A mere day after Wally had skipped town, Jennifer was struck with the sudden realization that her flat had somehow morphed into a disgusting Wally Shrine since they'd begun dating. Really, when had she let him take over her life like this? She'd never been the guy-dependant type, but suddenly it was like everything she looked at had "WALLY WEST WAS HERE" scrawled all over it.
A box she'd found outside her flat just that morning sat by her bedroom door, brimming with belongings she'd left at his dorm on various occasions. There was the small mountain of books he'd recommended stacked in her living room, most of which she'd actually had every intention of reading until two days ago. Three bags of restaurant leftovers still sat in her refrigerator, a disgusting display of affection for their evenings out. They'd had sex in her shower so many times that she'd lost count, so that would obviously have to go. The fate of her bed didn't look so sunny either. Jennifer briefly considered sleeping on the couch until she could acquire a new mattress, but oh wait, he'd contaminated that too with all those stupid movies they'd watched together. He'd cooked her dinner an indecent amount of times; she might as well just burn the small wooden dining table.
Two pairs of his boxers were stuffed under her dresser, for God's sake. Who'd given him permission to leave them there, exactly?
As Jennifer moved throughout her apartment, it seemed she couldn't go an inch without every object she owned screaming out reminders of what she'd lost. Evidently she'd been much too devoted to her ex-boyfriend, and she hated herself for it. When had she become such a dependant, sappy idiot anyways? In some twisted form of righteous fury, she snatched up her heavy duty flashlight from its usual place in the corner of her living room, which Wally'd had the indecency to use once to fix her clogged sink, and flung it through the window that Wally had always said gave the best view of the Steel City sunset. Luckily, she lived in the South Side, where no one would think twice if they saw a flashlight sailing from a ninth story flat chased by a small cloud of glass shards.
Jennifer let a frustrated moan escape her as she collapsed to the ground in defeat, realizing that she might as well just demolish the whole apartment. Because like her life, Wally had somehow managed to touch every part of it.
"Mr. Wayne? Someone's here to see you. A Mr. Richard Grayson?"
"Send him in."
"He'll see you now," a girl no older than twenty returned to her desk and pointed in the direction from which she'd come, a set of imposing wooden doors. Her name, according to the plaque on her desk, was Cassandra Cain. Obviously Bruce Wayne's last secretary, Helena Bertinelli, hadn't made the cut. Not many did. But then, Bruce Wayne had very…particular standards.
"Thank you," Dick almost added 'and good luck', but thought better of it as he strode through the doors he'd been familiar with since childhood, shutting them tightly behind him as per his surrogate father's strict preferences. Bruce Wayne was a media mogul who owned a large handful of Jump City's more popular radio stations, newspapers, magazines, and TV shows. He'd taken in Dick at the age of ten for reasons Dick could never quite figure out, and even Bruce seemed unsure at times. But they'd grown on one another, perhaps thriving on the bond of orphanage. And although there was no explaining it, there was nothing in the world Dick craved more than Bruce Wayne's approval.
Except maybe Babs.
"Are you feeling…better?" Bruce's question was hesitant. He'd never been good with anything more than a teaspoon of emotion.
"No, but I'm hoping work will take my mind off of it." Dick took a seat in one of the uncomfortable leather chairs that were positioned before the elder man's desk.
Bruce nodded and shuffled a few papers that sat on his desk. "I understand. I've just picked up a considerably run down radio station that you might be interested in managing for me. My marketing people have been pushing to make it into one of those ridiculous single-genre music stations, but I think there should be more…substance involved, personally."
"What, like talk radio meshed with a mix of music?" Dick nodded and crossed his legs, letting the idea sink in. "There's potential."
"I'd like you to begin work as soon as possible. I'm losing money every day I hold onto that radio station without anything playing on it."
Dick shifted in his seat. "Do you think there's any way I can give Wally a job? He's having trouble-"
"It's your station now, Dick. Do what you want with it, just don't let me down."
"Alright, Bruce, I'll do what I can. Thanks for giving me this opportunity." He stood and moved toward the door.
"By the way, I thought you should know that I named the station KWYN." Dick turned and shot his surrogate father a small smirk.
Bruce managed a rare smile. "I thought you'd like it."
Dick hesitated with his hand on the door. "It was…good to see you."
The elder man's eyebrows knitted together, as though struggling with the words he'd just received. Finally, after a long silence, he said:
"Miss Cain has the full file for KWYN. You'll need it. Goodbye for now, Dick."