Hold onto your mouses; it's time for another episode of... this story. Seriously, is anyone reading it?

"Come get me by two-thirty if you haven't heard from me before then," Bruce instructed when Alfred dropped him off at the Hightower. "I don't want to get stuck with them all day."

"All right," Alfred answered.

"And come for me immediately if there's any news about the Riddler."

"Very good, sir."

"OK..." Bruce looked at the hotel and gathered his resolve.

"Putting on your mask?" Alfred asked quietly.

"Has to be done."

"It's just lunch; can't you just enjoy it?"

"This is for their sake as much as for mine. But don't worry. Bruce Wayne isn't all bad."

"No... not all."

Bruce got out of the car, straightened his blazer and walked into the hotel like he owned it... which, he did.

Dick and his aunt weren't there yet, which was what he had hoped. He got to choose the table and already be comfortably seated when they arrived. He didn't have to be the one awkwardly looking around for them—they could ask for him and the staff would know right where he was.

He had a cup of coffee while he waited. It seemed that every night was a late night these days, vainly seeking some trace of his green-suited opponent. It was good coffee, and the caffeine was welcome. He let the waitress take his cup away before his guests arrived. Let them think he had stood on ceremony.

He didn't have long to wait after that. He stood as Dick and his aunt approached. "Hello, Harriet. It's good to see you again."

"It's good to see you, too," Harriet answered cheerfully, offering her hand.

Bruce shook it and nodded to his ward. "Dick," he said.

"Bruce," Dick answered. He seemed to have no expression at all.

"Won't you sit down?"

"Thank you," Harriet answered, and they sat.

"There are menus for each of you—please, order anything you like."

Dick picked up his menu. "There are no prices," he said after a moment.

"That's how you know it's a classy place," Harriet told him, smiling.

Bruce stifled a laugh. "What your aunt is saying with admirable politeness is, when you come to the Hightower, they expect you to be loaded enough not to trifle over things like prices."

"Ah." Dick didn't look up.

Bruce thought he could feel the disapproval coming from Dick's direction. There was a lovely awkward silence which Harriet finally broke.

"It's very nice of you to treat us."

"It's nothing," Bruce answered. "I own the place, after all." Might be laying it on a little thick... back off just a hair...

Dick finally looked up, but he seemed to freeze. Then he stood up.

"Dick, what's the matter?" Harriet asked.

Noting that Dick's eyes seemed to be focused on something specific behind him, Bruce turned around and immediately understood. He got up from his chair. "The royal family. Ah, the princess has her governess with her... it's good to know she wasn't sacked after all..." It hadn't been her fault, after all. Kids were kids, but they did have minds of their own... even the non-royal ones.

The Lorandians came over to their table a moment later and Bruce introduced them to his guests.

"I didn't realize you had a boy," the queen remarked.

Bruce thought he saw Dick stiffen, but his expression remained calm.

"I... inherited him rather suddenly," Bruce answered.

Georgette said nothing, but she gave Bruce a smile and he nodded subtly to her. He knew she was grateful to him for softening the blow when Ellora had been kidnapped. If she knew the lengths to which he had gone to save the princess, there would surely have been more to the exchange. But it was safest if no one knew.

"You are very lucky to have Mister Wayne in charge of you," Ellora told Dick.

Dick hesitated a moment; then he smiled. "Yes... I suppose I am. I'm so glad you're all right—after what you've been through."

"It was horrible... But it was the most excitement I've ever 'ad!" the princess declared.

"Ellora," the queen scolded.

Bruce laughed. "Well, she can't be expected to fully comprehend the magnitude of her ordeal—and that's as it should be." He didn't quite mean that. He knew the princess was intelligent and mature for her age, but that was for Batman to know and Bruce Wayne to scoff at.

"Exactly right," Elroy agreed.

"Will your majesties join us for lunch?" Bruce knew the offer would be refused, but he also knew it was polite to make it.

"Oh, I could not think of interrupting your family affair, my boy. But another time, when we can plan ahead, then we shall all dine together, yes?"

Family affair? Dick was hardly what Bruce considered family at this point, and his aunt would probably never be more than a nice acquaintance. But there was no point in saying anything of the kind. "It would be a pleasure."

"Aren't they charming," Harriet exclaimed as they all sat down again. "And they seem so friendly with you, Bruce."

Bruce briefly described his father's acquaintance with Elroy, and then a waitress came to their table. "Are you ready to order, Mister Wayne?" she asked.

"We'll need a few more minutes, Lorraine," he told her.

"Take your time," she said, flashing him a smile.

Hm... she's hitting on me. If I were in different company, I'd definitely flirt back to keep up the playboy image. But until I decide exactly what to do with Dick, I don't want to come across as irresponsible. "In the meantime, we'll have a bottle of pinot noir and..." Bruce glanced at Dick. "...a birch beer for the minor."

Dick didn't protest, so Bruce hoped that meant he'd made a good choice for him.

"Coming right up," Lorraine said, jotting the requests on her note pad before turning away.

They discussed the food then, and made their selections. Silence fell again after they placed their orders, and Harriet was again the one to break it.

"It's so nice to have time to catch up with people while someone else does the cooking."

"Isn't it?" Bruce answered, pushing up a smile. Alfred usually does all my cooking... He cleared his throat. "So, Dick... school going well so far?"

"Yeah," Dick answered.

"Oh, I forgot to ask you about that history quiz," Harriet said. "How did that go?"

Dick grimaced. "I barely squeezed an A-minus out of it. I could retake it, but I think it'll be OK."

"Retake a quiz you aced?" Bruce asked.

"Well, I want to get A's in all subjects on my report card, so if I get a few B's later on, it'll take more than an A-minus to pull me up."

Bruce never would have tried so hard at Dick's age. Of course, at Dick's age he was caring less and less about life as Joe Chill's trial kept getting pushed back, but it still seemed unusual that Dick wanted so badly to get straight A's now that his parents were gone. "Are you trying to get a scholarship? Because I can get you into whatever college you want to go to..."

"I'd like to earn it," Dick interrupted coldly. "Anyway... I want to get the best grades that I can. It's just... a goal of mine."

It seemed like there was something deeper there that Dick didn't care to share. Going too far again. Let it go.

"It's an admirable goal," Harriet approved, dispelling the tension in the air. "I'm sure you'll do very well. I used to tell your mother you were the smart one."

It would be nice to be able to say stuff like that without worrying how it will be taken, Bruce reflected. Rachel was like that. She was the only one I'd let talk about my parents... maybe that's how Harriet is to Dick. She's safe, no matter what she says.

At least education was something he could safely talk about. "It's just a shame public school systems let so many kids fall through the cracks," he said. "Dick will be fine, but just the statistics will show you that a few kids will keep failing every year, and a few will keep dropping out every year. It's not just public schools, of course, but they tend to be the bigger schools, and more kids means less chance of getting the information across to them all successfully."

"I think you're right," Harriet said with feeling. "You know, Dick's parents tutored him and Mitch a lot in the early years—they had to, since they traveled so much. When they got older they took some correspondence courses and then there was a teacher that traveled with the circus. All the circus people with kids paid him to teach them, isn't that right, Dick?"

Dick nodded, looking thoroughly disinterested in the topic.

"Anyway, they made it work, and Dick's grades have always shown that. But when you have classrooms full of kids with so much to teach them..."

"And a set time frame in which to teach them," Bruce added. "The smart kids get the concept early and get bored with the rest of the class, waiting for the kids a little behind them. Then, once the kids who are a little behind get it, the teacher figures he can move on. But some kids learn in completely different ways. They feel pressured and embarrassed, so they don't want to admit that they still don't understand. And if it's a subject like math or science, the lessons build on each other. They just have to miss one thing, and then they're lost for the rest of the year. They end up having to repeat classes or whole grades."

"It's terrible. But I don't know what can be done. So few parents can afford tutors and private schools."

Their food arrived and Dick dived right into it while Bruce continued talking to Harriet.

"I have a theory... statistics suggest that the kids of today aren't as smart as the kids a decade or two ago. I don't think the kids are getting dumber, though. I think they're getting more creative. They just don't learn the same way that your generation did. Or even the way my generation did. The next generation needs new teaching methods, and we aren't equipped to give them. I've been wanting to fund a program that will solve this problem. I'm setting up board meetings with a couple of representatives to try to find the solution."

Harriet looked impressed. "That's wonderful. You'll have to keep me informed on this. If your theory is right it could be very good for Gotham's future. The country's future, even."

"Let's hope so."

As they were finishing up, Bruce decided it would be good form to issue another invitation. "Wednesday, I'd like you to bring Dick home in time to have dinner with us. I hope we can see more of each other, and not just for Dick's sake."

"I do, too," Harriet answered. "I only wish we'd gotten to know each other sooner."

She actually likes me. Huh. Guess I'm doing OK, then. "So do I. Would you care for dessert? The gelato here is excellent." Bruce flagged down their waitress.

"That sounds lovely. I trust your taste."

"All right then, two of my usual gelato, Lorraine. And how about you?" He asked Dick. His ward seemed to be lost in thought. "Dick?"

Dick looked up at Bruce. "Sorry, what?"

"Do you want any dessert?" Bruce repeated.

"We thought a little gelato would be nice," Harriet said.

"Um, sure. Whatever you're having."

"Three gelatos," The waitress noted. "Anything else?"

"Nope," Bruce answered. "Just have them put everything on my tab."

"Yes, sir." Another one of those winning smiles.

Another day, Lorraine. I have to keep this good impression I'm making.

When the dessert arrived, Dick tasted his gelato with an expression like that of a man given the duty of digging a grave. "Coffee?" he asked, seeming surprised.

"Caffè espresso," Bruce corrected. "Do you like it?"

Dick hesitated and Harriet chimed in.

"It's delightful. Do they have other flavors?"

"A dozen, but this is my favorite."

"It's good," Dick said, not sounding very enthusiastic.

"Good." Bruce looked toward the dining room's main entrance when a familiar figure caught his eye. "Ah, Alfred's here. I'm sorry to cut this short, but I have to be going. Don't get up on my account. Stay as long as you like." He took Harriet's hand. "Harriet, it's been lovely."

"Indeed," she answered. "Thank you very much."

As he walked around the table, Bruce wondered if Dick would appreciate a handshake or something... to make contact with Harriet but not him would probably come off slightly weird... but he was past a good hand-shaking angle now, so he settled for giving Dick's shoulder a non-committal pat. "Good seeing you, Dick."

"Yeah... bye," Dick answered without looking at him.

In the car, Alfred asked, "So, how did it go?"

"OK. Better than expected, actually. I wish I could have asked Dick about the riddles I'm working on, but it would have been a little too out-of-place."

"How do you like Mrs. Cooper?"

"She's nice. Really nice, actually. Which makes me wonder again why John would want Dick in my care rather than hers."

"I'm sure he had good reason."

"Maybe. Oh, by the way, expect Mrs. Cooper to eat dinner with us when she brings Dick on Wednesday."

"Very good."

"It's two-thirty, so I assume there's nothing new from the Riddler?"

"I'm afraid not, sir."

"At least that means he hasn't hurt anyone or stolen anything. I don't suppose you're any good with riddles."

"No more than most. I've been thinking them over, but I doubt I'm any nearer the answers than you are."

Back at Wayne Manor, Bruce continued to monitor the news until late afternoon, when he finally saw what he'd been waiting for.

"We now take you to uptown Gotham where the Cozy Coat Factory was robbed just hours ago. Workers reported a man in a green suit leading a group into the building and incapacitating the work foreman. Though no guns were visible, the robbers threatened injury on the workers unless they complied, and comply they did."

The scene changed to the factory, where the recovering foreman was speaking into a microphone. "This nut job got away with a couple hundred of our best coats. Some of them were genuine mink. We're talking hundreds of thousands of dollars."

The news anchor went on to discuss the possibility that the perpetrator was the same "Riddler" who had abducted Princess Ellora.

"Coats," Bruce muttered angrily to himself.

"Something wrong, sir?" Alfred asked, coming into the study.

"The Riddler stole a bunch of expensive coats. What do you get when you cross a cow and a goat? A coat. He was telling me where he'd strike next. So simple, and I had to make it complicated."

"I see. And how does the French riddle come into it?"

"I don't know. Either he knows something I don't, or that one has nothing to do with this job."

"What else could it mean? Something to do with the next one?"

"Maybe. I wish Dick were fluent in French. But even if he were, I don't like to keep asking him for help. He seems kind of suspicious about my involvement, and now that the princess isn't part of it, he'd be even more suspicious."

"Undoubtedly. I don't suppose you have a French-speaking friend that could help you out?"

"Not really." Bruce rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "No, but Batman might."

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