Alfred.

“Alfred!” Dick yells, or tries to. It comes out as a croak, but Alfred, running as fast as his age and sex permit, somehow hears Dick anyway. “We have to get him out!”

Alfred puts on another burst of speed. There’s no fear on his face. Only determination. “Show me!”

Dick catches Alfred by the hand and pulls him into the cloud. They get lost almost immediately. There are no landmarks in the soupy air. Dick can’t sense north or south. The aircraft should only be a few steps away, but Dick finds nothing after having gone that far and then again. He forces himself to slow, reaching out his other hand and curving his steps. His questing fingers strain, strain - and touch metal. The stairs. “Here!” he shouts to Alfred, bringing Alfred to the plane.

“Stay here and get ready to catch,” Alfred says, then climbs.

Dick clings to the bottom of the ladder. Once again hearing proves to be the most reliable sense. He makes out rustling, muttering, and something that sounds distinctly like a swear. Then suddenly Alfred lets out a roar, and Bruce comes tumbling down the ladder and straight into Dick’s arms.

“Take him!” Alfred cries, coughing. Bruce is a dead weight in Dick’s arms. Dick can’t lift him the way Alfred must have done, but here on the flat ground Dick can drag Bruce, and so that’s what he does. Dick has no idea where he’s going except away - away from the plane, from the cloud of oil-thick smoke that surrounds it, from the fuel tanks that might explode any minute. A thud behind them announces that Alfred has jumped from the cockpit to the ground, and then Alfred himself appears from the smoke, seizing Bruce’s other arm and helping Dick drag him out into clear air, blue sky, green grass on which they all collapse, coughing.

“Bruce,” Dick gasps, rolling him onto his back and searching his face frantically for signs of life. “Bruce!”

“Over here!” Alfred shouts. Dick looks up and sees Alfred waving to a child running towards them, an Omega by their speed, holding what must be their family’s kitchen dish-pan and slopping water over its side with every step. “Hurry!”

The child heeds this call, arriving with a rush and a splash of water. Bruce stirs under the droplets, and Dick gasps. “Again!” he cries. “Splash him again!”

This direction is taken literally by the child, who immediately pours the entire contents of the dish-pan directly onto Bruce’s face. Dick yelps, but miraculously, this has the desired result. Bruce coughs and sputters and his eyes fly open. 

“Go get a doctor,” Alfred orders, and the child nods again and runs off without a word, still lugging the now-empty dish-pan along with them. Dick has caught Bruce as he instinctively tries to sit up and then sinks back with a moan.

“You’re okay, you’re okay,” Dick chants, light-headed with oil smoke and relief. “It’s going to be okay - ”

“Zeller?” Bruce croaks.

“Dead,” Dick says. 

“You’re sure?”

“I saw him burn.”

Bruce sighs. “And the children?”

“Everyone is well.”

“That’s good.” Bruce leans back, eyes fluttering closed. “Good.”

“Master Bruce, you must not pass out,” Alfred says urgently. He’s touching the wound on Bruce’s temple, frowning at it in worry. “Wait for the doctor to examine you. You have hit your head.”

“Jus’ five more minutes,” Bruce slurs. His face goes terrifyingly slack.

“Bruce!” Dick calls frantically. He casts about for something he can do, anything, and in a burst of insane inspiration blurts out, “I’m pregnant!”

“My lady!” Alfred says, reflexively shocked, but it works. Bruce comes awake again like someone snapping out of a nightmare, his hand clutching convulsively over nothing - Dick hastily puts his hand in Bruce’s to give him something to hold on to - and his eyes searching Dick out. 

“You’re what?” Bruce rasps.

“Pregnant,” Dick repeats. “So you - you have to stay awake, Bruce. You have to. Okay?”

“I see a doctor coming,” Alfred says. Dick looks up as well and nearly faints himself from sheer relief. “Just a few more minutes, Master Bruce. You can do that. Think of the baby.”

“The baby,” Bruce repeats, sounding dazed.

“Yes,” Dick says, “and we don’t know yet if it’s a son or a daughter, you see, or what to name them, so you have to stay awake - you have to help me make all of those decisions. Maybe we should name them after you, hmm? A little Bruce?”

“No,” Bruce says weakly. “No juniors. Nightmare on paperwork.”

“Maybe if we alter it a little,” Dick persists. “What’s a variation? Brucina? Brucette?”

Bruce tries to laugh and ends up coughing instead. “Those are - awful.” His eyes keep sliding closed. He opens them again, but it takes longer each time. 

“Well that’s what I’m naming them! Unless you stop me! Brucina Brucette Wayne!” Dick is crying again. Maybe he’d never stopped. His parents had died on this ground. It can't take his husband, too. “So you had better not die!”

“Okay,” Bruce says. He squeezes Dick’s hand again as a doctor arrives at a run and drops to his knees next to the trio. “I won’t.”

“You promise?” Dick clings to him even as the doctor pokes and prods, examining the cut and then peeling Bruce’s eyelids back. 

“I promise,” Bruce says, and promptly passes out.

Chapter Text

September

It’s well after sunset, but Wayne Manor is lit up brilliantly, a beacon of defiance against the dark. Everyone who is anyone is in attendance. They have all come, wearing their best, to celebrate the debut of Miss Timothy Wayne, eldest daughter of Captain and Mrs. Wayne, formerly of the Drake family, and the newest star in the social firmament. Nothing in the heavens outside sparkles brighter than the glittering jewels and wide smilies of the attendees at the Wayne Debut Ball. 

Months of work, overseen by Dick, Selina, and Tim himself, along with the assistance of virtual legions of servants, have produced an event closer to Cinderella’s ball than Dick had ever expected to see outside the pages of a story-book. The house is full of music and laughter. The dancers are spinning on the floor like figurines on a music-box. The buntings are bright, the lights are brighter, and the hush that had fallen over the crowd when Tim had appeared at the top of the staircase had brought tears to Dick’s eyes.

Now, nearly halfway through the evening, the initial bustle has largely settled down. There’s a glass of sparkling lemonade in nearly everyone’s hand and the circulating waiters are no longer having the hors d'oeuvres snatched quite so quickly from their plates. The first dances are over, and with them their accompanying social obligations. Now the ballroom floor is the domain of the young, who never tire of dancing, while their elders have gathered in small knots to fully enjoy one of their favorite pastimes: gossip. 

The conversations are largely local, of course, focused on whose daughter is going with whose son, which families are hosting which parties, what industries are on the rise and what businesses are rumored to be having financial difficulties. But there is one piece of international news that manages to thread its way through the more mundane topics. The newspapers for the last week have all been full of the magnificent state funeral, just held in Berlin, of the flying ace and former ambassador from Germany, War Captain Hans Zeller. 

The death of said Herr Zeller had of course been a major news story at the time, talked over thoroughly every time two or more Gothamites gathered to converse. The mid-air collision over Grant Park really goes to show, people had agreed, how dangerous that airstrip had been, and how the government had been wise to shut it down in the first place and foolish to grant an exception for Zeller at all. To think, two planes actually hitting each other! Of course here in the United States no one blames Bruce Wayne. As a war hero and flying ace in his own right, everyone had agreed it had been really shocking of the German press to suggest that Wayne had been the cause of the accident. Wayne had just been minding his own business, flying his personal airplane back and forth between Gotham and the surrounding cities as he’d been doing for years. It hadn’t been his fault no one had notified pilots about the reopening of the Grant Park airstrip. A failure of government, that. If Captain Wayne had known Grant Park might be in use by other aviators he naturally would have flown a different route. But without that knowledge, who could blame him for not having realized Hans Zeller might be taking off just at that particular moment? Only the Germans could possibly think such a thing. And they, everyone else agreed, were only trying to shift the blame and make America look bad, probably because their egos were still bruised after the War. Poor Captain Wayne; but thank heavens he’d survived. 

Dick, passing through the room in the role of the gracious hostess, hears it again and again. A dreadful accident; a moral lesson to the Germans; a demonstration of the superiority of American pilots; all the same platitudes that had been thrown around at the time, dragged out and dusted off now that the state funeral had put the Red Joker back in the news. Indeed, people seem far more comfortable re-discussing the accident itself than in the uncomfortable spectacle of the funeral itself. Taking the children to the cinema to see the new picture adaptation of Little Women, Dick had been shocked by the newsreels that had run before it: row after row of brownshirts, their steps high and their arms shot out in front of them, with crimson bands around their upper arms featuring the same ensign that the Red Joker’s plane had worn when it had carried him to death. That swastika had been everywhere at the funeral, and the clips of the German Chancellor’s speech had shown him speaking of Zeller’s death in terms that made it seem little less than cold-blooded murder for which retribution would one day be coming. All that had helped the Waynes from a social standpoint, admittedly, for the more and wilder the accusations the Germans threw around, the more everyone else became convinced it had just been a tragic mistake. But Dick has sons. And while he’d known intellectually that the death of one person, however insane and bent on war Zeller might have been, would ultimately do little to slow the march of Germany towards militarization, he’d still been horrified to learn that it might ultimately do the opposite. 

Perhaps that’s why the socialites of Gotham shy away from speaking of the funeral itself, preferring to repeat the same conversations about the accident that they’d been having for months. They may not know all the undertones of the event, but they know that Hans Zeller’s death has done nothing to cool Germany’s martial ambitions. No one is comfortable thinking about it. Even the topic of the crash doesn’t occupy them for long. They touch on it as if they are obliged to, then return with an air of relief to the mundane kind of gossip that lulls them back into a sense of security.

“Dick,” a warm, familiar, loving voice says in Dick’s ear. Dick turns and smiles at his husband. Tall and broad-shouldered, wearing impeccable evening dress, even the fresh scar on his temple and the slight limp from a healing ankle only make Bruce Wayne even handsomer in Dick’s eyes. Bruce had been bedridden for a week and kept to a chair as much as possible for a while after that, because of the ankle, but there had been no more serious head wound after all, and Burce is making a full recovery. Now he says, “I fear you’re a thousand miles away. Tonight is a triumph, for Tim and for you. What’s got you worrying?”

Dick tries to smile. “What else?”

Bruce nods. War is often on both of their minds lately, ever since that day Bruce had nearly died, that day the Red Joker had tried to kidnap Dick and the children and then bomb Gotham. Facing a danger like that so near to home had shattered any illusions of safety that Dick might have been harboring. Especially since Bruce’s connections had later revealed exactly how much helium the Red Joker had managed to spirit out of the country after all - not enough for a full-sized Zeppelin, but enough to pose a serious threat, depending on how the Germans decide to allocate their haul. The smuggling operation had been going on far longer than anyone had expected. There are signs that Zeller may have gotten hold of other military information, too, though Dick neither knows nor wishes to know the details. Once the initial euphoria of Zeller’s death and Bruce’s survival had worn off, Dick hasn’t entirely been able to keep from worrying.

“Tonight is your night nearly as much as it is Tim’s,” Bruce says gently. “You’ve worn yourself ragged over all the details, no matter how much help you’ve had, and I know that bringing his debut off successfully was one of your earliest dreams for us. You’ve done it. Look around you. This is a tremendous success. Enjoy it, Dick. You deserve it.”

Dick looks around and has to admit that it’s true. Not even suppertime yet, but the success of the evening is unmistakable. The reception room is full and the chatter is constant. Everywhere Dick looks there’s a smile, and not just the kind everyone would wear anyway out of politeness. Even the conversations he’s overheard confirm it - in between Gotham gossip and international funerals, Dick has heard people saying to one another, in faintly surprised admiration, Isn’t this nice? The event of the season, I’m sure. How well Miss Wayne looks. She danced twice with my Jane, you know. And how tasteful the decorations are - particularly the flowers - and then, the canapés! Have you had one? That new Mrs. Wayne certainly has class -

“Selina’s started a rumor about you, you know,” Bruce says, keeping his voice low, the better for the telling of secrets. “I happened to mention to her last week that you weren’t born in Gotham, and she’s taken it and run with it. Did you know the Kyles started out in Keystone City?”

“Yes, Selina had mentioned it,” Dick says, bemused. “Her grandfather founded a steel mill there, didn’t he?”

“Indeed he did. The basis for their eventual fortune.”

“What has that to do with me?”

“Oh, nothing,” Bruce says, grinning like he approves. “Except that I have it on good authority that Selina’s mother and yours were at finishing school together.”

“Finishing school?” Dick would gape, if it wouldn’t be a faux pas in the middle of a crowded reception room. “My mother never went to finishing school a day in her life!”

“Oh?” Bruce’s eyes sparkle mischievously. “You mean you aren’t one of the Keystone City Graysons?”

Dick tries to strangle his laugh, but it still comes out at a little more than a polite titter. “The Keystone City Graysons!” he repeats incredulously. There’s no such family, of course. And it’s lovely of Selina, and hilarious to think about, but - “It won’t work. Why, some of these people probably saw me performing with the circus! Anyway, anyone who knew me at the orphanage knows the truth.”

“That’s the beauty of it. Anyone who is willing to talk to nuns or orphans won’t change their opinion of you if they learn the truth. As for anyone who would never dream of speaking to their so-called inferiors - if they believe it and are fooled, that says more about them than it does about Selina or you, doesn’t it?”

“Hah!” Dick gives up on not laughing at all, but puts his hand up over his mouth so it at least looks vaguely proper. “I suppose if they need to believe in a mythical upper-class background in order to be polite to me, I don’t care if it comes out later and they end up looking like fools.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Bruce says smugly. “Now, Mrs. Wayne, I believe I haven’t had a dance with you all night. And someone may have just asked the band to play a waltz.”

The opening strains of Blue Danube are indeed wafting gently through the ballroom. Bruce holds out his hand. The last time they’d danced, it had been very nearly a scandal, headed off only by the fact that Hans Zeller had asked Dick first. At that ball, Bruce taking Dick out onto the floor had been seen by most of the attendees as an act of balance, Bruce seeking to smooth over a small contretemps after Zeller had made the first faux pas. Zeller’s actions themselves had been largely ascribed to his ignorance of social ranks in America, a comfortable if mistaken assumption on the part of most of Gotham Society. Thus had society made their excuses, but tonight they won’t need them. Tonight it will all be very natural. Tim’s debut - any lady’s debut - is as much about their parents and their inheritance as it is about they themselves. Captain and Mrs. Wayne are expected to take their own place in the grand sweep of things.

“I’d be delighted,” Dick answers, placing his hand in Bruce’s.

How much of a difference six months makes. Dick smiles at his husband, their bodies coming together in the dance, and it’s not only permitted, it’s encouraged. Dick has Bruce’s ring on his finger, his body in their bed, and Bruce’s baby in Dick’s belly. They haven’t announced it widely yet; three months is the usual time, and neither of them want to overshadow Tim’s debut. But soon it will be known all through Gotham, and the gossips will be satisfied that the new Mrs. Wayne knows how to perform his marital duties as effectively as he can choose invitations and table-linens for his eldest daughter’s coming out. More importantly, the rest of Dick’s family can share in the joy of a growing family.

As the sedate movements of the timeless dance come to an end and the musicians transition to the final song before dinner, Dick takes a moment to look around the room and check on the other members of his family. Jason is standing next to Tim, as he has been all evening. He’s clearly taken Dick’s words to heart about how much Tim will need support this year. Since the Red Joker’s death and the breakup with Harley, Jason has been devoted to his family. He’s taking the extra year at Gotham Prep and starting to accompany Bruce to Wayne Industries on Fridays, with the blessing of the school’s headmaster, who knows perfectly well that Jason hasn’t delayed college for academic reasons. He’s also been attending more social events. Jason is still Jason - he still roams around Gotham on the weekends in old clothes, and Dick wisely does not inquire what Jason is up to on those days - but he seems to have made the decisions he’d once alluded to Dick about being unsure of. I just want time to figure it out, he’d said. Jason has taken the time, and he seems happy now, in a way that’s more than skin deep.

Tim has spent the last month as a nervous wreck, but having Jason by his side seems to steady him, if only, as he’d once confided to Dick, because Tim is confident that if he ever makes a faux pas he can count on Jason to immediately make a bigger and more memorable one, thereby consigning Tim’s mistakes to oblivion. It seems an odd comfort for a young lady to have, but if it works for Tim, Dick isn’t complaining. Tonight is Tim’s night, and Tim is absolutely radiant beneath the electric lamps. His eyes are brilliant, his laugh gay, and he seems to float as he’s twirled around the dance floor by every eligible young gentleman in Gotham. Even Jason gets a whirl, here in the last dance before supper when even old maids and chaperones are escorted out to the floor in honor, and when it comes to an end no one looks happier than Tim as he’s escorted at last in to the dining-room on Bruce’s arm, finally taking his rightful and longed-for place as a lady in society.

Steph, as she goes in to dinner, looks more like someone being escorted to the scaffold. She’s fifteen now, having just had her birthday in August, and it’s time for her to start to play a role in the larger world. It’s true that Society will never be her milieu the way it is Tim’s. But she’s resigned herself to growing up as a necessary prerequisite to fulfill her dream of becoming an engineer. She’s almost more grateful than Tim for Jason having taken an extra year before college; staying home means that Jason is the eldest son tonight, and thus he gets the duty of standing in the receiving line, being Dick’s partner at dinner, and having to dance with all the eligible young ladies attending Tim’s debut. As second son, Steph gets to fade into the background a little bit longer. She says that by next year she’ll be resigned to it. Dick hopes that’s so, since there will be no putting off college a second time for Jason. Bruce is insistent. But then, Dick has noticed with interest that Steph had danced three times with a certain Miss Cobblepot before dinner, and thinks that perhaps in a year’s time Steph’s attitude towards Society may have changed, too.

Damian will need no such evolution. He’s chomping at the bit to be allowed to grow up, and had begged for weeks to be allowed to stay through all of Tim’s debut. His birthday is only two days off of Steph’s, and Damian feels all the dignity of the newly fourteen, which is very towering and very fragile. No amount of explaining could persuade. Finally Bruce had had to put his foot down. Dick, looking back past the crowd, sees Damian trudging away with the rest of his younger siblings as the majority of the guests begin their migration towards the dinner-table in the Waynes’ wake. He’s visibly hangdog. Bruce has promised to take him along to Wayne Industries this Friday along with Jason as a special treat, but nothing will really do for Damian but that another year passes. 

Babs is far more cheerful as she leaves the ball. Her last dance before dinner had been spent with her Uncle Gordon, who seems to have entirely gotten over his mistaken coddling of Babs and has been working hard to make right his mistakes. Dick still remembers the scene he’d found back at St. Mary’s when he’d gone to collect the children he’d left behind there. Gordon, who does indeed have some small involvement with ‘the organization’, had called the church looking for Father Gideon after seeing the dogfight over Grant Park. Babs had relayed with smug glee how astonished Gordon had been to instead find Babs staffing the phones, coolly collecting and relaying information in, so Gordon had later said, the most professional way. Gordon had driven to St. Mary’s at once and stayed there until Dick had arrived to collect his children. Babs hadn’t said much about what had happened in those few hours she’d spent with her Uncle, but since then their relationship has been much easier and friendlier, and Gordon had become a regular visitor to the lake house all through the rest of the summer and an honored guest at tonight’s banquet. 

Kate and Cass are similarly eager to leave. They’re too young even to dance with family and family friends, but not young enough to escape back to the nursery with Terry, and it’s no surprise to even the oldest curmudgeons that they’ve been bored stiff for the past hour. Kate has been permitted to bring a book along with her and read discreetly behind a pillar for much of the evening. She’s learned enough to read small stories with easy words entirely on her own, and is justly proud of her accomplishment. Cass has farther to go on the score of reading, but no one needs to teach her anything about love for her family. Now that Terry has turned three - August birthdays being shockingly common in the Wayne family - Cass has transferred her affections from her inanimate dolls to her very animate, somewhat wriggly, but ultimately good-natured younger sibling. Terry lets Cass dress him up, dunk him in the wash-bin under the guise of bathing him, and read books to him by the dozen. Terry accepts all this as his due and would be well on the way to becoming spoiled if Maria and Dick were not quick to intervene any time Cass took it a little too far. Now Cass is yawning as she trots off to bed behind Kate and Babs, waving one hand shyly when she sees some in the crowd smiling indulgently at the train of children. 

Terry will already be asleep in the nursery. They’re all healthy, and happy, and growing well. Dick may be proud of his family. Bruce looks at Dick with a look like a kiss, and Dick knows that Bruce is proud of them, too.

The rest of the evening passes pleasantly away. There are still pockets of high-minded and high-nosed toffs who look down on the new lady of Wayne Manor, and despite Selina’s rumors there probably always will be, but they stay far enough away and keep their voices low enough that Dick needn’t take any notice of them, and that’s more than enough for Dick. His attention is full of Tim, who blooms like a flower in a hothouse amidst the attention he’s always craved. Some debutantes grow overwhelmed and make a discreet, early exit. Not Tim. He dances every dance, even to the last waltz of the evening, and bids his guests farewell with no sign of fatigue. Even when the last carriage is gone, Tim floats off to his room like he’s riding on a cloud, and is still chattering a mile a minute to the long-suffering Jason, who had not taken the chance to escape when Steph had in the last hour of the ball and therefore is the sole remaining outlet for Tim’s glee. Dick watches them go in bemusement, fervently hoping Tim lets Jason escape before Jason’s patience runs out. It would be a shame to end a night like this with a sibling quarrel.

“A beautiful event,” Bruce says, putting his arm around Dick and kissing him now that there’s no one to see but the servants. “And a beautiful wife. Remind me, how did I get so lucky?”

Dick has no answer to this, especially when he considers his own good luck, so he simply kisses Bruce in return. 

They separate briefly at the doors to their own rooms - here in Wayne Manor, each have their own chambers - and Dick sits down at his vanity with a relieved sigh, glad to be off his feet while Betsy carefully undoes the complicated twists and curls of his hair. Betsy keeps up a low-voiced chatter full of nothings while she works. To someone else this might be annoying, but Dick still has the orphanage and the circus with him: he’s used to a constant low hum of background noise, and nothing helps him relax so well after a social event as having Betsy quietly prattling in the background. She brushes Dick’s hair out once she’s got it undone, finding a few pins she’d missed along the way, and then helps Dick out of his clothing into his nightclothes.

“Will you want your dressing gown, ma’am?” she asks, shaking out that garment and holding it up.

“Yes, I want to go check on the children.” Dick slips it on, a beautiful navy silk that Bruce had surprised him with on their honeymoon, and which Dick has embroidered with his favorite of the stitches from the pattern-book Bruce had given him for his birthday. He traces the winding decorations and smiles at them before tying the gown closed and slipping his feet into house-slippers. “Tell Bruce I’ll be along in a few minutes, would you?”

“Of course, ma’am. Will you want the lights in here?” This somewhat odd-seeming question is servants’ code for a more salacious one: Betsy really wants to know if Dick plans to sleep in his own bed tonight. Dick glances at it and smiles to himself.

“No, I think not, Betsy. Thank you.” A few months of marriage have given Dick something of a sense of his husband’s moods, and he rather thinks that if he goes in to kiss Bruce good night, he won’t be leaving Bruce’s bedroom again in a hurry. Of course, Dick could avoid all of that by simply not going in in the first place - but why on earth would he do that? “That will be all for tonight.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Betsy curtsies with a smile, and Dick goes back out into the hallway and down to the west wing to check on the children.

The lights are still on in the older childrens’ rooms. Dick bypasses them initially; they’ll still be undressing. He checks the nursery first, where Terry has now joined Kate and Cass behind a door of his own. Dick feels a pang at seeing Terry sleeping in a real bed, his long lashes closed against downy cheeks, the blankets tucked up under his chin. Already he’s shedding some of the features of toddler-hood and beginning to look like a little child instead. But he’s still his cheerful, curious self, and Dick kisses him gently, wondering how he’ll like not being the baby of the family any more.

Cass will love having another sibling, of course, as she’s already made clear. She’s sprawled asleep on her bed like a starfish, blankets on the floor and pillow by her feet. Dick shakes his head and picks them back up, shaking them out and tucking them around her. Still young enough that sleep means being dead to the world, Cass doesn’t even stir as Dick rearranges her limbs to get them all under cover and slides the pillow back under her head. Kate, at least, has managed to remain largely tucked in. But when Dick bends to kiss her cheek, he ends up with something hard poking against him, and pulling the covers back finds that Kate has snuck a book into bed with her. Dick pulls it out, smooths a creased page, and sets it on a nearby chair where she’ll find it when she wakes up.

Babs and Damian are both sound asleep as well, when Dick checks on them, but they’re old enough to mumble and toss in their sleeps when Dick gives in to the urge to kiss and tuck them both in a little tighter. He won’t be able to do this with Damian much longer. Fourteen is a difficult age, and however much Damian might secretly like having his mother come check on him in his sleep, he’ll feel compelled to protest. Dick had better not make him. Steph is already past that point, and while she’s laid back enough that she likely woldn’t mind, Dick confines himself to merely opening her door and peeping inside. She’s sleeping the sleep of the just, having done her duty and stayed at the ball through dinner, and Dick hadn’t begrudged her slipping away after the first guests had begun to depart as well. She may not have gone straight to bed; at least, she frowns at the light Dick is letting in, and rolls over to face away from it. Dick eases the door closed quietly so as not to disturb her and goes to check on Jason and Tim.

Jason has already completed an Alpha’s shorter toilette and assures Dick that he needs nothing. There’s a flush on his cheeks that makes Dick raise his eyebrows, since nothing stronger than sparkling lemonade had been officially served at the ball, but on consideration he decides not to ask. If one of the young gentlemen in attendance had slipped in a little liquid courage for what is after all a daunting event, and if Jason had accepted a small tipple to bolster his own nerves, Dick feels no need to draw attention to it. Jason couldn’t have had much, if he’s merely a little flushed. And after all the ball-room had been hot. Dick tactfully says nothing about it, merely assuring himself that Jason is well and needs nothing before passing on to Tim’s room.

The lights are still on here, too, and Tim isn’t even half undressed, sitting at his vanity staring dreamily into his mirror while his own maid fusses around him trying to get the ribbons out of his hair. Tim isn’t making it easy for her, with the way he’s got his chin in his hands and his mind clearly a thousand miles away. Dick closes the door behind him with a click, and Tim starts.

“Oh, Mother,” he says, and suddenly he flushes, too. Dick frowns at him. Surely Tim hadn’t been drinking? 

“Is everything all right, Tim?”

“Yes, of course,” Tim says. Indeed, Tim doesn’t look guilty at all. He’s starry-eyed and practically overflowing with happiness. “Far better than all right. Oh, wasn’t it a lovely party?”

“It was,” Dick agrees. He comes over and helps Tim’s maid with the last few ribbons, and takes off Tim’s ear-rings for good measure. “I hope it was everything you dreamed.”

“Everything and more. Mother, I’m so glad you came to us.” Tim throws his arms around Dick’s middle, drawing an indignant squawk from his maid, who finds herself holding a hair-pin and nothing else as Tim pulls away from her grasp. Dick nods her to a corner of the room, then turns back to Tim, who is saying, “I danced so many dances, and that dinner - and the clothes! Did you see - the hairstyles - but none were as nice as mine - ” Tim goes on in this way for several minutes, recounting every gem, every flounce, and every shoe-buckle on nearly every lady in attendance. Dick had paid enough attention to be sure that his own ensemble had been modish and appropriate and then frankly ignored the rest, so he only nods along in agreement and support as Tim expounds at length. From there Tim begins recounting his dances, from the first one he’d ceremonially shared with his father to the last dance of the evening, which, most of the other gentlemen having either already departed or worn themselves out, had fallen to Jason. “And next time I think we should have a gavotte,” Tim winds up by saying. “I can dance it well enough now, Mother, truly, and I think it will be such fun!”

“I will speak with the dancing-master tomorrow,” Dick promises. “If she agrees, we will have it.”

“Thank you!” Tim leaps out of his chair and twirls around, as if he can already imagine himself dancing it beneath dazzling lights, every eye on him. “I’m so happy,” he sighs, coming to a halt at last and letting his arms drop. “I don’t know how to tell you. It’s everything I dreamed of.”

“My dear, I’m glad for you,” Dick says, taking Tim’s hands and kissing him on the cheek. “Now, do let Mary help you undress and get to bed. I know you don’t feel tired, but just think how sweet your dreams will be.”

“Yes, Mother,” Tim says obediently. He sits back down in his vanity chair, and Dick beckons his maid back over to him. “May we talk it all over tomorrow, you and I?”

“If you wish,” Dick says. “We’ll have plenty of time.” The ball had, of course, been held on a Friday night, so tomorrow is Saturday. 

“And on Monday at school,” Tim says, “and then - ”

“But first, sleep,” Dick says firmly.

Tim nods, already lost again in daydreams. Dick says to Mary, “Do your best with him.”

“Yes, ma’am,” she says wryly, “I will.”

The rounds complete, Dick heads back towards the adults’ wing. Eight children, and - he smiles to himself - one more on the way. Some would doubtless find it overwhelming or excessive. Dick finds it just right. He wouldn’t change a thing.

Bruce is waiting for Dick inside his own bedroom, sitting in an armchair in his own dressing-gown and reading a newspaper with a cup of tea at his elbow. Dick comes in without knocking and closes the door behind him. “Tired?”

“I was,” Bruce answers, setting down the newspaper. “But the sight of you wakes me up.”

Dick laughs and goes to him, holding out his arms. 

Sometimes Dick still marvels that all this can possibly be his. He doesn’t just mean the fine fabrics and the expensive rugs, the plush armchairs, the servants. Those are unexpected, but they’re not what really astonishes Dick. What really astonishes him is finding himself sitting perched on Bruce’s broad legs, carefully held by strong arms, and kissed with unabashed fervor by his husband, who he loves, and who loves him. It’s more than Dick had ever thought he’d have and everything he’d never let himself want.

It gets even better when Bruce stands up, lifting Dick’s weight as if it’s nothing, and then carries Dick over to be deposited in the center of a bed and then loomed over and kissed further. There’s something about it which makes Dick absolutely wild, and tonight is no exception. Dick reaches for the ties of his own dressing-gown, but Bruce stops him. “Let me,” he says, flashing Dick a grin. “I want to unwrap my present.”

Dick laughs - and that’s another thing that he had never expected; to laugh in the marriage bed, to find the so-fearsome duty not only something that can be pleasant but something that can be enjoyed, can be light-hearted and fun instead of serious and solemn. “Am I your present?” he teases, drawing Bruce’s hand down to his still-flat stomach. “Or are you thinking of something else?”

Bruce’s eyes darken so fast they go from brilliant blue to deep black in a heartbeat. “Maybe both,” he says, dipping to kiss the exposed skin.

“Eight children already and still eager for more,” Dick murmurs wickedly.

“Ah, but this is entirely new,” Bruce says. He arranges himself propped up on one elbow at Dick’s side, which lets him engage in what seem to be two of his favorite pastimes at once, kissing Dick and rubbing Dick’s belly. “You must let me enjoy it.”

“Oh, must I?” Dick rejoins, smiling. This falls somewhat flat when Bruce instantly withdraws his petting hand.

“If it bothers you - ” he begins. 

“Nothing of the sort,” Dick says firmly, seizing Bruce’s hand and putting it back where it belongs. “In fact, I absolutely insist on your enjoyment.”

“Oh,” Bruce says, returning to his ministrations and kissing Dick in an entirely different and more passionate way. “In that case.”

Conversation ebbs for a time, until they find themselves splayed out together on the bed, sighing in mutual satisfaction. Dick has his head pillowed on Bruce’s shoulder, resisting all of Bruce’s attempts to insert a pillow between them. “I want to feel your skin,” Dick grumbles.

“My collar-bone must be poking into your ear,” Bruce says.

“I like it when your collar-bone pokes into my ear.” Actually, it’s a little uncomfortable, but Dick can’t admit that now.

“Hmm.” Bruce frowns at him as if he senses this dilemma. “Would you - ”

“No.” Dick snuggles closer. “Mine.”

Bruce chuckles, which reverberates in his chest and makes an odd sound with the way Dick’s ear is pressed up against him. “I like it when you’re possessive.”

“Good.” Dick yawns, feeling satisfied with the world at large. “Then you’re happy.”

Bruce doesn’t answer right away, which might make Dick worry, except then Bruce says, “Yes,” in a slow, reflective way that shows he’s really thought about it instead of just uttering the expected answer. “Dick, I hope you know, I - even in my prayers, I never imagined anyone like you. I didn’t know I needed you until you came into my life.” Abruptly he chuckles. “I didn’t even realize it then! I tried to get rid of you.”

“You did,” Dick agrees.

“What a fool I was. Pearls before swine… I owe the children a great deal from preventing me from making the greatest mistake of my life.” Bruce can’t kiss Dick from his position, but he drapes his arm across Dick’s chest, warm and heavy and intimate. “I love you, Dick. Yes, I am happy. Happier than I ever knew I could be.” Bruce swallows, the movement tactile against Dick’s temple. “And you? Are you - do I make you happy?”

“Oh, Bruce,” Dick says softly. He doesn’t even need to think about it. He could. He could review the many things Bruce offers him, all of which have their own value. The world would certainly say that Dick ought to be happy, having gained social status, wealth, and a life of ease in one fell swoop. The children would probably agree, with the delightfully innocent egocentrism of youth, that anyone permitted to be their parent is naturally the luckiest person on Earth. And all of that is true, as far as it goes. Dick would never deny enjoying the comforts that money and position bring. Nor can the children possibly doubt that Dick loves them all dearly and finds motherhood to be one of the most fulfilling experiences of his life. But even if none of that had been true, Dick would still be happy. Because of Bruce. Because he has Bruce. 

“Yes,” Dick says. “All of my dreams have come true.”