107. Dick

New Year's Eve already? Time flies when you spend so much of it wringing your hands hoping the man you love (and work for!) is going to survive poisoning.

Bruce is doing a little better these last few days--the hallucinations seem to have stopped, at least-- but his skin is still a horror and he's still in a lot of pain so he's not well enough to go on patrols tonight, even though both of us are convinced that Strange is almost bound to strike. GCPD has Gotham Square under tight surveillance, but that surely won't deter him.

I want so badly to go out solo as Robin, but Bruce forbids it. So I'm here at home with a bag of popcorn in the microwave and a bottle of champagne in the fridge, about to turn the TV on. Not the evening I was expecting, but then if you'd asked me a year ago what I'd be doing at the very end of 2004, I doubt I would have answered, "Putting on a mask and costume and defending Gotham from evildoers."

Ah, life is FULL of surprises, ain't it?

106. Dick

Major-level weird shit going on around here lately, and I've been so caught up in it that I haven't even had time to write about it.

First and foremost, Bruce has been sick--REALLY sick--ever since the WayneTech party over a week ago. He spent at least three solid days puking his guts out, and then the skin rash started to appear. His face is covered with purplish bumps, and his arms, legs, and chest are all dotted with spots, too. It's sort of like a cross between acne and shingles--both ugly as shit and painful as hell. Meanwhile, he's been hallucinating a few hours a day, at least once a day.

I said we should get him to a hospital, but Alfred insisted we summon this particular doctor, an old family friend who makes house calls. Too risky to expose him to the outside world now. She's been over three times. Says he's been poisoned.

Needless to say, he's been in no condition to suit up. I've been laying low, too. Meanwhile, the guy we've taken to calling The Impostor has been making more and more frequent appearances around town. Seems pretty obvious by this point that it's Dr. Strange behind the whole thing--drugging Bruce at the party, and then wearing the batsuit (either stolen, or an incredibly good knockoff) to destroy his reputation while he's out of commission.

Dr. Thornton says the effects of the poison should start wearing off any day now, thanks to the treatment she's been administering. I sure as hell hope so--this is some pretty scary shit we're up to our necks in right now.

105. THE GOTHAM GAZETTE

PROTESTORS, MASKED MARAUDER SPREAD MAYHEM IN MIDST OF MERRIMENT

by Thomas Drury
Staff Reporter

The weather outside was frightful--and the scene indoors was even worse.

Despite temperatures in the single digits, approximately fifty mostly young protestors gathered outside the headquarters of WayneTech Industries Saturday night brandishing signs and chanting slogans decrying the company's indirect involvement in the Iraq War. They lit fires on the lawn, burned WayneTech CEO Bruce Wayne in effigy, and huddled together in the warmth generated by their property destruction.

Inside the building, over 200 WayneTech employees, their spouses, and other invited guests enjoyed a catered feast and open bar. The occasion? The company's annual Christmas party. Live music was provided by the Molehill Gang, one of Gotham City's most popular rock/rap ensembles.

The revelers remained mostly undisturbed by the chaos outdoors until the demonstrators began hurling stones and bricks through the windows of the ground floor of the high-rise structure. Panic ensued--and the chaos only heightened when the mysterious, little-seen figure Gothamites know as "the Batman" arrived on the scene.

Contrary to his image in the popular imagination as a defender of the weak, this Batman branished a gun and demanded that the party attendees hand over their wallets and handbags. Rather than attempting to quell the disturbance outside, as many expected him to do, the masked man invited the protestors to "join the celebration" before departing into the night.

CEO Wayne was unavailable for comment. The usually highly visible entrepreneur left the party in an ambulance sometime in the midst of the confusion, complaining of severe stomach cramps.

In a press release issued yesterday, however, Wayne promised that each of the employees in attendance would receive holiday bonuses in excess of the money stolen from them during the unfortunate incident, and he vowed that "this 'Batman,' or whoever he turns out to be" would be tracked down and brought to justice, adding that there was no hard evidence that the "real" Batman was involved. Witnesses confirmed that the costume of the intruder closely resembled the one which has been widely seen over the past few years, but varied from it in several key ways.

Police arrested twelve of the protestors, and the party continued late into the night. "This is the weirdest holiday party I've ever been to," observed Gerald Reedy, 27, an accountant for WayneTech. "And I used to work at a dotcom, so that's saying a lot."

104. Hugo Strange

VERY GOOD, BATMAN. ONLY TOOK YOU, WHAT, A MONTH TO FIGURE IT OUT? SEEMS TO ME LIKE THAT "WORLD'S GREATEST DETECTIVE" BUSINESS IS A LOAD OF CRAP! I CAN ONLY IMAGINE HOW LONG IT TAKES YOU TO DEDUCE THE IDENTITY OF YOUR SECRET SANTA...

SPEAKING OF WHICH, I MIGHT JUST HAVE A PRESENT FOR YOU AT THE WAYNETECH CHRISTMAS PARTY SATURDAY NIGHT. AFTER ALL, I KNOW YOU'LL BE THERE.

THAT'S RIGHT, BATS--I KNOW A LOT MORE ABOUT YOU THAN YOU SEEM TO KNOW ABOUT ME.

AN AWFUL LOT.

TILL WE MEET AGAIN,
H.S.

103. Batcomputer database entry

NAME: Strange, Hugo
ALIASES: Dr. Strange
CURRENT WHEREABOUTS: Unknown
PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION: height/5'10" eyes/brown hair/none
HISTORY: I first met psychiatrist Hugo Strange in the mid-1990s, when he contacted me via e-mail. He was researching the growing world of online fantasy, MUDs, and other examples of what he described as "shared hallucination." I do not recall how he first learned of the Batman, a guise which I maintained almost entirely online at that time. I agreed to meet with him in costume at a neutral location. During what I had been led to believe would be an academic interview, he grew increasingly flirtatious, although I rebuffed his advances. His passion soon turned to anger, and in the months which followed, he made numerous attempts to contact me again, issuing ever-escalating threats before eventually vanishing.

PSYCHOLOGICAL PROFILE: Strange is obsessed with learning my secret identity. He possesses a highly developed mind, though his emotional life appears to be stunted. He is prone to violent outbursts.

KNOWS MY ID? YES NO x UNSURE

RISK ASSESSMENT: While there is no record of criminal activity in Strange's past, his quick temper makes him a figure to be regarded with extreme caution.

NOTES: Strange's psychiatric background affords him access to both great insight into the workings of the human mind and to a vast array of pharmaceuticals.

102. Dick

Batman thinks he's figured out who the mysterious "H.S." is, and he seems really upset about it. Says the guy is indeed an "old friend" from his past who he thought was long gone. Not the Riddler after all. I hate to say it, but the name doesn't ring a bell to me; in fact, it's already slipped my mind. Hugh something, I think, but maybe I misheard it. I didn't write it down last night--but no matter, because tonight it looks like my main assignment is going to be researching the databases for background on the guy.

I joked about when the Batcave's Christmas Party was going to be, but that didn't go over too well. We've already seen how much of a sense of humor the big guy has, especially when he's immersed in a case.

Oh, speaking of parties,there are two coming up: Janice is having one this Friday, which will be my first chance to see her in god knows HOW long, and WayneTech is throwing one the following night (to which I'm not invited, for obvious reasons). Actually Janice called me to invite me to hers AND to a planning meeting for a protest action outside the WayneTech one (which I also can't attend, for obvious reasons).

Jingle bells, batman smells...

Hey, he really does, too! I think it's CKOne, but Obsession would be more appropriate.

101. YOUR FRIENDLY NEIGHBORHOOD NEMESIS

WELL, WELL, MISTER B. YOU ACTUALLY GOT HALF OF MY NAME MOSTLY RIGHT. LET'S HEAR IT FOR THE BIG DETECTIVE! OOOOOOOOOOH, VERY GOOD. I'M IMPRESSED.

BUT SOMEHOW I WOULD THINK A BILLIONAIRE PLAYBOY--WITH ACCESS TO THE LARGEST TRUST FUND IN GOTHAM CITY AND ACCESS TO AN UNLIMITED NUMBER OF RESOURCES--WOULD BE ABLE TO DO A LITTLE BETTER THAN THAT.

AND I'M HURT--AFTER OUR LAST FEW ENCOUNTERS, I WOULD HAVE IMAGINED YOU WOULD NEVER FORGET ME.

BUT DON'T WORRY; YOU WON'T BE ABLE TO GET ME OUT OF YOUR HEAD FROM NOW ON.

SLEEP WELL,
H.S.

100. Batman

Alright, stranger. This appears to be your preferred means of communication, so I'm giving you one more chance: Tell me who you are, and what you want.

If you know me as you well as you claim you do, then you must be aware that I do not tolerate nonsense.

99. Dick

(Still in lockdown. The batcomputer is temporarily--or perhaps permanently--out of commission right now. I'm only able to continue writing here because my home computer is not networked to the one in the Cave.)


Whoever this "H. S." is, he (or she?) sure knows how to push Batman's buttons. B and I still went out on patrols last night (I haven't really been that regular a guest on these missions lately--not sure why he hasn't been inviting me) but he was distracted the whole time, mulling over what could possibly have gone wrong with the security systems that would allow a hacker to start posting messages on the batcomputer. The reference to his actual hair color in H.S.'s last post really has him going--although he's trying to convince himself it's just a bluff. (If Bruce was a redhead or something and H.S. had mentioned that, that would be far greater cause for concern.)

Then there was that line where he claimed to have "taken" Batman's "new partner": naturally that led to about three solid hours of interrogation. Who had I been in contact with over the last three months? Had I fallen into any traps I hadn't told him about? What names in the criminal database had I had interactions with during my brief career as Robin? And so on, and so on--Christ, you'd think I was a suspect or something. (In B's mind, I think, everybody is a potential criminal. Everybody except his parents, that is.) Eventually he let me off the hook.

Right now B has a hunch this is all tied to the Riddler in some way, even if he's not sure how. Neither of us has heard from Nygma in weeks, though we do know he's pissed at B and jealous of me. Just how jealous is anybody's guess.

98. GUESS WHO

NOW, NOW, BATMAN--SHUTTING YOURSELF DOWN IS NO WAY TO PLAY OUR LITTLE GAME. I EXPECTED MORE OF YOU. AND I'M FRANKLY A BIT DISAPPOINTED THAT YOU HAVEN'T FIGURED OUT WHO I AM BY NOW. TRUE, YOU DO HAVE A LOT OF PLAYMATES--BUT I ALWAYS THOUGHT I WAS YOUR FAVORITE!

YOU MUST ADMIT THE GAME HAS CHANGED A GREAT DEAL SINCE WE FIRST STARTED PLAYING LONG AGO. TAKE YOUR NEW PARTNER--NO, WAIT, I ALREADY HAVE. BUT YOU'LL FIND OUT MUCH MORE ABOUT THAT LATER.

MEANWHILE, I CONTINUE TO LEARN MORE AND MORE ABOUT you, OLD FRIEND. THINGS THAT WOULD CURL THE STRAIGHT BROWN HAIR UNDERNEATH THAT MASK OF YOURS.

TIME TO PUT YOUR DETECTIVE CAP BACK ON. HAPPY HUNTING.

--H.S.

97. Dick

I feel like I've been completely out of circulation for weeks. And now this.

Somebody has hacked into the batcomputer, and B is understandably going berserk about it. We're in complete lockdown mode over at the Cave; Alfred's practically tearing the place apart looking for security breaches. Until those two figure out what's going on, the main computer is out of commission--no classified information can be exchanged except in person.

I'm spending as much time as I can away from the action. I know it's wrong, I know it's not very heroic of me to retreat like this, but goddammit, I've been busting my ass for the Batman for months now. My own home is a wreck; I can't find anything when I need it, my refrigerator is full of moldy half-eaten crap, and everywhere I walk I seem to step on something fragile. Meanwhile Christmas is two weeks away and I haven't given it a thought. On the other hand, I barely have anyone left on my shopping list--no friends, no family, just Bruce and Alfred. That's about it.

Needless to say, there's no tree going up at Wayne Manor. They've got much bigger shit to deal with at the moment.

96. MYSTERY GUEST

YOU DISAPPOINT ME, DETECTIVE. SURELY YOUR MUCH-HERALDED INTELLECT CAN FIGURE IT ALL OUT.

I MEAN, I'VE BEEN ABLE TO FIGURE OUT MANY THINGS--LIKE HOW TO LOG IN TO THIS "BAT-COMPUTER," FOR INSTANCE, AND ALL THE FASCINATING INFORMATION IT CONTAINS.

THAT'S RIGHT, I SAID ALL.

NOW THE REAL FUN BEGINS.

--H.S.

95. Batman

Who are you? And how did you access this computer? Show yourself!

94. TRANSMISSION INTERRUPTED

SURPRISE, BATMAN. YOU'VE GOT COMPANY.
-H.S.

93. Batman

The last month has been business as usual--too much of it to permit me to record my thoughts here, in fact--but that all changed an hour ago, when I saw the much-rumored impostor for the first time.

After hearing a burglar alarm sounding nearby during my regular patrols downtown, I raced to the source of the ear-piercing noise. When I arrived, the perpetrator was several hundred feet away from the newly broken front window of the Gilded Feline, the jewelry store at the corner of Eggers and Martin. I pursued the thief as far as I could, but he ran quickly--with the agility of a trained professional--and managed to evade me by producing a number of smoke bombs and other distracting devices from his utility belt.

His costume does indeed bear an uncanny resemblance to mine. I never got a good look at it, or at his face, but I have a horrible feeling this will not be my last chance to do so.

92. Anonymous

When I put my costume on I feel strong. Invulnerable. Hard as a rock... in every way, through every inch of my body. I stretch the bodysuit over taut muscles, pull gloves over powerful fists, savor the stiffness of boot leather atop feet trained to kick and to kill. Sometimes the realization of my strength is so intoxicating that I must release the energy building up in me before I set off into the night, knowing full well that I am superior. Invincible.

And that I will destroy Him.

91. Batman

Robin has begun acting very strange lately. He is distracted during patrols and is prone to serious, obvious mistakes; he shows up late, often complaining of lack of sleep; and when I reprimand him about his many tactical errors, he grows irate. It almost seems as if he is actively striving to undermine my work, and I have been wondering if I made the wrong choice when I asked him to join me. Eventually I must have a long, pointed discussion with him, but for now the hostility I sense in him is too great to allow for meaningful communication.

On the whole, however, the peculiar silence on the streets of Gotham continues. We recently apprehended several members of the Barclay Gang, although the organization as a whole still grows at an alarming pace. Nygma has not shown his face for more than a month, a fact which has me feeling simultaneously relieved, hurt, and confused.

I have yet to meet the new masked man face to face, although his intentions appear to be clearer of late; he has been spotted on or near the sites of three robberies in the last ten nights, usually mistaken for me. This confusion is clearly part of his motive.

The weather grows colder. Time to test out the new insulated uniforms Alfred has developed.

90. Dick

Another two weeks have passed since my last entry. How does this keep happening? And why is it always increments of fourteen days? There's got to be some significance behind the pattern...

Jesus, I'm starting to sound like my boss now. And I guess that's how I think of Bruce lately: an incredibly hot, incredibly distant employer. On one of the few recent patrols I actually remember, I caught myself positioning my batnoculars so I could check out his ass in that tight-fitting batsuit of his from half a block away, after the wind blew his cape to one side. I stared at him for a good ten minutes before he turned toward me and gestured for me to join him. I did, then we swooped in on the Barclay Gang and took them by surprise. (I'm getting pretty good with my fighting technique, by the way, and I know I could probably hold my own in a showdown at this point, even without Batman by my side.) When the night was over, Bruce chewed me out for not responding sooner (evidently he'd been waving for a long time before I noticed), and I reacted the way I always have when a boss loses his temper: I zoned out, waiting for the moment to end.

The more I acknowledge my feelings for him, the more difficult it is to work alongside him. He's gorgeous, he's strong, he's the smartest man I know, he's a hero to an entire city... and he's a complete and total asshole half the time.

The worst part of it was last Tuesday night, when I really, really wanted to stay home and monitor--then mourn--the election results, and Batman insisted I join him on a stakeout instead. I know fucking well that Bruce voted for Bush, even though we never ever talk politics, and that thought infuriates me. (He's probably the only person I'll ever know who stands to benefit directly from W's economic policies, and that's only because he's so goddam fucking loaded. But I can't go on about this any more. Not here, at least.)

Oh, and news of Robin has definitely started to spread, this time through the gay community. On the cover of one of the local bar rags there's a picture of two guys dressed (more or less) like Batman and me, under the headline "Gotham's Newest Twosome?" Inside there's this totally bitchy, very badly written article full of gossip and innuendo, plus some much raunchier photos with the cover boys. The writer is way off base about pretty much everything, particularly my age--he describes somebody 5-10 years younger than me, and the guy in the photo spread looks about 5-10 years younger than that... which I must say is kind of flattering. Every time I see the magazine I want to point to the pictures and tell the nearest stranger, "That's ME!" But it isn't me, of course, and I can't open my mouth to a soul about the subject in any case. (I haven't even shown the thing to Bruce; my guess is he hasn't seen it yet, and god only knows how he'd react.)

Back to reality. Here's hoping I can manage another entry in less than two weeks next time.

89. Dick

I'm starting to think something really strange is going on. You'll notice it's been two weeks since my last entry here, and ... I can't remember a damn thing I've done during that time! Oh, sure, I've suited up and gone on routine patrols with Batman most nights, but other than that, it's all a blur. I think I had lunch with Janice sometime last week, and I know it's pretty much over with Peter, but other than that, what the hell have I been doing all day?

Now, last night was a night off, I know that. The last thing I remember is turning on the TV and falling asleep on the couch around 9 PM. I woke up this morning in my bed, but there were scratches on my arm and forehead, and I found several little bits of mud and twigs under my bedsheets.

I know I should tell Batman about it, but I'm too embarrassed. He'd probably just chew me out, the way he seems to relish doing when I fuck something up. Instead, I've been trying to think about what I would do if I were him: analyze the debris under a microscope, for starters. But why? What would I be looking for? He hasn't taught me enough yet to be able to learn much of anything from soil samples. So I could try it, but I'd just be going through the motions.

Which is apparently what I've been up to since the beginning of the month.

88. Batman

Nights lately have been quiet, but the silence is deceptive. The streets are alive with danger and dark possibility. I continue to hear sporadic reports of the unnamed newcomer, all of them sketchy. His suit seems to resemble mine, sans cape. Indeed, he is often mistaken for me, which may well be his intent.

I continue my nightly patrols, often with Robin's help now. In the last two weeks we have apprehended more than a dozen criminals, small-timers all. R has become an invaluable asset to me, though at the same time I must be ever mindful of his safety. I can do nothing to put his life in jeopardy.

Meanwhile, Nygma is out there. Somewhere. I find myself thinking about him day and night, replaying our earlier encounters over and over in my mind. As much as I dread what he has become, I find myself ... attracted ever more to him.

In times like these, there is only one thing to do: throw myself into my work. Exercise vigorously. Train my mind and body.

And hope for the best.

87. Dick

Another week gone by, but this time I've been busy as hell. Now that I have no other career besides being a caped crusader's sidekick, I've plunged myself into the job, researching online all day, swinging into action half the night. Batman has been taking me out on patrols more and more often--not every single night (there were a few when I just stayed home and slept)--but enough for me to get my feet wet. Mostly I'm the lookout with the binoculars (excuse me, "bat-noculars") who stays on a nearby rooftop at a safe distance and alerts him of any threats he can't see from the ground, but at least I'm actually out there making something of myself. (I'm also making way more $$$ on the Wayne payroll than I've ever made in any previous, er, position. Life is good.)

Still lots of unspoken tension between the two of us; I just can't seem to bring up the Riddler/Nygma/fuckbuddy business myself, and I know there's no WAY he's gonna say anything if I don't do it first. But we've managed to keep working as a team, and maybe we're even getting better at it as we go. Maybe we don't even need to discuss it after all.

Oh, and I even got my first mention in the paper late last week. A small thing, just hearsay about the Masked Manhunter allegedly working with a (nameless) partner now, but it's still kind of cool. I know we're not supposed to be in it for the glory (and Batman even says that publicity is dangerous in our case), but I gotta say I felt a little proud of myself when I read that.

Had the day off today, so I made a little time to have brunch with Janice this morning. Nice to see here again after so long, but the conversation was a little icy. It's like we barely know each other any more. She tells me she's got a new boyfriend--I forget his name--and I was suitably vague about my own activities of late. As always.

Think I'll turn in early tonight--back to the bat-grind tomorrow, and I need to be as alert as possible in this new line of work.

86. Dick

Where have the last few days gone? Hell, where has the last week or two gone? It's all a blur... of anger at Bruce over this whole Riddler business, of futile attempts to get my "real" life back together, and of total horniness. I swear I spend every night having one wet dream after another; it's like I'm 15 all over again.

Called Peter last weekend and suggested we get together again for the first time in ages, but he blew me off. (Well, that's exactly what he didn't do. I've never understood that expression--and I certainly don't understand why it's supposed to be a negative one.) He was polite, but I could tell he was pissed at me for not having anything to do with him for weeks. Naturally I can't tell him why I've been incommunicado--namely, I've spent way too many of my nights tied to various torture devices and/or walloping bad guys--so I must come across like a total asshole. Doesn't bode well for a healthy relationship.

Meanwhile, the one I have with Bruce is the farthest thing from healthy you can imagine. I'm in love with him (there, I've said it), he's in love with this Riddler character (there, I've said it), and the Riddler is one of at least three dozen psychos who would like nothing better than to kill us both. (Okay, so most of them don't know I exist yet... but I doubt that would stand in their way.)

On the other hand, by this point I know what I've gotten into with Batman, and I realize I can't just keep backing out every time I discover something about Bruce that I don't like. He's not going to change; we both know that. The question is: Will I?

85. H.S.

That's right, Batman, be "on guard" all you want. Not that it will do you much good... but I do enjoy watching you start to squirm. And there's so much more squirming to come.

84. Batman

A new masked man has been making his presence known in Gotham of late. No details on what side of the law he might be on... merely scattered sightings turning up on police reports. I had best be on my guard.

83. Dick

I've been keeping a low profile for the last couple of weeks while trying to sort through B's latest bombshell.

Does the "B" stand for Bruce or Batman? (Or Bastard?) Don't know, don't care. And I'm writing as Dick now because... well, this game with masks and double lives is getting old. Or confusing. Or both. And I'm not sure I want to play along anymore--not when "playing" lands me with a knot on the top of my skull and repeated invitations to die at the hands of one of Bruce's psycho fuckbuddies.

So: Bruce, or Batman, or whatever he calls himself these days, has been doing the Riddler. For years. I guess he kind of said as much a few months ago, but he was so cryptic that I honestly didn't know what the hell he was talking about.

And now I do.

What I don't know is how to feel about all of it. Part of me is relieved that Bruce is finally starting to come out of his goddammed (bat-)closet. Another part of me is pissed that it's not me he's playing with. (I never expected I'd be jealous of one of the bad guys.) And a really big part of me is terrified of what the consequences will be, now that "E. Nygma" is out there hating my guts and resenting Batman as much as I do. (Holy love triangle!)

So I guess I know a thing or two about divided lives after all. And I guess that's why I can't just walk away, no matter how much I may want to.

Oh shit, almost forgot my appointment with Dr. T this afternoon. God, what I wouldn't give to sit on his couch and spill my guts out for a solid hour, or two, or ten. As Bruce knows better than just about anybody else, it hurts to sit on a secret this precious.

82. Batman

Perhaps, in retrospect, I should have told Robin more about my relationship with Nygma sooner. But I did not believe he would understand, and -- I admit -- I feared the consequences on all fronts.

As it turns out, I was right to be concerned. Despite my best efforts to cover my tracks, Robin found me -- either he's turning into a good detective, or I'm slipping -- and found me in quite a compromising position at that. Bearing in mind the gag over my mouth, I tried to shake my head in such a way that I could discourage him from coming any farther into the room, but it was no use.

Nygma was waiting for him, bat in hand (pun intended, I'm sure). I was afraid for a moment that my captor would simply blungeon him to death before my very eyes, but I know that such an action would not fit Riddler's meticulous m.o.

It is an odd thing: in our earliest days together, Nygma/Riddler was not a "real" criminal, merely a man playing a role. As was I. But all that has changed now. The games we used to play together have taken on a deadly layer of realism, and the man I once knew as my secret accomplice is truly a dangerous villain on the loose.

Nygma dragged Robin's limp body across the floor and left him at my feet. "So, you've got a new playmate, is that it?" he asked, looking me in the eye. The gag prevented me from answering, but it did not supress the grunt I uttered when Riddler punched me in the gut.

"I'll leave you two lovebirds to rescue each other," he said, heading toward the door. "Just know this: I will be back, and next time I won't be so forgiving, Batman. Jealousy makes a man do crazy things, you know."

After he left, it took me two minutes to free myself and another fifteen to wake Robin. Truth be told, I was in no hurry to begin the conversation which followed.

81. Robin

A lot has happened since my last entry here, so much that I doubt I can cover it all in adequate detail. But I'll try, even if it takes me a few days.

Last Thursday, beside myself with worry when neither Alfred nor I had heard from Batman in days, I started going through his notes and deduced that the Riddler was back in action. I even figured out where his hideout was, and decided to go there to investigate.

Through a window in the rear of the building (an abandoned puzzle factory, no surprise) I could see Batman. He was stretched spread-eagle on some kind of painful-looking device, his mouth gagged and his limbs bound with rope. He didn't see me at first, but when I opened the window and crawled inside--a little more noisily than I'd planned--he looked up.

He started shaking his head as if to say "no." His eyes were huge under his mask, and I could tell he was upset about something. At the time, I never guessed it was me he was mad at.

Two other details escaped my notice, too: the enormous boner in his tights, and the baseball bat hovering just above me, heading straight for my skull.

80. The Riddler

My, my, my. So Batman has a new playmate. One he evidently didn't intend to tell me about.

The little shit!

This changes everything.

79. Robin

Batman's missing. I don't know where he is. I don't know what to do.

78. H.S.

My plot is proceeding better and faster than I ever could have dreamed, all thanks to the best Research Assistant on the planet. Best of all, he doesn't even know he's got the job. I am tempted to make my presence known right away, but the longer I wait, the greater will be the rewards.

Batman will be mine. ALL mine. Inside and out, head to toe... and everything in between.

77. Dick

With the Tempest behind bars and the Riddler seemingly quiet, I've had a little time to think things over.

It's funny how, now that I have no other means of employment, an appointment with my shrink has suddenly become the only stable point of my week. Haven't seen Janice or Peter in I don't know how long... and I'm not sure when that will happen again, either. Do I really want Batman to be the center of my life?

Then there's the political implications of my new line of work: If you'd told me 6 months ago that I'd be getting a paycheck from the guy whose headquarters I've protested half a dozen times, I'd have laughed you out of the room. Now look at me... a humble servant of WayneTech like all the weapons manufacturers, pharmaceutical companies, and other thugs in the corporation's employ.

Bruce and I never talk politics. No time. But he looks like old-money Republican to me, and it's completely against my principles to do anything that will lead to another term for GWB.

I'm gonna have to bring this up, sooner or later.

Meanwhile, it's back to work.

76. Batman

The Tempest is over.

Within the next hour, the police should have followed up on my tip and located Farnish in an alley outside the Channel 8 studio. I left him tied to a fence with my calling card.

Robin's assistance has been invaluable throughout the case. He is new and prone to mistakes, sometimes serious ones, but his instincts are good. Thanks to his rigorous research, I was able to track down Farnish within two hours of our escape, without further casualties. The key to his capture lay in disabling his "Lightning Rod," which I was able to accomplish with the help of the communicator on my belt.

In this most private of journals I must confess the powerful feelings I felt, watching Robin undergoing Farnish's unthinkable treatment when we walked into his latest trap. I held myself responsible once again--and yet I found the entire situation curiously stimulating. When I freed him from the water tank and gazed upon his wet body, I ...

I cannot say how I felt. I only know that I will never forget that sensation as long as I live.

75. Robin

Batman's right: it's all in the timing.

If he hadn't just taught me how to handle (separately) being suspended upside down for long periods of time and underwater maneuvers, I'd be dead now. Likewise, if the Tempest hadn't previously figured out that Batman's belt is tamper-resistant, he would have removed it, and BM wouldn't have had access to the tools he needed to free himself and then rescue me.

I admit I was fully expecting a reprimand for bungling the mission and putting both our lives in jeopardy, but--surprise, surprise--the first thing BM did when he managed to shatter the glass on the tank that held me and cut me loose was... hug me. He wrapped his great billowing cape around the two of us and held me for a long while. I'm sure he told himself it was strictly for warmth--I was sopping wet, and he was freezing cold--but I know there was something else going on. Believe me, we generated enough heat in that embrace that I could have melted on the spot.

I'm back in the Cave now, drying off while BM tracks down the Tempest. I hope he makes it before our enemy gets his hands on another victim--I'd hate to see anyone else endure what we just went through. Only problem is, we don't know which of two dozen potential candidates is next on the Tempest's list.

I wish I was out there right now, fighting side by side with BM. But he says he needs me here, feeding him information from the computer. And so I sit. And wait. For what, I have no idea.

74. The Tempest

[transcript from recording device on Batman's utility belt]

GOOD MORNING, BATMAN. SLEEP WELL?

YOU CERTAINLY ARE SQUIRMING A LOT TODAY. REMINDS ME OF LAST NIGHT! GUESS YOU DON'T REMEMBER THAT... ANYWAY, I'D ADVISE YOU NOT TO WASTE YOUR BREATH--YOU'RE TIED RATHER SECURELY AT THE MOMENT. BESIDES, THERE'S NOT A GREAT DEAL OF OXYGEN TO WASTE BY THIS POINT; YOU FOOLISHLY USED UP AN AWFUL LOT WHILE YOU WERE UNCONSCIOUS. I APOLOGIZE FOR THE SMALL SIZE OF YOUR NEW DIGS, BUT THEN AGAIN YOU WON'T EXACTLY BE MOVING AROUND ANY TIME SOON. OR EVER AGAIN, FOR THAT MATTER.

STARTING TO NOTICE A SLIGHT CHILL IN THE AIR? THAT'S BECAUSE THE TEMPERATURE IN THERE IS KNOWN TO FLUCTUATE. I CAN MAKE IT VERY COLD... OR VERY, VERY HOT, DEPENDING ON YOUR BEHAVIOR AND MY MOOD. FOR THE LAST HOUR IT'S BEEN DROPPING 1 DEGREE EVERY 5 MINUTES: A NICE, SLOW DESCENT FROM SUMMER TO FALL AND FINALLY INTO THE "DEAD" OF WINTER. BUT DON'T WORRY--IF YOU MANAGE TO MAKE IT THROUGH THE AFTERNOON WITHOUT CONTRACTING HYPOTHERMIA, I JUST MIGHT REWARD YOU BY REVERSING THE DIRECTION OF THE CHANGE... YOU MAY NOT BELIEVE IT NOW, BUT THAT CHAMBER CAN GET MIGHTY WARM.

LOOK ON THE BRIGHT SIDE: YOU WON'T HAVE TO ENDURE THE DISCOMFORT BY YOURSELF. AT LEAST NOT AT FIRST. LOOK STRAIGHT AHEAD WHILE I ADJUST THE LIGHTS... THERE, DO YOU SEE HIM? WHO CAN IT BE? WHY, IT'S YOUR YOUNG COMPANION, THE ONE WHO CALLS HIMSELF "ROBIN."

AS YOU'LL NOTICE, I HAVE SOMETHING RATHER DIFFERENT IN MIND FOR HIM. SAME SIZE CHAMBER, DIFFERENT PURPOSE. OBSERVE THE WAY HE DANGLES HELPLESSLY, UPSIDE DOWN. I IMAGINE THAT MUST BE PAINFUL ENOUGH, ALL THAT BLOOD RUSHING TO HIS HANDSOME HEAD, BUT IN FACT IT'S ONLY THE BEGINNING OF WHAT I HAVE IN STORE. BY NOW YOU'VE PROBABLY DISCOVERED, AS HE WILL ONCE HE WAKES UP, THAT A GENTLE RAIN IS ENTERING THE CHAMBER AT A FAIRLY ALARMING RATE.

RIGHT NOW THE WATER IS JUST BEGINNING TO FILL THE BOTTOM OF THE TANK. I IMAGINE ONCE IT STARTS GRAZING THE TOP OF HIS HEAD HE'LL START COMING TO-- AND I DO HOPE HE DOES, BECAUSE IT WILL BE MUCH MORE ENTERTAINING FOR YOU TO WATCH HIM STRUGGLE FOR A FEW AGONIZING MOMENTS BEFORE HE DROWNS. THEN AGAIN, HE DOESN'T SEEM TO BE QUITE AS ... SEASONED AS YOU AT THIS HERO BUSINESS, SO I SUPPOSE THERE'S A GOOD CHANCE HE'LL PERISH IN A FLASH.

BY THE WAY, I DEVELOPED BOTH OF THESE DEVICES FOR MY REAL VICTIMS: A BROAD ASSORTMENT OF MY FORMER COLLEAGUES. BUT THE TWO OF YOU SHOULD PROVE WORTHY GUINEA PIGS WHILE I IRON OUT THE KINKS. IF YOU CAN'T BREAK FREE--AND I KNOW FOR A FACT THAT YOU CAN'T--THEN THERE'S NO WAY HAPPY JACK FROST FROM WGOT WILL BE ABLE TO.

BUT DON'T LET ME DISCOURAGE YOU FROM TRYING. I'LL GIVE YOU BOYS A MOMENT OF PRIVACY--I'M OFF TO ROUND UP FROST AND THE NEXT WEATHERMAN ON MY LIST. I'VE DECIDED TO DEAL WITH THEM TWO AT A TIME... RATHER LIKE NOAH IN THE FLOOD, WOULDN'T YOU SAY?

FAREWELL, HERO. OH, AND IF WERE YOU, I'D GRAB A SWEATER--THEY SAY SUDDEN CHANGES IN TEMPERATURE CAN BE BAD FOR YOUR HEALTH.

73. Dick

Tonight I witnessed two things I never thought I'd see: one of Gotham City's wealthiest citizens and its most famous mystery crimefighter both getting read the Riot Act by their manservants.

Let's just say Alfred was none too pleased with either Bruce or Batman--or me, for that matter--when he learned that we'd spent the last five nights out in the woods at Bruce's Toth County cabin, in no danger whatsoever.

Well, I guess technically I was in quite a bit of danger at various points, if you count scaling tall trees, being submerged in Lake Kane, trying to break free of various mock torture devices, being buried alive for the better part of an evening, testing out a new flameproof cape the hard way, and so on. It was all part of another intensive training weekend, and I guess B didn't bother to inform Alfred of that fact.

Hell, he didn't even bother to inform me. When we hopped in the "Bat-mobile" last Wednesday night and buckled our safety belts, I was fully expecting that we were racing off to bring the Tempest--a.k.a. Phil Farnish--to justice. If I'd known what Batman actually had in store for me, I would have at least packed a toothbrush.

It wasn't all training exercises for the two of us, by the way. The Wayne "Cabin" puts most of the finest homes in GC to shame--complete gym, wave pool, hot tub, sauna, fully stocked bar and pantry, you name it. And I don't really think I've ever seen a country cottage with such an elaborate master bedroom.

Not that I got to see much of those amenities. Most nights I had to spend outdoors, tied to a tree or chained to spikes on the ground, sometimes in the pouring rain, and obliged to find the one and only way to free myself if I was ever gonna get a decent sleep. I usually did, although Friday evening I never quite figured out how to extricate myself from a twenty-foot hole in the ground (and to think the proper tool was on my belt all along!).

The first night I made my way out of the trap du jour, which involved dangling upside down by one ankle, I walked into the cabin dead tired at 3 a.m. and suddenly realized I had no idea what the etiquette was regarding sleeping arrangements. I wanted more than anything to creep into that master bedroom and join Bruce under the covers, but the door was closed, and something told me not to open it. I picked a spare bed down the hall and was dead to the world until something that sounded like a fire alarm woke me up three hours later--yet another drill, this one requiring me to locate and free three small children (actually dolls) from a simulated burning building.

Enough of this talk. Time to make nice with Al and then--believe it or not--head out to catch the Tempest for real this time. No rest for the weary in this world.

72. Alfred

Still no word from my employer or his new assistant. I am beside myself with worry.

Meanwhile, people continue to call for Master Bruce. Following protocol, I tell them he is away on business. But the inquiries continue, many of them urgent.

In times of crisis, I concentrate on keeping the Manor clean and tidy... It seems to be the one thing under my control.

71. Alfred

I have not seen or heard from either Master Bruce or Master Dick since Wednesday evening. If it were only Batman who had gone missing, I would not be alarmed--for heaven's sake, it happens all the time. But the two left together, and I do believe they were on the trail of the Tempest at last. Given the unsuccessful outcome of their first encounter with him, I cannot help feeling alarmed.

70. Robin

Right now, the only person who even knows I exist--other than Batman and Alfred--is the Tempest. And after weeks of research, we've finally figured out who he is: Phillip Farnish, a former meteorologist who lost his job five years ago after exhibiting signs of mental illness. He tried suing his employers, but lost the case when he became violent in court, blaming a lightning storm for his behavior. In the intervening years, he has apparently become obsessed with weather conditions, and he appears to be exacting his revenge on his former coworkers and some well-known TV and radio personalities. We've got a likely location for him, and tonight we're going to bring him in.

That's right, we. To my surprise, Batman has decided I'm ready to help him on a job. I thought it would be months from now before I got the go-ahead, but given that the Tempest and I have already crossed paths once before -- and all I need are defensive skills, which we've been working on virtually nonstop for weeks --it looks like tonight's the night. Granted, I'm primarily the bait for a trap (while Farnish is preoccupied with trying to catch me, Batman will be sneaking up on him from behind), but it's an important job all the same.

And I know, beyond a doubt, that I'm up for the task. World, meet Robin!

69. H.S.

Batman does not know it yet, but I'm out there, waiting and watching. Fate has provided me with a most remarkable window into his secret world, one he has no idea even exists. Soon, very soon, I shall open that window and slip in, undetected.

68. Dick

Holy shit--I just spent the last three days and nights in various forms of long-term restraint, unable to sleep or eat most of the time, often unable to move... and I am more turned on than I've ever been in my entire life. I'm sure that wasn't the point of the weekend's training exercises, but I suddenly understand why Batman has spent so much of his existence seeking out such extreme situations. Coming so close to complete annihilation and then breaking free is the most amazing sensation I've ever experienced. Granted, these were controlled conditions set up by Batman and I was never in any real danger, but my mind started playing some wild tricks on me all the same.

At the end of the final session, when I could barely move, he insisted we wrestle--because, he says, the most active hand-to-hand combat usually comes at such moments, when you've just escaped a deathtrap and the only thing on your mind is taking a long crap and getting a good night's sleep but the villain is still at large. He lunged at me, knocking me to the floor. It felt so good to just lie there that all I wanted to do was pass out, but he kept screaming, "NO! NO! DON'T GIVE UP! TAKE ME DOWN! NEVER LET YOUR ENEMY GET THE UPPER HAND!" His taunts were so infuriating that finally I mustered all my remaining strength and hit him as hard as I could. When I saw what I'd done and watched his face hit the ground with a thud, I freaked out and knelt beside him, pleading. "Bruce, Bruce, I'm so sorry..."

I turned him over and saw that his eyes were wide open. There was even a smile--that rarest of expressions in the bat-repertoire--on his lips. "The name is Batman," he scolded.

There's a good chance I hallucinated this next part, but I could swear he grabbed me and pulled my masked face close to his--so close that our lips were touching and our bodies were pressed into each other's--and whispered, "You're almost ready." My mouth was dry and my joints ached as we headed to the showers. It was all I could do to keep myself from jerking off as I watched him peel off his sweat-soaked suit and then stand under the jet of hot water. lathering his taut muscles. When he was done, I removed my own uniform--as slowly as possible in an attempt to hold on to the memory of what I'd been through for the last three days--and luxuriated in the stream of water.

Bruce has given me the day off, but we're back at it tonight. That's right--this has quickly grown into a 24/7 job. No more division of night and day, at least not for a long while. And it hardly matters, since I have no other job to go to anymore.

I'm in my own apartment again, and as soon as I finish typing here I plan to give Little Robin the attention he desperately needs, and then drift off to sleep until Alfred wakes me up for the evening's workout.

I can hardly wait to get at it again.

67. Dick

Haven't written here all week because I've been so busy in the Cave, training all night and working on the Tempest case during the day. (Who would have guessed that being a superhero could be every bit as tedious as being a cubicle drone? Holy revelation!) I've been spending more and more time at "Wayne Manor" lately, as everybody seems to call the joint--it's almost like I'm living there. So I've come to truly relish these rare chances to spend some time in my own space.

Camping last weekend with Peter turned out to be pretty relaxing--so much so, in fact, that I decided to try something. On our second night in the tent, I worked up the courage to ask him if he was open to a little experimentation. He sounded willing, so I blindfolded him and then cuffed his hands behind his back. Batman has always been very strict about the boundaries between our costumed lives and our daylight selves, but I just felt like maybe I could make sex with Peter a little more interesting if I made it kinkier. It's the first time I've done anything like this--though god knows my dreams are full of similiar encounters with Bruce--and the sheer newness of the experience (and my accompanying nervousness) made the whole situation pretty fresh, at least for me. (I took the cuffs off before I removed the blindfold, so he wouldn't notice the distinctive bat motif on them.) I tried to talk to Peter about it later, but couldn't really get anything solid out of him.

Batman says his own weekend was pretty calm--mostly just working in the Cave and doing the usual early-AM patrols. I'm not entirely sure I trust him, but it's incredibly hard to tell when he's lying and when he's being straight with me. Years of practice, I guess.

The only other noteworthy event this past week came during my session with Dr. T. Once again, I rambled on about all my made-up adventures, and this time I looked up and saw that he was staring straight at me, and then noticed that--once again--I was incredibly horny. I had the strangest, strongest desire to just unzip my pants and start jerking off in front of him. The funny thing is, the next thing I remember is leaving his office; most of the rest of the hour is a blank.

(Wow, I just sort of zoned out just now; I was typing away, and then I found myself wandering around my apartment in a stupor. Weird. I'd talk to Bruce about it, except that I haven't told him anything about Tanhoger, and I don't plan to.)

This coming weekend promises no tent-sex getaways. No days off at all, in fact. Batman and I will be spending the next three days in a kind of marathon training session: all day, all night. He wants me to get used to the rhythms of his work, which very often does not follow a convenient schedule. (After all, when you're in the clutches of your arch enemy, you don't exactly get bathroom breaks or three square meals a day.) The whole fact that he's teaching me this stuff suggests that maybe he's considering sending me out into the world soon. Just a hunch--as with everything else in his world, he makes all the decisions. I'll have to wait and see.

66. The Riddler (continued)

The remainder of our time together consisted of the usual traps and torments for old Batsy--a little hot wax here, a little time on the rack there--only he was barely dressed for most of it. Other than his mask, belt, boots, and gloves, his costume was in tatters, and I loved the look of him like that. If only the citizens of Gotham who worship him as a hero had been able to watch him crawl on all fours from one of my puzzling devices to another! He spent each night locked in a cage not much bigger than a suitcase--hard to conceive of his strapping frame smushed into such a tiny space, but he made it fit. What a guy!

We'd agreed to wrap things up by noon on Monday, so I pulled him out of the cage late Sunday night and subjected him to one last round of games. We were both about to burst at the seams when I ordered him into the bedroom, pushed him onto his stomach on the bed, chained his wrists and ankles, and started pumping away into his asscrack. Just when I was on the verge of explosion, I pulled out and let my cream fly all over his bare back. As icing on the cake (as it were), I brought my index finger into the moist puddle which had gathered on his skin and drew a large question mark.

"See you soon, lover," I teased, and then left the building. Based on past experience, I'm guessing it took him just under two minutes to free himself and another two to pack up and head for his famous "batmobile." Good thing he's got tinted windows in that car, or else the other drivers on the road at 5 AM would have seen quite a sight: the famous Batman wearing next to nothing, bruised and beaten, his backside drenched in the cum of his favorite arch-villain. And I'm pretty sure they would have caught quite the traces of a smile on his face, too.

65. The Riddler (continued)

I slapped a black leather dog collar around Batman's neck and attached it to a long heavy chain. Before he had time to catch his breath, I dragged him across the room to my next surprise location. He was damn hard to drag, thanks to the extra weight his suit had taken on in the tank (and, of course, that magnificently muscled bod of his). As he slid across the hard surface of the floor, his suit caught on a nail or two and tore in several revealing locations.

Back in the old days, when we first starting playing, he used to put up quite a fight, full of bluster and bravado: "You won't get away with this, Riddler!" he'd brag, and "I'll make you pay for your crimes!" That sort of thing. But not this time. This time, he was mostly quiet beyond a few grunts and groans (which sounded as much like pleasure as pain if you ask me). I kicked him a time or two to see if that would inspire a retort or two, but no go.

"Whatsamatter, Catwoman got your tongue?" I teased. I'm sure he knows that it's way less fun for me when he doesn't put up a fight; I feel like I have to do all the work, and I don't even know if he's enjoying it or not. The only thing I could figure out to do was reach down and pull on his mask.

That got a rise out of him. "NO," he shouted. "We have an agreement, remember? The mask stays ON." I backed off, happy to know that he was still capable of resistance. I turned my attention to his wet suit, digging my hands into the rips and tears and pulling at the material until there was almost nothing of it left to cover his body. I did it slowly, relishing every moment. He really does have a magnificent bod, all muscle and sinew and hair, and I straddled him in order to get closer. I ran my fingers over various ripples and ravines of his flesh, as I've done so many times in the past, and he tried hard not to look excited by my touch.

64. The Riddler

Batman was a good little puppy and walked straight into each one of my traps this weekend in exactly the correct order. First came the snare, which wrapped around his ankle and held him upside down from a tree outside the shack until he cut himself down. He landed with a thud, RIGHT on the patch of twigs covering a nasty hole in the ground, which was absolutely FULL of mud. It took him a while to crawl out of that one, and he was one big muddy mess when he finally made it to the front door. The doorknob gave him one hell of a nasty shock but after twitching and falling to the floor for a minute or two he kept on going, just like the trouper he is. He doesn't give up easily; that's why I love him so.

The big lug was so dirty by this point that he must have appreciated the trapdoor that plunged him into a giant tank of water. I know I, for one, enjoyed watching him swim around, gasping for air, until I arrived at last to greet him.

"Looks like you've solved the riddle of why I've had to resort to robbery," I told him. "All this equipment is very, very expensive. But it's worth every penny of somebody else's money to torture you." I doubt he could hear me, but I know from past experience in these kinds of situations that he's an excellent lip reader. He pounded on the glass to be set free, but I could plainly see that he'd already located his rebreather, or whatever he calls it, and could hang out in the tank for at least another half hour before his oxygen gave out. I decided to let him stay in there as long as possible, tormenting him with riddles even though solving them provided not a single bit of useful escape advice. (Q: What kind of fish can't swim? A: A red herring!)

Just when it looked like he couldn't take another minute in the water, I scooped him out of the tank and watched while he lay on the floor, gasping for air, his costume sopping wet and clinging to his body even tighter than before.

"Hi, sweetheart," I said with a smile. "Welcome home."

63. Bruce

I have deciphered the last of the Riddler's clues; I know where he wants me to meet him, and when. (I do not dare write this information down, for fear that it will be intercepted by Alfred or Robin.)

I have given Dick the weekend off. I cannot risk him intervening. I am, I have come to realize, ashamed of my relationship with Nygma in all its complexities, of the feelings he produces within me. The fact that he -- like so many others from my circle -- has crossed over from roleplay in the realm of fantasy to committing actual crimes in the real world is appalling to me. Fortunately, his crimes thus far have not been major ones--but I hold myself responsible all the same. And, I must confess, the very thought of walking into another of Nygma's traps in the near future excites me enormously.

I dearly wish I could leave this world of villainy I am now a part of, but it is with me forever. One day, I fear, it will be my undoing.

62. Dick

Talk about excellent timing: First Batman tells me he's giving me three nights off--Friday through Sunday--then Peter calls with an offer to go camping this weekend. I'm not big on camping (unless you count dressing up in red and green tights and calling myself "Robin" in a rich guy's basement), but I'm up for it.

Can't help thinking Bruce is up to something... trying to get me out of his hair, maybe. He seems to be on the verge of a breakthrough with the Riddler (or maybe the Tempest?) and I don't think he wants me around this time. I don't know how I feel about that... but I do know I could really use a little time in the woods with somebody who isn't a major closet case.

Midway during yesterday's session with Tanhoger, I started daydreaming about my experience with the Tempest, and--I'm amazed to say it--I got really hard, thinking about being tied up like that, helpless in the hands of that madman, struggling against my bounds. .. Naturally I didn't breathe a word of it to the doc, and I hope he didn't notice the bulge in my pants.

I haven't managed to tell Bruce that I'm seeing a shrink. It's still a huge waste of money for me to keep seeing Dr. T, given that I can't talk anymore about anything that really matters to me these days. But every time I think about quitting, I just... I don't know how to put this, but I feel ... drawn to him. Almost in the same way that I do to Bruce. I'm even starting to find him cute: that bald head, that goatee. I don't know if he's gay or straight, but I picture myself by his side, being kissed and held by him, and then ... can't say it. It's too fucked up. I want so badly to show him myself in my Robin outfit, but of course I don't dare follow through.

It's a shame, too, that Peter will never see me in it, either. The last time he saw me he complimented me on the way I've filled out lately, and asked if I've been working out. I thought quickly and told him I was doing it for his sake. Which isn't exactly true, but then the little white lies I've found myself telling right and left ever since I started working with Batman just keep stacking up. Sooner or later, I fear, they're bound to catch up with me.

In the meantime, though, it's just me and my lover in a tent out in the middle of nowhere for three glorious days.

61. The Riddler

Ah, the wait is MURDER. It's been aaaaages since my last encounter with my favorite playmate. I've tried to make the most of the time, riddling about, but it's so very very HARD to keep myself busy, just sitting here and counting the hours. And so I've taken a little time off from my usual word games to compose the following ditty. Hardly up to my usual standards, but I must conserve my creative energy for the frolic ahead:

I've been sending him clues
One by one by one
Having my jollies
And having my fun
The day's almost here
When the work will be done.

He'll be in my clutches
He'll scream and he'll shout
And Batman will know
Beyond any doubt
That my traps will hold him
And won't let him out!

60. Batman

Robin has made impressive progress since his return. His physical strength has increased, his reflexes are good, and he has fine instincts when it comes to hand-to-hand combat. He will need much more work with weaponry before he goes on patrols, however.

His prior computer skills have proven adaptable to his new job, and he appears to be on the verge of a breakthrough in the Tempest case.

Meanwhile, the Riddler continues to taunt me with puzzles and word games of all sorts, left at the scenes of various petty crimes. This is not the first time he has crossed over from roleplay to real-life villainy, and I must remind myself that he knows more about me than the average criminal, given our prior relationship. I must be on my guard at all times when dealing with him.

59. Dick

Several more long nights of training since I last wrote here. The general pattern is this: we spend a couple of hours warming up and going through various exercises together, then Batman heads out to work on the Riddler case while I stay in the Cave and follow leads on the Tempest. In the comics, the good guys usually just take on one bad guy at a time, but here in Gotham things don't seem to be that linear.

Wednesday afternoon I had my weekly appointment with Tanhoger. I didn't have to deal with the issue of why I missed last week (ie, I was tied up and about to be killed by a masked madman) because when I walked in, I told him I was doing much better, didn't think I needed the drug he'd prescribed anymore, and was ready to terminate therapy. We spent the whole hour talking about that... and as the session went on, I felt this really weird sense of helplessness--like I still needed him more than I thought I did. He didn't say much at all, but looking into his eyes, I felt something akin to the way I did when Batman returned into my life earlier this week. I guess I just have this thing for self-assured older men. Anyway, I know it's just transference, but it was still pretty powerful all the same. So, against my better judgment, I changed my mind and said I'd see him again next week--and he says it's too dangerous to quit the meds cold turkey, so I'm staying on them, too.

On a related note, I have no idea how I'm going to handle things with Peter now. I'm supposed to get a night off from the Cave at some point in the next few days, but now that I'm officially an employee and not a volunteer, things seem a lot more formal. Plus, as Batman has pointed out, "crime doesn't take a break; neither do we." But I think he's willing to cut me some slack every now and then. We'll see.

Nothing overtly sexual between me and Bruce yet. I can't help thinking he's using my obvious attraction to him to keep me hooked--but then again it just seems so painfully obvious that he's a big old closet case, and the way he held me the other night couldn't have simply been a ploy.

Shit, my life is a soap opera in tights and masks. (Speaking of masks, I really have to talk to Alfred about mine--all it does is cover my eyes! Batman's cowl truly does disguise three quarters of his face, but anybody who knew me could take one look at "Robin" and recognize Dick Grayson underneath that slender strip of blackness. On the other hand, Bruce has made it very clear that I'm NOT going out in uniform again for a very long time.... so maybe we can clear that up in the meantime.)

Not even noon yet, but I'm heading back to sleep. Only got a couple of hours in before the phone rang and woke me up. My "hours" at the Cave are getting longer and longer, and I'm starting to get homework assignments--additional exercise regimen, reading, etc.

I can already feel my old life as Dick Grayson, Party Animal, slipping away. To be replaced by ... what, exactly? Beats me.

58. Dick (continued)

I know this is all supposed to be about catching bad guys and making the streets safe for women and children and all that boy-scout stuff, but I gotta say that wearing that new outfit for the first time and staring into my partner's admiring eyes made me horny as hell. In that moment, I didn't give a shit that the Tempest was still out there, or even that he'd nearly killed me a few short days ago, or that there was fresh danger lurking around every corner in the form of dozens of other adversaries. I felt like my body was pure electricity, like I was invulnerable. If you'd ask me to leap over a tall building in a single bound, I'd have found a way to do it.

I threw myself into the night's training exercises with an energy far beyond anything I'd been capable of in the past. Looking back now that I've calmed down a little, I realize that all I probably wanted to do was get another chance to roll around on the ground with Batman, our bodies pressed into one sweaty, mobile mass. But I told myself it was all about making myself a better crimefighter.

After all, it's my only job now. That's right: In addition to the suit, Bruce told me he'd start paying me for my services. He asked how much I got at the old place, and doubled it. Part of me thinks this is a really bad idea --having a sugar daddy is not my style -- but the broke part of me points out that I don't have too many other alternatives at the moment.

I didn't get home till nearly 5 a.m., by which point Batman had been back out on the streets for two hours. (Some old friend/foe of his called The Riddler has been planting clues for him lately, he says.) Before he left, Bruce said he'd draw up some groundrules in the near future. Great. Can't wait to see what that entails. But I'm grateful to have a job, and maybe having something in writing will help future misunderstandings.

Alfred drove me home. There's talk of giving me a car of my own--nothing fancy enough to draw attention, just a set of wheels so I don't have to wait to be chauffeured around town. Anyway, it wasn't exactly the end of the evening I originally had in mind (instead of getting laid, I may well have gotten screwed), but I can live with it. Believe me, I can live with it.

Oh, shit--look at the time. Training starts up again in an hour. Plus I've got an appointment with Dr. T tomorrow. That should prove interesting...

57. Dick (continued)

We stood there together in silence for a long time, and the longer he held me, the more I felt my recent reservations about him melting away.

Suddenly, he loosened his grip on me. "Come out to the car," he said, his tone abruptly changing. "I've got something for you. In the Cave."

This wasn't exactly what I was expecting to hear next, but then I've already said I didn't have a clue where we were heading.

"Meet me on the usual corner," he insisted, sounding a little too much like his old self: all business, always in charge. And I went along with it.

We made it to the Cave in record time, and he led me into the main room. There it was: a red-and-green Robin suit, modelled on my original makeshift version but infinitely more durable. A utility belt to rival Batman's own. Boots, gloves, and -- to my chagrin-- a cape, bright yellow on one side, jet black on the other.

"It's yours," he said. "Try it on."

"Bruce, I can't--"

He glared at me, and I wasn't clear whether it was because I'd called him by his other name (goddam fucking rules) or because he genuinely wanted to see me decked out in this thing. It didn't really matter, because, truth be told, I wanted to wear the suit. I'd been having second thoughts about my resignation for the last few days anyway, and ... well, this outfit was awesome.

I ducked into the changing room and shucked my street clothes in a flash. The new duds clung to my body like a second skin; wearing them, I felt like I was truly at home for the first time. Alfred must be a genius, because I don't know how he managed to fashion clothes so snug yet so comfortable, while still providing so much protection. (Jeez, I sound like I write for a cross between Vogue and the Gall's catalogue.) Suiting up, I knew there was no way I could pass up the second chance Bruce was clearly offering me. I walked back into the main part of the Cave and assumed the stance of all comic-book crimefighters: legs apart, arms akimbo, fists at my waist. I was beaming--and hard as a rock.

"When do I start?" I asked.

56. Dick

Just waking up after a VERY late night. (That's one advantage to not having a day job anymore.) Still not entirely sure if what happened a few hours ago was a dream, or not.

It's been a few weeks since Bruce--er, Batman--pulled his peeping tom bit at my apartment window, so once again he scared the shit out of me when I noticed him perched out on the ledge last night. Midnight, as usual. Thank god I was alone; then again, he's pretty good at disappearing, to put it mildly.

I let him in, and watched as he landed on my floor in that incredibly sexy outfit of his. "Dick--" he started to say.

That was a first. (One of many last night, I don't need to add.) Not "Grayson," just "Dick." Almost as if we were friends instead of ... whatever we are. Whatever we've been.

But instead of finishing his sentence, he just, well, grabbed me. Reached out toward my shoulders with his big gloved hands and held me. There was a strange mix of nervous affection and misplaced aggression in the gesture, which made sense in the moment since he's probably way more used to delivering punches than embraces. He looked me straight in the eye and for the first time I had the chance to study his masked face up close without pretending it was an accident.

"Dick, I -- I need you," he said at last. And then--here's where I'm still convinced I dreamt the whole thing--he drew me close enough to plant a kiss on my lips. A long, sincere one, neither a polite peck nor a lusty wet tongue job but something in between. There was something weirdly businesslike about it--that is, if bosses were in the habit of rewarding workers in that way.

A month ago I would have jumped his bones right then and there, but that was before my little brush with The Tempest and the subsequent instruction to write up a report about it all. Even so, when the sexiest man you've ever seen holds you in his arms and kisses you, your skepticism about his asshole side tends to melt away. I felt the warmth of his chest, listened to his breath, savored the feeling of his arms wrapped around my back, and realized that once again I had no idea what he would do next.

55. Batman

He's too valuable to me. Can't let him go.

The Tempest is still at large. Other adversaries lie in wait--some known to me, others yet to make their appearance.

I can't face them all alone. He's not ready to fight, but there are other things he can do until he is.

I need him back.

54. Dick

Celebra��������ting my newfound freedom from gainful employment by getting drunk. A lot. Spent a couple of nights with Peter last week. The sex was good but ... unspectacular. I hate to say it, but I kind of miss Bruce. I was thinking of giving him a call, but I've changed my mind every time that option has come up.

Right now I have no future. I barely have a present. And that suits me just fine.

53. Alfred

There has been no word from Master Dick since his presumed resignation four days ago.

This is distressing, particularly since his uniform is now ready for a final fitting.

52. Dick

You may notice that I'm writing today's entry a little later in the day than usual.

Why?

BECAUSE I LOST MY JOB.

I went into the office on Monday, afraid somebody was gonna ask where I'd been since last Tuesday or why my face and arms were now covered with bruises. Instead, I found a note on my computer telling me to see Doris in HR.

She gave me two hours to say my goodbyes and clear out. No questions asked.

I'll have plenty to talk about with Dr. T tomorrow. Like, for starters, why I didn't show up at his office last week, either. Naturally I won't be able to tell him a word of what really happened, and I have about 24 hours to come up with a logical explanation.

Then maybe I can use it for Peter, Janice, and everybody else who's been calling and e-mailing me for days, wondering where I was.

I'm so pissed off right now I could scream.

And yet...

Every time I think back on what I went through last week--the torture, the deathtraps, and everything else--I have to admit that on some level it was all pretty exciting. ("Exciting" as in major fucking hard-on, for one thing. But let's not go there for the time being.) During the time it was happening it was a goddam nightmare, but then I stop and ask myself if there's anything else I could have done with those days that would have been anywhere near as powerful.

The simple answer is no. But life has never seemed less simple than it does now.

I could use a serious break from everything that's been going on lately. And since I no longer have a job to go to--during the day OR at midnight--it looks like I'll have pllllennnnnty of time to do that.

51. Robin

(Okay, Batman, you want me to file a report on the case? Here's my fucking report: )

I just spent three and a half days of my life in the hands of a complete lunatic, getting my ass zapped, my face slapped, and then nearly sailing off into the wild blue yonder on a goddam weather balloon. NOT MY IDEA OF A GOOD TIME.

This Tempest guy is one twisted motherfucker. I'm sure that's not the clinical term for whatever he's got, but I honestly don't give a shit. I hope he fries.

Thanks for somehow crawling out of that sandbox and rescuing me in the nick of time, Batman. I don't know how you did it, but I'm damn glad you did.

I'm NOT so happy to get chewed out for trying to save YOU in the first place, and I would have appreciated a second or two of "Hey, are you okay?" when we got back to the Cave before being told--hell, ordered--to write up a report on the Tempest. In my "Robin voice," no less. Nothing like a little homework after a near-death experience.

Speaking of home, I haven't been there in days. Why not? Because I'VE BEEN STRAPPED TO A FUCKING COT SOMEWHERE. Didn't have anything to eat during most of that time; had to BEG to take a piss. And, oh yes, I ALMOST DIED.

This shit is for the birds. Count me out, Batman. I'm going home.

I quit.

50. The Tempest (continued)

Batman arrived at the air force base at 4 on the dot like a good little hero.

And I zapped the shit out of him like a bad, bad, bad guy. What's worse, I didn't hand over his new boyfriend, either. Now I have both of them right where I want them.

The one called Robin is leashed, spread-eagle (spread-robin?), to a weather balloon which very shortly will take him up, up, and away. (As a timing mechanism, I've employed the time-honored magnifying-glass-in-the-sun technique: the hot beam of sunlight is ever so slowly burning through the ropes which have been tethering his beautiful balloon to the ground.)

Batman, meanwhile, is buried somewhere in the middle of a ton of sand that I dumped into an empty swimming pool on the base. My own version of the desert, which I believe will be effective enough to finish him off through an amusing combination of heat and suffocation. He was still breathing the last time I saw him, but that was before the last seven loads of sand landed on him.

Oh, what a beautiful morning!
Oh, what a beau-ti-ful day!
I've got a beautiful feeling
Everything's going my way.

49. The Tempest

When it rains, it pours.

I admit I flew into a rage when that new brat materialized and started untying Batman, but then it occured to me that having him around might work to my advantage in the long run. He was certainly no match for my Rod, and I decided I could torture Batman a while longer by separating the hero from his would-be savior.

The new one--after receiving several unfortunate shocks to his neck and side--says his name is "Robin." Not much of a fighter, if you ask me. I could break him in half if I wanted. But he means nothing to me, except as a way to further hurt the Bat. The devices I've been saving up for Batman and my other nemeses could be used just as effectively on this "Robin."

Fortunately, he is much lighter than his apparent mentor, and thus easier to drag away. I had him tied to a cot most of Thursday; every time he started to come to, I gave him another jolt until he was back in cloudland.

Late Thursday evening, after "Robin" had had a good rest, the torment began in earnest. He woke to find himself locked in my Cold Room. As the temperature dropped lower and lower, I expected he'd be more and more willing to talk. Instead, he simply grew sluggish and tight-lipped. Much as I enjoyed watching him shiver in his skimpy little outfit, I was getting nowhere. I needed to know what his connection was to Batman, and how to contact the big buffoon.

Next came the Wind Tunnel. It was hilarious watching the red-and-green-clad idiot clutching at whatever he could find to keep from being blown away, banging into one thing after another until he got the bright idea to lash himself to a post with some rope from his belt. (He didn't seem to know he had it, he was fumbling around so much, but then I suppose the hurricane-force gusts didn't help his concentration much.) I was growing weary of his resistance by this time, so I shut off the wind machine and walked over to him with the Lightning Rod in my hand. "You've done a good job tying yourself up, Blunder Boy," I told him. "You just saved me a lot of trouble." By this point he was so tender that it only took a few more blasts with the Rod before he started telling me what I wanted to know. Turned out there was a cell phone--imagine that, an ordinary cell phone--tucked in his belt, and with the push of a single button I had the Caped Crackhead on the line.

I arranged a meeting at 4 A.M. Friday at the abandoned air force base on the outskirts of town. A simple exchange--his new buddy's life for his own.

48. Alfred

Days have passed since I've seen Master Bruce or Master Dick. The former was here, briefly, two nights ago, but has since headed off to attempt to rescue Master Robin. There has been no communication from either in the meantime.

I am beside myself with fear, and yet I must attempt a night's rest.

47. Batman

Dear lord, how can I have allowed this to happen? A young man's life is now in grave jeopardy--and it's all my fault. But this is no time for self-blame--I must gather my thoughts quickly and head out to try and save him if I possibly can.

The Tempest was ready for me. With no prior knowledge of his physical strength (average) or his arsenal (imposing), I was ill-equipped to confront him when I arrived at the agreed-upon location in the pouring rain late Monday night. Consequently, he overpowered me easily with the help of an electrified weapon he calls his "Lightning Rod." (I have Alfred working on an insulated version of the suit now, but there is no time to wait for it before I face the Tempest again.)

His goal appeared to be stun me; once he had rendered me unconscious, he moved me to a large metal scaffolding and affixed me to it with specially modified wires wrapped around my ankles, wrists, and chest. He removed my belt at some point, which in retrospect was the only thing that saved me.

First, the metal equipment contained within it would have proven irresistable to the lightning that the Tempest was hoping to attract. Equally important, though, it signalled Alfred in the Cave that something was wrong. What I did not intend, however, was that he would send Robin after me.

R arrived (with impressive speed for an absolute novice) and set about freeing me from the scaffolding. What he could not know--what I did not realize myself--was that my captor was observing us both by way of hidden surveillance cameras. R was occupied untying the last bits of wire when the Tempest returned, Lightning Rod at the ready. I watched, helpless, as he gave Robin a jolt which sent the youth to the ground. I was next.

When I came to, both Robin and the Tempest were gone. I quickly removed the remaining scraps of wire and scoured the premises in search of them. I located my belt nearby, but there was no sign of the others.

I have returned here to the Cave to quickly gather my thoughts and compare notes with Alfred. I do not yet know whether the temporary supplies he provided Robin included a tracking device. I fear the worst. R is in no condition to fend for himself; my only hope is that the Tempest will keep him alive as bait in a fresh trap for me.... a dire thought indeed.

R saved my life. But I must rethink the entire plan; he has become a liability now. I cannot believe I just phrased the matter that way, but I cannot deny it, either.

46. Robin

Okay, I'm in the Cave now and suited up--such as it is. Have to ignore the fact that I'm basically a guy in biking clothes with a mask cut out of some old shorts.

Or at least remember I'm a guy in biking clothes packing a belt full of serious weapons. And it'll be hard to forget that--this thing must weigh 40 pounds! Hopefully it looks more imposing than it really is; Alfred tried to include only the items I've been trained on, though god knows what's actually in there.

Al's staying here to work online. I'm taking one of B's extra civilian cars to the place where the alarm tells us the belt must be. We've got our fingers crossed that Batman is still there, too.

Of course, if he is, I'm betting mister Tempest will be as well. If he's got what it takes to ... yikes... take Batman down, then I don't stand a chance.

Can't think that way. Time to get my game face on.

(Holy shit, I don't even know what that MEANS--how the fuck am I gonna DO it?)

45. The Tempest (continued)

"The storm approaches, Batman," I murmured as he watched me, trying to guess my next move. "The flood waters gather. This is only the begi--"

And then the foul beast responded. He'd somehow managed to produce a smoke capsule from his belt and threw it hard against a cement wall nearby. The wisps of smoke drifted toward us, and before I could respond, his boot connected with my hand and knocked the Lightning Rod to the ground. Somehow he was on his feet again, and determined to attack.

I couldn't let that happen. I dove for the floor and reached the Rod. Two quick jolts to his thigh and lower back brought him down again. It was all I could do to keep from blasting him to oblivion in my rage, but I remembered how long I've been planning all of this, so I restrained myself once more.

Sparing him another speech, I simply gave the side of his head a good smack with the weighted end of the Rod and he was out.

I knew the belt had to come off immediately. I rolled him onto his stomach with some effort and unbuckled it, then dragged him by his boots to the metal scaffolding which plays such a key role in my scenario. He was a good 20 pounds heavier than I'd expected, so I am glad I didn't have to carry him much farther. The fact that his costume, like mine, was soaking wet from the rain only added to his bulk.

I stood him up and propped him against the scaffold, then set about fastening him to it. The metal wires I've used are excellent conductors of electricity, and I've increased their conductability with a specially designed grease. According to my calculations, it's only a matter of time before the building--and his wretched body, of course--is hit by a blast of real lightning and he's fried to a crisp before my very eyes. It may come slowly, and it may come fast; nature takes its own time on its course of destruction. But destroy him it will.

In the meantime, I check on him via closed-circuit cameras. When he starts to show any signs of coming to, I return to his side with my Rod and give him another jolt back to dreamland--just sharp enough to knock him out for a few minutes. I want him conscious enough to know his fate and scream for mercy, but I can't risk any escape attempts.

Heavens above, it's truly a beautiful night: soaking rain, thunder, lightning, and the promise of eventual annhilation. Glorious!

44. The Tempest

Conditions are clear indeed--the plan is proceeding even more smoothly than I'd forecast. Batman arrived as planned, and headed straight for the position I steered him toward even without my prompting. That big lunkhead has a dark cloud hanging over him indeed--a cloud of stupidity.

Though he acted cool, I'm sure his mercury rose when he first laid eyes on me. Me, resplendent in my silver suit, which clings to my body like dew on the grass... Face it, I am magnificient--as intense as sunshine against a bright blue sky--and all who gaze upon me are humbled. (Starting with that fuckwad Shore at GOC.)

Batman assumed a fighting stance--again, exactly as I'd planned--so I produced my Lightning Rod and pointed it straight at him. The jolt of electricity that flew three feet from its staff had him on the floor in seconds flat, jerking and twitching like an animal in the throes of death.

But the Rod was not intended to kill him, merely to stun him, stop him in his tracks. Since this was our first meeting face-to-face, I wanted to demonstrate the power at my disposal. I approached his contorted body until the rod was a mere six inches away from him and gave him a second dose. His shrieks of agony were delightful. I wanted to draw out the torture again and again and again until I heard him beg for mercy, but I stuck to the plan. There will be time. There will be time indeed.

I pressed the rod to his forearm (had I brought it to his chest I could have ended his torment once and for all) and watched him as he lay there helpless before me. The look in his eyes told me that he knew something awful was in store, and there was absolutely NOTHING he could do about it.

43. Dick

Alfred just called with horrible news. The signal hidden in Batman's belt is going off--it's rigged so that any unauthorized attempt to remove the belt will trigger an alarm back in the Cave.

In other words, the shit has officially hit the fan.

Al's on his way over here. He's bringing me back to the Cave, and from there I'll...

Frankly, I have NO IDEA what I'll do. What I should do... It's all happening too soon. I don't know enough, I'm not ready. Fuck, I don't even have a proper costume! (I mean uniform--shit, see what I mean?) Fortunately, Al's thrown together a makeshift utility belt from some of the duplicate items Batman has on hand so at least I'll have some real defenses to draw on.

And then what?

I don't even know where to begin.

42. Dick

Batman didn't show up at all last night, so I did the workout by myself--I know the basics pretty well by now--and Alfred showed me the notes BM left for me before heading out. This guy "The Tempest" sounds like a nut job to me; then again, almost every one of BM's adversaries I've been learning about lately strikes me as majorly insane. And I guess a lot of them ARE, in the clinical sense.

Batman's notes are pretty sketchy. I don't think he's used to the idea of anybody else needing to read them yet, so I'm having some trouble figuring out what's going on. But I get the idea that he wants me to look through some sort of employment records. Alfred has also discovered BM's private journal, and together we're trying to crack the password to see if there are any further clues in that.

Al doesn't seem that concerned, but frankly, this all scares the shit out of me.

41. Batman

Rained all afternoon. 67 degrees on the dot. Which makes tonight the night for a trip to the NWSO. I'd hoped to fill Robin in on the case, but there's no time--I'll leave instructions with Alfred. He can conduct tonight's exercises himself.

I don't like the looks of this. I only wish R was ready to provide backup, but he's simply not. I must go it alone, and hope for the best.

40. Dick

Wow, an actual normal-human-being weekend! Sleeping late, seeing friends, eating full meals instead of grabbing snacks between jobs, the whole nine yards. And a nice evening of nooky with Peter, to boot.

Only problem was, the time seemed to draaaaagggggggg along. I was counting the hours until I was back in the Cave (just over fifteen more to go, at this point), suited up and working alongside Batman again. I think my boredom was evident, much as I tried to mask it.

I never knew the real world could be so tedious. Thank god I've got a little action in my life now.

39. Batman

As I suspected, Gotham has a new felon. The pattern of thefts in recent evenings has pointed toward someone obsessed with weather-related crimes, and during last night's 7 PM news broadcast on WGOC, meteorologist Rob Shore was the victim of sniper fire during a live remote. The shooter then planted a message onscreen intended for me. He identifies himself as "The Tempest," and threatens more assaults until I meet him at the National Weather Service Office--a meeting he has stipulated must take place on the first rainy night with a temperature between 67 and 69 degrees Fahrenheit.

Clearly a madman, but one I cannot afford to ignore. The skies have been cloudless for the last several days and remain so this evening. I must use the time to do further research--and attempt to forestall future attacks.

It is crucial that I check the employment records of WGOC and other local television stations. If my hunch proves correct, this "Tempest" may be easier to track down than he imagines. If I can catch him off guard, I may be able to nip his crime spree in the bud. I need to put Robin on the project--Alfred and I have taught him the necessary skills for research on the batcomputer--but he insisted on two nights off in a row. I knew it was a bad idea, but I must constantly remind myself that he is new to this way of life and does not appear to have as strong a work ethic as I had hoped.

Perhaps the research can wait until Robin is back in the Cave on Monday night. Tonight and tomorrow I will investigate a few other leads on my own.

38. Dick

I'm totally screwed. Ignored the alarm clock this morning and now I'm THREE HOURS late for work. Not that I care, deep down, but something tells me my days are numbered over at the office.

The thing that had me so tired this morning was last night's training. Batman stuck around longer than usual to lead me in some wrestling maneuvers and fighting techniques. We rolled around on the floor, our bodies pressed into each other, for a good hour and a half, both of us working up a sweat. There's no way in hell he could have missed my boner jutting into him over and over again, but he didn't say anything about it. The suit he was wearing was the rubber one he often wears on patrols, and the protective reinforcement in the crotch makes it harder to detect details like bat-stiffies, but I have a feeling he was probably as aroused as I was.

On the other hand, he was a little distracted about something else. Last night there were three separate break-ins that caught his eye when he learned about them: at the airport, at a science supply store, and at Gotham State U. All petty thefts, but the connecting factor he noticed immediately was that all the items stolen were connected to meteorology in one way or another. Too much of a coincidence to be entirely random. Batman says it doesn't fit the M.O. of any of his known adversaries, and he plans to investigate further this weekend.

As a result, I've actually got TWO nights off from training in a row--calling Janice and Peter to see if either is free on Saturday or Sunday night. I just have to make it through today: a few short hours of work, if they'll still have me, then Batman promises a particularly strenuous training later tonight.

37. Robin

Batman's given me a new homework assignment: He wants me to start finding "the voice of Robin." When he's Batman, he adopts an entirely different way of speaking, a deeper tone, even a different way of phrasing things. It's all part of the camoflage, he says--another kind of mask.

So I figured I'd start this new journal to try it out. Maybe if I start with writing in some new style, I can start adjusting my speaking voice later. But what does a hero sound like?

It's weird--when we're growing up, we don't really consciously decide, "I'm going to talk like a surfer dude," or "I'm going to sound like a young Republican." It just happens; we pick up things from our environment. Or at least I guess we do--I didn't really study any of that in college. This is more like an acting exercise than linguistics, though, so maybe I can draw on those plays I was in back when I was a freshman. (Typical queerboy choice, I know. And I only did it because I had the hots for the director. Thinking back, though, maybe the tights he kept having me wear were part of the attraction, too...)

So far I don't think it's going too well. I mean, I just feel like the same old person writing under a different name. I have to keep reminding myself that in this identity I have no past, only a future. No acting class, Mom and Dad, no Bill, no Janice, no Peter. A clean slate.

To tell the truth, I'm a little distracted. I've only had three hours of sleep since last night's training, during which I had this incredibly hot dream. I don't remember too much about it, but I know I was in the Cave trying on my brand new costume (which in real life won't be finished for several more days, Al says). I left the changing room and walked in on Batman and Alfred. Bruce (okay, he had his mask off, but the rest of the suit was on) was on his knees sucking off Alfred, who was sitting in Batman's command chair. Al noticed me watching them and beckoned me over, and pretty soon I was the meat in a Batburger sandwich... Tell me, Dr. T, whatever can it mean? (As if I need to ask--and as if I'd ever bring it up.)

Shit, this is definitely not what Batman had in mind when he gave me this assignment. Maybe I'm just not up to the task. I didn't ask to be a crimefighter, and so far I'm the farthest thing from one: just a guy with a daddy fixation sitting at his keyboard wanting to jerk. I should be out there catching bad guys, shouldn't I? Or at least getting ready to go to the office. Yesterday there was a memo on my chair scolding me for my poor attendance record. I'd love to march into the HR office and say, "Look, I'm sorry but I'm up half the night toning my body and perfecting my mind so that I can help Batman rid the world of master criminals." But something tells me that wouldn't go over too well.

So instead it's off to CubicleLand and the rest of my somewhat peculiar new daily routine.

36. Dick

Bruce was only around for the first half of last night's training. --Oh, shit, I have to start getting this straight: Anytime he has the suit and mask on, I have to refer to him as "Batman." When he's in street clothes, he's "Bruce." When the suit is on but the mask is off, I'm supposed to take my cue from him. I don't know how he can compartmentalize his life so neatly, but then I guess I'm learning.

Speaking of masks and suits, I have to wear my mask throughout the workout, even though it kind of gets in the way sometimes. Batman says that's the point: to get used to the feeling of this thing on my face, work around any limitations to my peripheral vision, make it second nature. I don't know how any of this will ever come as "second nature" to me; it's kind of like learning a whole new language late in life, and I doubt I'll ever be able to think in anything but English.

The hardest part so far may be the cover stories I have to invent to explain away my actions to other people who (used to) know me well. I haven't talked to Janice in a long time, relatively speaking, partly because I haven't had time but mostly because I'm dreading having to lie to her. I can see Peter is disappointed that we're not together more often, but I don't have a way to explain how I'm spending my nights other than the shopworn "working late" excuse. And then there's Dr. T. Our sessions are getting really awkward. The single most important development in my adult life is taking place all around me, and I can't even talk about it with the man with whom I've shared the most intimate details of my life for ages. I was so evasive during yesterday's session that the discussion got really boring really fast. I swear I even fell asleep at one point, but that was probably just exhaustion. (BTW, he's moving our sessions to Wednesdays now for some scheduling reason that escapes me. Doesn't affect me much either way.)

I've been out and proud for years now, and suddenly I find myself crawling back into the closet ... or the Cave, to be more precise. I don't know how I feel about that... and I haven't even brought up the whole WayneTech business; how the hell have I ended up falling for the guy whose company I've protested more times than I can count? If any of my old ACTUP pals ever heard that, they'd either kill me or die laughing.

35. Anonymous

Dark clouds gather. I hear the thunder roar outside the storm cellar I have made my home base. My preparations are almost complete. I have only to gather my weapons and ready my costume.

And then, Batman, the rain will fall for forty days and forty nights. The flood is coming to carry you away. I can already see you on the verge of drowning, begging me for mercy. But I will turn a deaf ear. You have been allowed to roam freely for too long. You must be taught a lesson.

Count your days, my friend. A new era is upon us. The deluge begins.

34. Dick

When last night's workout ended, I headed to the bathroom in the Cave to take a shower before the next round of lessons began. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, my masked face moist with sweat. For the first time I thought I noticed signs that all this back-breaking exercise has been paying off. Could be wishful thinking, but I'm convinced my arms are already growing larger, my abs are growing firmer, and my belly is shrinking ever so slightly.

I brought one of my hands up to my nipple and caressed it through the synthetic fabric of my temporary costume. Pretty soon I was aware of my cock popping up against my tights, so I brought my free hand down to give it some attention. Haven't felt this turned on by my own body in a long, long time--maybe ever. I don't know what I'm becoming, but I like it. A lot. I stood there for three or four minutes rubbing my fingers over the lycra, daydreaming blankly as I enjoyed the sensation of flesh against tight material.

And then something else caught my eye in the mirror: Batman, standing in the doorway, watching me. God knows how long he'd been standing there before I noticed, and I didn't know whether to feel more embarrassed or excited.

"I've got someone I want you to meet," he said. His no-nonsense tone suggested the stranger wasn't hiding under his briefs.

I brought my hands back to my sides and tried to divert attention from the minor mountain in my tights by fidgeting with my fanny-pack utility belt. Then I followed him down the hall.

"Robin, this is Alfred, my manservant. He has been with me my entire life, and he is a trusted confidant. I have some business to attend to this evening, so Alfred is going to take over from here. The first order of business is a fitting for your new costume." Bruce handed me over to Alfred, and then he was gone.

This butler guy is one of those older British men I've always found attractive. Clearly a homo, but who knows whether he's as closeted as his boss or not. Don't ask, don't tell is probably the house rule. A little haughty, but then it goes with the territory. I can't imagine somebody spending his entire life working in the shadow of somebody else more wealthy or famous or powerful--at least that's not a career I'd ever want for myself. Hey, if Bruce doesn't make a move sooner or later, maybe I'll give the hired help a try.

Alfred took a few measurements, clearly enjoying the act of holding his tape measure against my body... and given how little action I've seen lately, I kinda liked it too. Then we walked over to the computer and worked on an application designed for the very purpose at hand. That took an hour or two, then he lead me through some more computer procedures and explained the basic guidelines for having our costumes cleaned and repaired. He does the actual work; he just had to show me where to leave mine and where I'd find it when it was done. Since I've only got one costume -- shit, I mean uniform -- for the time being and it's always as wet as a dishrag when the workout is over, I guess that's going to mean a lot of washing. Alfred says Batman has at least ten full outfits in several varieties (leather, spandex, rubber, kevlar, etc; full bodysuit, separate top and bottom; etc.) and countless additional elements, all of which have to be inspected and tended on a regular basis. I'll be getting a spandex outfit first, and then more if I ever make it out onto the street.

We went over some more business, then he drove me home. Not having a car of my own has always been frustrating, but never more than now. I feel like a kid being driven to and from school. On the other hand, neither the "Batmobile" nor Bruce's primary personal vehicle (I take it he has several) is your typical soccer-mom set of wheels, so I'm not exactly complaining.

Batman wasn't back by the time we left the Cave, but Alfred says that's not unusual at all. He only gets worried when the sun comes up, and besides there are several means of communication built into the batmobile and the cave so they can be in contact when needed. Me, I was just happy to be in my own bed (alone) a couple of hours earlier than I've been for the last few days.

Time for a quick bite, and then it's off to the office. Almost forgot--I've got a Tanhoger appointment this afternoon, too. Then back to the day job, and then the night one...

Yeah, this is pretty much a second job, at this point. Not quite what I'd planned on, but as long as I look this great, I'm not gonna complain.