Problem Child 17: Robinterlude 2

Damian rapped on Beautia’s window with his gloved knuckles and waited impatiently for her to open her curtains. She pulled them open cautiously, blinked, and then gave him a nod as she unlocked the window. “My thanks,” he said, pushing the window open and climbing inside. “I hope that you are well. I have a question.”

“Yes, of course.” Beautia Sivana watched him cross her living room to stand with his back to a wall. “Junior is in his room right now–”

“Having a video therapy session, I am aware,” Robin cut her off. “It is fine. I will be hasty.” He rolled his shoulders. “Is it likely that Herkimer is using financial aid from your Father in pursuit of a current villainous plot?”

Beautia blinked at him. “I-” An odd look crossed her face. “He hasn’t been declared dead, so yes, his cards would still work and I believe that he did finance less privileged villains.”

Mother wept. He never would have guessed that this was what the nouveau riche were doing with their time and resources. Damian schooled his face into careful neutrality. He had been so innocent in Nanda Parbat. He was loathe to agree with Grandfather on matters of humanity and philosophy, but his views did not lack a base.

“Charitable,” Robin said, tone flat. “What bank account or card might he be using?”

She gave him a long, uncertain look. “It… Well.” She cleared her throat. “I suppose I can give you the bank logins. You’re Robin, you’re not going to steal anything.”

He gave her a sharp nod. “Indeed,” he agreed. “It would be utterly beneath me.” He gestured for her to go on, the very image of noblesse oblige. 

What she lacked in dignity of birth, Beautia did make up with a certain graceful nature. She immediately sat and wrote out a neat and thorough listing of her father’s financial assets, accounts and passwords, as well as who might have had access to each account. She was prompt and sensible, an efficient credit to her mother’s tutelage. Surely this was the influence of the dignified concert violinist Venus, rather than the boorish and strange Dr. Sivana. 

‘How offensive that they were once married.’

He wondered distantly what it was that made women consort with men far below their station in life. It was nearly enough to disillusion oneself, but he had to choose to believe that making a mistake did not invalidate one’s proper value.

Ah. That reminded him. He really ought to contact his Mother. It had been days since they last spoke. She had reported that she was enjoying her time as the new chief Executive of the Luthor Corporation. 

“This is all, thank you for waiting.” Beautia stood primly and handed him her neat list, which spanned two pages of high-quality loose leaf paper. “I included the physical location and passwords for his office at the monster society of evil headquarters.” 

That was gracious and clever. “A true bellibone,” Robin complimented her. “How have your studies progressed?”

“The Gotham University science department is robust.” She blinked, looking quite cheerful. “I want to apply for a lab assistant position next semester.”

He nodded. “I see. A meritorious posting. Take care, stay safe, and do not regress into villainy.” Robin alighted onto the windowsill and retrieved his grapple to aim. 

She nodded at his customary parting words. “I’ll get my thirty day chip any day now,” she promised gravely. 

Ah. Robin cracked a smile. It was a joking reference to the convention of receiving valueless coins to commemorate abstaining from addiction. “How amusing,” he said, and left into the early evening of the Gotham city skyline. He was quick to return to a safehouse and shuck his clothes, mindful that Father may hear if Robin was seen about in the daylight. Cars roared by outside the window. He glanced out to see- yes, that was Thomas, consuming the dust of a much newer car. Damian indulged in a smirk at his accomplice’s expense.

Only then did he retrieve a laptop and begin investigating the accounts that Beautia had given him access to. There were many to monitor. He wondered idly if he ought to give access to Uzaki, or perhaps to her mentor. But for now, he identified the card that was in most use and investigated the charges. They were being delivered to an address, which he wrote down and appended onto his message to Uzaki.  Once he had provided the relevant information he indulged in a stretch, and then went out to stalk the streets of Gotham as an inconspicuous civilian. He was not recognized for several blocks.

“Is that Damian Wayne?” a man whispered to his wife.

“No,” Damian said flatly. He gave them a judgmental look. “But your interest in strange children is concerning. Please do not approach me.” 

The wife grabbed her husband by the arm and steered them away down the sidewalk. Damian pulled the hood up so that he might conceal a smile in his oversized hoodie. 

Thomas was ready and waiting for him in a car that stank faintly of burnt rubber, despite having what seemed to be new tires. “Hey,” he greeted. He put his phone down as Damian opened the passenger door. “Have a good time?”

“Hello.” Damian sat and put his backpack on his lap. “Yes, I was successful in my conversation.”

Thomas hummed as he turned the engine. “She was cooperative?”

“Of course,” Damian said, surprised at the implication. “Miss Beautia is a reasonably intelligent person.”

“Miss Beautia,” Thomas repeated incredulously. “Why are you on first name terms with her? I live in your house and you call me Thomas.”

“Perhaps one day you will become her equal in wit,” Damian jabbed idly. The true answer was that he could not tolerate referring to her as “Sivana” after he had done sufficient research and discovered the Father’s bizarre and undignified behavior, fixated on what was obviously a child hero. 

“Did that jug of ‘respect women juice’ taste good?” Thomas wondered, in a strange and prodding tone. “You are forever chugging that shit down.” He pulled out into the road and headed towards the Gotham Academy campuses.

Damian wrinkled his brow in confused disgust. “Do you not respect women?”

“I do, but nobody does it like you. Hey, fuck you too!” Thomas called out the window to a minivan that had merged into his lane abruptly in stopped traffic. The driver, a middle-aged woman with a toddler on her lap, showed him the back of her middle finger. The toddler did as well. It was quite charming.

Damian chuckled.

“Yeah, just like that,” Thomas said nonsensically.

He ignored that to check his messages. Hm. How odd. He frowned at it. There was not a reply from Uzaki yet. That was quite unusual. Her response rate during her patrol hours was usually quite good. He frowned and wondered if it was too early to check the tracking bugs he had put on her tactical belt, or the cameras in her home. 

Probably she was quite well. Damian chose not to hover, taking a deep breath and putting away his device. In all likelihood, she would respond to him well before the end of her patrol at 8:45 Post Meridian.

The two of them reached the campus and separated for their individual destinations. Damian took his portable gaming device and slouched outside the room where orchestral practice was being conducted. He took out his phone and took a short audio recording, which he posted to his social media account. Then he waited for practice to conclude and his agemates to stream out. They barely glanced at him in curiosity, accustomed as they were to the possibility that he would attend their practices. He let himself into the room as it emptied and made his way to the back, where his classmate Avon was playing with the drumset. Avon glanced up, nodded, and offered him a set of drumsticks. Damian took it with a nod and a faint smile. He was no expert, but the two of them worked through sheet music.

The band director noticed him and stopped by to say hello. “Join anytime,” she said, as grateful as one would expect for the funding that Damian and Thoman had squeezed from Father for this extracurricular activity. “Would you two like to be the blog post for today’s practice?” 

“Very well,” Damian said, as if that was not the entire purpose of his trip to establish an alibi. The teacher took a short video and then left cheerfully. 

By that time, it was 8:30. Damian met Thomas in the parking lot and they went home. 

He frowned again. “I still have not received a response from Uzaki,” he said to himself. 

Thomas stopped at a red light. “That’s your ninja friend?” he checked. 

How reductive. 

“My acquaintances are not all ninja,” Damian said sternly. “This misapprehension of yours is childish and simplistic.”

“Yeah, yeah, but is Uzaki, specifically, not a ninja?”

Damian frowned. He crossed his arms. “...She is a ninja.” He resented it immensely. He gave Thomas a stony silence until they returned to the Manor. Father was hovering in wait, looking quite pleased. “Hello, boys,” he said.

Damian grunted. Thomas said, “yeah?” warily.

“Saw a bit of your practice.” Father lifted his phone. “It’s nice that you’re spending time with peers.”

Damian stared at him, feeling darkness consume him.

“We are developmentally normal young men with social lives,” Thomas said blandly. “Me, at least, he’s cranky. Spent the whole ride home simmering mad that he didn’t have a response back from a girl- ow!” he dodged the second hit, and Father laughed. Damian fumed, even as he appreciated the artful touch establishing their alibi as children.

It was a weeknight, so Father departed for patrol without Damian’s assistance. He sat in the darkness of the family television viewing room, fiddling with his phone and feeling and increasing disquiet.

He was going to check the cameras. Damian stood abruptly. He would simply confirm that Uzaki had arrived home safely and then he would be able to rest.