Bruce stared at the computer screen. It had not changed in over a week, but still he'd held to the hope that tonight would be different. To that end, he'd gone through all of his other correspondence, checking this address periodically to see if possibly, hopefully, something new had been received.

Of course, nothing had.

"This is ridiculous," he muttered. He backed out of the system, and shut it down, keeping his temper in check enough to resist the urge to hurl the laptop across the room. He stood, and stretched, rubbing the back of his neck where a persistent ache had settled. Folding the computer, he unplugged the modem and made to put it away, only then noticing the tray on the table before him.

When had Alfred brought that in? He picked up the coffee cup, and sipped. Cold. He picked up the sandwich, noting that the bread was beginning to curl on the edges. Good God, how long had he been sitting here? Shrugging, he took a half-hearted bite of the sandwich; before he knew it, the turkey and swiss was gone. He emptied the coffee in a couple of gulps, and disposed of the pear as quickly. Gathering up the tray, he headed down to the kitchen, suddenly ravenous.

He checked the clock on the landing as he passed; eight o'clock. Not as late as he'd feared, but then again, he'd been sitting at that damned computer since two that afternoon. Encouraged by the snack, his stomach growled it's displeasure at his negligence, and he hurried down the stairs.

Not surprisingly, Alfred was in the kitchen, along with Tim, who seemed to be actually attempting to do his homework for a change. The boy was a good kid, but sometimes, he was a trial. Why couldn't he be a little more interested in school, why wasn't he a natural scholar, like -

He stopped himself. Rule number one: Don't compare them. Especially now. Tim is Tim, and Dick is . . .

"Don't go there," he said to himself.

"I beg your pardon, Master Bruce," Alfred said. "Did you say something?"

"Nothing," Bruce shook his head. "I was talking to myself."

"Mmm." Alfred raised an eyebrow, and gave him A Look, but said nothing else.

"You missed a good supper," Tim said gleefully, as if he'd caught his guardian red-handed at something. "I thought you came home so you wouldn't have to work tonight."

"Sorry," Bruce replied, ruffling the boy's hair. "I guess I got preoccupied. Alfred," he crossed to the refrigerator, "I apologize. Thanks for the sandwich. I'm starving, now. What do we have?" He poked his head inside the door, peering at the myriad little containers and boxes. Alfred seemed to have an inexhaustible supply of the little plastic containers, each filled with something different; Bruce was certain that the old man had stock in the company that made them.

Alfred put a hand on his shoulder, and gently but firmly moved him away from the refrigerator. "I've kept a plate warm for you. Sit down, it won't be a minute."

Obligingly, Bruce sat across from Tim, and watched guiltily as Alfred pulled out a plate from the warming oven, and quickly gathered up the rest of the neglected meal. He tried not to show how ravenous he was, especially since Tim was watching him like a hawk, waiting for any breach of etiquette.

"Are we going out tonight, Bruce?" Tim asked, apparently disappointed at Bruce's good manners. He shoved an entire cookie into his mouth and downed it with a huge gulp of milk. "I'm almost done with my homework," he added, with a note of pride.

"I don't think so," Bruce said. He stared at the plate before him, toying with the fork and pushing around a stray carrot. "I have to take a …" He paused, debating if he was really planning what he seemed to be planning, and if so, whether he wanted to share this information with Alfred. "I need to make a brief business trip," he said, deciding to throw caution to the wind. "I need to check out a few things, follow up on a few hunches." Think fast, Batman, he told himself. What would you need to check out? What business do you have that will provide a good enough excuse?

"Ah," Alfred said, clearing away Bruce's plate and handing Tim a napkin. "I thought you might want to check into that Powers merger."

Bruce looked up at him, and their eyes met. Of course, Alfred would know. He knew everything, and not only did he know everything, he knew how to fix everything. Bruce smiled, equal parts relieved and embarrassed; relieved that at least in this he would not be forced to remember some elaborate lie, but embarrassed at the possibility that Alfred knew the full story behind the need for this trip.

"Yes, there are some aspects of this merger that seem a bit shady. I thought perhaps a little incognito investigating would be a good idea."

"Of course, Master Bruce," Alfred nodded, and smiled reassuringly. "Shall I pack you a bag?"

"Can I go, too?" Tim asked.

"No, and definitely no," Bruce replied. "It's best if I travel light, less noticeable. I'll take the Indian, I think. And you," he reached over to the plate of cookies in front of his ward, and took one, "have school this week, remember?"

"I was hoping you'd forget that," Tim grinned. "It was worth a try."

"Maybe next time," Bruce smiled. "Get those grades up, and keep them up, and maybe we'll see."

"Great," Tim sighed. "Like that will ever happen."

"Positive attitude, Master Tim," Alfred said, patting the boy on the shoulder. "One can't win the battle if one gives up before it starts." He turned back to Bruce, who still sat at the table, dunking a cookie into his coffee. "Will you be leaving tonight, sir?"

Bruce nodded, and got to his feet, grabbing another cookie and finishing the coffee. "I'll go now and change, and be off in a bit."

"Very good, sir, I'll see to things here. Good night, and have a safe trip." He relieved Bruce of the coffee cup, leaning closer to speak so Tim couldn't hear. "And give him my regards."

Bruce stopped in his tracks for a split second, and then gave his old friend a small smile. "Will do," he replied. "Good night, Alfred. And," he turned back to pat Tim on the shoulder, "Sleep tight, Tim. I'll see you in a few days. Be good."

"Yeah, yeah," Tim shrugged. He looked up at Bruce, and his face was suddenly uncharacteristically serious and mature beyond his years. "Be careful, okay? Don't let anybody get the drop on you." He grinned again. "You won't have me to watch your back, so don't do anything stupid."

"Gotcha," Bruce smiled. He and Tim had not been together for very long, but already there was an understanding, an unacknowledged affection and loyalty between them. Like between him and Alfred. Or between him and… "I'll be careful."

"'Kay. Later, Bruce."

"Alfred, I'll be in touch," Bruce said, and with a final nod, turned and went back upstairs.

It took him a few minutes to find what he was looking for; his dressing room was cavernous, and while Alfred could find anything in it within a moment's notice, Bruce had to look. Finally, on the last rack in the very back of the immense closet, he found what he was looking for. Pulling the riding leathers on over his jeans, he traded his tennis shoes for black boots, and shrugged into the leather jacket, noticing with some surprise that the ragged tear in the back had been neatly mended, and the blood stain was scarcely noticeable. He opened the wall safe in his bedroom, and took out a roll of bills, separating it into several smaller packets and stashing them in his boots and wallet.

He made his way down to the garage, and filled the tank in the Indian, then it occurred to him that a rare and valuable bike like that might prove too tempting for the less than honorable denizens of Dick's neighborhood along the waterfront. So, he walked it back into its place, and took out the massive Harley. The Hog, while no less valuable, was fixed with an alarm system, and other anti-theft precautions. It also had a tracking device built in - just in case. He started it up, and pulled on the helmet; then, on impulse, he tossed the helmet aside, and headed out the door and down the driveway.

"No turning back now, Batman," he said to himself. He pointed the bike in the direction of Gotham, and drove off into the night.



Chapter Two

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