Well, this is it. The final installment of 'High Noon'. I've really enjoyed writing this, so I'm glad to see how much others have liked it. Thanks for all the feedback I received. I hope this little tale was something you all enjoyed. Now, on with the show...
Disclaimers: First chapter still holds the essentials. And the bit about Babs' scent is borrowed unashamedly from John Westcott's nightwing series.
Summary: A morning in Dick's life as he starts the long process of recovering from his injuries...
I dedicate this chapter to Em – you know who you are, girl... – and to Char, without whom this entire chapter wouldn't exist. Period.
This story is dedicated to all those brave cops out there
May they always fight the fine fight!
CALL
OF DUTY
High
Noon
Epilogue
All's
Well...Kinda
In my opinion, there's nothing more boring than this.
"...and of all the crazy things to do with brokens ribs, you don't..."
See, that's Leslie. I was just noddiing along at the appropriate points and pretending that I was listening. This was always the first lecture I was on the receiving end of whenever I was injured. The specifics usually changed, but the meaning never did. This time it was rattling off the list of everything I shouldn't do with two broken ribs while she was actually telling me that I shouldn't have been so reckless and careless. I was actually surprised she'd waited this long to give it to me. That said, I can't quite see the connection between asking for help sleeping and me getting this lecture. Doctors.
"...and number one, at the very top of that list, is tackling someone after sprinting over a hundred yards," she finished, more than a little exasperation in her voice. "Wasn't there anything else you could've done?"
"Yeah," I grunted. "Coulda let him go and he'da shot someone else." I closed my eyes before I rolled them. Like I'd ever let that happen. I opened my eyes and shot her a plantative look. "But I'm better now, aren't I?" Except for the unusable leg and the not sleeping bits.
"Dick," she told me gently but firmly, "you had a collapsed lung as well as being shot three times. Besides what you did to your hand, you've also had to have surgery to rebuild your leg. You won't be 'better' for at least six more weeks, probably longer."
"Yeah Dick," Barbara piped up helpfully from the doorway of my room at the Manor, "you're lucky we were able to spring you from the Blüdhaven hospital at all."
I shot her a look that I knew was somewhere between aggravated she had to agree with the doctor and contrite because I could well remember the effort that had gone into getting me out. Just because I'd been mostly out of it on pain-meds at the time didn't mean I wasn't aware of all the tests they'd put me through in the two weeks I'd been there after I woke up. Even after all that, the sole reason I was out at all was because I was in the Manor and Leslie was spending the nights here. And there was always someone here to watch me and make sure I didn't do something I shouldn't – which right now was everything except relieving certain bodily functions, and even that was under strict supervision. Sheesh.
The problem was that if I was going to get anywhere under my own power I'd need a cane or a set of crutches first...and either option involved using my left hand that was still in its fiberglass cast and more immobile than Alfred's apron strings. So that meant either using a wheelchair or being virtually carried by the nearest available person whenever I needed to go somewhere. That was why I wasn't in my apartment – there was no way they'd let me tackle those stairs by myself, and there was also no way I'd let someone (namely Bruce) carry me up them either. A guy's gotta have some pride, especially when I own the building – even if it is in secret.
"I know," I reluctantly admitted, picking absently at the bedspread that was already Alfred-guaranteed to be free of lint. "It's just..." I trailed off and turned my head to look out the window, as if I wasn't sure how to express exactly what I was feeling. Actually, the truth was that I'd learnt years ago to never tell Leslie when I was bored during my recovery from any injury. That always got me the second lengthy lecture that being bored was my just desserts for getting hurt and refusing to stop the nightlife-thing. Even though I'd been nowhere near the night-suit when this stuff happened to me, I was fairly sure that wouldn't stop Leslie giving me the lecture, and that was one lecture I could do without.
Of course, I was still so bored I was almost wishing for one of those damn Blüdhaven cases that "only you can solve, Dick," quote unquote. Even mediocre boredom was better than the full-on version. Hell, I'd even take a concussion right about now. At least then I'd be sleeping, which was better than staring at the ceiling, wide awake and energised enough to do run the full length the Manor's grounds – twice – but unable to do a thing about it.
Luckily for me, however, Leslie decided to take pity on me. She sat on the end of the bed and patted my good leg. "I know it's very frustrating for you, Dick, to be forced to rely on everyone else to get anywhere. But it's only been a few days since you got out of hospital. You can't expect miracles, especially not when we all came so close to losing you."
Frustrating? Oh yeah, and that wasn't the half of it. But I nodded anyway, putting on my best chastened look. "I know," I murmured, letting out a quiet sigh and closing my eyes. Just because I couldn't expect miracles and had probably overused my allowance of them lately didn't mean I wasn't going to hope for one anyway.
See, not only did Diablo's bullet nick the femur bone of my thigh, but later scans – after I woke up in hospital – showed that the bullet had also torn through some ligaments and damaged more than its share of muscles and tendons. Part of the reason why I'd spent so long in hospital was because when they found out I couldn't even bear the slightest weight on my injured leg, they'd had to put me on the surgical table a second time to do more repairs on the tissues in my leg, focusing mainly on the ligaments and tendons. As for rest of the damaged tissue, they would only heal in time and with careful use. But of course, my luck being what it is, I had only just started on the physical therapy, having been forced to wait until my broken ribs healed and I'd recovered more from being shot in the chest. Not that I was fully over those two injuries, but I'd sent enough doctors and nurses up the wall since I woke up
Man Diablo, you and I are going to have words one day, if I ever get my hands on you...
Leslie's words suddenly broke into my thoughts and I realised I'd better switch my attention to her. "...so you don't have to worry about that." Whoa. Worry about what? "So I bet you'll be pleased to know I got your test results yesterday."
That certainly pricked my ears and made me turn – my head, not my body – in her direction. "Yeah? What did they say?"
She sighed and shook her head, throwing her hands up in the air in a small display of exasperation. "What else? You're a walking miracle, as always. No brain damage on any of the scans, and I dare say you're certainly not showing signs of any damage."
I gave Leslie the best abashed smile I could manage. "That's me, a walking miracle. Of course, ask Alfred and he'll say I'm a walking disaster." I sobered then and gave her a thankful look. "Thanks for everything, Leslie. Couldn't have done it without ya."
She smiled back at me, beamed really. "You're welcome, Dick," she told me kindly as she gathered her things. "If only all my patients had your manners. Now, if you keep healing at this rate, after your physical therapy today you might be able to go outside for a few minutes, but only if you're in a chair and Bruce or Alfred pushes you."
Mission accomplished! Yep, I'd pushed the right two buttons: Alfred and thanking her. "Thanks, Doc. You're the best," I grinned at her, too elated at the prospect of getting out of these four walls even if it meant again submitting to a wheelchair in addition to being fussed over by Bruce or Alfred. Feeling the sun again would be worth a little embarrassment – I hoped.
She chuckled and picked up her bag. "And don't you forget it, Dick. I'll check in on you tonight when I get back." She left then, stopping a moment to talk quietly to Barbara on her way out the door.
Ignoring the sound of the two main females in my life at the moment talking – and, knowing my luck, scheming against me – I tried to settle down in the bed against the pillows that were propping me up. The hardest part was finding a position that didn't strain my broken ribs, didn't pull on my damaged chest muscles, and wouldn't require me moving my leg. I couldn't help but grimace as I shifted uneasily, the meds Leslie had me on not quite enough to fully cover the spike of pain whenever I moved my leg. But it was either swallowing pills that weren't quite enough or taking stuff that would've made me so drowsy I'd never keep my eyes open for longer than five minutes, and I'd much rather be able to think clearly even it meant never being able to get fully comfortable.
I'd just found a new position when Barbara appeared by my side – which meant that Leslie was finally gone for the morning. "You okay?" she asked me in concern, reaching out to hold my good hand. Judging by the frown on her face, she'd probably seen my expression when I'd moved positions.
I nodded and favoured her with a lazy smile while trying my darndest to breathe normally. "Yeah, I'm fine, Babs," I replied, inwardly wincing at the faint tremble I could hear in my voice.
And of course Barbara knew me too well not to pick up on it. "Liar," she told me, but I could see the wry smile on her face and hear it in her voice. "Stubborn, headstrong liar."
Caught out again, Grayson. I felt myself wilt into the pillows propping me up as I allowed my eyes to close a moment now that I could stop trying to hide it. "Yeah, that's me," I breathed, grimacing as I grimly rode out the waves of pain. Finally, I managed to relax slightly when it slowly retreated to a more tolerable level.
There was silence a moment, and then I opened my eyes again when I heard her push on the brakes on her chair. "Babs, what...?"
"Shut up," she told me as she pushed herself up and out of the chair, "and just stay where you are."
That last bit, at least, I had no problem with. I had no intentions of moving my legs for at least another hour, preferably two, maybe even three if I could put off the physical therapist long enough. Shutting up...now that was another story. As anyone who knows me can tell you, 'shutting up' is not something that's usually in my vocabulary. "What are you...?"
"I said, 'shut up,' Hot Pants, so just sit back and enjoy it," she told me firmly after she'd swung herself onto the bed.
"Oh," I murmured, eyes widening as it finally penetrated what she wanted when she maneuvered her body to lay down next to me on the bed. Brilliant deduction, sherlock. I mentally scowled at myself as I carefully wrapped my good arm around Babs and held her close and told my inner sarcasm to go take a hike (in not so many words and not as nicely put)
I promptly forgot those thoughts when Babs laid her head on my shoulder and snuggled in, careful to avoid touching the still-healing wounds from where I was shot and the hand I cradled carefully on my lap. "Are you comfy?" she asked softly, and this time I heard only contentment in her voice.
"I am now," I replied softly, feeling like I had mile-wide grin on my face. You know, I think I could get used to this, I thought to myself as I inhaled her scent. Vanilla. She smelled of vanilla.
I smiled even wider and held my girl close as I relaxed even further and allowed my eyes to close. Yep, I could definitely get used to this.
Like all good things in my life, however, it didn't last long.
I awoke with a start precisely one hour and fifty-two minutes later. (And yes, you can tell I'm bored when I check the internal clock right after I wake up.) The first thing I realised was that Babs was gone, and the slightly cool bedspread told me she'd been gone roughly thirty minutes. The second thing I did was open my eyes...and promptly shut them again with a mental groan and flinch.
Please tell me I didn't just see Roy wearing pink.
I risked a quick peek through slitted eyes, and immediately groaned. Damn, it is true. He's in pink. Someone save me. Roy in pink was never good. Either we'd just had an invasion of the mutant two-year-olds determined to remake the world in their pinkinessness and he'd already succumbed, or this was some new-fangled attempt to cheer me up. And if it was anything else, I was too sore and tired and stuck in this bed to care anything about it. If I'm lucky, he didn't notice me wake up and I can go back to sleep before he does...
"Hey, Dick! Wakey, wakey, rise and shine!"
Nope. No such luck.
Mentally cursing all the fates that had landed me here, I dragged my eyes open and mustered my best glare at Roy. "This better be good, Harper," I growled darkly, feeling more than a little testy. "I was asleep."
"Yep," he replied cheerfully, "that's right, you were asleep. But it's late in the morning, man. Time to be up already."
"Tell that to my body," I muttered darkly as I glared at the clock. Ten-past-nine, and that was supposed to be late in the morning? As far as I was concerned, it was late in the night and I'd already spent far too long awake.
"What was that, Dick?" he asked me cheerfully as he threw himself on the bed and bounced on it a little, which of course threw me up into the air.
I bit back the words that sprang to my throat when my leg hit the mattress again. I thought I displayed rather admirable self-control when I didn't tell Roy what I really thought about where he could put himself. "Roy," I told him through gritted teeth, my hands clenching the bedspread as I struggled not to go for the jugular. "Get. Off. The. Bed. Now. Before I do something I won't regret."
"Yeah, Roy," piped up a voice from beside me that could only be Tim, "better get off the bed before you get that pink as well. Then Alfred will kill you too," he told the Titan, sounding inordinately matter-of-fact and happy about that prospect.
Great. Now I've really been invaded. Give it a few seconds and the whole tribe will show up. And of course I had to be right, didn't I?
"Kill?" interrupted Garth. "Alfred will kill him?" For all that he tried to sound alarmed, Garth also sounded very amused. Double great. Now I've got Atlantean humour to contend with.
"Of course," Wally joined in with an answering grin. "Where do you think the Bat learnt his sunny disposition when it comes to dealing with mess-making Harpers?"
Now they're all here. I'm doomed.
"Hey!" Roy protested as he finally shot of the bed and defended himself. "I object to that remark! You're the one that suggested the pink dye in Tower's alarm system!"
Uh, Roy, what were you doing to set off the Tower's alarm system? And then a thought hit me. And why would Wally put pink dye in my alarm system anyway? I groaned and flung my good arm over my eyes. On second thought, don't tell me. I don't want to know. Wasn't there a pillow somewhere I could hide under until they left?
"Bad night?" a warm female voice whispered from close-by as I felt a weight gently descend on the bed.
I gingerly brought the arm down and found myself focusing blearily on a concerned but smiling Donna. "I think it became a bad night when they walked in," I answered softly, shooting a glance over at where the three Titans were arguing/wrestling each other and Tim was providing the running commentary. And I made those three into a team? God help me. I must've been high on something.
"Still not sleeping?" Donna inquired, turning her back on Wally giving Roy a nookie on his now-pink hair while Tim and Garth were conspiring off to the side in low tones.
Quickly returning my attention to Donna, I shook my head and sighed. "Four to five hours a night at the most." Maybe if I closed my eyes it wouldn't bother me what Tim was now helping Garth do to my team-mates. "I just can't get comfortable," I admitted quietly, rubbing my right hand over my eyes. Usual night-time procedure for me was falling asleep on my side, but right now I could only lay on my back without something hurting (too much), so of course I wasn't sleeping well.
"It'll pass," she told me quietly, rubbing a hand down my cheek. "Just give it time,"
I opened my eyes and shot her a lopsided smile, relaxing slightly into her touch. For as long as I've known her, she's always been a touching person – I was kinda surprised it had taken her this long to start. "I have," I replied, "and that's the problem. I haven't slept for longer than two hours straight since leaving the hospital. Eight days is a little long to wait, don't you think?" Somehow I didn't mind admitting that to Donna when I'd only managed the first part of asking for help with Leslie. Donna had always had the effect on me of getting me to spill my heart to her while thinking nothing of it, and I hoped she always would.
Donna shifted closer and put both hands on my temples and began to rub in large circles. "What do you think is causing it?"
I felt myself wilt under her expert hands, never realising I was so tense until she started the massage. "Too much energy," I murmured, "and no way to burn it." I closed my eyes once more when I saw the three Titans pounce on Tim and start wrestling the kid to the ground – who of course, being a Bat-trained brat, gave each one of them as good as they gave him together. "Mmmm, ever thought of bottling your hands and selling them? I'll pay top dollar for the patent."
She let out a soft chuckle and I could hear her smile in her voice as she asked, "What about physical therapy?"
"It helps," I admitted tiredly, "but there's a limit. I can't do much walking like my leg needs without being able to hold a cane or use a set of crutches, and the chest wound and my ribs really restrict what exercises I can do."
"So you're lying there quietly going mad," she concluded for me as her hands dropped from my temples.
"Pretty much," I smiled lazily and opened my eyes again, making sure not to look over at the rest of my visitors. "Thanks Donna. I needed that. Are you sure I can't buy your hands from you?"
"I'm sure," she told me with a small grin of her own. "Now, I—"
She was interrupted from a crash from where the four boys had been holding their impromptu wrestling match. I winced and just knew I was feeling a headache coming back. Don't look. Don't look. Don't try to see what they did. Whatever you do, don't look to the left. I settled instead for fixing a stare at the ceiling and praying. Hard.
"—I think I'll take those boys out of here," Donna finished with more than a hint of annoyance in her voice, and I could already imagine the look she'd be sending in their direction. If looks could kill...or at least seriously maim...
Then the door creaked open and, while it wasn't what I'd been praying for, it would certainly do. "I think that would be most...prudent," came a low growl that sounded like it came from Antartica or at least a coupla thousand miles beneath the ground – that's Bruce at his most charmingly annoyed.
And just like that, my four male visitors were out of here faster than a Flash on candy. Only Donna was slower, because she paused long enough to bid me well before leaving too.
I turned my head and looked at Bruce, still standing in the doorway. "You just loved doing that, didn't you?"
Alfred, of course, chose that moment to appear inside the room, despite the fact that Bruce was blocking the doorway. "Oh, good heavens!" he exclaimed, horrified at the mess on the floor. "Those rumbustious boys! I told them to be careful. That china vase was in the Wayne family for generations!" He bustled into the room, a dynamo of energy and action that was now focused on the china shards all over the carpeted floor. Just looking at him was making me tired again. Rumbustious, huh? Remind me to throw that one at Roy some day.
Even silhouetted as he was by the light behind him, I swore I could see him smirk in response to the question he still hadn't answered. "How you doing?" he asked instead of replying, inexplicitly confirming what I'd suggested. Yep, he definitely loved the effect he had on a room.
I shrugged unevenly and relaxed back into the bed. "Okay, I guess," I answered truthfully, knowing better than to try and hide anything from Bruce right now, especially with Alfred in the room. "Tired more than anything."
"I'm sorry," he murmured as he came in and stood by the bed, looking down towards me but not at me and with his back to Alfred. "I should've come up earlier."
I shook my head and waved my hand dismissively. "Nah, don't worry about them. I was already tired."
"I'm sorry, Dick," he apologised again, his eyes slipping even more the side and away from me. "I knew I should've stopped them seeing you."
I shook my head again and sighed. Here we go again. Batman might be the World's Greatest Detective when he puts on the cowl and cape, but as Bruce he's the Biggest Guilt Magnet that there ever was. I swear, he finds every bit of it in two square miles all around him and takes it all on himself. I've lived with the guy too long not to see the signs. "Now don't you get all guilty on me," I grumbled crossly.
That, at least, made him look at me. "I'm not 'getting all guilty,' Dick," he protested. Behind him, Alfred paused in his cleaning-up work and turned to face us, an unreadable expression on his face.
Ignoring Alfred for now, I snorted at Bruce's reply. "Sure you're not, Bruce." My tone told him exactly what I thought of that one. "And don't you dare go off at the guys later, either," I glared. "They were just relieving some stress, that's all."
"Relieving stress, huh?" he answered noncommittally, eyebrow raised. I didn't need to be clairvoyant to know he didn't believe a word.
"Yeah," I told him helpfully while suppressing a cheeky grin. "Relieving stress. You know, thumping the living daylights out of something is a stress reducer." He opened his jaw, probably to tell me off, but I quickly added innocently, "Besides, you're not exactly one to talk since you do it all the time."
His jaw promptly closed again. Gotcha there, didn't I? It was a struggle to hold back the answering smirk when, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Alfred half-turn towards me and give me a small wink and half-smirk behind Bruce's back.
Bruce cleared his throat. "So, are you up to us doing your PT today?" he asked me in an obvious attempt to change the subject.
It worked.
He's doing my PT? I couldn't help the small drop of my jaw before I quickly recovered. "I thought you had work to do, you know, WayneCorp and all that stuff."
Alfred paused for a moment in the last stages of cleaning up before starting again, but even as I ignored that I could tell he was half-listening in.
Bruce shrugged slightly, that small movement of his shoulders you usually have to squint to see. "So do you," he told me, and I sure hoped that by 'work' he meant the physical therapy and not the WayneCorp-mindnumbing work kind of work. "So, I'll ask again," he continued, his voice sounding strangely cheerful, "are you up to it?"
I sighed and rolled my eyes. "Well, I certainly ain't going anywhere else," I replied shortly as I used my good hand to throw back the covers.
Okay, so maybe it was a tad unfair to take out my frustrations on Bruce, but he didn't have to sound like he enjoyed the idea of putting me through the wringer so much either. I wondered idly who put him up to being my 'physical therapist,' because it certainly wasn't a job he'd pick for himself.
Hmm, it was probably an Alfred plan for a 'father-son-bonding' thing, judging by the small, satisfied smile I could see on our butler's face as he bustled out of the room, muttering the entire way about my friends. Unable to help myself, I felt myself grin slightly. Nope, I definitely did not want to be in their shoes right now.
Then the smile died as Bruce began skillfully massaging my thigh, using one of the techniques his Tibetian sensi had taught him. I let my eyes drift shut while I concentrated on not reacting whenever he drifted a little too close to the wound. Now that Alfred had left, the room was very quiet. Too quiet. "Say," I asked suddenly, "why isn't Tim back at school?"
"He wanted a week off while you initially recovered at the Manor," Bruce replied, a small smirk in his voice, "although he did...take a bit of 'convincing' not to take two weeks off."
I winced. Knowing Bruce, his 'convincing' was more like a threat to remove the Robin mantle if he didn't go back. But then, Tim's been hanging around me so much the last few days that I've practically needed a crowbar to pry him off me, so that was probably the only threat that worked.
"He's promised to visit every day after school, though," Bruce added as if an afterthought.
I nodded and opened my eyes enough to watch what he was doing to my leg. Better make it now or never, Grayson. It was the first time we'd been alone since I'd woken up in the hospital, and I knew that this kind of opportunity wouldn't come again in a hurry. Taking as deep a breath as I could, I asked tentatively, "Bruce?"
"Mmm?" he murmured, still concentrating on the massage.
"At the hospital," I started awkwardly, "when you were in my room...uh, near the end, before I, um, woke up..."
The methodical movements of his hands faltered for a moment, but soon resumed. "Yes?" he prompted, his tone shifting from distracted to almost involved, like he was hanging on my every word and trying not to show it...either that, or this was most difficult and important massage he'd ever given. Somehow, I kinda doubted it was the latter.
I tried my best not to sigh and shift my weight under the pressure of that attention. "I think I..." I stopped again and let loose a frustrated breath. Damn, how hard can it be to ask one lousy question? "What were you talking to me about?" I quickly asked instead.
"Why?" he asked, obviously (to me, at least) uncomfortable with the question as his hands faltered once again.
"I don't...really remember much." I winced again. Okay, so now I was lying. I did remember quite a bit about lying unconscious in the hospital, a lot more than people thought I ever would or could. "Actually," I tried again, "I think can recall almost all the times when someone visited me."
"You were aware of us?" he questioned, surprise clear in his voice (at least to me) as he looked up and withdrew his hands from my leg, trying to seem casual about it as if he'd already planned to finish the massage right at that moment. We both knew better.
I nodded and looked down at my hands. "Yeah," I answered wearily, still feeling a measure of fatigue. "I knew you all were there, I just...didn't always catch the words, or have the energy to hear anything more than the voice. I heard more at the end, though, before...before I woke up." I rubbed one half of my face tiredly, wishing I'd gotten more sleep last night before I'd decided to tackle Bruce about my memories. Just get it out, for heaven's sake Grayson. How bad can it be? But I knew the answer to that one: Very bad. "So why...um, why did ya call me a coward anyway?" I asked in a rush.
"..." Uh oh. That's the sound of Bruce knocked speechless.
My hand picked at the bedspread and I watched it go at it, determined not to look up. "Not that I remember a lot of what you said," I told him quickly, talking now to fill the silence between us, "I mean, I spent most of my time trying to—"
"Dick..."
"—to ignore the world. But I was waking up anyway and—"
"Dick."
"—that word just seemed to keep standing out, so I—"
"Dick." The forceful tone made me stop, as did the hand he put on my chin to force to look up at him. "Dick," he gently began again. "You're rambling."
I mentally cursed as I felt myself the heat rush to my face. Me and my damn nerves. "Sorry," I mumbled as his hand dropped. Unease made me shift position a little, and I was more than a little relieved to find it didn't hurt so much to move the leg after the massage than it did two hours ago when I'd tried it with Babs in the room. Hopefully that meant the physical therapy wouldn't hurt so much today. Yeah, and the chances of that are just about null and void. I could live in hope, though.
Unknowingly breaking into my thoughts, Bruce asked me quietly, "Do you remember how I told you what the doctors wanted us to do?"
I nodded immediately. Of course I remembered. It's not often I'm told someone wanted to 'pull the plug' on me – figuratively, yeah, all the time, it was part of the whole vigilante gig, but literally... I certainly wasn't going to forget that in a hurry.
"What I said, Dick," he explained carefully, almost as if he was thinking it through as he spoke – which I personally doubted, because Bruce always had a speech worked out for everything, "was me talking out my frustrations. What I actually said was, 'stop being such a damn coward and work with me.' I...I wanted you to get better so much I would've given my life to ensure it," he told me, his eyes shining with so much conviction that there was no way I'd disbelieve him. "If anyone was the coward," his voice dropping into a whisper, "it was me for not standing up to the doctors earlier."
He paused a moment before continuing, and when he did his tone had darkened. "That was why I almost left the room after that. I was going to tell the doctors exactly what I thought of their suggestion and where they could put it and how to fold it to fit." He looked away for a moment, and it just struck me how angry and frustrated he would've had to have been to intend making such a break from his Bruce-the-Fop persona. Hell, I knew how angry he was since I could still see it in his face even after the two and a bit weeks since.
Then came the next surprise.
Bruce turned back tome with a strange expression on his face I had no idea how to decipher and finished quietly, "But then you stopped me, son."
"I stopped you?" I choked out, feeling surprised myself and more than a little shocked. The last time I'd truly stopped Bruce from doing something he'd decided on doing was...oh...maybe when I was fourteen? And that pushing it!
He nodded, a proud smile slipping slowly over his features. "Yes, son. You stopped me, Dick. You started to come back, just like I asked you to, and made it so I couldn't leave you."
"Oh." I...I guessed that kinda counted as me stopping him, even if I didn't fully remember it. I suddenly smirked as a thought struck me. "I think, though, I would've liked to see you have a go at the doctors."
Bruce smirked back. "Me too. But I don't think they would want to see it." We shared a knowing grin. "Can't imagine why though," he added almost offhandedly with a trace of confusion, as if he couldn't understand why no one wanted to bear the brunt of his wrath.
"No, I can't imagine why either," I chuckled. "But I'm sure Tim or Roy could tell you if you ask them, though."
"So anyway," Bruce said abruptly, although I could tell his smirk remained even though he no longer displayed it, "are you ready to start getting back on your feet yet?"
Boy, was I ever. I shot him my best hundred-watt grin. "You just try holding me back."
The End!