Casing
by Lucy Gillam

Dick wasn't surprised to hear the key turning in his apartment door at noon. Selina could always be relied upon for two things: to believe him when he said he didn't need help, and to provide something later that was not quite the help he had turned down but still made things better. So he was also not surprised by the strong smells of coffee and sausages, or to see her already pulling down plates from his cupboard when he emerged from the bedroom.

"Clean silverware?" she asked as he rubbed the non-existent sleep from his eyes.

"Dishwasher."

She worked in silence, unwrapping things from a paper bag and putting them on the plates. His favorite breakfast burrito from Sam's Diner, filled with eggs and sausage and onions and cheese and very little that was good for you, but so, so right. They had been his big treat to himself in his two years stealing purses, not just because they were tasty, but because he pretty much hadn't needed to eat the rest of the day. Selina hadn't often indulged his love of them as a child, but they'd had a tendency to show up on his plate after a particularly trying week.

Of course, it had the advantage of being comfort food she didn't actually have to cook. Dick had learned his way around the kitchen by the time he was fifteen in sheer self-defense.

He slid onto one of the stools of the breakfast bar, and she placed the plate in front of him, ruffling his hair in passing. Her gestures of physical affection had gotten more infrequent as he'd gotten older, but he'd never managed to break her of that habit, and in truth, he'd stopped wanting to.

They ate in companionable silence, Dick nearly inhaling his burrito and Selina picking delicately at a croissant. In the years since their first lunch, he had learned she could down a six-course meal with the best of them, but she seldom ate heavily before afternoon.

He swallowed a massive bite of sausage and egg. "You'll never guess who made an appearance last night. After… After. At the shelter. Well, near it."

"Who?"

"Our favorite costumed crime stopper."

That earned a carefully raised eyebrow. "Really? Doesn't seem like his sort of thing. I mean, it was over very quickly, right? And they caught the boy who did it right away, thanks to some heroics."

She spoke lightly, but Dick could hear the mixture of pride and remonstration in her voice, and he flushed. "No, I don't think he was there because of the shooting. I mean, he was, but…" Dick hesitated. "I actually think he came to see me."

Selina's hands gripped the countertop, her nails scraping against the surface. "He can't possibly have thought you would…"

"Huh? Oh, no, no!" Dick interrupted. "Nothing like that. I think… It was like he was worried about me. Weird, huh?"

Selina's grip on the countertop loosened. "Mmm." The outrage was gone from her expression, which had turned thoughtful, instead. He worried sometimes when she got that expression. It tended to lead to complicated jobs and possibly packing very, very fast.

"What? What?"

"Oh, nothing, sweetie. It's just always interesting to be reminded that he's human under that mask. Finish your breakfast."

Dick was fairly certain that wasn't what she'd been thinking, but he knew better than to call her on it, and obediently continued working on his burrito. Selina spent the next few minutes looking off into space, her nails clicking rhythmically against the counter.

Dick wiped the last of the grease from his mouth. "It was really strange, though. I mean, I almost felt, I dunno, reassured by it."

"Well, he can have that effect, when it's not you he's after," Selina said. "But you can't let yourself get too comfortable with that feeling, because it will be you he's after next time."

"Do you ever, you know, think about him?" he asked. "I mean, do you ever…" He didn't want to use the word pine, because of course she'd never do anything as silly as pine for someone (well, she might, but she'd deny it to her grave). "Wonder if anything could have happened?"

"Oh, sure," she said, almost absently. "If I'd stayed in Gotham, maybe. Or maybe not. I don't know that it would have gone very far, though. I don't think he could really love someone who was a criminal, not as anything more than a thrill."

Dick sighed. "Yeah, probably not."

Selina looked back at him sharply, and her eyes widened. "Oh, sweetie, no. Sweetie, no."

Dick frowned. "No, what?"

"Dick, honey, you are not going to… I mean, I can't fault your taste, darling, but not him."

"Not him wha… Oh. Oh. No, no," he hastened to reassure her. "I'm not… I mean, yeah, okay, he's built like Hercules, and what little you can see of his face isn't exactly repulsive, and, okay, those arms…" He trailed off, flushing. "So, maybe I've noticed a little..." He coughed.

"I really did think you'd learned your lesson with that boy in Star City," Selina said kindly.

Dick's flush deepened, and he wished, not for the first time, that he hadn't sworn to tell her absolutely everything that happened on any given job. Admitting at sixteen that a chase with Green Arrow's sidekick had ended in thirty minutes of frantic kissing and groping had not been one of his favorite moments. At the time she had just sighed, ruffled his hair, and said that if she didn't know better, she'd have sworn they actually were related, and could he try not to repeat too many of her mistakes?

Apparently not.

No. No. He wasn't… "I'm not falling for him," he said.

"Possibly not," she said. "Just promise me you'll be careful."

"Yes, ma'am," he said, knowing it would irritate her enough to get them off this subject.

Sure enough, she gave his head a gentle shove and went back to her coffee.

He was not falling for Batman. He wasn't. He couldn't.

He kept telling himself that all afternoon, and as he headed to the downtown branch of the Gotham Public Library the next day. He told himself he was just going to see if they had anything new in the Ancient Egypt section, maybe see if the pretty redhead (Barbara, he'd heard one of her co-workers call her) was working today.

So how, exactly, had he managed to end up at a microfilm reader looking at old articles about Batman?

Not that there wasn't plenty of information on the Internet, but it was mostly newer and often filled with wild speculation and even wilder…other things. The stuff he wanted, the articles from when Batman first appeared in Gotham, would only be found by actual research.

"We have a special archive on him, you know."

Dick managed to keep his startled jump to only a few inches.

Barbara was standing behind him.

"Really? Is it any good?" He softened the question with the smile Selina assured him would let him get away with pretty much anything.

She smiled back. "I like to think so. I'm the one who set it up. Anything in particular you're looking for?"

"Um…earlier stuff. From when he first started showing up." He waited for her to ask what he wanted it for, an excuse about a sociology project ready to hand, but she just nodded.

"Back in a minute."

What she brought him were four large binders with photocopies of newspaper stories.

"Easier on the eyes," she said as she set them down. "Someday I'll get them all scanned and cross-referenced."

From the brisk tone of her voice, he had no doubt she would. "Thanks! Should I just bring them to you when I'm done?"

"Please." She looked for a minute as if she might give him a patented stern librarian warning, but then she just smiled and walked away.

Mysterious Bat-man Foils Robbery screamed the first headline.

The stories that followed told him very little factually that Selina already hadn't: the corruption in the Gotham P.D. that was, if not rooted out, at least partially exposed. There were a few articles that focused primarily on the rise of now-Commissioner Gordon that seemed like an odd inclusion in the archive, but he supposed it was all part of Batman's influence on the city. The Holiday and Hangman cases followed, and there were even a few mentions of a woman in a cat-suit that made Dick smile.

And though the details weren't new, he learned quite a bit about the city's reaction to their new guardian. There were the editorials denouncing vigilantism, followed by a flood of letters with personal stories of crime, of police ineffectiveness, even the occasional testimonial of someone saved by Batman. Sometimes there followed another editorial reasserting the need for law and order, other times an editorial reconsidering the question.

Dick skimmed the better part of three of the binders before a faint ache between his eyes made him stop. He remembered doing something similar for several months after his encounter with Speedy, finally stopping when he got the uncomfortable feeling that the other boy's life was somehow headed out of control. It had been only a vague sense, an article or three about careless mistakes, but when he realized he was wondering how he might find Speedy and make sure he was okay, he knew it was time to stop. It was good, Selina had always said, to help people when you could, but you had to keep your goals realistic.

He scooped up the binders and went to the reference desk, where Barbara was sitting looking supremely bored as she entered information into a computer.

"Here you go."

"Got what you need?" she asked, taking the binders.

"Think so. Interesting guy."

She looked at him with badly concealed amusement. "That's one way of putting it."

Dick frowned, a thought occurring to him. "I'm a little surprised there aren't more imitators. I mean, you had brief mentions here and there in those of someone dressing up in a costume and stopping a mugging, but they never seemed to show up again."

The amusement left her face. "He doesn't tolerate other people doing that here," she said, almost as much to herself as him. She blinked and flushed. "Or so I've heard."

Another story there, but not one he had energy to pursue. He thanked her for her help, and headed towards home.

He stopped at the Westerberg Mall on the way, just to give the place a once-over. Mall jewelry stores had become something of a specialty of his in the last two years. The individual take was never very large, but most malls had two or three, plus the department stores, and with about three very careful hours, he could acquire his rent for the month. And they were mostly chain stores, so that was good.

He'd avoided this mall so far; in fact, he'd avoided much of Gotham, knowing that Batman was keeping a special eye out for him. Whatever strange dispensation Selina seemed to have, he didn't entirely trust it to extend to him, and he felt safer taking the time to go to neighboring towns and cities. Bludhaven, lacking as it did a costumed protector, had its appeal. But there was nothing wrong with the occasional home gig. Selina had taught him how to watch for the right nights, the nights he wouldn't attract any undue attention.

The fact that this also told him the nights he would had only just occurred to him.

He put the thought out of his mind and headed for the youth shelter for his usual Thursday night shift.

The place was nearly empty, and the few kids that were there were subdued, slumped silently on the third-hand couches, watching TV. Dick was pretty sure there wouldn't be any basketball tonight.

"Dick!"

He turned at the startled exclamation (although turning at the sound of his name here had caused a bit of embarrassment once or twice). Sally McNeese was looking at him in pleased surprise.

"Yep," he answered. "It is my night, isn't it?"

"Well, yes, but I…" she trailed off, looking uncomfortable.

"Didn't think I'd show up," he supplied without rancor. It was, of course, the drawback to the persona he'd created for his life in Gotham. Most of the time, pretending to be the son of a well-to-do family avoided pesky questions like where his money came from and what was he planning to do with his life, anyway? A twenty-year-old with family money had societal permission to be a bit aimless, taking a college class or two, doing marginally socially acceptable volunteer work.

On the other hand, it meant that neither the kids here nor the staff took him particularly seriously, and he wasn't able to tell the kids he knew, no, really knew what they were going through, why they preferred this to going home or wherever they'd been before. He'd pondered making up some story of a few bad years during his teens, but he'd learned a long time ago that the more elaborate your story, the more chance there was to mess it up.

Still, the perception bothered him more than it should have.

"Not much going on tonight?" he asked.

Sally shook her head. "There won't be for a while. We've had…incidents before, but nothing this bad. And the police were back last night, maybe tonight again. What for I don't know. The poor boy's locked up."

Dick felt an instinctive protest arise at the sympathy expressed for the shooter, but swallowed it back. If Sally weren't the type to feel sympathy for people almost no one else could feel sympathy for, she probably wouldn't be here. There were few enough people like her to balance all the apathy and cynicism.

The evening passed quietly enough. The police did indeed show up, looking threatening to no real effect except to keep the kids who might have benefited from a night here away. By the time Dick left at 2:00 a.m., he was tired and more than a little discouraged.

When he walked out onto the street, he looked around, and he realized he was almost disappointed not to see anyone watching him. The faint itch grew all the way home, so that when he reached his apartment, he was reaching for the pad of paper before he really knew what he was doing.

The note gave him a moment's hesitation, but finally, he wrote as large as he could, "Where you returned the folder. 1AM." Feeling a bit foolish on more than one level (and wondering what the people across the street would make of it), he taped the sign to his window and went to bed.

The first night, there was no sign of him, and at 2:00 a.m., Dick gave up. He hit the Westerberg Mall almost out of spite, although the take was good enough to justify it. Still, he'd never been one for giving up without a fight.

Two nights later, on the roof of the building where he had once lived with Selina, he was almost convinced he'd been wrong.

When he heard the faint sound of someone landing behind him on the roof, Dick resisted the urge to push his goggles up. It was silly, really. Their last conversation had been the only one he'd had with Batman while unmasked. It made no sense to think it was somehow necessary to show his eyes.

Still, he felt an irrational sense of guilt when the voice behind him growled, "You're working."

He almost denied it, but just shrugged instead, turning to face him. "Guy's gotta earn a living." When Batman's hands clenched, he sighed and added, "Relax. Nothing happened tonight. I actually just wanted to talk to you, and I figured swinging around on rooftops in my civvies was a bad idea."

Dick waited for an answer, but wasn't surprised when one was not forthcoming. He sighed again and pushed his hair back. "Believe it or not, I just wanted to say thank you for the other night. It helped."

Batman frowned again (Dick was beginning to wonder if he had any other expression), but nodded.

"So, just out of curiosity," Dick continued, "how did you know I was there?"

"Police band."

Dick frowned. "They wouldn't have had mentioned my name, though. I was just…" He blinked. "Unless you already knew I work there on Tuesdays."

That was met with even more silence. Dick knew he was pushing his luck, but somehow couldn't quite stop himself. He smiled the same smile he'd favored Barbara with earlier.

"It's really sweet the way you look after me. Although I'm sure you treat all your criminals the same way."

There was silent, and there was speechless, and at the moment, Batman was definitely the latter. Dick's grin widened.

"I should go. Home, I promise," he added to forestall any objections. "But really, thanks."

He swung down onto the fire escape without looking back.

He entered his apartment through his window, as he always did on nights he was working (good window access being a primary factor in choosing apartments), and was already crouched in an alert stance before he'd even full registered what was wrong.

The lights. He'd left the living room lights on and the kitchen lights off, and now they were reversed, lighting the breakfast bar, and…

Dick sighed and relaxed. A small bunch of lilacs, completely out of season, rested on his counter. A simple signal, worked out years ago, but used more often since they'd been living apart.

The flowers were resting on top of a blank envelope, and Dick frowned as he opened it. He hoped this wasn't some kind of caper she'd decided on at the last minute.

Inside was a plane ticket, first class, to Jacksonville, Florida, leaving the next day, and a short, back-page article about the struggles of the once mighty Haley's Circus, and in particular its difficulty in keeping a trapeze act the last few years. The return on the ticket was open-ended. Underneath both was a note on a narrow strip of lavender paper.

Go, it said, and get him out of your system. Go and fly, have fun, travel a bit, break some groupies' hearts, make a nuisance of yourself, try to avoid prison, but go, sweetie. Love, S. P.S. You might want to avoid Midway City, and if you find yourself in Metropolis, behave yourself.

Dick flushed a bit while reading the article. He'd talked to Pop Haley a few times over the years, the most memorable being a phone call right after he'd moved in with Selina that consisted mainly of Pop Haley yelling at him for running away and not calling, didn't he know they'd worry, Dickie? In truth, though, he'd mostly lost track of the circus that had been his home for eleven years.

He stared at the article, then at the note and ticket. He knew why she'd left it here while he was gone, knew the argument they'd have had about him being a grown man, more responsible than her half the time (who'd been paying the bills since he was sixteen, after all? Who had known that robbing the lab in Midway City was a bad idea?).

That is, when he wasn't seeking out Batman on rooftops and deliberately pushing his buttons, and pulling jobs on nights he knew to be unsafe.

Dick sighed, already mentally running through what to pack. For nine years he'd listened to her advice; he could do it for a little while longer. Besides, it would be good to fly for a while, and maybe he could do something for the circus.

And he was not falling for Batman.