One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight| Nine | Ten | Eleven | Twelve | Thirteen | Fourteen | Fifteen | Sixteen | Seventeen| Eighteen | Nineteen
The air outside felt almost as still as it had the night Bruce's parents were killed – the slow drizzle of rain that poured down into the gutters and slicked the streets with oily puddles, and how every breath Bruce took tasted like that night. He couldn't really place the feeling, or the shiver that ran down his spine on their arrival at the Gotham Knights Stadium, where The Flying Grayons were performing. A sure sign, as it usually was with his keen sense for trouble, that something was just not quite right. Gordon and the four kids, Babs, Jimmy, Susan and Tim (Jimmy's new friend at school) piled out of the car and stared up at the building in front of them as the photographers gathered around them and began to ask garbled questions that Bruce couldn't hear over the sound of all the other chatter.
So he ignored them, tugging on Jim and Susan's hands to pull them through the crowd, looking back to see that Babs was bringing up the rear with Jimmy and Tim. Jim's hand squeezed his anxiously and Bruce didn't have to ask to know that the older man was worried about the newspaper tomorrow, the rumors that would start from them ignoring every reporter in town, Bruce showing up with the Gordon family with Jim's hand tightly in his. But all that seemed trivial right then, and it could be worse.
Bruce pushed open the door to the VIP entrance, tickets already in hand, sliding them to the man as he passed, following the rows of dimly lit seats to the bottom of the arena where he allowed the children to choose their seats first, not that it mattered – no one would be sitting in front of them. Jim looked at him with impatient eyes.
“These seats are a bit much,” he said to Bruce with gleaming blue eyes that said what he really meant: these seats will get us noticed.
Bruce shook his head and gestured with his hand for Jim to take a seat. “They're perfect, Jim. Relax and enjoy the show.” Bruce sat down next to Gordon, who sighed heavily, rubbing his hands together nervously. Bruce smirked. “The press isn't allowed in here. The Graysons don't allow it.”
Jim settled back into his seat, folding his arms over his chest grumpily. Bruce knew the commissioner hadn't wanted to come to the show, that everyone pretty much made him – sad thing was Bruce was starting to get the feeling that maybe they shouldn't have. That bad feeling was creeping up his spine again as he watched the stage hands prepare the rest of the field for the show, each in a brightly colored spandex suit to match the red, green and yellow theme the Graysons were famous for.
Bruce paid very close attention to every person working behind the scenes. This “bad feeling” was getting the best of him and he hated to be taken by surprise later by something that he should have been able to catch now. Yet there was nothing unusual, nothing awkward that he could tell. And soon the lights dimmed and the three Graysons appeared, perched up high on their poles, bowing to the audience, receiving their applause with grace as they started the show with a spectacular display of flips and somersaults, and dignified trapeze work that put even Bruce into a state of awe as he began to lose himself in their performance.
The show went on, much like one of those Cirque du Soleil shows Bruce had seen once on his travels. The lights were a show of their own as they made the Grayson's appear more fantastic than usual, the loud mystical music that was being pumped through the speakers around them, bringing each person into the show and making them feel each leap and mid air twirl. It was just... beyond graceful.
Bruce noticed that the four kids seemed increasingly content to be watching the show, and even looked a tad disheartened when the finale was announced by the stage mistress, a slender blond with a rather slurred New York accent. For this particular trick the Graysons compromised their safety for the “awe factor”. Bruce clenched the arm of his seat nervously. He felt that chill run down his spine again and he tried to shake it off before the stunt started, but it kept creeping slowly up on him again and again, and he finally made himself take a deep breath. Nothing will happen, nothing will happen... But yet there was that thought, that inkling that he could never ignore...
The mother and father held tight to their bars and both took off from their platforms at the same time. They started through the air gracefully and just as their hands were going to meet, both sets of bars snapped free from their wires, and the two Grayson's began to fall to the ground below.
Bruce jumped quickly to his feet and immediately regretted the action as sharp pain ached in his side at the sudden movement. It was all too late; there was nothing Bruce could have done, or Batman for that matter, to save the couple .The two Graysons fell in a twisted mess on the ground, their legs sprawled in separate directions. Jim was hastily calling 9-1-1 as he led the kids out of the stadium, giving Bruce one of those “don't go anywhere” faces.
The Grayson kid, who looked to be maybe fifteen or sixteen, stood staring down at his parents' lifeless bodies and Bruce just stared at the child and was reminded for the second time that day of his parents and the night they died. An omen, maybe? Something telling Bruce that there was a destined path here, in this stadium – something he had to do? Maybe the boy was the key to something, a piece of some puzzle, or maybe Bruce would be the piece to the boy's puzzle?
Perplexed at the thought, Bruce shook his head. He began to move towards the ladder leading the platform the boy stood on, ignoring the pain that was searing into his chest, the feel of the stitches pulling in his side, as he climbed up the ladder to the young man who stood motionless just above him. He reached the top and the kid had yet to notice that anyone was even near him, lost in his own world, just hoping it was a dream. Bruce knew the feeling well – it was one he had felt over twenty years ago, one he never thought he would feel again, and yet here he was feeling the same pain radiate off this young man. Bruce stood next to the kid and looked down at what he saw below him: two sprawled bodies, necks broken, legs possibly broken, and certainly dead. There was no doubt when the paramedics had run up that the couple was already dead – an immediate death on contact with the ground.
Bruce placed his hand on the young man's shoulder. “Why don't you come down?” Bruce kept his tone even, soft, and tried not to alarm the kid.
“Not yet,” the boy whispered. Bruce felt it in the pit of his stomach, the anguish erupting from the core of the boy's voice.
“No matter how much you stare, it won't change anything,” Bruce replied, trying to turn the boy around so he could lead him down the ladder, or at least convince him to look him in the eye.
“And how would you know?” the young man asked as he turned to face Bruce, a set of deep blue eyes piercing into Bruce's soul like daggers, weakening a little as the kid recognized Bruce.
“I know,” Bruce stated, and it was then that the boy dropped his head, and looked as though maybe he would cry, but his eyes came back up to meet Bruce's squarely, and there was a neager determination in them to keep from showing his weakness. “Why don't you come down.” Not a question, more of a suggestion and the kid nodded slowly, allowing Bruce to head down first and following after him.
Bruce dropped his last foot to the ground and he felt a pair of hands on him; he looked down to see Jim there, helping him. James Gordon, the man who had helped him the night his parents were killed, and now Bruce was that man for another kid whose parents had met an untimely accident.
“Thanks,” Bruce said quietly, and then Jim reached up to help the young man down as well, Bruce standing at his other side. “Your name is Richard, isn't it?” he asked as he and Jim ushered the kid away from the scene.
“Yes,” Richard said. Bruce stared at Jim, who was already staring back at Bruce. Gerard Stephens was the first of the emergency response team of detectives to show up. He approached them and sighed knowingly, shaking his head.
Bruce sat Richard down on one of the seats near the performing area, but far enough away that he wouldn't be bothered and wouldn't see anything. His head was dropped low, eyes distant again, so far away. Bruce pulled Jim aside for a second and looked him squarely in the eye.
“He's going to need somewhere to stay.”
Jim started to shake his head. “No. Bruce, they'll find him a good foster home and some help. Maybe he has some family. You do not need a teenager running around Wayne Manor.”
Bruce cocked an eyebrow at him. “Just like you didn't need a teenager running around your apartment?”
“That's different! Babs is family, one way or another she'd be left to me.” Gordon sighed and slumped his shoulders, glancing at his shoes for a moment. “Bruce...”
Bruce took a hold of Gordon's shoulders. “I'm not talking forever, Jim. Just until the courts sort things out. He's vulnerable right now, scared. He could use someone to talk to, a few comforting words...”
“And you're going to give him those?” Gordon questioned as he looked back up, eyes locking with Bruce's to see the need there, the desire to help someone in a way he didn't usually.
“I think it would be better coming from someone who has gone through something similar,” Bruce stated as he let go of Gordon's shoulder, sighing. “It's not easy.”
“No. No it's not. I'll see what I can do.”
------
Bruce wasn't even surprised when Jim somehow managed to convince the social worker assigned to young Richard Grayson to let the kid stay at Wayne Manor instead of being cooped up at the police station all night. Of course there was the promise that Jim to bring Richard back in the morning for meetings and questioning by the detectives at the station. Apparently, after some time at the scene of the “accident”, Stephens and newly-hired Renee Montoya had found evidence of tampering with the wires and ropes connected to the bars of the trapeze. They were now looking at a possible murder, and it made Bruce feel even more inclined to take the young teen under his wing. Of course Jim had some worries about that, too.
“Look, it's one thing to have Babs look up to you. But when you bring some teenage boy into the equation it makes things a little more difficult. You can't be to this kid what Alfred was to you, Bruce. You're hardly qualified to be a parent, you have insane nightly activities that would keep you from helping him with his homework, and your reputation for being a blatant, playboy asshole doesn't help matters much either. The social worker is never going to allow Richard to live here, let alone as your foster child,” Jim explained. He had his hands on his hips, bringing one up every now and then to emphasize his point, glaring at Bruce mindfully through the lenses of his glasses. Bruce stood with his arms crossed over his chest, standing his ground and returning the commissioner's intense glare.
“Things would have to change a little, but I could do it,” Bruce said simply, his voice a lot softer than he had intended it to be; he couldn't seem to find the means to be angry with Jim, who was just voicing his concerns.
Jim shook his head again, bits of hair falling over his forehead and into his eyes. “Bruce... you have no idea what being a parent is like. It's not going to be rainbows and sunshine everyday. A teenage boy is going to cause you so much grief.”
Bruce smirked; he knew all about being a teenage boy and causing grief. Alfred never let him live down the fact that Bruce was the devil's child from the age of twelve to about seventeen, when he finally left for college. Bruce knew that, he had never made anything easy for Alfred, and a lot of that was due to still being depressed and confused over his parents' death. Looking back, he'd do it differently if he could, and maybe that was one reason he wanted to help Richard Grayson.
And yet for once he didn't know what to say to Jim, how to explain that he could do this, that this was something he needed – that Richard would need. He didn't want to be a father, he just wanted to be the guiding hand for someone like Alfred was for him; to know what it's like on the other side for once instead of the one being felt sorry for. He held Jim's gaze a bit longer, a little annoyed that the older man didn't believe Bruce could make the appropriate changes. It wouldn't be hard. In fact, Bruce had been thinking about his cover-up for quite a while, and even though it worked very well, he really felt it was time to at least change it up a little bit. Maybe even convince Jim to finally let their relationship be known and stop hiding that too.
Oh, but the relationship might just hinder him getting guardianship of Richard, as well. The policy in Gotham on same sex couples was lenient, but a man who would most likely come off as gay – though Bruce hardly considered himself this, thinking of himself merelyas a man who found another man whose soul mate happened to be a man – would never be allowed custody of a teenage boy. Frustrating was the first word to come to mind when he thought about it.
Most of all, he felt let down. He had thought that maybe Jim, of all people, would understand where Bruce was coming from and trust that he could do this. Bruce had thought that Jim had more faith in him. Bruce sighed heavily as he let his gaze fall away from the older man's. With or without Jim Gordon's help, Bruce would get custody of Richard Grayson.
“I think you underestimate what I'm capable of doing,” Bruce said as he walked out of the room. He wanted Jim to know that he was done with the conversation, that one way or another he would get his way. And, knowing Jim, he would either start to feel bad and trail after him to apologize, or he would gather up Babs, Jimmy and Susan and head back to his place and let Bruce stew on it a while; Bruce would be forced to apologize first and admit to Jim that he was right and the billionaire was wrong. Except Bruce wasn't going to crack this time.
He heard the soft footsteps of worn shoes behind him. “Bruce, please stop.” Bruce placed his hands in his pockets as he turned around slowly to meet Jim's gaze once more. Jim's lips were slightly parted and his eyes unfocused, as if he was trying to find the words. Bruce raised an eyebrow at him to continue.
“You really want to do this? He's a teenage boy. They have hormones and attitudes and...” Jim trailed off again nodding his head a bit as he tried to find a better description. “... he's a teenage boy,” he repeated in a tone that suggested he was really worried about that part the most.
“So you've said. Anything else you'd care to inform me of that I didn't know?” Bruce asked with a hint of sarcasm in his voice. He watched as Jim squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to ground himself against Bruce's teasing.
“I don't think you're taking this seriously enough,” Jim explained. Bruce couldn't help but scoff at him.
“I take everything seriously,” Bruce said through a frown. He took another deep breath. “Look, Jim. I know that you're worried about Babs and the 'influence' I've inadvertently had on her, but do you really think that would be my intention for Richard? I've told you before, I don't wish the life I have on anyone.”
“You don't, but unfortunately for Richard his life is about to become the same as yours. Bruce his parents just died right in front of him. Someone murdered them. Remember how you felt that night? He's not going to be same.”
Bruce considered this carefully, Jim was right after all – Richard was just like Bruce now, and there was no changing that. But maybe if Bruce intervened, the teen wouldn't end up taking the path Bruce did.
“And that's why I need to do this,” Bruce said sincerely, and this time Jim nodded slowly, a renewed sense of understanding in his eyes. Bruce could feel the tension that had been thick in air between them fade, and slowly things settled around them.
“It's going to take some work, a lot of convincing and a hell of a donation to the social services office.” Jim smiled at him, half kidding of course, but Bruce could tell that a lot of that was true; it was going to take a lot of work to become Richard's legal guardian.
“Anything worth having takes a little effort.”
So he ignored them, tugging on Jim and Susan's hands to pull them through the crowd, looking back to see that Babs was bringing up the rear with Jimmy and Tim. Jim's hand squeezed his anxiously and Bruce didn't have to ask to know that the older man was worried about the newspaper tomorrow, the rumors that would start from them ignoring every reporter in town, Bruce showing up with the Gordon family with Jim's hand tightly in his. But all that seemed trivial right then, and it could be worse.
Bruce pushed open the door to the VIP entrance, tickets already in hand, sliding them to the man as he passed, following the rows of dimly lit seats to the bottom of the arena where he allowed the children to choose their seats first, not that it mattered – no one would be sitting in front of them. Jim looked at him with impatient eyes.
“These seats are a bit much,” he said to Bruce with gleaming blue eyes that said what he really meant: these seats will get us noticed.
Bruce shook his head and gestured with his hand for Jim to take a seat. “They're perfect, Jim. Relax and enjoy the show.” Bruce sat down next to Gordon, who sighed heavily, rubbing his hands together nervously. Bruce smirked. “The press isn't allowed in here. The Graysons don't allow it.”
Jim settled back into his seat, folding his arms over his chest grumpily. Bruce knew the commissioner hadn't wanted to come to the show, that everyone pretty much made him – sad thing was Bruce was starting to get the feeling that maybe they shouldn't have. That bad feeling was creeping up his spine again as he watched the stage hands prepare the rest of the field for the show, each in a brightly colored spandex suit to match the red, green and yellow theme the Graysons were famous for.
Bruce paid very close attention to every person working behind the scenes. This “bad feeling” was getting the best of him and he hated to be taken by surprise later by something that he should have been able to catch now. Yet there was nothing unusual, nothing awkward that he could tell. And soon the lights dimmed and the three Graysons appeared, perched up high on their poles, bowing to the audience, receiving their applause with grace as they started the show with a spectacular display of flips and somersaults, and dignified trapeze work that put even Bruce into a state of awe as he began to lose himself in their performance.
The show went on, much like one of those Cirque du Soleil shows Bruce had seen once on his travels. The lights were a show of their own as they made the Grayson's appear more fantastic than usual, the loud mystical music that was being pumped through the speakers around them, bringing each person into the show and making them feel each leap and mid air twirl. It was just... beyond graceful.
Bruce noticed that the four kids seemed increasingly content to be watching the show, and even looked a tad disheartened when the finale was announced by the stage mistress, a slender blond with a rather slurred New York accent. For this particular trick the Graysons compromised their safety for the “awe factor”. Bruce clenched the arm of his seat nervously. He felt that chill run down his spine again and he tried to shake it off before the stunt started, but it kept creeping slowly up on him again and again, and he finally made himself take a deep breath. Nothing will happen, nothing will happen... But yet there was that thought, that inkling that he could never ignore...
The mother and father held tight to their bars and both took off from their platforms at the same time. They started through the air gracefully and just as their hands were going to meet, both sets of bars snapped free from their wires, and the two Grayson's began to fall to the ground below.
Bruce jumped quickly to his feet and immediately regretted the action as sharp pain ached in his side at the sudden movement. It was all too late; there was nothing Bruce could have done, or Batman for that matter, to save the couple .The two Graysons fell in a twisted mess on the ground, their legs sprawled in separate directions. Jim was hastily calling 9-1-1 as he led the kids out of the stadium, giving Bruce one of those “don't go anywhere” faces.
The Grayson kid, who looked to be maybe fifteen or sixteen, stood staring down at his parents' lifeless bodies and Bruce just stared at the child and was reminded for the second time that day of his parents and the night they died. An omen, maybe? Something telling Bruce that there was a destined path here, in this stadium – something he had to do? Maybe the boy was the key to something, a piece of some puzzle, or maybe Bruce would be the piece to the boy's puzzle?
Perplexed at the thought, Bruce shook his head. He began to move towards the ladder leading the platform the boy stood on, ignoring the pain that was searing into his chest, the feel of the stitches pulling in his side, as he climbed up the ladder to the young man who stood motionless just above him. He reached the top and the kid had yet to notice that anyone was even near him, lost in his own world, just hoping it was a dream. Bruce knew the feeling well – it was one he had felt over twenty years ago, one he never thought he would feel again, and yet here he was feeling the same pain radiate off this young man. Bruce stood next to the kid and looked down at what he saw below him: two sprawled bodies, necks broken, legs possibly broken, and certainly dead. There was no doubt when the paramedics had run up that the couple was already dead – an immediate death on contact with the ground.
Bruce placed his hand on the young man's shoulder. “Why don't you come down?” Bruce kept his tone even, soft, and tried not to alarm the kid.
“Not yet,” the boy whispered. Bruce felt it in the pit of his stomach, the anguish erupting from the core of the boy's voice.
“No matter how much you stare, it won't change anything,” Bruce replied, trying to turn the boy around so he could lead him down the ladder, or at least convince him to look him in the eye.
“And how would you know?” the young man asked as he turned to face Bruce, a set of deep blue eyes piercing into Bruce's soul like daggers, weakening a little as the kid recognized Bruce.
“I know,” Bruce stated, and it was then that the boy dropped his head, and looked as though maybe he would cry, but his eyes came back up to meet Bruce's squarely, and there was a neager determination in them to keep from showing his weakness. “Why don't you come down.” Not a question, more of a suggestion and the kid nodded slowly, allowing Bruce to head down first and following after him.
Bruce dropped his last foot to the ground and he felt a pair of hands on him; he looked down to see Jim there, helping him. James Gordon, the man who had helped him the night his parents were killed, and now Bruce was that man for another kid whose parents had met an untimely accident.
“Thanks,” Bruce said quietly, and then Jim reached up to help the young man down as well, Bruce standing at his other side. “Your name is Richard, isn't it?” he asked as he and Jim ushered the kid away from the scene.
“Yes,” Richard said. Bruce stared at Jim, who was already staring back at Bruce. Gerard Stephens was the first of the emergency response team of detectives to show up. He approached them and sighed knowingly, shaking his head.
Bruce sat Richard down on one of the seats near the performing area, but far enough away that he wouldn't be bothered and wouldn't see anything. His head was dropped low, eyes distant again, so far away. Bruce pulled Jim aside for a second and looked him squarely in the eye.
“He's going to need somewhere to stay.”
Jim started to shake his head. “No. Bruce, they'll find him a good foster home and some help. Maybe he has some family. You do not need a teenager running around Wayne Manor.”
Bruce cocked an eyebrow at him. “Just like you didn't need a teenager running around your apartment?”
“That's different! Babs is family, one way or another she'd be left to me.” Gordon sighed and slumped his shoulders, glancing at his shoes for a moment. “Bruce...”
Bruce took a hold of Gordon's shoulders. “I'm not talking forever, Jim. Just until the courts sort things out. He's vulnerable right now, scared. He could use someone to talk to, a few comforting words...”
“And you're going to give him those?” Gordon questioned as he looked back up, eyes locking with Bruce's to see the need there, the desire to help someone in a way he didn't usually.
“I think it would be better coming from someone who has gone through something similar,” Bruce stated as he let go of Gordon's shoulder, sighing. “It's not easy.”
“No. No it's not. I'll see what I can do.”
------
Bruce wasn't even surprised when Jim somehow managed to convince the social worker assigned to young Richard Grayson to let the kid stay at Wayne Manor instead of being cooped up at the police station all night. Of course there was the promise that Jim to bring Richard back in the morning for meetings and questioning by the detectives at the station. Apparently, after some time at the scene of the “accident”, Stephens and newly-hired Renee Montoya had found evidence of tampering with the wires and ropes connected to the bars of the trapeze. They were now looking at a possible murder, and it made Bruce feel even more inclined to take the young teen under his wing. Of course Jim had some worries about that, too.
“Look, it's one thing to have Babs look up to you. But when you bring some teenage boy into the equation it makes things a little more difficult. You can't be to this kid what Alfred was to you, Bruce. You're hardly qualified to be a parent, you have insane nightly activities that would keep you from helping him with his homework, and your reputation for being a blatant, playboy asshole doesn't help matters much either. The social worker is never going to allow Richard to live here, let alone as your foster child,” Jim explained. He had his hands on his hips, bringing one up every now and then to emphasize his point, glaring at Bruce mindfully through the lenses of his glasses. Bruce stood with his arms crossed over his chest, standing his ground and returning the commissioner's intense glare.
“Things would have to change a little, but I could do it,” Bruce said simply, his voice a lot softer than he had intended it to be; he couldn't seem to find the means to be angry with Jim, who was just voicing his concerns.
Jim shook his head again, bits of hair falling over his forehead and into his eyes. “Bruce... you have no idea what being a parent is like. It's not going to be rainbows and sunshine everyday. A teenage boy is going to cause you so much grief.”
Bruce smirked; he knew all about being a teenage boy and causing grief. Alfred never let him live down the fact that Bruce was the devil's child from the age of twelve to about seventeen, when he finally left for college. Bruce knew that, he had never made anything easy for Alfred, and a lot of that was due to still being depressed and confused over his parents' death. Looking back, he'd do it differently if he could, and maybe that was one reason he wanted to help Richard Grayson.
And yet for once he didn't know what to say to Jim, how to explain that he could do this, that this was something he needed – that Richard would need. He didn't want to be a father, he just wanted to be the guiding hand for someone like Alfred was for him; to know what it's like on the other side for once instead of the one being felt sorry for. He held Jim's gaze a bit longer, a little annoyed that the older man didn't believe Bruce could make the appropriate changes. It wouldn't be hard. In fact, Bruce had been thinking about his cover-up for quite a while, and even though it worked very well, he really felt it was time to at least change it up a little bit. Maybe even convince Jim to finally let their relationship be known and stop hiding that too.
Oh, but the relationship might just hinder him getting guardianship of Richard, as well. The policy in Gotham on same sex couples was lenient, but a man who would most likely come off as gay – though Bruce hardly considered himself this, thinking of himself merelyas a man who found another man whose soul mate happened to be a man – would never be allowed custody of a teenage boy. Frustrating was the first word to come to mind when he thought about it.
Most of all, he felt let down. He had thought that maybe Jim, of all people, would understand where Bruce was coming from and trust that he could do this. Bruce had thought that Jim had more faith in him. Bruce sighed heavily as he let his gaze fall away from the older man's. With or without Jim Gordon's help, Bruce would get custody of Richard Grayson.
“I think you underestimate what I'm capable of doing,” Bruce said as he walked out of the room. He wanted Jim to know that he was done with the conversation, that one way or another he would get his way. And, knowing Jim, he would either start to feel bad and trail after him to apologize, or he would gather up Babs, Jimmy and Susan and head back to his place and let Bruce stew on it a while; Bruce would be forced to apologize first and admit to Jim that he was right and the billionaire was wrong. Except Bruce wasn't going to crack this time.
He heard the soft footsteps of worn shoes behind him. “Bruce, please stop.” Bruce placed his hands in his pockets as he turned around slowly to meet Jim's gaze once more. Jim's lips were slightly parted and his eyes unfocused, as if he was trying to find the words. Bruce raised an eyebrow at him to continue.
“You really want to do this? He's a teenage boy. They have hormones and attitudes and...” Jim trailed off again nodding his head a bit as he tried to find a better description. “... he's a teenage boy,” he repeated in a tone that suggested he was really worried about that part the most.
“So you've said. Anything else you'd care to inform me of that I didn't know?” Bruce asked with a hint of sarcasm in his voice. He watched as Jim squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to ground himself against Bruce's teasing.
“I don't think you're taking this seriously enough,” Jim explained. Bruce couldn't help but scoff at him.
“I take everything seriously,” Bruce said through a frown. He took another deep breath. “Look, Jim. I know that you're worried about Babs and the 'influence' I've inadvertently had on her, but do you really think that would be my intention for Richard? I've told you before, I don't wish the life I have on anyone.”
“You don't, but unfortunately for Richard his life is about to become the same as yours. Bruce his parents just died right in front of him. Someone murdered them. Remember how you felt that night? He's not going to be same.”
Bruce considered this carefully, Jim was right after all – Richard was just like Bruce now, and there was no changing that. But maybe if Bruce intervened, the teen wouldn't end up taking the path Bruce did.
“And that's why I need to do this,” Bruce said sincerely, and this time Jim nodded slowly, a renewed sense of understanding in his eyes. Bruce could feel the tension that had been thick in air between them fade, and slowly things settled around them.
“It's going to take some work, a lot of convincing and a hell of a donation to the social services office.” Jim smiled at him, half kidding of course, but Bruce could tell that a lot of that was true; it was going to take a lot of work to become Richard's legal guardian.
“Anything worth having takes a little effort.”