Disclaimer: I don't own these characters. I am borrowing them, but I write only for my own enjoyment. I did not make any money with this story.

Trial by Fire by Ecri

He sat silently going over the newest schematics and designs. The repairs had taken a long time, but he'd–they'd–improved on the original designs. He was still trying to get used to that–thinking in terms of a partner. He'd always thought of Alfred as his partner, but he'd gotten the feeling that Alfred viewed himself as more of a guardian trying to keep Bruce Wayne/Batman in one piece. Now there was a new figure in the equation.

As he though about this third and newest member in a very exclusive–and very secret–club his gaze rested on the suits. Lining one section of the bat cave were rows of bat suits. He'd managed to replace almost all of the ones the Riddler had destroyed, but some of his resources and materials had gone into making a slightly different suit.

There were a number of them. Almost as many as there were bat suits. The number would be even in a few weeks–barring distractions. Slightly smaller than his own, the second suit had a bit more color to it, though they were muted colors. In style, it was similar to his own, the major difference being the lack of a cowl and the stylized R on the left chest area.

"Looking good!" The voice came from behind him and he was startled in spite of himself. He had grown accustomed to being alone with his thoughts in the bat cave. Alfred had referred to it as brooding. Bruce preferred to think of it as contemplation or strategizing–certainly not brooding.

Bruce looked up at his new companion. "What is?"

"Everything!"

Richard Grayson wandered around the bat cave extolling its virtues. Bruce, unable to stop himself, slipped back into his thought. So now he had a partner. If he did this right, he'd have a friend. He glanced over at the youngster who'd entered. Full of energy. Rebellious. Infused with purpose. Of course, being so young, he needed guidance. Every so often, he needed to be reassured. He needed a friend. So do I, Bruce thought.

Bruce hoped he could offer more than an endless supply of money and nightly escapades of vigilantism. Was he doing the boy more harm than good? At times, Dick seemed almost happy. He certainly loved working on the motorcycles. He seemed to enjoy the trapeze system Bruce had installed as well as the time Bruce had booked with a local trapeze artist to catch while Dick flew.

Sometimes though, and it was impossible to predict when, he'd become sullen, withdrawn, and somber. He angered easily at such times, and he often seemed about to do some damage to whatever hapless person or thing was within arm's reach at the time. Or, at the very least, to himself. He always managed to restrain himself, though. So far.

Bruce understood, of course. He'd been much the same when he'd lost his parents. At least he'd still had Alfred and his home. Dick had lost his parents, his brother, his home, and his job...his entire way of life...instantaneously.

Alfred said he'd adjust, and put it behind him someday. Bruce had responded that they didn't know that for sure, knowing Alfred would understand what he was thinking. Bruce had never truly recovered from his own personal tragedy. As a matter of fact, he'd only recently begun to face it. Thanks to Dr. Chase Meridian.

He wondered if Chase would be able to help Dick. He wondered if Chase would be able to help him. He wondered if either of them would let her help.

"So..." Dick came over to Bruce's computer as Alfred entered the bat cave with repaired capes draped over one arm.

Bruce looked up at Dick quizzically. When Dick didn't volunteer any further information, Bruce felt compelled to spur the conversation onward. "W hat?"

Dick was barely able to control himself. "Did you look at 'em?"

Bruce smiled. "Yes. I managed to take a look."

"And?" Dick was almost bouncing with pent up energy by this time.

Bruce laughed. Alfred spun to face his employer. He hadn't heard the sound of laughter in this house in a long time. He'd certainly never heard it in the bat cave. It lightened the mood and Alfred's heart in an instant.

"They look good." Bruce's eyes twinkled as he spoke.

Dick's smile threatened to split his head in half. "All right! So I can build it?"

Bruce nodded slowly. "Sure. First, I think we should discuss modifications, budgetthings like that.

Richard's enthusiasm gave way to suspicion. "What kind of modifications?"

Bruce hurried to reassure the you th. "All dependent on your approval, of course! I only thought you didn't utilize the space as well as you could."

"Space?" Dick was puzzled.

"For...gadgets."

Once again the boy smiled enthusiastically. Bruce smiled back, and, although neither of the younger men saw it, Alfred smiled as well.

Dr. Chase Meridian checked her watch again and, with a sigh of satisfaction, shut her notebook and capped her pen. It was precisely 6:00 PM, and she had just enough time to get back to her apartment, shower and change before Bruce picked her up for their date. She'd thought about him quite a bit today. She was concerned about him. She snatched up her coat and bag and indulged in some predate worries on the way to her car.

Bruce Wayne, billionaire playboy. Th at was the image crafted by Gossip Gerty and the like. The man was miles from the image. He'd lived with his guilt for most of his life--nurturing it in a way by giving it life and a name and a purpose. Yet he'd also buried it so deeply in his subconscious that it had taken decades to surface.

How could she help him? How could she not? Tonight she hoped to answer those questions–and maybe raise a few others.

The elegant table setting, candlelight, and soft music seemed to lend an ethereal quality to the room. The decor--crystal chandeliers, diaphanous white draperies enhanced this–it was hard to be tense in a place like this.

Chase looked across the table at her companion. She could see that he was tired, but she guessed that he was used to it. Spending your nights the way he did probably allowed little time for luxuries like sleep.

Bruce looked up from his plate and caught her staring. He flashed her a dazzling smile. She returned it. "Bruce..." She hesitated for a moment unsure how to continue. In the end, she decided to plunge right in. "We've been seeing a lot of each other, and I know so little about you."

Again he smiled. "You know more about me than people who have known me for years."

She nodded. "I'll concede that point, but I' m speaking about a more personal level. I need to know more about you."

She saw him hesitate, though he wouldn't allow his eyes to leave hers. "What do you want to know?" He tried to make it sound casual, but she could detect the apprehension he tried to hide.

"What kind of music do you like? What side of the bed do you sleep on? Who's your favorite author? What kind of foods do you enjoy?" Her eyes twinkled as she leaned in closer to him and added in a whisper, "What do you wear when you sleep?"

He chuckled and she realized she'd never heard him really laugh before. "Anything else?"

"That'll do for a start."

"Fair exchange of information?"

"Anything you want to know." She smiled as she raised her glass to his. With a delicate tap, the two glasses touched.

Gotham City could be a beautiful place. Unless it was dark. And damp. And cold. The early November breezes had a way of making you long for the still, hot summer. November breezes usually turned into December storms. Tonight, the air was a bit nippier. The ground was a bit icier. The few pedestrians in downtown Gotham hugged their coats to them like old friends as they set a brisk pace home.

One figure moved stealthily through the shadows, unseen by Gothamites with home and hearth on their minds. It moved lithely, silently, almost undetectably. Anyone who did happen to notice would have thought it something inconsequential. That would be a fatal error. The silent figure crept through the streets, making hardly a sound. Until necessary.

It was almost necessary. A man rushed down the street dragging a woman after him. The figure settled into the shadows to watch. The man was talking loudly.

"...your fault! How could you make such a stupid mistake!"

"Stop! You're hurting me!"

The man stopped and turned to his companion. "It's no more than you deserve! And don't talk back to me!" He backhanded her savagely across the face.

The woman started to cry. "I didn't mean it, Arnie!"

Arnie was not pacified. "You never mean it! Why don't you ever stop to think?" He brought back his hand again and just when he would have started the arc forward, something stung his wrist. Something that held on to him like it would never let go. That was when he heard the purring.

A figure stepped out of the shadows. Arnie stared as it stepped into the light. She was tall, thanks in part to the 6-inch heels she wore, and she was definitely a she. The skin-tight, vinyl suit she wore hugged every curve leaving little for the imagination thus freeing it up for other pursuits. With a flick of her wrist, she cracked the whip that she held in her hand releasing Arnie's arm. He gaped at her searching for something to say. "What're you?" was all he could manage.

"I am woman, hear me roar." Her voice was deep and soft...sexy. She stepped closer to Arnie and his girlfriend making every move seem a sensual task. "What are you, Arnie?" She looked him up and down. "Big he-man from the Woman-Haters club? Like to throw your weight around, Arnie?"

Arnie took a step back. He'd never seen or heard anything like this before. Her voice was deep and seemed to resonate through him. When she moved, his eyes strayed to certain areas of her anatomy. She was amazing. She moved like a cat. Leaping at him she used leverage to throw him against the wall. "Come on, Arnie, show me what you've got."

Arnie chuckled nervously. "Whad'ya mean? Look if you're looking for some action..."

Catwoman put a finger to his lips revealing dagger like claws that he hadn't noticed before. "Shhh, Arnie, I don't need to look for action. It follows me everywhere."

Her eyes, which had been darting around and taking in every line and curve of his face, suddenly locked onto his eyes. "Why'd you hit her, Arnie?"

Arnie swallowed, trying to work up some indignance at the question. "I don't gotta t ell you nothin'."

Catwoman shrugged. "No. You don't." As she held him against the wall with one hand, the other swung back in vicious arc. Claws extended, she scratched across his face, leaving behind five bloody trails that began oozing a deep, dark red. Arnie screamed. His girl turned to run, but didn't get far. You can't out run a cat.

Life's dramas take place in close proximity. At least they do in Gotham. Across town from Arnie's mishap stood Tabor's Jewelry Store. The highest priced, highest class jewelry store in Gotham was the favorite shopping stop for the most well-to-do members of Gotham Society. Many people shopped there merely so that it would look like they could afford it.

Mr. Tabor himself still stopped in occasionally to see some of the more important clients. It was considered something of an honor when he decided to add your name to the list of people he would personally assist. He preferred it that way. His store had developed quite a reputation over the decades it had occupied the sturdy stone structure on Main Street. It was said that no customer ever left Tabor's dissatisfied. It was also a point of pride for Mr. Tabor that the store had never been robbed.

Tabor's was locked up for the evening. Bars across the door and window combined with the security sticker from Gotham's best companies would deter most criminals. Of course, most criminals thought on a rather simple scale. Grand schemes were beyond the run of the mill villainy that normally prowled Gotham's streets. Tonight, however, history would be made.

A car pulled up in front of Tabor's, its exhaust belching from the rear as if it were really trying to hold it in. The store stood stoically unaware that it was about to become another statistic in the annals of crime. The driver's side window rolled down as a hand poked out and pointed a device at the building. For a moment nothing happened. Then, slowly, the gates began to retreat, rolling up into their storage areas as if it were a normal occurrence. A slight giggle emanated from the shadowy interior of the car.

Once the bars were out of the way, the only real barrier was the glass. With a crash, it shattered creating a blanket of shattered jewel-like fragments that ranged in size from dust to jagged edged shards. A man crept silently through the remains giggling. Reaching into the large duffel bag he'd slung over one shoulder, he pulled out a comically large flashlight. Playing the light over the glass coated floor, he quickly found the object of his attention; a rock. He hefted it in one hand and planted a kiss on its cold, hard surface.

"Crude, but effective." He laughed maniacally and returned the stone to his bag. Then he began to help himself.

Alfred carefully laid out the breakfast table, complete with a rose and the morning paper. A surreptitious peek into the driveway 30 minutes earlier had let him know that there'd be an extra place for breakfast this morning. He'd hoped Bruce and Chase would be able to maintain their relationship, but he wasn't sure bringing the girl home would set a good example for Dick. He would have to talk to Bruce about it before this became a habit.

As he laid out the final napkin, he heard the sounds of hushed voices and careful footsteps. As Bruce and chase entered, he gestured to the table. "Please be seated. Breakfast will be served in a moment." He returned to the kitchen, allowing them their privacy.

Busying himself with the final preparations, Alfred moved quickly around the kitchen making toast and coffee, pouring juice, and filling the sugar bowl. Engrossed in his work, he did not notice the door to the kitchen, the one from the opposite end as the dining room, swing slowly open.

"Hey, Al, what's for breakfast?" Dick moved from table to stove peering under lids and into bread baskets.

Alfred jumped in spite of himself. "Why do you insist on doing that every day?"

"What?" Dick reached for a piece of toast.

"You know perfectly well what. Each morning, in some bizarre ritual you creep up behind me without making a noise. Why? Do you like to see a grown man jump first thing each day?"

"Sorry." Dick seemed not to know what to say. He shifted uncomfortably and seemed about to retreat. Alfred paused. It was possible the boy was unaware of how light on his feet he was. Considering what he'd grown up doing, perhaps this was as natural to the boy as breathing. Alfred gestured to the table, bringing over an extra large glass of orange juice to make amends for hurting the boy's feelings.

"So what's for breakfast?" Dick a sked again in single minded determination.

"As you requested: pancakes." Alfred removed a silver cover from a plate on the table revealing an impressive stack of perfectly uniform buttermilk pancakes. Drops of butter lazily poured down the sides as a large, creamy glob on the top of the stack melted. Two similar domes covered several platters already sitting on a tray to be taken into the next room.

Dick sat down, eyes wide. He poured a generous serving of maple syrup over the stack and began to eat. Between mouthfuls, he managed to compliment Alfred's prowess in the kitchen. Dick glanced around the room. "Where's Bruce?"

Alfred sighed. "Just through there. With Dr. Meridian."

Dick grinned. "All right! I knew he had it in him!" He stopped and looked up at Alfred. "She did stay the night, right?"

Alfred nodded. Dick turned back to his pancakes apparently dropping the issue of Bruce's nocturnal activities. As he ate, he glanced at the newspapers Alfred had placed on the table preparatory to taking them in to Bruce. One headline caught his eye, and a low groan escaped.

Alfred turned to see what had upset his charge and saw Dick holding the paper in a white-knuckled grip. The pressure caused wrinkles and creases in the crisp newsprint. His face had gone white and his mouth hung open. Eyes wide, he turned the newspaper so Alfred could see. The older man felt his heart freeze as he lost his grip on the plate he'd been carrying. It fell to the floor with a resounding crash.

Bruce and Chase were at the do or in moments. Bruce looked form Alfred to Dick and back again, unsure who was better able to answer him. Instead of choosing, he asked the room. "What happened?"

"Here." Dick tossed Bruce a newspaper. "We had something of a shock over breakfast."

Catching the newspaper in mid-air, Bruce turned it right side up and saw what had so upset his friends. Gotham papers had long ago learned to get the most from limited space. In large, bold, black print--taking up twice the space of any other headline were words Bruce had hoped never to see: Riddler Escapes!

At the office, Bruce had to contend with business as usual, but one corner of his brain was working on the riddle of the Riddler. Where was he? What was he planning? Whatever it was, Bruce only hoped he could figure it out soon...and before anything serious happened.

Margaret entered his office with a sheaf of papers in one hand and the morning mail on the other. "Mr. Wayne, there are invitations here to three different events on the same day. You'll have to pick one. Also, Mr. Adams and Ms. Bradley are waiting for your go-ahead on the Lockwood project. Mr. Tucker is holding on line one and Gossip Gerty is on line two wondering which of these events you'll be attending and who you're going to take."

Bruce smiled. "You're allowed to take a breath, Margaret."

Margaret smiled at her boss, the only indication that she'd heard what he said, and continued. "You also have several hire slips to sign."

You signed the hire slip. I have it.

The voice echoed through Bruce's head, sending a chill down his spine. Logically, he knew he hadn't caused Edward Nygma's breakdown, but somehow he felt responsible. ("Of course you do," Alfred had said in a weary tone when Bruce had explained his feelings.)

"New policy, Margaret. I want to speak with department heads who're requesting new hires. I want to know about the people who work for me. Once I speak to the department heads, I want to meet with the hires. I won't sign blindly again. Set up the meetings."

Margaret nodded. Easier said than done, but she'd always done whatever Mr. Wayne asked, not bothering to tell him when he asked the impossible. She knew something few people in her position knew: he valued her. She'd been with the company for years and had rarely missed a day. Bruce could make almost any request and have it finished in almost no time.

"You're next appointment is in 15 minutes–Commissioner Gordon."

Bruce frowned. "I don't remember having a meeting with him."

"No, sir. He called this morning asking if we could squeeze him in. He said it was urgent. Something about the Riddler escaping–and you said..."

Bruce interrupted. "I know--the standing orders." Bruce had left orders with his assistant that anytime certain people called they were to be accommodated at all costs. Even if it meant interrupting him in a meeting. It had started out as just Alfred. It had grown recently. Now it included Alfred, Dick, Chase, and Commissioner Gordon. "Okay. Send him in as soon as he arrives."

Efficiently, Bruce and Margaret took care of what they could in the short time they h ad before the commissioner's arrival. When he entered the office, Bruce could see the man had been up most of the night. He put his hand out, clasping the older man's in a firm, friendly handshake. "What can I do for you, Commissioner?"

"I know you're a busy man, Mr. Wayne, so I'll get right to the point. As I'm sure you know by now, Edward Nygma has escaped from Arkham Asylum. We're doing all we can to track him down, but I wanted to discuss a few things with you."

"I'll help in any way I can."

Nodding, the commissioner took a seat. "First, we know Nygma--or the Riddler, as he likes to call himself--is obsessed with you. Do you have any idea how he might try to get to you?"

Bruce thought a moment. "Not really. He seemed to think that he and I were alike. He wanted me to acknowledge that. I think he believed we'd become good friends if he could make me understand his--viewpoint."

"Have you received any threats or strange phone calls."

"No, but I'll let you know if I do."

Gordon nodded. "Please d o." Hesitating, Gordon consulted his notebook. Then he flipped it shut abruptly as if he'd reached a decision." "I don't know how to put this, but I'd like to put a surveillance team on you, your home, and your office. For your own protection."

Bruce had known this was coming. "Thank you, Commissioner, but I don't really think that's necessary. I..."

Gordon cut him off. "Mr. Wayne, the Riddler is a dangerous man. We know he'd go to great lengths to prove himself right. Consider it, please. We can put two men here, a few more can patrol the grounds here and at Wayne Manor."

Bruce shook his head. "I don't think it's a good idea. Besides what if one of your people was killed trying to protect me?"

Gordon wouldn't be put off so easily. "My people are trained professionals. They know how to handle themselves. You've got other things to worry about. " Gordon had obviously done a lot of thinking about this. He wanted to win the argument and had though long and hard about how to do just that. "Mr. Wayne, you've got a responsibility to keep yourself safe. This community depends on you. It would be a crushing blow to Gotham if you were no longer around. Besides, what about the danger to those around you? You're employees are in the line of fire. So are your butler, and that young circus performer you took in. What if the Riddler decides to get to you through them? My people can look out for them, too."

Bruce hesitated. He'd thought about this. He wanted to protect Dick and Alfred. He couldn't take it if someth ing happened to either of them, and this time he would be responsible.

In the end, he allowed himself to be talked into a team at the office. He wanted to keep Margaret and his other employees safe. Dick, he reluctantly admitted could take care of himself, and together they could look after Alfred.

Bruce called Margaret into his office. "Margaret, make the necessary arrangements with the Commissioner regarding some visiting police officers. The usual. Contact building security, get the passes issued."

"Yes, sir." She paused a moment then handed him a small stack of letters. "This morning's mail."

Taking it in one hand, Bruce was about to toss it into his "in" basket when he noticed something odd about one of the letters. It was lime green and was r eally a thin cardboard box. Emblazoned on the top where the return address should be was a large question mark.

He looked at the commissioner. "I think I've gotten my first suspicious package."

TBC