Batman was absent from Gotham's nights, but that didn't mean no one else was out there.
Dick Grayson stood in the enormous changing room beneath Wayne Manor, adjusting his new uniform in front of a full-length mirror.
"You've got this, Dick. You're a Grayson, and you're Robin."
He admitted that Raven had been right, so he had decided to make a change. He had designed a brand-new suit himself.
Deep blue fabric hugged his lean, muscular body, its professionally tailored cut accentuating his sleek muscles. Several bright yellow stripes replaced the old plunging V at his chest.
He rolled his shoulders. The fabric had excellent stretch and didn't restrict his movements at all.
"Master Grayson, what are you doing?"
Alfred's voice came from behind him. Dick turned around to find the old butler standing in the doorway with a silver tray, watching him with a slight frown.
"Just... trying out some new gear."
Dick tried to sound casual. "With Bruce... well, you know. Someone has to keep an eye on Gotham."
Alfred fell silent for a few seconds. A teacup trembled slightly on the tray.
"Master Grayson," he said gently, "although Master Bruce's condition is currently stable, he still has a long road to recovery. And you..."
"I've been training for a long time, Alfred."
Dick cut him off, his voice carrying the stubbornness peculiar to the young. "I'm not a kid anymore. Don't forget, I'm one of the Flying Graysons, and Bruce taught me everything-investigation, combat, tactical analysis. Right now, he needs rest, and Gotham needs someone up on the rooftops."
Being needed and being ready are two different things.
The old butler sighed and set the tray on the workbench. The words were on the tip of his tongue, but in the end, he left them unsaid.
He