“No Regrets”
Chapter Three
As a spy, you learn two lessons really
quickly. One, working behind your handler’s back is like working behind your
agent’s back. They aren’t happy when you do it, and they’ll do anything to stop
you. And two—
The sack scratched Michael’s face as it was pulled off.
—those potato sacks they use really need to
be washed.
Surprised to see Carla’s shiteating grin—no.
Surprised
to be in the conference room he’d fought
Surprised that Carla held a picture of an “undercover” Dick Grayson—not really.
Surprised to see a lighter in her hand—yes.
When she flicked on the lighter, the little flame cast the only light in the darkened room, brightening half her face and allowing him to see her clearer, not that he really wanted to.
“Carla, don’t tell me you have a thing for the fifth richest kid in the world? He’s jailbait.”
Carla’s grin demonized. “You can’t tell me he’s one of your little desperate people, Michael.”
“You still read Tigerbeat, don’t you? You can’t take reliable intel from that.”
Darkness reigned once more when the lighter snapped shut. “Management is not happy with your progress. Soon, they’ll want to downsize, and you’d hate for me to have to call Human Resources.”
“Oooh, Human Resources. I would love to see what my résumé said.”
The light clicked open once more, and she whisked the picture over it. As the fire devoured the picture, she dropped it to the floor. “Do your job, Michael, or you’ll join Maddox, which none of us really want.”
The bag covered his head.
*^*^*
He’d been dropped off a little ways from his mother’s house, a warning of sorts no doubt. Michael scowled and rubbed the back of his neck as he headed up the back stairs. He vaguely heard voices in the garage but opted for the kitchen. Sure, he wasn’t much of a coffee drinker, valued a substance a little more heavy like ice tea, but he couldn’t say he didn’t want a drink from his mother’s new coffeemaker. Carla brought it, might as well use it.
As he opened the door, though, he realized he needed a stiff drink.
“Michael!” his mother ambushed him the moment he stepped inside. “Where have you been? I’ve had the cops calling me, and they said your place was shot up, and—”
“Mom, I’m fine.” He wondered how she and the cops knew of the situation. Carla’s people would not call the cops, then who—? He tabled it for the moment. “It was just a fight with a coworker. Not a problem. Management is sorting it out.”
Madeline’s hand shook more smoke from her half-enjoyed cigarette, and she took a long drag. “A fight with a coworker? That’s all I get?” Before Michael could protest, the door to the bathroom opened, and Madeline doused her cigarette with water. “Save it for now. We have a guest who has been waiting for you, and the least you could have done is warn me he was coming. I would have put out the good spread.”
The good spread to my mom means Kraft spray
cheese.
Michael’s eyes narrowed as the
man in a three-piece suit walked into the room, his face oddly neutral. “Hello,
Mr. Westen. I took Mr. Axe’s advice and decided to extend my stay in
Oh. That was how the cops knew. “You mean case the sights.”
“Mr. Wayne,” Madeline interjected, “would you like some more tea? Perhaps a cracker?”
Michael fought to keep a straight face. “Mom, are you trying to poison Mr. Wayne?”
“I’m simply trying to be a good host, something you’re never.” She retreated to the kitchen to put on the hot water. “So, tell me, Mr. Wayne, how do you know Michael?”
Oh, this would be good.
“Mr. Westen and I are in negotiations for a certain object. I’m hoping he will concede possession to me.”
Actually, that was pretty good.
Bruce motioned toward the front porch. “Perhaps we can talk alone.”
Less than five minutes later, Michael sat on his mother’s porch, while Bruce sat across on the porch swig, nursing a cup of tea. “Is he all right?”
Michael had yet to check on the boy himself, but he nodded nonetheless. Fiona wouldn’t have let anything happen to him.
“You have yet to make demands, Mr. Westen. Perhaps you should get on with it.”
“I hear you dabble in mysteries, Mr. Wayne. Perhaps you should scan your own security tapes from WayneTech last night.”
Bruce squeezed lemon into the warm liquid. “I will, but that doesn’t answer my question.”
Michael
took a deep breath.
For a moment, Michael actually thought Bruce would lunge at him. The darkening of the man’s eyes, the slight tensing of his cheeks, the lifting up his lip all indicated the man’s growing rage, and like he saw less than a two days ago in the conference room, all he saw was a father worried about his son.
He couldn’t have been wrong, Michael thought. All of this couldn’t have been a coincidence.
Sitting back in the seat, Bruce put down the tea cup and regarded Michael with a scathing and scrutinizing glare. “Mr. Westen, what you just implied was elitist, for which I am greatly offended.”
“Elitist is what elitist does—”
“No. I’m not offended that you believe me to be a high-society blueblood who only addresses those of his own societal rank in association with the number of zeroes in their bank account. I am offended that you would speak of my son as some sort of white trash. You who make a living helping those less fortunate should know better.”
Wow. That
Michael never saw on a
“Have you seen what you needed to?” Bruce demanded, standing and buttoning his jacket.
Michael blinked. “…What?”
“Do not
play dumb, Mr. Westen. It does not suit a former spy for the
It shouldn’t have come as a surprise, Michael chastised himself. The man was regarded as the world’s greatest detective for a reason.
“You and I both know you took Dick for more than just information or equipment, or else you would have already made demands. You took him for a reason, and I will find out what that is.” Bruce began down the steps and only paused once he reached the walkway. “Just a reminder. If he’s at all hurt—”
“—you will make sure I burn in Hell. Yeah, yeah, we’re already clear on that.”
“Good day, Mr. Westen.”
“Good day, Mr. Wayne.”
*^*^*
Dick hadn’t stopped. Since he woke up that morning and had his wound redressed by Fiona, he’d moved out the boxes in Madeline’s garage and worked through calming exercises, practicing the art of Aikido. His left arm only dipped a smidge compared to the right, though he hissed through the pain in his broken ribs. They still needed some time to heal.
Sam chuckled. “He’s like a little Joshua.”
Fiona pushed her hair over shoulder. “He’s like a little Michael.”
“Who’s Joshua?”
The boy kept his hands straight and loose as he weaved them about his head and bent backwards into a hand stand, his right arm definitely taking the majority of his weight. With his hair dusting against the floor, he asked again, “Who’s Joshua?”
Fiona and Sam exchanged worried glance before Sam stammered, “Joshua Maddox was a friend, a fellow operative for the government. He was the best, could get out of any situation, and always kept his cool.” Sam’s face fell, and he averted his eyes. “He did everything with a smile upon his face, except the killing—and it finally caught up with him.”
Dick looked away, too. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—”
“It was a long time ago, for all of us,” Michael interjected as he entered the garage, exasperated. “I told you guys to take him some place safe, not my mother’s house.”
“Hey, do you know of any place safer?” Sam demanded.
“Uh, Gitmo maybe.”
Fiona crossed her arms. “So, how was the get-together?”
“Worse than I’d hope, but she’s not onto what we’re doing.”
“I still say we just put a few bullets in her and see if she’s comes back.”
“Fi,” Michael warned as his eye drifted to Dick. “Hey, keep your arm loose but straight.”
Having gone back to his exercises, Dick glanced at him and slowly pressed out to keep his palm up. “It is.”
“No, not that arm.” He crossed the garage in two strides and grabbed Dick’s arm, manually moving it down a little and wiggling the tension out. “When you’re defending, like much of the time you’re doing in Aikido, you want to have a loose posture. That way, one move flows into the other.” From behind Dick, he moved the boy’s arms up and then down like ocean currents. “When you go to block an attack, you’ll be accepting his energy, not colliding with it.”
“Oh, you mean not like this—!” His elbow dug into Michael’s gut, knocking the man down to the concrete floor. His butt swelled with pain as it accepting most of the energy, and without thinking, he kicked out Dick’s legs from underneath him.
But the boy was good, and he flipped back onto his hands and sprung to his feet. His face paled slightly and lines of pain drew upon his cheeks, but he managed to smile, bright and true and egging.
The boy wanted a fight.
All right. Michael could give him one.
Dick lunged first, a punch aimed at Michael’s solar plexus. At the moment, however, he opened his hand to hit the heel of his palm, but Michael grabbed the boy’s wrist with one hand, the other upon the boy’s elbow and twisted with light force. Dick seemed to anticipate the move and pivoted on his back leg to swing his opposite hand, causing Michael to release him. This time, Michael put up a forearm to block and retaliated with his own backhand, which Dick ducked. The boy aimed for a kidney punch, but Michael stopped it when a raised knee, then took the boy by the head. He would’ve knocked the boy into his knee, like he had when kidnapping the boy, but Dick learned, instead bringing down a knotted fist onto the knee before delivering a wounding kick to Michael’s midsection.
It was the only hit he got.
Michael flipped to his feet, and when Dick tried to kick upward, he trapped the boy’s leg between his armpit and torso. Dick attempted to pull his leg free once, twice, three times, and Michael smirked.
“You might want to loosen your leg.”
And Dick did, so when Michael dropped to the floor fast to kick out Dick’s other leg and bring the boy down, the Boy Wonder was only left with a few minor bruises.
Dick reclaimed his appendage and sat cross-legged, only wincing slightly. “Wow. You’re good, like B-man good.”
“It’s the reason I’m still alive.” Falling into a similar position across from Dick, Michael noticed Fiona slipping out the side, leaving them alone for the moment. Sam must have left immediately to seek Madeline, but they hadn’t made it back in time to watch.
Dick pushed back his sweaty bangs from his forehead. “Being a spy—is it hard?”
“Probably no more difficult than being the sidekick to a superhero.”
“Partner,” Dick corrected.
Michael put up his hands. “Partner.” He held Dick’s penetrating glare. “Life has gotten a tad hotter since I was burned.”
“Burned?”
“When a spy is fired, he gets burned. It makes keeping my head a little harder than it used to be for my family members and me.”
Dick cocked his head to the side. “Then why do you do it?”
Michael’s eyes softened as he looked upon the boy, seeing the innocence within the orbs, the youth within his face. “Would you believe for Joshua Maddox?”
“The former spy guy?”
Michael nodded. “About eighteen years ago, Joshua was burned like I was. A deep uncover covert operation wanted to recruit him, but first, they needed to sever his ties to his current employer.”
“The CIA?”
“Close enough,” Michael conceded,
and his eyes became distant as he remembered a conversation not too different
from the one he was having now. “Joshua didn’t want to work for them because it
would mean submitting his entire life to this organization, and Joshua wasn’t
one to sign without reading the fine print. He came to Sam and me and asked us
to help him escape, so we faked his death in
“So, you’re trying to keep him safe by going undercover and stopping this group from ever going after him again?”
“No. I’m avenging his death.”
The innocence marred in the boy’s eyes pierced Michael more than wished, but Dick looked away first. “…I’m sorry.”
Michael tentatively reached out but pulled his hand back before actually touching the boy. Looking at Dick as if an enemy, he sought Fiona or Sam or at least his mother, but alone with the boy, he had no choice but to put a hand on Dick’s knee. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“I know, but still…”
Being
a spy is a lot like being a cape. You might say your name, but you hide your
real identity. You try to protect those you love, but they still keep getting
hurt. You hope that one day they understand, that you tried to help people,
live for a cause, but in the end, you realize there is no higher cause than
that of your family.
“Dick, listen to me. I’m going to get you out of this, okay? But I’ll need your help.”
“Get me out of this?” Dick echoed. “How am I in this?”
“The covert operation I work for has gone after you because they see you as a threat. I can get them off you, but I need to find out who tried to blow me up.”
Dick shrugged. “What do you need?”
“I need you to get me into WayneTech. I just need a quick glimpse of their computer files to see who had access to that explosive. Can you do that?”
“What? Don’t think Bruce is part of it anymore?”
Michael wouldn’t say that, but he was beginning to believe that.
After digging in his pocket, Dick pulled out a card that looked much like a hotel room key. “We can use my keycard. That should get us in.”
Michael glowered and reached for the card. “You actually had a keycard? I thought you were just—”
Dick snatched it away. “You can have it under three conditions.”
“Wow. Aren’t you a little demanding?”
His forefinger shot up. “One, I come with you. I’m not letting you into Bruce’s computer systems without knowing that you won’t rip him off.”
Michael nodded. “Doable.”
“Two, no guns.”
A hiss with a grimace.
Dick bent the card but stopped before it snapped. “Do you want to find the person who tried to kill you or what?”
Reluctantly, Michael agreed.
“Three,
once this is done, you release me. I like
“Is
The door to the garage squeaked open, and Michael already jumped into a crouch. He was almost in front of Dick by the time his mother walked into the room, holding a tray full of old crackers and spray cheese.
“Oh, good. You boys are done beating each other up.”
Dick immediately snatched the spray cheese and accepted the pat of his hair. “Thanks, Mrs. Westen.”
As he put it to his mouth, Michael snatched it. “Mom, we’re kinda having a discussion here.”
“Oh, hopefully not like those discussions you used to have with Ricky’s brother before he ended up in prison.”
Michael rolled his eyes. “Mom—”
“All right! All right, I’m going.” She ran a longing hand through Dick’s hair before bending down to plant a tender kiss upon the boy’s crown. “If you need anything at all, honey, or even if you just want to get out of this garage, just yell, okay?”
Dick smiled up at her. “Thanks again, Mrs. Westen.”
Michael narrowed his eyes, watching closely as his mother detached herself reluctantly from Dick and bristled out of the garage. As soon as the door shut, Dick took back the cheese spray from Michael’s frozen hands.
“She’s nice.”
“And she feeds children liquid food poisoning.” Michael took the can back and shook his head. “There was a reason I went into the army, Dick.”
“Yeah? To get away from her?” He took a cracker, but Michael knocked it out of his hand.
“We’ll get you something in-date, and no. My dad liked to use me as a punching bag.”
“Oh.”
Silence.
“Mr. Wayne, is he—is he good to you?”
Dick raised his blinking eyes as if wondering why Michael asked him before nodding. “Yeah, Bruce’s great.”
Michael’s face remained firm. “Yeah?”
Dick nodded and shrugged, his cheeks blushing. “I mean, yeah, he’s an emotional reject, but he’s my dad, even if he won’t admit it, and he’s definitely not like your dad.”
*^*^*
Carla flipped through the folder while lying on her stomach in her bedroom suite. She didn’t even raise her head. “You really should come work for me. You’d be surprised at the benefits package we offer.”
“Not interested. I need information about a former operative of yours.”
“Sorry.” Her hand slowly slipped under her stomach. “I can’t talk about anyone without a representative from HR present.”
The gun shattered the mirror across the room before she even managed to aim it. A unconscious body thudded against the ground—her bodyguard’s. The Batman cast a shadow upon her and narrowed his eyes. “Tell me everything you know about Joshua Maddox.”
*^*^*
The keycard worked better than expected, but they still needed to sneak past the guards. Smoke bombs effectively dealt with them, and Dick led the three covert operatives around the cameras and into Bruce’s temporary office without incident.
Flopping into Bruce’s posh chair, he hit off the screensaver and hit in Bruce’s password. Without fail, the desktop lit up in a matter of seconds.
“Okay, I’m going to start looking up files from the last six months and see who had access to the explosives.”
“Make it a year,” Sam ordered and when the three looked at him, shrugged. “Hey, we’re only going to get one shot at this. Might as well make sure we have everything we need.”
Dick rolled his eyes and began typing. “Fine, but if you want security camera records, we’re going to have to hit the main control room.”
Fiona placed her hands on Dick’s shoulders and rubbed gently. “You sure know a lot about this place.”
“Hey, some kids grew up on playgrounds with slides and jungle gyms. I happened to grow up in a multi-billion dollar playground with stairwells and twenty-floor atriums with cameras I had to avoid or doctor tapes.” He typed until he stopped suddenly, and his head shot up.
Fiona didn’t seem to notice as she ran her hands along his neckline. “I think we have the makings of a little spy here.”
“Over my dead body,” a grating, scratching-metal voice announced.
The glass window behind them shattered in a flash of green, and before Michael could lunge, Fiona had her gun out of her jeans’ waistband and dragged Dick to his feet.
“Hey, hey, HEY! I thought we had a deal!” He put up his hands as Fiona backed them into a corner, and their eyes adjusted to the light in the once darkened room—Green Lantern’s glow. “No guns, remember?”
“And we were supposed to be alone.”
Michael’s eyes ricocheted about the rather large office, taking in the frightening sight before him. “Fi—”
“They can’t take him from us, Michael!”
“Fi—”
“I won’t let them!”
“Fi—”
“I don’t care if Superman is his—”
“FIONA!”
They could, and they would.
Surrounding them in a semi-circle stood operatives worse than those he faced working for Carla—Superman, Green Lantern, Green Arrow, Wonder Wonder, Aquaman, Black Canary, and Martian Manhunter.
The Justice League
Operatives Worse than Carla’s Enemies
Directly in front of the group,
Batman wore his cape and suit but left his face uncovered.
“Stay back!” Fiona shouted frantically, the gun pressed against Dick’s temple. “Not one of you is fast enough to catch the bullet before it buries itself in his brain.”
Batman redirected his gaze from Michael’s eyes to Fiona’s. “You won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do—” Batman raised his chin. “—because I know who Joshua Maddox wasn’t.”
Slowly, Fiona’s arm uncurled from Dick’s neck, and she uncocked her weapon. Michael closed his eyes to never see the boy rush to Batman’s side, but instead, silence reigned. When he turned back, Dick looked between Batman, Michael, and Fiona, before shaking his head.
“What’s going on here?”
Batman took a step forward. “Dick—”
“No. What does all this have to do with an ex-spy?” He whirled to Batman. “How do you even know about Joshua Maddox, and just what the hell is the motive in all this?”
Sam ran his hands through the sides of his hair. “Kid—”
“No, don’t ‘kid’ me! There’s still no motive!” When no one met his eyes, Dick slammed a hand flat against the desk. “I know all of you like to treat me as such, but I’m not a complete idiot. Something’s going on here, and I want to—”
Maybe it was the pain in the boy’s voice; the desperation; hell, maybe he just didn’t like to see such a good kid torn.
“I left out a few chapters of Joshua’s story,” Michael added softly, cutting through the boy’s tirade. “He was recruited by the black ops because he was so good, and the reason why was his acrobatics. He could get out of any situation and could defeat any enemy, so when we relocated him…”
Dick’s mouth dropped open; he breathed so loudly Michael heard him from across the room. “No. Please don’t be going where I think you are…”
“…so we decided to locate him nowhere permanently, a place he could blend in and if his records were sketchy, it wouldn’t matter.
“Haley’s Circus of Wonders as John Fredrick Grayson.”
Dick took a half-step back, shaking his head in denial. “N—No, my dad inherited the act from his parents. He was born in—”
“—
“But—But—he was Romany. He liked to talk in gibberish and—”
“Joshua did like the Romany cover story, used it a lot,” Fiona muttered. “Almost as much as his British cover.”
“But—no! He really—”
“Dick, sweetie, why don’t you come with—” Dinah came forward, but Dick backed away from her reach.
“But what about Zucco? The whole extortion scheme? Was that just a—”
“Joshua knew of Carla’s operation and needed to be killed to keep it a secret. Zucco was hired by one of Carla’s operatives, so he wouldn’t get his hands dirty,” Sam explained.
Confusion, desperation, and hurt mingled in the boy’s eyes before he raked his hands through his hair and shot a finger at Batman. “You said you investigated this!”
The man looked away, couldn’t meet the boy’s face.
“Oh, you knew,” Dick whispered, demoralized, and then tore forward. “When did you know?”
Batman still kept his eyes away.
Dick grabbed Batman’s cape and pulled the man toward him. “Bruce, when the hell did you know!”
“The day after they were murdered.” Batman raised his haunted eyes.
Dick’s shaking hands slowly uncoiled from the Kevlar. “And you let me think I’d avenged my parents’ deaths. You let me believe—”
“I had to,” he revealed. “This conspiracy infected all facets of the government. The deeper I dug, the higher up I realized it spread, and these people—they don’t leave loose ends. The fact that you are alive today is a miracle within itself.”
“Mr. Wayne’s celebrity might have been the only thing that saved you,” Michael agreed. “You were no longer a son of a spook but a living being, whose death would have brought too much attention to the organization. Management couldn’t have that. But even that wouldn’t have saved you if Mr. Wayne continued his investigation.”
“I had a conscious decision to make,” Batman added. “Either I pursued the people responsible for your parents’ deaths or I kept you alive. Even if you are angry at me for the rest of your life, I don’t regret the decision I made.”
Dick absorbed the information silently, putting a hand on his forehead and wincing. Finally, he turned toward Michael, sadness softening his eyes. “You’ll finish this? You’ll bring them down once and for all?”
No hesitation. “Yes.”
Dick seemed to take that but wouldn’t meet Bruce’s eyes, even after the man put a hand upon his shoulder. “Promise me something.”
“Anything,” Bruce said.
“Can we
never come back to
The thought tore at Michael, but he understood. He even understood when Dick leaned into the embrace of Black Canary and never turned around, instead seeking comfort from she and Martian Manhunter as they headed toward the door. Just before they reached it, the trio disappeared in a flash of green, leaving the three former spies alone with the capes.
Sam let out a small whistle. “So, I guess we’ve hit a dead end.”
Batman brought a file folder out from under his cape and slapped it on the desk. He pushed it halfway across the top. “Derek Poole, a small-time arsonist, was given access to WayneTech supplies by his girlfriend, a secretary who works here part time for one of the physicists. You can find him camped out in a cabin upstate. It’s heavily booby trapped, but you can—”
“Wait…” Fiona slowly backed away from the wall, mindful of Superman watching as she held her weapon. “Why are you doing this?”
Batman met her eyes with a knowing glare. “I already told you. I know who Joshua Maddox wasn’t.”
Sam snorted. “Yeah, so? What does that have to do with us?”
A cold dread sucker punched Michael in the gut and stayed there, sucking all his warmth. He spared a single glance to Fiona, who trembled—Fi? Shaking?—as her eyes welled with unshed tears.
Batman’s voice never rose from its growling whisper. “Fiona Glenanne met you while you were posing as Michael McBride to infiltrate the IRA. You broke off your engagement to your fiancée, the ‘Other Sam,’ as you call her, but before long, you were compromised and left in the middle night.”
“How does he know this?” Fiona murmured.
“Your
handler, Daniel, transferred you to
Covert ops are called “covert” for a reason.
The missions you complete are supposed to be secret. In the end, only a select
few know what you’ve done—you, your handler, and the bad guy you took down.
Other than that…but no matter what you do, no matter how many steps you take,
no matter how far you are away from reality in the middle of a third world country, there
is always someone else who knows what happened in that circus tent.
Sam swiped a hand. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Waitaminute—”
“Joshua refused at first,” Batman continued. “He made the cardinal mistake in your business—he had a family. He’d married Mary Loyd, supposedly an American hygienist, and had a son, Richard. He couldn’t risk them, but when you explained just how malevolent this arsonist was, Maddox had no choice. He had to help.
“But with one condition.”
“You have to promise me something.”
They sat in a small compact car,
three blocks from where Thomas held Fiona. They both wore tight black shirts
and pants and were armed to the nose.
Michael pulled his glare from the
street to see Joshua in the night light. “Anything.”
“If something were to happen to me—”
“Josh—”
Joshua grabbed Michael’s hand, hard.
“Michael, listen to me. Please.” The severity of his tone and the desperation
in his eyes quieted any resistance from Michael. “If something were to happen
to me, please. Take care of Mary and Dick.”
“Joshua—”
“Michael. Promise me. Promise me
you’ll make sure they’re safe.”
Michael returned the hard stare with
all the loyalty of his heart. “I promise.”
“Maddox died less than five months later, most likely because he was marked on the grid once more,” Batman continued, his voice unwavering. “Maddox had trained you, was your mentor, your surrogate older brother, and the reason you even thought to help the ‘little desperate people.’ When you heard what had happened to his wife and him, you and your company immediately went to action.”
Batman nodded to Sam. “You were there the day the Graysons were killed.”
“Do you have a lock?” Michael’s voice
demanded through Sam’s earpiece.
Sam stood at the top of the
bleachers, looking down at the chaos that remained a little more than two hours
since the murder. His teary eyes brushed across the blood stains in the sawdust
before he once more sought a particular boy.
“Sam!” Michael screamed again.
“Report. Do you have a lock?”
The trembling boy sat on the very
bottom step, dressed in green tights and a red tunic with a tuxedo jacket
across his shoulders. A built man in a tie with a gentle smile knelt before
him, and Sam let out a breath.
“Yeah, Mikey, I have a visual, and
he’s safe.”
“Safe? Sam, Joshua was just killed,
most likely by those bastards. How the hell can you tell me his kid is safe?”
Sam took his hand off the gun hidden
in his jacket and headed toward the curtain opening. “Safer than he would be with
us. Richard Grayson, welcome to reality.”
“When I became Dick’s guardian, you thought he was safe in the limelight, but when you found WayneTech explosives were used, you thought I had found out who Dick’s parents were and wanted you out of the way—or worse, was working with Carla to control you. Either way, you wanted to make sure Dick wouldn’t become collateral damage, so you took him until you could assess just where I stand.”
How could he know all this? Damnit! They had been good, thorough. Joshua taught him to be—but…Joshua was gone, killed. They were good, yes, but they weren’t the best. That point was scathingly proven at this moment.
“So…you knew all along,” Sam whispered, his gun dropped to his thigh.
Fiona stood stunned, her face glistening, her cries soft.
“Why didn’t you tell him?” Michael asked.
Bruce’s hands gripped into fists, to hide the trembling, Michael realized. “Today, he lost a part of himself he cherished. When his parents died, I believed his world has been turned upside down enough for one lifetime. What good would it have done him to he never truly knew his parents?” He paused. “It wasn’t my place to tell him.”
Michael strode around the desk to stand face-to-face with Batman, his eyes glassy but determined. “Every day you have the chance to tell him how you feel, and every day you squander that privilege.”
Batman’s face remained neutral, but Michael could see the scowl wanting to form. “You had the opportunity to be in his life, to make the same difference in his that Maddox made in yours, but you chose this life, which has condemned and now wishes to destroy you. Don’t bring him down with you.”
“Is that what this about?” Michael growled and gestured fiercely at the JLA. “A team to stop us from taking our godchild?”
“Yes,” Batman replied evenly.
The Justice League
Operatives Worse than Carla’s Enemies
A Team To Stop Michael From Taking Dick…Again
“You put him up against the most ruthless of criminals,” Fiona spat, “and yet you believe us unfit.”
“Despite how cruel my enemies are, Dick’s identity is unknown to them. When he takes off the suit, he can sleep at night. I cannot say the same for Michael Westen and Fiona Glenanne, can you?”
Michael regrettably remained silent.
“I gave him a purpose in life when he had none. I gave him an outlet for talents he should have never had, but Maddox gave him. I gave him a home when he had no place to go.” Batman hesitantly reached out to place a hand on Michael’s shoulder. Michael glanced down at it, bewildered.
“I’ll take care of him, Mr. Westen. You take care of those who wish to harm him.”
Sometimes in the spy business, you have to
cut your losses. No matter how good you think you are, there is always someone
better, and when you have the unfortunate luck to meet these people, there is
only one solution: compromise.
Michael’s teeth clenched as he grounded out, “You better because I ever find out he is so much as scratched, I will find you, and no matter how good a fighter or detective you are, I will destroy you.”
Batman pulled on his cowl and nodded once. “Noted.”
Michael swiped the file and left.
*^*^*
The boy looked utterly lost when Batman entered the infirmary of the JLA watchtower. Dick never could stay in a hospital bed, so Batman wasn’t surprised that the boy had taken up residence on the windowsill overlooking the Earth. His eyes turned toward the window, his knees hitched up to his chest, Dick watched the world spinning below or perhaps certain people on it.
“You didn’t tell me the whole truth, did you?”
Batman stopped to pull of his cowl. “No.”
“And you’re not going to tell me, are you?”
“No.”
Dick nodded once, accepting the information. “It’s something I want to know, isn’t it?”
“Probably but it’s not my place to tell you.”
Now, Dick swiveled in his position to look up at the Dark Knight. “Thank you.”
“…for what?”
“For looking out for me. When you found all this, you could have just thrown me to the curb, but you didn’t. You kept me even though it meant putting you and yours into the danger.”
Yours, meaning Alfred.
Bruce nodded once. “You were—are—worth it.”
Dick ducked his head, probably to hide the blushing, before Batman actually fidgeted with his belt. The hesitation drew Dick’s head upward, and in one fluid motion Batman took a seat next to the boy, leaning his elbows on his thighs.
“You…You know that I—that I—”
Dick laid a hand on Bruce’s, stopping the trembling. “Yeah, I know and back at you.”
Bruce released a prolonged sigh and wrapped an arm about the boy’s shoulders, drawing him close to Bruce’s torso.
Dick leaned his head against the man’s chest. “Bruce, do you think they’ll keep our secret? I mean, they seemed pretty adamant against my life as a vigilante.”
“Yes, I believe so…because they have their own secrets to keep.”
*^*^*
The silence between Michael and Fiona was deafening, so much so that he clinked his spoon against the bottom of his yogurt cup just to hear the noise. They avoided each other’s eyes as they sat in Michael’s loft and instead focused on the file on the counter.
The door squeaked open, and Michael raised his head to see Sam. The older man carried a manila envelope, which he slapped down upon the Derek Poole folder.
“Uh, Mike, one of my FBI buddies told me to give you this.”
Michael arched an eyebrow as he bent the tabs back. “Is it a pony?”
Sam blew
out a quick breath. “He said he got it from a former buddy of his who attended
Michael dumped out the contents of the envelope—pictures upon pictures. Fiona’s yogurt cup slipped through her fingers at the sight of the boy within them—Dick flipping from trapeze to trapeze, hanging with a group of colorfully clad teenagers and throwing popcorn, dressed in a tuxedo with Bruce at a Wayne Foundation function, wearing a Captain America Halloween costume, playing soccer for his high school team, eating birthday cake, doing homework, sleeping on a couch, etc., etc., etc.
Michael pulled off a Post-It Note from one. “I thought you’d like to see these.”
Spies, not mercenaries, enter the occupation
with the idea of working for the greater good. You believe the work you are
doing is saving people, helping your country, and preventing death on a large
scale. You do this because you have already made the ultimate sacrifice and
don’t have anything else to lose.
But
that is always a lie. You always have something to lose, and more times than
not, you do.
But
when you look into the eyes of woman who should bear your children, when you
cherish pictures of a boy who could have been yours, knowing you will burn the
photos later, when you fight back the tears you never cried—you finally realize
you have no regrets.
Epilogue
“…and killed my wife and son. The ultimate joke came when I found out it was Carla who did it to recruit me.”
Sitting on the stairs of the locked-down basement, Michael took a deep breath. “And you decided to take out her organization from the inside.”
“Exactly, sport. Figured I have nothing left to lose.”
“And Maddox? Where did he figure all into this?”
Though
cable wired to a chair, Victor shrugged. “He was part of it, at least for a
little while. Killed a man in
“And what about his wife?” Michael demanded. “She wasn’t part of it.”
“Oh, oh, oh. Someone didn’t do his homework,” Victor said in a singsong voice. “Class is in session, sport. No one’s innocent. Mary Loyd was really Marly Blair, a member of MI-6, former British spy. Not an innocent in the least.”
“Is that what you thought when you almost took their son, too?”
“You mean
Michael froze.
“You can thank me if you want, sport. Yeah. I told Zucco to make sure the kid didn’t bite the bullet, and I kept him away from Carla when I could have handed him over. Figured he might be useful later. But a little bit of advice.” Victor leaned closer to whisper, “If I know Maddox had a kid, Carla does, too.”
*^*^*
“Killing off your team? Doesn’t say much for your management skills,” Michael quipped as he ducked behind the door of the boat, watching through a tiny crack in the door.
“But one of those bodies would have to be you,” Carla shouted back over the phone. “You can be the hero of the story, Michael. Either way, Victor dies, but Maddox’s son doesn’t have to.”
…
“That’s right. I know about the boy, Michael, and the secret stops with me. Management doesn’t have to know. Other than you, Victor, and I, no one else does, and it can stay that way—or if you refuse, I can strap the same C-4 to him that’s strapped to that boat and—”
A bullet tore through her side, draining her of blood and leaving for her dead.
From the woods, Fiona lifted her sniper rifle. “Finally.”
The End