[ He was waiting for something...waiting for something to come to him, some answer. He'd struggled with them before, alone in his father's study - never his study - waiting for it to fly in through the open window. He was afraid of where his mission had led him, the lives it had cost so far, and truly he wasn't sure he was ready to take up the mantle again. What might it cost this time, and was he ready to pay the price?
And was he willing to pay the price if he didn't? Those children expected more from him than he was ready to provide. Maybe more than he was capable of providing. He felt like he owed them, because he wasn't their Bruce, and yet he felt the responsibility too. He'd been their mentor. In Dick's case he'd been...family. An adopted father. And if he'd done that then Dick was the inheritor of his fortune and his name--and perhaps more. Perhaps he'd inherit the costume too, the cape and cowl which he'd set on the dresser in his room.
The one that Bruce was staring at now as though the empty mask could somehow explain it to him. The one he'd been staring at for hours, now, waiting for that answer.
action; (a week or so after arrival) - Alfred
And was he willing to pay the price if he didn't? Those children expected more from him than he was ready to provide. Maybe more than he was capable of providing. He felt like he owed them, because he wasn't their Bruce, and yet he felt the responsibility too. He'd been their mentor. In Dick's case he'd been...family. An adopted father. And if he'd done that then Dick was the inheritor of his fortune and his name--and perhaps more. Perhaps he'd inherit the costume too, the cape and cowl which he'd set on the dresser in his room.
The one that Bruce was staring at now as though the empty mask could somehow explain it to him. The one he'd been staring at for hours, now, waiting for that answer.
Still waiting. ]