Dick takes a fall with a fever. 

. . .

The uneven bars had been a mistake from the beginning. Scratch that. For the first couple of minutes they had been wonderful, that sensation of a brief weightlessness and then falling, the adrenaline, the freedom, the rush that left him tingling. But, in the end, the spinning and flipping had upset Dick's internal balance and a crippling wave of vertigo had left the circus boy grounded. He must have hit his head on the lower beam on his way down because the ex-boy wonder blinked and Bruce had appeared in his face. Dick felt the corners of his mouth curling as he considered just how strange his mentor looked at that very moment. Then he realised his father was talking.

    "...fingers, Dick?" the gruff man asked, waving his hand a short distance from the boy's face. "How many fingers am I holding up?" Dick wasn't very sure. It might have been three, then again it may have been eleven. The funny black stars made things very difficult to concentrate on. That and the constant desire to start laughing. Bruce really did look quite silly. 

    "Concussion," the new doctor confirmed, "a temperature of 103.6, bruised ribs and extreme fatigue." Bruce frowned as he examined the list in his hands.

    "What do I need to do?" the billionaire questioned. As Dr Leslie was on long service leave in the Mediterranean, a young GP relatively new to the practice had been recommended in place of the usual family doctor. She was peppy but straight to the point and professional. Perfect for Dr Leslie's charity clinic. Perfect if you didn't want a tattle-tail.

    "Richard requires plenty of bedrest," she started to explain. "A cold compress should be applied to his forehead. I would also advise one on the back of the neck and collarbone if you can manage that. Wake him every few hours to give him fluids. Cordial or sports drinks would be more effective in the short term but he still requires plain water so switch between the two." She took a moment to flick a stray lock of orange hair from her eyes. "Light sheets only, unless he is suffering from chills. Then you may give him a comforter until he stops shaking so badly. It's all on the form I gave to Mr Pennyworth." Bruce nodded and politely opened the door she was heading towards. The young doctor smiled her thanks but smothered it somewhat, aware that she was in the presence of Gotham's richest and most infamous playboy. It was alarming though how her opinion of the man had rapidly changed in the short time she had been at the manor. All she'd seen was a concerned father and a gentleman, not a single peep of a flirtatious comment or look. But perhaps that was why he was so notorious. Maybe he drew women in with this act that left them confused and unbalanced and then swept in for the kill with a seemingly harmless invitation to look at the chinaware and ended up with a lot less clothes.

'Stop reading so many crime and romance novels,' she scolded herself.

    "Is there anything else, Mr Wayne?"

    "No," the broad man answered, checking his gold watch. "Thank-you so much, Dr Winscombe. It's nearly eleven. I assume you are too busy for tea and cakes?"

'There it is!' the young woman's mind screamed. 'Not quite looking at the china but I'll bet a pretty penny the food'll be served on it!' She quickly quashed her train of thought.

    "I'm afraid I'm still on call, Mr Wayne," the doctor saved herself. "Please do not hesitate to call if Richard's condition worsens. Ask the receptionist for Peta. The clinic is big on first names."

    "Then I insist next time we speak you call me Bruce," the billionare smiled. Crisis averted, the man was slowly transforming to the flirt she'd read about but it just didn't seem to fit. There was something about this man that made her think that perhaps it was all a ruse, a mask.

    "If you all behave," Dr Winscombe quipped, "there shouldn't be a next time. But I get the feeling Richard isn't good at sitting still, Mr Wayne." The man's face coloured slightly like a naughty child caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

    "I think you'd be pretty safe saying that, Doctor," he replied sheepishly. "But we'll try our best. Thank-you again." Dr Peta Winscombe disappeared into her slightly dented car and drove back to the clinic leaving Wayne Manor in relative peace. At least whilst Dick was still asleep.

. . .

764 words.

A slightly longer chapter this time. What do you think of Peta? She's a character that I am working on for a different Batman story. Is this sort of thing a good way to introduce her? In later chapters you will see I toy with the idea of her being a school/work friend of Dick's. As we progress, I'd love to hear what you feel is more natural.

Until we meet again!

~SpanishFox