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There’s a shadowy figure in the middle of the batcave.
Dick spots them when he’s about halfway down the stairs. They’re dressed in dark clothes and hunched over the main computer. It’s not anyone Dick knows. It’s definitely not anyone who should have access to the batcave.
Shit, Dick thinks, and he stops in his tracks and flattens against the wall, heart rate suddenly picking up as he tenses for a fight.
Who the fuck could that be? And more importantly, why didn’t the cave alarms go off? The whole place is wired to the nines and full of Babs’ tech. No one should be able to get anywhere near the cave without the right access and biometrics, much less getting all the way to the main platform without tipping someone off.
“You know, I didn’t think we were expecting company,” Dick calls down the stairs. “Don’t you know it’s polite to call ahead first?”
The figure straightens up and turns to look over at him.
It’s an older woman, maybe in her fifties or sixties, dressed all in black, with a long, loose skirt. She has hair in tight ringlets, and half of it is black while the other half has gone a dark grey. She has a severe jaw and bright blue eyes. Her expression is perfectly blank, but she blanches as Dick watches her, her skin going pale like she’s in shock.
“Dick.” The woman’s voice comes out rough, and it has an odd pitchy quality to it that Dick can’t quite place. She stands straight up, shoulders back and down, and there’s something about the posture that Dick recognizes, though he can’t put his finger on what. “God. It is you.”
Dick’s not sure what’s more disturbing: that this strange old lady knows his name, or the way she says it. It’s somewhere between surprise, pain, and relief.
Dick cautiously takes a step down the staircase, watching the stranger intently. “It might be.” Dick takes another step. “And who are you, when you’re at home?”
The woman smiles. It’s a small, sad, almost heartbroken smile. She lets out a breath, glancing away from Dick, around the room. “Hard to say.” Her gaze flicks over the space, roaming over the staircase up to the manor, the door to the garage, the smaller cave passages that lead to storage and cots, before landing on the glass cases of costumes in one corner. She studies the case with Bruce’s old Batsuit, her eyes moving intently up and down it. “I haven’t been home in a long time.”
Dick comes down the stairs, still tense and cautious, watching the old woman carefully. Her face remains oddly blank. Like she’s actually feeling some intense emotion, but doesn’t want to show them to anyone. There’s a brightness to her eyes like she might be close to tears, but not a wrinkle in her face to show it.
It’s a strange expression, but somehow a familiar one. Dick wonders how he can be so sure that her blank face is a controlled mask, rather than genuine, but he can’t quite put his finger on it.
“Why not?” Dick asks. “Take an extended vacation?”
The woman huffs out a small laugh, and her hand tightens in her skirt as she finally breaks gaze with the glass case, eyes dropping to the ground. “Something like that.”
That gesture. Dick knows that gesture.
Like he knows that stance, and that stoic face, and that resigned but honest laugh at his terrible jokes. That jawline, those eyes. That distinctive shadowy figure, dressed all in black and hunched over the cave computer in the darkness.
Dick swallows, hard. His heart is pounding, suddenly. Blood is rushing in his ears, drowning out the silence of the cave.
“B?” It comes out before Dick can think better of it, before he can second-guess himself or remind himself that Bruce is dead. Dick’s voice cracks as he says it. “Is that. Are you. B?”
The stoic face breaks, and suddenly the woman is crying and smiling, tears dripping out of her eyes as she nods. She makes a sweeping gesture, down at herself. “It’s me.”
Dick has never cleared the platform faster than he does now, charging towards B and closing the distance between them as fast as he can barreling into her for a hug. She lets out an “oof,” but catches him easily, just like she always has. She wraps her arms around him, and if Dick wasn’t sure before, he is now, because the way B’s hugs are burned into Dick’s brain brighter than maybe anything else about him. Her. Anything else about her.
“I thought you were dead.” It comes out muffled from having his face buried in B’s shoulder, and it isn’t until Dick speaks that he realizes he’s crying too, that his face is wet against B’s dress and he’s gulping for air as his chest shakes. “It’s been- it’s been two years, we thought you were dead-”
“I’m so sorry,” B says, and her voice sounds pained like Dick has rarely heard it, thick with tears. She hugs him tighter, cradling the back of his head in one strong, large hand, just the way she always used to. “I’m so sorry, Dick.”
“What- what happened?” Dick asks, and he pulls back so he can look her in the eyes. “Where were you?” Dick looks at her, really looks at her, now that she’s so close to him, and his eyes find the wrinkles around her eyes, the age in her face, and he sees it but can’t quite comprehend it. “How long were you there?”
B gives him another small, sad smile. “It took me ten years to get back.”
“Fuck,” Dick says, and he reaches a hand up to rub at his face, wiping the tears away from his eyes. Dick lets out a long, shuddering breath, chest heaving as he tries to calm himself down. “Ten- fuck.”
“Language.” It comes out in a soft murmur, half a joke.
Dick can’t help but crack a smile. “Sorry, B.”
B smiles again, and it’s old and tired but happy, so profoundly happy that Dick feels like it might break him. “I’ve missed you so much.”
Dick pulls Bruce in for another hug. “I missed you too.” It feels- woefully inadequate, pitifully small. To say that he “missed” Bruce, when he died? When she died. Like it didn’t nearly tear Dick apart.
But Dick gets the sense that B feels the same way. Sometimes there aren’t any words that could ever be enough.
The two of them stay like that for a long time, half-leaned against the computer desk, arms wrapped around each other. Dick leans his head against B’s chest just like he’s a little kid again, crying into B’s shoulder until he cries himself out.
(Well, maybe not just like then, because B’s chest is pretty different than it used to be, but it doesn’t seem polite to mention it.)
Dick’s not sure how long it is before they both catch their breath. For all he knows, it could be hours. But eventually, he leans back, pulling away enough to look up at B.
“You should let me go get the others.”
B’s mouth tightens into a line, but she nods. “It’ll be good to see them.”
“Hey.” Dick cocks his head to the side, looking up at B. “What’s your, uh, name?”
B looks down at him, and her mouth turns up into a soft, gentle smile. “Beatrice. But my friends call me Bea.”
Dick’s face breaks into a big, sunny grin, tear-tracked skin and all. He beams up at Bea and sticks out his hand for a handshake, all cheeky and playful. “Nice to meet you, Bea.”
Bea takes his hand, eyes filling up with tears again, an expression of pure joy on her face. She shakes Dick’s hand, then pulls him into yet another hug, taking a long, shuddering breath. “Yes. Yes, it is.”