As they emerged from the Bentley, camera flashes immediately erupted—Bruce Wayne's appearances at public events had become rarer in recent years, and his arrival with his new ward was guaranteed to make tomorrow's society pages. The tragedy at Haly's Circus had dominated Gotham news for days, with speculation about the orphaned Grayson boy's fate featuring prominently. His placement with Bruce had sparked a fresh wave of coverage, much of it questioning the playboy billionaire's suitability as a guardian for a traumatized child.
Bruce responded to the cameras with practiced ease, offering a casual wave and his signature half-smile—charming but not overly engaged, the perfect balance of acknowledgment and dismissal that had defined his public persona for years. But he kept Dick partially shielded with his body, playing the role of protective guardian perfectly for the watching lenses.
Dick followed slightly behind, his expression precisely calibrated—solemn but composed, with just the right hint of overwhelmed discomfort that would be expected from a recently orphaned child thrust into the spotlight. Bruce placed a guiding hand on his shoulder as they moved toward the entrance—a gesture that would be interpreted as protective or steadying by observers, while actually allowing him to steer Dick safely through the gauntlet of cameras and reporters.
"Mr. Wayne! Over here!" "Bruce! How is young Richard adjusting to Wayne Manor?" "Richard! Can you tell us about living with Bruce Wayne?" "Mr. Wayne! Any comment on the investigation into the circus accident?"
The questions came rapid-fire, overlapping in a cacophony designed to provoke unguarded responses. Bruce navigated them with the skill of long practice, offering non-committal smiles and occasional brief replies that revealed nothing of substance.
"Richard is adjusting admirably, thank you." A pleasant nod. "We're focused on providing stability during this difficult transition." A protective glance toward Dick. "No comment on ongoing investigations." A barely perceptible hardening of his expression.
Dick, to his credit, maintained perfect composure, neither hiding from the attention nor seeking it—exactly as they had discussed. His circus background showed in his natural poise under scrutiny, though Bruce could feel the tension in the boy's shoulder beneath his guiding hand.
As they reached the entrance, Bruce noted Commissioner Gordon and his daughter arriving in an SUV several vehicles behind them. The commissioner looked exhausted but alert, his posture betraying the tension he carried after a week of escalating attacks on his department. His daughter—Barbara, if Bruce recalled correctly—seemed to be scanning the surroundings with unusual intensity for a child her age.
"Gordon's here," Bruce murmured to Dick as they passed through the ornate doors into the hotel's grand foyer. "With his daughter."
Dick's eyes widened slightly in surprise. "He brought his kid? With everything that's happening?"
"Interesting choice," Bruce acknowledged. "Though perhaps on purpose given that leaving her alone might present a more vulnerable target. Here, she's surrounded by police and security."
They moved smoothly through the security checkpoint, the discreet metal detectors and scanning systems registering nothing unusual about Bruce Wayne and his ward—exactly as designed. The specialized equipment concealed in Bruce's tuxedo and the emergency beacon in Dick's pocket square were specifically engineered to avoid detection by standard security measures.
The grand foyer opened into the main ballroom, where Gotham's elite had already gathered in full evening regalia. Crystal chandeliers cast warm light over the assembled guests, reflecting off jewels and champagne flutes with equal brilliance. A string quartet played unobtrusively in one corner, providing appropriate background music without impeding conversation.
Bruce paused at the threshold, using the natural moment to activate the scanning mode on his glasses with a subtle adjustment that appeared to be nothing more than fixing their position. The display immediately began cataloging faces, comparing them against the database of known associates and operatives connected to international assassination networks.
"Mr. Wayne!" The event coordinator approached with practiced enthusiasm, tablet in hand. "We're so delighted you could attend. The Foundation's continued support means everything to the children's home."
"Melissa," Bruce greeted her with warm familiarity, extending his hand. "The Wayne Foundation's commitment to Burnside remains unwavering. My parents believed every child deserves safety and opportunity—a philosophy I'm proud to continue."
"And this must be Richard," Melissa continued, her expression softening as she looked at Dick. "We're all so deeply sorry for your loss, young man. How are you holding up?"
Dick straightened slightly, his natural charisma emerging as he moved into direct social interaction. "Better than I was five days ago, ma'am," he said with a genuine smile that managed to convey both his lingering grief and his remarkable resilience. "Mr. Wayne and Alfred have been amazing. Alfred makes pancakes that would put the circus cook to shame."
The small joke—his first reference to circus life that carried fondness rather than just pain—surprised even Dick himself. Bruce caught the momentary flash of wonder in the boy's eyes, as if he'd just discovered he could still find joy in memories that had been overwhelming just days before.
"I understand Ms. Chen from Social Services will be checking in with you tonight," Melissa said, pleasantly surprised by Dick's emerging spirit. "She's already arrived and mentioned she's looking forward to seeing how you're adjusting."
Dick nodded, a flicker of genuine anxiety crossing his features despite his improved mood. "Is she... is she here to decide if I can stay at the manor?"
The question carried a vulnerability that wasn't entirely performance. Bruce knew that despite their rapid bonding and shared secret of Batman's identity, Dick still felt the precariousness of his situation. Just five days after his parents' deaths, nothing felt completely secure or permanent.
"Just a standard follow-up," Bruce reassured him, playing the role of supportive guardian perfectly while actually providing genuine comfort. "Nothing to worry about."
"Of course," Melissa agreed quickly. "The Wayne Foundation has an exemplary record with their fostering program. This is simply routine."
As if summoned by the conversation, Sarah Chen approached from across the ballroom. Bruce recognized her immediately as the social worker who had initially questioned his suitability as Dick's guardian at Children's Services. Her professional attire and clipboard contrasted with the formal evening wear around her, marking her as someone working rather than socializing.
"Mr. Wayne," she greeted with professional courtesy if not warmth. "And Richard. I'm glad to see you both made it tonight."
"Ms. Chen," Bruce returned with a carefully calibrated show of respect. "I understand you wanted to check in on Richard's adjustment."
"Standard procedure," she confirmed, her eyes assessing Dick with professional scrutiny. "Perhaps Richard and I could have a brief conversation? There's a small sitting area just off the main ballroom that would offer some privacy."
Bruce felt Dick tense slightly beside him, though the reaction would be imperceptible to anyone who hadn't spent the past five days training him in combat techniques and body language. The boy was clearly concerned about being separated from Bruce in an environment where Lady Shiva might be present.
"Of course," Bruce agreed smoothly, giving Dick's shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "Though I hope you'll understand if I ask to keep it brief. Richard's first public event since the tragedy is already quite taxing."
Ms. Chen nodded, her expression softening slightly. "Absolutely. Just a few minutes of standard questions. Richard?" She extended her hand toward the boy in invitation.
Dick looked up at Bruce, a silent question in his eyes. Bruce gave him an almost imperceptible nod. "I'll be right here," he promised, loud enough for Ms. Chen to hear and interpret as appropriate guardian reassurance.
"It's okay," Dick said, his voice steady despite the undercurrent of tension Bruce could detect. "I can answer Ms. Chen's questions."
As they moved toward the sitting area, Bruce activated his comms with a subtle touch to his "hearing aid." "Robin temporarily separated for social services interview. Maintain surveillance sweep and keep visual connection if possible."
Dick's voice didn't come through the comms, but Bruce saw him touch his collar briefly—their pre-arranged signal that he'd received the message and would comply with protocol.
"Normal scanning procedure," Bruce murmured as he turned his attention back to the ballroom. "Approximately fifty attendees already present, another hundred expected within the hour. Primary target not yet identified."
From the mezzanine where Dick had been headed before Ms. Chen's intervention, Alfred's voice came through the earpiece. "Continuing surveillance from elevated position, sir. Master Richard's social services evaluation appears to be proceeding normally. Ms. Chen is displaying no unusual behavior patterns."
Bruce moved deeper into the ballroom, maintaining his Bruce Wayne persona while continuously scanning for threats. His glasses highlighted a woman near the bar—Caroline Wei according to the identification display, investment banker from Coast City, last-minute addition to the guest list. Something about her controlled posture and perfectly economical movements triggered Bruce's internal warning system, though the facial recognition showed no matches to known operatives.
"Mr. Wayne!" Mayor Garcia approached with the enthusiastic greeting of a politician sensing campaign donations. "Magnificent as always. The Wayne Foundation's contribution to tonight's event is truly extraordinary."
"Anthony," Bruce returned with practiced cordiality, accepting the mayor's handshake. "The children's home provides essential services. Supporting it is simply good citizenship."
As they exchanged pleasantries, Bruce divided his attention between the conversation and continued surveillance of the room, particularly keeping track of Dick's interview with Ms. Chen. The boy appeared to be handling himself well, answering questions with appropriate emotion while maintaining the cover story they'd established.
"Of course, the recent unfortunate events at the police headquarters have created certain budgetary challenges," Garcia was saying, his expression appropriately grave. "The emergency relocation facilities alone are stretching municipal resources."
Bruce allowed his expression to shift to one of concerned interest—the expected response from a civic-minded billionaire. "I understand Commissioner Gordon has established temporary operations at the East End precinct. Perhaps Wayne Enterprises could assist with technological infrastructure. I'll have Lucius Fox reach out to the commissioner's office tomorrow."
Garcia's relief was immediate and genuine. Bruce had just offered to underwrite a significant expense that would otherwise fall to the city budget during an election year. "That's extremely generous, Bruce. I'm sure the commissioner would be grateful for any assistance."
"Speaking of the commissioner," Bruce said, glancing toward the entrance where Gordon was now entering with his daughter, "he seems to have brought family to the event. Unusual, given the current security situation."
Garcia followed his gaze, his political instincts immediately assessing the potential implications. "Interesting choice. Though perhaps a statement of confidence in our security measures. Gotham carrying on despite recent events, and all that."
Bruce mentally filed away the mayor's reaction—calculating rather than concerned, focused on optics rather than actual safety. Typical for Garcia, whose leadership style prioritized appearance over substance.
"If you'll excuse me, Anthony, I should check on Richard," Bruce said, extracting himself with practiced ease. "Ms. Chen from Social Services is conducting a follow-up assessment. It's only been five days since the tragedy, and I want to ensure he's comfortable."
Garcia nodded with politician's empathy that never quite reached his eyes. "Of course, of course. The boy's been through a terrible ordeal. We'll catch up later about that riverside development. I have some thoughts on tax incentives that might interest Wayne Enterprises."
Bruce moved through the growing crowd with deliberate efficiency, navigating the social currents while continuing his surveillance. His glasses highlighted several individuals with tangential connections to known criminal enterprises—Gotham's elite had never been entirely separate from its underworld—but no direct matches to assassination networks.
As he approached the sitting area, he could see that Dick's interview appeared to be wrapping up. Ms. Chen was making final notes on her clipboard, her expression thoughtful but not concerned. Dick's posture suggested mild tension but not distress—he'd apparently navigated the questioning successfully.
Bruce paused near a support column, using the moment to activate his earpiece again. "Alfred, status update on Ms. Chen's evaluation of Dick?"
"Concluding now, sir," Alfred reported promptly. "Master Richard has performed admirably. Ms. Chen's body language suggests satisfaction with his responses. No indications of suspicion or concern."
Dick stood as Ms. Chen finished her notes, the social worker offering him a genuine smile that suggested the evaluation had gone well. As they moved back toward the main ballroom, Bruce could see Dick subtly scanning the room, maintaining his surveillance training even while playing his public role.
Bruce stepped forward to meet them, his expression showing appropriate guardian concern. "Everything alright?"
"Richard is adjusting remarkably well under the circumstances," Ms. Chen confirmed, her initial skepticism about Bruce's suitability seemingly softened. "He speaks very highly of both you and Mr. Pennyworth."
"Alfred deserves most of the credit," Bruce replied with self-deprecating charm. "Richard and I are both beneficiaries of his exceptional care."
"I told Ms. Chen about the nightmares," Dick said, looking up at Bruce with honesty that wasn't entirely feigned. "But also about the gymnastics equipment you're having installed. And how you showed me some of your martial arts moves when I couldn't sleep last night."
The statements caught Bruce off guard—not because they were false (he had indeed begun Dick's training during one sleepless night after Bane's attack), but because Dick had managed to tell the truth while completely disguising its significance. The boy was already developing the art of hiding in plain sight.
Ms. Chen's expression softened visibly. "It's wonderful to see Richard regaining some of his natural enthusiasm, Mr. Wayne. He mentioned you've been encouraging him to maintain his acrobatic skills—that's exactly the kind of continuity children need after trauma. I'm genuinely impressed with how you've connected with him in just five days."
The professional approval in her voice was unmistakable. What had begun as skepticism about the playboy billionaire's suitability had transformed into genuine endorsement.
"We'll continue with regular check-ins, of course, but I'm more than cautiously optimistic about this placement," she added.
As she excused herself to check on other Foundation cases present at the event, Dick moved closer to Bruce, a grin breaking through his solemn facade. "Did I do okay?" he asked, eyes sparkling with the satisfaction of a successful performance.
"Perfect," Bruce assured him, genuinely impressed. "You gave her the truth without compromising our operation. What else did she ask about?"
"The usual stuff—am I eating regularly, do I have my own space, do I feel safe." Dick's shoulders straightened slightly with returning confidence. "I told her Alfred makes amazing food, my room is bigger than our whole trailer at the circus, and that even though it's only been five days, I already feel like I have a purpose again."
"All truthful answers," Bruce observed with approval.
"Yeah. I didn't even have to lie about the important stuff," Dick replied with a hint of his natural humor emerging. "Just omit the part about discovering the Batcave and fighting Bane."
Bruce's mouth quirked in the ghost of a smile. "Selective truth. Now, we should resume our mission. The mezzanine observation point is still our best tactical advantage."
Dick nodded, slipping back into mission mode with an ease that continued to impress Bruce. Five days of intensive training had revealed a natural aptitude for the work that went beyond his acrobatic abilities. The boy possessed an intuitive understanding of strategy and observation that would serve him well as Robin.
"I'll head up there now," Dick confirmed. "Standard check-in protocol every fifteen minutes. If I identify potential matches for Shiva, I'll relay immediately."
As Dick moved toward the staircase with the carefully studied nonchalance of a bored kid seeking escape from adult conversation, Bruce turned his attention to further surveillance of the main floor. The woman in blue near the bar—Caroline Wei—continued to trigger his instincts. Her movements were too precise, her posture too perfect for someone supposedly engaged in casual social interaction.
He activated his comms again. "Robin, once in position, focus particular attention on the woman in midnight blue near the east bar. Something about her movement patterns feels wrong."
"Copy that," came Dick's quiet response as he ascended the stairs.
Bruce paused near a support column, using the moment to fully activate the scanning mode on his glasses. "In position on mezzanine, northwest corner," Dick reported moments later. "Full visibility of main entrance and bar area. No positive identifications yet, but that woman in blue you mentioned—she's maintaining perfect posture despite appearing relaxed in conversation. Breathing patterns too controlled for genuine social interaction."
Bruce subtly adjusted his position to observe the indicated target. "Acknowledged," he replied. "Maintaining observation. Continue scanning for secondary target as well." Bullseye remained unaccounted for, a wild card that complicated their already delicate operation.
As Bruce prepared to move closer to the woman in blue, a familiar voice stopped him.
"Mr. Wayne. Didn't expect to see you at something like this. Thought these events were beneath Gotham's prince."
Bruce turned to find Harvey Dent approaching, Rachel Dawes at his side. The District Attorney looked immaculate in his tuxedo, the very image of Gotham's White Knight, though Bruce's trained eye detected the subtle signs of strain—the barely perceptible tension around his eyes, the slightly too-firm set of his jaw. Rachel, stunning in an elegant midnight blue gown, carried herself with the practiced poise of someone who'd navigated Gotham's high society while remaining fundamentally separate from it.
"Harvey," Bruce greeted, seamlessly shifting into his public persona—the carelessly charming billionaire with just enough civic awareness to be respectable. "And Rachel, always a pleasure." His smile held the perfect balance of warmth and casual interest that the watching society photographers would interpret as nothing more than friendly acquaintance, though the brief glance he and Rachel exchanged carried layers of shared understanding invisible to anyone else.
"Bruce," Rachel returned with a measured smile. Her eyes moved to Dick, softening with genuine compassion. "And this must be Richard. I've heard so much about you."
Dick straightened slightly, his natural charm emerging more visibly now as he extended his hand. "Ms. Dawes, right? Bruce mentioned you work with Mr. Dent at the D.A.'s office." His eyes flickered briefly to Bruce, a silent acknowledgment that he remembered Rachel's name from the case files they'd reviewed during his Robin briefings.
"That's right," Rachel confirmed, clearly impressed by the boy's composure just five days after such a traumatic loss. "But please, call me Rachel." She kept her expression warm while her eyes conveyed to Bruce her professional assessment: the boy was recovering remarkably well under his care.
"I'm surprised to see you here, Wayne," Harvey said, not unkindly but with the directness that had become his trademark. "Charity galas, yes—they're good for the Wayne image. But a fundraiser specifically supporting the D.A.'s child welfare initiatives? That seems unusually... engaged for Gotham's favorite playboy."
Bruce offered his most disarming smile. "The Wayne Foundation has supported Burnside Children's Home for forty years, Harvey. Family tradition." He placed a casual hand on Dick's shoulder. "Besides, recent events have given me a more personal interest in the welfare system's effectiveness."
Dick, picking up on the subtle cue, added with disarming candor, "I told Bruce he didn't have to come just because of me, but he insisted. Said something about 'putting his money where his mouth is' instead of just writing checks." The boy's delivery was perfect—slightly admiring while maintaining the believable adolescent hint of eye-rolling at adult behavior.
Harvey's expression softened, clearly reassessing his initial judgment of Bruce's motivations. "Well, I'm glad you're here. Both of you." He looked at Dick with genuine empathy. "How are you holding up, son? I understand it's only been a few days."
"Five days," Dick confirmed, his tone balanced between lingering grief and emerging resilience. "It's still hard to believe they're gone, but..." He glanced at Bruce, a moment of genuine connection passing between them. "I'm starting to figure out what comes next. Having a purpose helps."
"Purpose is essential," Harvey agreed with surprising intensity. "Without it, grief can consume you entirely." Something flickered across his expression—a darkness quickly contained behind his polished exterior.
Rachel placed a gentle hand on Harvey's arm, a subtle gesture of support that Bruce didn't miss. "Harvey's been working around the clock on several high-profile cases," she explained, offering the socially acceptable explanation for his evident strain. "The recent attacks on police headquarters have created significant challenges."
"I read about that," Bruce replied, his voice carrying precisely calibrated concern. "Terrible business. If there's any way Wayne Enterprises can assist with rebuilding efforts, Harvey, you only need to ask. I've already mentioned technological support to Commissioner Gordon."
Harvey studied Bruce more carefully, as if seeing past the practiced charm to glimpse something unexpected beneath. "That's... surprisingly thoughtful, Wayne. Thank you."
Rachel's eyes met Bruce's briefly, communicating volumes in that split-second glance.He doesn't suspect, but he's noticing inconsistencies in your playboy act. Be careful.
Bruce smoothly adjusted his approach. "Well, don't let it get around," he replied with a conspiratorial lowering of his voice. "Bad for my reputation. People might start expecting actual civic responsibility from me."
The subtle correction worked. Harvey laughed, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "Your secret's safe with me, Bruce. Though I have to say, taking in Richard here already blew your carefree bachelor image pretty thoroughly."
Dick, showing impressive adaptability, responded with just the right touch of mischief. "Yeah, and you should see how early he makes me go to bed. Totally ruined my plans to stay up all night playing video games."
The quip drew genuine laughter from both Harvey and Rachel, while Bruce affected mock offense. "Cruel rumors. I simply suggested a reasonable midnight curfew."
"On a school night, maybe," Dick countered with growing confidence, the banter clearly helping him feel more at ease in the formal setting.
Bruce watched with carefully concealed pride as Dick navigated the social interaction. The boy's natural resilience was asserting itself more strongly with each passing hour. Five days ago, he'd been a traumatized child clutching his parents' broken bodies; tonight, he was finding his footing, reclaiming pieces of his identity beyond the tragedy.
"Speaking of responsibility," Harvey said, his expression turning more serious. "Bruce, I've been meaning to ask about the Wayne Foundation's stance on the juvenile justice reform bill coming before the city council next month. Your support could make a significant difference."
As Harvey launched into the policy details, Bruce maintained his mildly interested expression while continuing his surveillance of the room. His specialized glasses were still monitoring for facial recognition matches, and he noticed Dick doing the same—the boy's eyes systematically scanning the growing crowd while appearing to simply take in the glamorous event.
"...which would create a separate rehabilitation track for first-time juvenile offenders," Harvey was explaining with genuine passion. "The data from Metropolis shows it reduces recidivism by nearly forty percent."
Rachel, who had been observing Dick with quiet assessment, leaned slightly toward Bruce. "He's doing remarkably well," she murmured, her voice too low for Harvey to hear. "Five days is nothing after that kind of trauma. You must be doing something right."
Bruce allowed a fraction of his true self to show in his response, knowing Rachel would understand both what he said and what remained unspoken. "He's extraordinary. Resilient in ways I never was at his age."
Rachel's eyes widened slightly at this rare admission. Bruce Wayne rarely acknowledged his own struggles, even with her. "You're giving him what you needed back then," she observed quietly. "A purpose beyond the pain."
Before Bruce could respond, he caught Dick's subtle signal—a pre-arranged adjustment of his bow tie that indicated he'd noticed something requiring attention. Bruce casually checked his watch, creating a natural break in the conversation.
"Harvey, I hate to interrupt what sounds like excellent policy, but I promised to introduce Richard to some of the Wayne Foundation board members before the formal presentations begin." He offered an apologetic smile that managed to appear both sincere and slightly self-serving. "Politics, you understand. If they meet the boy we're sponsoring, they'll be more likely to approve the next budget proposal."
Harvey nodded, clearly disappointed but understanding. "Of course. We'll continue this discussion later. Perhaps at the Wayne Foundation quarterly meeting next month? I'd be happy to present the details more formally."
"Perfect," Bruce agreed smoothly. "Rachel, always lovely to see you. Keep an eye on this one," he added with a teasing glance at Harvey. "Keeps such boring hours, doesn't he? All work, no play."
Rachel's smile carried just the right blend of professional courtesy and personal amusement. "I'll do my best, Bruce. Richard, it was wonderful to meet you. I hope we'll see more of you at future events."
As they separated, Bruce subtly guided Dick toward a quieter corner of the ballroom. "What did you notice?" he asked under his breath, maintaining his casual expression.
"That woman in blue you flagged earlier," Dick replied quietly, his body language suggesting nothing more than casual conversation. "She's been systematically positioning herself closer to Harvey. Three movements in the last ten minutes, each one reducing the distance while appearing random."
Bruce's glasses confirmed the observation, highlighting Caroline Wei's steady progression across the room. "Good catch. Anything else?"
"She's watching Harvey's movements too carefully—studying his patterns, especially when he takes a drink or adjusts his tie. And her purse—she's keeping one hand near it constantly, like there's something inside she might need quick access to."
Bruce was impressed. The boy's observational skills were developing rapidly. "The device?"
Dick nodded subtly. "My guess? Something to either incapacitate him or trigger the migraines mentioned in his medical file."
"Agreed. Time to implement our countermeasures. Ready for your first official mission?"
The momentary gleam in Dick's eyes was pure excitement, quickly controlled but unmistakable. "Born ready," he replied with quiet determination.
"Then let's go protect Harvey Dent," Bruce said softly. "Robin."