Title: Escrito 'sta en mi alma / It is written on my soul (Reference en español (7739 words) Fandom: DCU (Post-Robin: Year One) Series: Hábito del alma Summary: Batman and Robin battle Ra's al Ghul and his daughter, the mysterious and alluring Talia, for life, liberty, and the right to pursue happiness! Who will win? Will they ever see America again? Rating: All ages Notes: LC, Chevauchee, Ny, and Mael audienced. Betty beta read it and separated it from the story that comes before it in the series. As soon as Dick gets in the car after school the next day, he knows something's up because Bruce is there, handing him his uniform. "I received a tip-off from an informant," he says, and the way he moves when he settles back into his seat lets Dick know he's wearing his armor under his normal suit. "We're leaving for Grenada." Dick has to close his eyes for a second to get all the geography knowledge he had to master up to the front. "Tax shelters?" "The city," Bruce says, but he tousles Dick's hair. "The last center of Islamic power in Spain, home of a great deal of beautiful architecture -- and also, even in the present political climate there, the epicenter of a resurgence of Arabic secret societies." "Oh, cool." Dick takes out his notebook. "So I can practice my Spanish." "The people we're likely to interact with will be speaking Arabic, actually, so the Spanish won't be as helpful as it might otherwise be." Bruce hands Dick a map of the city. "Also, they're unlikely to take our interference well. According to my informant, they've found a Lazarus Pit under the Alhambra." Dick shakes his head. "What a wacky place to put a pit." "It's more that it's a strange place for a palace," Bruce says, and hands him pictures of the layout. "But the architecture isn't the issue, here." "It's Ra's al Ghul. Yeah," Dick says, "he's a pain in the neck." "And other portions of the anatomy, yes. Work on the map. You're going to need to sleep on the plane." Dick nods and starts tracing various routes around the area. Alfred drops them off at the airport and hands Dick his suitcase. "Do take care, Master Dick," he says. "That al Ghul fellow can be difficult." Dick grins at him. "We'll be careful, don't worry." Bruce gets his own suitcase and a baleful look from Alfred instead of a warning. "I do hope so, sir." "We won't even come home with castanets," Bruce says. "I wouldn't mind a kilogram of manchego for the pantry," Alfred suggests, and Dick knows he's not actually mad at them for taking off, even though it means Dick's going to miss school for the rest of the week, and however long it takes after that. "Manchego, right," Dick says. "Is that wine?" "Cheese, Master Dick," Alfred says. "Perhaps you ought to study up on the flight." "I will," he promises, and they wave before they walk toward the plane. <center>~^..^~</center> He's still not quite over how great it is that Bruce has his very own plane. Dick doesn't get to use it much -- when Bruce has meetings or conferences, he usually has to stay home and go to school like a normal kid. Only Robin excuses get him a free ride. That means a lot more work than a vacation would, though. He ends up reading the maps and the history books Bruce brought for a long time. He wakes up as they start to bank really hard toward the airport. The floor plan of the Alhambra is still spread out on his lap. "Are we there already?" Bruce says, "It was a six-hour flight." He looks like he got some sleep, somewhere along the way, but he's got books spread open and a notebook, too. "Right, of course," Dick says, rubbing his eyes. "Any chance of breakfast?" "It's at least two hours until the cafés open. Time enough to get through customs and to the pension where we'll stay." "Ugh." The thought of customs without breakfast makes him grimace. "Also, Alfred sent muffins." Dick punches the air. "Great!" Bruce smiles a little. "You'd better find them before we actually start landing." There are four, along with a little note, "Lunchtime, if you'll recall, is not until 2:30. Best save the second muffin." Dick reads it out to Bruce who says, "It's good advice." "Why are we coming to this crazy place again?" Dick asks, putting the other muffin away with a longing glance at it. "To make certain that the Reconquest doesn't need to be fought again." "The --" Bruce sighs. "You skipped that part of the history reading?" Dick looks out the window at the rapidly approaching faint lights of southern Spain. "There was a lot." "Then we're going to make sure Ra's al Ghul does not become more powerful than he already is." "Right," Dick says. "I can handle that." The landing is a little rough and makes Bruce frown. The air outside is drier than it ever gets in Gotham, never mind that the Mediterranean is right over there, and it's colder than Dick expected from all the pictures of sunny days. The airport is dusty and pretty much abandoned, but one tired customs guard apparently knew they were coming. He asks, "Don Wayne?" and it's all Dick can do to keep from giggling even though he knows it's not that funny. Bruce answers the questions quickly in Spanish, handing over their passports -- pleasure, perhaps some business though none presently planned -- the guard smiles, and Bruce nods -- my ward Dick Grayson, showing him your beautiful country, nothing to declare. He doesn't ask to look through their luggage, which is just as well. There are secret compartments nobody's found yet, but it makes the bags pretty heavy. As soon as they've got their passports back, they head out and catch a taxi that's very rickety. The driver asks Bruce where they want to go in a slurred Spanish that doesn't sound like it has any S's in it at all, or any D's. He gives the address -- 173 Calle del Generalísimo -- and the driver asks something about business. Bruce says, "No, turistas," and the driver chuckles. The pension is whitewashed -- almost every building is, really -- and has yellow trim that doesn't help it stand out from the buildings on either side at all. Its only distinguishing feature is in the tiles around the doorway, blue and white with flowers that shine in the light of dawn. The lady who owns it -- Señora Moreno -- is awake even though it's some awful early time of day, and she greets them with a smile and shows them up the stairs to a pair of high ceilinged rooms with white marble floors. Dick asks when the café -- the restaurante -- whatever there is -- opens, and she calls him a boy and tells him they're already open for the workers. "Still hungry?" Bruce asks. Dick nods, then yawns. He doesn't have to fake it. All it takes is a vague thought about what time of day it is back home. "Maybe after a nap." "This isn't a good time to sleep." Bruce puts a hand on his shoulder, gives Sra. Moreno some pesetas, and steers him to the nearest café. The men there are all bent over tiny cups, eating quickly. Dick says, "Can I get coffee?" Bruce gives him a look that wants to be a smile. "Alfred would tell you it stunts your growth." Dick makes a face at him and orders anyway. It comes blonder than he likes it, usually, and in a tiny cup. "How's that supposed to wake anyone up?" Bruce gets one for himself and three pastries. "Try it before you make fun of it." It's strong, but not too bitter, and even though it's full of milk it's plenty hot. "Oh -- oh jeez." Dick winces and reaches for the sugar. "Okay, I take it back." "I think we ought to truly be tourists today," Bruce says. "See what we can see." Dick sips his coffee and nods. "Okay. Get a feel for the place?" "Absolutely. Bring your camera." <center>~^..^~</center> The Alhambra proper doesn't open until nine in the morning. It gives them plenty of time to walk through the neighborhoods of Grenada with their narrow cobblestoned streets. Everything is whitewashed here, too. It makes Dick homesick for the different colors of brick and paint of Gotham, and when he thinks that, he realizes there isn't any graffiti, either. "It's very clean," he says. "Nobody makes a mess of things." "They're afraid to," Bruce says. "But Ra's won't be." Dick's so used to acting like he belongs places, just out of principle, that being a tourist means he has to focus on making himself look like he's looking around. It's easier when they get into the palace itself and he has things to actually look at. "It's amazing," he says, more than once, and Bruce squeezes his shoulder every time. Dick takes a lot of pictures of arches and gardens and vaulted ceilings. "Everything's so orderly." After the official tour of the inside, where Dick gets more pictures of the floor than anything -- for research, of course -- they're allowed to wander through the gardens on their own time. "Everything here is carefully made, carefully restored." Bruce pauses by one of huge fountains and they watch it sparkle in the light for a while. "It would be terrible if it were destroyed." Dick winces. "You don't think he'd really --" Bruce frowns. "Napoleon tried to blow it up for less reason than Ra's has. Never underestimate a megalomaniac, Dick." Dick nods and looks at the gardens again, then up at the arched walkways around them. "You'd have to be insane -- really insane -- to want to destroy this." "Yes." Bruce walks along the fountain and Dick follows him. "Checking the plumbing?" he asks quietly. Bruce glances at him with an expression that tells him not to ask silly questions. Then he looks up and stops, staring at the archways again. "Ah," Bruce says. "Already." "What?" Dick asks. "Talia." Bruce turns and heads for the way they came in, striding quickly so Dick has to hurry to keep up. "You're sure it was her?" They reach the entrance to the palace, where another group is wandering through. Bruce slows down to a normal walk and says, "Can you believe lunch isn't for another three hours?" "Oh, man, really?" Dick says, and it's not a challenge to whine about this. "Gosh, that's terrible." "Maybe we'll find something to eat somewhere between now and then," Bruce says, steering him toward the exit and the knot of souvenir shops there. Dick plays with maracas and stares at the bullfight posters. "Wow. You know, one of those would look really great in my bedroom." The shopkeeper thinks this is absolutely the best idea he's heard all day. Bruce shakes his head and puts his hand on Dick's shoulder to steer him away, bereft of maracas. "We need to find Alfred's present." "Oh, right." They head back toward the places where people actually live. There are women in the streets in the center of town, bustling about with packages and leading small, dark-eyed children by the hand. The cheese shop they go into smells a little too hot, and all the different kinds available are labelled in a tight handwriting that makes Dick squint. "Manchego, right?" he asks Bruce. The man behind the counter calls him a most educated -- and maybe he means polite, too -- boy -- and cuts them tiny slices of various cheeses, all presumably manchego. Some of them are harder than others, but they all taste nutty and a little weird. "I think -- that one is best," Bruce says, pointing to the one that's apparently been aging the longest. "For Alfred, yes." Dick swallows. "Gosh, I'm thirsty." Bruce pays the man for the cheese and thanks him very much, getting the whole round wrapped up. They could use it for weight practice on the way home. "Do you want another cup of coffee?" Bruce offers, smiling. "No, not now." Dick shrugs. "Maybe something somewhere else." "I'm sure we'll find something." A few doors down is a meat market, showing off more dead and dismembered things than Dick usually sees outside of a crime scene. He squints at one of them and says, "Why does that pig's leg still have a foot?" "Perhaps you should ask as part of your cultural education," Bruce says. Dick wrinkles his nose against the smell and goes in, points, and uses the wrong word for something -- probably "foot" -- because the butcher laughs. "Oh," Dick says, when he gets the explanation. "Wow -- I -- just a moment." He goes back into the street and takes a few deep breaths of air that doesn't smell like dead things. "It's a ham," he says. "The best ham in Spain. I think Alfred needs it." Bruce raises an eyebrow. "It looks heavy." Dick laughs and flexes his bicep. "No sweat." It's also pretty expensive, for ham, or maybe that's just for Americans. Dick gets it wrapped up and puts it on his shoulder, and Bruce shakes his head. "You're going to be having ham and cheese sandwiches for lunch for months." "The man said it keeps really well," Dick says, "so maybe we can get him to space it out." He shifts the package a little. "Man, okay, so 'no sweat' was going too far. Can we take this back to the pension?" "Of course." <center>~^..^~</center> The pension is still cool, even though it's past noon. "So that's why the floors are marble," Dick says, and Bruce smiles. "Part of it, yes." They put the meat and cheese next to Dick's suitcase in his room. Being there makes Dick wonder if maybe he can sneak a kiss, but before he gets a chance, Bruce leaves. Dick follows him to his room, locking up behind himself, and finds Bruce with the floor plan of the Alhambra spread out on the bed. "Where do you think it is?" Bruce asks him. Dick gapes at him for a second -- that's what he was going to say -- and leans over it. "Maybe -- there, under the Torre del Vino." "Based on what?" Bruce asks. "The pipelines for the fountains, and -- that's probably got access to anything underground, anyway." Dick peers at it again, tracing the fountains. "That's where I'd look first," he says, and shrugs, looking up at Bruce to find out what he thinks. Bruce leans over the map and kisses him. He tastes sweet, somehow, even after all that walking. "It's a good place to start," he says. Dick blinks at him, trying to get away from all the thoughts that have to do with begging for sex right now and back to the part about stopping Ra's al Ghul. "Okay," he says, and then he puts it together. "Hey, you had a muffin." Bruce laughs and says, "Yes, and I left the last one for you." He hands Dick the box and everything shifts focus a little bit. He's hungrier than he is horny, at least right now. "Thanks." Dick kicks off his shoes and settles onto the bed. His face feels dusty and he knows Alfred would tell him to go wash his face before he eats, but he's too hungry to bother. Besides, there's planning to be done. "So -- where are we going to start, tonight?" "Where we started today." Bruce points to the main gates. "We'll have to get past the guards." "Easy-peasy," Dick says. "Oh -- but --" He winces. "I don't want to break anything with the grapple." "There are bioadhesive attachments in your belt." "Bio -- what?" Bruce smiles. "They won't detach as readily -- they'll fall off within three hours due to exposure to oxygen -- but it won't be nearly as dangerous as the hooks." Dick finishes his muffin and grins at him. "You really think of everything." Bruce tousles his hair. "That's my job. After we get in, we'll climb the Torre del Vino and use it to get into the cellars. What we find in the cellars --" "Ra's al Ghul," Dick says. "And Talia." "If we're unlucky, yes," Bruce says. "It may be that he has not yet arrived." Dick frowns and points at the map. "But you saw Talia -- there, wasn't it?" He makes a guess based on the angle in the garden and chooses a point in the walkway. "You're sure it was her?" "Approximately there, yes, and it was indubitably her." "If you're sure." "I am." Dick bites his lip at the certainty in Bruce's voice and looks up at him. "Do you -- I mean -- are you still in love with her?" Bruce pets his cheek. "I don't need to be in love with someone to recognize her." Dick shakes his head. "Yes, but are you?" The way Bruce looks out the window at this question does absolutely nothing to make Dick stop worrying about it. "She's dangerous." Dick puts his head in his hands. "So's Selina." "Moreso than Selina ever could be." Bruce strokes his hair. "Selina knows better than to do anyone serious harm. Talia -- does not." "So -- that's, 'No, Robin, I'm not in love with Talia.'" Dick knows his Batman voice is feeble at the best of times, but right now it's downright weak. "Right?" Bruce tips his chin up with one finger and gives him a serious look. "I know she's untrustworthy. You don't need to worry about my loyalty." Dick leans back and gets up. He can feel the dust on his skin worse than ever. "That's stupid, Bruce." "It's more complicated than --" "Oh, stop." Dick folds his arms and glares. "Any second now you'll be telling me I'll understand when I'm older. Understand what? How you're stuck on this loony woman who's old enough to be your lots of greats grandma? What's so great about her? Why can't you just --" he manages to choke the last two words back in time before he says, 'love me.' From the look on Bruce's face, he heard them anyway. Bruce pushes the map to one side and says, "Come here," offering Dick his hand. He doesn't want to, not even for the kind of hug he never gets anymore, where he can hold on long enough and tight enough to hear Bruce's heartbeat. "It's not my fault she's crazy." "Of course not. Come here," Bruce says again, putting more weight on it, and Dick lets Bruce pull him in and hold him so close he feels his voice as much as hearing it. "My affection for Talia bears no resemblance to my affection for you." "You don't want to have sex with her?" Dick asks, knowing the words aren't soft enough, knowing they'll make Bruce wince. It's a momentary pause, but it's there. The way he says, "Robin," is much more painful. "You're my partner." "Oh," Dick says, "so you don't want to have sex with me." Bruce squeezes his shoulder hard. "Stop." "I'm sorry," Dick says, and Bruce rubs his shoulder until it felt better than it did before they even got on the plane. "I am not going to pursue Talia or respond to any of her advances," Bruce says softly, "no matter what she says or does. I know better than that." "But you love her," Dick says. "I don't get it." "Love isn't rational," Bruce says. He kisses Dick's forehead. "One's responses to it can be." Dick closes his eyes. "So you love her, and you're going to pretend you don't because she's a nutcase. Okay, that's rational enough for me." He runs his fingers across Bruce's cheek, feeling like he's taking a big risk. "When are you going to get over her?" "I'm quite sure seeing her again will help in that endeavor." Dick takes a deep breath. "Promise me you're not going to kiss her." Bruce opens his mouth and Dick interrupts him. "Not just a little promise, either. I've got to be able to protect your back out there, and if you're going to go off the deep end I need to know now, or I need a really clear signal that you're not thinking straight." Bruce smiles, mostly with his eyes, and holds up his right hand. "I will not kiss Talia." Dick nods. "Good. Thanks." Bruce kisses his cheek teasingly. "Are you so jealous already?" Dick splutters and pulls away. He can feel himself blushing hard. "She's nuts. Insane. Bonkers. Why would I be jealous of somebody who thinks her dad should rule the world and live forever?" He can't help it if the mental image of Bruce kissing Talia makes him queasy. "No reason at all," Bruce says, too lightly. "I don't know why you'd want to kiss her when you can kiss me instead," Dick says, looking away from him so he won't get embarrassed and stumble over the words in midsentence. "I won't kiss her," Bruce says, and kisses his cheek instead. "We should go to lunch." Dick shivers and tries to stop thinking about Talia for a while. It's going to be bad enough actually seeing her. "All right." <center>~^..^~</center> The café where Bruce decides they should have lunch has outdoor tables without umbrellas and indoor tables where it's actually possible to see something other than the glare of sun. They're not quite ready to serve anyone lunch yet, at two-o'clock, but they will happily give the tourists a bottle of red wine and two glasses. "Maybe I should have water instead," Dick says, and Bruce shakes his head slightly. "It would probably make you ill, and we can't afford that." Dick tips his wineglass and looks into the dark red liquid like it'll tell him all the things people are supposed to say about wine. "This is going to make me drunk instead." Bruce reaches over and pats his shoulder. "That's what the siesta is for." "You mean we're going to take an actual nap?" Dick raises an eyebrow at him. "Okay, it's hot -- but --" "It's traditional," Bruce says, and raises his wineglass in a toast. "Go on." He's had wine before on various holidays and when Alfred poured him some at dinner without asking whether he wanted it or not. He doesn't know whether this is good or bad, but he bets it's nothing special. Either way, it makes the back of his tongue feel puckery. "I'd rather have lunch." "Soon," Bruce says. It's probably half an hour before the waiter even comes over to ask what they want to eat. By that point, Dick's into his second glass of wine and he doesn't mind so much that he's hungry. He asks what the specialties are, and the waiter smiles an indulgent smile and tells him about the chef's tomato soup. "That," Dick says, nodding, and the waiter turns to Bruce, who orders the same thing. "It's a little warm for soup," Dick says, "but -- it's comforting. You know?" It seems unlikely that Bruce is really smiling as much as Dick thinks he is, but anything is possible. "If it's the sort of soup you're used to." Dick blinks and turns his glass slowly. "Well, right. Otherwise it's not that comforting." "Are you falling asleep?" Bruce asks, a laugh behind his voice. Dick pushes the wine away. "Not yet, no." The waiter comes over with two bowls of soup and sets them down. Bruce thanks him. Dick takes his first sip and makes a face. "What --" He looks at Bruce, who's eating with every evidence of enjoyment. "Is yours cold, too?" "It's supposed to be." "And vinegary?" Dick pokes at the so-called soup again. "It's like really thick V8 or something." Bruce gives him a bland look that means there's no getting out of this. "You ordered it." Dick pokes the soup again. It jiggles too much for soup and too little for anything else. "Man. Why didn't you warn me?" "You need to learn from your mistakes," Bruce says. "Gazpacho won't kill you." Dick wrinkles his nose at it, but manages to eat it because the only alternative is another glass of wine plus Bruce being grouchy because he gave up. When they've finished eating and paid, Dick gets up and feels light-headed and light-toed and light-everythinged. "I -- maybe I should have eaten more." Bruce puts an arm around him. "You'll be fine," he says. Dick leans on him, wanting to kiss him even though he knows how dumb that would be. "Now what?" "Now, you're going to take a siesta." "Right." It's not far back to the pension. Bruce gets their room keys back from Sra. Moreno, but he takes Dick into his own room. He's not so drunk he misses that. "Um -- Bruce?" he says. "Go to sleep," Bruce advises him, giving him a gentle shove toward the bed. "You have a few hours before any of the stores will reopen." Dick kicks his shoes off and curls up on top of the bedspread. "We already did the shopping," he says, interrupting himself with a yawn. "What else do we need?" "Nothing in particular." Bruce pulls up a chair and sits by the head of the bed with a book. "No one will be expecting anyone in the streets for a few hours. Our presence would be too obvious." "But we're -- we're tourists." Dick reaches over and touches his hand. "We could wander." "We don't need to. Go to sleep." Dick forces himself to not close his eyes and keep them that way the next time he blinks. "What about you?" "I've gotten plenty of sleep." Dick sits up. "Me too." Bruce frowns at him, and Dick frowns back. He's not expecting to win, but Bruce takes off his shoes. "Fine. Move over." Sometimes with the Titans, they end up sleeping kind of close to each other, but it's not like having Bruce put an arm around him and cuddle up. Dick turns over and kisses him, and it's a warm feeling that could go a lot farther, if he weren't falling asleep so imminently. Bruce rubs his shoulders gently and that does nothing at all to keep him awake. The light has shifted considerably by the time he wakes up again, but Bruce is still next to him, reading with one hand and petting Dick's hair with the other. Dick puts an arm around him and rests his cheek on Bruce's shoulder. "Did you sleep okay?" "Entirely." Bruce kisses his forehead. "How are you?" Dick sighs and squeezes him. "Comfortable." "No headache?" "I'm fine." Dick grins at him. "You?" "I believe I drank significantly less than you did," Bruce says mildly. Dick blushes. "Sorry. I -- I was thirsty." "Do you recall what you were dreaming?" He can't remember anything but falling asleep feeling really warm and safe. "No." "Hm," Bruce says, running his hand down Dick's back. "You kept talking to me." He's blushing again already. "What did I say?" Bruce raises an eyebrow at him. "All manner of lascivious things." "Sorry." Dick sits up and tries to get out of bed -- anything to not have to discuss this -- but Bruce catches his hand. "You didn't offend me." Bruce kisses the back of his hand. "It was somewhat amusing as soon as I realized you were asleep." Dick bites his lip. "I wouldn't --" "I know," Bruce says, pulling him back into a hug that shouldn't be arousing, but is. "It's all right, Dick." "We should get up and -- and do whatever we have to do to get ready for tonight." "The museum doesn't close for the night until eight. It's unlikely Ra's will begin anything until then." Dick looks for the clock. "Four-forty-five." "Almost at the end of the siesta," Bruce says, "but considering jetlag, it's unlikely that anyone would question a longer nap." He touches Dick's cheek. "Unless you'd rather get up." He's still mortified at the thought of what he might have said in his sleep. "I don't want to bother you." Bruce laughs softly and pulls him down into another hug. Dick is half lying on his broad chest. "You're not a bother. Not at all." "I keep asking -- and I haven't done anything for you." Dick buries his face in Bruce's shoulder. "It's not fair." "When I said you didn't need to worry about that, I wasn't joking." Dick shrugs and mumbles, "But I want to." Bruce takes a deep breath. "Perhaps when we get home." Dick looks up and grins at him. "Then when we get home." He sits up. "I should go study something." "You're sure." Dick pats his hand. "Cold showers won't kill me." "There are other options available." He's not as good at being stubborn as Batman is, but he's learning. "You first." Bruce smiles, looking a little surprised. "I don't suppose this is negotiable." Dick shakes his head. "I can take care of myself, honestly. Until -- until you want to play it fair." "Very well. Go study the plans again -- find a good tertiary route out." Dick gets off the bed and pulls them out of the stack. "No problem." <center>~^..^~</center> All of the gear and plans and back-up plans are squared away by seven-thirty and Dick can't sit still anymore. "When's dinner?" "Have some of the field rations," Bruce says. "I brought extra." Dick blinks at him. "We're in Spain. A whole new country, where they eat soup that's not soup, and really god knows what else, and you want me to eat those?" "We should be at the museum at eight-thirty." "And dinner first would be a bad idea because --" Bruce shakes his head. "It wouldn't be dinner, it would be appetizers, and you would be hungry again by nine." Dick wrinkles his nose. "Fine. I'll go boil some water." Sra. Moreno helps him find the right pan and get the stove lit. She seems to get people asking for boiled water a lot, though she thinks it's odd that Dick wants as much as he does. He doesn't tell her it's not just for dinner, but for patrol, too. The field rations are distinguished from actual food by being twice as filling and four times as boring. Dick picks at his while he skims the map one more time. "So we leave the civvies in the gardens -- hidden -- and if everything blows up, we just take a taxi in costume and hope no one notices?" "If everything blows up, people will have more to worry about than us." Dick nods. "True. And -- and if you kiss Talia --" Bruce puts a hand on his shoulder. "I won't." "Right. But if you do, I'm going to knock you out." Dick shakes his head. "Especially because you keep saying you won't." Bruce laughs and kisses his cheek. "Fair enough. We should go." Dick gets up and hugs him. His armor is completely hidden by his clothes, but a hug makes it really obvious. "Okay." They get to the Alhambra shortly after the last tour empties out. There are still people around, but not many, and none of the few guards see them scale the wall -- the bioadhesive works great -- into the gardens. It's not entirely dark yet, but the shadows are growing longer. There are plenty of bushes to hide behind to put on masks, take off normal clothes, and hide the clothes for later. Batman's silhouette looks totally normal in Gotham's jagged skyline. Against the rounded arches of the Alhambra, he looks much stranger and Dick has to stop himself from giggling. "Do I look as out of place as you do?" he asks softly. "At least," Batman says. "One does not wear shorts in this sort of building." "I guess I have to deal with looking like a tourist, then." Robin checks all his fastenings twice, especially the belt. "Okay, I'm ready." They go slowly, listening for the guards, but the ones they see are generally looking out rather than in and do not notice two figures in the shadows. Getting into the Torre del Vino is simple -- they've both got the route in their heads -- and it only takes Batman a moment to find the trapdoor that leads down from there. When they open it, there's a puff of dust, and then the smell of smoke. "Torches?" Robin asks. Batman nods and puts one of the adhesive blocks down, using it to lower a rope. They creep down it and into a torch-lit passageway. There is no dripping water the way there would be almost anywhere else, only the mournful sigh of a draught. Further down, the passage forks. The breeze from the left is warmer. Batman points and Robin follows, careful to make as little noise as possible. They're going distinctly downward, and now there are other sounds than just the wind. Batman puts his hand out and they stop for a moment. There are footsteps in the corridor, echoing off of the walls so that the distance is hard to judge. They flatten themselves against the walls as much as possible and when the guard comes, Batman knocks him out with a quick strike to a nerve center and catches him as he falls. They go more quickly after that, and it is only a few moments before they reach the end of the passageway and find themselves looking into a vast chamber with a vaulted ceiling and a glowing, bubbling pit lighting the whole place. There are only four people there -- two guards, the hulking bruiser known as Ubu, and Talia al Ghul. Robin clenches one hand into a fist as she comes toward them in her clingy dress, her hair loose. She touches Batman's shoulder -- clings to his arm. "Beloved, you should not have come." Batman frowns, but he's not pulling his arm away yet. "You have to get your father to stop this, to close this pit. It's too dangerous, Talia. The palace --" She shakes her head. "I can't. Oh, if only I could." "Then you're not trying hard enough," Robin snaps at her. "It's been here for how many years and you never found it before." "No," Talia says softly, "you misunderstand. This is not a true Lazarus Pit." Batman pulls his arm away from her and goes closer. "Electric lights." "Under the fluid. Now you see." She shakes her head. "I am sorry, Beloved, but Hakim is dead." Robin tries to focus on her and figure out what she's planning, but his head hurts a lot, all of a sudden, and he falls to his knees. "Oh -- ow --" Talia sighs. "My father insisted on the gas. We are all used to it, by now." Her words drift away into nothing. Robin wakes up again with his hands cuffed and tied down over his head, lying flat on something hard. Now he has the headache he expected before, harsh and pounding. The only other person in the room is a guard who watches him impassively. He can see an archway and stars beyond that, and tries to think of the constellations and the map, but his head throbs and he has to close his eyes again with a groan. The guard gets up and says something -- not in Spanish, not in any of the languages Robin knows -- and a few aching minutes later, Ra's al Ghul is there. "Ah, child," he says in his unctuous, irritating voice. "You have awoken just in time to see the wedding." Robin closes his eyes again. "There won't be any wedding." Ra's laughs. "Then you, my young friend, will make all the headlines in your country. 'Ward of Billionaire Slain -- Batman and Robin Exposed.'" He can see it all too clearly in his mind. "He'll never marry her. He doesn't trust you." "You seem to think the Detective has a choice in this matter, boy. He does not -- and neither do you." Robin works his wrists against the ropes, but they're too tight. "Even if he says he'll marry her, that doesn't mean it's for good. You can't force someone to love someone else." Ra's laughs, and Robin's skin crawls as he realizes what he's just said. "That's the lovely part, my young friend. I don't need to." "Haven't you ever heard of divorce?" Robin asks, raising his voice. Maybe Batman is within earshot. Maybe he'll be able to help. "Divorce does not divorce one from knowing uncomfortable little secrets," Ra's says, "and you will not be staying with the Detective any longer." "What?" "He is the son I have always wanted," Ra's says, and he pats Robin's cheek. "If that means you are my grandson -- well, you ought to stay by my side, then, at least until you have a little brother." The thought makes Robin sick. "Oh -- oh no. You can't." "You'll get used to it in time, child. If he wants to protect you, then he will have to wed her with conviction." The discussion would give Robin a headache under normal situations. He's out of comebacks and no help is arriving yet, so he settles for yelling, "You'll never win!" "Ah, my poor, misguided child, I already have." He wants Ra's to stop calling him a child, but -- it's not that hard to act like one, to play the role, and to burst into tears and sobs that are entirely acting at first. "It's not fair! You're not supposed to!" Ra's laughs softly. "Come, it may be your custom to cry at weddings, but it is most polite to wait until they have fully begun." He cuts the cord that holds Robin's handcuffs to whatever he's lying on and slices the ropes that bind his legs. "Let us watch the ceremony together." Robin's feet are a little bit asleep, but he makes them seem worse, stumbling and falling. "Ow, I can't -- I don't want to --" he lets his voice become a whine, and then another sob. "Get up," Ra's says, tugging on his cape. Robin gets one foot under himself and hits Ra's squarely under the jaw with his handcuffs, knocking him backward, then kicks him hard in the nose. "This is how the wedding will go," he says, with a carefully weighed strike to the temple to keep Ra's down for a while. He runs out past the stunned guard and picks the handcuffs as he goes. He's on the second floor, overlooking the inner courtyards. The gardens are lit next to the main fountain and he sees Batman's shadow there. He gets out bolos as soon as the cuffs are off, then shoots a grapple to the highest point across the courtyard. It's easy enough to drop to the level of the gardens without a jumpline. Robin takes off running as soon as he lands, letting his grapple reel itself in as he goes. Along the way, he gets their civvies from behind the bush. There is a priest, his face as pale as the white in his collar, holding a Bible and trembling. He must be from Grenada, dragged in by the two guards flanking him. He's mumbling in Spanish, something about faith and loyalty and the basis of love, when Robin gets his arm around Batman's waist and triggers the grapple. "Robin," Batman says, holding on tight. "What, you thought Ra's was going to keep me down?" They swing through an arch and land, then pelt into the main galleries. There are running footsteps behind them, but no one's firing any guns, so it's easy to get out, over the wall and down. When they land, Ra's is at the top of the wall with Talia in a torn white veil. "You will pay for breaking my daughter's heart, Detective. Mark my words!" "I never said I'd marry her, Ra's." Batman spreads his hands and Robin takes a quick breath -- if anyone wanted to shoot him, he'd be an easy target like that. No one does, but Talia tosses her bouquet down, saying, "Return to me soon, Beloved!" Robin catches the flowers and says, "We'd better go." Batman nods, and they keep running toward the town, ignoring Ra's calls of, "This is not the end!" and Talia's weeping, though they echo against the walls of the palace and off the road. <center>~^..^~</center> Once they get back to the pension, wearing civvies over their uniforms, Dick is too tired to even think about wanting dinner or company. He sleeps straight through until dawn, which tips him off that he's more jetlagged than he's been willing to admit. When he taps on Bruce's door, Bruce says, "Come in," and offers him a white rose when he does. "What am I supposed to do with this?" "You caught it." Dick drops it, then feels silly and picks it up again. "It was a reflex." "I'm sure." Bruce smiles at him. "Are you ready to go?" "Sure. Let me get my things." After a quick breakfast with another ultra-strong cup of coffee, Bruce checks them out with Sra. Moreno. She sounds surprised that they're only staying one night and wishes them back as soon as possible. Dick thinks about all the good American investors have done in Spain recently and smiles to himself while she kisses them both on the cheeks. Of course she wants Bruce Wayne to stay and spend a lot of money, but they have other places to be. His suitcase plus the ham for Alfred is a lot of stuff to carry, and altogether their luggage fills up the trunk of the taxi pretty well. Bruce talks about the weather with the taxi driver, who tells them they should have pretty skies for their trip. Even with the large amount of food they're taking back, customs goes smoothly. Dick wonders if they think Bruce is going to start marketing pig legs to Gotham. The image makes him smile, so he tells Bruce, who chuckles and says, "I don't believe so." There isn't much turbulence, at least, so maybe he was right. Dick starts by catching up on the homework he missed while Bruce reads a newspaper. After that, they play a couple of games of chess and Dick convinces Bruce not to spot him a queen anymore. He still loses, but they're long games. Dick stretches when they've put the pieces away. "Is it lunch time?" "Somewhere, I'm sure." "Huh." He settles for another field ration and reads the newspaper, starting with the front page. "You may want to take a nap," Bruce says when he reaches for the sports page. "I got so much sleep already, though." Bruce nods. "Patrol starts eighteen hours from now." Dick groans and puts his seat back. "Jeez, you win." He manages to keep himself asleep for most of the rest of the flight, dozing off again every time something wakes him. <center>~^..^~</center> Alfred meets them at the airport with the car and takes their bags. When Dick hands him the pig leg, his eyes widen slightly. "Ah," he says, "thank you." "The butcher said it was the best ham in the world. So I guess it's the best in Spain, at least." "Quite, Master Dick. I am honored to possess it." He puts it in the trunk of the car, carefully. Bruce gives him the cheese next. "You didn't specify an age for the manchego, so --" Alfred smiles slightly. "I am sure your judgement in such matters is impeccable, Master Bruce. Shall we proceed homeward?" "Certainly." Dick tells Alfred about the encounter with Ra's and Talia on the way back, and Alfred listens and sounds mildly impressed. "Oh -- and do you know what gazpacho is?" "I have heard it mentioned before, Master Dick. Did you enjoy it?" Dick makes a face. "No, no. Not at all. Please don't ever make it." Alfred smiles slightly. "Noted." Bruce chuckles and pats Dick's shoulder. "It was a productive trip." "So I gather, sir." "And long, too." Dick yawns. "In the air, I mean. It's Saturday, right?" "Indeed," Alfred says. "Well, that's something." Dick stretches his shoulders and glances out the window. There are actual trees out there, not just the buildings and occasional telephone pole of Gotham. They're getting close to being home. "I'm glad we're back, anyway." Bruce touches his knee lightly. "So am I." It reminds Dick of the kind-of promise Bruce made and he smiles at Bruce. "And at least here nobody wants to marry you." "I sincerely hope not," Bruce says, laughing. The driveway seems almost as long as the road to the Alhambra, but Dick knows that's just because he's looking forward to not traveling anymore for a while. "Shall I serve lunch upstairs or down?" Alfred asks. "Downstairs," Bruce says. It makes Dick shiver even though he knows Bruce is thinking about practical stuff, not what Dick's thinking about. "We had better add to the notes on Ra's and Talia while the memories are fresh." "Indeed, sir," Alfred says. When he's got the car parked, he takes the ham out of the trunk. Bruce and Dick get their bags and head off through the comfortingly familiar hallways. Dick feels like he should unpack, but he's too twitchy to do it right then. He heads down the stairs and into the cave as quickly as he can. Bruce is already there, cross-referencing his report with pictures of Ra's, Talia, and the Alhambra. "That was quick." "I wanted to make sure you got the details right." Dick pulls up a chair and fidgets. "About the part where I used the new adhesive, and -- and I didn't tell you about Ra's, that much, except for the gloating stuff." He kicks his feet and watches Bruce write for a minute. It's not nearly as interesting as the alternatives. Then his stomach growls and he remembers he hasn't had lunch or whatever meal it'll really be yet. "Just a moment," Bruce says, and finishes off whatever section he was doing before. "All right, tell me how it happened." Dick goes through the details and answers Bruce's questions as best he can. Partway through, Alfred brings them sandwiches. Dick can tell from the way he's smiling what they're going to be, but what he doesn't know until he actually tries it is how good the combination is. "Oh, man." It only takes about four bites to get through the first one, and then he feels guilty and goes upstairs. "Alfred?" "Yes, Master Dick?" "Thanks for sharing your presents. I didn't know they were that good." Alfred nods. "I am glad to expand your horizons. Are you finished with the day's work?" Dick shakes his head. "No -- not at all, really." "Then you had best get downstairs." "I know. Just -- thanks." He gets Alfred to smile again, which was what he was aiming for, and then he goes downstairs again in a clatter. * Notes: The year is somewhere between 1954 and 1972. For the bits abroad, it's definitely not 1975 yet. It's possible that it's after Vatican II, but not necessarily. Mind you, it's also the mid-to-late 1990's. What I mean by this is that it's definitely Franco-controlled Spain. If you don't know what I'm talking about, read your Wikipedia. I enjoyed writing the headers on this particular story enough that I frightened my cat by laughing. Dear reader, if you have gotten this far, I hope you know why I find such glee in labelling a piece like this "All ages." It is. It really is. Vuestro gesto
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