Chapter 5 - Back at Home
I woke the middle of the night, completely freaked out. I could feel the restraints on my wrists, and my wound ached, and I could picture the Joker standing in the darkness of my room, his cruel smile leering at me.
I was not crying – Pamela says I'm such a baby and cry everyday – but I know I wasn't crying. I was shaking in the dark, so much I thought I would be sick, but I know I didn't cry. Yes, my cheeks were wet, but I'm sure that was from the sweat. I was only sweating on my cheeks, but I know I wasn't crying.
"Bruce?" I called out in a weak voice. "Alfred? Bruce?"
No answer came. I began to panic – I knew they had bee killed. The Joker had found them, had slit their throats, I was the only one alive in the Manor, and he was coming for me next. There would be no Batman to come save me – I was completely alone and at the mercy of that psycho.
I threw the covers off and leapt out of bed. I would go to the Batcave and hide there with a handful of Bat-a-rangs with sharp edges.
I reached the door, and then it opened suddenly. I stumbled back with a terrified cry, but I saw Bruce in blue pajamas, his hair tousled from sleep. He looked at me concerned, but I flung myself at him, wrapping my arms around his waist.
"Hey," Bruce was surprisingly gentle, reaching down to sooth my brown hair back, "what's all this? A nightmare."
I nodded my head against him, not wanting to speak.
"It's three in the morning," Bruce said calmly. "You're stressed from yesterday – some more sleep will do you good."
He started walking to my bed, and I clung to him all the way there, tightening my fingers around the folds in his pajama shirt. That's the great thing about Bruce – he never lectured me about being scared, never told me to stop being a baby when I freaked out at night.
He got me to climb up in the bed and covered me back up. I lay back on the pillow, and he surprised me by reaching out to feel my forehead.
"You're a little warm," he said, sitting on the side of my bed and pulling the covers up snuggly to my neck. "I'm keeping you home from school tomorrow. You can sleep late and then take it easy around the house."
I stared down at the covers, miserable. "I'm a baby," I said, almost whimpered.
"Oh, Dick," Bruce said softly, but I shook my head.
"No, I'm a baby. I ran off when the girls teased me, I let the Joker get me, he would have killed me if you didn't come, and then I cried when you – when you –"
"Richard," Bruce's voice dropped several notches, "don't do this. I punished you, you cried, and it's over. Do I ever punish you for the same thing twice?"
I shook my head, not trusting myself to speak.
"Then I don't want to hear you apologizing for something more than once. I felt your behavior warranted a stern reprimand. I gave it to you, you showed remorse, and now it's done. If you wake up scared in the middle of the night, that is expected. You are not an adult – you can still feel scared at times and cry though I do expect you to begin to show some maturity and discernment in your decisions. When you don't, when you act without thinking, I am here to drag you back from danger. That's how we work."
I don't know how he manages to make me feel so safe, here in the dark, without even turning on a light. I let my breath out slowly, my throat hurting, wondering if I should say anything.
"Ah, Dick," Bruce shook his head. He didn't really need to say much more, and I feel his peace in his silence.
But I didn't want him to leave. When I first came here, I had nightmares, especially about my parents dying. Bruce used to come in and calm me down, but if I was really, really upset, he would carry me back to his bedroom and let me sleep in his huge bed. He wouldn't do it often, and he had stopped when I turned eleven and started kicking in my sleep, but times like tonight I wish he would let me. I'm too big for him to carry, until he slung me over his shoulder, and I would never ask, but I kind of wish he would offer to sleep in my room tonight.
I curled up on my side – my bottom still hurt just a little, and I was hoping he might notice so I feigned a small wince.
"Stop pretending," Bruce told me, a tiny smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You're not in that much pain."
I made a face, but said nothing. I could hear the clock from the hall ticking, the seconds going by one by one.
Bruce stifled a yawn, and I hastily asked, "Will you tell me about the last case you worked?"
"It's so late," Bruce objected.
I scooted over on the bed. "Just one case, real quick."
He moved to lean against headboard, resting his hands on his outstretched legs. "Okay, one case, real quick."
"Other than the Joker," I put in quickly.
"No Joker," Bruce agreed. "What about Catwoman?"
"Catwoman," I scowled in the dark. "I hate her – when are you going to get her for good?"
"Last time, I nearly did," Bruce told him. "It was late on night, outside Gotham Museum. I had a tip that someone was going to steal the Glorian Diamond that was on loan from Metropolis, so I waited outside. Sure enough, just after midnight, she crawls from the shadows, her clawed fingers ready to snatch the diamond from the case. She leapt up to the roof, pulling herself along the ledges so fast I could barely keep up with her, but I keep getting closer and closer."
He kept talking, telling me about how he had stopped Catwoman from stealing the diamond, but she slipped away before the police could get there. I love hearing about Batman at work, how he jumps off high ledges, his tools, and his quick thinking at a moment's notice. It's hard for me to picture Bruce doing all that when he's dressed normal. Sitting beside me on the bed, in pajamas, you would think he never did more than go to meetings and nice parties and maybe play golf. Every time I see him in costume, I forget he's the same man who took me in and lectures me about school and being nice to guests. He's Batman, my hero.
Bruce kept talking, his voice growing lower and lower, and I closed my eyes, still listening to his voice.
I opened my eyes to find morning light streaming in window. My door was open, and I looked at the clock. 8:14. Okay, that meant I didn't have to go to school today.
Bruce came into my room, wearing a suit and fiddling with his tie. "Okay, I got to go to work. Alfred's going to fix you some breakfast, and you need to rest today."
"Can I play Playstation?" I asked eagerly.
"No, you're grounded, remember?"
"That's still going on?" I protested, slumping back on the pillows.
"Yes, and no TV or computer either."
"What am I supposed to do all day?" I demanded.
"Study," Bruce told me. "You have stuff due and today would be a good day for you to work quietly on it."
I must have looked miserable because he added, "If you get it all done, we can watch a movie tomorrow."
"300?" I suggested.
"Something PG," Bruce retorted.
"My friends at school have seen it," I objected, but Bruce didn't have time to listen. He told me to be good and then dashed out the door.
Ugh, stuck at home all day with nothing fun to do. I wondered if I could get away with watch TV with Alfred. I would never lie to him, and I've noticed that he and Bruce seemed to be ganging up on me lately. If I said Bruce said I could play on the computer, I bet Alfred would call Bruce to ask, and then I'd really be in trouble.
"Morning, young sir," Alfred came into my room with a tray. "A spot of tea before you get ready, and breakfast will be done shortly. But first –"
Alfred shook his right hand very hard and then popped a thermometer in my mouth. I didn't see it coming, and I almost bit down on the glass in surprise.
"Ah-ah," Alfred shook his head. "Under your tongue for two minutes. I want a proper read. Be still while I take your pulse."
I rolled my eyes, but that didn't stop Alfred from taking my wrist and holding it while he consulted his pocketwatch. I guess Bruce told Alfred I felt warm, and I wish he hadn't because Alfred is awful when he thinks we're sick. Most adults, when you tell them you're sick, are all "Oh, stay away from me!" and they back up so they won't catch anything. Alfred, he's all up your face, taking temperatures, looking in your eyes, and demanding to know where it hurts.
I've learned to hide stuff Alfred as best I can. Once when I went to the grocery store and bought 23 Airheads and ate them in one afternoon, I thought I was going to be sick, but I didn't say anything to Alfred. He would have wanted to know what I had eaten and then he would have brought out Pepto Bismol or, worse, castor oil and made me swallow a big spoonful. So I pretended to be fine, and it worked until he announced after supper that we were having cake and ice cream for dessert. Disgusted with the thought of more sugar, I said no thanks, and both he and Bruce were sure I was coming down with something so I got sent to bed early. And of course Alfred found all the candy wrappers in the trash the next day and scolded me for ruining my stomach and rotting my teeth.
I don't see how I could have hidden not feeling well today, considering I was staying home from school, but I don't know why he had to make such a big deal about me. I wasn't dying, but I couldn't explain how I felt with the thermometer in my mouth.
He finally let go of my wrist, satisfied with my pulse, and then he started unbuttoning my pajama shirt. Ugh, he never asks my permission, just started undressing me like I'm a baby and does whatever he wants like he's sure I don't care and it wouldn't really matter if I did.
Pulling my shirt back, Alfred gently lifted the bandage to see how the gift from the Joker was healing. It was a little red, but I could see it healing already. He taped the bandage back over the wound and took the thermometer from my mouth to read it.
"99," Alfred pressed his lips in disapproval.
"If it was any higher, would I be dying?" I asked in a voice more sarcastic than I meant it to be.
Alfred raised his eyebrows coldly. "If it were any higher, I'd be packing you into an ice bath straight away."
That made me sit up and stop sneering at him. I drank the tea he gave me – some kind of herbal stuff that was strong and bitter, and then he let me get up and get dressed.
I ate some breakfast down in the kitchen and then began the boring task of deciding what to do for the rest of the day. Alfred wanted me to study down in the kitchen where he could help me, but I wanted to study in the library. He led me to the library to show me it was still a mess from the bomb someone had sent two days ago, and we finally agreed that I would study in the den.
I did study for a while – at least thirty minutes, but then I got bored. I reached for the remote and turned on the TV, careful to keep the sound down. I got to watch about ten minutes before Alfred caught me.
He strode into the den, snatched the remote, and turned off the TV. He dealt me an ominous look, and I cringed under it, and then he left, taking the remote with him.
The rest of the day was boring until three-thirty. I was dragging around the house and finally settled in a sunny nook off the front hall to stare out the window in boredom, wondering if I should read a book just to pass the time, when a knock sounded on the front door. Alfred opened and a moment later, he called out, "Master Richard, a visitor for you."
I didn't know who could be visiting me, but I went to the door and found Barbara there, holding several books even though she had a backpack slung over her shoulder.
"Hi," she gave me a small smile, "I brought your homework from today."
"Fine," I replied, not wanting to speak to her.
I felt something push against my back. Alfred frowned down at me, his Remember-your-manners,-young-man look that warned me to be polite or pay for it later.
"Thank you," I said and tried to look like I meant it.
Barbara looked back over her shoulder at the cop car in the drive before she said, "Dad had one of the rookies drive me up. I wanted to see how you were. Dad is coming by later to talk to Mr. Wayne and said if I wanted to study some . . ." she trailed off, but Alfred immediately said,
"Of course, you may stay here until your father comes later. Shall I go tell the officer you will be spending the afternoon here?"
"I'll do it," Barbara offered, brightening up as she ran down the steps towards the cop car.
I made a face. "I don't want to spend the afternoon with her."
"You listen to me, young sir," Alfred said in his no-nonsense voice. "You are going to be pleasant and polite to Miss Gordon or I'll put you over my own knee right here and now."
I huffed in outrage, but Alfred continued,
"She was very kind to bring your homework and there is no reason you cannot study with her for a few hours and give me a moment's peace."
I didn't have time to answer because Barbara was returning and the cop car was driving away.
"Why don't you take Miss Gordon's books and show her to the den while I prepare some refreshments for the afternoon?" Alfred suggested. "I would offer some entertainment, Miss Gordon, but I'm afraid Master Richard has been restricted from all electronics."
I wanted to kick him in the shins (how could he embarrass me like that?), but Barbara shrugged. "I couldn't watch TV last month," she admitted to me. "Dad found out I skipped school one day to hang out at the park with Pam, and he hit the roof when the school called him."
"Indeed," Alfred smiled every so slightly and left for the kitchen.
I guess she wanted me to feel better, and I did a little, but by the time we reached the den, I was mad at her again.
"Thanks a lot for yesterday," I snapped, careful to keep my voice low in case Alfred should appear again sudden.
"Sorry," Barbara hopped back on the sofa, tucking her feet under her, "Pam can be mean. I told her it wasn't nice to rail on you like that, but you know Pam – always got to be causing trouble for someone. But enough about her. Go on, tell me."
"Tell you what?" I asked, sitting stiffly on the sofa beside her. I was glad she thought Pam was a brat, but that did not forgive her for laughing at me in the front of class yesterday.
"Tell me what happened to you," Barbara insisted. "I heard from Dad's lieutenant that the Joker had you, nearly killed you. I didn't say anything to our class, but I knew that was the reason you weren't there today. What happened?"
I began to tell her, starting with running from the school and meeting the Joker face to face. My words were rough and choppy at first, but as I kept going, I found it was easy to talk to her. She was a good listener, getting worried when she heard I woke tied up in the Joker's lair. When I got to the part about what was in the boxes, she drew closer to me, and when I told her how the Joker started sawing with the knife, she grabbed my arm.
"Dick," her eyes were wide with worry, "what did you do? How could you get caught like that, without any possible way of fighting him?"
I began to tell her how Batman rescued me, but she kept holding on to my arm. I really didn't mind. Barbara is kind of pretty, and she was so close I could smell the raspberry lip gloss she wore.
However, I was careful to stress that Batman brought me home to Bruce, not wanting her to guess Batman's true identity.
"Did Bruce just freak out?" Barbara demanded.
I blushed and stammered, "Yeah, he was pretty mad I ran off with the Joker loose. He – uh, he put me on restriction."
"You are lucky he didn't lock you in your room," Barbara observed. "If I ran off and the Joker got me, Dad would have kept me under lock and key until I graduated from college."
"Bruce was not happy," I said though I would never admit in a thousand years that I had been spanked. "He and Alfred keep yelling at me for stuff."
"Aw, poor Dick," Barbara pressed her glossy lips together sympathetically. "Everyone's beating you up. Can I see the scar?"
I would have pulled my shirt up and shown her the wound – my badge of honor – expect Alfred chose that moment to step in with a tray of lemonade, fruits, crackers, and peanut butter. It was kind of a babyish snack, but Barbara liked the buttery crackers and expensive peanut butter, and she said she loved lemonade the way Alfred made it.
"We live on frozen dinners at my place," Barbara confessed. "Dad can't cook, and I end up burning everything. I burnt Pop Tarts the other day – Pop Tarts! Dad keeps threatening to put me in an evening cooking class if I catch the stove on fire one more time."
"Well, we will just see if you and the commissioner can't stay for dinner," Alfred decided. He looked at me as if expecting I would protest, but I just shrugged. I didn't mind Barbara staying.
Alfred left, but I got the feeling he hadn't gone far, probably listening right outside the door. Oh, sure, he could do that, but when I listen, I get lectured about eavesdropping. And what does he think I'm going to do? I see Barbara everyday at school, and if I wanted to be mean to her, I could do it there as well as here.
"Hey," Barbara set her glass of lemonade down on the coaster, "so you know, the Halloween Dance is coming up, right?"
"Yeah," I nodded.
"The thirty-first?" she prompted. "Halloween night in the gym? Everyone dressed up in costumes?"
"So?" I shrugged.
"Come on, Dick! Do you want to go?"
"No, but Bruce will make me," I grumbled.
"No, dingbat," she rolled her eyes, "do you want to go with me?"
I thought I heard something bump in the hall, but I ignored it. "Just the two of us?"
"And Pamela," Barbara added. When I started to scowl, she protested, 'Oh, don't be like that. She's my best friend. We could all go together, the three of us. We could be the three Musketeers."
"You're girls," I pointed out though I really didn't mind the idea.
"We could wear the real costumes. And carry swords, real swords. And Pam will probably find someone to go with, too, but we could all ride together. Maybe you could ask Bruce if we could ride in the limo . . ."
"You just want me for the limo?" I demanded.
"Come on," Barbara insisted. "I want to go with you, Dick."
"Why?" I asked bluntly.
"Because we're friends and I know you'll be fun to go with," Barbara ran a hand through her reddish hair. "What do you want me to say? You're cooler than the other losers in our class, and we could have fun hanging out. What's your deal?"
I was shocked. Barbara thought I was cool?
"But yesterday everyone laughed at me," I objected.
"Yeah, 'cause you were goofing off," Barbara said, completely honest. "You knew the answer in math and you were obviously bored so you started fooling around on the board. And you're the only one who stands up to Mr. Horton. Today he noticed you weren't there and he wanted to know who would be showing him attitude, and no one dared to say a word. But you don't care what people think, unlike all the other morons at our school. So what do you say?"
If she had punched me and knocked me across the room, I couldn't have been more shocked. I had gotten into trouble so much the last two days, been spanked twice, and woken up from a nightmare last night, and Barbara thought I was some kind of cool rebel?
"Don't go on an ego trip," Barbara reached over to gently pop me on the shoulder. "You're still a jerk and an idiot sometimes, and you look really dumb in that blue coat."
I hoped Alfred heard that.
"Yeah, fine, we can go to the stupid dance," I said.
"Cool," Barbara grinned. "Okay, you want to play a game?"
"I thought you wanted to study."
"Nah, that's lame. Let's play a board game. You got Monopoly?"
Two hours later she was about to beat me (she got lucky and landed on all the orange properties her first three times around the board) when Bruce came home. He seemed surprised to see her and even more surprised to see us playing a game together.
"Hi, Mr. Wayne," Barbara smiled at him. "I'm about to cream him. He landed on Tennessee with three hotels."
"Isn't the limit one?" Bruce asked, amused.
"Not the way we play it," Barbara answered. "All right, Dick, you want to mortgage or start giving me your property? I'm thinking about putting a resort on Broadway."
"Call me in five years," Bruce commented. "We may have a place at Wayne Industries for you."
By the time Commissioner Gordon arrived, Barbara had beaten me and insisted on cleaning up the game. "It's only fair," she said as she stacked up the colored money. "The winner wins and they clean up so the loser doesn't feel so bad."
Maybe that's what makes Barbara so great – she has a real strong feeling of honesty and fairness. As we all went into the dining room together, I decided to forget the other day and all the nonsense with Pamela. Barbara was really too cool for grudges.
We had a great dinner, and then the Gordons left, the commissioner saying Barbara needed to work on her gymnastics before she went to sleep. Around nine, I was in my own room, pretending to do homework when I heard footsteps approaching my open door.
". . . absolutely necessary," Alfred was saying in the tone he usually reserves for scolding me. "It is your duty as the guardian, and you cannot escape it, regardless."
"Fine, fine," Bruce agreed, sounding reluctant, "I'll do it."
A moment later, Bruce stepped in my room and shut the door. "Dick, I need to talk to you."
I jerked my head up. "I didn't do anything," I protested. "I mean, I did turn the TV on, but Alfred came in and turned it off, and I only watched like five minutes and nothing bad."
"You're not into trouble," Bruce held up a hand.
"Then why do you want to talk to me?" I still felt panicky.
"Every time I want to talk you, you aren't in trouble."
"Yes, I am."
"Then shape up and stop getting into so much trouble," Bruce said shortly, getting irritated. A cough sounded outside the door, and Bruce sighed and said in a calmer voice,
"Okay, you're not in trouble tonight. But we need to talk about something very important."
"What?" I asked suspiciously.
Bruce shifted awkwardly, almost crossing his arms and then dropping them loosely by his side before answering, "Sex."
I was not crying – Pamela says I'm such a baby and cry everyday – but I know I wasn't crying. I was shaking in the dark, so much I thought I would be sick, but I know I didn't cry. Yes, my cheeks were wet, but I'm sure that was from the sweat. I was only sweating on my cheeks, but I know I wasn't crying.
"Bruce?" I called out in a weak voice. "Alfred? Bruce?"
No answer came. I began to panic – I knew they had bee killed. The Joker had found them, had slit their throats, I was the only one alive in the Manor, and he was coming for me next. There would be no Batman to come save me – I was completely alone and at the mercy of that psycho.
I threw the covers off and leapt out of bed. I would go to the Batcave and hide there with a handful of Bat-a-rangs with sharp edges.
I reached the door, and then it opened suddenly. I stumbled back with a terrified cry, but I saw Bruce in blue pajamas, his hair tousled from sleep. He looked at me concerned, but I flung myself at him, wrapping my arms around his waist.
"Hey," Bruce was surprisingly gentle, reaching down to sooth my brown hair back, "what's all this? A nightmare."
I nodded my head against him, not wanting to speak.
"It's three in the morning," Bruce said calmly. "You're stressed from yesterday – some more sleep will do you good."
He started walking to my bed, and I clung to him all the way there, tightening my fingers around the folds in his pajama shirt. That's the great thing about Bruce – he never lectured me about being scared, never told me to stop being a baby when I freaked out at night.
He got me to climb up in the bed and covered me back up. I lay back on the pillow, and he surprised me by reaching out to feel my forehead.
"You're a little warm," he said, sitting on the side of my bed and pulling the covers up snuggly to my neck. "I'm keeping you home from school tomorrow. You can sleep late and then take it easy around the house."
I stared down at the covers, miserable. "I'm a baby," I said, almost whimpered.
"Oh, Dick," Bruce said softly, but I shook my head.
"No, I'm a baby. I ran off when the girls teased me, I let the Joker get me, he would have killed me if you didn't come, and then I cried when you – when you –"
"Richard," Bruce's voice dropped several notches, "don't do this. I punished you, you cried, and it's over. Do I ever punish you for the same thing twice?"
I shook my head, not trusting myself to speak.
"Then I don't want to hear you apologizing for something more than once. I felt your behavior warranted a stern reprimand. I gave it to you, you showed remorse, and now it's done. If you wake up scared in the middle of the night, that is expected. You are not an adult – you can still feel scared at times and cry though I do expect you to begin to show some maturity and discernment in your decisions. When you don't, when you act without thinking, I am here to drag you back from danger. That's how we work."
I don't know how he manages to make me feel so safe, here in the dark, without even turning on a light. I let my breath out slowly, my throat hurting, wondering if I should say anything.
"Ah, Dick," Bruce shook his head. He didn't really need to say much more, and I feel his peace in his silence.
But I didn't want him to leave. When I first came here, I had nightmares, especially about my parents dying. Bruce used to come in and calm me down, but if I was really, really upset, he would carry me back to his bedroom and let me sleep in his huge bed. He wouldn't do it often, and he had stopped when I turned eleven and started kicking in my sleep, but times like tonight I wish he would let me. I'm too big for him to carry, until he slung me over his shoulder, and I would never ask, but I kind of wish he would offer to sleep in my room tonight.
I curled up on my side – my bottom still hurt just a little, and I was hoping he might notice so I feigned a small wince.
"Stop pretending," Bruce told me, a tiny smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You're not in that much pain."
I made a face, but said nothing. I could hear the clock from the hall ticking, the seconds going by one by one.
Bruce stifled a yawn, and I hastily asked, "Will you tell me about the last case you worked?"
"It's so late," Bruce objected.
I scooted over on the bed. "Just one case, real quick."
He moved to lean against headboard, resting his hands on his outstretched legs. "Okay, one case, real quick."
"Other than the Joker," I put in quickly.
"No Joker," Bruce agreed. "What about Catwoman?"
"Catwoman," I scowled in the dark. "I hate her – when are you going to get her for good?"
"Last time, I nearly did," Bruce told him. "It was late on night, outside Gotham Museum. I had a tip that someone was going to steal the Glorian Diamond that was on loan from Metropolis, so I waited outside. Sure enough, just after midnight, she crawls from the shadows, her clawed fingers ready to snatch the diamond from the case. She leapt up to the roof, pulling herself along the ledges so fast I could barely keep up with her, but I keep getting closer and closer."
He kept talking, telling me about how he had stopped Catwoman from stealing the diamond, but she slipped away before the police could get there. I love hearing about Batman at work, how he jumps off high ledges, his tools, and his quick thinking at a moment's notice. It's hard for me to picture Bruce doing all that when he's dressed normal. Sitting beside me on the bed, in pajamas, you would think he never did more than go to meetings and nice parties and maybe play golf. Every time I see him in costume, I forget he's the same man who took me in and lectures me about school and being nice to guests. He's Batman, my hero.
Bruce kept talking, his voice growing lower and lower, and I closed my eyes, still listening to his voice.
I opened my eyes to find morning light streaming in window. My door was open, and I looked at the clock. 8:14. Okay, that meant I didn't have to go to school today.
Bruce came into my room, wearing a suit and fiddling with his tie. "Okay, I got to go to work. Alfred's going to fix you some breakfast, and you need to rest today."
"Can I play Playstation?" I asked eagerly.
"No, you're grounded, remember?"
"That's still going on?" I protested, slumping back on the pillows.
"Yes, and no TV or computer either."
"What am I supposed to do all day?" I demanded.
"Study," Bruce told me. "You have stuff due and today would be a good day for you to work quietly on it."
I must have looked miserable because he added, "If you get it all done, we can watch a movie tomorrow."
"300?" I suggested.
"Something PG," Bruce retorted.
"My friends at school have seen it," I objected, but Bruce didn't have time to listen. He told me to be good and then dashed out the door.
Ugh, stuck at home all day with nothing fun to do. I wondered if I could get away with watch TV with Alfred. I would never lie to him, and I've noticed that he and Bruce seemed to be ganging up on me lately. If I said Bruce said I could play on the computer, I bet Alfred would call Bruce to ask, and then I'd really be in trouble.
"Morning, young sir," Alfred came into my room with a tray. "A spot of tea before you get ready, and breakfast will be done shortly. But first –"
Alfred shook his right hand very hard and then popped a thermometer in my mouth. I didn't see it coming, and I almost bit down on the glass in surprise.
"Ah-ah," Alfred shook his head. "Under your tongue for two minutes. I want a proper read. Be still while I take your pulse."
I rolled my eyes, but that didn't stop Alfred from taking my wrist and holding it while he consulted his pocketwatch. I guess Bruce told Alfred I felt warm, and I wish he hadn't because Alfred is awful when he thinks we're sick. Most adults, when you tell them you're sick, are all "Oh, stay away from me!" and they back up so they won't catch anything. Alfred, he's all up your face, taking temperatures, looking in your eyes, and demanding to know where it hurts.
I've learned to hide stuff Alfred as best I can. Once when I went to the grocery store and bought 23 Airheads and ate them in one afternoon, I thought I was going to be sick, but I didn't say anything to Alfred. He would have wanted to know what I had eaten and then he would have brought out Pepto Bismol or, worse, castor oil and made me swallow a big spoonful. So I pretended to be fine, and it worked until he announced after supper that we were having cake and ice cream for dessert. Disgusted with the thought of more sugar, I said no thanks, and both he and Bruce were sure I was coming down with something so I got sent to bed early. And of course Alfred found all the candy wrappers in the trash the next day and scolded me for ruining my stomach and rotting my teeth.
I don't see how I could have hidden not feeling well today, considering I was staying home from school, but I don't know why he had to make such a big deal about me. I wasn't dying, but I couldn't explain how I felt with the thermometer in my mouth.
He finally let go of my wrist, satisfied with my pulse, and then he started unbuttoning my pajama shirt. Ugh, he never asks my permission, just started undressing me like I'm a baby and does whatever he wants like he's sure I don't care and it wouldn't really matter if I did.
Pulling my shirt back, Alfred gently lifted the bandage to see how the gift from the Joker was healing. It was a little red, but I could see it healing already. He taped the bandage back over the wound and took the thermometer from my mouth to read it.
"99," Alfred pressed his lips in disapproval.
"If it was any higher, would I be dying?" I asked in a voice more sarcastic than I meant it to be.
Alfred raised his eyebrows coldly. "If it were any higher, I'd be packing you into an ice bath straight away."
That made me sit up and stop sneering at him. I drank the tea he gave me – some kind of herbal stuff that was strong and bitter, and then he let me get up and get dressed.
I ate some breakfast down in the kitchen and then began the boring task of deciding what to do for the rest of the day. Alfred wanted me to study down in the kitchen where he could help me, but I wanted to study in the library. He led me to the library to show me it was still a mess from the bomb someone had sent two days ago, and we finally agreed that I would study in the den.
I did study for a while – at least thirty minutes, but then I got bored. I reached for the remote and turned on the TV, careful to keep the sound down. I got to watch about ten minutes before Alfred caught me.
He strode into the den, snatched the remote, and turned off the TV. He dealt me an ominous look, and I cringed under it, and then he left, taking the remote with him.
The rest of the day was boring until three-thirty. I was dragging around the house and finally settled in a sunny nook off the front hall to stare out the window in boredom, wondering if I should read a book just to pass the time, when a knock sounded on the front door. Alfred opened and a moment later, he called out, "Master Richard, a visitor for you."
I didn't know who could be visiting me, but I went to the door and found Barbara there, holding several books even though she had a backpack slung over her shoulder.
"Hi," she gave me a small smile, "I brought your homework from today."
"Fine," I replied, not wanting to speak to her.
I felt something push against my back. Alfred frowned down at me, his Remember-your-manners,-young-man look that warned me to be polite or pay for it later.
"Thank you," I said and tried to look like I meant it.
Barbara looked back over her shoulder at the cop car in the drive before she said, "Dad had one of the rookies drive me up. I wanted to see how you were. Dad is coming by later to talk to Mr. Wayne and said if I wanted to study some . . ." she trailed off, but Alfred immediately said,
"Of course, you may stay here until your father comes later. Shall I go tell the officer you will be spending the afternoon here?"
"I'll do it," Barbara offered, brightening up as she ran down the steps towards the cop car.
I made a face. "I don't want to spend the afternoon with her."
"You listen to me, young sir," Alfred said in his no-nonsense voice. "You are going to be pleasant and polite to Miss Gordon or I'll put you over my own knee right here and now."
I huffed in outrage, but Alfred continued,
"She was very kind to bring your homework and there is no reason you cannot study with her for a few hours and give me a moment's peace."
I didn't have time to answer because Barbara was returning and the cop car was driving away.
"Why don't you take Miss Gordon's books and show her to the den while I prepare some refreshments for the afternoon?" Alfred suggested. "I would offer some entertainment, Miss Gordon, but I'm afraid Master Richard has been restricted from all electronics."
I wanted to kick him in the shins (how could he embarrass me like that?), but Barbara shrugged. "I couldn't watch TV last month," she admitted to me. "Dad found out I skipped school one day to hang out at the park with Pam, and he hit the roof when the school called him."
"Indeed," Alfred smiled every so slightly and left for the kitchen.
I guess she wanted me to feel better, and I did a little, but by the time we reached the den, I was mad at her again.
"Thanks a lot for yesterday," I snapped, careful to keep my voice low in case Alfred should appear again sudden.
"Sorry," Barbara hopped back on the sofa, tucking her feet under her, "Pam can be mean. I told her it wasn't nice to rail on you like that, but you know Pam – always got to be causing trouble for someone. But enough about her. Go on, tell me."
"Tell you what?" I asked, sitting stiffly on the sofa beside her. I was glad she thought Pam was a brat, but that did not forgive her for laughing at me in the front of class yesterday.
"Tell me what happened to you," Barbara insisted. "I heard from Dad's lieutenant that the Joker had you, nearly killed you. I didn't say anything to our class, but I knew that was the reason you weren't there today. What happened?"
I began to tell her, starting with running from the school and meeting the Joker face to face. My words were rough and choppy at first, but as I kept going, I found it was easy to talk to her. She was a good listener, getting worried when she heard I woke tied up in the Joker's lair. When I got to the part about what was in the boxes, she drew closer to me, and when I told her how the Joker started sawing with the knife, she grabbed my arm.
"Dick," her eyes were wide with worry, "what did you do? How could you get caught like that, without any possible way of fighting him?"
I began to tell her how Batman rescued me, but she kept holding on to my arm. I really didn't mind. Barbara is kind of pretty, and she was so close I could smell the raspberry lip gloss she wore.
However, I was careful to stress that Batman brought me home to Bruce, not wanting her to guess Batman's true identity.
"Did Bruce just freak out?" Barbara demanded.
I blushed and stammered, "Yeah, he was pretty mad I ran off with the Joker loose. He – uh, he put me on restriction."
"You are lucky he didn't lock you in your room," Barbara observed. "If I ran off and the Joker got me, Dad would have kept me under lock and key until I graduated from college."
"Bruce was not happy," I said though I would never admit in a thousand years that I had been spanked. "He and Alfred keep yelling at me for stuff."
"Aw, poor Dick," Barbara pressed her glossy lips together sympathetically. "Everyone's beating you up. Can I see the scar?"
I would have pulled my shirt up and shown her the wound – my badge of honor – expect Alfred chose that moment to step in with a tray of lemonade, fruits, crackers, and peanut butter. It was kind of a babyish snack, but Barbara liked the buttery crackers and expensive peanut butter, and she said she loved lemonade the way Alfred made it.
"We live on frozen dinners at my place," Barbara confessed. "Dad can't cook, and I end up burning everything. I burnt Pop Tarts the other day – Pop Tarts! Dad keeps threatening to put me in an evening cooking class if I catch the stove on fire one more time."
"Well, we will just see if you and the commissioner can't stay for dinner," Alfred decided. He looked at me as if expecting I would protest, but I just shrugged. I didn't mind Barbara staying.
Alfred left, but I got the feeling he hadn't gone far, probably listening right outside the door. Oh, sure, he could do that, but when I listen, I get lectured about eavesdropping. And what does he think I'm going to do? I see Barbara everyday at school, and if I wanted to be mean to her, I could do it there as well as here.
"Hey," Barbara set her glass of lemonade down on the coaster, "so you know, the Halloween Dance is coming up, right?"
"Yeah," I nodded.
"The thirty-first?" she prompted. "Halloween night in the gym? Everyone dressed up in costumes?"
"So?" I shrugged.
"Come on, Dick! Do you want to go?"
"No, but Bruce will make me," I grumbled.
"No, dingbat," she rolled her eyes, "do you want to go with me?"
I thought I heard something bump in the hall, but I ignored it. "Just the two of us?"
"And Pamela," Barbara added. When I started to scowl, she protested, 'Oh, don't be like that. She's my best friend. We could all go together, the three of us. We could be the three Musketeers."
"You're girls," I pointed out though I really didn't mind the idea.
"We could wear the real costumes. And carry swords, real swords. And Pam will probably find someone to go with, too, but we could all ride together. Maybe you could ask Bruce if we could ride in the limo . . ."
"You just want me for the limo?" I demanded.
"Come on," Barbara insisted. "I want to go with you, Dick."
"Why?" I asked bluntly.
"Because we're friends and I know you'll be fun to go with," Barbara ran a hand through her reddish hair. "What do you want me to say? You're cooler than the other losers in our class, and we could have fun hanging out. What's your deal?"
I was shocked. Barbara thought I was cool?
"But yesterday everyone laughed at me," I objected.
"Yeah, 'cause you were goofing off," Barbara said, completely honest. "You knew the answer in math and you were obviously bored so you started fooling around on the board. And you're the only one who stands up to Mr. Horton. Today he noticed you weren't there and he wanted to know who would be showing him attitude, and no one dared to say a word. But you don't care what people think, unlike all the other morons at our school. So what do you say?"
If she had punched me and knocked me across the room, I couldn't have been more shocked. I had gotten into trouble so much the last two days, been spanked twice, and woken up from a nightmare last night, and Barbara thought I was some kind of cool rebel?
"Don't go on an ego trip," Barbara reached over to gently pop me on the shoulder. "You're still a jerk and an idiot sometimes, and you look really dumb in that blue coat."
I hoped Alfred heard that.
"Yeah, fine, we can go to the stupid dance," I said.
"Cool," Barbara grinned. "Okay, you want to play a game?"
"I thought you wanted to study."
"Nah, that's lame. Let's play a board game. You got Monopoly?"
Two hours later she was about to beat me (she got lucky and landed on all the orange properties her first three times around the board) when Bruce came home. He seemed surprised to see her and even more surprised to see us playing a game together.
"Hi, Mr. Wayne," Barbara smiled at him. "I'm about to cream him. He landed on Tennessee with three hotels."
"Isn't the limit one?" Bruce asked, amused.
"Not the way we play it," Barbara answered. "All right, Dick, you want to mortgage or start giving me your property? I'm thinking about putting a resort on Broadway."
"Call me in five years," Bruce commented. "We may have a place at Wayne Industries for you."
By the time Commissioner Gordon arrived, Barbara had beaten me and insisted on cleaning up the game. "It's only fair," she said as she stacked up the colored money. "The winner wins and they clean up so the loser doesn't feel so bad."
Maybe that's what makes Barbara so great – she has a real strong feeling of honesty and fairness. As we all went into the dining room together, I decided to forget the other day and all the nonsense with Pamela. Barbara was really too cool for grudges.
We had a great dinner, and then the Gordons left, the commissioner saying Barbara needed to work on her gymnastics before she went to sleep. Around nine, I was in my own room, pretending to do homework when I heard footsteps approaching my open door.
". . . absolutely necessary," Alfred was saying in the tone he usually reserves for scolding me. "It is your duty as the guardian, and you cannot escape it, regardless."
"Fine, fine," Bruce agreed, sounding reluctant, "I'll do it."
A moment later, Bruce stepped in my room and shut the door. "Dick, I need to talk to you."
I jerked my head up. "I didn't do anything," I protested. "I mean, I did turn the TV on, but Alfred came in and turned it off, and I only watched like five minutes and nothing bad."
"You're not into trouble," Bruce held up a hand.
"Then why do you want to talk to me?" I still felt panicky.
"Every time I want to talk you, you aren't in trouble."
"Yes, I am."
"Then shape up and stop getting into so much trouble," Bruce said shortly, getting irritated. A cough sounded outside the door, and Bruce sighed and said in a calmer voice,
"Okay, you're not in trouble tonight. But we need to talk about something very important."
"What?" I asked suspiciously.
Bruce shifted awkwardly, almost crossing his arms and then dropping them loosely by his side before answering, "Sex."