Author's Note: My job in the real world demands many of my hours and is highly secretive in nature. Although unable to post any new stories in recent months, I have been working on several in anticipation of being able to share them with you, the reader. I have selected the best of around twenty-five stories to post today and hope you find it to your liking. I would appreciate reviews, however they are not mandatory. Since a brief outline of content is always a smart idea, let me begin:

Set after the events of my other story, Details, (Not neccessary to read) the dynamic duo are facing an assault on Gotham from many different fronts. Terrorists now use the city like a playground to demonstrate their explosive capabilities and have no reservations about dragging civillians into the firing line. The Batman is about to be tested. Bruce Wayne is about to be tested. Dick's relationship with his mentor is about to be tested. Welcome to the jungle...

Conditions

It is late Friday evening. I have been home for approximately forty minutes. We are at the dinner table. Alfred is in the kitchen, preparing the dessert course. The boy and I are alone. Dick detests this level of formality and decadence. He does not like having to dress for a meal. He considers the practice of eating a certain course with its corresponding cutlery out-dated, even absurd. But he conforms. He has developed impeccable table manners for an adolescent of his character. His choice of dress is both appropriate and tasteful for the occasion. He knows how to eat and with what implement. He is the perfect dinner guest. His adaptation to this life is impressive.

I am wearing a freshly-pressed Italian suit and white satin tie. Amazingly the boy selected these items, with Alfred's assistance, for a birthday present. I try to wear them at least once a week and not exclusively at the house's dinner table. I know Dick enjoys seeing me wear them; he was very proud of his selection. I admit, they are very much to my liking. The boy's efforts for the occasion are also commendable. Although still refusing to wear a tie or suit to my father's table, he has gradually become more formal. His dress for this evening is a French dress shirt, plaid sweater-vest, black slacks and brogues, something he has no doubt put great thought into. The combination looks good on him. Again, he demonstrates a maturity and understanding beyond his years. He is the perfect dinner guest.

During the starting course, a lobster and crab cream soup with croutons, we discussed his school life. Without talking with his mouth full, or saying anything inappropriate for the dinner table, Dick told me his grades in both French and Spanish are improving. He informed me of his intense dislike of his English teacher, Mr. Pullman, whom he described as 'the most boring, uninterested loser' he has ever met. He was also eager to regale me with his cruising victories in the one-hundred-metre race, the four-hundred metre race and the high jump at the inter-state school athletics competition. The boy explained it would have been possible for him to win more accolades, but he was limited to only three entries. I listen to him with genuine interest. Dick has a very unique way of speaking and I note his vocabulary is becoming even broader; he admitted his victory in the one-hundred-metre final was very 'ostentatious'. I am pleased with his progress.

Our main course is not as complex or extravagant a dish as the soup, but is delicious regardless. Steak, dauphinois potatoes and assorted vegetables are gone in minutes from the boy's plate. I take my time with the steak to savour its rich flavour. Alfred is the best chef I have ever encountered, without exception. It is a world-worthy talent, but the old man prefers to share it with just Dick and myself. I am grateful for his presence in ways he will never truly understand.

"How was your date with Ms. Laura Decker? You went to the ice-rink, did you not?" I ask as Alfred clears away our plates. Lately, the boy has been heavily involved with a charming girl from his History class. I have counted twenty-one separate instances in the past three months in which Dick has been occupied with 'extra-curricular studies'. It is pleasing to see the boy enjoying his youth. Ms. Decker's parents speak of Dick very highly, eluding to his status as a perfect gentleman. Alfred's lessons have been of great benefit after all it would seem. My inquiry is met with a modest smile.

"It was nice. She, uh, fell over a couple of times and pulled me with her, but it was okay; not everyone's a natural right?" The boy says wiping his mouth on his napkin, "I'm meeting her again at the movies on Saturday. We're going to go see something girly." Suddenly Dick adopts a very concerned expression. His gaze is still fixed on me. He leans over the table. "Do you think I should pay for the tickets? I thought it might be too, I don't know, showy of me to do that. What do you think?"

"You should compromise. Either you pay for the tickets and she pays for the snacks, or vice-versa."

"But what if they don't come to the same amount? What if she pays more for the tickets than I do for the snacks?"

"It is the gesture, not the price, that is appreciated, Dick. You understand?" As I finish articulating that sentiment, Alfred is putting out the desserts. We briefly exchange glances. The old man nods and turns his attentions to the boy.

"Master Bruce is entirely correct in what he says, young sir. I am certain Ms. Decker would be more than happy with just your company, but the idea that you would willingly pay for either entry or snacks is a most effective way of furthering your relationship. Kindly remove your elbows from the table."

The boy does as instructed. Alfred's timing with the dessert course, a New Yorker style cheesecake, is far more than a fortuitous occurrence. The old man knows when his input is required or sought after. He also knows that I want his support from the shortest of glances. Again, my fortune in having such company is beyond anything a man in my position should expect. Dick's frown disappears. He smiles and nods.

"Thank you, Alfie."

"You are most welcome, Master Dick. Would you care for another glass of wine, Master Bruce?"

"No thank you, Alfred."

"Very good Sir."

The old man bows his head and vacates the room. Even his motion of exiting a room is performed with practiced professionalism. Yes, I am very fortunate to have Alfred in my service.

During the dessert, Dick talks about Ms. Decker and her many, many traits. At times, the boy seems to be delivering an intelligence or reconnaissance report, such is the level of detail. His observational skills are impressive, but perhaps a little too excessive in their application, given whom he is talking about. This is not a target. This is, for all his denials, his girlfriend and he should not be so invasive. I do not voice these particular sentiments. I am sure Dick will learn about relationship boundaries with experience.

When Alfred removes the empty dessert plates, the dinner proceedings are concluded. Dick politely asks to be excused from the table. I allow him to depart while serving notice that night patrols will commence in two hours. Once he is gone, the old man sits down beside me with two cups of coffee.

"I would say, Master Bruce, that was the most pleasant and uneventful meal yet with the young master's company." Alfred offers as he sips his coffee. I am debating something.

"Has he gotten taller, Alfred?"

"Indeed, he has, Sir. He has grown nearly three inches over the summer. Do you fear competition?"

We smile at one another. "That boy will never be taller than me, old friend, never." I sip my coffee.

"Nevertheless, Sir, Master Richard is growing up to be a fine young man. I trust you feel the same?"

"Very much so, Alfred. Very much so."

I am immensely proud of the boy and all he has accomplished since his arrival here. I am proud to be his guardian, proud to say he is mine. I am certain I have never felt so strongly about another human being. The sensation is welcome on so many levels. I finish my coffee some twenty minutes later. I immediately head down to the cave and begin preparations.

It is ten-thirty P.M. The boy and I have completed preliminary rounds of the city and are now on surveillance of a possible Al-Qaeda cell operating with assistance from Lower-East Side crime lords. Although we are gathering intelligence by way of bugged gangland safe houses, we leave the majority of the work to Gordon's terrorist task force and associated homeland agencies. Whatever information we uncover will be delivered to GCPD for specialized analysis. My Farsi and Pashtun are slightly dull from lack of use, but it seems they are not planning to commit acts of terrorism in Gotham. They appear to be debating whether or not to supply Gotham degenerates with their IED techniques for gang warfare. It is interesting to say the least.

The cold weather means we are conducting all surveillance from within the car. The boy is trying to stream video from the one camera lens that is totally undetectable by search equipment. It is a new prototype design created by Wayne Enterprises for counter-espionage. It is proving difficult.

"I don't know. Maybe their jamming equipment is messing up the signal or maybe there's a loose connection in the electronics' board from a knock or something." Robin informs me with a clear tone of frustration in his voice. He has resorted to smacking the screen. "Work. Work. Work now. Now. Now. Start working." The boy is now banging the screen, quite severely. Just as I am about to chide him for such unnecessary force, the picture finally appears. Robin grins to himself. "Oh yeah, boy genius here."

Now with visual aid, my partner begins to try and run still images of the insurgents through facial recognition software. I am aware the meeting is reaching an end now. I believe they have agreed to supply the knowledge to criminals here in Gotham. Robin has a match. One man present in that room is a very high-ranking official in the Al-Qaeda chain-of-command. Gordon will find this very useful. A further fifteen minutes pass. The meeting has concluded and the participants have dispersed. We have gathered enough information to offer true assistance to the GCPD and their operations. I drop it on Jim's desk on the way home.

It is now seven minutes past midnight. We are still not at the cave. A hostage situation in the Gotham Financial District, involving over twenty individuals has surfaced on the police scanner. It suggests the actual situation began during daylight hours and has only now been uncovered. The people responsible for taking the hostages have been associated with an extremist group, opposed to capitalism and Western democracy in general, with their origin located in China. Negotiations are already taking place as we arrive on scene. Jim is directing the various elements from a mobile command unit close to the besieged building. We soon meet one another.

"Negotiations are breaking down. Number of hostages is unclear. Number of casualties is unclear. We can only confirm one dead, a senior adviser, Alex Hillenbrand. The bomb doctors have already scoped the building: all entrances and exits are rigged with explosives and the terrorists have no viable escape route in place. I don't think they mean to leave here alive. Suggestions?"

I consider. I decide. "Give me twelve minutes. Keep them occupied." I turn to Robin. The boy nods and we set off for the building. We enter underneath the structure via the parking lot. I am familiar with this particular group and their tactics. They employ proximity-controlled explosives, that is explosives with sensors that trigger only when something crosses their field of vision. They are easy enough to disable. Robin is also familiar with the principles of explosive ordinance and between us, we freeze the explosives on the doors. They have been rendered inert and we enter the building's dark lobby.

When we see the spate of still bodies spread around the room, we know we must act fast. As anticipated the security systems and CCTV camera network has been disabled as the group favours human security over electronic tagging. Switching to thermal imaging, we count three spotters covering all major entrances. They are equipped with night scopes and have spring-loaded detonators clasped in their palms. Our entry into the building was facilitated by one spotter's need to visit the bathroom. Intelligence gathered on the group shows little formal training or enforced discipline for members. It is working to our advantage. At present, our position behind a wall is unstable.

Both the boy and I know that to attempt a silent takedown of any individual could trigger the explosives on the doors. All the terrorists would have to do is relax their hands and we would all be killed. This situation requires careful thinking. It has been four minutes since we arrived. They cannot be allowed to relax their fingers…so they will not. I whisper to my partner if he has any quick-set glue capsules on his utility belt. He has two. I have only one. We must act quickly. There is no margin for error. I disable one nearest to our position without incident. Robin disables the one by the emergency exit to the parking lot in the same manner. We then both take-down the last spotter in front of the street entrance. The glue has set as intended; there are no partial functions of explosives. We render the explosives on the doors safe by removing the detonator relay, relying on the groups past history of not employing self-destruct charges to speed our progress. It has now been six minutes and twenty-seven seconds since we entered the building.

At seven minutes, we have eyes on the main room where the majority of hostages are being held. It is a conference room with furniture barricading the only entry point. Closer examination reveals five individuals standing and approximately thirty people prone on the floor. The room, like the building, is hot with explosives. It is unclear whether they are employing the same type of explosives as downstairs or something more dramatic. Negotiations seem to have broken down entirely. The end goal is now surely only minutes away.

Robin is the one who brings the ventilation system to my attention. The boy proposes the use of fast-acting knock-out capsules, utilizing the vents to convert it to an airborne format, to sedate all persons within the room. It is a plausible plan, but unfortunately not viable. Without knowledge of the explosives or situation in the room, we cannot use something of that nature. Eight minutes forty seconds now. The boy suggests a frontal assault as a scare tactic. I call it foolish immediately. Nine minutes three seconds. I have a strategy. Approaching ten minutes, we are outside the building on the ledge. Gordon has not authorized the use of search lights to give us sufficient cover to operate under. Pressed against the wall, positioned just to the left of the room's window, the boy hangs off the ledge and shimmies along until he is positioned on the other side of the window.

Despite the window being blockaded with a table, it is still an entrance point. A cursory glance reveals all terrorist suspects are wearing flak jackets loaded with C4. The detonators will be in their hands. One is positioned at the door. There are two pairs of individuals on either side of the room. The hostages are shaken, but alive. At ten minutes fifty-one seconds, we will only get one shot at this. If any element goes wrong, it is all over and no-one will walk away from this alive. I exchange glances with the boy. Robin understands the plan. We have rehearsed it many times in the cave. I sweep one side of the room, he sweeps the other. In practice, to sedate and disable five individuals armed with suicide vests takes eight seconds; we need to be faster, much faster.

I give the count with hand signals. Robin has his weapons ready. I begin:

3...

2...

1...

Mark…

Five seconds later, all terrorists are sedated. As expected, severing the command line from the detonator to the pack was enough, this time. The boy negotiated the first two within three seconds. My reaction time for the others was the same. Robin got to the last assailant before me. The man's thumb was a millimetre from triggering his vest. The element of surprise and their lack of formal training bought us three seconds. If we had taken any longer, this room and indeed half this floor would be nothing but a smoking hole of charred rubble and human remains. The operation took eleven minutes and forty-nine seconds to accomplish. As Robin checks the hostages, I give Gordon the signal to send in the bomb disposal teams by radio link.

It is two forty-five A.M. The hostages have been evacuated to medical facilities. All outstanding explosives have been dealt with by disposal teams without significant property damage. All eight terrorist suspects are in custody. The media has been pawned off with a plausible story to report regarding the rescue that does not involve me. The final tally stands, thirteen dead, nine wounded, twenty-seven total hostages recovered from scene alive. Regardless of how the media will chose to portray the situation, that is a good end result given the circumstances.

I know that Jim does not see it that way. I relay information on the Al-Qaeda cell and the intelligence gathered. It seems to lift his spirits somewhat. He thanks me and the boy for our efforts. I tell him to keep me posted on those individuals in custody. After what seems like a fairly long and exhaustive night, we make our exit and head home.

"Why did you say twelve minutes? What difference does it make?" Robin asks me as we close on the cave.

"It is how long I estimated it would take to contain the situation given the circumstances. If it ran any longer, we would be in danger of escalating the situation rather than diffusing it."

"Okay, but how could you know it would take twelve minutes? With two minutes left, we didn't even have a real plan." The boy is trying to catch me out. His tone is playful. I give him a faultless answer.

"Terrorist actions are unpredictable. It is impossible to plan meticulously and expect perfect results. Half-a-plan can be adapted easily. A cogent strategy, tailored to a situation in minute detail does not lend itself to improvisation."

"Yeah, but Bruce, I'm saying it could've taken thirteen minutes or fifteen to execute; would a couple of minutes really make a difference?"

"The plan was only supposed to take ten minutes to execute. Those last two minutes were our error margin."

"So, what, we were like eleven seconds from blowing the whole thing?"

"Yes."

"Wow."

The boy leans back in his chair and is silent. He respects my knowledge and will concede to my explanations, but still finds aspects of what just occurred troubling. I do not believe the threat of death bothered him at all. His coolness under fire is fast becoming his biggest asset as things in the city find higher levels to escalate to on a weekly basis. His performance was perfect. He is the perfect partner in this mission. I look at him and find myself smiling. Robin is quick to notice this unusual happening.

"What?" He asks.

I say nothing.

"What is it?" He asks with real curiosity. I reach over and ruffle his hair.

"You." I say taking my hand back and turning my attentions back to the road.

It is three-seventeen A.M. We have been back in the cave for almost twenty minutes. Alfred has attended to mine and the boy's minor aches and pains and retired to bed. We are alone in the cave. Both of us have shed our uniforms in favour of loose-fitting civilian dress. I will be examining GCPD reports filed concerning this international incident sometime later this morning.

"Boss, I'm gonna go turn in for the next ten hours. Do you need me for anything?" Dick asks languidly. The boy is exhausted by his exertions. I also believe the stresses of the situation we faced tonight have expedited his weariness. I admit, I too am fatigued by recent events.

"No. Thank you for your help tonight, Dick. You performed excellently. Go rest up." I cannot help fragments of my emotions leaking through every word I utter to him. I sound warm and impressed. Dick offers me a smile. He can tell now more than ever how attached I am to him.

"Yeah, I got to meet up with Laura at four so I should really get some serious shut-eye. Wake me at one?"

"Certainly."

"Okay then." The boy says before lumbering towards me. He is ready to drop. He proceeds to embrace me lazily. He knows how much this gesture means to me. I return the gesture. I know how much this means to him. He feels warm and soft in my arms. I cannot believe he is mine. We let go of one another. "Night Bruce. Try to get some sleep." He wanders off into the dark and begins to climb the stairs. I have no concerns about his safety. He has gone for far longer without sleep. He will be fine.

It is seven thirty-one A.M. I get up for work.