Have Gator, Will Travel
By Kerrie Smith 
 
 
	Seven peanut butter sandwiches and a Gator. 
	Six-year-old Bert Drake squeezed the straps of his Rocketship Stan  
backpack, conscious of its precious cargo. 
	If the rumbling in his belly didn't stop, it was gonna be six peanut 
butter sandwiches and a Gator. 
	He kept walking, even though he'd walked further today than his 
chubby little legs had walked in their entire six-years. But he didn't know 
what to do except to walk. 
	Tim had called last night, and said he was Very, Very Sorry, but a 
Big Company Emergency had come up, and he had to fly to Greece with 
Lucius. 
	And then Mommy asked why Cassandra couldn't come watch Bert. 
	And Tim said that she had to go, too. And he was Really, Very 
Sorry, and Could he talk to Bert? 
	And then Mommy had given Bert the phone, which was fun, 
because Bert never got phone calls. 
	Tim told Bert that he was Very, Very Sorry, but he would Make it 
Up to him, and Would Bert and Gator like to go see a movie this weekend 
with Tim and Cassie? 
	And Bert had said, Yes, Thank You, and then gave the phone back 
to Mommy. 
	And later, Bert heard Mommy tell Daddy that Tim was Very, Very 
Sorry, but a Big Company Emergency had come up, and Tim would Not 
be Able to watch Bert the next day. 
	And Daddy had grunted and turned the page of the paper. 
 
 
	Bert had come home from school the next day and eaten his snack, 
while Mommy got all dressed up to go to Ms. Vreeland's Party that she 
had Been Looking Forward to All Year. 
	Mommy had smeared lipstick all over Bert's face when she ran out 
the door, while Daddy sat in the chair and read the paper. 
	And Bert watched some cartoons, and Daddy went and changed 
into his suit, because he had a Business Dinner to go to. 
	And then Daddy started tapping his foot and looking at his watch 
and grumbling "Where's that useless kid?" 
	And Gator had tried to remind Daddy that Tim had a Big Company 
Emergency, but Daddy didn't want to listen to Gator. 
	And then Daddy realized he was going to be late, and since Tim 
was going to be there any minute, he figured everything would be okay, 
and he made Bertie promise to be a good boy, and then he walked out the 
door and left... 
	Bertie... 
	All... 
	Alone. 
	And Bert had been scared, but then he got mad, and then he 
decided that he was going to do something Drastic. 
	So he Ran Away. 
 
 
	Bert sniffled a little, and rubbed the back of his hand across his 
face.  He was awful hungry. He still hadn't had any dinner. He decided 
that it was Time for a Sandwich. He'd eaten one of the little shuttle that 
ran from Bristol into Gotham proper. Bert had ridden the shuttle plenty of 
times with Mommy or with Tim or with Batgirl, but this time was the first 
time he'd ridden by himself. He just shoved one of his Rocketship Stan  
Intergalactic Credits into the little box, and walked on behind the fat lady  
with all the kids. That sandwich seemed like an awful long time ago. 
Bert sat down against the nearest building, and opened his backpack. 
Gator smiled up at him reassuringly. Bert pulled out his worn companion, 
pulling him into his lap. Gator was probably hungry, too. Then he pulled 
out a peanut butter sandwich, and took a bite. 
	Tim would have made him soup or Chef Boyardee or maybe 
grilled cheese for dinner. Mommy would have warmed up one of the little 
trays of frozen chicken nuggets or spaghetti she knew Bert liked when she 
was too busy to cook. Daddy would have ordered a pizza or taken him to 
O'Shaunessey's. 
	A salty tear dripped on Bert's peanut butter and jelly sandwich. 
Suddenly, he didn't want it anymore. He stuffed it back in the plastic 
baggie, and put it back into the backpack, without a single bite out of it. 
	He started to put Gator back on top, then decided against it. 
	Maybe Gator would like to see the sights of Gotham with him. 
	The sun was beginning to set, and the shadows were all turning 
inky purple.  
	People began to walk a little faster, in order to get home. Bert felt  
himself get pushed this was and than by the crowd. Scared, he gripped 
Gator a little harder, and turned down a smaller, quieter street. 
	Bert swallowed. Without the people, this street was a little scary. 
	One of Bert's tiny sneakers slipped on an old burger wrapper, and 
fell hard on his rear end. He opened his mouth, gearing up for a champion 
wail that would bring the nearest Mommy running, when he heard 
something else.  
	Someone else was wailing. 
	"No! Don't-- please!" 
	Bert frowned. It was coming from between two of the buildings. 
Someone was in trouble. 
	Carefully righting himself, he crept over to the edge of the alley, 
letting Gator peek first. Then, he thrust his own head around the corner. 
	A big man in dark clothes held a gun up to a pretty lady's head. 
	She was crying and fumbling for her purse. 
	This was a job for Batman. 
	Bert squeezed Gator a little harder. 
	He wasn't sure he wanted this to be a job for Batman. 
	Maybe it was a job for Superman. 
	The Son of Krypton reassured him that this was Gotham City, and 
it was, indeed, a job for Batman. 
	And then... He appeared. 
	He was all shadows and angles, ripping away from the night sky in 
one solid piece, his fist connecting with the mugger's skinny form. 
	The woman shrieked wordlessly and dashed from the alley, never 
noticing the small boy with whom she nearly collided. 
	Bert's eyes widened, taking in every detail of the scene before him. 
He carefully stepped into the alley, one of Gator's feet working its way  
into his mouth. 
	Bert Drake knew he was not Batman. 
	Though only six years old, his mind was possessed logic 
capabilities slightly rustier, yet no less powerful than those of his older 
brother. 
	He was quite aware of the impossibility of his bearing a secret 
identity older than himself. 
	He admitted that he didn't know any of specifics of Batman's 
history. 
	He had even sat in his living room, gumming his Gator, while his 
alter-ego appeared on the television set. 
	But never, before, had Bert been faced with the object of his 
worship. 
	And deep down, up until this point, he'd always *believed* that he 
was really the guy in the cape. 
	His eyebrows raised, his jaw slackened. And slowly, Gator fell 
from his mouth, to land with a gentle *plop* on the asphalt. 
	The Dark Knight turned, his fist connecting with the robber's face 
one final time, the man falling to the ground, much the way the stuffed toy 
had.  
	He glanced quickly from the fallen criminal to the small boy, 
embarrassed at his brutality in front of such an innocent audience. 
	Suddenly, cloaked eyes widened in recognition. 
	"Bert!" 
	"Hi, Batman." 
	The caped man glided forward, and then bent to the ground. "This 
is yours," he said, the Voice so soft that it almost wasn't the Voice. 
	Gingerly, tiny hands recaptured Gator from rough, gauntleted ones. 
	"Thank you." 
	"You're welcome." The vigilante started to rise, then thought better 
of it. "You're a long way from home." 
	"I like your cape." 
	"Would you like me to take you home? You can ride in the 
Batmobile and--" 
	"NO!" Bert shrieked, throwing himself at the larger man. 
	Awkwardly, Batman patted the boy's back. "Okay, we don't have 
to go home. I promise." He frowned. "Come on. Let's get out of this 
alley." 
	Bert contemplated this for a moment, and then nodded, wiping a 
tightly clenched fist at his tears. He felt himself lifted by strong arms, and 
in a few minutes, he was soaring through the air. 
	"Wow!" Bert exclaimed, a few minutes later when Batman's feet 
hit the rooftop. 
	"Do you know where we are?" Batman asked. 
	"Top o' Wayne Towers!" 
	"Smart boy." 
	"I been to Mr. Wayne's house. He's nice." 
	"Why don't you want to go home, Bert?" 
	Bert played with Gator's snout, making him chomp a few times. 
"Daddy went to the business dinner. No one was there. I was scared. 
Home is scary when no one's there." 
	"Where's your mother?" 
	"Mrs. Vreeland's party." 
	"Tim?" 
	Bert's brow creased, and he searched Batman's face. "Don't you 
remember? He went to Greets. With Mr. Fox." 
	"Why would I know that?" Batman asked, a hint of humor in his 
voice. 
	Bert looked confused again. "Cuz he's Robin." 
	Batman started for a second. 
	"Didn't you know?" 
	"Well, I didn't know you knew." 
	"Batman?" 
	"Yes?" 
	"Can we go to your house?" 
	"My house?" 
	Bert looked up suddenly. "I want to go to your house and live with 
you and be your little boy!" 
	Batman made a funny choking sound. 
	"I'll be a good boy! You can teach me to be Batman and I can help 
you! I don't eat a lot." 
	"Bert, you have a mother and father who love you already." 
	"Batman, did you take Tim away to be your little boy? Is that why 
he doesn't live with Mommy and Daddy and me?" 
	"Tim lived with you when you were very little. Do you remember 
that?" 
	"No." 
	"Well, he did. He moved away because he was a grown-up. Like 
your father moved away from your grandfather's house when he was old 
enough." 
	Bert contemplated this for a while. "So Tim's a Daddy, now? Is 
Cassie his Mommy?" 
	"Not quite," Batman replied with a chuckle. "But all little boys and 
girls need to live at home with their mommies and daddies until they're old  
enough." 
	Bert stomped one foot petulantly. "Daddy doesn't want me! He left 
me all alone! And he doesn't like Gator and he doesn't like Cassandra, and 
he doesn't like me!" 
	"Bert, that's not true." 
	"Is true! Daddies are s'posed to love their kids, and he doesn't love 
me!" 
	Batman stiffened. "Sometimes... sometimes Daddies forget how 
much their sons need them. Sometimes they get so wrapped up in their 
own lives that they... they don't know. And they do stupid things, and don't 
realize until it's too late." 
	Bert cocked his head, quizzically. "Batman? Did your Daddy leave 
you all alone, too?" 
	"He... he didn't mean to. Daddies never mean to." 
	"Batman?" 
	"Yes, Bert?" 
	"Are you a Daddy?" 
	"Yes, Bert." 
	"I bet you're a good Daddy." 
	Batman was silent. 
	"I bet you never leave your kids alone." 
	Batman was silent. 
	"You're a hero." 
	Batman was silent. 
	"Batman?" 
	"Yes, Bert?" 
	"I'm sleepy. Do you think Daddy's home, yet?" 
 
 
	Alfred Pennyworth opened the door of Wayne Manor to a sight 
he'd never seen before. 
	Batman stood on his front stoop, holding the hand of a very tired 
little boy. 
	"Why, hello... Batman," Alfred managed, his outward calm not 
disturbed in the slightest. 
	"Hello, Alfred. Bert here needs a place to take a nap until his 
Daddy gets home." 
	"I... believe we can manage that," Alfred replied. "Er, thank you,  
Batman." 
	Bert blinked sleepily at Alfred. "Can I... *yawn*... play with the  
babies?" 
	"I'm afraid they're in bed, Master Bert. Now, however did you end 
up in the company of such a famous figure?" 
	Bert blinked sleepily and turned around. But Batman had already  
disappeared. 
 
 
 
	Jack Drake paced the front stoop of Wayne Manor like a caged 
tiger. How  
dare that Tim not show up? Of all the irresponsible, bone-headed-- 
	The door opened, and to Jack's surprise, it was Wayne, himself. 
	"Thanks for the note," Jack said, running his fingers through his 
greying hair. "You said the kid wandered all the way up to the Manor? I 
didn't even know how to work the front door..." 
	Wayne nodded grimly. 
	"Look, I'm awful sorry about this, and I can't thank you enough for 
keeping him out trouble. Tim was supposed to watch him, but you know 
how--" 
	"Tim's in Greece," Bruce replied, steel in his voice. 
	"He's where? Dammit, Dana never tells me these things and--" 
	"Jack," Bruce interrupted. "You and I are a lot alike, you know 
that? We may have screwed up a lot. We may have been selfish the first 
time through.  We were bastards, and I think we both know it. And then 
someone gave us a second chance. I tucked my own babies in tonight, 
Jack. Don't waste your second chance." 
	And then Bruce walked off to go rouse Jack Drake's sleeping son.

The End