“Doctored Results”

Chapter Two

Bruce hated attending a social function without a date. It didn’t happen often, for when he didn’t bring a long-legged sexpot, he usually brought his oldest son. Dick was known as Bruce’s “secret weapon,” as Lucius had dubbed the teen. Even though Bruce was outgoing and if need be, corporately ruthless, Dick was suave, even tactful. If Bruce couldn’t close a deal, Dick could, and even if the boy was only nineteen and working toward a premed degree, he still knew the ins and outs of Wayne Enterprises better the CEO and COO combined.

Damn if that boy shouldn’t have something to do with the company one day.

But Dick had left three days prior after a blow-out with Bruce, and still, the older man hadn’t the faintest idea why. He’d called Barbara Gordon, asking if perhaps something happened between them that sparked his rancorous disposition.

The girl snorted. “I can’t believe you’re even calling me about this,” she had said before sighing. “No. Everything was great until he called me last Friday and cancelled our date. He used you as an excuse, by the way. The Riddler escape.”

“I worked with Robin.”

“So…you didn’t take Dick?”

“No.”

Not only was he back to square one, but now he actually gave the boy something to be mad at him over—Barbara’s anger.

As he looked out over Gotham from atop Wayne Tower, Bruce shook his head. Dick wasn’t a bad kid. In fact, when it came to any of his children—or any of the Justice League’s children—Dick was by far the least troubled—as long as you discounted the three years he was the prince of the League of Assassins. Well, technically the two years, because the boy was tortured the first.

“Brucie!” a charming voice called out to him, and Bruce turned on his playboy smile as the couple approached.

“Ah, Janet, William, so good of you to come this evening,” Bruce addressed, taking Janet’s gloved hand and kissing it lightly. She was radiant in her mid-forties. Her husband, however, was handsome at sixty with a large frame and a combed mustache.

“Bruce, I must say, quite a turnout for the annual ball,” Janet continued with a sip of her wine. “But where is the little mini you? I expected to see Richard, all grown up and in college.”

“Yes, GSU.”

“Probably because of your place on the Board of Directors, hmm?” William interjected snotty.

Bruce remained cool. “I wanted to keep him close. He wanted Columbia or even Hudson, but I prevailed.”

“And just how did you manage that?”

Bruce took a nip of champagne. “I promised him a new car, that special edition Porsche he wanted in high school. He took it, but of course, this week, he decided to take my car.”

Janet giggled. “Oh, he likes to play with Daddy’s toys?”

It was more than that. Dick took Bruce’s favorite black Lamborghini after leaving the tracking device on the floor of the garage. The boy knew Bruce only placed one tracker on his own car but many on his children’s. Dick would never know how many or where, so instead of looking, he just took his father’s.

Annoyingly bright.

“He’s going through a hard time,” Bruce replied in his aristocratic voice. “He came home two Thursdays ago and began throwing his medical books across his room. Something about a bad day at college.”

“Well, he’ll be better off, Bruce,” William affirmed, his eyes drifting toward a pretty young woman in a tight blue dress. “Joining your company will serve him and Gotham well.”

“Dick doesn’t want anything to do with Wayne Enterprises,” Bruce dismissed with a wave. “You know that, William. He was in your premed class this semester.”

“Ah, yes. First row, third seat. Horrible test scores.”

Bruce’s face immediately went stony. “Come again?”

“Oh, the boy is rather bright. Don’t get me wrong, but he just couldn’t grasp the concepts, no matter how hard he tried.” William was brought back to Bruce’s attention with his wife’s brief tug. “You know how it is.”

“No, I don’t know how it is. Enlighten me.”

William hardly noticed, instead brushing off his wife’s dirty glare. “Half the students who try premed fail out of the program, and I just help them get there. My class is their first taste at GSU, and if they can’t take it—” He shrugged. “They’re just wasting my time and their time.”

“And Dick was one of these students?”

“Bruce, it was nothing personal. I know the boy wanted nothing more than to succeed, but he just doesn’t have it. He even told me he had been working with some doctor down in Crime Alley, getting tutored, but there are no tutors in the emergency room. And there is no extra credit either. It’s better for him to realize this now than it is during his first surgery.” William put his hand on Bruce’s arm and squeezed. “After all, we both know he doesn’t have your father’s genes.”

Bruce closed his eyes and counted to three. Nope. It didn’t help.

He tossed William’s hand off his shoulder. “Janet, would you excuse us for a moment?”

“Of course, Bruce.” She threw up a hand. “Thomas! Thomas Whitmire! Is that you?”

As soon as she was out of earshot, Bruce narrowed his eyes. “Tell me you didn’t say that to him.”

“Oh, Bruce. Don’t get so worked up.” The man finished off his flute. “He’ll do wonderfully at your company. I’m sure you’ll find a great place for him as your assistant or something. We both know how well he negotiates with your clients. You should thank me.”

“Thank you?” Bruce looked out over Gotham, wondering just where his son was, before whirling back. “William, you don’t pride yourself on educating your students. You pride yourself on breaking them. If more than fifty percent of your students fail your course the first time around, perhaps something isn’t wrong the students. Perhaps something is wrong with the teacher.”

“Now waitaminute—”

“I know my son’s capabilities, and I know his heart. If he didn’t succeed, it wasn’t because he couldn’t. It was because he believed he couldn’t, something I’m sure you hammered into him.”

“That is a lie!” William’s face flushed red. “Look, I know what you’re trying to do. Push me around, get me to change his grade, but your boy is nothing more than—”

“You do not want to finish that sentence,” Bruce growled.

“He has to learn now, Bruce, that Daddy’s money won’t get him everything he wants.”

“Oh, I think he knows that.” Bruce took a cool sip of his champagne. “After all, Daddy’s money couldn’t save him when he held captive for three years overseas, now could it?”

William’s face grew pale. “Bruce, listen to yourself. I know you’re denying the truth, but I was looking out for the kid’s best interest. It’s not his fault he doesn’t have what it takes, but I’m not going to give him a free pass to save his feelings or yours. Do you want him emotionally destroyed when he takes someone’s life on the table?”

Bruce thought for a moment, his eyes dark, his face tense. “Get off your high horse, William. Around the world, Wayne Enterprises employs more than two million people. If he works for me, he’ll be responsible for more lives than you’ve ever been, including those of your students.”

As he started away, he called over his shoulder, “Oh, and William? Give my best to Matthew and Becca. I’m sure they’ll do wonders working for LexCorp. because I don’t see a place for them at Wayne Enterprises.”

As he stalked through the party, only one thought came to mind. Dick. He had to find the boy wherever he had gone. No wonder he was so pissed. Bruce would have been, too, if he’d be told that after his first class in his chosen profession.

He was halfway across the ballroom, ignoring waves and nods when his cell phone buzzed. He pulled it out to see Oliver’s number and clicked it on.

“I don’t see the sky bleeding.”

“Bruce, you sound more cheerful than usual.”

Bruce entered the elevator. “Now’s not a good time, Oliver.”

“Actually, now’s a great time. JLA satellite. Meeting.”

“Unless it’s about Darkseid or Dr. Light—”

“It’s about Dick.”

Bruce cursed. “On my way.”

*^*^*

“Bane?” Batman repeated. “Who’s Bane?”

Red Arrow shrugged, standing across the JLA roundtable. “I was hoping you’d know more. Nightwing said he met the guy in the sewer that night, and he’d taken out Croc and Robin.”

“And Nightwing came to you.”

“He said he needed a place to crash. I wasn’t going to tell him no.”

Batman began to take a step forward—Roy should have known better than to let Dick go—but Superman flew in between. “The question now remains: Where is Dick? That takes first priority.”

“He said he was going to go after Bane. Make sure he taught the guy a lesson,” Red Arrow continued, his shoulders slumping helplessly. “You didn’t see him. Bane—he gave Dick a beating of his own. His arms looked like they’d been hit by clubs or something, and Dick said the guy had no weapons.”

“Did he say where he was going?” Batman demanded.

“No, but—” Red Arrow hit open the electric door, and a growling snarl gave way to barking as Ace dashed into the room and came to kneel at Batman’s feet. “He left this, and he never leaves this.”

Batman narrowed his eyes and treaded toward the door, the dog stalking his heels.

*^*^*

Nightwing stood alone atop of Wayne Tower, knowing full well the party that took place just below his feet. Most likely Bruce was there at the Annual Wayne Foundation Fundraiser Gala, and usually he would be, too. But not this time. He couldn’t face Dr. Hiller and his wife, Janet. Instead, he chose to wait for his own date to arrive and wasn’t disappointed when he heard the heavy breathing too close for comfort.

Shit.

The punch came faster than he could duck, and he rolled with the momentum, coming to his feet with double vision.

Great. He’d been jumped twice.

“So, once again, he sends a child to do a man’s job.”

Nightwing let out a haughty laugh. “You really thought that message came from the Batman?” He lowered his voice and mimicked his father’s voice. “You were mistaken.”

Bane narrowed his eyes. “Then he will find only find your bones, broken and torn from the flesh.”

Wow. That was really descriptive. “Not tonight.”

Nightwing lunged forward and at the least minute brought his escrima sticks to bear. He ducked Bane’s punch and attacked with two hits to the man’s kidneys. Or at least, that was he aiming for. Instead, Bane moved like the Flash, blocking the attack one arm and using the other to reciprocate.

Nightwing felt the pain in his elbow as it cracked.

On instinct, he kicked hard, hitting Bane’s kneecap. As the man howled and went down, Nightwing broke free and clutched his arm. Okay, this was not how he wanted this to go.

As he retreated, he already felt Bane following. God, that man was built like a Mack truck. Time to go on the offensive. Jumping onto a girder, Nightwing swung and landed on top of Bane’s shoulders, squeezing his legs around Bane’s neck in a death grip. He didn’t want to kill Bane, only deprive him of enough oxygen to pass out.

“You think you can pick on a fourteen-year-old kid?” Nightwing strained as Bane staggered backwards. “That’s how big and tough you are. You can pick on a kid!”

Nightwing grunted as his back slammed into a wall, and Bane threw him over his shoulders. The teen bounced along the rooftop, his hands clawing as his body fell off the edge. He managed to snatch the very edge.

Sighing, he slowly began to pull himself up when a heavy foot smashed his hand.

“No,” Bane rasped, ignoring Nightwing’s cry of pain. “I destroy all those who stand in my way. First the boy. Later your mentor.” He leaned down to whisper as Nightwing lost all purchase, “Now you.”

He raised his foot.

Nightwing plummeted from the top of Wayne Tower, and even though his hand was crushed and his elbow broken, he fought past the pain to throw a Batline. It caught something, for the line became taunt and he rocketed toward the floor to ceiling windows of the ballroom.

With a grunt, a being wrapped his arms about Nightwing and seized his throat.

“You will not escape me so easily.”

Nightwing let go of the line.

Together, Nightwing and Bane crashed through the glass window, sending shards throughout the room and scattering those who remained of the high society of Gotham. As Nightwing collapsed to the ground, he held in a pain-filled shriek as his arm and hand hit the hard surface.

Get up. He heard Bruce’s voice. Move!

But as he felt the massive shadow devour his body, he couldn’t manage to push past all fours.

Bane’s massive hand encompassed his entire crown. “Do not despair. Your mentor will join you shortly.”

A cocking sounded. “Step away from the boy. NOW!”

Nightwing didn’t need to raise his head to know Commissioner Gordon stood a few feet away, his gun trained to Bane’s head.

“I won’t ask you again.”

Bane laughed. “You believe you can defeat me? A simple cop?”

A bottle shattered over Bane’s head, and William Hiller held the hilt. “You—You stay away from him, you beast!”

Bane snorted. “I can show you beast!” He lunged, shaking off two of Gordon’s bullets to snag Hiller by the neck.

Nightwing growled under his breath. He wanted to do that to the man, but he won’t let Bane get the pleasure. Not tonight.

Not any night.

Finding the strength somewhere, he grabbed a batarang from his glove and dove forward, stabbing Bane in the arm. When blood spilled from the man’s appendage and still he didn’t let go, Nightwing pulled at Bane’s mask until finally it came off.

Only then did Bane let the doctor fall and once more turned his attention to the teenage crime fighter.

“Commissioner, get everyone out!” Nightwing ordered, to which Gordon began shouting commands.

Nightwing, however, smirked a deadly grin at the brown-haired man with a crew cut and stern face.

“You have yet to learn the meaning of pain,” Bane argued. “And now, I will show you.”

“Ditto.”

Nightwing jumped over the man when he charged, tearing a long scrap down Bane’s back. When Bane turned, he kicked the man in the teeth, fell to the ground to hit out the good kneecap before flipping out of the way and tossing a batarang. It sunk to the Bane’s non bloody arm. Still, Nightwing refused to give up, elbowing Bane across the face before vaulting over his back and using the momentum to send Bane face first to the floor.

He backed up and began to take out a line when the fighter retaliated by kicking out Nightwing’s legs and diving forward to grab Nightwing’s arm, forcing him against a wall. Nightwing kicked once, twice, three times, but the fighter with bloodied teeth and a deadly smile stole Nightwing’s mask.

“There is one difference between me and you, niño.” He brought back his fist. “I will kill you.”

“Good…guh…luck!” Nightwing threw out his line.

Bane laughed. “You missed.”

The Batline encircled the ice sculpture in the middle of the room, banged off a wall, and came sailing back into Nightwing’s opposite hand. “You wish.”

A dog growled and emerged from the darkness of the orchestra section, and Bane’s momentary lapse of attention allowed Nightwing to wrap the line about Bane’s neck.

He pulled with all his might.

Bane laughed at first before he thrown backwards. As the sculpture fell off the table, its weight tugged Bane back, closing off his air circulation. Dick then stalked forward, pulling Bane closer to the sculpture until the ice wet his hair and the hard surface kept him pinned. Dick then pressed his foot down on Bane’s neck and held the line taunt, even as the villain scrubbed at his leg.

“You come to our home, threaten my family, and think you can just walk away.” Dick bent down to whisper, “You thought Peña Duro was Hell, Bane. You should have never come to Gotham.”

As Bane choked, Ace growled and bit into the back of Nightwing’s suit, tugging gently. No. Not even his dog could take this away from him. First Dr. Hiller, now this creep—he was done taking shit from people.

A cape flapped behind him. “Have you had enough?”

Batman.

Dad.

Bane’s eyes rolled back in his head, and still, Nightwing pulled.

A zoom of red, a flash of blue, a flicker of green—JLA members arrived, and still Nightwing tugged.

“Have you had enough!”

Nightwing tightened his grip once more, then dropped the line altogether, allowing the ropes to slip from his bloody hands.

He looked toward his father and shook his head, even as Ace whined and wagged his tail. “He deserved it.”

Batman came forward to wrap an arm about the teen’s shoulders and keep him erect. “But you didn’t.”

After what happened to Jason, Dick wanted to argue, but his own eyes rolled back into his head before he could.

*^*^*

Dick wanted to be unconscious again. His arm throbbed like he had been in a street fight with a cutter, and his hand felt like he’d gone twelve rounds with Roy when he’s pissed and armed.

And he was pretty sure he would see threes once he opened his eyes.

“Get up.”

Ah, Dad. So loving.

Dick opened his eyes and moaned, pushing up—and seething. His hand burned like a wild fire up his arm, and he quickly used his non-crushed one.

Sure enough, Bruce stood at the foot of his bed, dressed in his Batsuit with the cowl on his back. Dick looked back toward the window and saw stars. Ah. They took to him to the JLA Watchtower.

Ace laid on the foot of his bed, always on guard against those who wished to harm him.

Dick opened his mouth, but Bruce cut him off with a simple swipe. “No. I don’t want to hear it. You almost got your brother and yourself killed. Why?”

“Dad—”

“Why?”

“Because I failed my first premed course, okay!” Dick dropped his elbows—even the broken one—to his knees and dropped his head in his hands. “I failed it terribly—like Roy Harper-bad.”

Bruce sat down at the seat by the head of the bed. “I know.”

Dick dropped his hands. “You know?”

“I spoke with Dr. Hiller. He was at the Foundation Gala, but that doesn’t excuse what you’ve done.”

Dick cringed and fell back in the bed. “You spoke with him? Oh God. What’d he say?”

“It doesn’t matter what he said to me. It only matters what he said to you.”

Dick covered his face with the pillow.

“Dick.”

The pillow shook its head.

“Dick.”

The pillow pressed down on the person’s face.

Bruce stole the pillow and looked down at his son’s flushed face. “Dick.”

“He said I couldn’t do it!” He shot up in bed and glared at his father. “He said I wasn’t smart enough or good enough, and I’m better off if I just gave up now than waste the university’s and my time. Are you happy now?”

“And that you don’t have my father’s genes.”

“He told you that!” Dick shrieked, and his face blanched. “I can’t believe he told you that!”

Bruce snatched his son’s forearm. “It doesn’t matter to me.”

“But it matters to me!” Regret twisted his face, and Dick looked away. “I love my parents, Bruce, and I miss them with all my heart. But—But what if Damian can do it and I can’t? Do you know what everyone will say?”

“What makes you think you can’t?”

Dick glared at his father, and Bruce blinked. When did Dick master the Bat Glare? “Did you hear what I just said?”

“So you’ll take one bastard’s word over mine? Or Ra’s al Ghul’s, who chose you to be his heir?”

Dick snorted. “That’s different.”

“You’re right. Ra’s wanted you to be the next ruler of the world. That is much less demanding than being surgeon.”

“You can’t change what is.” Dick looked down at his wrapped fingers and shook his head. “I tried everything. Everything! I went to Leslie, got tutoring during the times I volunteered. Didn’t you ever wonder why I was there so often?”

“Son—”

“I know I’m not a genius, but everything I’ve ever tried to do before—be Robin, outsmart Ra’s, even avoid J’onn at school—I’ve been able to do. This…” Dick dropped his elbows to his bents knees. “…This was the first time I tried my hardest and couldn’t succeed. I—I think Dr. Hiller was right.

“I don’t think I have what it takes to be a doctor.”

Bruce moved to put a hand on Dick’s shoulder, stopped, then finally succeeded. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

Dick averted his eyes, but Bruce saw the tears trickled down his red face. “I—I didn’t know how to. You looked so proud when I said I wanted to be a doctor, and—and how could I come home and tell you I sucked royally at it?”

Bruce said nothing, just stared unforgivably at Dick.

Dick’s cheeks flushed, and he put up his hands. “I know. I know. You’re always proud of me, but—”

“Then don’t give up.” Bruce sat back in his chair. “Have you ever heard of Thomas Elliott?”

Dick snorted. “The brain surgeon? Yeah, of course. He’s like the Brad Pitt of the medical industry.”

“He’s a childhood friend of mine.”

Again, a snort. “Childhood friend? Isn’t that an oxymoron for you?”

The grim look upon Bruce’s face brought an immediate sheepish smile to Dick’s, and under the circumstances, the father left the remark slide. “I’m going to give him a call, see if he’d be willing to mentor you.”

Dick wiped his eyes. “Are you kidding me? The guy’s, like, totally busy, and even if he’d be willing, I—I really don’t want to be told I can’t hack it by an idol, too.”

“So you’d rather give up completely than know for sure this isn’t your chosen profession?”

“It is my chosen profession, Dad. I just can’t do it.”

Bruce sighed and wanted to slap the boy across from him. He opened the draw in the end table and pulled out a long, tie box. “Alfred was going through the attic the other day, looking for more of my father’s books for you. He came across this. I…I was going to wait until you graduated from medical school, but I think it would do more good now.”

Dick opened the box and gasped. Inside was an ancient stethoscope.

“It was my father’s,” Bruce explained. “I think he would have wanted you to have it.”

Wordless, Dick wrapped them around his neck, his eyes watery.

“You’re not one to give up easily, Dick, or else you wouldn’t have survived those years with Ra’s. You wouldn’t have survived your parents’ deaths. Don’t let one bastard deter you for your life’s dream, and don’t be willing to give up so easily on yourself when there are at least five people who believe differently, one of being Leslie, who believes she’s never seen better stitch work in the field.”

Dick ducked his head, letting his bangs cover his eyes. “I wanted it so badly, Dad.”

“Then don’t let it go.”

“But what if I really can’t do it?”

“We won’t know until you’ve given it everything.”

Dick raised his red-rimmed eyes and asked, “Do you really think he’ll mentor me?”

“Tommy’s a good man.” Bruce pointed directly at his son. “But if I agree to call, you have to fix the situation with your brothers.”

Dick hung his head. “I know, but I’ll need fifty thousand dollars and use of your private jet.”

“Why do you always need money to fix your problems?” Bruce stood. “And no, you are not taking them to Disney World.”

“I was thinking Vegas.”

“Jason’s fourteen, and Damian’s seven. And you’re nineteen!”

“Fine. How about your yacht and ten thousand?”

Bruce put a hand on his son’s head and drew him close to plant a kiss on his forehead. “Get some sleep. We’ll talk later.”

“Dad?” Dick called just before Bruce reached the door.

“Yes, Dick?” He turned halfway around.

“Thanks…y’know…for believing in me.”

“You don’t make it hard, Dick.” He continued out the door. “And the answer is still no.”

“Damnit!” Dick grumbled and lay back in bed. Feeling the cool metal about his neck and seeing the bright planet turning below him, he closed his eyes and fell asleep to Bruce’s voice echoing from outside his door.

“Thomas Elliot? Bruce Wayne. I have a favor to ask of you…”

*^*^*

Seven Years Later

Today, he should be standing upon the stage, shaking hands with the president of Gotham State University. He should be at home eating cake and hitting Jason up the back of the head when he commented about mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Hell, he should be on his way to the Aspen cabin where Bruce promised the family could spend a week to celebrate his graduation.

Instead, Nightwing was covered up to the elbows in blood, one hand working a tweezers in his father’s chest cavity, the other readying his taser.

“Come on!” he shouted, his voice a mere whisper against the volcanic blasts of Apokolips. “Come on, damnit!”

If there was one thing Bruce was, it was a control freak. Bruce had every situation calculated and deconstructed and planned from the first punch, but there was always a hair-thin margin for error.

And that was sometimes the difference between life and death.

“God, will you just listen to me?” Nightwing demanded and reached again, his tool finally securing the foreign object. As he pulled out the source of the problem, he flattened his palm down on Bruce’s chest. “Not. On. My. Watch.”

The taser sizzled to life, a makeshift defibrillator, and when Batman’s eyes fluttered open, Nightwing let out a pent-up breath. “You trying to give me the heart attack?’

Batman’s eyes ricocheted about the warzone before they finally settled upon the younger man’s bloody cheeks. “…Con…Congrat—” His raspy voice broke into violent coughs.

Nightwing shook his head. “Quiet you, and just be happy I graduated summa cum laude. Can you imagine one of those ordinary medical students pulling shrapnel from their father’s chest on alien planet? Puh-leeze.”

Batman grimaced when Nightwing began to sow up the wound but kept his eyes trained upon his eldest son.

Nightwing finally caught his gaze with a double-take and returned an annoyed glare. “Oh, stop it. I already said you were right, and I was wrong.”

Batman never looked away.

“Hey, be good, or I’m giving you a suture that’ll leave one hell of a nasty scar.”

After a moment of silence, Nightwing finished the work.

“Thanks…y’know…for believing in me.”

Batman nodded once. “…Thank…you…for…graduating…summa…cum… laude.”

Nightwing rolled his eyes and sat back on his hunches, looking left than right, wiping his bloodied gloves on his thighs. “So…you think Apokolips needs resident surgeons? It can’t be worse than Bludhaven.”

THE END