Concerned

Part 6

Author's Note:  I am neither a caseworker nor a legal expert of any kind. The legalities in this chapter, and others, are researched and my best guesses but I make no promises that they're completely accurate. Go with the flow, such as it is. This is the preliminary hearing. Depending on the outcome there may be need for a full custody hearing. If they were to lose that, Dick gets a permanent new home and Bruce might face charges of abuse or assault or whatever.

That's the sequence, as I understand it after speaking with a lawyer friend of mine. If I'm wrong, I'm sure someone will let me know and I won't hire my friend should the need arise.  I think I remember that Bill Gates is worth something like $50 billion so that's where I got the number. I figure that Bruce has to be as rich as Bill, y'think? If not he should be, dang it! Works for me.

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Nine AM, Monday morning in Gotham Courthouse and the press was waiting in droves. There were TV vans parked out front and police barriers set up to try to control the rest. For what little good they'd do.

Olivia Clarke and a police officer were in the car with him. He declined to speak to either of them.

The car that had picked Dick up half an hour ago had heavily tinted windows but since his picture was public property from all the parties and charity things he'd had to attend with Bruce over the last couple of years, it didn't make much difference. Sure there was supposed to be a gag on his name and photo being used because of his age, but it had already slipped out.

When you were dealing with a case involving someone worth fifty-three billion dollars, there wasn't much that was secret. It was just a fact of life.

Well, OK, they still had a few secrets. That's why they were all here.

It was surreal, but it was fact of his life, at least this week.

As Dick was driven into the building through the garage entrance in a clumsy effort to protect him and was escorted upstairs in the elevator, his mind started wandering a little and he began wondering just what the collective noun for a bunch of reporters and photographers really was.

A gaggle of reporters? A gang? A group?

A Fleet Street Fleet? Flock? Flotilla?

A swarm of writers? A shoal? A school?

A herd of headhunters? A horde?

An exaltation? A chowder? A pack of paparazzi? A colony? A raft? A pod?

Surely there was something, there must be. He'd have to ask Barbara when he got the chance. No, c'mon, pay attention. He had to focus here, this was serious. If the hearing judge decided that the charges-the allegations-were too weak to pursue then they could all just call it a day and go home. If, on the other hand, the judge decided that there was some weight to the suspicions then he would be sent back to the Weidman's for the foreseeable future and the next step would be to prove, or disprove, the charges of neglect and abuse. In that case there would probably be a custody hearing, a real one, to decide if Bruce was a fit guardian and if he was found deficient then there could be a trial about child endangerment or something. If Bruce was found guilty he would end up in prison and Dick would likely end up with a permanent home at the Weidman's.

Well, no he wouldn't. There was no way in hell he'd stay there until he was a legal adult. He'd already made some calls himself and had one of Bruce's legal guys find out the deal about him being given his emancipation if it looked like they were going to lose. In that event the papers petitioning the court would be filed the same day the verdict came in. They were being drawn up just in case.

Just because Dick was fifteen didn't make him dumb and he had his own money to pay the legal costs.

Screw everybody. He'd just be declared an adult and get his own place and he'd be just fine. He could take care of himself if it came down to it. The hell with 'em.

He was led to a paneled outer office with a receptionist and a built in fish tank. What was it about the legal profession and fish? Every law office he'd ever been in had a fish tank.

A school of fish.

The walls were paneled in some dark wood and the carpet was thick enough to muffle any sound. The furniture was leather and expensive. The lamps were brass. The place was a cliché.

The name on the outer door said, in gold, Judge Janice Hunt.

The office had that quiet you get in a library and Dick was told to please just have a seat. Ms. Clarke would talk to the Judge first and he should just wait for his turn. Please don't wander off. He'd be called when they were ready for him. Would he like something? Tea, perhaps? Orange juice? No, thank you, he was fine.

Bruce was here somewhere and Alfred probably was, too. They'd be waiting in another room of course, because they weren't supposed to have any contact. They might try to come up with a story together or Bruce might try to place kick him or something.

Dick sat there for forty-five minutes. He looked through the magazines on the mahogany coffee table in front of him-Field and Stream, Golf Digest and the Wall Street Journal and they were all out of date. Hopeless.

He watched the fish for a while, but they were boring, just swimming back and forth. Lucky that fish weren't too smart or they'd probably be depressed living in that tank. Garth would probably have a comment about that.

He got up and stretched and the receptionist smiled at him then went back to sorting the mail. He used the bathroom.

He started to look through the Wall Street Journal. Wayne Enterprises was down an eighth.

Two hours after he'd arrived the inner door opened and Ms Clarke looked out. "Richard? The Judge would like to speak with you now." He walked over and went in. Livvy smiled at him then left for parts unknown. Probably going to talk to some other cops or case workers or something. Whatever. He knew she wasn't done with him.

The Judge, Judge Hunt, was a heavy woman about sixty years old. She looked smart and she looked kind. Dick's gut reaction was that he liked her. She wasn't wearing her robes, just a woman's business suit and as she got up to shake his hand she smiled at him. She seemed OK in a Janet Reno-ish sort of way.

"Thank you for coming this morning, Richard, and I apologize for the long wait you've had but I was speaking to some of the others so I'd be sure to have all the facts straight. I know that this is difficult for you and we'll try to make this as painless for you as we can. If you'll take a seat we'll get started."

He did as he was asked, sitting in one of the two leather chairs opposite her desk. It was a one on one interview. She was back behind her desk.

"How are you getting along with the Weidman's for now? Any problems?"

You want the long list or the edited version? "They're fine."

"Good. Alright Richard. I think you're more than old enough and you're certainly intelligent enough to tell me what you want to happen here and I think you know what our concerns are." He nodded. "There's a suggestion that Mr. Wayne is not a suitable guardian for you so I need to ask you some questions. You understand that, don't you?"

"Sure I understand it, but it's not true. Bruce is great-he took me in when my parents were killed and he's made sure that I'm alright ever since then. Seven years now. He hasn't done anything to me-he really hasn't. Nothing bad, anyway" He spread his hands in an almost futile gesture. "…I just want to go home."

She smiled at him again, a small smile. She was like you'd want your grandmother to be, kind and smart. Well, he hoped so, anyway.

"The day you went to school when Mr. Weidman saw that you were injured, how did you get hurt, Richard?"

"I was trying a routine, well, a new move on the high bar-I do gymnastics-and I missed the catch. I hit the bar when I fell. That's how my ribs got broken."

"You have a high bar in your home? That must be quite a set up. Where was Mr. Wayne while you were doing this?"

"I think he was upstairs. I'm not really sure, he wasn't there, though."

"Did he know what you were doing in the gym, or wherever you have this equipment?"

"No, he didn't. I wanted to surprise him when I got it right."

Of course, a typical kid thing to do, if it was true. "And when you realized that you were hurt, why didn't you tell either him or" she looked at her notes "Mr. Pennyworth?"

"Because I knew that if I was injured Bruce would cancel plans for a vacation and I didn't want him to have to do that." He started coughing; making his ribs hurt like a bitch.

She poured him a glass of water from the carafe on her desk. "Are you alright?" He nodded. Fine. "Would Mr. Wayne have been angry if he'd had to cancel his plans?"

"He would have been disappointed. He wouldn't have been mad." She gave him an appraising look, seeming to decide if he was lying or not. He couldn't tell what she was thinking.

"On the day you were caught cutting school, you've said you took one of Mr. Wayne's cars and went for a ride, when he saw you afterwards, what did he do?"

Dick knew this was a biggie. Shit, sure Bruce had slapped him, but it wasn't that big a deal. "He was angry that time." He took another sip of water. "He yelled at me and slapped me."

"With the palm or the back of his hand?"

"I think he backhanded me." Dick knew he had. It had hurt a lot more than just a slap.

"Where did he strike you, on what part of your body?"

"Across the face, but it wasn't too hard or anything."

She was looking at her notes again. "It says here that you required an emergency dental appointment because some of your teeth were loosened and that you required three stitches to close a split lip. Had he ever struck you before or since that time? The truth now, Richard."

Oh, shit. It sounded worse than it was. "That was the only time. I swear. And he felt terrible as soon as he did it. He apologized and called the dentist himself and took me over. He was really upset about it."

"And has he ever laid a hand on you since that time?"

"No, never, I swear."

"You're a good student, Richard. According to your records you're close to a 4.0 GPA and it looks like you've never slipped off the honor roll. Does Mr. Wayne push you to study?"

"He doesn't push me to do anything, really. He just let's me know how he feels about something and I take it from here."

"If you bring home a bad grade, are there any repercussions?"

Sure, Robin stays home to study. "He just says that he thinks I can do better so I study harder. I don't get punished or anything."

She nodded and smiled at him, almost an apology, and picked up another file from the pile in front of her. "Now, Richard, you look like you're a healthy young man and I understand that you like to ski and be active. I have a report of the injuries you've been treated for in the last seven years and I would like you to explain a few of them to me. Alright?"

Like he had a choice. "Sure."

"According to this you've broken your leg, your arm-twice, your clavicle, your ankle has been severely sprained four times, the tendons and ligaments in your knee were torn, you've dislocated both of your shoulders and you've been treated for three concussions. That's a lot of injuries, son. Could you tell me about them?"

Jesus, they thought Bruce did all that-of course that's what they thought. Crap, like he could explain it was Joker and Harvey Dent and Catwoman and the rest of the loons.

"Sometimes I go too fast when I ski-I hot dog and Bruce yells at me about it all the time, sometimes I catch an edge or something, y'know? And I just started snow boarding a couple of years ago-I like the pipes and if they're icy you can wipe pretty badly. And gymnastics can rack you up if you miss a move, like with my ribs. That's all. Just stuff. I do a lot of hard tricks and some of them take a while to nail. That's all."

God, he was rambling and he sounded lame.

"Bruce didn't hurt me. I know that's what the caseworkers think, but he didn't, just that once and that was because I did a dumbass thing and he was upset. I swear to God, he didn't. I just screw up sometimes with a move and get banged. I swear. Bruce loves me; he doesn't do anything to hurt me. He wouldn't ever hurt me."

She watched him through this speech, judging what he was saying. It sounded rehearsed. He went on.

"You have my records there, you must have read through them-when my parents were killed Bruce was the only one who bothered about me. He was the only one who even noticed me that night. I ended up being locked up in Juvie five hours after Mom and Dad were dead because the caseworker couldn't be bothered to find me a temporary foster home. I spend three weeks in a fucking cell-I didn't even get to go to their funerals because no one thought to get me before the service and by the time they did it was too late-but Bruce found me and got me out of there. He gave me a place to live and he takes care of me. He even went through all the legal crap so that I could stay with him." He took a breath. "Alfred makes sure I get to school and eat and all of that, but Bruce is the one who makes it all happen."

"Richard…"

"No, listen to me. They want you to think he's a crappy parent because he forgets my birthday and doesn't always show up at school plays and stuff, but I don't care about that crap, it doesn't matter because I know he'll be there if he can and if he can't then-shit-if he can't he feels really bad about missing stuff.

"Look, Bruce isn't like other people. He runs a big corporation and he's really busy and I know that. It's not some nine to five job, y'know?-that time he left me to go to London? I WANTED to stay home and he had like twenty friends checking up on me all the time. He wanted me to stay with a friend then but I was the one who insisted that I would be alright alone. That was me who did that. I swear, and I WAS fine. I was OK and he knew I would be. He wanted to give me a chance to be on my own and now people are saying it was neglect and abandonment, but I'm not a little kid.

"People think I am because I'm only fifteen, but before Bruce I traveled all over with my parents-did you know I was getting paid to fly in the circus when I was four years old? I even have my own money from that. We went all over Europe and this country-I learned how to speak different languages and-God. "He paused again, pushing that lock of hair out of his eyes before he went on. "Look, I'm a circus rat; I can take care of myself. I don't need someone all the time. I'm not like the kids in school whose big trip was like to Disney World or something. And I saw my parents die in front of me. I'm not like other kids my age. I'm not and Bruce understands that.

"I'm not just some dumb teenager. I've done a lot and I'm not stupid enough to stay someplace where I'm getting beat up.  Bruce loves me and…." He ran out of steam. "…I just want to go home."

He sat there, his lips slightly parted, watching her watch him, studying him, watching her make up her mind.

"Thank you, Richard. It's more than clear to me that you're an exceptional young man who's had too many difficult things to deal with the last few years and I know you care about Mr. Wayne very much. I also know how hard this all is for you-I'll try to do what I think is best." She pressed the intercom on her desk. "Karen? Would you please show Richard into the large conference room?" She stood up, Dick's cue to do the same. "I've already spoken with your caseworker and Mr. Wayne. You wait for me in the other room and I'll be there in a few minutes to tell you all my decision, alright?"

He had no choice. There was nothing more he could say to her now. Nodding, he let himself be led down the carpeted hallway.

The room was empty when he went in. It looked like any conference room anywhere. There was a large wooden table, executive chairs, some potted plants and fichus trees. The usual pitcher of water and glasses were on a sideboard. Large windows looked down to the media still gathered down on the street, ten floors below them.

This was such bullshit and it was all his fault. He'd slipped on the damn rope and then he'd gone to school when he knew that he was too hurt to cover. God-now everything was a mess and it was all his fault. Everyone was upset, he'd hurt Bruce and Alfred, there was a fucking feeding frenzy out there and…

The door opened and everyone else came in, quickly, quietly. Bruce and Alfred were there along with Bruce's lawyers. He wanted to go over to their side of the table but Livvy Clarke gave him a too bright smile and stood right next to him, her hand on his arm restraining him.

Idiot. Bitch. He hated her as much as he'd ever hated anyone in his life. He just wanted…Yeah, she was doing her job. He knew that, but he saw the expression on Bruce's face. He looked nervous and that scared Dick. Even the lawyers looked tense. This was going badly for some reason and he wished he could just tell Bruce how damn sorry he was, how he'd screwed up and how he'd never meant…

Judge Hunt came in, closing the door behind her. "Everyone take a seat, please."

She sat at the head of the table, a couple of files placed in front of her.

"I've looked at the preliminary evidence you've all presented and I've spoken to the parties involved. It's clear to me that Mr. Wayne and Mr. Pennyworth care deeply about Richard and that caring is obviously returned and mutual. I believe that they wish the best for him and have attempted to provide him with a safe and stable home. However, I'm disturbed about several of the incidents that have come to light. There is no excuse for striking anyone, let alone a child with the force Mr. Wayne evidently used. Also, despite his obvious maturity and intelligence, I'm concerned about the seeming nonchalance with which Richard is permitted to come and go without apparent supervision. In addition to this, the list of documented injuries that was presented to me is frightening in the extreme and I'm forced to wonder how many injuries were not deemed serious enough to warrant professional treatment. There are also serious discrepancies between the reasons the various parties involved or witness to them gave me for all these events. In my judgment, I find that there is sufficient cause to initiate a full investigation into the domestic situation of the concerned parties."

Dick sagged back in his chair. The rest was a mumble to him.

"Richard is hereby remanded into the continuation of protection of the state and shall continue to reside with the Weidman's in temporary foster care. I continue the no contact order between Mr. Wayne and his associates and Richard and they are to have no interaction of any kind until further notice.

"I want it understood by everyone here that I expect you to proceed with all speed to resolve this case. I will not tolerate delaying tactics of any kind and I expect you to have your cases ready to present in a timely manner. I expect and order you all to consider what is in the best interest of Richard as you priority.

"In addition, I impose a gag order on this case. No one is to speak about any part of these proceedings or the subsequent investigation to anyone who is not directly involved in the investigation for any reason under threat of contempt of court. I will not tolerate leaks, ladies and gentlemen and make no mistake about that."

She nodded to the people around the table, rose and walked out.

That was it. Period.

Dick tried to walk around the table to where Bruce and Alfred were sitting, still trying to absorb what had just happened, but he was stopped by Libby Clarke. "I'm sorry, Richard. You heard what the judge said."

He saw Bruce look at him shaking his head slightly as he said, "This isn't over, Dick. We'll win this."

Kevin Rooney touched Bruce's arm. "Mr. Wayne, you're in contempt of the judge's orders."

Dick was being led out. He looked numb which was how Bruce felt at the moment.

"Get my son back. Just get him back."

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