Number 4 of the Young Dick Grayson Series.

Dick is eight years old and this is happening approximately nine days before his first Christmas at the manor. This is how "I" imagined the big reveal to have happened.

WARNING: STRONG Language . . . (Bad guys = Bad Language)

Christmas wasn't very far away. This year was a bit of a challenge as Alfred had someone new to buy for, but it wasn't what to get their new addition that was the problem, but what to do with him while the shopping and other errands needed to be done.

Alfred sighed as he loaded several packages, wrapped in brown paper and string, into the trunk of the Bentley. Several of the gifts were to his family still in England: his aging mother, an aunt, a handful of cousins, and their offspring. He needed to mail the gifts today if he hoped to have them to arrive before the holidays. That meant taking young Master Richard with him, not that the boy was any trouble. He was, for the most part, obedient and polite. More obedient, truth be told, than a certain playboy billionaire had been at that age, Alfred snorted softly.

No, the young master wasn't the problem.

Anthony Zucco was the problem. The villain was still at large and, as such, the contract that the despicable creature had placed on the boy's head was still in effect. Taking Master Richard off of the estate was risky and the danger was real. Already, one intrepid, would-be assassin had managed to learn of the boy's whereabouts and taken advantage of an unknown chink in the wall that surrounded the estate to come after the boy. It was only sheer luck that a family wolf pack had chosen the grounds as its home and, when the two had stumbled into their den, the large, black male had attacked and killed the hitman. That it hadn't attacked Master Richard was astounding, but that it had allowed Master Bruce to retrieve the child was nothing short of miraculous.

But luck had the unfortunate tendency to run out eventually. The hitman hadn't chosen to share his information, keeping it to himself rather than invite potential rivals who might have claimed his prize ahead of him. But it was a risk every time Master Richard was exposed to public scrutiny. The paparazzi recognized most of Master Bruce's vehicles and had seen Alfred often enough to wonder at the presence of a small child. Once Master Richard was eventually spotted, and then connected to the famous billionaire, it would become a feeding frenzy; a media circus the likes of which the boy had never chanced to witness.

Indeed, several of the reporters were like sharks and, once they had smelled blood, would latch onto a story and worry it in their teeth for all they were worth . . . which, Alfred thought with a sniff, wasn't worth all that much.

But eight years old wasn't nearly old enough to remain in this huge old house alone while Alfred attended his errands. So, he chose the Bentley because of the privacy of its tinted windows. Master Richard could remain safely ensconced within the vehicle as Alfred went swiftly through his list of things he needed to accomplish. With some forethought and a little luck, no one would ever see the boy to wonder who he was or how he might be connected to the Wayne name and fortune.

If only Master Bruce weren't busy with back-to-back, year-end meetings, but with several of his vice presidents and board directors planning to be out of town for the next few weeks, there were important decisions needing to be made concerning acquisitions and within the R&D department now. He simply could not get away long enough for Alfred to be able to complete all of his tasks.

Thus Master Richard was being buckled into his booster seat in the rear of the vehicle at ten thirty-five in the morning.

"What's that you have there, young sir?" Alfred eyed the colorful cube in the boy's hands.

Richard held up the cube for Alfred's inspection. It was covered in little squares of varying colors.

"It's called a Rubik's Cube, Alfred," Master Richard explained. "Uncle Jack . . . That's Mr. Haley, the circus owner . . . He gave it to me last summer. It's a puzzle. You can twist and turn the rows of the cube in different directions in order to line each side with a solid color."

"Indeed?" Alfred eyed the cube with renewed interest.

"You have to get all six sides a different color at the same time." Dick demonstrated how the cube moved.

"Fascinating," Alfred remarked, giving the seat belt a final tug to ensure it fit snugly. "You brought it to entertain yourself, I take it?"

He nodded. "I'm not that good at it yet. I can get two sides a solid color, but I hate messing them up to try to do the rest of the sides. Bob, one of the clowns, could do it though in just a few minutes. He made it look so easy, but . . ." Richard leaned over, speaking to the butler in a confidential manner, "it's not really."

Alfred felt his lips twitch. Only a few weeks ago, Master Richard refused to speak of his life in the circus. In truth, the boy barely spoke at all so grief-stricken was he at the death of his parents. The child he saw now, while Alfred suspected was still somewhat subdued, appeared a different creature altogether. He chatted easily now, was friendly, and smiled more often, especially after Master Bruce had arranged for a private tour of the zoo for him. Definitely, he was a social boy. But, Christmas was just around the bend and the butler feared what the holidays would do to the fragile happiness that they had worked so hard to cultivate.

Alfred climbed into the front seat, fastening his own seatbelt. "I will endeavor to complete my tasks post haste, young sir," he told him, looking at the boy through the rear view mirror. "Once we begin to cross the bridge into Gotham proper, I will need to raise the privacy window between us."

Richard tilted his head. "Why? I like talking to you."

"As I do you, Master Richard." Alfred nodded to acknowledge the compliment. "But, you must remember that you are in danger every time we leave the manor grounds. Only three people besides ourselves know of your whereabouts and we wish to keep it that way for a while longer."

The boy's expression grew serious. "So, he won't find out."

"Exactly so, I'm afraid," Alfred admitted as he neared the front gate. "The less people that know where you are, the safer you will be."

Alfred watched the child swallow hard, but his eyes were harder, like blue shards.

"I'm not afraid of him, you know," Richard stated firmly. "I want to meet him again. I want him to pay for what he did."

"It isn't only Mr. Zucco that we need to worry about, you realize." Alfred felt compelled to explain. "Master Wayne is quite the celebrity here in Gotham City . . ."

"Because he's so rich," Richard nodded sagely.

"There is that," the butler agreed, "but being so famous means that people notice when his vehicles are seen about town. They are curious as to what he is up to, you see, and for the reporters, this makes for a tidy bit of gossip for their society page. Should you be seen, the paparazzi would quite literally lose their wits in an effort to learn who and what you are to him. Speculations would run rampant and it would be all over the news. I fear that anyone looking for you would know exactly where to find you once that happened."

"What are speculations?"

"When one speculates, it simply means that one is guessing or making up theories without all the facts to back them. Unfortunately, in the gossip columns, society is far more interested in speculations than they are in the truth," Alfred told him.

Richard dropped his puzzle cube onto his lap and chewed his lip as he stared at the passing scenery.

"What concerns you, Master Richard?" Alfred asked the boy. "You don't need to worry about your safety while staying at the manor. You will be as safe as the crown jewels. Master Bruce would never allow anything to happen to you," he promised.

The boy shook his head, his expression far too serious to belong on the face of one so young. After a long moment, Richard turned his head and met Alfred's gaze in the rear view mirror.

"Will they find him, do you think?"

The butler didn't have to ask to know of whom Master Richard was speaking.

"Everyone is doing everything they can," he assured him.

Alfred turned his eyes back to the road, wishing he could do more to reassure the boy, but Master Bruce's secrets were his own. It wouldn't do to tell a child so young about them, especially since his time with them was still so uncertain. Master Bruce had already began enquiries into the process of making the boy's stay with them permanent; something over which the butler continued to have some reservations. In fact, the word 'forever' had even entered the conversation he had had with Master Bruce about the boy just the other day.

Alfred sighed. As fond as he was growing of the young sir, he was uncertain that such an action was truly in the child's best interest. Earlier this week, Master Richard had fought off a terrible cough and fever from being caught out in the freezing rain. Master Batman's patrol had been called off that first night, and the bruises he had sported at the end of the second night bespoke of a man distracted during times when he should not. He did not tell Master Bruce that the boy had spent part of the second evening asking for him. To do so would have only added guilt to Batman's otherwise overburdened shoulders and made him more reckless still.

As they neared the bridge, Alfred hit the switch to raise the privacy window between the front and rear seats. He touched the intercom.

"Master Richard," he spoke normally, the intercom's microphone was sensitive to pick up his voice easily. "If you look at the panel above your head, you will see a white button. Pushing that button will allow you to speak to me. Do you see it?"

A second later, the child's voice came through the speaker. "Like this? Can you hear me, Alfred?"

"Indeed, I can, young sir," he answered smoothly.

"Can you hear me?" Richard asked again. "Alfred?"

The butler's mouth twitched with amusement. Traffic was still light enough, so he lowered the window between them briefly.

"Master Richard, you only hold the button down when you are talking," he explained patiently. "You must release it if you wish to hear my reply."

Richard's finger jerked back off the button, blushing. "Whoops! Sorry, Alfred," he apologized. "I didn't know."

Alfred smiled reassuringly. "It's quite all right, young sir. No harm done. You are not the first to be confused by the equipment. Practically everyone must be shown the proper procedure at least once."

"Did Bruce?"

"Even Master Bruce . . ." Alfred lied smoothly.

The truth was that Master Bruce had grown up in the lap of luxury and had spent his entire early childhood observing his parents using the intercom, so by the time the boy had grown up enough to use it himself the first time, he was already an old pro – understanding the ins and outs of the car's back seat technology perfectly.

Alfred raised the darkened panel once more.

"Can you hear me now, Alfred?"

"Yes, young sir. I can. Can you hear me now?" The butler pulled out into traffic and onto the bridge that led into the city.

"I can! I did it right!" Richard's excited voice came over the speaker again.

"Indeed, you did. Very good, sir." Alfred praised him. "There is a cooler in the back of the panel in front of you should you get thirsty. I stocked it with water and chocolate milk earlier this morning. The controls to the radio are also above your head. Do you need instructions on how to use it?"

"No sir," Richard told him. "Thank you." ***************************

"It is my job, young sir," Alfred said.

"It was still nice of you," the boy insisted.

Alfred's lips twitched as he made his way to his first stop: the post office. If all went as planned, he and the boy would be back at the manor by lunch.

The woman pulled out of the parking spot just a few yards from the post office. It was nearer the entrance than the parking lot across the street, and Alfred preferred to keep the car and its passenger close by. He quickly turned on his blinker and expertly parallel-parked the Bentley in the vacancy.

Even better, he noticed, was that he was just a few yards from the bank as well, and the dry cleaners was across the street. He could check on the boy, and then proceed to the bank, pick up Master Bruce's dry cleaning, all while keeping the car within visual from the entrances to each establishment. He spoke into the intercom to inform the young master his plans.

"I'll be back to check on you before I go into the next place of business," he explained. He hesitated. "Do you feel at all uncomfortable with that, Master Richard? If so . . ."

Richard's voice came through the speaker. "It's fine, Alfred," the boy told him. "I'll be okay. I have some chocolate milk and my Rubik's Cube to keep me busy. You don't even have to come back to the car between your errands if you don't want to."

Alfred's eyebrow rose on that pronouncement. "I daresay that I do, young sir. Master Bruce would have my head, and rightly so, were I to be so careless with your wellbeing."

"I told you that you could have left me at the manor . . ." Richard reminded him.

"I do believe that we've already had that discussion," Alfred cut him off. "Very well, Master Richard. I will be back as quickly as I can. The post office will likely take the longest, what with this time of year. If I didn't have to have the packages weighed, I could have arranged to have them picked up," he muttered.

The butler was having second thoughts about leaving the boy unattended for the amount of time it would take him.

"I will lock the doors, but leave the vehicle running in order to keep the heat on for you," he announced. The boy was only just now getting over his illness. "Do not unlock the doors for anyone."

"Yes sir," Richard snapped out like a young soldier.

"Hm, very well then."

Alfred moved quickly once he had determined to carry out his plan. After all, he was already here, but he glanced around him a third time as he pulled out his many packages from the trunk. He didn't spot any reporters skulking about, nor did he notice any shady characters.

He was, in all probability, anticipating trouble where there was none.

Enough lollygagging about, he scolded himself as he closed the trunk. He locked the car with his remote and moved quickly in hopes of avoiding unnecessary time in the postal line.

Dick watched Alfred disappear into the post office and then turned back around in his seat. Although the manor was big and roomy, Dick hadn't really wanted to stay there alone for the couple of hours that it would have taken the butler to run his errands. Although he couldn't get out of the car itself, just being able to watch the people scurrying about their business was enough for him for now.

He was still feeling a little tired and weak after being sick, but Dick wasn't about to complain. Had either his guardian or the butler knew this about him, he would have missed his trip to the zoo the day before. As it was, Bruce had ended up carrying him back to the car where he had fallen asleep for the trip back. Dick hadn't even woken up when Bruce had carried him into the manor and up to his room for what turned into a three hour nap. Alfred had held dinner for him and everything.

He had felt a bit guilty at that, but Bruce hadn't appeared to mind in the least.

The privacy window between the seats wasn't completely opaque. Dick had been able to see the back of Alfred's head while he had been driving and pretty well the street beyond. It was like the back windows in that he could see out, but no one could see in. It was kind of fun being able to watch the people passing, but knowing that they couldn't see him in return.

Once or twice someone was curious enough to stare at the car, but they were apparently too busy to do more than glance at the fancy vehicle with its shady windows. He unhooked his seatbelt so that he could see the holiday decorations that adorned the storefronts and the streetlamps better; his toy forgotten momentarily.

Fifteen minutes later, Dick was growing bored. Alfred had yet to emerge from the post office, but Dick had watched as a dozen people had come and gone. He thought the line must be really long.

Sighing, He fiddled with the radio next. Christmas songs were on every station. Dick settled back in his seat and picked up his Rubik's Cube again. He was determined to get three sides this time. The only reason he noticed the car in front of them was because the dark blue sedan had parked in front of a fire hydrant. He frowned. He was only eight, and even Dick knew that you weren't supposed to block the little, stubby, red water-pipe.

Four men climbed out of the car and walked into the bank. He could just see the shape of the driver's head as he remained behind the wheel. At least if there was a fire, the driver was there to pull out of the way. Dick shrugged and turned his attention back to his cube. He would start with red, he decided. One of the colors of Christmas.

Dick's attention was caught when a patrol car slowed and halted in the road next to the blue sedan. He set his toy down once more to watch as the policeman turned on his light and got out of the car. The man in the sedan rolled his window down and the two chatted a moment, and then the driver moved the vehicle. Dick frowned as he wondered how the four men would find their car now.

Abruptly, the door opened and Alfred climbed into the front of the car. He didn't put down the privacy window, however.

"Master Richard," he said through the intercom. "How are you doing? Any problems?"

Dick hit the button. "No sir. No problems. Was there a very long line in the post office, Alfred?"

"Indeed, it was," Alfred told him. "Are you prepared to wait a bit longer or should I postpone my other errands for another day?"

He was getting a little bored, but he didn't want to cause the older man anymore trouble.

"I can wait a little while longer," he offered. He could always go to the gym when they got back to the manor to get out his fidgets.

"Very well then," Alfred said. "I will be back in a few minutes. The rest of my errands shouldn't take as long as the post office did."

Movement caught Dick's eyes just as Alfred opened his door to go. The four men burst out of the bank and stumbled to a halt as they realized their car was no longer waiting for them. The patrol car still sat where it had been as the officer inside finished his report.

They glanced around them hurriedly, and then one of them looked at the Bentley. Dick's eyes widened in alarm as the man pointed at them and pulled out a gun.

"Alfred!" Dick fumbled with the button. "Alfred! Watch out!"

Everything seemed to happen at once. Three of the men ran to the Bentley as the fourth walked over to the patrol car. Dick's mouth dropped open as one of the men knocked on the window of the car and then shot the policeman inside. He then turned and ran toward the Bentley now as well.

While the fourth man shot the policeman, one of the others had come up behind Alfred. Dick's call had distracted the man instead of warning him. Oh no! As Alfred turned back to see what Dick needed, one of the men had grabbed him by the arm and his coat, and threw the older man into the street.

Dick jumped up to see if Alfred was alright, fumbling for the car lock. Alfred had rolled into the middle of traffic! A car had swerved to miss hitting the older man and had rammed into the front of another car in the opposite lane. And then one of the men was climbing into the front seat; hitting the door locks. Before Dick could open the door for himself, all of the doors opened and the robbers were climbing in.

Dick backpedaled to avoid one of the men, only to bump into another getting in behind him. He was trapped in the middle.

"No! Let me out," Dick cried, trying to shove past one of them.

"Whoa! Hey! Mitch, there's a kid in here," the guy behind him yelped.

Mitch, the man who had shot the cop slid into the back seat. He pointed his pistol into Dick's face, making the boy stumble back and fall to the floor. Then he shoved the gun under his jacket and grabbed the boy's arm. Mitch started to lift the boy across his lap, seemingly with the intention of ejecting Dick from the car when sirens could be heard approaching.

"Damn it," he snarled, and shoved Dick back into the middle. "Go! Go!" He banged on the glass partition.

"But the kid?" The other man stared at him.

"He stays," the killer snapped. "The cops are coming and we might need something to negotiate with. He's our insurance policy as of right now."

"Alfred!" Dick cried out to the elder man as Alfred pushed himself into a sitting position on the concrete. Dick attempted to lunge across Mitch's body, but the man blocked his effort with an arm.

The butler's expression was one of shock and alarm.

"Master Richard!" Alfred yelled. "Stop! Let the boy go! Please!" He held a hand out in Dick's direction, but the man with the gun had already slammed the door.

The driver slammed on the gas and the Bentley roared out into traffic; shoving the police car out of their way. Dick was thrown into Mitch's lap by the car's momentum. He shoved the boy back onto the floorboard as the Bentley wound its way recklessly through the snarl of vehicles.

"What the fuck? You shot that cop? Are you crazy?" The man with the leather jacket snapped at him.

Mitch ignored him and waved his weapon in Dick's face. "Stay down, kid, and maybe you'll live long enough to tell your friends about this," he growled at him.

"Take it easy, man. He's just a little kid," the other guy interceded; holding out a calming hand.

"Shut up, Tony! Where the hell did Carl go? Damn it! This all went straight to hell," Mitch shouted.

He banged on the glass partition again. After another minute, the privacy panel slid back into its slot; opening the front to the back once more.

"Chill out, Mitch," the man in the passenger seat said as he turned around. "We did it! We got awa . . .wa- What the hell? Where'd that kid come from?"

The driver's gaze flew to the rearview mirror. "What kid?"

Tony answered. "I don't know. He was in here when we climbed in. Mitch said to keep him in case we needed a hostage."

The guy in the passenger seat, gaped. "Hostage! We weren't going to take any hostages! Why didn't you toss him out with that old guy?"

"Shut up!" Mitch yelled. "Just shut up, Jerry, and let me think! We need to ditch this car as soon as we're in the clear. It stands out like a sore thumb. The cops'll be on us like white on rice if we keep it too long!"

"And locking all those people in the vault? Who's brilliant idea was that?" The driver was shaking his head in frustration. "If those people suffocate, it'll be murder one. And now you've got to add grand theft auto and kidnapping! This was supposed to be a simple bank robbery."

"Don't forget killing a cop," Tony added. "Or did you somehow miss that, Rollie?"

"Y-You killed him?" Rollie, the driver, gaped. "What the hell, man?!"

"Nothing worth doing is simple. Just keep driving another couple of blocks, and then pull into an alley." Mitch ordered.

Jerry dropped his head in his hand. "We are so screwed."

Tony looked down at the boy. "And what do we do with him? Leave him with the car?"

Mitch glared at him. "We take him with us."

"What?" The other three protested. "No way!"

"Just until we're in the clear," Mitch said. "Then we get rid of him. Later, though, after everything dies down. Tony, you're in charge of the kid until then."

"Wait! Why me? I don't know nothing about kids!" Tony argued.

Jerry swung around in his seat. "Nothing is going to die down! You're a cop killer, and we're accessories! And they're not going to stop as long as we have this kid, Mitch. Look at this car? His parents are obviously rich. They're going to have the cops combing Gotham for him."

Rollie laughed as he turned down another street. "Are you kidding? They're not going to stop at all! And after this stunt, I wouldn't be surprised if we got rodent problems, and if that's the case, then I'm thinking that maybe Mitch is right. We should keep him. At least for a little while."

"You're both nuts," Jerry groused, swinging around to face the front. "I want my cut and then I'm out of here."

"You go when I say you can go," Mitch snarled. "Without the kid, if the cops find us, they might come in guns blazing. But with him, they'll negotiate. We can still get out of this."

Rollie leaned forward over the steering wheel and looked up as if expecting something to come swooping down on top of them any minute. "The cops will be the least of our worries," he predicted.

Resigned, Tony looked out the window, muttering. "We're all going to die."

They locked people inside of a vault?

Dick kept his head down and his mouth closed. These men had just killed a policeman, and maybe a bunch of other people, too. He knew without saying that the one named Mitch wouldn't even blink before killing a child.

He should be scared. Dick knew in his head that he should be terrified, but all he could think about was if he died, then there would be no one left to testify against Zucco. If these men killed him, Zucco would get away with murder! His parents' killer would walk free.

He couldn't stay here. He had no reason to believe that after all these men had done today, that they would let him go.

Despite what these men thought, Dick's parents weren't rich; they were dead. Bruce was nice, and he liked living with him a lot, but Dick didn't think he would pull out all the stops to find him. After all, Dick wasn't his son . . . He wasn't anything to the man, really, but a fat lot of trouble.

No, Bruce might feel bad for him, but what could he do? Nothing . . . Nothing, but wait on the police to find him. If Mitch didn't shoot him first.

Dick was under no illusions that Mitch would let him live at the end of this. If these men really thought they were going to die, didn't that mean they didn't have anything to lose? That made them desperate. But then, Dick thought with growing determination, he was feeling a little bit desperate himself.

No, if Dick were going to get out of this, he knew he would have to do it on his own.

Bruce shuffled through the folders laid out in front of him. It wasn't quite noon and already this meeting was feeling interminable. But seven of the ten people in front of him were leaving, some immediately following the meeting, for the next two or three weeks to spend the holidays with family. Certain decisions needed to be made before some of these people became incommunicado.

Normally, Bruce would have been annoyed. He never went anywhere for the holidays and trying to cram two weeks of meetings into one was a headache that seemed unnecessary. Certainly three days was more than enough time to visit with family and friends. He didn't understand why such a fuss was made every year at this time . . .

At least that had been his thoughts on the matter last year.

Bruce checked his watch again. Luckily, the stores stayed open longer during this time of year. He figured, by the time this meeting concluded, it would already be six o'clock. Maybe if they ordered lunch in and worked through the hour, they could wrap this up early. He doubted anyone would complain.

Bruce wanted to swing by FAO Schwartz on his way home and with the crowds he was bound to find, it meant missing dinner with the kiddo. Alfred had told him how disappointed the boy was whenever he couldn't make it home in time, but Bruce found his lips easing up in a smile thinking of ways to make it up to him.

"What's this?" Lucius Fox, Wayne Enterprises' Chief Financial Officer's whispered question pulled Bruce's attention to his right. "I know you can't be that ecstatic over the latest stocks and dividends. They aren't bad, but they've been better, and they've certainly never made you smile before."

"Hm? Oh, sorry, Lucius," Bruce murmured. "Mind was wandering."

His CFO nodded in agreement. "Understandable. I've already went through these reports, so nothing is new here for me. But you . . ." Lucius lifted a brow as he contemplated the younger man. "You almost seem excited for the holidays this year. What has happened to the charming Scrooge we all know and love?"

"Mr. Wayne?"

Bruce looked up at the young woman giving the report, startled.

"Did you have a question?" She asked.

"Ah, no, no. You may proceed, Ms. . . ." Bruce hesitated; his mind suddenly drawing a blank on the woman's name.

"Clough," Lucius coughed into his hand.

"Ms. Crowell," Bruce finished smoothly.

The woman's lids dropped to half-mast. "It's normally pronounced Clough, sir," she corrected, dryly.

Lucius coughed again harder in order to cover his laughter and reached for his glass of water.

"My apologies, Ms. Clough," Bruce smiled tightly. "You may continue," he said as he turned his chair enough that he could discreetly kick his CFO's ankle under the table.

Lucius grunted, and choked on his water; spilling a small amount on his tie. Bruce patted the man on the back, unhelpfully.

"This is a silk tie, I'll have you know, damn it," Lucius complained in a whisper after he had caught his breath.

"I'll have my secretary buy you a new one," Bruce murmured through his teeth.

"My wife buys all my ties," the older man replied.

Bruce paused and looked at him. "Then I'll send her a blank check. She can buy you a hundred silk ties and maybe you'll hang yourself with one instead of getting me in trouble during meetings."

Lucius' mouth tightened as he met the younger man's gaze. They held it for several long seconds before the two men started laughing; startling the other members of the meeting.

Ms. Clough stared at the two men, clearly annoyed. "I'm sorry, but are we interrupting something?"

Bruce grinned; ignoring a few of the gaping expressions from around the table. Bruce Wayne at a party might smile and chuckle, but Bruce Wayne in the boardroom was a shark. He seldom smiled and never laughed inside of these walls.

"I believe it is time for a break, Ms. Clough," he announced. "We can resume in an hour. Gentlemen. Ladies . . ." he stood; happy to stretch his legs.

It looked as though he would be missing dinner tonight after all, but Bruce comforted himself with the promise of another chapter to Robin Hood. He had only begun reading this book to Dick yesterday, after they had finished up Alice in Wonderland. It had been one of Bruce's personal favorites as a boy.

Bruce rounded on his CFO. "You did that on purpose," he accused.

Lucius didn't look up from where he was dabbing at his tie with a handkerchief. "I did not," he denied. "I was attempting to help you out of the hole you found yourself in. You had quite obviously forgotten that young woman's name."

"It sounded like you said Crowell," Bruce stated.

"Your mistake," Lucius smirked as he refolded and tucked the handkerchief into his jacket pocket expertly.

"My mistake was sitting by you," Bruce retorted dryly.

Lucius grinned; not offended in the least. "So, mind telling me what was more important than Ms. Clough's report?"

Bruce glanced around the room. Most people had already left, but there were still a couple of other men chatting quietly on the other side of the table. He moved over to the wall of windows overlooking Gotham Plaza down below. Lucius followed him.

"Well?" The other man leaned one shoulder against the glass. He'd already seen the view.

"Lucius? What would make a good Christmas gift for an eight year old boy?" Bruce blurted.

Lucius' smile fell away and he frowned. "Ah, is there something you need to tell me?"

Bruce blew out his breath and looked at his colleague. Lucius Fox, for all that the man was fifteen years his senior, could be considered one of Bruce's most trusted acquaintances. They were friendly, if not exactly friends, but they might have been. Bruce certainly respected him.

"I suppose I can trust you to . . . What?" Bruce blinked at the man's expression.

"Mr. Wayne, please tell me you at least requested a paternity test," Lucius hissed quietly.

"A paternity . . .? What? No! It's nothing like that," Bruce gaped at the man. "Dick is my ward!"

It was now Lucius' turn to blink. "Ward? What are you talking about?"

"Sh," Bruce motioned for Lucius to keep his growing volume down. "No one knows yet," he stated. "Right now, it's still considered temporary, but I've started looking into the steps necessary to making it permanent."

"A ward, Bruce? You're telling me that you've taken on a ward from the state? An eight year old boy?" Lucius stared at him in disbelief. "Whatever possessed you to do such a crazy thing? Whatever possessed a judge to allow it?"

Bruce frowned at him. "I beg your pardon?"

"Oh, come on, Bruce!" Lucius waved his hand in the air. "Your lifestyle is hardly conducive to raising children."

Bruce darted a glance to the table, but the remaining men had already exited the conference room; leaving him and Lucius alone.

"Look, would you keep it down. No one is supposed to know the boy's whereabouts, and I would prefer to keep it that way!"

"Oh, like the reporters won't get wind of something like this! It's only a matter of time, you know, Bruce. And exactly what the hell are you planning to do with a child?" Lucius asked angrily.

Lucius was fairly certain that Bruce had no lecherous leanings, despite what the gossip columns might claim, but this could look very bad when it finally came to the light as eventually all secrets were wont to do. There were no end of the people who would love to tear into the younger man and smear mud on the Wayne family honor. Secretly harboring a young boy in one's home wouldn't be a mere mud bath, but quicksand, able and eager to swallow Gotham's favorite son whole!

As Lucius' concern became clear, Bruce's face darkened dangerously.

"How dare you! It isn't like that," Bruce snarled. "This boy is Richard Grayson!"

Lucius' brows drew down. He'd heard that name before . . . His eyes widened as the memory struck. "Those circus acrobats?! The ones who died . . . This is their child?"

"Sh. Yes," Bruce hushed him. The conference room was private, but not exactly soundproofed. "He is a material witness in his parents' murder. The bastard that killed them is still at large and has a contract out on the boy's head. If anything were to happen to Dick, that scumbag would walk away scot free!"

"So, how did you end up with him?"

Bruce sighed and turned back to the window. "I looked for him," he admitted.

"I was there, Lucius. When his parents were killed, I was in the audience." He didn't wait for the other man to ask his questions. "I wanted to make sure he was taken care of, you understand. It's hard enough when a child loses his parents, but Dick lost so much more than that. He was torn away from everything he'd ever known. I just wanted to be certain that he was going be okay."

"And . . .?"

"The police discovered the hit put out on him." Bruce stated.

"And they just up and decided that the home of a billionaire playboy was the safest harbor for the child to weather the storm?" Disbelief colored the man's words.

"No! No, CPS decided he would be safer in Gotham City's Boys Correctional Facility," Bruce growled. Remembering the condition of the boy when he and Alfred had finally gotten to see him still made him want to pound something . . . someone.

"The detention center?" Lucius looked startled. "But he's what? You said he was only eight years old! Dear Lord, what in heaven's name were they thinking? A child that young . . ."

"He was in bad shape when I found him, Lucius. He had already been beaten by two of the older boys," Bruce said, angrily. "All because he would cry during the night! Don't you see? I couldn't just leave him there! The manor's security is formidable; no one could get in without Alfred or I being alerted, so, I got a judge to grant me temporary custody until Zucco is captured and convicted. Once that happens, the contract should be rescinded."

"And then he goes back into the system . . ." Lucius concluded.

"Maybe . . ." Bruce's face grew a little warm. "See, Alfred and I have been thinking about that."

"Alfred has, has he?"

Bruce ignored the comment and continued. "Dick's already been staying with us for almost two months. When this is over, it seems a shame to uproot him after he's gotten settled in so well at the manor."

"You want to keep him?" Lucius looked surprised. He'd never have taken Bruce for a family man. "He's not a stray puppy who's followed you home, Bruce."

"I know that," he snapped. "But it makes sense! He already knows and trusts us."

"That boy needs a family, Bruce. A home!"

"What? And I can't give him that?"

Lucius shook his head. "He needs a father and a mother . . ."

"Alfred . . ."

"Is you butler!" Lucius interrupted. "Granted, he's the world's most amazing butler, but he is still your employee, and not your wife."

"The man raised me!" Bruce retorted. "And why would I need one of those?"

"What? A wife?" Lucius chortled. "Do I need to explain it to you? How ever did you gain your reputation?"

"There are a lot of single fathers out there . . ."

"But their children are their own," Lucius told him.

Bruce took a breath; forcing himself to calm down. "I don't plan to marry, Lucius; ever. The number of children I would father in the conventional sense can be counted with no hands."

Lucius considered himself friendly with the younger man, but they were more colleagues than actual friends. Outside of the office, the two had little in common. Lucius was a family man . . . Bruce Wayne was . . . not. But he had never expected the man to open up like this to him about private things. Certainly, he never expected for Bruce Wayne to come right out and admit that he planned to let his family's legacy die with him.

"I need an heir," he admitted.

"And this child . . . You've decided that this circus boy will be that heir?" Lucius stared. "Bruce, you've only known this child for two months. You met him through a tragic circumstance that vaguely mirrored your own. Perhaps you need to step back from this and get a little perspective."

Bruce turned as looked the other man in the eye. "You don't know him. You've never met Dick. He's not like . . ."

"Other children? Bruce, how would you know? You spend your days sleeping and working, and your nights drinking and womanizing, or out doing . . . whatever young playboys like to do." Lucius finished quietly.

He had his suspicions, of course. He was the Chief Financial Officer for Wayne Enterprise. He oversaw the R&D department, and took over its budget personally a few short years ago after noting several unusual discrepancies. He never said anything. His investigation cleared the usual suspects for embezzlement and industrial espionage, and led him incongruously right back to his employer.

Lucius, instead of confronting the board of directors with his findings, however, had taken his investigation a little further. Bruce Wayne, personally, was completely solvent. He had no reason whatsoever to scam his own company of profits or technologies. It made no sense . . . at first. And then he began looking more closely into the technologies and projects that Bruce had ordered shelved. Projects that, for all intents and purposes, had been promising and potentially profitable.

That year, there had been the advent of a new vigilante in Gotham City that seemed to have access to several familiar looking technologies. Lucius had watched the news with increasing interest until . . . He had decided to simply add the budget and books for Wayne Tech's Research and Development department to his own workload permanently. It would be safer that way.

Bruce pursed his mouth. "Admittedly, certain aspects of my life would need to change."

"And you're willing to make those changes?"

"Lucius, the boy needs a home. I am willing to provide that home. He would never want for anything ever again," Bruce argued.

Lucius eyed the man in front of him. He seemed serious and quite sincere, but this was a child . . .

"Do you love him?"

Bruce's head snapped around.

Lucius held his ground. "He deserves a family who will love him; not just care for him. Could you do that?"

Bruce opened his mouth and closed it again. "I-I care about this boy. This is more than just wanting to provide for him. And he wants to stay with us; Alfred and me."

Lucius sighed. How would Bruce be able to give the boy the love he would need to thrive if the man couldn't even bring himself to say the words?

"Bruce . . ." Lucius began, only to be interrupted.

The door opened and Bruce's secretary, Caroline, poked her head inside. As soon as she spotted Bruce, she swept inside and made a beeline to the phone on the bureau behind the table.

"Mr. Wayne! Oh, thank God you haven't left the building," she spoke breathlessly. "I have Mr. Pennyworth on the line. He insisted on speaking to you immediately. I thought it was important to put him through. He sounds very upset, sir, and I could hear sirens in the background," she added.

Bruce glanced at his CFO, and moved to the phone quickly. Caroline picked up the line and punched in a number.

"Mr. Pennyworth? Yes, I have him right here," she spoke into the phone, and then handed the handset to him.

"Alfred? What's happened? What's wrong?"

Fear spiked at the sound of Alfred's voice. No wonder Caroline had ran up here to personally put through the call. The man sounded shaken to his core. To a stranger, he might have sounded mildly put-out, but to Bruce . . . his stoic, British butler sounded on the verge of panic. And Caroline had been right; Bruce could hear the police and ambulance sirens in the background.

"Sir, it is all my fault," was the first thing out of Alfred's mouth.

"Alfred, calm down. First off, where are you?"

"I'm on Wilmont, sir, outside of First National Trust," Alfred answered. "I came merely to run a few errands that needed to be done today. I never should have brought the boy with me, but I couldn't leave him home alone."

"In public? Alfred, if he's spotted . . ." Bruce's hand tightened on the handset; threatening to crack the housing.

"I fear it is far worse than that, Master Bruce," Alfred interrupted. Alfred seldom ever interrupted. He considered it the very height of rudeness.

"Is it Zucco? One of his men? Where is the boy now? Is he alright? Was he injured?"

"No, not Zucco. At least, I don't believe this was intentional. I took the Bentley because of the tinted windows and left him inside with the doors locked and the car running. I thought if no one could see him that he would be safe enough . . . But apparently, sir, there had been a bank robbery while I was in the post office." Alfred rushed to explain. "The robbers' vehicle had been approached by a police officer, I believe, for parking in front of a hydrant, so the driver must have left the scene without the remaining members of his group. I had paused only to check on the boy. The bank robbers came out as I was exiting the Bentley. I'm afraid I didn't see them until it was too late!"

"Are you alright? Were either of you hurt?" The knot inside Bruce's stomach tightened uncomfortably.

"I am fine. Merely bruised a bit. One of the men tossed me into the street and commandeered the Bentley, sir. Master Richard was still inside! He tried to get out, but the men moved too quickly. They took him with them as a hostage! I daresay, sir, that the boy is in desperate need of a friend right now."

"Damn it!" Bruce was already thinking ahead. He had a suit stashed here. He would need an excuse to get out of the rest of the meeting. If those men discovered Dick's identity, they would kill him for the reward. "I'm on my way."

"I'm sorry, Master Bruce," Alfred apologized. "I fear it is more serious than that."

"More serious than Zucco?" He couldn't imagine how . . .

"One of the scoundrels shot an officer, and apparently locked more than a dozen people in the bank vault; including the bank manager. Their air is limited and it doesn't look good for them. I should never have removed him from the manor grounds . . . If anything happens to him, I shall never forgive myself!"

"You didn't know what would happen, Alfred. You did the best you could." The older man was obviously berating himself thoroughly, but Bruce didn't have the time to spare to relieve him further from his guilt. "I'll take care of everything. Can you make it home? Perhaps you should call Leslie to pick you up. Invite her to wait for me." Bruce told him, and then hung up.

Alfred might have been injured in the altercation, and who knew what kind of shape Dick would be in by the time that Batman located him. Better if the doctor hung around for a while. He turned to the concerned gazes of his secretary and his CFO.

"Thank you, Caroline. I will be away for the foreseeable future. If anyone asks, tell them I left early for the holidays." Bruce said quickly. He moved to his chair to retrieve his jacket. "You may leave early yourself. Wish your family a very happy holiday for me."

"O-Of course, sir," she stammered. No one would believe her. Mr. Wayne seldom ever left the office early, and certainly not for the holidays. She knew something serious had occurred, however. An accident, perhaps. Caroline wondered who the boy was, and knew that whoever he was, he must be in some kind of trouble. It seemed a shame for this to happen, especially now. Mr. Wayne had seemed more relaxed and in better spirits recently than she had ever seen him since she started working for him. She said a little prayer for her boss as she left the conference room.

"Bruce, what's happened?" Lucius asked as soon as the door closed behind the woman.

"Make some excuses for me, Lucius. Something unavoidable has come up," Bruce shrugged into his jacket and made for the door.

"I heard you mention the boy. Is it him? Is it Richard Grayson?"

Bruce stopped before opening the door. He had already admitted to Dick's existence. He nodded tightly.

"The Bentley was stolen," Bruce told him through clenched teeth. "Dick was inside of it at the time. He's being held hostage. I need to go home in case they call with a ransom demand."

Lucius looked at him oddly, but was nodding; accepting his excuse. "Of course, go! Go! He needs you."

"No one can know about him, Lucius," Bruce reminded him.

"No one will learn about him from me," Lucius assured him. "Is there anything I can do in the meantime?"

"Pray," Bruce spoke over his shoulder. "I know you do that sort of thing. So, if you could do that for . . . for Dick, I'd appreciate it."

"Yes, of course," Lucius told him. "You don't even have to ask. And maybe the Batman will hear about the case and help . . . If we're lucky?"

Bruce nodded absentmindedly; not really hearing him as he pulled open the door and stepped out. "If we're lucky . . ."

And then he was gone.

More than just Dick's life was on the line now. He would have to hurry if he had any hope of saving any of them.

Bruce ran past the elevators, although a man had kindly held it for him. Just as he neared the stairwell, Bruce dug out his keys and found his special remote. He has programmed it for several of his vehicles. He clicked the correct code and entered it. It flashed that the message was sent. Bruce could only pray that the robbers would abandon Dick when they were forced to abandon the car.

The boy was smart. Surely he would know enough to stay in the car, lock the doors, and wait for rescue.

Instead of heading down the stairs to his office two floors below, Bruce raced upwards; taking two and three steps at a time towards the roof.

Five minutes later, a shadow swung across the afternoon sky. Almost never seen in the light, the shape of the Bat somehow managed to look even more menacing than in the moonlight. He was high up, though. Only those on the upper floors up the skyscrapers that made up Gotham's familiar skyline would witness the occasion, and even then, he was moving so swiftly that only one who had been prepared would see him.

"Go get your boy, Bruce," the man whispered at the shadow as it disappeared behind another building.

Lucius Fox turned away from the window and prepared his excuses that would end the meeting until sometime after the New Year. Truthfully, he had seen the items that had been on the meeting's agenda, and none of them were as important as the life of a little boy, no matter his DNA. These decisions could wait a few weeks. Richard Grayson . . . Dick, Bruce had called him, could not.

REACTIONS?

Looking forward to hearing your reactions to this one . . . Chapter 2 will be posted Monday morning as I will be waiting 24 hours to update. FYI: If you've never heard of it, FAO Schwartz is a large, fancy, toy store that is located in certain big cities, like New York and Los Angeles, and in this case, Gotham City.

No worries, I'm still working on the chapters to "Derailment" and "LR: Running Scared" and should be up early during the week.