Bruce says I'm the best detective he knows - after himself, of course. And the fact he says that always makes me wonder...
I've lived in Wayne Manor since my father died. It sounds simple, but it wasn't. Life has been complicated for me, and this too makes me wonder.
A few years ago I was just a kid with a hobby. I lived in a property near Wayne Manor, and I didn't have many friends. My mother was dead, and my father... well, my father wasn't in his best shape. Not to mention, my favorite games were not popular among other kids: I liked to investigate.
Detective stories and mysteries were my thing, and I think one could say I was kind of obsessed. I rather say I was focused. And curious, of course.
I guess that anyone hearing my story would say I was lucky, would say it was all a fortunate coincidence. Oh, these people don't know how a detective works. They don't know that, as detectives, we are supposed to look the overlooked, and see coincidences as clues. The fact that Bruce Wayne was my neighbor was truly helpful, but even if he lived on the other side of town, on the other side of the world? Well, it would only delay the inevitable.
The inevitable, by the way, was my discovery of Batman's secret identity. I did something that only a few have done to this day, and, let me tell you, it was much easier than convince Bruce he could use another Robin - that would be me.
Jason Todd had died, and Bruce... well, part of him, part of his dream died with my predecessor. I guess it took most of the joy of Bruce's life, and tossed him into a dark corner. That's what I think, and that's kind of what I told him when I reveled to him I knew his secret. I told him the Batman needed a Robin. I told him that nothing that is solely grown in pain and sorrow could go well. Not for long, anyway. And I offered myself as the new... well, teen wonder.
We all agree that's a silly name, right?
Maybe, but Robin's mantle is not. Robin is serious business, although it took me a few years to understand that.
For as crazy as it might look, Bruce accepted me. Trained me. Helped me. And I know it didn't have much to do with my speech about "Why Batman needs a Robin." It's not so much that Batman needed a Robin, but the fact that Bruce needed something less sad in his life. Bruce needed someone like me, that didn't know Jason, that didn't know so much tragedy, so much pain. Someone that could bring something other than grief into that cave.
From the day I first wore the uniform to the present date, things have changed a lot for me. I'm no longer just a kid playing detective. I'm no longer innocent. And I've had my share of tragedy and pain.
I saw Bruce fall in the hands of Bane, and I've seen Azrael take his place. I've seen Batman rise again, taking his city back. I've seen chaos take Gotham more than once, attacking it with disease, disaster, war. I've lost friends. I've lost people that I loved.
I've lost my father.
Now I understand Bruce. I know what he meant when he said didn't want me as Robin. He wanted to protect me.
We don't always agree, Bruce and I. Not long ago, just before his death, my father discovered about my hero identity. It's fair to say it was one of the most difficult moments in my life; after all, I had to choose between my father and Bruce... and I chose the first. And then, after my father died, I was so confused... I still felt I couldn?t betray his memory by accepting too much from Bruce. I didn't want anything that would feel like my father had been replaced, I didn't want to be Bruce's son. I didn't want to be like the Batman I thought I knew - dark, resentful, emotionless.
I was in pain, pretending not to be. I just didn't want the pain to destroy my life.
I used to think it was what destroyed Bruce's life.
However, time passed, and I realized... I realized... that I was wrong.
I came to live in Wayne Manor, and I had the chance of watch Batman more and more, watch Bruce, learn more about him. And I saw that, messed up or not by the many things that happened to him over the years, nothing can change that fact that he is a good person. Nothing can change the fact that he is a fighter. He doesn't quit, and he most certainly doesn't abandon anyone. He didn't abandon me, and God knows I asked for it, sometimes.
And for as much as he can be a difficult person to be with sometimes, Bruce is my family.
Thinking of that, I go down to the cave, where I know he is. I find him working on something, watching the computer screen attentively. He doesn't seem to notice me, concentrated as he is in his task, but I know better than that. I know he sees me, feels my presence, for nothing happens inside this cave without his knowledge. However, I also know he is not going to say anything, because he doesn't want to start a conversation that could lead to a subject he doesn't want to discuss. Therefore, I take the lead:
"We need to talk."
He pretends to be really busy, when I know he is not; the file he is working on is just a simple database. He doesn't know I've been spending most of my free time on this computer, trying to break secure codes and go through all the files and information. My intentions were noble: I was testing the security of the whole system. Unfortunately, I also came across a piece of information that was quite disturbing.
"Later, Tim."
I know the tone. It is usually used to mean "never, Tim."
"I'm not leaving until you speak to me."
He drops what ever he was doing in the computer, and turns the chair to face me.
"You're usually much more subtle about things."
"I guess you could say this is an emergency, or... how could I put it? Ah, yes, a matter of life and death, maybe?"
Not the proper moment for irony, I admit, but, as he said, I'm not a big fan of the direct approach.
"Tim... what are you talking about?"
He already knows what I'm talking about, but he prefers to go on with this game. Bruce, Bruce, always unable to talk about the personal stuff, right?
"You're sick, aren't you?"
Although Bruce can be quite an actor, not all his efforts are able to hide from me the almost imperceptible tension in his jaw, or the way his fingers grabbed the arms of the chair with unnecessary strength.
"It is true!"
No denial came from him, like I knew it wouldn't. I'm a detective, and I'm rarely surprised by events. However, sometimes I wish I was wrong, and this is one of these times. I sense my stomach going cold, and now I recognize in myself the fear, something I'm not used to feel.
"Tell me everything."
"I don't think I should.'
Bruce's expression didn't change. He looks at me like he is thinking about something mysterious and secretive.
"Of course you should tell me. Why shouldn't you?"
He rises from his chair, and now I remember he is at least a foot taller than me. I follow him with my eyes as he walks around the cave, going a few steps away from me, but no further. He is wearing the uniform, but not the cape and the cowl - he won't leave for patrol for at least another hour. In his outfit, he always looks so powerful, so big, and even scary. However, right now, he just seems to me what he is: a man, and one that is not sure of what to say and how to act. It's a rare moment of vulnerability, and I watch it without displeasure: in a way, it's a relief to know he is human, just like me. To be honest, I now see we are very much alike, maybe always were. Even physically: we both have dark hair and dark blue eyes, and he trained me to be agile and strong as he is. I'm not like Nightwing, who has his own talents. No, I'm all like Bruce, and every move I know was taught by him, improved by him. I'm a detective, just like he is, and I too prefer to keep thing to myself, mostly my feelings. Yes, we are very much alike.
Almost like father and son.
"I didn't want you to worry, Tim..." Now he has both hands on his hips, and I read sadness in his eyes. "I knew you would find out sooner or later, but... I just wanted to spare you."
"Spare me? Of what? I... I've seen many ugly things in my life, Bruce... I..."
"I know. I know you have, kid."
In the past, I hated when he called me kid. Felt like he was reminding me he knows so much more than I do - maybe ever will. However, I came to understand that, most times, the use of this particular word was just his way of saying it's alright to be who I am: young, sometimes scared, sometimes full of doubts.
"I rather face this than be left in the dark. If you just wanted to protect me, Bruce..." I now realize my mouth is dry, and my heart is crazily jumping inside my chest. "Well, if it's all for my sake... I think I should be able to choose."
He smiles. Yes, he does. One of his rare, almost imperceptible smiles.
"Just tell me, Bruce."
"You already know, don't you?" He crosses his arms in front of his chest. "You read the file."
I did. I found the file this morning, and I was so confused. Did my best to understand the information, the medical information, researched as much as I could; all to be sure that what was written there wasn't wrong, wasn't a trick... To be able to believe the final words were not just a hunch, a hypothesis, a guess. So I could ask him:
"You're dying, aren't you?"
And so I could be prepared to hear it from him:
"Yes, I am."
