Concerned

Part 3

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The next morning Nancy Weidman knocked on her guestroom door. The poor boy-only fifteen and to have gone through everything he had and with no end in sight. Orphaned and now possibly losing the only other home he'd known. And Tom said he was smart as a whip, too, and usually so well mannered.

Well, last night was hardly anything to judge him by, he was upset and injured and, well, it just wasn't the time to make any kind of judgment about him but even feeling the way he did, he had managed to be cordial. It was impressive under the circumstances.

"Dick? Are you awake? It's six-thirty, time to get up." She pushed the door opened and there he was, still dead to the world. Poor thing must have been exhausted and she'd heard him moving around till past two in the morning. Not that it was any wonder that he couldn't sleep-she had almost gone in to see if she could get him anything but Tom had said to just leave him alone, give him some space.

"Dick?"

He opened his eyes and nodded. "I'm coming. Is it alright if I take a shower first?"

"Of course. Do you eat bacon and eggs?"

"Yeah, sure, whatever."

Closing the door she went back down to the kitchen. Tom had his usual coffee and newspaper. Amber was there too, eating a bowl of cornflakes, her latest kick. "Is he coming down?"

"As soon as he gets cleaned up. Do you want some orange juice?"

"OK. Did you see him last night? Isn't he gorgeous? I mean, he's got to have the bluest eyes I've seen and God, did you see his bod? And he looked so sad-like Romeo or something." Amber had never met a cute boy she didn't like and Dick qualified in spades.

"Leave him alone. He's going through a rough time right now. And his bod is injured so you stay away from it."

A few minutes later Dick showed up, hair still wet and wearing Levi's and an old Haley Circus tee shirt. He didn't flaunt his background, but he didn't hide it, either. Nancy handed him the pain pills and the antibiotics which he swallowed without comment. She put a plate in front of him and he began silently eating, not making eye contact with any of them, just shoveling it in.

The silence was strained.

"I'm sorry that you can't ride into school with me, Dick. That would have been easier."

Silence.

"How are you feeling this morning?"

All Tom got for his pains was a filthy look before Dick went back to his food. In a couple of minutes there was a knock at the front door. Nancy answered it, returning with a uniformed cop. Shit, couldn't they even send a plain clothes man in an unmarked car? The damn cop car was out there, front and center. Hang a sign, why don't you?

"Dick? Your ride is here for school."

Oh, great, his fucking police escort to shield him from Bruce and Alfred. Christ. Leaving the rest of his food he stood up to get his backpack.

His hosts exchanged a look.

Tom called him back. "Dick? Excuse me, I know you're not happy about everything that's happened, but you can use common courtesy. We've both been trying to make this as painless as possible for you and Nancy just cooked and gave you your breakfast. You could manage a simple acknowledgement."

In all his years of working with kids, Tom Weidman had never seen the level of anger he saw now on Dick's face-it was contained, controlled fury and what he said next had all the more impact for it's low, tight delivery. The words were almost spit out through clenched teeth.

"You butted in where you have no business. I told you, that lame ass case worker, the fucking cops and Dr. Leslie that I hurt myself with no help from anyone. Bruce has never touched me and Alfred wouldn't hurt me if you paid him to. After my parents were killed Bruce was the only one-the fucking only one-who bothered to give me a place to stay. My Goddamned caseworker that time around locked me up in Juvie the night they died because he couldn't be bothered to find a foster home. I spent two weeks in a fucking jail cell because he lost the paperwork. Bruce is the one who got me out of there and he's been looking out for me ever since. Now because you think I'm stupid enough to let someone use me as a punching bag there's going to end up being some Goddamned trial just so I can go home…"

"Now, Dick, that's not fair. We're all concerned…"

"Fuck you. I don't need you and I sure as hell don't need your 'concern'. I'll play this game as long as I have to, then I'm gone."

Nancy tried to put her hand on his arm, tried to calm him down. His glare caused her to retreat. "I haven't had a mother since I was eight. I sure as shit don't need one now." Grabbing his backpack, they heard the front door slam.

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"I'd like to thank you all for making it here so early this morning. Please help yourself to coffee and whatever it is Laurie arranged for us. This isn't Wayne Corp business, it's my own personal concern, but I need the best legal team I can get and you're the backbone of what I need." He looked around the conference table. It was quarter of seven in the morning and they were all there, a dozen of the best lawyers he had on his staff. They were good, in fact, they were as good as it got and that was why they had jobs. Kevin Rooney, Jud's family law friend had also made it in on short notice. He seemed to be taking every one's measure, especially Bruce's

Jud turned to Bruce. "Do you want to tell them or should I, sir?"

"Go ahead Jud, I'll fill in any gaps."

"Alright, last evening around seven-thirty without prior warning" He looked at Bruce, yes, with no prior warning. "Mr. Wayne received a call from a DYFS caseworker asking for immediate separate interviews with both Mr. Wayne and his ward, Richard Grayson-I think some of you may have seen Dick around the office occasionally." There were nods around the table. "He admitted her to his home a few minutes later where she informed him that she was there to determine if Dick was in possible jeopardy as a child abuse victim while living there. Evidently someone at his school noticed that Dick had some injuries yesterday while he was in school and I gather that the school principal made the call to child services. Mr. Wayne cooperated with the interview, Dick was also questioned and the result was that he was removed from the premises under police escort. He is currently in an unknown temporary foster home and, as is standard, all contact between the boy and Mr. Wayne has been forbidden until the case is resolved. I spoke to Mr. Wayne last evening and he's told me of a couple of incidents which could be problems should this go to trial. I think you all got the briefing notes when you came in? Good-the incidents are outlined there, as I understand them. Are there any questions?"

Rooney looked at his friend. "Jud, you said that the boy was injured-what injuries?"

"I called the case worker after Mr. Wayne left my house, she told me that a medical examination last evening showed that Dick has four damaged ribs-two broken, two cracked and a deep laceration on his back. He was prescribed painkillers and antibiotics and released. Baring complications, he should be in school today."

Dick was that badly injured and he didn't say anything? Damned kid. Bruce looked around the room. The legal team was all reading Jud's outline and not looking too optimistic. A couple of them glanced at Bruce, trying to gauge his reaction to the description of Dick's injuries.

He kept his face a blank as he glanced through copy at his own place. On paper it looked bad.

He had hit Dick, neglected him, been unaware of injury and illness, raised him without a mother figure of any kind and forced him to live isolated in a mansion on a hill.

God, it was all so, it was-the things on the paper had happened but they didn't tell the story and they would be blown up in court. He knew how it would be. Everything would be exaggerated, the women he dated, his shallow image, his bank account. And Dick, his story would be dragged across every magazine and tabloid in the country and beyond-poor little circus orphan taken in and then misused.

Jesus, it would become a nightmare.

Dick would be painted as an innocent foundling, motherless and fatherless, taken advantage of by the big bad Bruce and there would be hundreds of reporters, photographers, news crews-it would become a damned media circus to rival Michael Jackson or Martha Stewart and the howling hordes would want his blood.

That's how these things worked.

He stood up and spoke quietly.

"Ladies and gentlemen, just get my son back home and as quickly as possible. Dick-he watched his parents die when he was only eight years old and he's lived with me since that happened. The social worker seven years ago botched his case so badly that he still has nightmares and the only security he has is with me. His own family refused to take him in. He needs-he just needs to come home."

All the eyes in the room were watching him, embarrassed by the raw emotion of their remote and usually frivolous boss.

"I don't pretend that I've been a perfect parent, but I've never intentionally hurt him-he's my son, I couldn't-wouldn't do that. Even the day I slapped him, God-I could have cut my hand off-it had never happened before and it never happened again. I swear that. I'll swear that in court." He paused, out of steam. "Just get him back for me-and for him. Please. Do whatever you have to, but make sure that it's settled. This can't be reopened in a year or two because of a mistake or a mistrial. Make it final and make it air tight."

Rooney, the family law expert spoke up. "Mr. Wayne, it will be brutal, the prosecution will bring up everything they can to discredit you. Your company could well suffer, you have to understand this."

"If that's what it takes then make sure we win. I'll take him to live in Europe or someplace if I have to until the feeding frenzy dies down, just get him back."

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Dick was sitting in fourth period Trig when the intercom buzzed. The teacher answered, listened for a moment. "Dick? You're wanted in the office. Take your books."

When he got down there he was told that he was wanted in the Guidance Office next door. In there he found about what he expected; a cop and Olivia Clarke.

"Richard? I'd like to talk to you for a little while, if that's OK with you. Do you mind?"

And it would matter if he did mind because…?

"Whatever."

One of the school counselors was standing there and told them that they could use her office for as long as they wanted.

Inside the small room, with the door closed, Dick faced Ms Clarke. The officer sat behind him. There was a tape recorder on the desk.

"How did it go last night with the Weidman's? Aren't they a lovely family?

Dick just looked at her. Idiot.

She was unfazed. "I need to get a statement from you Richard. Are you willing to talk to me?"

Like he had a choice. "If it will help me go home, sure."

"Well, we're working on that. So do you mind if I turn on the recorder while we talk to each other?"

So whatever he said could be used against Bruce in court? Sure, why not? "I don't mind." Like they would care if he did.

She pushed a couple of buttons. "Alright, first of all, how are you feeling today? Are your ribs any better?"

"They're fine."

"Richard, could you tell me, in detail, how you were injured?"

Not fucking likely. "I was alone down in the manor gym, practicing a routine on the high bar. I missed a catch after an aerial and hit the bar."

"What move were you attempting when you were hurt?"

"An original move. I do a staulter then stop mid swing, stand on the top bar for a moment then do a back flip with a twist and catch the bar as I come around. It doesn't really have a name."

"That sounds dangerous, how high off the floor is this bar?"

"The one I use is nine feet."

"When you do things like this, is anyone watching you?"

"You mean like a spotter?" She nodded. "Not usually. I've been doing gymnastics since I was three. I'm good enough that I usually work alone." That was bullshit. Bruce had a fit when he found out the kinds of moves Dick practiced when he wasn't there. He's blown a major gasket the last time he'd walked in unexpectedly. "I pile a lot of mats under the bar, though. It's pretty soft."

"Does Mr. Wayne know you do this? Obviously it's dangerous. You have four damaged ribs right now from that."

Dick just shrugged. "I don't always tell him because he doesn't want me to get hurt."

"Would he have stopped you if he had known what you were doing?"

"Yeah, or he would have spotted me. One or the other."

"Richard, I need you to tell me the truth, OK? This is important." He looked at her. Yeah, sure, what next, lady? "Has Mr. Wayne ever struck you?"

Dick's vibes kicked in. She knew something. Shit, she must know about that time… "Yes, once a few months ago. I had cut school, hotwired one of his cars and went for a ride. When he saw me he was pretty angry. He slapped me across the face. Once. That's the only time, though."

"And what did you do?"

"I knew I'd screwed up so I felt pretty bad."

"Did he hit you hard?"

"Hard enough. Not hard enough to break anything, just to make a point."

"I spoke to your dentist this morning. He said he had to wire two of your teeth in place because they were loosened."

"It wasn't that bad. The wires were just a precaution."

"Tell me about the time he left you alone when he went to London."

"He had business, I had school so I stayed home. It was no big deal. He was only gone two days and he had like everyone on the planet look in on me and call me and take me out to dinner and stuff. It wasn't like he'd abandoned me or anything."

"Did he call you while he was gone?"

"Why would he do that? I was fine. If I wasn't he would have known."

"Has Mr. Wayne ever made any improper advances to you, Richard?"

Dick laughed out loud. "Bruce hit on me? Hell, no. God." He was still smiling. "Look, I know the rumors as well as anyone does, but they're bullshit. Bruce likes girls too much to waste his time on me. I mean, really, I'm not his type." He was laughing again. "You're wasting your time with that one."

"How do you feel about Mr. Wayne, Richard?" He had no idea what she was asking. "Do you see him as a father or an older brother or a friend?"

Why didn't she ask him something simple like describing…well, something other than this? How did he feel about Bruce? Jesus. He thought for a long moment, started to say something, stopped then started again.

"He's who I lean on because I know he cared about me when no one else did." Another pause. "And he always will, no matter how badly I mess up."

Ms Clarke smiled at him. "You're trying to paint him in a good light, Richard and you're doing a good job." She looked at her notes. "After your parents were killed and you went to live with Mr. Wayne, did your blood family ever try to contact you, try to get custody?"

He just shrugged.

"Do you ever see your real family, Richard?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"We've sort of lost touch."

"Why?" She actually seemed sad at the thought. God, she probably cried at chick flicks, too. Well, why not tell her the truth.

"I'm Rom." She looked blank. "Romany, Gypsy. My father was a full-blooded Rom. I'm Rom. If a Gypsy child is raised by a non-Gypsy, they're considered unclean so my family decided that I'm dead to them."

"Would you like to see them?"

"Not really. I don't care about them, except my grandfather. I see him every year. Bruce flies me over every winter so I can visit him. We ski together."

She smiled, partially relieved. "That sounds lovely, Richard. If it's alright, I may have to talk with you again in a few days after I've found out more. Would that be alright?"

Like he had a choice. "Sure."

"OK, why don't you go back to class now?"

After he'd gone the police officer asked Olivia what she thought. "I think he's trying to protect Wayne and I think he'll lie to do it."

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In the legal department of Wayne Enterprises the brainstorming and research had been going on all day. Bruce went down there himself to see what the initial thoughts about the case were.

Jud broke the bad news. "There's a record of you being neglectful and inattentive and we have witnesses who saw you strike him in public. On top of that, his medical record is as thick as a phone book. He's had more injuries than fucking Evel Kneivel. He's a good student, which is a plus, but he's absent a lot. He's a good athlete but plays on no school teams-juries look at this stuff. It makes him look like he's a hermit or being kept away from other kids." Jud held up his hand to stop Bruce's protest. "Plus there's a pattern of you missing school plays, science fairs and that sort of parental thing. One year you sent your butler to fill in for you at a parent/teacher conference. And this all doesn't even start with your public rep as a rich-man about town."

"You're saying you think we'll lose?"

"I think we've got an uphill fight on our hands. Look you're not Satan, you give a lot of money to charities, you did take him in when his family wouldn't, he's smart and a good looking kid and he's well spoken-that will all help. Plus he wants to stay with you. But, I have to tell you, it's not going to be easy."

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Back at the Weidman's Dick declined dinner, saying his ribs hurt too much and he wasn't hungry anyway. Besides, he had homework to do. He was more civil than he'd been at breakfast and no one said anything about his outburst. He spent the evening in 'his' room, IM-ing Garth who was down in Atlantis for a few weeks and venting it all out to his friend. Garth was bitching back at him-it seemed that Arthur had a bug on about something or other, as usual, and so every one had to stay out of his way for a while. It was a pain. After an hour or more of cyber chat Garth had to go to some Royal function he was expected at but promised he'd be on line the next night. Dick next left long e-mails for Clark and Donna, neither of whom responded. They must have been out somewhere. They'd get back to him when they could, he knew they were busy. If anyone could come up with a solution, maybe Clark would have it.

Maybe.

Dick knew he'd try at least.

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That same evening Bruce ate dinner in the kitchen with Alfred. Neither one was hungry and they both heard the loud silence in the house.

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In the editorial offices of the National Inquirer a tip was phoned in about a good scandal that could break any minute, but they could be the first if they would pay. Asking questions, pulling some archive pictures that seemed to work, the editor decided to run with it.

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