Chapter Text
It starts the way most of these things do: with screaming. Or, Bruce supposes, it doesn’t really start there so much as that’s when people start to pay attention.
The crowd watches in awe as two trapeze performers swing downward, but something must be wrong, because the third performer remains on the platform and starts screaming. When the performers’ bodies reach the ground, when it’s clear that the lines have snapped, the rest of the crowd joins his shock—some screaming, some gasping, others unable to make any noise at all. The youngest performer doesn’t react to the crowd at all, too engulfed in his own nightmare. When Bruce sees him scrambling down the ladder, Bruce runs toward the center ring, planning to cut him off before he can get too close to the bodies.
The ringmaster, Haly, gets to the boy before Bruce can. He holds him tightly in his arms, and while the boy doesn’t fight the hold, he doesn’t stop screaming either. It’s a scream that Bruce will never be able to forget, one that tells the world that there’s nothing anyone can do or say to bring this child comfort.
Bruce calls 911, asking for an ambulance and the police. He’s sure he’s not the only one who calls, but he needs to do something. He needs to intervene.
Unable to take any further action, Bruce resigns himself to glancing between the fallen Flying Graysons and their son, who has fallen in a different way. To an outsider, Bruce looks like any other shocked bystander, but in reality, he’s in full detective mode, filing away every mundane detail. He pays special attention to the survivor, the child, and while he can’t hear much of what the boy is saying between gasping sobs, two things rise above the noise: “It wasn’t an accident!” and “Are my parents okay?”
oOo
A family of three walks into the big top, but none of them walk out. Two are carried out on stretchers, in body bags, and the third, a young boy, is carried out of the big top by a stranger and placed in the back of a squad car.
(Bruce has heard a similar version before: A family of three walks into an alley, but none of them walk out. Two are carried out on stretchers, in body bags, and the third, a young boy, is carried out of the alley by a stranger and placed in the back of a squad car.)
oOo
Bruce has only been Batman for a year, but he’s gained enough experience to be able to look at the Grayson case and suspect gang activity on instinct. Not know that there’s gang activity, he reminds himself, but strongly suspect.
A few hours after the suspected homicide, the crowd has dispersed and the police are gone. It’s at this point that Bruce returns to the fairgrounds as Batman, ready to talk to Haly. He only had an hour to do preliminary research in the cave before leaving again, but in that time, he learned that Haly’s Circus has never had a (reported) run-in with a gang—something almost unheard of in Gotham, especially for a business that has been coming to Gotham for as long as Haly’s has. Bruce reasons that there are two probable explanations: Haly has been incredibly lucky or, perhaps more likely, he has an agreement with a local gang. Either way, something went wrong this year.
The circus is eerily quiet. Everyone is in their trailers with the lights out, leaving the place seemingly deserted and devoid of life. As Bruce walks through the rows of trailers, he can almost sense the grief pouring out of each one. There is no doubt that the Grayson family was widely and greatly loved.
Bruce picks the surprisingly difficult lock on Haly’s trailer and slips inside. He’s barely taken two steps before the lights come to life, revealing Haly, who, despite his pajamas, is aiming a bat at Bruce as if he had been waiting for an intruder.
Bruce instinctively falls into a defensive stance, but before he can voice his assurances that he’s only here to help, to ask a few questions, Haly is relaxing.
Haly lowers the bat and leans against the wall. “Oh, it’s just you,” he breathes, relief evident in his voice.
This is a reaction Bruce has never gotten before as Batman, and this relief at his presence is especially odd considering half of Gotham is still debating if The Batman even exists.
“Who were you expecting?” Bruce asks.
“No one,” Haly says all too quickly. “But as I’m sure you’ve heard, there was an, uh,” he rubs his hand across his chin, “an accident here earlier today. Everyone’s a bit on edge.”
Bruce nods. “That’s why I’m here. I wanted to ask you a few questions.”
“I don’t know whether to be honored or offended on behalf of Gotham that the legendary Batman wants to investigate a freak circus accident,” Haly says, but there’s a subtle shake to his voice that tells Bruce Haly knows this wasn’t an accident.
“Is that what the GCPD told you? That this was an accident?” Bruce presses. Haly’s still holding onto the bat, and even though Bruce knows he can take Haly out in a matter of seconds, he’d really rather not deal with a swinging bat in such a confined space. He’s already had an exhausting day.
Haly shrugs. “What else could it have been? Everyone saw what happened, even—” he takes a breath, and Bruce takes in the accompanying red nose and damp eyes. The man doesn’t cry, though, not in front of Bruce. And it’s not an act; no matter his potential involvement, what happened tonight wasn’t something Haly wanted to happen. “Even Dick, their boy.” There’s a pause as Haly collects himself. “Unless you think an eight-year-old broke the wires?”
“I don’t think anything,” Bruce lies easily, coolly. “But if you’re trying to say that you gave your star act faulty equipment, or that all three professional performers failed to check the lines, then that would be an interesting explanation.”
Haly points his finger at him, sharp and fast. “No one here was responsible for this, got that? I think it’s best to just lay low for a while and let the police handle this. We’ll be moved on soon enough and we can put this behind us.”
“And the child?” Bruce asks, stepping closer to Haly with each word. “There’s a strong chance that someone tried to take out all of the Graysons tonight. I know you’re not a local, but do you really think the police will be able to protect him?”
Haly pales and curls in on himself, but he doesn’t speak.
Bruce meets Haly’s eyes and stares him down, trying to emulate one of Alfred’s powerful stares. “If the police want to say this is an accident, there’s a good chance one of them is involved or willing to cover for the people responsible. If that’s the case, you need to tell me everything you know, or Richard Grayson might not be here next week.”
Haly swallows, cracking. “You wouldn’t let them—” he stops, swallowing once. “You’ll make sure he’s safe, won’t you?”
“It’s what I do. But you have to tell me what to look for,” Bruce insists.
Haly glances at the door, then back at Bruce. “When we were setting up—this was a few days ago—these three guys came in. They were going on about protection money.”
oOo
“Commissioner.”
Gordon spins around, hand on his chest, “Christ.”
Bruce resists the urge to smile and instead nods at the file Gordon’s holding. “Is that the Grayson case?”
Gordon runs a hand through his hair, nodding. “I take it you already know the basics?”
Bruce nods and takes the proffered file, flipping through it. It’s thin, only containing a few statements. One, arguably the most important one, is from the surviving Grayson, their key witness.
“My guys want to close and write it off as an accident,” Gordon explains. “The kid here, though, he has another theory.”
Bruce notes the names of the two lead detectives and grimaces—they’re not exactly known for working with gangs, but when a case reeks of gang activity, these two aren’t above accepting bribes. A quick read through Richard’s statement combined with Haly’s earlier testimony confirms his suspicions: this is a gang case, and hush money is definitely on the table.
He flips through a few other papers until he finds Haly’s statement. Unsurprisingly, he told the police that there was nothing suspicious before tonight.
“You should know that the kid’s statement was most likely edited,” Gordon says, and Bruce grunts in agreement; he’s already assumed the same. “He probably knows more—probably said more—than what’s in there.”
“Do you know if he gave names?” Bruce asks, closing the file and placing it back in Gordon’s waiting hand.
Gordon sighs and scratches his head, tucking the file back in his overcoat. “I just got in an hour ago, so I wasn’t able to speak to him. I’ll try to find the tape, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s already been tampered with.”
“Hnn.” Of course it has. With their luck, it’s long gone. “I met with Haly earlier. Four days ago, the Zucco brothers paid him a visit. They wanted protection money.”
“Zucco?” Gordon repeats. “Huh. I guess Haly didn’t take him seriously, didn’t even bother to report it. Did Haly tell you anything else?”
“Nothing useful,” Bruce tells him. “He seemed on edge, though, almost like he was expecting someone to come after him. He could’ve been expecting Zucco, but if your detectives convinced him not to say anything, he might have been worried about them too.”
“What do you think?”
Bruce isn’t overly committed to either theory. If anything, his instincts tell him that he’s missing something, that Haly wasn’t telling him the whole story. “I need more time to investigate, but in the meantime, someone should watch Haly.”
“Any chance Haly was involved?” Gordon asks, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it.
“Unlikely,” Bruce says. He’d considered it, but after speaking with Haly, it seems like a dead end. “Since he’s keeping quiet, I’m not overly concerned about his safety, but there’s a chance he’ll contact Zucco.”
Gordon tightens his eyebrows. “What did he tell you?”
“Nothing. But he was nervous. If he thinks Zucco will target him again, I could see him agreeing to pay the protection fees.”
“Sure.” Gordon exhales a puff of smoke, thinking. “I didn’t think they’d stay open after tonight.”
“They won’t be putting on any more performances, but they’re staying in town for the funeral. And I doubt Zucco will have a problem collecting from financially insecure people.”
“No, no he will not.” Gordon sighs again, takes another drag off his cigarette.
“The boy will need protection. There’s a good chance Zucco was hoping to take out all three of the Graysons, and if they think Richard’s talking . . .” Bruce trails off.
Gordon nods and rubs his hand over his mouth. “I’m going to see what I can do about getting different detectives on the case, and I’ll be observing it closely either way. I don’t want to draw any attention to Grayson yet, though, so I’ll hold off on getting uniforms to watch him. Unless there’s something else you’re not telling me?”
Bruce shakes his head. “Do you know what they’re doing with him?”
“A social worker picked him up and took him to an emergency placement. They’re trying to get their hands on the parents’ wills, but I’m not sure if they even exist.”
“Is he safe?” Bruce asks, making a note to run a background check on the social worker and the foster family.
“As far as I know,” Gordon tells him, but it’s not a yes. “Are you going to talk to him?”
“I’ll wait until tomorrow. He’s been through enough tonight.”
“That’s putting it lightly,” Gordon says, rubbing his hand over his mouth again.
Bruce doesn’t hear what Gordon says next, if anything. They’ve shared all the information they have and Bruce has had more than enough talking for one evening.
oOo
Bruce doesn’t go to work the following morning. Well, he supposes that much isn’t new; lately, he’s been “working from home” in the mornings, only coming in for afternoon meetings. But today, he didn’t even do that much. Instead, he slept fitfully until two in the afternoon, thinking about the case—the boy—during each waking moment. Cases involving children are always difficult, that much will never change.
“Ah, I see you’ve finally decided to grace the world with your presence,” Alfred greets him when Bruce enters the kitchen.
“Sorry,” Bruce murmurs. “Busy night.”
“Yes.” Alfred still doesn’t like Batman, though he’s more accepting of it as of late. “Did you sleep well?”
Alfred knows he didn’t, Bruce can tell by his tone. “Is there any coffee left?”
Alfred moves out of the way and gestures toward the coffee maker, untouched. “How is the child?”
“I haven’t spoken with him yet,” Bruce says, pouring the coffee into a mug. “I’ll do that tonight.”
“I see,” Alfred says, hands braced against the counter. “Is he nocturnal as well then?”
Bruce takes a gulp of coffee. “I’ll be downstairs.”
Alfred gives him a sad look. “This case. From what you said yesterday, it won’t be easy to close, will it?”
Bruce shakes his head. He has a suspect, but the odds are high that the police will choose to protect him instead of the child—at least without forceful intervention. That’s the way things are; it’s a truth that doesn’t get easier to acknowledge.
“You’ll be careful, won’t you?”
Bruce nods, then takes his coffee and disappears into the cave. He intends to keep his promise and be careful, but he doesn’t know how much that means to Alfred. After all, Bruce has come to realize that the two of them have vastly different definitions of the word careful.
oOo
Bruce arrives at Richard Grayson’s foster home a little after one in the morning. The rest of the household appears to be asleep, or at least tucked away in their respective rooms with their lights off. Richard, however, is wide awake and doing handstands of all things. He makes a note to inform Alfred that the boy may be nocturnal after all.
Not wanting to scare the child, Bruce taps gently on the window. The boy lowers himself from the handstand in a fluid, graceful movement. He faces the window, and, when he sees Bruce in his Batman gear, his eyes go a little wide. The brief flash of surprise doesn’t last, and the smile that follows forces Bruce to question if the expression had been surprise at all.
Richard walks to the window, unlocking it and sliding it open.
“I knew you were real,” Richard whispers, moving to the side to let Bruce through. “Liam said you were just an urban legend, but that’s what he said about Superman too. He’s always wrong—the look he’ll have on his face when I tell him!” The smile falls from his face abruptly and his shoulders slump.
Bruce opens his mouth, unsure what he plans to say but hoping something soothing will come out nonetheless. His jaw snaps shut when a shadow appears in the corner of his vision, forcing him to turn back to the window and find its source. It’s useless; he finds nothing but darkness.
He’d felt eyes watching him when he'd surveyed the house earlier, but Bruce hadn’t been able to find anything—anyone—then either.
He closes the window and turns back to Richard, who is swiping at his eyes with the back of his hand.
“Are you going to find the guy who killed my parents?”
“I’m trying to, Richard,” Bruce tells him, promises him. “I was hoping you could help me. Do you think you could do that?” Bruce has been Batman long enough to be able to pick out the kids who will be able to tell him something useful, and Richard is definitely one of them.
Richard nods, saying, “I know who did it.”
Bruce crouches down to Richard’s eye level. “Who?”
“Tony Zucco,” Richard says, scowling.
“Can you tell me how you know?”
Richard nods again, hands curling into fists. “He showed up the other day with a few other guys and they were talking to Haly, the circus owner. They said they could protect him and the circus if he gave them money, but I knew they didn’t actually care about keeping any of us safe, they were just threatening us.”
“Did you hear this yourself?” Bruce asks. This was the same story Haly told him, and while he believes the man, it never hurts to have multiple, independent sources.
“Uh-huh. I was on a break and saw them come in. Haly told me to leave when they asked to talk to him, but they looked creepy so I hid and spied on them,” Richard tells him. “And it’s a good thing I did, because when Haly said he wasn’t going to pay them, they started breaking stuff so I ran and got help.”
“That was very brave of you,” Bruce says. “And smart, too.” He hates to think about what might have happened if Richard had jumped in and tried to stop them on his own. “Do you remember who came to help?”
“Two of the roustabouts, Mr. Le and Mr. Hoffman,” Richard says.
Bruce makes a note to check up on them; if Zucco’s still unsatisfied, he might go after them for further revenge.
“I saw other stuff, too,” Richard says in a small voice. He’s biting his lip now, nervous.
“What did you see?”
“Last night, before the show,” Richard starts, talking faster than before and twisting his shirt, “I saw someone I didn’t recognize messing with the trapeze rig. I tried to tell someone, honest, but no one would listen! My parents kept saying it was just one of the other workers and that I was just nervous because it was opening night. But I wasn’t! I never get nervous,” Richard explains quickly. “We checked the ropes like we do before every show, and they seemed fine. I thought everything would be okay, but I guess whatever they did needed a certain amount of time to work, or a certain amount of weight.
“I really didn’t know,” Richard insists again, desperately, tears welling up in his eyes. “I wouldn’t have let them go if I thought they’d get hurt. I didn’t know.”
Before he can think, Bruce is pulling the child into a tight hug. Richard cries into his shoulder for a long time while Bruce whispers “it’s alright” and “this wasn’t your fault” over and over and over again until the boy calms down.
“I’m going to do everything I can to bring Zucco to justice. You have my word.”
Richard sniffs, finally pulling away only to shake his head in disagreement. He wipes his eyes, saying, “The police wouldn’t listen to me. They called me a liar.”
This has happened before, but Bruce still doesn’t know how to explain to children that the police are corrupt and don’t always care about helping people, especially when they think there might be a financial incentive waiting for them. “Did you tell them what you just told me?”
“Pretty much. But they kept saying I was exaggerating and wanted to know why I performed if I knew the ropes were going to snap, but I didn’t know!”
“I know, I know.” Bruce runs his hand through Richard’s hair, shushing him before he can work himself up again. “They shouldn’t have said that to you; it wasn’t true. Sometimes the police can’t see things, and sometimes they don’t want to.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Richard looks at him with these big, desperate eyes, and they force the truth right out of Bruce’s mouth. “Zucco is a gang leader, and some of the police officers cover for them.”
“Are they gang members too?” Richard asks.
Bruce shakes his head. “But some of them get paid by the gangs to cover things up.”
“Is that why you became Batman?” Richard asks. “Because all of these cops are corrupt?”
“Yes.” That’s part of it.
“But you can help me?” Richard asks.
“I’ve been able to help a lot of people who were in situations similar to yours,” Bruce tells him instead, because he’s been Batman long enough to know he can’t make promises. He’s spoken to Richard long enough to know that he doesn’t want to—can’t bear to—make a promise he might not be able to keep.
oOo
Bruce had ended their conversation by asking Richard about the Stuarts, his foster family, and whether or not he felt safe with them. Richard had assured him that he was okay, but he just shrugged when Bruce tried to press for details; the boy was clearly homesick, not that he was willing to admit that.
Before leaving through the window, Bruce had scribbled Gordon’s number on a slip of paper, telling Richard that Commissioner Gordon was one of the few members of the GCPD that could be trusted. He told Richard to call that number if he felt unsafe or if he wanted to talk to Batman again, and Richard promised he would. When prompted, he also promised to be careful.
Bruce hadn’t considered that he and Richard might have different definitions of careful until five nights later when he sees the boy running around Gotham in the middle of the night.
Bruce swoops down in front of the eight-year-old, trying to hide the rage and fear pulsing through him. Richard should be a few streets over, asleep in his bed, not roaming around the streets where someone could hurt him.
Richard doesn’t scream like any other child would, doesn’t even jump. Instead, he’s quiet and calm as he takes in The Batman. And then, of all things, he smiles.
Bruce doesn’t smile back. “Isn’t it past your bedtime?”
“Probably,” Richard agrees lightly, rocking back and forth on his heels. Something about him feels different from the last time they spoke, but Bruce can’t put his finger on it. “Uh, I promise not to tell if you don’t?”
Bruce refuses to give in to the smile that tugs at his lips. “I’ll make you a deal: let me take you home without arguing and we won’t tell the Stuarts.” Richard is a first-time offender after all.
Richard takes a step back, expression twitching into a scowl. His whole body tenses up and he curls his hands into fists. “The Stuarts’ house isn’t my home,” he says coldly. “And I don’t have to go anywhere with you.”
“No, you don’t,” Bruce agrees, blinking at the sharp change in tone and how this eight-year-old child looks like he’s willing to fight The Batman. “And I understand that that place doesn’t feel like home, but you’re safe there, and I’m sure the Stuarts will be worried when they find you missing.”
Richard scoffs. “They don’t care about me.”
“Did they hurt you?” Bruce asks, growls, on impulse. He’d done a background check; they seemed like good people. But maybe he’d missed something, maybe he’d—
“No. They’ve been nice, I guess,” Richard says, and it sounds honest. “It’s just, I don’t know—” Richard sighs, shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter. I don’t want to go back, and I don’t need them, any of them. I can take care of myself.”
Bruce notices the drawstring bag on Richard’s back for the first time. An image of Richard at the funeral two days ago flashes through his mind. He was arguing with several people—Haly, the Stuarts, and someone else he didn’t know—and they kept telling him no. He’d been upset, near tears and desperate, but he’d clammed up when Bruce walked over to ask what was wrong. Bruce didn’t need to be a detective to piece together that Richard wanted to go back to the circus with Haly, not back to his foster home with the Stuarts.
Bruce looks at the current Richard in front of him, taking in the dark circles under his eyes. Those had been there two days ago too, but they’ve only grown darker. Homesickness and grief are probably making it difficult to sleep, and each time Bruce has seen the boy, he’s looked more exhausted than the last. Someone should be taking care of him, making sure he’s sleeping and helping him—sitting with him—if he can’t. Someone should be making sure he doesn’t run off in the middle of the night.
“Where are you going?”
“I don’t think that’s any of your business,” Richard tells him, pulling on the bag’s straps.
Bruce glares at Richard, and Richard glares back. Eventually, though, he wilts and pulls a piece of paper out of his pocket, handing it to Bruce.
“I was going home,” Richard says quietly, sounding more like the boy he met five nights ago. “The social worker and the foster people told me I couldn’t go back; they wouldn’t even let me call anyone from the circus. But they’re my family, and I need to get to them before they leave town in the morning.”
Bruce looks at the piece of paper: a printout of a map with directions to the fairgrounds. “I’m sorry that you’re being separated from them; it’s not fair. But we need to keep you safe, and sending you back wouldn’t be safe right now.” Not to mention that Haly would be charged with kidnapping.
“You said you would help me!” Richard screams, snatching his map back. “You promised! But instead of looking for Zucco, you’re keeping me from my family.”
Bruce kneels, grabbing Richard’s shoulders gently. “Richard, I promise I’m going to help you. This case is my top priority, and I am looking for Zucco, but your safety is more important.”
“No, it’s not,” Richard protests, fighting Bruce’s hold.
“Yes, it is,” Bruce insists.
“I just want to go home.”
Everything about this situation is heartbreaking, and Bruce wants nothing more than to give in, but he can’t, there’s too much—
A dog barks close by, causing Bruce and Richard to turn their heads. Bruce’s instincts tell him to look up, but he sees nothing. Still, something deep inside him screams that they’re being watched.
He needs to get Richard out of here.
He looks back at Richard, squeezing his arms gently to provide some semblance of comfort. “You can’t stay at the circus. I’m sorry. But if I take you there to say goodbye, will you let me take you back to the Stuarts?”
Richard nods, sniffing once. He hands the map back to Bruce.
Bruce stands and puts his hand on Richard’s back, using his free hand to press a button on his belt to call the car. It arrives and the two climb into the car in silence.
The whole drive, Bruce can’t shake the feeling that they’re being followed.
oOo
Richard keeps his end of the deal, and after a tearful goodbye with several of the circus performers, the two leave. Haly seemed nervous when the two of them showed up, and he asked why they were there several times. Richard’s reaction confirmed that this was out of character for Haly; Bruce files that observation away for later investigation.
“Thank you,” Richard says softly when they stop in front of the Stuarts’ house. “I’m still mad at you for making me come back, but I’m glad I got to see everyone one last time.”
Bruce wants to tell him that it won’t be the last time, but he doesn’t know that for sure. He doesn’t want to make promises he can’t keep.
“I’m sorry I can’t do more.”
“S’okay.” Richard rubs at his eyes. “Are you . . . are you going to tell Mr. and Mrs. Stuart I ran off?”
Bruce shakes his head.
“Good. I don’t think they’d be happy,” Richard says. “I should probably go in now, huh?”
“I’ll see to it that you are given updates on the case as things progress,” Bruce says.
“Oh. Thanks.”
Richard slides out of the car, waving at Bruce before he climbs up a tree and back into the house through the window. Bruce would wave back, but the kid wouldn’t be able to see him through the tinted windows. Instead, he drives off, pulling up the tracker he placed on Richard’s shoe to make sure he stays in the house.
He stops a few blocks over, parking the car in an alley. He walks back to the Stuarts’ house, and when he gets close, he feels those eyes on him again.
Something rustles in the distance and Bruce turns abruptly, unsurprisingly finding no one. Then he sees it: a shadow, ducking down in the distance. Bruce gets out his grapple gun and uses it to get to the nearest roof. The whisper of motion appears again, and again he runs toward it. He follows the barely-there clues that tell him the person he’s following is real, but said person stays just far enough away to remain unidentifiable.
Five minutes later, the trail is cold. He feels alone for the first time since finding Richard that night, and when he goes back to the house, the presence is still gone. In its place on the Stuarts’ roof, he finds a single, dark feather.
oOo
Bruce’s mind isn’t quiet by default. He meditates regularly to help with the constant noise, but there are still days when his thoughts hold him captive inside his own head and he’s unable to focus on anything else. Today, like most days as of late, those thoughts are about Richard Grayson. What he’s been through, if he’s safe, and, most importantly, who the hell is stalking him.
His initial theory was Zucco—or rather, someone working for Zucco. That would make the most sense in the context of this case, but Bruce wasn’t able to find them. Not a trace. He’s seen Zucco’s work before; it’s not this clean.
Unable to stop the stalking, his next best option is damage control. That would mean ensuring that Richard is in a safe, secure environment—the opposite of his current situation. Richard’s been able to sneak out of the house on multiple occasions without his foster family noticing, and Bruce doesn’t trust the system to keep his location secure. If Zucco wanted to find him, all he would have to do is bribe the right social worker.
The thought pattern goes like this: Richard is in foster care, and while most foster families won’t be able to offer the protection that he needs, Bruce is in a position to offer that protection. The only way to do that, however, is to be involved in foster care.
This led to the following conclusion: Bruce needs to become a foster parent. (At least temporarily.)
It’s a good idea to have a foster license in this line of work, all things considered. Even if he doesn’t end up needing it on this case—because maybe something will be easy for once and he’ll catch Zucco quickly and Richard will be adopted by a nice family far away from Gotham—he might need it in the future. Having one is just a smart move, something he should have taken care of when he started this crusade.
However, there is one potential flaw in his plan: he doesn’t run it by Alfred first. He’s not exactly sure why he chooses to keep his plan to himself. Is he afraid that he might be talked out of it? That Alfred will disapprove? The former is a rarity, and so is the latter in the sense that Alfred’s disapproval has not kept him from making major life decisions in the past (e.g., Batman).
(Of course, he hadn’t told Alfred about Batman in the early stages either. He’d simply informed the man after the fact, when he was already too committed to be dissuaded by one of Alfred’s arguments or disapproving looks. And despite how angry and argumentative and disapproving Alfred had been, it had been too late. Alfred was forced into a position where his permission and approval were not required, one where he could offer nothing but forgiveness. Perhaps by keeping this a secret, Bruce is hoping to obtain a similar result.)
Bruce considers hacking into the Child Protection and Permanency system to grant himself a license, but then he remembers that he has a well-known name and that if Bruce Wayne suddenly has a foster license, one too many people would ask questions. So, he does the legal thing and signs up for online classes.
(He doesn’t think about how it could take months to finish this process or how so much damage could be done—done to Richard—in that time.)
oOo
Bruce checks his phone, internally groaning when the time tells him he’ll have to stay at this party for at least another hour.
He moves through the crowd with practiced ease, smiling to familiar faces as he passes. He walks fast, his speed telling the people around him that he has somewhere to be. And while that’s not actually true, it does decrease the odds of someone pulling him into another painfully dull conversation. His respite won’t last forever, Bruce knows, but this will increase its length a bit.
“Bruce! Oh, I’m so glad you could make it.”
But never by enough.
Bruce turns, forcing a warm smile. “Mrs. Powers, it’s good to see you again.”
She smiles back. “Oh, we’ve known each long enough—Maria, please.”
“Maria,” Bruce corrects himself.
She gives a small nod, then turns to her friend, placing her hand over his chest briefly. “This is Martin, he works in Child Protection and Permanency. I know that area is important to you, so I’ve been hoping to introduce you two all night.”
Bruce reaches out his hand to shake Martin’s. He’s wearing a silver ring with an owl carved into it—Bruce wonders if it’s a family crest, although he doesn’t immediately recognize it. “Hi, Martin, it’s nice to meet you.”
“The pleasure’s all mine,” Martin says with a laugh. “And I should thank you for all the financial support you’ve offered this past year. It’s made a real difference.”
“Glad to hear that,” Bruce says.
“Oh, there’s Joseph,” Maria says. She finishes the last of her champagne in one sip and waves at Bruce and Martin. “If you’ll excuse me.”
She’s gone before Bruce can even say goodbye, but that’s something he’s grown used to at these parties.
“So,” Martin says, “Word around the office is that you’re interested in becoming a foster parent.”
Bruce knew it would only be a matter of time before his right to privacy was forgotten and ignored. Still, two weeks is impressive. He hasn’t told Alfred yet, although he knows he’ll need to do so soon. Preferably before his case worker shows up for a home study.
“Yes, I’m still in the early stages, though,” Bruce explains. “Much too early for a public announcement.”
“Of course, of course.” Martin laughs again. “I know it can normally be a long, frustrating process, but I’ll put in a good word for you and see what I can do to speed things up.”
Bruce pauses, trying to find the motive behind Martin’s offer. Martin is far from needing financial assistance from what Bruce has heard, and Bruce is already supporting programs that are run through the department. “That’s very kind of you, but I’d really rather do this without special treatment.” Bruce flashes another smile.
Martin waves him off. “Nonsense. It’s no trouble at all, especially for a friend of Maria.” Bruce wouldn’t call Maria a friend, and he knows she feels the same way about him. Until tonight, he hadn’t even known that she’d been aware of Bruce’s donations to Child Protection and Permanency. “It’s really admirable of you to help these kids. Tell me, are you planning to eventually adopt?”
“Just fostering,” Bruce says, using all of his energy to keep his tone light and free of his internal defensiveness.
Martin forces a smile, and the smile isn't the only thing; something’s off and forced about this entire conversation, his whole demeanor, even. As much as Bruce’s instincts scream at him to interrogate Martin and figure out why that is, he knows this isn’t the time or place.
“That’s fantastic, really. Although, you never know.” He claps Bruce on the shoulder. “You’d be surprised by how many people start out fostering a child and then decide to adopt them. Of course, it all depends on the child’s family situation.”
“I suppose,” Bruce agrees plainly. The odds of that happening in his case are slim to none, but it probably wouldn’t be in his best interest to announce that he’s not cut out to be anything close to a father. If it becomes necessary, though, he’s hoping he can make a sufficient temporary guardian.
“Oh no,” a sarcastic cry interrupts them, and Bruce turns to see Oliver Grant. They went to school together, and now he works for his mother’s company as a CEO. Bruce isn’t exactly impressed with what he’s done for the company, not that he’s done much of anything other than take credit. “We’re not talking business over here, are we boys? You’re going to bring the whole party down!”
Martin laughs in a way that Bruce guesses is supposed to be casual, but it comes off as somewhat strained. “Just talking. How have you been Oliver?”
Bruce isn’t proud of this, but Oliver proves to be the last straw on his already stretched out patience—he pretends to take a phone call.
oOo
Bruce leaves the party earlier than he’d planned, but he’ll deal with the repercussions of leaving too soon later. For now, he has a city to patrol.
Since the homicide, checking on Richard has been a regular part of his patrol. He moved from his emergency placement with the Stuart family to his permanent foster placement with the Miller family nearly three weeks ago now, and things seem to be going well. The only incident since moving had been about two weeks ago when a member of Zucco’s gang was spotted near Richard’s foster home. Luckily, Bruce had been in the area at the time and stopped them before anything could happen. He hasn’t seen anyone there since, and even the feeling that he’s being watched while visiting the home has ebbed recently.
But then, of course, there is the ongoing problem Richard has taken to waiting up for Batman.
He’s not the first child Bruce has spotted doing this—several times, Bruce has seen groups of children on rooftops or crowded around windows who will excitedly point and scream when they catch a glimpse of The Batman. He’s learned that it’s becoming a common sleepover activity. It’s not something he wants to necessarily encourage, but at least those children only want to see him from a distance and are more than satisfied with shadows.
Richard, however, is not.
Tonight, he’s not on his own rooftop and instead waiting for Bruce on the roof of a nearby gas station, eating a package of potato chips while seated in a full lotus position. When he spots Bruce, he stands and starts waving.
“You shouldn’t be out here,” Bruce tells him, resisting the urge to sigh and pinch the bridge of his nose in exasperation.
Richard shrugs and holds his bag of chips toward Bruce. “Want a potato chip?”
“Why aren’t you at the Millers’?” Bruce asks, knowing now to avoid the word “home.”
“I was hungry,” Richard says, pulling his outstretched hand back and taking another chip for himself. “And I didn’t want to wake anyone up or miss you. Good thing, too; you’re early.”
Questions relating to why Richard is hungry and if the Millers have been feeding him bubble up on his tongue, but he forces them down. “Hnn.”
“Have you found Zucco yet?”
This has been the question Bruce has come to dread each night. He’s been working on the case for almost a month now, but things have been slow. He’s been able to find enough evidence to arrest one of Zucco’s colleagues, but the colleague in question has refused to name Zucco specifically. Additionally, Zucco is in hiding and someone has been sending him information, making it difficult to track him down. Zucco taking up a low-profile also means that other gangs are trying to take his territory, which means that Bruce has had a lot of long nights.
“Not yet.” This is the phrase Bruce dreads saying every night.
Richard’s face falls, but he quickly replaces it with a mask of indifference. “Maybe I could help.”
“You are.” Bruce crouches down to look Richard in the eyes, places his hands firmly on his shoulders. “By offering your testimony and keeping yourself safe so that you can give it during the hearing.”
“There won’t be a hearing if you don’t find him.” Richard doesn’t sound accusatory, but the certainty and not-quite-anger in his voice are painful enough that he might as well have been. Despite the statement, though, the boy isn’t hopeless, he just has a more practical approach to hope compared to most of his peers. Richard is realistic and ready to prepare for the worst-case scenario, but he’s also doing everything he can to increase the odds of reaching the best-case scenario.
“I will find him.” And what happened to not making promises unless Bruce is sure he can keep them?
“Let me come?” Despite his inflection, Bruce knows Richard isn’t asking a question.
“It’s not safe.” This will be the fourth time they’ve had this discussion, and each time, Richard has been more insistent than the last.
“I know,” Richard says, a mischievous glint in his eye. “That’s why I’m asking to go with you. ‘Cause it would be so dangerous out on my own.”
oOo
Bruce is twenty-four years old, he’s the goddamn Batman, he should be able to say no to an eight-year-old. And yet, that night, he can’t. For one hour, Richard rides in the car next to him and acts as a pseudo-partner. Bruce tells himself it will be a one-time event, that this whole situation will be temporary.