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"Ha! Missed!" Robin called out as he spun, leaping over one of the large shelving units in the lab. Batman resisted the urge to reach out and catch him -- both from knowing it was pointless and from not wanting to give away any hint of weakness. It wouldn't do to let Gotham's villains know they could so easily distract Batman.
It didn't stop him from having to hide a flinch every time one of the giant, prehensile vines wove and dodged its way towards Robin, no matter how well the boy flipped away, no matter how little the danger seemed to prevent him from narrating the fight and adding completely unnecessary sound effects.
Batman continued his search for Ivy herself, letting Robin continue dealing with her plant sentries. They knew she was here somewhere, if only because this was the last greenhouse to search. The plants were lively enough to make him suspect she was close -- why bother trying so hard if she were already long gone.
He could hear Robin, calling out his BAM!s and POW!s as he soared around the tables and leapt up to the rafters.
Batman allowed himself a brief sigh, then resumed his search. There were too many dark corridors -- one would think plants would need more light, but apparently that wasn't the case. Well, it was Gotham and it was Poison Ivy, so who knew how the plants were getting their energy if not photosynthesis.
Actually, he wasn't sure he wanted to keep thinking about that. He flicked the lenses in his cowl to infra-red again, searching quickly before flicking them back to normal, enhanced nighttime vision. Behind him he could hear the vines trying to subdue Robin and failing, judging by the cackling. He heard the loud bangs as someone knocked over several metal containers, then he could smell damp fertiliser.
What he suddenly could not hear, was Robin. He spun, scanning the area quickly, then he heard him.
"Sorry, can I ask you something?" Robin wasn't far away, standing in an open area near the offices they'd searched first. From this distance Batman could clearly see Robin standing only a few yards away from Poison Ivy. Robin's stance was careful, defensive, but Ivy was just staring down at him in surprise.
"What did you want to ask me?" Ivy asked, ignoring Batman as he hurried forward, silently as he could in case they didn't realise he was there.
Robin gripped his hands together, behind his back. His cape fluttered as he rocked back on his heels. "Batman says you have a doctoral degree in botany," Robin said, and Batman stopped.
Because what the fuck? He had his hand on a batarang, ready to throw, but held himself still.
Ivy nodded. "I do." She looked bemused, and as confused as Batman himself felt.
Then Robin nodded, and his words came out in a very familiar sort of excited rush. "Only my class is doing a unit on plants, but before I came to school here I wasn't in a regular school so the other kids are all ahead of me in some things and behind me in others and we're learning about plants and everyone did a unit last year that I didn't do so I don't really know what's going on and I was wondering if you could help me."
Batman blinked.
Ivy blinked. She found her footing a bit faster than Batman -- who wanted to point out that Dick -- Robin was in a very exclusive private school and they could afford tutors and if he were having trouble why hadn't he asked Bruce?
He was fairly sure he could have helped with 5th grade level biology.
But Ivy was tilting her head, regarding Robin like she wasn't sure this wasn't just a clever distraction. The way she very obviously glanced at Batman, eyebrow raised, made that even more clear. But she said to Robin, "And you can't ask your teacher?"
Robin frowned, and his shoulders dropped. "I try, but the other kids laugh at me whenever I don't know things. I don't know a lot of things they do, even if none of them can speak Russian or Italian or know how to do a backflip off an elephant--" Robin stopped himself, twisting his fingers around the cuffs of his gloves. "But I figured you would know how photosynthesis works, and..and.. I forget the other part. They eat and need the sun and water, but I can't ever remember the names of the parts of the plants?"
For a very long moment, neither adult said a word. Then Robin pulled a piece of paper out of his tool pouch. He unfolded it and held it up for Ivy. She took it, cautiously, and Batman watched as she stared at it.
Then she dropped down to one knee, and pointed to the paper. Batman stepped closer and recognised the diagram as the life cycle of plants Dick had been working on the previous week.
"See, here," Ivy said, and Robin moved forward, peering over her shoulder. "You have these reversed."
"I do?" Robin startled, frowning down at the worksheet.
"Do you- oh, wait, I have..." Ivy patted her pockets and came up with a pen. She held the paper against her knee and wrote, while Robin crouched closer to watch. She drew something, long lines with small ends -- arrows, Batman guessed. She pointed from one section to another. "Does this make more sense?" she asked the pint-sized vigilante who was meant to be defeating her and preventing her from enacting her nefarious plots.
Not asking for help with his homework.
Then again. Batman stayed where he was. Dick had been struggling with his science classes all semester, but refusing to explain exactly what the problem was. He'd said he was managing and had given the impression that he simply didn't enjoy the coursework.
He hadn't said his classmates were still giving him a hard time for being behind. The home-schooled education Dick had received in the circus was patchwork, dependent on whatever someone was willing and able to teach him. For some subjects he'd had books, but not always anyone to explain what they meant.
Sure, he spoke five languages, excelled at math, and could perform nearly any physical feat of acrobatics, and was proving quite the excellent mimic as well as having extremely good aim with a variety of thrown weapons and utensils.
Dick claimed to enjoy formal schooling, but Bruce was beginning to wonder if he shouldn't schedule another parent-teacher conference with Mr. Callahan, the science teacher.
"Here," Ivy was saying, and she flipped the paper over. "Can I write on this?"
Robin nodded eagerly. "It's a copy. So I could...uh.. blot out my name." He gestured at the top of the paper, and gave Ivy a careful look. "I have a secret identity."
Dr. Pamela Ivy nodded, copying Robin's serious mien. "I understand." She wrote something, and showed it to Robin. "These are books written for kids your age and slightly younger. They're an excellent introduction to botany, and they should help you get caught up with your classmates." She very tellingly didn't glance at Batman as she added, "Perhaps you could ask a parent or guardian to buy them for you."
The judgement in her tone was very clear and absolutely not necessary. He would gladly buy Dick any books he wanted or needed, hire a tutor, and go over the boy's homework himself, despite the fact he didn't really remember grade school biology in the slightest. He was pretty sure he could read Dick's textbooks along with him and do just fine, if Dick had given him any indication he needed the help.
Batman kept his mouth shut, if only because trying to defend himself as a first-time parent of a ten year old was probably not going to help them maintain their secret identities.
Robin was bouncing on his feet, now, and -- hugging Ivy.
Ivy looked as stunned as Batman felt. He'd tensed, ready to throw the batarang right into the back of her hand where she was now patting Robin's arm, gently, and trying to pry him loose.
Batman could have told her he was like a limpet when he got it into his mind to hug you hard. It looked like she was getting the memo, and he watched her sigh, then give up. She patted Robin on the back after a moment, and gently tried to push him away again.
"Thank you, Poison Ivy!" Robin jumped to his feet and twirled around, then tucked the worksheet back into his pouch. Then he leapt up, bounced off the wall behind him and flipped into the air.
Batman flinched back from reflexively trying to catch him. When he tried, Robin had a tendency to use Batman's arms or hands -- or head -- as a springboard to add another two flips before landing on the ground.
Robin landed next to Batman, hands on his hips, and shouted, "And now, we have defeated you! Er, well, we've temporarily prevented you from wrecking havoc on our fair city!" He paused, and looked up at Batman. "Is it wrecking havoc, or wreaking havoc? I always forget."
"Wreaking havoc," Batman told him. He placed his hand on Robin's head. This child was going to be the death of him. Forget Poison Ivy's deadly plants and constricting vines. He was going to have a heart-attack from parenting a 5th grader.
This was why Alfred had taken to smirking at him, Bruce was fairly certain.
Bruce hadn't been nearly this bad, he wanted to remind the man. Alfred claimed to have video, though, so Bruce didn't really push the argument.
Ivy sighed again, looking around her greenhouse. It wasn't really that destroyed, nothing she would have to spend much time rebuilding. The sun was down, though, and the plants seemed to be settling in for the night. She threw up her hands. "Whatever." She glanced at Robin, clearly considering her next words. "Let me know if you have any other questions about plants. They really are better company than people." She gave Batman a glare at that, which Batman shrugged off. She wouldn't have them for company if she'd stop trying to destroy parts of Gotham.
"I will!" Robin called out, cheerful and like they hadn't come here to defeat her in battle. Robin waved, clambered up a table and flipped off it, and ran out, in the general direction of the Batmobile.
Batman had no idea what to say to Poison Ivy, so he didn't.
He turned, letting his cape sweep dramatically behind him, and followed Robin out the door.
~ ~ ~
They were being escorted into the depths of Mr. Freeze's lair by four of his goons -- entirely by design. Batman didn't actually know for certain if Mr. Freeze was planning on robbing the Biltmore Jewelry Exhibition, but there was a very good chance that someone in Gotham would.
Why rich people insisted on bringing their collections of valuables to Gotham for display, he didn't know. He suspected it was intentional, the titillation of the bored rich thinking how fun it would be to dangle their jewels -- not like that -- for the notorious Gotham Villains. Insurance would pay for most of it, if anything was stolen, and it would give the jewelry's owners something to titter about at their next dinner party.
Bruce had spent the previous four weekends at exactly those parties, trying to find out the purpose of the Biltmore Exhibition and all he had discovered was that he still didn't like the taste of champagne and still didn't like the way Ms. Samantha Collings liked to press her chest against his arm and bat her eyes at him.
Thank goodness for Dick. There was nothing better for making excuses at these galas than a child who was either growing tired, or performing mischief. And if Dick sometimes did these things in response to a discreet request from his partner and guardian, well, no one but Alfred could prove a thing.
It did mean that here they were, marching along to the derisive comments from the Freeze Goons, hands tied behind their backs. (Batman suspected that, like himself, Robin had already halfway wriggled free, but since their plan was to get captured neither of them had let go of the ropes just yet.)
The lead goon brought them into a room with a loud, cackling, "We got them!"
Mr. Freeze turned from where he was standing near a large whiteboard and a desk with three visible computer monitors on it. Batman couldn't tell if Mr. Freeze was surprised or suspicious by the easy capture -- reading the man's expressions through the helmet was tricky, as it had a tendency to fog despite Mr. Freeze's best efforts to prevent fogging.
Batman stepped forward, ready to begin his interrogation, when Robin suddenly jumped forward.
"What is that!" Robin was staring at a contraption set near the entrance, which looked like a series of pipes and valves, emptying into a pool of half-frozen water. Whenever one of the valves opened, there was a tiny, frozen explosion.
Mr. Freeze, the goons, and Batman all stood still, watching him. Robin moved closer, leaving his clearly un-tied hands behind him, possibly to remind himself not to touch things in villains' lairs because you never knew when something would kill, eat, freeze, or otherwise harm you.
Or one time there had been that really loud alarm and flashing lights which had given poor Robin a headache for days, after.
Mr. Freeze gave himself a visible shake, and started to say, "It's simply a replica of--"
But Robin interrupted. "It looks like an ice volcano!"
Mr. Freeze paused. "Well, I can see why you would think--"
"Can you help me build one?" Robin asked, cheerful and bouncing on his feet and Batman wanted to drop his head into his hands. He knew exactly what was about to happen. Dick had been equal parts excited and annoyed by his school's upcoming science fair, and for the last three days it had been a solid mood of annoyed and pouting.
"I'm sorry?" Mr. Freeze asked, sounding extremely polite and confused. Batman saw the worried glance Mr. Freeze shot him, and Batman just stood there, still and menacing.
"Only they said no one is allowed to make a baking soda volcano, because everyone always makes baking soda volcanos and they want us to do something different and Batman won't let me make smoke bombs even though the ones I use I invented all by myself, and any time I think of something else, someone has already signed up to do that and I don't want to do the same thing as anybody else, and nobody else will have an ice volcano!" Robin jumped up, arms over his head as if enacting the explosion of ice from a volcano.
"I--" Mr. Freeze stopped and thought for a moment. "Well. The technology required to build one would be rather straight-forward, although I'm not certain your school would permit the amount of methane or ammonia we would need to properly construct one."
Robin's expression fell, his arms dropped, and Batman didn't think Dick would throw an actual tantrum -- it wasn't his nature at all, and there was no reason to fake one given that they weren't at a gala and desperate to get away.
Mr. Freeze said, frantically, "But we could design something a bit smaller -- er, uh, and safer -- that would look like an ice volcano." He turned to his whiteboard and erased the diagram on it -- a map of the exhibit hall where the Biltmore Jewels were going to be on display next week. He picked up a blue marker and drew a brief outline of the top of a volcano.
Batman stayed where he was, listening to the goons around him whisper, "What the heck."
They all watched as Mr. Freeze sketched out a volcano through which water and ice could be pumped. Robin had hopped up onto the table and was swinging his feet, and, at Mr. Freeze's prodding, pulled out a notebook to make notes.
"You can't let an adult do your work for you," Mr. Freeze said at one point, and then clearly simplified the growing hydraulic system he was designing. Batman was also taking notes, memorising the set-up and reminding himself to remind Robin that they had to use things they found upstairs and not down in the Bat-Cave to make his volcano.
"Your volcano would be more of an experiment in hydraulics than a genuine volcano," Mr. Freeze was saying with an apologetic tone.
"But when I slam on this plunger, ice will explode out of the top!" Robin interrupted. He threw his hands up and made a rather impressive explosion-noise.
"Yes, exactly!" Mr. Freeze said.
"And can we add syrup to it, and make it an exploding snow cone maker?" Robin asked, and Batman had been at this parenting thing for almost a year, now, and he still could not tell if Robin was serious, or if he was just trying to see if he could push Mr. Freeze until he cried.
He did, however, send Mr. Freeze an extremely stern glare, which very clearly communicated, Do not give this child sugar. Mr. Freeze glanced at him and shivered, then stammered, "Er, well, I don't... Do any of your classmates have allergies? To, well, there's a lot of chemicals in snow cone syrup, I expect your science fair teachers won't allow anything potentially consumable in a school setting."
"Oh, yeah, you're right. Never mind." Robin frowned at his notebook and erased something.
Batman did not mouth the words "Thank you", but he did lighten his scowl the tiniest bit.
Behind him, one of the goons whispered, "I want a snow cone volcano. Joey, you think we could build a snow cone volcano?"
There was the thwap of a hand slapping a jacketed arm. Then, from Batman's other side, "No, actually, I wanna build one, too. Hey Marv, when we get rid of the Bat we can go ask Mr. Freeze if we can requisition some stuff from the old lab."
There was a long-suffering groan, probably Joey. Batman focused his concentration on the diagram Mr. Freeze was adding to, just in case. Robin was scribbling quickly, but just in case he forgot something.
Finally Mr. Freeze nodded and clapped his hands. "Okay?"
"Okay, Mr. Freeze! Thank you!" Robin ran back to Batman, holding his notebook up. "I'm gonna build an ice volcano for the science fair!"
Batman thought briefly about how, if anyone in the room thought to check the Gotham schools science fairs and found a boy who entered an ice volcano, they would have a very serious breach of secrecy.
He also thought about how Dick had gone to bed three nights ago, crying and screaming that he hated school, hated Gotham, and wanted to go back to the circus.
"That sounds good, chum," Batman said. He patted Robin on the shoulder, then remembered he was supposed to be tied up. Well, it wasn't going to hurt his reputation if villains and their goons knew a single rope around his wrists wouldn't hold him.
"Let me, er, know how it goes," Mr. Freeze said, catching himself and looking extremely awkward. "I mean. If you drop in again. Later."
Batman saw Mr. Freeze's wince, and sympathized.
"We will!" Robin said, happily, as if unaware that -- once again -- they were supposed to be on opposite sides.
"Perhaps we should go, and let Mr. Freeze and his associates get back to work on something that isn't related to any upcoming jewelry exhibits, " Batman added the last in a deep growl. The goons could make their snow cone volcano, that could take them a day or two, right?
"I don't know what you mean," Mr. Freeze said, not even trying to sound innocent. "I have to fund my research somehow!"
"I keep telling you, you should apply for grants instead of robbing people. The Wayne Foundation--"
"That's boring, and slow," Mr. Freeze snapped. "And as a member of the public I am allowed to visit any public exhibit that I wish! As an admirer!"
Batman glared at him for a moment, then shrugged. The insurance really would pay for everything, and if he let Gordon know it would probably be Mr. Freeze, then Bruce Wayne could duck out of tomorrow night's dinner party and stay home.
He and Dick could get started on his science project. Batman could hang around once the Biltmore exhibition began and make sure nobody got hurt, although if he turned out to be a tetch too slow to prevent Matthew Ambroise from getting temporarily frozen, it would all be fine. The man was a tiresome, annoying bore who fawned all over Bruce, thinking that flattery would get him somewhere. But his ideas were inane and every one of his business ventures failed within the first year from lack of oversight and Ambroise's tendency to take invested funds and partying.
The man's own daughter had had to apply to Wayne Scholarships so she could go to school -- far away on the west coast. San Diego University, pre-law. Bruce wished her the best.
Batman turned, letting his cape swirl dramatically behind him, and escorted an eagerly chattering Robin back home.
~ ~ ~
He should have been expecting it when they walked into the Penguin's office at the back of the Iceberg Lounge. The Penguin was up to something -- deliveries had skyrocketed of late and payments in the millions were being made through a series of bank transfers that even Batman had been hard pressed to fully track.
This was meant to be a sort of fact-finding venture, showing up and make some vague threats and see what the Penguin would say or do. Poke the hornet's nest and see what flew out.
On their drive over, Robin had been asking questions about the Penguin's ownership of the nightclub, and Batman should have been expecting it. He wasn't. He wasn't fast enough to grab Robin and pull him back, when the Penguin stepped out from his inner office and glared at them.
"Mr. the Penguin?" Robin asked, and the Penguin sneered. Robin didn't seem to notice, as he just asked, "Can I ask you something?"
"What." The Penguin snapped, and if he'd raised a hand then Batman would have been all over him, fact-finding mission or not.
Robin rubbed his cheek, looking like maybe he'd realised that the Penguin wasn't like Mr. Freeze, or even Poison Ivy who honestly had never really tried to hurt them, or at least never Robin. Last week when they'd been fighting off over-grown and worryingly mobile spider plants, Robin had yelped in pain as one of them squeezed his wrist hard, and Ivy had stopped taunting Batman to go check on him.
He noticed she hadn't stopped the plant twining around his neck, and he hadn't shown any hesitation in cutting it to pieces to free himself. Ivy had taken a moment to ask after Robin's science homework and Robin had gleefully identified each part of the spider plant that was creeping around his legs again.
Right now Robin was looking up at the Penguin with a determined stance. "You own the whole nightclub?"
The Penguin blinked, and made a slight 'bwak' of surprise. "Yes?" That wasn't a secret in Gotham, everyone knew Oswald Cobblepot was the Penguin and knew of several of his businesses, both legal and otherwise.
For a moment Robin chewed his lip, then took a deep breath. "We're doing a unit on owning a business in my homeroom class," Robin said, and Batman didn't stop himself from sighing. He watched as, yes, there it was, a folded up piece of homework stuffed into Robin's pouch.
The Penguin was gaping at him, cigarette dangling dangerously. Batman had noticed how the Penguin had snuffed the end when he and Robin had entered the room, but he'd continued to chew on the holder.
"We have to pick one thing to make and sell, and then next week the teacher will tell us how much we made and we have to do all the math to see if we picked right. If we made money or lost it." Robin frowned at his paper, then scowled up at the Penguin, who was towering over him. Robin held up the page for the Penguin to see.
The Penguin stared at it, then turned a glare on Robin. "And?"
"And I'm not sure what to pick. We can either chose ice cream bars or umbrellas. You own umbrellas, and a business, so I figured you would know what I should sell."
The room around them was very, very quiet. The Penguin glanced up at Batman, and he wanted to say yes, I help my child with his homework, I don't know why he keeps asking other, villainous people to help him. Dick had sat at the dining room table with him two days ago and they'd gone over this very assignment.
Batman wanted to say that he knew as well as the Penguin how to own and run a business, and he'd told Dick that. He'd pointed out that as CEO of Wayne Enterprises, he knew how to run a business.
But Dick had just scrunched up his nose when Bruce told him it didn't matter what he picked since the point was to learn and it didn't matter who in the class made the most money. (He'd checked; there was no prize for a winner. Probably the teachers of the kids of rich people knew better than to make such things into a competition.)
Clearly that had been the wrong thing to say, because now here was Robin asking one of Gotham's biggest crime lords for help.
"Why does it matter?" The Penguin tried, scoffing, waving his hand at their surroundings, as if trying to prove he couldn't be bothered with such trifles.
Robin frowned, though it looked more like a pout. Batman knew that pout, and he was staying on his side of the room.
"I can't decide what to do. What would you sell?"
For a long moment, Batman thought the Penguin wasn't going to answer. That he would, instead, have them thrown out with threats about them never darkening his door again. To be fair, Batman wouldn't have blamed him, might even have appreciated a little discouragement for Robin to stop talking to villains about his schoolwork.
Rubbing a finger under his lower lip, the Penguin said, "Well, the goal is to make a lot of money, right?"
Robin nodded, quickly.
"So you start by looking at how much you have to spend to make and sell each item, see which is bigger."
"That's the umbrella," Robin said. "It costs a lot more to make, but you can sell it for a lot." Robin glanced at the Penguin's own umbrella as he spoke.
"Mmm, yes," the Penguin said. "But, look here." He held up his umbrella, and again Batman tensed. That thing had a tendency to explode, or shoot tiny penguin robots out of it that then themselves exploded. "I bought this one five years ago."
Robin thought about that for a moment. "You've had it for five years?"
"Yes, my boy, five years." Then he stopped and waited. When Robin didn't say anything, he prompted, "So the man who sold it to me, only sold one. But how often do you think you'd sell an ice cream bar?"
Robin's eyes lit up. "I could eat ice cream every day!"
Batman must have made a noise, because Robin and the Penguin both looked at him. "Saturdays only, as a treat," he said calmly and as parentally as he could.
"Well, even once a week is more often than once every five years," the Penguin said, nudging Robin.
"So if I sell one ice cream every week for five years, I'd..." He crouched down on the floor, and whipped out a pencil. He scribbled for a moment, pausing to ask the Penguin how many weeks were in a year. When he stumbled over multiplying 52 by 5, one of Penguin's goons suggested adding 52 and 52 together, doubling that, then adding another 52 on top.
They all waited while Robin did the math, adding numbers and counting briefly under his breath. Then Robin showed it to the Penguin, who checked his math, and nodded.
"Wow! That's a lot more!" Robin stared at his homework sheet, and then doubtfully at the Penguin's umbrella. "Then why would anybody ever sell umbrellas?" Robin asked.
"That is a very astute question, my boy," Penguin said, then squawked. "Do you know what diversification is?" he asked, then didn't give Robin a chance to answer. "The man who sold this umbrella also sells suits, and shoes, and ties." The Penguin snapped the end of his tie in emphasis. "So he makes money by selling a variety of things, some of which cost more to make and some less, and he makes money by averaging out the costs versus the profits."
Robin thought about that for a moment, nodding slowly. Then he said, "Oh! The ice cream parlor we go to sometimes, they sell t-shirts! And postcards!"
"Exactly! Diversification is key to making a better profit. It reduces your risk in case suddenly everybody doesn't want ice cream one week, or if a new shop opens nearby and steals all your customers, or if the police seize your shipments of-- er, umbrellas and you don't have anything to sell." He coughed, bwakked, and carefully didn't look over at Batman.
Robin waggled his finger at the Penguin. "Selling illegal weapons is wrong," he said seriously. They'd been going over the Penguin's shipments before heading out for the night, and Robin knew almost as much as Batman about the contents of the crates. Batman tried to downplay the "drugs" and "guns" portions and direct Robin's attention to the stolen silk fabric jackets and name brand shoes that went for nearly as much money as the bags of drugs.
Diversification, indeed.
"But it pays!" the Penguin cried, gleefully. "And you've got nothing on me, so my boys will see you out!"
Batman let them escort them out without argument -- there wasn't quite enough room to turn and let his cape flip dramatically, but he did the best he could in cramped quarters. He also let Robin swing from his arm and jump off a henchman's shoulder as they left. After they climbed into the Batmobile, Robin asked, "Can we get ice cream on the way home?"
Batman glanced at him. "You wouldn't rather get an umbrella?"
Robbin giggled, sliding into the footwell in front of his seat. Batman left him there, as he headed for the ice cream parlor that had a drive-thru wide enough to fit the Bat-mobile.
~ ~ ~
Catwoman was starting to piss Batman off. Or, possibly, he was having the best night of the whole week. Sometimes, with her, it was difficult to tell. They were on a rooftop fighting, and she kept dodging whenever he threw a batarang at her. It was going to take him an hour to round them all up, afterwards.
The last time this had happened, Robin had suggested stamping them all with "If Found, Return to Batman." But that was the problem, no one except Commissioner Gordon was supposed to be able to find Batman. Robin had countered with "If Found, Return to Police Headquarters" and giving Gordon a big bag of lollipops to hand out to anyone who turned in a batarang.
Which. Last week when Batman and Robin had been called in to the Bat-Signal, Gordon had shown them the box. There were seven batarangs inside, and Gordon reported that so far, cherry was the most popular flavor.
It seemed a bit lazy and dishonest to deliberately leave his gear all over the sidewalk, however, especially since he knew that sometimes lost Batman gear ended up on the black market, sold to private collectors.
Clark had bought one of his grapples a year ago and had teased him with it before offering to return it in exchange for Bruce actually attending an informal Justice League "bonding" event of mini-golf.
Batman had left the grapple in Clark's possession, because he'd taken Dick mini-golfing one time, and that had ended with Bruce Wayne purchasing the entire chain to prevent the owner from suing them for mental distress after Dick had turned each and every obstacle into his own personal playground and acrobatic equipment, including backflips into the water hazard.
Right now he just wanted Catwoman to stand still long enough for him to figure out if they were fighting because she was pissed at him, or if they were still flirting from earlier.
Then a small, brightly clad figure landed on the roof with them and they both froze.
"It's a school night!" Batman snapped. God, Alfred would be frantic. If he'd noticed, yet.
"I know! I won't be long," Robin said, and -- dear gods, he was holding up a sheet of paper and a pencil. "Agent A is the one who drove me here," he added, which either meant Bruce was in a whole lot of trouble, or it meant Alfred would just be lecturing him gently about the difficulty of raising an energetic child.
Catwoman was looking on with interest, which unfortunately meant she probably knew what was happening.
Batman gave Robin a stern look.
"We have an assignment to interview a grown-up," Robin explained.
"I am aware. You said you were going to interview Agent A."
Robin looked slightly guilty. "I remembered my teacher said it couldn't be a grown-up we live with. It can be a relative or a family friend, just not someone who lives with me. And it can't be -- uh, someone Batman knows, because I can't tell my teacher how I'm turning in an interview with a Gotham villain or a member of Justice League, and I don't know anyone that you know as, um, you. Except Catwoman. Ms. Kyle. And it's due tomorrow," he added, guiltily.
He looked over at Catwoman, then back at Batman, eyes wide as though his mask wasn't hiding the impact of his pleading face.
Thank goodness the mask was hiding the impact of Robin's pleading face.
But Catwoman was plopping down on the rooftop, and holding out her arms. Robin bounced over and sat in her lap, letting her adjust him slightly as she wrapped her arms around him, resting her chin on his shoulder. He held up the piece of paper, and tapped it with his pencil.
"It's only five questions, and I promised Agent A I would be right back down--" He looked over at Batman. "He's waiting downstairs with the car, I think he said something about gathering up some batarangs we saw in the alley below?" Then he looked back up at Catwoman. "And, um, I have to interview Selina Kyle, if that's okay. Not Catwoman."
"Of course it's okay, little birdie." She gave Robin a gentle hug, and asked, "What's the first question?"
Batman just stood there as Robin went over his questions. Did you grow up in Gotham, if not, where, what sort of things did you want to do as a career when you were a kid, where was the most exciting place you've ever visited, and so on. Simple, easy things that Selina Kyle could give normal answers to -- even if Batman knew perfectly well that her most interesting place she'd visited had suffered a mysterious theft of its most acclaimed pieces of art the same week she'd been in town.
But she talked about beaches and wanting to be an astronaut or a dancer, and explained how her favorite dessert ever was a cream mousse which prompted Robin to tell her all about his own favorite desserts, including pastries and dumplings and fried breads.
Batman was starting to feel hungry. He pulled out his pouch and looked inside, finding only a few bags of gummy fruit snacks that he carried for Robin. He offered one to the boy, who took it and began eating, and offered one to Selina as well, who wrinkled her nose.
Soon enough, Robin bounced to his feet. "Thank you!" He gave her a hug before she stood up, then bounded over to Batman and gave him a hug, as well. "I'll tell Agent A that you'll be home when you're done fighting with Catwoman!"
He heard Catwoman laugh, and Batman still wasn't sure if they were arguing or flirting. Both, maybe? Well, eventually she'd let him know. He saw Robin off the roof-top, keeping a careful eye on his grappling, wondering if the fire escape right there didn't shake just a bit too much.
He made a note to check the building inspection certificates, it might be time to get the inspectors out here.
"So, uh," he said, turning his attention back to Catwoman, who had waited patiently while Robin got back into the car and Alfred drove them away.
Catwoman was standing there, arms folded, and she was giving him a very disapproving look.
Batman sighed. "I am doing my best."
"Do you want to get dinner? The Marsai makes an incredible cheesecake, and I recall you enjoy their steaks."
Batman blinked. "I'd love to." He had a suit in the car for Bruce Wayne emergencies -- just like he kept a Batman suit in his other car for Batman emergencies. He'd send the Batmobile back to the cave on auto-pilot, and probably Selina would either give him a lift home, or... Well. If she'd been flirting, then maybe he would just get a taxi to work in the morning.
"Don't tell Robin," he said, as they both headed for the edge of the roof. "He loves their milkshakes, and he'll be mad if he finds out I went without him."
Catwoman reached up, and flipped her fingers across her mouth. "My lips are sealed," she said. Then she slipped her hand into the crook of Batman's arm. He turned, letting his cape flow dramatically behind him.
~ ~ ~
Robin crossed his arms, and glared at the offending wall. Batman glared a bit, himself, before he was able to solve the riddle. "The blue handle, Robin," he instructed.
"It isn't fair," Robin said, even as he reached out to pull the blue handle. The door to the cage slid upwards, freeing them. Only for the moment, no doubt.
"Why isn't it fair, chum?" Batman asked. "Half of the riddles are for me, and half of them are for you."
Two months after Batman had started taking Robin out on patrol with him, they'd faced off with the Riddler. Robin hadn't been able to solve a single one of the riddles, and he'd pouted about not getting to even punch anybody, either.
The second time they'd gone after the Riddler, suddenly every other riddle was clearly written for Robin. Batman had left him to it at first, but it quickly became evident that Robin was still struggling with learning English well enough to go head-to-head with the Riddler, even with the riddles aged down appropriately.
Robin had pouted something fierce, though at least that time he'd gotten to leap off the rafters and land on a henchman, knocking him firmly to the ground. Robin had given the Riddler a piece of his mind, once they'd finally gotten through the intricate maze, with Batman solving most of the riddles himself.
"The riddles aren't just about knowing English," Robin pointed out. "They reference books and movies and American culture that I don't know anything about!" He kicked a small boot at an empty can, and watched it skitter across the floor.
"Well, we're about to find the next riddle," Batman pointed where the corridor had an upcoming turn. Normally The Riddler liked to set his next trap just around corners and inside blindspots. "Last time you both agreed that we were all three fluent in Russian, so maybe we'll get a riddle in a language you can speak."
Robin pouted harder, then stopped walking, and looked up at Bruce. "But I don't read Russian."
"Ah." Batman stopped walking, as well. "I can read it out loud for you?"
Robin just shrugged and continued down the path. Sure enough, immediately around the corner and wall snapped upright, blocking the way.
On it were two lines written in Russian and two lines written in English.
Batman saw instantly that they were, in fact, the same riddle. He opened his mouth to read out the Russian, when they heard a crackle over the intercom.
"Sorry, Robin, I didn't know!" The Riddler exclaimed. Then he read out the riddle in Russian.
Robin looked carefully at the English version, and repeated the Russian softly to himself. He glanced back and forth between the two, then suddenly exclaimed, "It's a green apple!" He saw the graffiti'ed apple in green paint, and leapt forward to place his hand on it.
A small spot in the wall gave way, then the wall itself slid back into its slot.
Robin threw his arms up. "I got one! Batman, did you see? Did you see me, I got one!" Robin proceeded to dance in a circle, arms held high, then he did a flip forwards, another flip backwards, and ran across the room that had opened up ahead of them and did a flying somersault.
"I saw," Batman said, and he didn't have to fake the feeling of pride, nor the feeling of terror when Robin suddenly scrambled up a ladder to throw himself off it, tumbling in the air and landing, somehow safely, on the ground.
"I can put mats down, next time?" The Riddler said from just beside Batman's shoulder.
"If I'm found dead of a heart attack, you'll know what caused it," Batman said quietly.
The Riddler laughed, then clapped his hands to get Robin's attention. "Excellent clue solving!" He called. "But now, the main event!" He held his arms up and banners unfurled from the ceiling. As they fell to touch the ground they turned solid, forming a small, contained area around Batman and Robin and the ladder. The Riddler slipped out at the last second, laughing.
On each banner were mathematical symbols, and scattered phrases repeated in English, Russian, and Japanese. Robin had mentioned signing up for the Japanese class next year, hadn't he? Some of the math was easy, clearly times and dates. Batman left those for now, for Robin. He turned his attention to the rest of it.
Robin spun around, gasping in amazement and heavily faked concern, then pursed his lips. "Holy bedbugs, Batman! That one is about an insect infestation!" He pointed to one of the banners, and Batman saw that indeed, he was correct.
There were grain shipments coming into the harbor nearly every week, destined for shipment further inland for processing. The times and dates might be ETAs for the shipments. It was an obvious guess, but it was too early in the proceedings to think they'd figured it all out already.
There were another three banners which were clearly going to be too hard for Robin; Batman had to think as hard as he could, trying to remember the Japanese he'd only casually learned several years ago. He knew enough to conduct the opening bits of a business meeting, and enough to visit a restaurant and hotel. He wondered how much time they had to solve all the riddles, when there was a noise of rushing water.
Batman looked down and saw water rising through the grating at his feet.
Well. That answered that question. It also explained why there was mysteriously a tall ladder in the room for no apparently reason -- other than to be a convenient spot where a small acrobatic child could climb up and keep his head above water.
Batman calculated the size of the room, and the sped at which the water was rising. They probably had fifteen minutes. He spun in a slow circle, reading all the riddles, letting his cape ripple dramatically behind him.
Robin climbed up him, and perched on his shoulders. "Maybe it's about the opening night at The Granary?"
Batman had no idea how he'd gotten that, but Gotham's newest, ritziest night club was due to open just a block away from the Penguin's Iceberg Lounge and everyone had been waiting to see what the Penguin was going to do about it.
But Robin was right. He sped through the rest of the riddles, letting Robin call out the answers to all the ones meant for him to solve, and nodded. "It is, chum. You're absolutely right. The Riddler must be planning an attack at the nightclub, at exactly ten sixteen p.m., on opening night."
There was a muttered curse, then a laugh, and the water stopped rising.
"I didn't want to anyway, but stupid Oswald said I had to," Eddie said as the banners lifted up and the water receded into the flooring. "I lost a few poker games and he called in all of my markers."
"Gambling is bad!" piped up Robin, still perched on Batman's shoulders.
The Riddler nodded. "I agree with you, kid. I absolutely agree with you."
"We'll see you there?" Batman asked.
"Gosh, Batman, I better not!" The Riddler cried out, clearly faking it. "If you thwart my plans to help the Penguin, he'll be really sore at you!" Then he relaxed, and nodded, then waved for them to be on their way. Batman just turned, letting his cape swirl dram--
"Good job, Robin! You solved every one of my riddles!"
Batman paused, waited for The Riddler to be done, then stepped back, turned a bit, then turned again to let his cape swirl dramati--
"Oh, Riddler, I'm sorry I didn't tell you I can't read Russian. It was really nice of you to go to all that trouble," Robin called down.
"Not at all! Next time I can record the riddles, and you can listen to them instead."
"Or maybe Batman can help me learn to read Russian. Or both!" Robin bounced a little, kicking Batman in the face.
Batman paused, waiting until the two of them were done, and stepped forward, shifting his shoulders and hips enough to twist his cape so it would flip dramatica--
"I'll just do both," The Riddler said suddenly. "It'll help you learn."
"Thanks, Riddler!"
Batman sighed. Then he stormed away, Robin on his shoulders, and let his cape flutter stupidly behind him.