Alone in a Way

by Weirdness Magnet

July 4, 2006

Summary: Tim's first solo patrol makes Bruce need some closure.

Rating: PG

Continuity: Early in Robin III/Tim Drake's first stint as Robin, when he's living at the mansion.

Title notes: Title from astronaut Michael Collins regarding his solo flight in the Apollo 11 command module: "I knew I was alone in a way that no earthling has ever been before."

Author's notes: Many thanks to saturns_hikari for the beta.


**
Batman sits in the Cave. It's oddly quiet. He isn't drumming his fingers on the console, but he's thinking about it. He's secretly proud at his self-control.

He knows Robin is fine. Nightwing was fine on his first solo patrol. Tim's training was made efficient by time and careful reflection. As a result, he's better prepared than other Robins have been.

Batman does not drum his fingers on the console.

Robin should have been back thirty-three seconds ago. He is not concerned. The red dot on the screen paused for nearly five minutes in an alley near the waterfront. Robin has almost made up the lost time. He makes a mental note to remind Tim to check in on the communicators if there's been a significant delay.

There is always the possibility that Robin wasn't able to check in. Damaged communicator or injury. Batman restocked the first aid supplies this morning. Though the Cave is as well-equipped as any field hospital, like a field surgeon he knows that being prepared for casualties does not make treating them any simpler.

He knows there will be injuries. On a Robin's first patrol alone, there always are.

The computer alerts him as Robin passes each security checkpoint. Robin moves steadily from one to the next, indicating that if he *is* injured, the wounds are not severe enough to slow him down. Batman debates whether to turn the chair around and steeple his fingers to watch Robin as he enters, or if he should remain facing the console. The first would indicate he was waiting, which Tim could read as disapproval or an impending criticism; the latter could convey that he has faith enough in Robin to know his first solo would go smoothly, but Tim might read it as cold.

He slowly swivels the chair when he hears Robin's footsteps on the Cave floor.

"How did it go?" Batman doesn't really need to ask. Every part of Robin is grinning, except his face.

"It was fine. No problems."

"What happened in the alley off 16th?"

The eyebrow quirk is the Robin-equivalent of a half-shrug. "Attempted rape. I stayed with her until the police arrived."

Batman nods his approval and rises. "Any injuries?"

"One broken arm, but the rest were just bruises. I was careful." Robin blinks at Batman's expression. "Oh. You meant *me*. Um. Just a couple of cuts."

"Let me see."

Tim sheds the armor differently than Jason did on his first night alone. Jason practically tore off the suit and showed off his injuries like badges of honor. Tim turns his left side away as he undresses, trying to conceal his injuries. He's also trying and failing to hide the leftover adrenaline rush.

Flying. The first time flying alone always does that to a Robin.

Batman gently takes Tim's shoulders and turns him. There are numerous bruises that will vanish by morning, and a few cuts. One nastier one on his ribcage will leave a scar. Batman sits him on the gurney and opens the suture kit.

"I didn't think it was that bad," Tim says, eyeing it.

"Two stitches. Four if you don't want it to scar."

"Two's fine."

Batman compromises and gives him three. There are people at Tim's school who might notice, though Tim's skill at lying has improved to the point where he could successfully explain it away.

Still. Tim's skin should remain pale and unmarked for as long as possible. Tim will have his share of scars, soon enough. Right now his skin is a blank slate, to be marked by anything Batman decides to put him through.

Anything Batman decides Tim can *endure*.

Tim has endured much, even at this early stage of his training. The boy shows potential, and it's tempting -- all too tempting -- to give him more responsibility now, to let him run with it and see him succeed. The temptation is dangerous. But...

It's awfully hard not to give in to it, not when he comes in from his first solo patrol with only minor injuries and *glowing* with adrenaline and exhilaration.

And Batman has to swallow pride and amusement with Tim practically *bouncing* and telling him about flying alone.

"Swinging on a jump line is different when I'm not with you. It's like... I shot off the grapple, and I know it was a solid lock, but I was still... I've flown the jump lines a thousand times with you, but I couldn't help wondering if *this* was the one time the grapple wouldn't hold."

"But you took a breath, and jumped off the building anyway." Batman makes another stitch. Tim doesn't even flinch.

"Yeah," Tim's eyes glitter. "Being nervous makes the flying *better*."

"The nervousness will fade." Batman ties off the end and clips it close. He straightens up and rests a gauntleted hand lightly on Tim's shoulder. "Good work tonight. Get cleaned up. Alfred left dinner upstairs."

**

Bruce makes sure Tim is asleep and Alfred has safely retired to his rooms before going to his own. The mansion is quiet and still, and through the enormous windows he can see hints of dawn on the horizon. It's neither day nor night, but a gray space in between.

He moves through his room to a section of his closet, just beyond a row of suits no longer fashionable enough to wear but, according to Alfred's frugal sensibilities, too recently purchased to go to charity. It's a part of the closet for forgotten things.

The drawer is designed to securely house a rich person's prized possessions. There are several security codes to unlock the lead-lined container. It is hermetically sealed, protecting the contents from moisture, insects, and decay. It's similar to the design used for coffins. Bruce's fingers tap the access codes without thinking. The drawer makes a hiss as it opens.

The scent hits him before he can lift the pillow out of the drawer. He tries not to inhale deeply before he reaches the bed. He needs to sit down for this.

He sits on the bed, arranging his legs so there is room left at the foot. The pillow spreads across his lap. He lifts it to his face and allows himself to smell it. It still smells like...

Jason.

The apparition perches on the foot of the bed in full Robin costume and smirks at Bruce over steepled fingers.

Hi.

He's not really here, Bruce tells himself. It's what he always tells himself when they have these conversations.

It hasn't actually stopped the conversations from occurring, however.

What's up?

"There's something you should know," he says aloud. It comes out too loud in the empty room.

I figured that much. Jason shifts, crossing his ankles and resting his elbows on his knees. The smirk shifts to curiosity.

It's hard to look at him. Bruce runs his fingers along the edge of the pillow. "I've been training a new Robin." It tumbles out of his mouth but his voice is surprisingly even. He can't look up.

How's he working out? Jason doesn't sound surprised. It's disturbing.

"He's doing well."

Good. You always did need someone to watch your back.

Bruce snorts. "That's what *he* said. 'Batman needs a Robin.'"

He's right.

It's hard not to glower, especially with Jason smirking in that all-too-familiar way. The one where he knows he's got a person figured out and is thinking of just the right way to cause the most damage.

Bruce shuts his eyes against Jason's gaze and digs his fingers into the pillow. He's got to get this over with.

"He's not you," he says finally. "He has potential and he's improving, but... he's not *you*. I wanted you to know that."

Bruce, Jason says, clucking his tongue a little. It's impossible not to look at him, and Jason reaches for him. Bruce anticipates the touch of the gauntlet against his mouth, and he lets his eyes close and lean into it --

"Bruce?"

Tim is in the doorway. Bruce is absolutely certain he locked the door. He notes Tim's improved stealth and lock-picking and mentally schedules him a training session with Batgirl.

"I saw the light on. You okay?"

"Yes."

Tim's eyes fall on Bruce's hands. "Your pillow is ripped."

Jason used to keep a knife under it, Bruce doesn't say. "Yes." He forces himself to loosen his grip on it. It's hard to smell Jason on it over the scent of Tim's soap.

"You want me to get you another one?"

"No," Bruce rises and moves for the closet. "But thank you."

~ end