To Time or Not to Time

Dick hated interviews. They were intrusive and usually the questions were as lame as it was possible for questions to be. Today was just another case in point. He’d been dodging the request from Time for the last couple of months or so and was finally told by Bruce, in no uncertain terms, that public relations were part of the job if he insisted on being a costumed vigilante. If he wanted to keep his personal light under a bushel, that was just fine, but in that case he could go to the Academy, start as a patrolman and wear a GCPD uniform like everyone else—when he was old enough which would be in about six years. He would then blend in with the rest of the force and could be as anonymous as he wished. He could also then stick to the standard rules of a rookie cop and forget about the various perks of his chosen vocation.

And until then he could be a normal, run of the mill high school student.

His choice.

Fine.

So he was in Aparo Park on the west side of the city, leaning against a wrought iron fence with the Gotham River behind him. Some probably fresh out of journalism school dweeb was sitting on a bench, grilling him for some profile piece he wished with all his heart wasn’t happening. It wasn’t helping that she’d started the meeting by telling him she could see why he’d been voted ‘Best Butt’ in People’s latest poll and was wondering if it was true or not. Then she quasi-leered at him, deciding that it was.

Seriously—get just a little bit serious, please. Okay? “I don’t want to seem rude, but could we keep the questions about the actual work?” He’d realized years ago that there were only about two dozen questions he ever got asked; anything else was just a variation on one of those themes.

“Of course, no problem.” She looked over her notes, doing her level best to regain her professional air while sitting five feet from the hunkiest hunk she’d ever seen, no matter that he was still jail bait. “So Robin, tell me how you manage to fit everything into a day—patrols with Batman almost every night, leading the Titans, not to mention school and I’m assuming that you have at least some time for yourself, right?” And she’d be more than happy to help him relax. Any time.

Not this one again. “I’m organized, I have to be. You know how it is—I just take one thing at a time and move through the day like anyone else who’s busy. It’s not bad as long as I keep on top of things.”

“Well, you make it all look so easy, but you do have some personal time, right?”

“Of course, sure.” Maybe an odd five minutes here and there.

She looked up. Please, don’t let him blow off all his answers in three words. Please. “Like what? I mean, what do you like to do when you’re not working or in school or something?” He looked a little blank. Oh, god—don’t let him clam up, not now, get him talking; that's your job. “I mean, you know—like do you go camping or to movies? Do you like to go clubbing or traveling or skiing or something?”

“I hang out with my friends.”

“The Titans?”

“Usually.” When we’re chasing mutant criminals… “We went camping last year out in the Grand Canyon; that was fun. Um, I, sometimes I, um, I like to sleep when I get some time off. I work out.” He half shrugged and gave her this incredibly winsome smile. “I don’t get a lot of free time, I guess.”

She nodded encouragingly. She’d be happy to show him a good time if he got an evening off. Any time in fact. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

“I’d really rather not talk about my personal life, if that’s okay. I mean it’s personal, y’know?”

Crap. “Of course.” He must, anyone who looked like he did had to have someone waiting for him to call. No brainer. “But I can’t believe that someone like you would be sitting home Saturday night, right?” She was smiling and he wanted her to fall in the damn river and drown.

That was it, he’d had it. “What do you mean, ‘someone like you’?”

She smiled her special smile, hoping for a reaction. “C’mon, you must have a mirror at home; good looks, great body, smart, a world class athlete, world famous, respected by every police department on the planet as well as every hero organization in existence. You can go anywhere, meet anyone, write your own ticket; don’t play innocent, Robin, you know what you are and you make it look like a walk in the park. Your life looks like you’re rolling seven after seven.”

“It’s not like that…” Had she talked with Roy first? This sounded suspiciously like his usual line.

“Sure. Now, let’s drop the false modesty, okay?” That had a real edge to it. She needed real answers for this assignment and there was more than one way to skin a Robin.

Robin kept his smile but it didn't reach his eyes anymore, what a total bitch. “Excuse me?” The interview just took a sharp detour to the left.

“You know what I mean, this ‘I’m just like everybody else and it’s no big deal to be me.’ C’mon, you know your resume better than I do. You’re planning to go to college, aren’t you? Any thoughts about where you may end up—and do you think anyone would believe that you can’t just pick up the phone at any school in the world and let them know to reserve you a room in the dorm?”

He paused, this was a no-win question no matter what he answered. “I haven’t decided where I’ll be going or what I want to study.”

“Really?” Clearly not believing it for a second.

“You have to know that with your rep you could go anywhere you want, right? Or are you just thinking of going straight into some kind of police assignment—Interpol, M5, CIA?”

“I haven’t decided, I haven’t even finished my junior in high school year yet, I have plenty of time.”

“No leanings? Ivy League, Big Ten, industry, the military?”

“Maybe in a year I’ll know but right now, no.”

He could see ‘bullshit’ in her expression and the gloves were now off; so much for simpering fangirl handling the interview. “Moving on; there was a rumor that one of the Titans recently went through a period of pretty heavy drug use—care to comment?”

Rumor? It was an acknowledged fact and another no-win question. Crap. “There was a problem, it’s been resolved.”

“Can you confirm that it was Speedy who had the problem? What was he using, how did he kick and is he still clean?”

“I don’t have any comment about who it was or how they went clean—but I can confirm it was addressed fast enough and with enough support that it’s not currently a problem. Should there be any back sliding it will be dealt with. Right now the Titans are back up to full strength and working well.”

“The Titans and you in particular, are looked to as role models for kids allover the world. What kind of statement do you think this sends?”

Christ, you bitch—what do you think? “I think it sends the message that we’re human and have the same problems as anyone else but that we deal with them and support one another when there’s a need. Is there some other interpretation you see?”

She looked at her notes for a second. “It’s been suggested that the legal community went easy on you—I mean ‘you’ to include all of the heroes—looked the other way and didn’t pursue or press any charges despite the insinuation that drugs were stolen from the NYPD evidence locker. Is that true, by the way?”

Of course it was; Roy ripped off stuff from the locker and skimmed stuff whenever they made a bust, taking his share. “The situation has been dealt with and is resolved; that’s all I’m going to say about this.”

He was a hunk, but he wasn’t giving her anything but canned replies and that wasn’t going to get her a Pulitzer or even another assignment. She needed to dig deeper and get in his good graces. Unless… “Any truth to the rumors that you’ve had relationships with several of your coworkers?”

“I just said that I don’t comment on my personal life.”

“Or an alternate lifestyle?”

Oh, for the love of… “Are you asking me if I’m gay?”

“It’s hardly a new rumor; you and Batman and there’s been talk about you and Aqualad, Speedy—any truth?”

He’d heard this one since he was nine years old, ’nothing new but he'd been doing interviews long enough to know better than to swing in the dirt. “No comment.”

“You do know that a lot of people take ‘no comment’ to mean yes.”

“People are going to think what they're going to think, no matter what I say.” He shrugged, shook his head and laughed a little. “Anything else you’d like to ask?”

“Not if you’re going to keep fobbing me off with non-answers.”

Bitch. He was half annoyed and half guilty and he knew Bruce would be pissed so he took a mental deep breath and tried a little harder, smile still in place. “Look, ask me something I haven’t heard before, okay? This stuff has been around since forever and you have to have known I wouldn’t answer any of the questions you just asked—there must be something real you want to know.”

If she wanted anything more than a fluff piece she knew she had to change tactics. Okay, she could play by any rules the kid wanted. “All right. The story's been going around for years that you became Robin in response to a crime against your family. Is that true and, if it is, what happened?”

He'd never said anything about this for public consumption before but it had been around for a while...

“Without going into details that would seriously compromise my personal security and that of my friends—my family was targeted by some criminals when I was young—younger. Yes, that was the catalyst which got me started doing this.”

“They were killed?” All business now and hang the niceties, the gloves were off.

“...Yes.”

“And when you say 'family', are you referring to your parents?”

“Yes.”

“Did this happen in Gotham?”

“No, it didn't.” It happened about twenty yards outside of the city limits, but that was getting too close to home. Her readers could think it happened in Omaha for all he cared.

“Did you know Batman before that?”

“I knew of him, of course, but I'd never met him.”

“So your parents were killed, murdered or whatever, and Batman solved the crime and you wanted to grow up to be just like him?”

“Something like that.”

“'Any siblings?”

“'Not going there.”

“Okay.” She paused, framing her next question. “Both of your parents were killed?” He nodded. “So if you'd be willing to talk about this, after you were orphaned you went to live with Batman or some relatives or friends or something, is that right? And how old were you then, in your first appearances you look pretty young.”

“I was in elementary school and, no, I wasn't taken in by Batman.” He'd been taken in by Bruce Wayne and obviously saying even that much would be a neon sign as to connect the dots. Gotham wasn't that big, not big enough to swallow that admission without someone—or a lot of someone's figuring it out.

“Okay, so how did you end up doing this, then?”

How do you think? “He was there when my parents were killed; just a coincidence, nothing planned. He followed up, found where I was living and told me flat-out that if I didn't get some kind of closure, I'd probably end up in some serious trouble.”

“Such as?”

He smiled, shifted his weight against the railing. “He was afraid that I'd turn to the dark side of the force, take the easy way out and become a criminal myself.”

She looked surprised by that. “Was he right?”

“Probably, yes. I think I would have been a pretty good one, actually.”

“Because?”

“Because I was angry and I didn't see that there was any down side to being a bad guy. The people who killed my parents got away with it—at least at that point they'd gotten away with it. It seemed to me like a pretty easy way to get money; it's not that hard to be a thief if you put your mind to it and you can make major money in, say, drug importing. I think I'd have done just fine.”

She seemed a little taken aback by his answer, wasn't Robin the world's role model for clean living and do-gooding? “So what happened to change your mind?”

“Batman gave me the training and the chance to catch the men who ordered my parent's murders. I guess I felt empowered and realized that I could make a difference. I kept studying—I still study—and I do what I do.”

“So you're being here talking to me is all because of Batman.”

“Well, yeah. If it wasn't for him I'd be anonymous, just living my life, whatever that ended up being.”

“But—didn't he frighten you? Most little kids think of him as the bogey-man.”

“Batman?” Robin paused to consider his answer. Finally, “He—after what I'd seen, after my parents died, I don't think anything could ever be that frightening again He was intimidating at first, sure, but he understood me and I came to understand him, it took a little while, but we're on the same page. More or less, anyway.”

“More of less?”

“We're two different people, we have different ways of looking at things. We agree about most things but we're not identical.” He shrugged, stressing his take. “C'mon, anyone who's ever seen us knows that we're different, have different personalities.”

“Does he ever laugh?”

“You mean 'Chuckles'?” Robin laughed at that, Roy had asked him just last night.

“How much do the tabloids and the gossip press bother you?”

“They don't—they're garbage and I don't read them.”

“Ever?”

“No.” And that was true. Sometimes a friend would tell him about something or send him something, but they were crap and he didn't care.

“Any plans for the Olympics?” Another rumor.

“No. Not enough time and I'm really not a pure gymnast, what I do is more acrobatics; it's not the same.”

That was a lot more than she'd hoped of getting from the kid. Maybe he'd go another extra step. “Any regrets? 'Things you'd change, do over?”

He hesitated, his head turned to watch a freighter go by for a long few minutes. “I don't believe in regrets. I know that's a cliché but it's true; there's usually nothing you can do about them besides suck it up and keep going and try not to make the same mistake again.”

“What mistakes?”

A thoughtful intake of breath. “I'd try harder to keep in touch, closer touch with the friends from my old life. I mean more than just Christmas cards and occasional visits. I do try, but I don't have much spare time and we don't have much in common anymore; I know that sounds lame, but it's true, at least most of the time. I, I might have made more of an effort to see some of the family members who...” He stopped himself.

“Family members who...?”

“Nothing, forget that, strike it.”

“'Off the record?”

“No, I'd rather not.” Period. Don't go there. Drop it.

“All right. Is there anything else you'd like to set straight?” She suppressed a smile. “I know your fans would like to know if your virtue is still intact.”

Robin laughed while he blushed. “Seriously, no comment.”

“Not even a hint?”

“A gentleman doesn't discuss such things, or so I've been told.” But it was said with a smile.

Robin's cell phone rang, glancing at the screen he answered, said 'Okay' and ended the call. “I've got to go. You got everything you needed?”

“And then some.” She stood, putting the recorder back in her bag and shaking out her skirt as Robin nodded to her, put his helmet on his head and roared off, cape flapping in the breeze.

She hadn't gotten anything she'd wanted but he was a notoriously hard interview; charming and polite but didn't give much away. At least she didn't score a zero.

The article appeared two weeks later, Robin on the cover with the headline; 'Robin Revealed', a snide reference to the tabloid treatment he was too used to. The body of the text was a reasonably accurate look at the stresses and demands on a young person in Robin's unique position.

“Though there has been endless questions and debate about the wisdom, and in some cases, legality of allowing minors to actively function as vigilantes, Robin has long been one of the shining success stories. This reporter had the rare pleasure of a several hour long free-wheeling interview with this exceptional young man and came away impressed.

Intelligent, articulate and clear about his goals, motivations and thoughts regarding his life, he is as good and respected a roll model as exists today...”

The interview, unedited, ran over several pages with a dozen full color photographs. It was as close to a puff piece and love letter Time ever does and generated a tremendous amount of mail ranging from thanks from grateful fangirls 'those pictures were—oh my god. Why didn't you warn us?' to complaints from various fringe groups decrying 'out of control fanatics who take the law into their own hands'.

Robin, true to form, didn't read it but knew Alfred had clipped the thing and pasted it into the scrapbook he pretended he didn't keep. And wished, with all his heat that this was the last one he'd ever do.

Fat chance.
 

Return to Simon's Fanfiction

8/26/09