Hey everybody. Number three is here. You are going to have to read Exile 1 and 2 to understand the story here. Sorry, but I really don't think that this will make any sense if you just try to pick it up in the middle. They can be found under my name at fanfiction.net, and are Return, and Conversations. I love feedback, and welcome any comments, constructive or not. -krt
Disclaimer: Not mine. I'm just messing with them, no harm intended and no money gained.
Exile 3: Reunion
Chapter 1: Thoughts
The day dawned bright and early. I know, because I was awake for the show. The sun crept up over the harbor and even through the constant smog that settled over Gotham, the colors were brilliant. Light flooded my room and I turned away from the brightness, wincing and blinking my eyes to clear the spots from them. Darkness suited me much better than light, and I pulled the drapes shut with one hand. What a night. Too many things to think about, too many things to wonder about, and between that and the fact that the signal had went on only minutes after I reached my room, I had not slept very well at all.
I'd spent hours last night thinking about my dad. I'd been exhausted, but somehow it always works that whenever I am both emotionally and physically tired, my brain just refuses to shut down. So, I'd paced the room countless times last night, going over the conversations that I'd had with my family and with Bruce, and wondering what it would have taken to make the one with my father turn out different. Nothing I could think of seemed like it would have changed the situation, except for me just blindly following what he had prepared for me, and I couldn't do that. I'd worked too hard, planned too much, to just throw it all away and be the single-minded playboy Jack Drake wished that I was.
I stifled a sarcastic laugh. Most parents would love to find out that their son had given up the easy money and fast life of a millionaire's son and had spent three years at a prep school not living the wild life, but studying and building resources for a future. Not my dad. I really think that all he ever wanted out of me was to be totally and completely normal. He wanted a son that he could complain about to his club friends, that he could eventually 'rescue' from the wild life and train to take over the Drake family business. One that he could complain about when I was a teen, and brag about when I was thirty.
Instead, he got a son that had surpassed his father's I.Q. by the age of 12, and could have taken his father in a fight, fair or not, by the age of 14. I'd become a leader of a group of people with superpowers, and I kept up with them and led them because of my own intelligence, training, and will power. I had the most dangerous and secretive man in the world as a personal trainer and father figure, and the most acrobatic man in the world as an older brother. My list of friends and acquaintances included a genius computer hacker, the world's best martial artist, the girl who could beat her, the fastest kid in the world, a indestructible, flying teen, and many, many more. Not to mention I'd earned the hatred of most of Gotham's underworld, and more than a few crazy homicidal maniacs.
Quite a life, huh? Heh.
My father couldn't understand. In his mind, I was nuts. He couldn't understand why I felt more content putting myself into constant danger than when I was at a party getting ogled by pretty girls. Not that pretty girls were all bad, but I needed a purpose to my life. A purpose that I had found in joining Batman in his crusade against the darkness of Gotham's crime. I had found that instead of being the little boy that was always in the way, I could be useful. I could help my world and my city, instead of becoming one of the elite that merely floated from party to party. I had jumped at the chance.
I won't say that I've never had moments of regret, because that would be lying. I can remember a couple of time that I had wished that I'd just kept my nose in my own business, instead of spending the hours trying to figure out just who Batman was. My life would have been totally different. So different it boggled my mind for a second. No Robin. No bat family. No Young Justice. I wouldn't have got into trouble as much and I wouldn't have been sent away.
It wouldn't have been worth it. I would have been bored stiff. Or worse, I might have been totally happy with a normal life. I turned and looked at myself in the mirror. A tough, intelligent, physical and mental fighter stared back at me. "Timothy Drake, you will never be normal," he said. What a relief.
With that important distinction firmly made, I decided that it was now light enough for me to get headed out on the road to New York. Hopefully they would be there, I'd hate to waste the trip. I suppose that I could have Oracle call ahead, but I'd just as soon not be announced. Not that I particularly wanted to surprise them, but I had to assume that they may not be to happy with me for disappearing. Therefore, if I just showed up, they would be more likely to show their real feelings.
I considered going downstairs and getting something to eat, but I was positive that I couldn't accomplish that without waking Alfred. I didn't really want to disturb him. I just grab some fast food on the road. I got dressed, pulling on my weapons belt only after checking them all to make sure that they were all in working order. I extended both my pair of small bo's and my full length bo, sharpened my throwing stars, and made sure that my line and small grapple were in working condition. That done, I pulled my jacket on to hide the belt and grabbed a pair of motorcycle gloves and my helmet.
I crawled out of my second story window, walking carefully along the narrow ledge that ran along the side of the wall. I reached a drainpipe and lowered myself down to the flowerbed using that as a brace. I could have just jumped straight from the window, but I doubted that the gardener would appreciate six-inch deep footprints in his immaculately manicured gardens.
I made my way through the estate to the garages. It was quite a walk. I'd forgotten how absolutely monstrous this place was. It was at least a half of a mile to the garage, and then I remembered that I'd left my bike at the back entrance to the cave. Arrg. That's another mile and a half's walk.
I ran the whole way, working the stiffness out of my joints from the temper-induced workout last night. It felt good to run, and I knew that I should get back into the habit of my morning runs. While overseas, I'd usually ran about 5 miles every morning. Well, while I was in Switzerland, anyway. Running five miles in mainland China is a little dangerous. First, they'd lock you up for being insane, second, there's so many people that you can't run in a straight line anyway, and third, at least in the area that I was in, the ratio of attempted muggings or murder per mile was about six. Kind of hard to get into a rhythm.
I was pleased that, even though I'd been running fast, I wasn't out of breath when I reached the bike. A note was taped to the seat. I pulled it free and unfolded it. The scrawl was familiar.
'Hey, just wanted to remind you that you're welcome to stop by 'haven if you want to talk. Anytime. Dick.'
I folded the note back up and tucked it in my pocket. Anytime. And I had it in writing. I grinned, that might come in handy sometime. I wanted to talk to him, but not until I had figured out what my plans were, because he was going to ask, and I was tired of putting people off. I made the decision as I started the bike. Today, I am going to decide if I want to stay in Gotham, and I am not going to think about my Dad any more. With that thought firmly entrenched in my head, I headed to New York to meet some old friends.
Disclaimer: Not mine. I'm just messing with them, no harm intended and no money gained.
Exile 3: Reunion
Chapter 1: Thoughts
The day dawned bright and early. I know, because I was awake for the show. The sun crept up over the harbor and even through the constant smog that settled over Gotham, the colors were brilliant. Light flooded my room and I turned away from the brightness, wincing and blinking my eyes to clear the spots from them. Darkness suited me much better than light, and I pulled the drapes shut with one hand. What a night. Too many things to think about, too many things to wonder about, and between that and the fact that the signal had went on only minutes after I reached my room, I had not slept very well at all.
I'd spent hours last night thinking about my dad. I'd been exhausted, but somehow it always works that whenever I am both emotionally and physically tired, my brain just refuses to shut down. So, I'd paced the room countless times last night, going over the conversations that I'd had with my family and with Bruce, and wondering what it would have taken to make the one with my father turn out different. Nothing I could think of seemed like it would have changed the situation, except for me just blindly following what he had prepared for me, and I couldn't do that. I'd worked too hard, planned too much, to just throw it all away and be the single-minded playboy Jack Drake wished that I was.
I stifled a sarcastic laugh. Most parents would love to find out that their son had given up the easy money and fast life of a millionaire's son and had spent three years at a prep school not living the wild life, but studying and building resources for a future. Not my dad. I really think that all he ever wanted out of me was to be totally and completely normal. He wanted a son that he could complain about to his club friends, that he could eventually 'rescue' from the wild life and train to take over the Drake family business. One that he could complain about when I was a teen, and brag about when I was thirty.
Instead, he got a son that had surpassed his father's I.Q. by the age of 12, and could have taken his father in a fight, fair or not, by the age of 14. I'd become a leader of a group of people with superpowers, and I kept up with them and led them because of my own intelligence, training, and will power. I had the most dangerous and secretive man in the world as a personal trainer and father figure, and the most acrobatic man in the world as an older brother. My list of friends and acquaintances included a genius computer hacker, the world's best martial artist, the girl who could beat her, the fastest kid in the world, a indestructible, flying teen, and many, many more. Not to mention I'd earned the hatred of most of Gotham's underworld, and more than a few crazy homicidal maniacs.
Quite a life, huh? Heh.
My father couldn't understand. In his mind, I was nuts. He couldn't understand why I felt more content putting myself into constant danger than when I was at a party getting ogled by pretty girls. Not that pretty girls were all bad, but I needed a purpose to my life. A purpose that I had found in joining Batman in his crusade against the darkness of Gotham's crime. I had found that instead of being the little boy that was always in the way, I could be useful. I could help my world and my city, instead of becoming one of the elite that merely floated from party to party. I had jumped at the chance.
I won't say that I've never had moments of regret, because that would be lying. I can remember a couple of time that I had wished that I'd just kept my nose in my own business, instead of spending the hours trying to figure out just who Batman was. My life would have been totally different. So different it boggled my mind for a second. No Robin. No bat family. No Young Justice. I wouldn't have got into trouble as much and I wouldn't have been sent away.
It wouldn't have been worth it. I would have been bored stiff. Or worse, I might have been totally happy with a normal life. I turned and looked at myself in the mirror. A tough, intelligent, physical and mental fighter stared back at me. "Timothy Drake, you will never be normal," he said. What a relief.
With that important distinction firmly made, I decided that it was now light enough for me to get headed out on the road to New York. Hopefully they would be there, I'd hate to waste the trip. I suppose that I could have Oracle call ahead, but I'd just as soon not be announced. Not that I particularly wanted to surprise them, but I had to assume that they may not be to happy with me for disappearing. Therefore, if I just showed up, they would be more likely to show their real feelings.
I considered going downstairs and getting something to eat, but I was positive that I couldn't accomplish that without waking Alfred. I didn't really want to disturb him. I just grab some fast food on the road. I got dressed, pulling on my weapons belt only after checking them all to make sure that they were all in working order. I extended both my pair of small bo's and my full length bo, sharpened my throwing stars, and made sure that my line and small grapple were in working condition. That done, I pulled my jacket on to hide the belt and grabbed a pair of motorcycle gloves and my helmet.
I crawled out of my second story window, walking carefully along the narrow ledge that ran along the side of the wall. I reached a drainpipe and lowered myself down to the flowerbed using that as a brace. I could have just jumped straight from the window, but I doubted that the gardener would appreciate six-inch deep footprints in his immaculately manicured gardens.
I made my way through the estate to the garages. It was quite a walk. I'd forgotten how absolutely monstrous this place was. It was at least a half of a mile to the garage, and then I remembered that I'd left my bike at the back entrance to the cave. Arrg. That's another mile and a half's walk.
I ran the whole way, working the stiffness out of my joints from the temper-induced workout last night. It felt good to run, and I knew that I should get back into the habit of my morning runs. While overseas, I'd usually ran about 5 miles every morning. Well, while I was in Switzerland, anyway. Running five miles in mainland China is a little dangerous. First, they'd lock you up for being insane, second, there's so many people that you can't run in a straight line anyway, and third, at least in the area that I was in, the ratio of attempted muggings or murder per mile was about six. Kind of hard to get into a rhythm.
I was pleased that, even though I'd been running fast, I wasn't out of breath when I reached the bike. A note was taped to the seat. I pulled it free and unfolded it. The scrawl was familiar.
'Hey, just wanted to remind you that you're welcome to stop by 'haven if you want to talk. Anytime. Dick.'
I folded the note back up and tucked it in my pocket. Anytime. And I had it in writing. I grinned, that might come in handy sometime. I wanted to talk to him, but not until I had figured out what my plans were, because he was going to ask, and I was tired of putting people off. I made the decision as I started the bike. Today, I am going to decide if I want to stay in Gotham, and I am not going to think about my Dad any more. With that thought firmly entrenched in my head, I headed to New York to meet some old friends.