Familiar Scars

by LemonadeGarden

Summary:

Harley laughs, leaning back on the pool chair. "What is this, the third child you guys have picked up from the street, Selina? Anyone ever told ya that your boyfriend has a serious hero complex?"

 

An AU without superheroes, where Bruce and Selina finally get their heads out of their asses and learn how to form solid relationships (which they do by adopting a bunch of boys with dark hair and blue eyes together).

Also lots of harley/Ivy.

Notes:

Hi! So I wrote something about Bruce, Selina and the batboys. Also featuring a largish ensemble cast.

This chapter is going to be a lot shorter than the ones after it.

Enjoy!

Chapter 1: Bathtub

   Selina dips in one toe into the cold water. She is sitting on the edge of the bathtub. She has been for hours. It's half filled and she can see the stopper in it. It looks closer to her than it really is.

 

This time it was closer than it had ever been. Not close enough. It is never close enough. She lets the last pregnancy test fall from her hand and into the tub.

~

When Selina Kyle met Bruce Wayne she was only twenty four. He was twenty six.They met at some fundraiser thing where he was making his debut as a Gotham socialite. His first public appearance after years of seclusion.

(Self-inflicted, she found out later.)

She had flirted, and laughed at all his jokes, playing the part of an obviously promiscuous woman. When he was distracted enough, staring unabashedly at her lush, red wine-stained mouth, she had tried to steal the watch off of his hand. It was a Breguet Tourbillon. Would pay the bills for the next few months. A girl's gotta eat. He caught her, tilting his face to give her an odd look, and discreetly took his watch back out of her hands, all while talking to her without missing a beat.

 

Selina Kyle had met her match.

 

He had spent the past 8 years travelling abroad. Bhutan, Japan, France. He excited her. Gotham girl, that she was, she had never set foot outside of the city. Didn't have the means or the resources. She was thinking of stealing enough money to run away to Paris. There was nothing left in Gotham for her now. Not after Maggie. Not after her parents.

Now she hesitated. A new player was out on the streets. Bruce Wayne.
He was angry. He was always so angry about everything. Ever since that night. Crime alley. His mother's pearls on the dirty pavement. His father's bloodied collar.

 

Gotham is not the right place for little rich boys with hopes and dreams.

 

It turns them into animals.

 

That first year, he was like a wild animal. Trapped and desolate. Scared. Always angry, and so, so lonely.

They would lie in bed afterwards, in the dark (they both preferred the dark) and he would whisper feverishly into her ears that he was going to change Gotham. Make it a better place. He'd talk of Justice. Courage. Integrity, Humanity. The intensity in his eyes scared her. No one had tried to change anything about Gotham. Ever. It was going to be the same dirty, crime torn city that stank of stale urine and lost dreams.

But not on Bruce Wayne's watch apparently. No. He was going to rid the city of crime, shut down cartels, and disassemble mafias single-handedly. His idealism would have been laughable if not for the dangerous look on his face.  He was on the edge of doing something, something that would get him killed. 

Selina would look up at him, picking her head up from his on his solid chest- all wide planes and hard angles, and she would place a cool hand on his cheek. If you do this, you will die. Don't be the hero. Not today.

 He would stare back at her, his eyes losing some of that rage. Lean into her palm. Kiss her fingertips when they grazed over his lips. Silenced temporarily, from his righteous rant. A crusade, Selina worried, that might consume him.

 

You ground me, Selina he had whispered softly into the corner of her jaw one night, his hand between her legs.

Selina had said nothing, too busy moaning into the pillow, her shaking hands bunching up the sheets.

Maybe there was something in Gotham for her after all.

 

Eventually Bruce started to let go of some of his anger. She helped him wherever she could, but for the most part, he helped himself. He seemed too attached to Gotham to leave, so Selina decided that she might stay in this godforsaken city after all. For a while. Temporarily.

She ended up staying four more years.

 

Bruce did a lot of good for Gotham as well. He funded the police department, and numerous charities for the homeless. He started up a foundation for Gotham's children. Those from the streets. For the children like Selina had once been.

 

It always came back to the children.

 

They had a fight about it. It was fairly bad, definitely one of their worsts. Bruce had suggested they try for a baby. A baby. The word seemed abstract to Selina. Babies were for Settled women. Married women. Selina was neither.

To Bruce it made perfect sense. They were already together, and in love, (she had flinched at that. Didn't know why.) so it was only logical to have a child. Bruce, surrounded by adoring employees, volunteers, journalists, congressmen and Selina, was still a lonely man, as it turned out.

Did Selina resent that? A little.

She had stormed out of the manor, leaving behind a bewildered Bruce. Her old apartment, which she hadn't gone to for the last two years, was now suddenly occupied by Selina and her bemused cat. She steadfastly ignored Bruce's phone calls and deleted his voicemails. Sometimes though, she would give in a little and listen to one. They were all the same. He would always apologise, clearly without meaning it. He wouldn't change his mind about this. Bruce wanted children. Badly. With Selina Kyle of all the people. She wasn't the right person for this.

However, lately her heart had started to twinge reluctantly when she saw parents holding their stupid kids in the street.

One day, in a department store, a small girl in a tutu who must have been barely five years old, had complimented her short hair. She said it was 'pwetty' in that horribly dumb way that kids do. Selina thanked her, smiled at the mother, and then went to the next aisle and promptly burst into tears.

What did she want? She wasn't sure.

 

About a week after their showdown of sorts at the manor, (it hadn't really been a fight actually, more like Bruce doing all the calm-person talking and Selina doing all the screaming and gesticulating) there was a tap on her window. The one connected to her fire escape.

She scowled. She wasn't going to let him in. Bruce used to come through the fire escape of her apartment all the time in the first few months of their relationship. It had been cute then. Now she was just mad.

"Selina."

She continued to ignore him.

"Selina. Please let me in. I n-need to talk to you"

Selina sat up, frowning. Did Bruce Wayne just stutter? That was definitely not in character.

Then she remembered that it was snowing out. The largest storm in Gotham in over fifty years. He wasn't stuttering, he was shivering. Shit.

She threw open her window and ushered him in.
She couldn't even cover him in a blanket before he grabbed her and trapped her against the wall. Usually stoic, today his face seemed more... open somehow. Even vulnerable. His blue eyes burned into hers. He started to press a kiss to her forehead but stopped midway.

"Selina, you… you don't have to do anything you don't want to. It didn't even occur to me that you might disagree." He frowned. "That came out wrong."

"I'm sorry." His voice was unsteady. She couldn't tell if it was from the cold, or from emotion.

"Could we at least talk about it?" He asked roughly, playing with a strand of her short hair. Selina nodded, her throat dry. She was suddenly very aware of him pressing up against her. He leaned down, his warm breath mixing in with hers. He was waiting for permission, she realised.

Selina closed the distance between them with a watery smile.

 

In the end they talked for hours. They sat on her bed, touching each other constantly. Selina gave Bruce a blanket and some tea, despite his protests.

"I'm a grown man Selina, stop mothering me."

Selina made him some more tea.

 "Shut up."

 

He shut up.

(With a smile)

 

Selina realised she had missed this. She hadn't even been gone more than a week and had got this weird rush when she saw him. This kind of dependency scared her. A lot. It would undoubtedly get worse when she was pregnant with his baby, for Christ's sake.

Bruce lazily stretched and stared at her, with what might have been a hint of mirth in his eyes. "I love you and your stupid cat."

Maybe dependency wasn't the worst thing.

 

~

 

She is naked. She has been for hours. She swirls her toe in the water, making little circles. Shivers a little.
It's cold today. Halloween is day after tomorrow. She has forgotten to buy the candy for the children that stop over at the manor.

 

Candy for the childrem

 

There are a pair of socks in Bruce's cupboard. Socks for an infant. They're hidden in his underwear drawer. She knows he's keeping them so that he an whip them out as a little joke when she tells him that she's finally pregnant.

 

(It's a 'when' and not an 'if' for him. Never has been for anything.)

 

 

An anecdote to recount to their children when they are growing up. She can almost see it now- this funny little parallel universe. She and Bruce curled up on the setee in the family room, their children sitting on Bruce's lap as he tells them the story in his warm, deep voice. Smiling, laughing.

 (-And then I told her, honey, I have the perfect gift for you!)

 More laughing. More smiling. Suddenly she feels a wave of anger. She feels like grabbing his wide shoulders and shaking him. She feels like she has to explain to him, to make him understand that there are no children that will laugh at his stories. There will never be any fucking children.

 

So far he hasn't had any occasion to show the socks to her yet. He's still remains optimistic. Determined.

 

She was never as driven as Bruce.

 

She feels the anger leave her body as quickly as it came rushing through. She never went down for dinner. Alfred must be worried. She wonders what she'll do if he tries to come looking for her. What will she say?

 

She absently touches her cheek, and her hand comes back wet. Old tears. She just feels numb now.

 

She toys with the stopper with her big toe. She doesn't want him to see her like this, when he comes back home.

 

 She doesn't want him to see her at all.

 

 Bruce is amazing at everything he has ever tried. Martial arts. Diplomacy. Charm. Investigation. Back-breaking manual labour. Running a large company. Flirting. Making love. Lighting up the room just by entering it.

 

 She can't even give him a child.

 

Selina sinks down into the tub. The water is icy around her. She curls up on her side. The cold water is entering her ear and part of her mouth. The cold is invading every part of her.

 

~

When Bruce comes home that night, he finds Selina lying in the tub, staring up at the bathroom ceiling, surrounded by pregnancy tests.

They've been trying for a year now.

Chapter 2: Painful Confessions

Notes:

Introducing...

(Drum roll)

 

Haaaarley Quinn!

WOOOOOOOO

Bruce comes home late. He's tired, because he's had to listen to some asshole investor talk his ears off for the last three hours about how he feels that his percentage of holdings in the company are inadequate. The manor greets him with a terse silence. He walks down the hallway, his footsteps echoing through the entire house. He pulls off his coat, and rolls up the sleeves of his shirt, while glancing down at the watch on his wrist. The same one Selina tried to nick all those years ago. It feels like yesterday.

He frowns. It's well past dinnertime. Around now, Selina likes sitting out on their porch. She jokes that the cold night air reminds her of the great times she had when she was homeless, living in the streets of Gotham. The good old days, she'll smile sardonically.

He walks past the door connecting the main wing to the porch, and into the kitchen. Alfred is at the sink, quietly washing the dishes. Dishes for one.

"Didn't Selina come down for dinner?"

Alfred starts. He turns around and lets out a breath. “Oh, master Bruce. It's only you."

Bruce tilts his head, amused. "You don't look so happy to see me, Alfred. Where's Selina?"

Alfred rubs his temple. He's done with the dishes. Avoiding Bruce’s eyes, he moves on to dusting the countertops. “She never came down for dinner, I'm afraid."
He looks like he’s about to say something, but stops.

Bruce sets his briefcase down. Something feels wrong. "Where's Selina?" He asks again.
Alfred looks him straight in the eye now. "I do not wish to intrude, but perhaps you should go check on her." He says quietly, his hand trembling only slightly as he lifts up the dusting rag.

Bruce walks up to their room, fast. She's not there either. Panic courses through him as he flings open the bathroom door, searching.

Bruce finds Selina in the bathtub. She's holding onto a white tube? A pregnancy kit, he realises.

Oh.

He clenches his jaw and takes a step back. It feels like someone has just punched his gut.
He looks around and sees that the little tubes are everywhere. There must be at least ten. It reminds him of those clichéd romantic comedies where the girl discovers that she's pregnant after a one night stand; except right now, it's the other way round. It feels like a sick joke. She's naked and has a vacant look on her face. His heart almost stops from worry.

"Selina?"

She looks at him, but it feels like she's looking through him. She has this faraway look in her eyes. He makes his way to the tub, manoeuvring himself through the strewn piles of clothes and pregnancy tests. He rests his fingertips on her cheek.

"Are you okay?" That was a stupid question to ask. Of course she isn't. He mentally curses himself.

At this some of the fog clears up in her eyes she realises he's there.

"Bruce?"

"I'm here." God, he loves her so much.

Her face just crumples, and her shoulders start to shake. She's crying and he's just standing there like a chump because he doesn’t know what to do. His adrenaline spikes. He has to do something.

He gets into the bathtub with her, clothes and all. He puts a heavy arm around her. Holds her close.

"What happened?"

She starts to wipe away at her cheek, trying to ebb the flow of tears, and curls up against him.

"Doctor Hernandez called. I have... it’s called endometriosis. I can't get pregnant. I-I couldn’t believe it at first.” She says, gesturing helplessly towards the pregnancy kits.

Bruce says nothing. He had guessed more or less. There's an ache in his chest that wasn’t there before. He presses a kiss to her hair.

"Do you feel like getting up?"

The water is too cold for his liking, and it's too close to winter. She nods briefly and climbs out of the tub. He follows, wrapping a towel around her shoulders. He takes off his wet clothes, and she starts picking up the discarded pregnancy tests. She looks down at one of the tubes, and a teardrop lands next to it on the marble tile. She rubs it away with the pad of her thumb.

It's killing him.

He slowly pulls her up into his arms, and carries her to the bed. They lie next to each other, him in his boxers and her in the towel. Her green eyes stare up at him.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't say that." He shakes his head violently.

She says nothing. She doesn't believe him.

His breath hitches. In what? Anger? Grief for something he never had? "Don't say that ever again. You have nothing to be sorry about." He pulls her closer to trace circles on her shoulder.

"You have nothing to be sorry about." He repeats again, quieter this time. He continues to rub soothing circles, moving down slowly to her back. Eventually her eyes close and her breathing starts to even out.

Bruce stares blindly at the wall behind her. He should throw away the socks in his drawer, but he can’t quite bring himself to do it.

~

In the morning, when Selina wakes up, the space next to her on the bed is empty.

She rubs away the sleep from her eyes and stretches. Her mom used to say she stretched like a cat. She used to laugh at her own joke, and kiss Selina's forehead. Selina remembers a warm kitchen, and a smile from her mom when she got back from school, the sunlight spilling into their small house, but that was before mom got bad. She remembers less about her dad, her real dad. Not the man he became after her mother died. She remembers that in full detail.

Bruce is back. He's flushed, so he's probably come back from his morning run. He joins her in the bed again, uncharacteristic of him, since he never lies around in bed once he wakes up. She never did ask him how he was taking the news.
He raises a hand to her cheek, and traces her face. His eyes are oddly bright. He opens his mouth to speak, and shuts it again. This is a side of Bruce she's never seen before. Nervous. Hesitant.

Finally he speaks up.

"Maybe we should consider adoption."

 

~

The door opens, revealing a chipper looking Harleen Quinzel. Her blonde hair has been drawn back into one ponytail, a change from her usual quirky two. She greets Selina with a grin.

"Kitty! Aren't ya supposed to be back at the manor, too busy tryin' to make a baby to see me?" She drawls out.

 

At Selina's expression her grin fades.

Selina is doing the one thing she knows how to best. Running from her problems. She told Bruce she needed some time to think about it, and proceeded to get the hell out of the manor.

Bruce was a little disappointed, but mainly understanding. As usual. He's always annoyingly perfect that way.

Harley leans against the doorway, trying to figure her out. “Come on in."

Harley owns a small flat in a rough-ish neighbourhood in old Gotham. The only reason she keeps it is because she gets 24/7 access to the gym below. Harley doesn't just do professional level gymnastics, she fucking flies. She could have gone to the Olympics, but there just wasn't enough money in her family for stuff like that. Besides, Harley Quinn would die before she took a handout from anyone.

When Selina complains that the place she lives in is too shady, she'll just give out her trademark grin and say something like kitty, I can take care of those pervs.
It's true, she once saw Harley knock out a guy with a baseball bat while she was on the phone with her friend, Barbara. They were talking about how best to bedazzle her wheelchair or something like that, Selina admittedly wasn't paying attention because she was too busy feeling bad for the poor fuck who had tried to put the moves on Harley.

But she sees how Harley's hand shakes for a second before she smiles back at any man flirting with her. She sees how she sometimes flinches when Selina touches her.

She remembers that day when Harley just froze like a deer in the headlights. That day that fucking weasel with the green hair had tried to break into her house with a gun.

She and Harley were having a night in with ice cream and a bad horror movies, when someone started to bang at the door. Harley had just rolled her eyes. Gotham got rough at night, especially in this part of town, so both of them had just figured it was some drunk asshole who thought this was the bathroom.

Then they heard him laugh. It wasn't a normal laugh at all, too high pitched and hyena-like.

It was the kind of laugh that belonged to someone who liked hurting people.

Selina had scoffed at herself, and had pushed away her uneasiness. She was being over-dramatic.

But all the colour had drained out of Harley's face.

"Harley, honey! Open the door, baby! Come on, I won't bite. Maybe I will, if that's what you like, sweetcheeks." He let out another high-pitched giggle.

Selina turned to see Harley with her hands covering her ears. She was violently trembling, and kept shaking her head. "This can't be happening. This can't be happening." She curled up on the carpet.

"Don't make me ANGRY baby! Come here and give daddy a kiss, won't ya sweet girl? HA!" The man collapsed into another fit of giggles.

"Oh god oh god oh god" Harley whispered, her eyes wide with fear.

The door slams got louder. What if he broke open the door? Selina knelt down to Harley's level and managed to yell over the slamming and laughing, "I'm going to call the police, okay? And Bruce."
Harley looked her right in the eyes, and clutched at her wrist. "Please hurry. He's not going to stop." She glanced at the corridor towards the doorway. "How did he find me? How the fuck did he find me?!" She was getting hysterical.

"OPEN THE GODDAMNED DOOR YOU FUCKING SLUT! YOU'RE BEING A BAD GIRL, AND YOU KNOW WHAT I DO WHEN YOU'RE BAD DON'T YA HARLS?"

Harley started to cry, muffling her sobs with a fist and wide eyes. Selina's fingers started to shake as she called Bruce.

"Bruce. You need to come to Harley's house now." She couldn't say anymore because she heard an actual gunshot ringing through the small apartment. She was guessing that Bruce heard it through the phone as well, because he gave a low grunt saying he was on the way and hung up.
At the sound of the gunshot, Harley started to scramble away from the door. She looked like she was going to throw up.

Selina dialled 911 and reported the emergency. Freak with green hair shooting down her best friend’s door.
God, she hated Gotham.
She turned to Harley.
“Go get your baseball bat.”

Harley remained firmly on the ground. She had squeezed her eyes shut and was rocking back and forth. She didn't seem to have heard Selina at all.

Fighting the mounting panic, Selina dragged the heavy table till the entrance of the bedroom and propped it against the door. She got a good look at the main door while doing this. She wished she hadn't.

The fucking psycho was half shooting through, and half punching open, the door. Most of it, was in splinters by now. It wouldn't be too long before he managed to get in. She could see him through the cracks, The Shining style. It was the look on his face that scared her the most. He was maniacally laughing. They needed to get out of here.

Suddenly there was a loud thud and a soft whimper. A dark shadow that Selina could see through the cracks in the door. Then silence for a while. Harley looked up from where she was in her foetal position, her tear stained face pale. Selina squinted through the dim light.

The dark shadow was wearing a suit and loafers.

"How are you ladies holding up in there?"

Selina almost sobbed with relief. Bruce Wayne had reached before the fucking police.

Later, when Harley had been given Bruce's suit jacket and the cops had dragged off the laughing man back to whatever cave he had crawled out of, Selina gave Harley a look. A pretty calm one, considering the circumstances.

"Who the fuck was that?"

Harley shivered under Bruce's jacket. “His name's Joseph Kerr. My ex. He must have escaped from the asylum again."
She refused to say anything more.

Normal Tuesday night in Gotham.

Selina clutched her purse so tightly she left nail marks on it.

Bruce narrowed his eyes at a stubbornly silent Harley. “You need to get a dog. A guard dog."
Harley got two.

 

~
They're jumping all over her now, licking her face with their sandpapery tongues. She laughs at their antics, her spirits temporarily lifted. Bud and Lou, Harley's 'attack' dogs are reduced to softies in front of her.

"I still prefer cats." she pretends to sniff disdainfully.

Harley grins again. She's clad in her work-out clothes, so she must have come back from the gym just now. She gets Selina to sit on her sofa and asks softly, "what's wrong?"

Selina tells her. Bud tries to sit on her lap despite weighing like a hundred and twenty pounds.

Harley tilts her head thoughtfully. "Do you want to adopt?"

Selina plays with Bud's ear. He lets out a happy pant. "I don't know. I guess, I always pictured a little version of the both of us running around the house."

Harley studies her hands. She looks nervous. "Selina, I'm going to tell you something that I haven't really talked about to anyone before, other than my therapist."
She continues.
"Do you remember that year I got my job in Arkham Asylum right after I got my doctorate? That year we didn't see each other?" Harley asks, not quite meeting Selina's eyes.
Selina nods.

"That was the year I met Joe. The green haired guy who came to my apartment, remember?"
Selina frowns. She doesn't like the direction of this conversation.

Harley takes a deep breath in."He was one of the patients at the asylum. I was in charge of his therapy sessions, and I-I thought I could help him, I really did. He told me about these terrible things that had happened to him, about his abusive father, and his hard life. Despite it all, he could still laugh; and he could laugh. He insisted that to get better, he needed to get out of the asylum, so I signed his release form even though I wasn't so sure."

She looks at Selina, her eyes bright with tears. "I couldn't say no to him, ever. I was so convinced that he was the love of my life. We started living together in my flat, and he started to…hit me. Slap me, or backhand me, sometimes punch me. I believed that I had egged him on, that it was always my fault. If I just tried harder, maybe he'd love me more. He'd talk down to me and say that I was stupid. So I believed that I was dumb. I started to act like it. He made me something that not proud of."

"He kept taking, so I kept giving and giving and giving. The worst thing is, I'm a psychologist. I should've known that I was in an abusive relationship.
Anyway, long story short, in the end, he beat me up real bad and threw me out onto the doorstep of my own house. So I walked across town barefoot to the nearest free clinic. A week later I admitted myself to a psych ward. Eventually I testified against him in court and he got sent back to the asylum." Her voice cracks. Lou puts his head on her lap.

Selina wraps her up in a hug. "Jesus Christ, Harley, why didn't you tell me this before?" She realises that when it comes down to it, she knows practically nothing about her best friend.

"I was ashamed, I guess. I didn't want you to think of me like that. Just a victim. " She moves away from Selina, and gives her a watery smile. "Still, I got better enough to start working again, and to do something I love, and then I reconnected with you, so it's fine now. Besides, now I'm an ass-kicking psychologist and gymnast, so fuck Joe Kerr."
Selina smiles and ruffles Harley's hair.
There is a comfortable silence.

"What am I supposed to do now?" Selina asks her quietly.

Harley smiles sadly, and shrugs her shoulders. "As your friend, honestly? I don't know. I'm the last person that you should ask for relationship advice from. I let a horrible man treat me like shit for a year because I thought he actually loved me. I’m a mess." She splays her hands out, as if direct Selina to the state of her apartment, and her bemused albeit slobbering dogs.

"But I know Bruce is a good man, and good men are hard to come by. So as a professional psychologist, I'm asking you to keep open the lines of communication in your relationship. Talk to the man, kitty. Don't run away to your best friend’s house like it's a teen movie."

Selina stretches, thinking of a little boy running around the manor. Like Bruce must have once. "You're right. I'll talk to Bruce.”

Harley breaks into a wide grin. The quiet moment is over. "Alright! Now you're talkin'. Since I gave ya this whole inspiring speech shtick, could you name your child Harley?" Her eyes twinkle with joy.

Selina laughs. “You know what Harley, maybe I will." She stops short and remembers what she had been thinking of.
"There's this lady, one of Bruce's colleagues, she's a member of the Gotham botanical gardens research department. Her name's Pamela Isley. Ring a bell?"

Harley snorts. “Don’t you dare set me up with a nerd, kitty."

Selina smiles wide, her eyes twinkling. “ Oh, she's the biggest nerd you'll ever meet. You'll love her."

~

Selina gets home late. She finds Bruce sitting in his study finishing up some paperwork. He hears her coming, her footsteps managing to make themselves heard over the blood rushing through his ears. The muscles in his back shift minutely. He's radiating tension in waves. He turns toward her slowly, so that his heart doesn't burst.

"Hi."

"Hi."

"So did y-"

"Yeah uh, yeah. Let's try this adoption thing. It'll be nice. I mean any child you raise will be turn out great. You're Bruce Wayne: upholder of moral integrity and all that. We'll be raising a little Gandhi in no time, and,” she breaks off with a small, nervous laugh. “we can even stop by a church and pick up a small baby left in a basket with a no-"
She stops rambling because he lifts her off the ground in a hug and spins her around. He’s smiling into the crook of her neck.

Yeah, she thinks as her eyes crinkle in a surprised laugh. It'll be nice.

Notes:

Thank you so much for your kudos and comments from last chapter! As always, I will forever love getting comments, because Con Crit is much appreciated.

Tell me what you think!

Chapter 3: Orphanage

Notes:

I'll probably be posting bi-weekly from now on wards.

Enjoy ;)

Bruce feels something on his chest. It's pressing down with an unimaginable pressure. It won't go. He paws at his chest, trying to release the dead weight from him, but it's not enough. It's going to crush him, crush his skull in-

He wakes up with a gasp.

Meow

He groans. Of course it's the goddamned cat. It looks at him balefully from its predetermined position on top of his chest, and after a brief inspection of Bruce, begins to lick its paws. Bruce lets out an breath. He's even become fond of the cat, he thinks as he trails his fingers absentmindedly down its back. Atleast he's not dreaming anymore.

He can hear the shower running, so Selina must have woken up before him. He rubs away the remaining sleep from his eyes, and makes his way to the shower to join her.

He finds her dancing under the shower spray, her skin is pink and soft looking from the hot water.

She's so beautiful that his chest hurts sometimes.

She's butchering one of those new 'top 40' songs. He's pretty sure she's got all the lyrics wrong as well.

However, what she lacks in skill, she more than makes up for in enthusiasm, he notes, as she raises a hand dramatically during a particularly high note... or low note, for that matter. He honestly can't tell.

She turns around to find him trying hard not to laugh. He tries to adopt his usual serious expression but it must not have worked because she grins, and reaches the chorus of the song, singing even louder now. By the time she's done, he's given up all pretence and is laughing so hard he's almost crying.

Wow. She's a really terrible singer.

She turns off the shower and sashays up to him, and playfully raises an eyebrow. Still naked.

"Is there a problem, Wayne?"

"Yeah, there is. Your cat sings better than you do, Kyle. “He manages to wheeze out. He's still laughing, it's a deep, warm sound, which fills the bathroom. It's nice to hear him laugh. He doesn't do it enough.

Not that she's ever going to tell him that. So she puts her hands on her hips, frowning in mock anger.

"Well, unfortunately I have a very specific skill set." She whispers into his ear coquettishly.

The seduction tactic is working, but not well enough. Every time he thinks he's done laughing, he remembers that high (low?) note and starts again.

"I'm deducing that singing is not part of it." He snickers.

She rolls her eyes, but is smiling a little despite herself. She pulls his shaking shoulders down so that his face is level with hers.

(She has to do something quick, or she'll never live it down. If Alfred finds out, she'll never be invited to the opera again.)

Because she's Selina, and anything she does naked would turn him on,

(Even if it's horrible singing)

It's a pleasant surprise when she cuts him off mid laugh by smashing her lips against his.

They laugh and stumble and kiss all the way back to the bed.

(He does stop laughing eventually)

~

Afterwards, she looks up at Bruce, who's playing with her still-wet hair absentmindedly. She swallows. They're both thinking of the same thing.

They haven't really talked about it since last night. She breaks the ice first, trying to go for a casual tone.

"So how does this whole adoption thing work? Can we just waltz into an orphanage and pick up a baby?"

He presses a kiss to her shoulder, still damp from the shower and gets off the bed. It's a Monday, and he needs to get to work. "I assume there'll be a lot more paperwork involved. Or, we could reach out to a social worker who could give us details about the previous family or foster homes before the actual adoption process takes place."

Selina thinks it over, shifting over to the warm patch Bruce had been occupying on the bed. He's like a furnace, honestly.

"No. Let's do it by ourselves. No social workers." She doesn't really like them much. Bad memories. They had said that her parents were irresponsible and incapable of raising two small girls. They were probably right, but it still makes her angry. Besides, she doesn't want to know where her baby has come from. Just that it's hers.

Bruce comes back towards the bed. He leans down next to it and looks at her, his blue eyes calm. Like the ocean. She watches a stray drop of water, that probably came from her hair, travel down the nape of his neck.

"Okay. No social workers." He knows about all of it. she told him one rainy night, about her parents. They had been dating for two months, and Selina was letting herself have fun.

They sat on the counter in the kitchen, (Alfred had half a heart attack when he found out) because they were both more than a little tipsy. Bruce had suddenly given her this… fond look, which had stopped whatever inane, drunken conversation they were having.

After two months of fake nonchalance and playing hard to get, she remembers having been so tired of playing the cool girl. She just wanted to be Selina Kyle for once. So she told him everything.

He had looked at her through the darkness, (they had kept all the lights off because they didn't want to wake Alfred) his eyes still slightly unfocused. He leaned in, and said he loved her. She looked up, startled.

(No one has ever loved me before)

Bruce leans in.

He says quietly. "I love you."

He waits.

"I love you too."

Just because it's hard for her to say, doesn't mean that it's not true, she thinks, as he kisses her forehead.

~

Pamela Isley is pissed. She has had the worst morning. She strides into the reception area, her heels clicking sharply on the pristine marble floor.

She woke up with a call from her mother, so basically her whole day is ruined.

Her mother is the kind of woman that talks about you behind your back if you're a single, working woman in your late twenties to early thirties.

(It's childbearing age, Pam!)

The horror when she found out that her own daughter wanted to be one of them.

So she calls everyday demanding that Pam comes back to Seattle right away and find herself a nice boy. Preferably rich. The Isleys are a well-known family after all. It certainly won't add to their image if Pamela wants to run away with just about any man. Or God forbid, a girl.

Back when Pamela was still young and stupid, and still held her heart in her hands, she had come up to her mother before homecoming.

She tucked a stray curl behind her ear with shaking hands.

(I am not afraid I am not afraid)

"Mother? I got asked to the dance."

Her mother smiled at her, surprised. Pamela didn't usually date.

"Really? Who asked? I knew you could get a boy to ask you to the dance. If you spent some more time around people and away from those books of yours, why, you'll get the whole lot of them to follow you around. You're beautiful, Pammy. Just like me. Was it Jeff Henderson's boy? What's his name? Tommy?"

(I am not afraid I am not afraid)

"Actually it was Cathy Reed. From advanced chemistry?"

Her mother stares at her. Her long acrylic nails are digging into the sofa upholstery.

(I am so afraid)

"I uh, said yes. She's a nice girl, mother. Her parents own a packaging company- Reed Consolidated?"

Her mother slaps her. Pamela stares straight ahead. She can't see her mother's face, because her eyes are swimming with tears.

Her mother screams about how the devil has entered her daughter, and how she's a disappointment to the family. She must only like boys and they will never talk about this again. She goes on for a while. Pamela keeps staring straight ahead.

She doesn't go to homecoming. Cathy goes with Susie Jennings instead. Pamela understands.

So she tries to not pick up the phone. She really does, but she wants her mother to know that she's doing well.

And she is doing well. Over the last six months she's been given three raises, despite the fact that she's new.

She still thinks that maybe, just maybe, the next time her mother picks up, she'll be proud of Pam. Stupid.

So today's phone call went the same. Her mother yelled at her for going to Gotham.

(it's a city for whores, Pammy. Come back to Seattle. Get married. We're a respectable family.)

It exhausts her, this daily ordeal. It takes all her strength to say no.

(No mother, I won't come back. No mother, I don't want to get married. No mother, I only like girls. No. No no no.)

She promises herself for the thousandth time that she won't pick up the phone tomorrow.

Pamela doesn't want a husband. She wants the Gotham botanical society research grant. Which is precisely why she's at the reception area of the main office of Wayne enterprises.

A young thing in a cheap suit is sitting at the counter. Looks barely twenty. At Pamela's arrival, she looks terrified. It must be her first day. The girl stands up for no apparent reason, and in the process reveals her sizable baby bump. She almost rolls her eyes at Bruce. He's so nice it's annoying. She's sure that the girl is some Gotham sob story with six brothers and an alcoholic mother, and a baby on-the-way to feed, that Wayne enterprises has taken under its wing.

It's a miracle this company is still afloat.

"I need you to let me into Mr. Wayne's office. Right now." Pam's tone is clipped. Bruce has a lot of explaining to do.

The girl stares at her, her mouth half open. Pamela suppresses the urge to shut it for her.

"I-i I'm sorry, but we don't allow walk-ins ma'am. Maybe you could schedule an appointment?" The girl is still standing for some reason.

Pamela rolls her eyes. She leans over the counter and punches in a number into the intercom. The girl's eyes are as wide as dinner plates now.

"You must be new, so you probably don't know that this is how things normally work around here." Pamela shoots her a matter-of-fact look.

The girl opens her mouth, and then shuts it again. The intercom connects to Bruce's office.

"Bruce Wayne speaking."

"Bruce, you asshat. Are you always this pretentious? Where's your usual PA?" She motions for the girl to sit. Pregnant women shouldn't receive shocks, and right now she feels like she's giving her a big one.

Bruce chuckles over the phone line. "Hey Pam. Good morning to you too."

Pam ignores his jab. "Bruce. I need to talk to you."

Bruce sighs, the sound rattling over the intercom. "Look, is this about the grant? Because I told you, I'm only an honorary member of the boa-"

Pamela has already hung up, and is on her way to Bruce's office.

When she reaches, the door is already open with an air of resigned submission. Bruce looks at her from his desk. When he sees her expression, he raises his eyes to the heavens as if ask for assistance.

Pam glares at him. She doesn't try to smack him just yet because he's her best friend's boyfriend. She is tempted to, however.

"You know I should get the grant! After all my hard work and my frankly amazing contributions to the department, they gave it to that- that pig Sanchez! He doesn't deserve it!" Pam gesticulates wildly.

Bruce rubs his temples. It's a habit he's picked up from Alfred. "You actually like Sanchez, and you don't like anyone." He points out. Quite uselessly, judging from how red her face has gotten.

"That's not the goddamned point, Wayne! I'm still better than he is! I need that grant more than he does. He's doing some absolute bull about meristematic tissue for Christ's sake! Who cares about meristematic tissue?" She has started to pace around his office.

Bruce holds up his hands in a complacent gesture. "Listen, I don't even know what that is. I'm sure what ever you're doing is better. Honestly Pam, how many times do I have to tell you that I'm an honorary member of the board ? I don't get a say, and frankly, I am nowhere qualified enough to choose the candidates for the sponsorship."

Pamela stops pacing. "Yeah, but it's the Martha Wayne foundation. Of course you fucking get a say. Just convince the board to pick me, Bruce. I know they aren't picking me just because I'm a woman." She's gives a grumpy sort of huff.

Bruce cocks an eyebrow. "Are you asking me to use my money and influence to manipulate board members into subverting money into different hands?"

Halle-fucking-lujah. Finally he gets it. "Yes, Bruce!" She cries out happily. "Why can't you be like every other businessman in Gotham? Just a smidge corrupt."

Bruce rolls his eyes.

Pamela sighs and sits down. She knows she's being unreasonable.

"Is there absolutely no chance at all? Nothing I can do?" She holds up her hands helplessly.

Bruce feels a little bad. Just a bit; even though she does smack him upside the head a lot. She does deserve the grant. He sighs and relents.

"Go speak to Woodrue. He's the one in charge, not me. I'm just an honorary mem-"

"Honorary member. Got it. Will do."

Pamela is almost out of the door before he remembers.

"Pam, wait."

She looks back at him from the door.

"Selina and I are adopting. We uh, decided to stop waiting for it to happen and-" He cuts himself off, and clears his throat uncomfortably. Selina is much better at this stuff than he is.

She looks at him for a moment, and smiles.

"I'm glad. After a year, it's about time."

She comes back in and pats his shoulder awkwardly. They're both a little emotionally stunted. Still, he's smiling like an idiot now, so it goes unnoticed by him.

She just hopes that they make better parents than hers did.

~

Alfred swaddles Selina in yet another scarf. After she told him about her inability to conceive, he's become slightly overprotective. Still, there's no way she's telling him that. Who else would go with her to the art galleries, then? Not Bruce, certainly. The man has his perks, but he doesn't get art at all. He once looked at a Degas, and the most he said was that he was hungry and wanted a chilli dog.

A chilli dog.

Alfred tries to make her put on a pair of earmuffs (earmuffs. In October!), but she dodges and also manages to take a cookie from the plate on the counter. Nice.

Alfred gives her a chastising look. "Those are for the nuns, Miss Kyle."

Selina speaks with her mouth full of one of them. "Aren't nuns supposed to stay away from temptation? This is just practice for 'em." She grins, her eyes full of mirth.

Before Alfred can reply Bruce walks in. He has somehow managed to escape the indomitable clothing hurricane that is Alfred, and is clad in only a black shirt and slacks.

The world is an unfair place.

He grabs a cookie from the tray and takes out a good chunk of it in one bite. "What did I miss?" He looks back and forth between the both of them.

Alfred shoots both of them a withering glare. "The biscuits are for the nuns, master Bruce."

"Oh" says Bruce, taking another bite, not looking apologetic at all. "Sorry."

Selina gets Bruce out of the kitchen before Alfred tries to kill them both.

As she walks towards the car, she's getting decidedly more nervous. The orphanage they are going to is run by the catholic church of Gotham. Neither of them were raised to be religious, but this is place has a minimal paperwork requirement. No social workers.

As they are getting in the car, Alfred runs out to give them the cookies, now wrapped in some kind of fancy paper. None of them say much, but Alfred's eyes are suspiciously bright. Bruce hugs him.

Selina stands to a side. This is their moment. She doesn't want to intrude.

Bruce clears his throat gruffly and nods a goodbye to Alfred. They get in the car.

Alfred fades into the distance as they start driving. Inside the car, there is a nervous silence. Through the window, Selina can see decorations for Halloween being put up in different neighbourhoods.

Selina finally speaks up. Bruce won't do it, because she's seen him open and close his mouth to say something atleast five times in her periphery.

"What if no one likes us? I mean, none of the kids?" She's still looking out the window, attempting an off-hand tone. Forced nonchalance is a tough habit to break.

Bruce's hand clenches tighter on the steering wheel. "Someone will. Someone has to." He doesn't sound so sure himself.

They pull up in the parking lot of the children's home. She likes that phrase better. 'Orphanage' sounds too Oliver Twist. Bruce pulls her closer as they walk up to the entrance, so that his arm is around her shoulders. Someone will like them.

They are ushered inside by a nun who accepts the cookies with an embarrassed thank you. The nuns are much younger than she thought; they're not matronly pillars of self righteousness, like in The Sound of Music. She had watched that movie with Maggie once, when they were kids. Maggie had wanted to be a nun.

The nun leads them towards the sitting room. On the way they pass a stairwell, with a number of small boys huddled around an older one. He appears to be telling them a story animatedly, stopping at intervals to perform a somersault with easy grace; much to the awe of the smaller children.

"- and then I told big Joe that his eagle was dead, and he bursted into tears!" He exclaims with a wide grin, his hands on his hips. He has a mop of unruly black hair, and laughing blue eyes. The group of boys burst out laughing, their grubby hands on their knees, paying rapt attention to the boy's anecdotes.

The nun gives the boy a fond look. “Grayson, it's 'burst' into tears, not 'bursted'."
Grayson smiles wider on seeing her. "Okay, sister Agnes. Can I go out to play now? I'll wear my jacket and my gloves and my scarf and everything I promise I promise" He says it all in one breath, while dancing from one foot to another. The boy can't seem to keep still.

Smiling, sister Agnes concedes. He excitedly leads the group of boys out to the small garden.

He's definitely not going to wear his jacket.

Bruce cranes his neck to see him go.

"He looks a little big to be here. How old is he?"

Sister Agnes sighs. "Twelve. His parents died in an accident a week back. As soon as they finish filing the paper work, he'll be sent to St. Vincent's. He's been placed here in the meantime." She chuckles, leading them down the corridor, "The boy's been here three days, and he's already made friends with the entirety of the orphanage. By that, I mean everyone. Even mother superior!" Sister Agnes gives them a secretive look.

"And mother superior, isn't really so friendly." she whispers, her eyes wide with excitement, like she just gave out state secrets.

She's so young. Just like Maggie was. Selina's heart twinges.

They are led into a separate wing upstairs.

Bruce and Selina have come here for the younger children, and they had babies in mind. Babies wouldn't remember their older families. Wayne manor would be the only home they would know. Bruce and Selina would be their only parents.

However, as they are shown a multitude of smiling, laughing and crying babies, Selina's mind keeps going back to the boy on the stairwell. Grayson. Was that his name?

She turns toward Bruce, and can see that though he's smiling and talking softly, he's not really paying attention to the little girl in his arms. He keeps looking out of the window towards the garden, where the boy is playing. He appears to be trying to build some kind of fort with only autumn leaves. He's going to be so terribly muddy when he gets back in. She can just imagine it.

Alfred's fond chastising, and Bruce's lips quirking upwards when he sees the mud somehow managed to get in his hair. Selina on finding the mud tracking all through the manor floor, would drag him to the shower, his weak complaints silenced by the promise of hot chocolate, after. Then they'd sit around the fire, and wrap a blanket around him, because it's October and too cold for him to go out without a jacket and Bruce would tell him about the time when-

Selina blinks.

When did that happen? She feels a little hot and embarrassed, imagining a life with a child she's never even spoken to. But she catches Bruce looking out of the window, and something about the look in his eyes tell her that he's a goner too.

When they tell sister Agnes they want to meet him, she sighs dreamily.

(It's going to be like it is in the movies! She tells them. The perfect family.)

Notes:

Tell me what you think.

If the end of the chapter seems too abrupt, it's probably because i made the last minute decision of cutting it shorter. it just reads better that way.

As always, i love getting reviews.

Chapter 4: Dick

Summary:

Dick doesn't want new parents.

Dick puts his hand into the muddy leaves with a satisfying squelch.

 

There's nothing better than gooey mud for cementing leaf forts. Leaf forts. So he may have just made that up five minutes ago, but it's not like there's any snow for snow forts. So he's improvising. Which has made him slightly dirty. Slightly.

His mom would probably shout their trailer down if she saw the state she was in. Then she'd force him to take a shower. Eww. Showers are gross. But sometimes she flicked soap suds at him, and give him a soap beard and they'd laugh together in the small portable shower stall of the circus.
There's a burning sensation in his eyes now. He'd take a million showers to see his mom again.

He sniffles, and wipes his eyes with the back of his muddy hand. He doesn't want anyone to see him cry, because only babies cry. And he's no baby.

So he keeps spooning mud into a bigger pile. His dad told him that when he was five, he'd snuck into the pig pen and spent the whole day in the mud with them. Ma was real angry, and worried sick, but when they found Dick she hugged him even though he was covered in mud and everything.

He scrunches his nose up in annoyance. He keeps thinking about his parents when he doesn't mean to, and then a wave of hurt blindsides him. He hates it. How the nuns look at him when he's not joking around with them. How the other kids whisper, and give him those pitying looks when he's not laughing.
So he doesn't stop smiling. He laughs until his face hurts. He jokes around to put everyone else at ease. So that they don't feel bad for his sake.
Besides, it's a part of him; the joking, the fun. It's how he deals. When Sheba, the bear in the circus died, he ran around the whole place cracking jokes, almost desperately so that nobody would feel bad. That's what his Ma says anyway. Said.
He scrubs at his eyes angrily. He needs to stop thinking about them.

 

One of the older girls, Freddie runs to him. She's wearing a starched cotton dress. It looks new, and she looks like she hates it. Everyone's supposed to wear their Sunday best when visitors come to the orphanage. Word is, this time it's some Gotham gazillionaire and his girlfriend. He saw them. they look like total douchebags.
They're probably upstairs sighing over some cute baby.

"Dick! Sister Agnes's calling you. You better hurry, she's with the gazillionaire." She pulls at the dress, scowling at it irritably.

He frowns. He doesn't want to go back in and see some rich couple pretend to feel bad about what happened to him. He'd rather stay put. He goes back to digging around the mud. Maybe he'll find a worm. That would be gross, but also pretty darn cool.

Freddie gives him a pointed look. She pulls him up by his collar and attempts at dusting him off.
"Go wash up before you see them. They've probably never seen dirt in their life. It'll give 'em one helluva shock."

She tips his jaw upwards, examining him."How'd you get that mud on your face, Dick?" She say, exasperated.

Something about the way she says it reminds him so inherently of his own mother he almost bursts into tears. At his expression, her face softens.
She ruffles his (muddy) hair, and says softly, "This might be your way out. Take it."

He doesn't quite know what that means, but he hurries up to the bathroom anyway, because Freddie can be pretty scary when she wants to.

Bruce Wayne and Selina Kyle.

 That's how they introduce themselves. They're both a little uncomfortable, and reach out stiffly for handshakes with small smiles. They're nervous. Not married. It strikes him vaguely as odd, but he's too busy looking at Bruce's watch to notice.
It looks like it costs as much as his entire trailer did. Huh.

Sister Agnes has left the room so that they can talk.

A thick silence clogs up the room.

Dick is very pointedly staring at his shoes, and jumps a little when the lady- Selina, clears her throat and speaks.
"Uh, Grayson? We were thinking-"

"My name is Dick."
Every time someone says Grayson, he thinks of how everyone back at the circus called his dad Grayson. He doesn't want to think of his dad. Not now, when this other
man,

(who is nowhere close to his father)

with his stupid expensive suit and cologne, that could probably buy out the entire Circus without thinking about it, is clearly avoiding his eyes.

Selina fidgets. "Okay… Dick. We're wondering if you would like to live with us. I mean- we'd love to get to know you first, and if you give us the chance, I think we could get a long really well. If you want, I mean." She finishes weakly. Bruce remains silent.

It's usually hard to make Dick angry. His mom says he's a very sociable young boy. Said. Said.

"I don't want new parents."
Dick thinks it's best to be blunt. That way no feelings are hurt, and he can go back to the garden, where no one can see him cry.

Selina blinks, not quite sure what to say. Bruce looks up at him, for the first time. He has blue eyes. They look like his dad's. He hates it.

Dick turns to leave. No one could possibly match up to his parents, and now they're gone. Sister Agnes will be disappointed, but she'll still slip him one of those cookies he saw her holding. And he'll just go back to smiling till his face hurts.

"Who was it? Who held you when your parents died?" A quiet voice asks, even as he turns his back to leave.
He goes stiff.

It's the man, Bruce. He's slowly walking towards him.

"I don't remember." He admits, in a small voice.
It's true. He doesn't remember anything from that day, except for his parents falling. In his dreams they keep falling, until he wakes up covered in sweat and crying quietly.
But they never fell before. Not ever. That's why there were never any safety nets.
The flying Graysons were infallible until they weren't.

Bruce kneels down in front of him, still managing to look as though he's somehow towering over Dick.

"I do. The first person to pick me up was detective Jim Gordon of the GCPD. He hugged me, and got me away from the bodies of my parents, in front of whom I'd been kneeling for about three hours. He's the commissioner now, and we meet for lunch every Sunday." He pauses, and exhales shakily. Dick stares up at him. What is he trying to say?

"Then Alfred picked me up. He did it so many times when I needed it, and he still does it once in a while. And now there's Selina, and she helps me get up all the time." Bruce puts one hand on Dick's shoulder.
His face is dead serious.
"I think, if you'd just let me-" Bruce stops, and looks away for a minute. This is hard for him, Dick realises.

Bruce looks at him again, and his eyes are shining.
"And Dick? Now it's my turn to pick someone up."

~

They drive back home, in silence. Selina is in the seat next to his. She's quiet. She has been, ever since he talked about his parents. He never talks about it.

"Who's Alfred?" A small voice asks from the backseat.

Both of them chuckle, and the tension in the car momentarily eases.
The voice is slightly muffled by a large suitcase that's on Dick's lap. Bruce thinks the suitcase is a little excessive, considering that Dick is only going to be in the manor for a trial period for a week, but he's not going to mention that. He's not going to say anything. He's lucky Dick even agreed.

When Dick turned to go, Bruce's stomach turned. He couldn't leave. Bruce had to do something, even though he couldn't meet Dick's eyes.

(He looks so much like a boy he once knew, who knelt in front of his parents graves for half a day, crying his eyes out; before his butler made him return to his manor. Looking at him had physically hurt.)

So now he's here. A twelve year old boy is sitting in the backseat of his car. And Bruce is scared. What if it all goes wrong? They live in an old manor, with greying walls, away from the city. From people. Is this really the best environment for a young boy who seems to love company? One that just lost his parents? What if he hates t-

"Alfred is our butler. He makes the best cookies from here to Central City. I'm sure he'll have a batch ready when we reach." Selina says, and smiles at Dick, while putting her hand reassuringly over Bruce's free one. Nothing will go wrong.

"Oh. Were they the same ones Sister Agnes was holding?" Dick tries to look indifferent, pretending to look out of the window casually, but fails miserably, speaking too fast, and looking visibly excited.
That kid is thrilled at the thought of cookies. When was the last time Bruce was this happy about anything?

He supposes it was when Selina finally agreed to move in, (even though it was with her goddamned cat), and maybe that time when Alfred called him son by mistake.

And now.

"The one and the same." It's Bruce who answers this time. Selina's right. Nothing will go wrong. He takes the next exit from the highway, and acknowledges Selina's questioning look with a rare grin. They are going to make a stop before they reach the manor.

~

Dick tries not to finish his ice cream too quickly. Rich people use like three different types of forks during dinner, (atleast that's what they say, at the circus. Said.) So they must have some kind of ice cream etiquette too. But he sees that Bruce has almost finished his before Selina can even start on hers, so he figures it's okay, and just goes at it.

The lady, Selina is nice too. When Bruce went to file the paperwork (he doesn't know how he got it done so fast. Probably gazillionaire connections) in the orphanage office downstairs, Selina went with him up to his room and helped him pack.

He didn't really want to do it in front of her, because she was really rich and would definitely look disdainfully at everything he owned. He felt defensive all of a sudden, his mom had stitched him most of his clothes, and so what if they were old? He was kind of already prepared to yell at her. He just wanted to be mad at someone.

But she just sat next to him, folding up everything he tossed haphazardly into the small suitcase in a patient way.

Some things she did poke fun at him for, like his extensive Pokémon card collection (he had one limited edition card), and she looked equal parts amused and disgusted when she saw his extra special secret lucky charm; the first baby tooth he'd lost.
But for the most part she just quietly watched him pack his clothes. And when he teared up a little bit while putting his circus costume in his suitcase, she graciously looked away. She did place her hand on his, though.

It's something his mom would do. And all of a sudden Dick finds someone to be mad at. Himself. His parents had been dead a week, and he'd already found himself replacements?

"You aren't my new mom, you know? And Bruce isn't my dad. I already had a family." He had said, fiercely. He was about to launch into a speech about how they will never be his parents; when he saw her face. He'd hurt her. And now he felt like shit.

But Selina recovered, and looked at him square in the face. "I know. No one can replace your parents, kiddo."

Something about the way she said it, made him look at her, really look, for the first time.

She had this look, of bruised vulnerability that he shouldn't have been able to pick up on.
But he has seen his parents fall from a height of a hundred feet; he knows that expression, because he wears it sometimes.

Gotham is not the place for young children with hopes and dreams. It turns them into animals.

And for the first time since he's seen her, he realised that maybe she isn't t a trophy wife, or a gold digger or a rich snob.
There's a little bit of animal in Selina. A wild, hunted look she tries to cover up when she's at the orphanage. When she's talking to the nuns. When she sees Freddie and her sister, at the orphanage, while they wave goodbye to him.

Something she's concealed very well. Something that's almost gone, and only bleeds through the cracks every once in a while.
(Something probably only that man- Bruce, knows about)
And now Dick knows too. But that's okay. There's some animal in him too.

But he has some conditions. His name, Grayson is the only thing he has left that connects him to his parents. He's going to keep it. And there's absolutely no way he's going to call Selina and Bruce mom and dad, he announces, going a little pink.

"You'll have to tell Bruce, but that's a compromise I think we can make." She says, pushing the hair back from his eyes. She keeps touching him, in small ways. Putting her hand over his, rubbing his back. She's probably trying to acclimatise him to her. He finds that he really doesn't mind.

And now they're eating ice cream.

Selina watches in amusement as both boys wolf down large amounts of rocky road in under two minutes. Dick has chocolate on the tip of his nose. She wipes at it with a tissue, despite his embarrassed complaints, while Bruce tries not to smile.

(They make an odd group. A billionaire, a former thief and a circus acrobat walk into a Baskin Robbins. It sounds like the beginning of a particularly bad joke)

~

Alfred greets them with the leftover cookies. If he's surprised when he sees a preteen instead of a baby, he doesn't let on.
But his lips quirk upwards when he sees Dick take three cookies at once with a loud, "Thank you, Alfred-the-butler"

Alfred bends down, to Dick's level and says, "You're very much welcome, but call me Alfred-the-butler again, and I shall have to make you clean all the silverware. A task I did not hesitate to delegate to master Bruce in his childhood days."

Dick is overjoyed, obviously. He's never seen silverware before and demands a tour of the kitchens immediately.

(He adds in a please after his demand, once Alfred gives him a stern look. Now he knows who the real boss of Wayne Manor is.)

But Selina insists that he have lunch before he explores. All he's had for the past four hours, has been ice cream. And then she realises that she sounds like a Mom. It knocks the wind right out of her lungs.

The first night, is the scariest. She and Bruce stand outside Dick's room almost the entire night, frightened out of their minds and not quite sure what to do. They've been given, over the course of a day, what they have wanted for a year now.

Bruce's hand trembles on the doorframe as he looks at an oblivious, sleeping Dick in awe.

Selina has never loved him more.

 

~

Dick begins to follow Alfred around all the time, looking for things to do. But once he tramples through the begonias, he is indefinitely banned from doing that. He needs exercise constantly, and hates sitting around.
They have enrolled him in a school, but he won't start until next week, till the paperwork is finalised. So he settles for doing acrobatic feats inside the manor.
After an incident involving the unfortunate ruination of Grandmama Wayne's antique emerald encrusted tea set, Dick isn't allowed to do that anymore either.

So one day, when he wakes up early and fixes breakfast for them, despite Alfred's bemusement, Selina is not surprised.
Dick wants something to keep him occupied, and she has a feeling it is going to be a dog.

And Selina is not a dog person.

Dick gives them a loving look from across the table as he pushes forward two plates of badly burnt eggs, and for some reason… nachos.

"I couldn't find the bread!" He justifies, looking at their sceptical faces. He carefully rearranges his face into that loving look once again and begins. Selina takes a deep breath. This is going to be just great.

"Dear Bruce and Selina, my loving foster parents, I would like to take this moment to acknowledge how sincerely grateful I am for your assistance in-"

Bruce narrows his eyes, which stops Dick short.

"What do you want, Dick?" He asks, suspiciously.

"Eat your nachos and eggs, Bruce" Dick says, sugary sweet. Bruce continues to give him a wary look, but spoons some of the burnt eggs into his mouth just the same.

Selina can see that he's trying really, really hard not to gag. She pushes her plate to the side discreetly.

Dick appears not to have noticed. He puts his hands out on the table in front of him, negotiation mode on.
"I have a proposition." He announces cheerily. "You can get me a dog, and I will never break another family heirloom again."

Here they go.

Bruce spoons some more of the eggs into his mouth, this time with a nacho. It appears to taste better with it, because this time he only looks vaguely repulsed, before he says, "That doesn't sound like much of a compromise to me. I am not getting much out of the deal, except a vague promise."

Bruce would have completely looked like the professional negotiator he is, if he hadn't been sitting in his boxers and sleep-rumpled hair, across a twelve year old boy, while adding some salt to his nachos-and-eggs.

Dick falters momentarily, but his face lights up again.

"I could sign a cataract!" He cries out, excited.

"Contract."

"Yeah! That."

"Sorry champ. Minors can't sign contracts." Bruce says. He looks like he's enjoying this too much. Dick gives him the most woeful look she's ever seen.

Selina sighs, and sends a mental apology to her cat for doing this. Someone has to give in, eventually.

"Bruce, let the boy have his dog." He does need a companion. And why not? It's not like they don't have enough space.

Dick looks at her like she's God.

 

So they get a dog. They drive ten miles out of Gotham, to a breeder, to pick up a great Dane puppy. Once Bruce was convinced, he said that they had to get the biggest dog possible. He said it would remind him of his childhood dog Mortimer or Monty or something, that was a mastiff.
He's making up the dog. She's sure of it. Dick would have been just as happy with a smaller dog, but Bruce is doing this to annoy her on purpose.
He smiles and denies it, but she's looked through the photo albums. There is no Monty.

Selina slowly sinks into her car seat, as Dick excitedly relays to her how he going to feed his great Dane, and walk him like at least ten times a day, and play fetch with him, and brush him, and…

Selina groans. Her cat is going to hate her.

Bruce smirks, seeing her expression. He starts telling Dick an intricately crafted story about that time when Monty (or was it Snoopy?) ran through the mansion with Thomas Wayne's tax returns.
He's going to pick up the biggest puppy possible, just to spite her. Once he's in, he's all in.

She is going to regret this.

~

The puppy smells a little, and slobbers all over her, and seems to be growing even faster than Dick, which hardly seems to be possible.
But Dick runs around the whole day with him in the lawn, and she can hear his adorable peals of laughter and the puppy's squeaky barks till twilight, when Bruce attempts to get them to come in for dinner.

She's sitting across the counter from Alfred, when Bruce goes out to do it; There is a brief silence.

Then the peals of laughter and squeaky barks are joined by a man's deeper laughter, and the sound of running feet.

Alfred raises an eyebrow, but says nothing. Selina smiles.

(They come in well after dinnertime, with muddy feet and boyish grins.

Atleast two of them are panting happily, and it's not the damn dog, Selina notes fondly)

~

Over the course of a few weeks, Dick runs around the entire manor, exploring storerooms and pantries and spare bedrooms that they haven't opened for years. He even finds a cellar they'd completely forgotten about.

He excitedly exclaims that he's going to occupy the bedroom that's the highest up, the one in the north wing. It has a large skylight and Dick sits there for fifteen minutes, (which must be like a year for him) just letting the sunlight wash over him.

Selina stays at the doorway. Bruce and she have been keeping all the spare rooms locked. She hasn't been in the north wing for a year, and had completely forgotten about this room.

The manor has always been quiet, and dark.
(They both preferred the dark, right?)

And now it is filled with laughter and somersaults, and pieces of broken emerald tea sets, and chewed up tax returns, and a running boy and his dog.

So she watches Dick giggle as Bruce picks him up in one strong sweep, and pretends to throw him out of the skylight.
She watches Bruce, squinting in the warm sunlight and laughing at Dick as he half-heartedly struggles to get out of Bruce's iron grip.

She watches them, and she realises that maybe it's not just Bruce doing all the picking up.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Notes:

I hope no one minds that I put Titus in so early, even though he's supposed to be Damian's dog?

Also,

An actual part of the first draft I wrote:

"Who was it? Who held you when your parents died?" A quiet voice asks, even as he turns his back to leave.
Dick stiffens.

 

That's right. Dick stiffens. When I read that I laughed so hard I woke my dog up.
That being said, I will dedicate the next chapter to whoever makes the best dick joke in the comments section. ; )

Chapter 5: Nightmares and T.V.

Notes:

I'm dedicating this to chapter to Neveria for a making an especially good dick joke.

Enjoy!

Selina walks in with a bag of heavy groceries. She puts it on the Formica counter. The laminate is cheap, and it is peeling off at the edges. The weather is terrible. It's too hot, and the air feels sticky and wet.

She goes to pour herself a glass of cool water from the tap, and finds that it is leaking again. It seems as though the entire house is coming apart, these days.

She can hear the staticky noise of their old TV from inside.

Her dad's still at work. He's been taking on double shifts at work lately, because her mother has stopped going to work. Maggie is in her junior ballet class. Selina has to go pick her up in half an hour.

Selina wipes the dampness off of her forehead and heads inside, walking past the trash that litters the linoleum floor. There are several empty beer bottles and pizza boxes lying around, discarded.

She sees her mother's diamond earring on the floor, near an empty microwave dinner pack.
It's the new one, that dad gave mom for valentine's day. Five carats. Cost a shit ton, atleast for their family. Her mom must have dropped it and forgotten about it.

 

She thinks of her mother, dazed and vacant-faced, with only one dangling earring and clad in her unwashed overalls, smelling strongly of beer, coming to pick her up from school. Almost blackout drunk in front of all her friend's parents.

Her face reddens with shame. Thank God Selina came home by herself today. Maggie on the other hand, was probably not so lucky. She makes a mental note to start picking Maggie up herself.

She picks up the earring, and walks to where her mother is watching TV. Her mom sits on their couch, which is now greying with age. She's staring at it with empty eyes, occasionally frowning, as if to try and remember something.

There are no beer cans nearby. They must have run out. Selina will be asked to go pick some up later.

 

She goes and sits next to her mother, and puts a hand on her shoulder. Asks if she's okay today.
Her mother looks at her for a second, trying to place her. Trying to recognise who her daughter is.
Then her mother shrugs her shoulders tiredly, and goes back to watching TV.

It's just the same program, looping over and over again. Some documentary about leopards. Selina knows because it was on when she left for school, six hours ago.

Selina gets up to stretch, and her tired muscles groan in protest. Someone has to make dinner as well. Hopefully she can get it done before she goes to pick Maggie up.She surveys the mess around her, and decides to start with that.

There are several half finished glasses of water, and crumpled up receipts lying around,on the carpet near the couch.           Her mother probably tried to write down their budget for the month, and gave up half way.

 

She does that kind of thing a lot.

 

The TV documentary had some kind ofvoiceover as a leopard runs through the sub-African savannah. The tinny voice crackles with the static.

 

(Leopards are renowned for their agility. They run up to 30 miles an hour and can leap 6 metres horizontally and 3 metres vertically. They are also very strong swimmers.)

 

Selina wants to leave. She wants to run like the leopard, out of here. Out of Gotham. She'll never look back.

Not at this old apartment, not at her drunk mother, her overworked father. Not at Maggie? Ten year-old, laughing Maggie?

 

Then she'll have left Maggie alone, with her parents. And could she leave her Mother like this? Her father? When they need her the most?

She picks up the receipts, and goes to switch off the TV.

Her mother reacts violently, shaking her head.
"Don't switch off the TV, Selina. If you do it I'll scream." She says, with wide eyes and a quavery voice.
She looks older than she really is, wrinkles appearing prematurely on her pale skin.

 

Selina switches off the TV.

 

Her mother starts to scream.

 

She switches the TV back on.

 

Her mom goes back to watching the leopard documentary she's been watching for six hours.

She calls her dad. What else can she do?

"She's been sitting in front of the screen for half the day. I don't think she's eaten or showered or anything." Her voice sounds numb to her. In control of the situation. Used to it.

Her dad sighs. The sound rattles through their plastic landline. He's worried, of course. He doesn't do much but worry these days.

School fees, ballet classes, food bills, phone bills, double shifts, beer money.

"I'll come home early. Try to feed her something."

Selina feels like crying. She's only fifteen. Her friends are probably doing their homework, or having cherry sodas with their boyfriends.

She's going have to feed her own mother, as she looks impassively at the TV.

"Okay. Bye." She hangs up.

Maggie's class is getting over in five minutes. There will be no time to make dinner. She goes to get out a microwavable dinner from the kitchen cupboard. It's placed a little high, she can't quite reach-

 

A hand brings it down for her. Her mother stands next to her, in the kitchen. A spasm of something flashes across her face. She puts her hands on Selina's cheeks.

Her fingertips softly brush the hair out of her eyes. They're so warm.

 

"Go pick Maggie up. I'll make dinner. I'm so sorry." Her mother's eyes are sad. She's so beautiful.

Selina tries so hard not to cry, but she's just a kid. She's so relieved that her mother is back, if only for a few hours. She sobs quietly into her mother's shirt, wetting it, while her mother brushes her hair back from her forehead.

Her mother's coos gently. Everything will be okay now.

She goes to pick Maggie up with a smile on her face. When she comes back with her giggling ten year old sister, her father has reached home too. He's obviously surprised when he sees his wife cooking, but says nothing.

They have a family dinner. They laugh and throw food at each other. It's the best of Selina's life.

 

 

Her mother slits her wrists in the bathtub three days later. Pronounced dead on arrival.

~

Selina wakes up with a quiet sound. It takes a moment for her to be able regulate her breathing. Her heartbeat skitters nervously.

She's lying in bed, next to Bruce. It's the middle of the night. She exhales shakily.
Sometimes it feels like this is the dream. Bruce, Dick, the manor, all of it.

Bruce stirs in his sleep and wakes up. He squints at her blearily through the dark, still half asleep. Assessing her. He sees her too wide eyes, and the jerky intakes of breath. And he knows. He has nightmares too.

He pulls her towards him, and she puts her head on his chest.
Selina's heartbeat is still pounding; the blood rushing through her ears is all she can hear. Bruce looks down at her, blinking his sleep away.

"S'okay. Just a dream." He whispers, his voice husky with sleep, into the dark.

She nods into his solid chest. "I know."

That doesn't always make it better.

They stay like that until her breathing slows down, and her heart rate comes back to normal. Bruce's breathing eventually deepens, until he's asleep.

Selina can't quite bring herself to do the same. She still feels a little unsettled. She'd forgotten all about that last happy day.

(Maggie throwing a tomato slice at her, and her dad laughing in the background. Her mother smiling into her soup.)

The last supper.

 

She gets up quietly, easing herself out of Bruce's grip. He doesn't notice.

She pads out of the room, and walks into the corridor. The air is chilly and sharp with the cold. There will be snow in a few weeks. She pulls her cardigan closer to her, and walks towards Dick's room.

Dick insists on staying in the skylight room in the north wing, so she has to make a considerable trek to get there.

She is at the top of the stairs when she hears the first sob. It is a raw and abrupt sound, like it has been pulled out of someone's mouth, without their permission. Poor boy.

She opens the door slowly, and walks in.
Dick is sitting, hunched over at the edge of the bed, facing away from the door. His shoulders are shaking and he looks so small.

Another sob rips out of his throat. He sniffles, and rubs his eyes with a clenched fist when he sees her.

She goes to touch his shoulder, but he flinches. She draws back slowly, a little suprised, and looks at him. He's looking down at his bare feet, and trying to blink away the tears. His mop of black hair is in disarray. He's covered in a cold sweat.

"I'm not crying." He says suddenly, still pointedly looking at his bare feet. " I just have a cold."

Selina sighs and sits next to him on the bed. She cards her fingers through his hair. He leans towards her, craving the comfort.

His room is too far from their's. She doesn't like it. She'll have to try to get him to stay in the room next to their's, at least until he's older.

They stay that way for a while.

 

"Let's go watch some TV." Dick whispers into the hug, looking up hopefully.

Selina's blood runs cold. She freezes, and her pulse starts skitter again.

TV. Leopard documentaries. The tinny voice from the television. Her mother's blank stare.

 (Leopards tend to have two or three cubs per gestation. Mothers refrain from wandering their territories after giving birth until their young are capable to come with them.)

Selina makes herself calm down, pushing away the image.

She is in the manor. She is safe here. She is sitting with her son on her lap.

Dick is looking up at her curiously. She takes a deep breath, tracing his eyebrows with her fingertips. "Let's go."

They walk down the stairs. More like Selina walks, and Dick runs and cartwheels and rolls, and God knows what. He smiles again, but it is looking a little forced. The last dredges of the dreams are still with them.

She takes his hand, and leads him to the living room.

 

They sit in front of the TV, watching a kid's TV show, in the middle of the night. Dick recounts the plot of it animatedly so that Selina can catch up.

"Aren't you a little too old for power rangers, young man?" She asks, eyes full of mirth.

Dick looks at her very seriously. "No one is too old for power rangers, Selina."

Selina bites her tongue and nods. Of course.

After a while of watching mindless explosions and bad guys shooting at good guys, Dick turns to her. His voice is quiet and small.

"I didn't have a nightmare."

Selina looks at him, ready to reassure him. She knows what it's like to feel weak and to hate it.

"I know honey, you just had a cold."

Dick shakes his head. She isn't understanding.

 "You know I didn't have a cold. I was crying. It's just that I wasn't crying because I had a nightmare. It was because I had a dream. The best dream ever."

Selina looks at him, confused.

"In the dream, it was my birthday. And my parents -they brought me some cake. Chocolate. Then they all sang for me and we ate the cake. Everyone from the circus was there too, and so were you. And Bruce. And Freddie and sister Agnes. And everyone was happy and I was the happiest."

Dick looks at the power rangers on the screen. They have defeated the evil villain. They're celebrating.

"And then I woke up. And I was so alone and cold. My parents are gone, and the circus left. I know I shouldn't be sad anymore, because I have a new family now. So yeah. Actually, just forget it, it's dumb." He mumbles, suddenly embarrassed again.

"It's not dumb."

Dick smiles ruefully. "Yeah, it is."

"I had a happy dream too. About my family. It made me sad. It made me sad, even though I'm surrounded by people I love so much. Of course I still miss them. So it's not dumb." She says, firmly.

 

Dick leans into her side. "Okay." He whispers.

 

They watch another episode of power rangers. After a while, Dick yawns. Selina looks at him.
"Do you want to sleep in our bed tonight?"
He nods, going pink.

She gets of the sofa and pulls him up. He protests sleepily, but he's too big for her to carry. Bruce could probably do it.

They walk hand-in-hand to the bedroom.
Selina gets back to her side of the bed, and Dick, after some brief hesitation, gets in bed and burrows into Bruce's blanket.
Bruce sleepily puts an arm around Dick.

 

And so they fall asleep.

 

 

 

Notes:

So this was a slightly shorter chapter.
Harlivy up next!

 

As always, leave a comment. I love Con Crit.

Chapter 6: Party Animals

Summary:

There's a video floating around somewhere on the internet, of Bruce Wayne is swinging around on a pole. Blame Harley.

Harley swings her left leg over the bar in one smooth, practiced motion. She extends it until it is fully straight, her toe arching away from her. Then she lifts her weight off the bar, balancing it on the flat of her palms.

"So this is the part where you have to be careful. Now I don't want to keep my hips too close to the bar, because then I won't be able to complete my swing completely." She demonstrates, lifting up off the bar a few more inches.

Dick watches closely as Harley launches into a stride circle, swinging fast round the bar using her own momentum, her shoulder muscles taut.

Harley's ponytail flips back into place as she comes back up gracefully, returning to her original position, with her leg arched ahead.
Dick looks suitably impressed. Good.

"I've been doin' that since I was ten years old." She grins at him, jumping off the bar lithely.

Dick groans, his shoulders slumping slightly. "Back at the circus, I only had to be good at trapeze and like, some basic tumbling. They never let me do cool leg-twisty stuff like this."

Harley shrugs. It's a girlish gesture, sweet and energetic. "This is different from circus acrobatics. It's the bare basics of artistic gymnastics. The stuff ya see in the Olympics."

Dick's eyes widen at that, and he quickly scrambles up the bar, impressed. He swings his leg over the bar easily enough, and balances his weight on his hands. But his circle is less confident, and he is unable to swing back up.

Harley struggles not to laugh at the picture of Dick suspended upside down, clutching at the bar for dear life, and looking more than a little bewildered.

She turns her face to the side, hiding her smile, as she helps him up. "Next time, remember to keep your legs straight. Don't bend your knees or you won't be able to get back up."
Dick tries again. It's slightly better this time, but he's still a bit clumsy. He does it a few more times, still lacking the grace that Harley's did.

If Harley does it with the fluidity of motion of a gentle, undulating wave, Dick's is more like a… puddle splash.

"Lift your legs more. Keep your core away from the pole." Harley instructs, pulling off her hair tie. Her hair falls in loose waves, glinting in the sunlight coming through the open window of the empty gym.

Dick flops off the bar tiredly. "What's a core?" He asks, exasperated. He wipes the sweat off his furrowed brow, and takes a gulp from Harley's water bottle. His tired expression immediately becomes a disgusted one.

"Is there kale in this? " He scrunches up his nose, pointing to the bottle.

"Among other things." She laughs, throwing him a bottle of water. "Smoothies can be a very good source of protein, if you know what to put in it."
Dick catches it, and shakes his head disdainfully.
"You're such a health nut. You and Bruce, both. Gym rats." He takes a sip of the water, and sighs with relief.

Harley narrows her eyes. She doesn't think she should be compared to Bruce. That man does more push-ups than Schwarzenegger ever did. She's pretty sure that for cardio, Bruce just lifts the weights faster.

"Get back on the bar, Dick. Give me fifteen more and then you can make as much fun of your father as you like. I'll even help." She says, with a broad grin.

Three months ago, he wouldn't have let her say that. Call Bruce his father. Now, he doesn't mention it. Just goes back to the bars, groaning dramatically.
Maybe he didn't notice. Maybe he did.

 

Dick is on number eleven, his palms sweaty and slipping of the bar, his muscles aching, when someone enters the gym.

It's Bruce. Speak of the devil. He's probably come straight from work to pick Dick up for the party.
He's wearing a three piece suit and coat, all black. It's the month of May. It's boiling hot in Gotham, and he's dressed like he's going to a funeral in Siberia.

Dick swings off the bar again, despite Harley's half-hearted protests. He shoots off toward the direction of the door, trying to tackle Bruce, legs and arms shooting out wildly. Bruce intercepts him mid-air, and swings him around the room in a wide arc, while Dick laughs breathlessly.
"Uncle! I said it. I said uncle! Put me down Bruce!" He yells out, between giggles.

Bruce pretends not to hear him.
"Hello Harley."

"Hey Bruce."

"Coming to the party?"

"Of course I am. How's handling a multinational company
going for you?"

"All good. Taxes can be a bit ...ter enemy." He trails off. Alfred won't let Bruce swear in front of Dick.

Dick swats at Bruce's arm, still laughing. "Lemme down, you big bully!"

Bruce puts Dick down, and dusts him off. He takes off his coat and folds it over his arm. Somehow, his own suit is still looking immaculate. His face is expressionless save for the small upward tilt of his mouth.
"Why do you smell like a locker room?"

Dick grins, his hair in his eyes. "Harley's teaching me artistic gymnastics. Olympic level shit, I mean- uh, stuff." He amends, at the sight of Bruce's raised eyebrow.

Harley cuts in. "Dick, actually it's pretty far from Olympic lev-"

"Anyway," Dick continues, looking at Bruce, his eyes glinting with a challenge. "I bet you can't do a stride circle."

Bruce rolls up his shirtsleeves.

Harley takes out her phone. Of course she's going to take a video.

 

~

Dick's eyes are still wide fifteen minutes later, when they're sitting in the car, on the way back home.

"But, Bruce! Where did you even learn- but you never told me! Can you do other things too? What about-What about like a double backflip?"

Bruce grunts in reply; his eyes are on the road. Dick's eyes widen even more. Bruce is so cool.

 

They walk up the manor steps, while Dick badgers Bruce with more questions.

"Does Selina know that you're secretly a ninja warrior?"
"Sure."

"Where did you learn this, Bruce? When?! I need to know."
"What you need right now, is a shower."

"Can you do a quadruple somersault on a tightrope?"
"I doubt that's physically possible, Dick."
"So you can't then?"
"I didn't say that." Bruce smiles.

Dicks looks like he's forgotten how to breathe.

Selina walks up to them. She has a notepad in her hand. "He's just messing around with you, Dick. He can't actually do that."

"Oh." Dick feels slightly relieved. Slightly.

Bruce leans over Selina's shoulder, to look at the notepad.
"What's this?" He asks.

Selina sighs, looking slightly embarrassed. "It's a list of things to do that Alfred gave me for the party. There's about fifty things I still have left, and I've been working on it all day."

Wayne Manor will be hosting the Feed Gotham charity fundraiser this evening. Dick is supposed to wear a tux. Gross.
But there's also some kind of auction, and he might get to hold the gavel, so there's that.

Bruce frowns at the list. "Alfred wants us to plant new flowers just for the party?"

"He said that the Chrysanthemums are looking droopy. He ordered fifty new Bugleweed saplings yesterday. They're sitting in the shed." Selina's eyes are desperate. "Bruce. You need to help. I cannot finish this on time."

"I think we'll have to forgo the flower-planting part."

Selina exhales, relieved. "You'll have to break it to Alfred. I wish to remain the favourite."

That can't be right. Dick knows that he is clearly the favourite.
Apparently Bruce thinks so too, because he snorts.

Selina tilts her head, appraisingly. "You think he likes you more?"

Bruce shrugs his shoulders, very casual. "Oh I don't know. It's just that he raised me, that's all."

"Exactly, Bruce. Haven't you seem the grey in his hair? You were such a nuisance growing up. He can barely stand you."

Dick watches as they pretend to fight with each other, all bark and no bite, drawing closer and closer together, until Bruce's hands are on Selina's hips, and Selina's whispering something into his ear cloyingly. They're doing that thing. Flirting. Dick scrunches up his nose in disgust. Grownups are so weird.

Dick clears his throat pointedly, and they draw apart, but not before Bruce sneak in a kiss. Selina grins.
Dick goes pink, and looks away, at the wall of the manor. There's a vine on it. Vines remind him,

"Is Pam coming?" He asks, still not quite looking at them.

"I think so. She said she would, but sometimes she can't make it. She's working on something new for the department, and her boss is kind of an ass… ertively not-nice guy." Bruce, who still has one arm around her waist, cocks an eyebrow at her. It seems as though Alfred has given Selina the same rules to work with.

Yeah whatever. Like Dick doesn't say ass. Well, not in the manor anyway. Definitely not in front of Alfred.

"Who is it? Woodrue? Is he bothering her again?"

At Selina's nod, Bruce's eyes darken. He turns to leave, hands already reaching into his pocket to take out his phone.

"I'm going to go make some calls."

Selina pulls him back. "Don't you dare. Pam would murder you. She'll handle it. She's talked to HR."

Bruce's brow is still furrowed. "I still don't like it."

"You don't have to like it. It's her choice. She's dealing with it."

"I'm just worried, Selina. She's my friend too."

Selina's eyes soften a little. "Yeah. I know." She wraps her slim arm around his neck.

Dick sees as sudden flash of his own parents, their arms around each other as they wash the dishes together in the trailer.

Selina leans back on Bruce's shoulder. He kisses her forehead.

And then the memory is gone.

Right. Bruce and Selina are starting to look a little comfy again, so he's gonna get outta here before it gets weird.

"Alright. I'm gonna go take a shower and get into my tux." He announces loudly, and half runs into the manor.

He's pretty sure they'll be canoodling outside for a bit. Yuck.

~

Pamela walks into the party, and is met with a thundering cacophony. Loud people, with drinks that make them even louder. Pamela doesn't like loud.
She'd prefer to listen to one of her old, scratchy records and drink Chardonnay from a mug while sitting around in her underwear, but she promised Selina that she'd be there.

Besides, no way she's going to pass up the chance to watch Dick in full form today, making rounds around the hall in his tiny tux.

She walks through the crowds, mostly just bumping into people and apologising. Most of them are too drunk to notice. That's good. The more drunk they are, the more money they'll give. She finds Alfred; he's instructing one of the hired waiters how to correctly serve the canapés. She picks one up. The last thing she ate was breakfast; a cheese and ham sandwich on her way to work.

"Miss Isley. You look absolutely stunning." Alfred's eyes crinkle when he smiles.

Pam smiles back. The waiter has left, but not before she snagged one more canapé. "Thanks Alfred. One of the more conservative dresses my mother sent me. I decided that I might as well make use of it. How are the chrysanthemums?"

Alfred sighs. "I'm afraid the chrysanthemums do not have the same lustre that they did in the winter months. I ordered some new saplings for master Bruce and miss Kyle to plant... which they unfortunately deigned to do." He purses his lips.

Pamela pats his shoulder sympathetically. "I'm sorry to hear that. They always skimp on lawn work."

Alfred nods resignedly, obviously deeply disappointed.

Pamela considers staying by Alfred's side the entire night. It will make the event considerably easier to get through, and she won't have to talk to anyone.

"You absolutely shall not stay with me through the course of this fundraiser, miss Isley." Alfred says sternly.

Pam groans, which makes her think immediately of her mother. It's conditioned in her, like something out of a Pavlovian experiment.

(A proper young lady does not groan, Pamela. And don't sit with your legs spread out like a slut.)

Alfred leads her to where Selina is standing, with another woman. Selina is wearing a black cocktail dress, her hair styled artfully, and looks like she's come straight out of a noir film.

The other woman is wearing something less… tasteful. It's short and both red and black, and she should be looking garish and tacky, but manages to look oddly nice on her. Her eyes are a beautiful sky blue, and her hair is open, falling in curls down her slender back. There's something about her that suggests a certain naivete. Her too-wide lipstick smile, her freckled shoulders, all make her look like a girl straight out of college. She doesn't look like she belongs here, not with the rich, drunk bags of money that have come for the free booze tonight.

Selina pulls her into their conversation, making introductions.
Harley Quinn, meet Pam Isley. Pam, this is Harley. Yes, that's her real name she says, when Pam raises an eyebrow. Harley doesn't take offence. She laughs, even.
Pamela doesn't know why, but it makes her feel incredibly light.

Selina leaves soon after, under the pretence of having to mingle. Harley grins, and tucks a stray strand of gold behind her ear, with delicate fingers. Pamela has the sudden urge to touch them. She clenches her fist behind her back.

"I think she's tryin' to set us up." Harley says, hardly managing to make herself heard over the jazz band.

She fidgets with her fingers, playing with the hem of her dress.

Pamela could just lean over right now, and hold on to her hand,and slide her thumb up to that part of her wrist, where her skin is thinner, more sensitive. Where her pulse will throb under Pam's fingertips.

She grabs a glass of wine from the waiter to keep her wayward hands occupied.

"I don't think I mind." Pam says, already feeling buzzed and heady. She hasn't had a single drop from her glass yet.

Harley smiles at her, for the first time. Not a grin, or a smirk. A real smile. It starts out slowly and then spreads all over her face. Even her eyes are smiling.
Pam sucks in a deep breath. Fuck.
She puts the wine glass back down. One form of intoxication is enough.

"I don't think I mind either." Harley says.

 

They manage to escape the party, away from the noisy talking and drinking and jazz. They convince each other that Selina will never know. That they'll be back in five minutes. It's just a quick breather.

Giggling and panting hard, the two half walk, and half run out of the manor, onto the grounds, barefoot, with their heels in their hands. It's such a rush, doing something they aren't supposed to be. Her mother would kill her, she thinks, gleefully.
Once they're out of the house, and in the lawn, Harley rests her hands on her knees, panting from the adrenaline high. She pushes the flyaway hair out of her eyes.

"Now what?" She asks. Her eyes are shining with excitement.

Pamela takes her to the greenhouse.

The greenhouse is on the far side of the Wayne property. It was built by Thomas Wayne for his wife, so that she could plant tulips all year long. Then they got murdered.
Since then, it's been upgraded over the years to become more research-based. The greenhouse is actually quite tiny. The one that her department has is much larger. Still, Pam comes here sometimes, to conduct research in her own time.

She opens the door quietly, and they sneak in with exaggerated cautiousness. Giggling and shushing each other. Pam turns the thermostat on, and they move the lighting panels and the ventilation units out of the way.
They lie down in the grass, in the darkness.
The air in the greenhouse has already started to heat up, and become thick with humidity and tension. Pamela's hair starts to curl in the damp air.
There is a pregnant pause.

Harley points at the sky through the glass dome.

"When I was small, I'd pretend that all the stars were in a big beauty pageant together, and I'd pick a new winner every night. She's the winner tonight." She's whispers.

Pamela looks at the direction in which her hand is pointing. A dim star shines faintly through the smoke and dust if Gotham. It's the only star she can see. She really hates global warming.

"Doesn't look like much of a winner to me." Pam whispers back.

"She won cause she pulled through. She's the only one left standing." Harley turns to Pam, her eyes quiet, but intense, in the moonlight. "The only one I can see."

They lie still for a moment, still looking at each other. There's a kind of trance over Pam, promising dangerous adventures and thrills. She doesn't usually go for danger and thrills. 

The greenhouse is silent. It's hot. Harley's eyes are hypnotic.

The moment is so perfect, that Pam wants to punch herself when she ruins it by opening her mouth.

"I got someone fired today. At work."

(Pamela you're ruining the mood! Have I taught you nothing? Never talk about work in front of your date. Your work is not the first prior-

"Who?" Harley is idly playing with the grass. Pam puts her fingertips over hers.

"His name is Jason Woodrue. My direct superior. He was harassing me. I went to HR. They gave him a warning, but he did it again. So they fired him. And now I have his job."

Harley has clenched her fist around the grass, tearing it off from the roots. But her voice is oddly calm.
"Harassing how?"

"Nothing too bad. Verbally, I guess."

"It's still pretty bad."

Pamela thinks of how her mother would scream and scream and scream. How she would call Pam an abomination. How her father was of no help at all.

"Yeah. It's pretty bad."

They stop talking again. They're going to have grass stains on their dresses.

Harley picks up a fallen flower from the soil, and tucks it behind Pam's ear.
"There ya go. This should be your everyday look. Green dress that makes you look smokin' and flowers in your hair." Harley smiles. She's flirting with her, but her blue eyes are sad.

Pam shouldn't have talked about Woodrue to her. It looks like it brought up some memories. Memories, that Pamela will ask about one day, but not today.

She wants to see that wide lipstick smile again, because she's become an addict, and needs her fix. So she starts talking about the beauty pageant for the stars, pretending to be the commentator. Pam actually does have a sense of humour, when she tries. And Harley starts cracking up again.

"… and Marybeth Parker of the Andromeda galaxy, is doing quite poorly in the swimsuit modelling round, on account of the fact that she is in fact, a large fiery ball of gas, millions of light years away from the earth."

Harley is nearly doubled up in laughter, with tears in her eyes. Something about it, stirs up a thing in Pam. An urgent, blind need. Something she has never felt before.

So she rolls over, and kisses her.

She hears only a sharp intake of breath from Harley, and then she goes pliant, not quite responding, but not pulling back either. And suddenly she can't think. It is so much better than she thought it would be. There is a God. She has discovered a whole new religion.

Harley pulls back, and suddenly Pamela is embarrassed. She's practically straddling her.

She rolls off her, her lips bruised and swollen, and her face pink. "I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me."

Harley smiles again, and Pamela commits it to memory.

Harley pulls her back, and touches Pam's mouth with her fingertips. "I do."

She kisses her again, and it is compressed heaven, smashed between their urgent mouths.

 

 

By the time they get back to the manor, their hair and makeup hastily fixed, Dick has gone missing.

Notes:

Stride circles look very cool when done right. Please do look at one on YouTube or something.

Leave a comment. What did you like? What did you hate?
Your reviews are always special to me.

Chapter 7: Clark Kent: super sleuth

Clark Kent fiddles with the sleeve of his jacket. It is a size small for him, and tight around the shoulders, but he doesn't think anyone will notice. No one really looks around in Gotham. They just keep their heads down and walk home fast.

And it's always somehow dark in Gotham. Even in the middle of the day, it somehow manages to look grey and foreboding. He doesn't even know how that's possible. It's so different from Metropolis and Smallville; it unsettles him.

He walks towards the manor, hands in his pockets. He's late; the party seems to be at its halfway point. Perry assigned him a puff piece after he finished writing that article about the violent drug trade in Blüdhaven.
It was either that, or a two day suspension. Clark didn't even try to argue. No way he was going to sit around twiddling his thumbs, waiting for Lois to come back home from Karachi.
Besides, his hands had started to shake a bit, in Blüdhaven.

He's an investigative journalist sure, but he can't be blamed for getting queasy after seeing a drug mule with cold feet get beat up with a broken pipe.

Lois says that he's a farm boy through and through. Clark doesn't have the heart to tell her that farms aren't exactly like that. Everyone and their in Smallville, Kansas is a card carrying Republican with a shotgun.

He pulls his press pass out from his too-tight jacket pocket, and flashes it to the security guy at the gate of the manor. The guard looks at the scuff marks on his shoes disdainfully. 

He can explain the scuffed shoes.
He took a taxi here, and they got lost midway, so he had to walk for about a half a mile before he saw the party lights.

The taxi guy was actually pretty high. Smoking a joint right in front of him and everything. That kind of stuff doesn't happen in Metropolis either.

Clark really hopes he doesn't smell like weed.

 

He's supposed to cover the 'party of the year' and list down all the winners of the auction. Shouldn't be too tough. Not for a man who's interviewed dictators, right?

It's just that Clark Kent has never been too good at parties. As a kid in high school, he never really got invited to any. He was actually pretty scrawny back then, and the growth spurt seemingly came out of nowhere. But he still holds himself like he's that kid. Small and quiet. The kid that got pushed into lockers and apologised to bullies. Scrawny and nerdy. Shy and smart.

He should open up more. That's what Lois says, at any rate.

If Lois is the Cool one in their relationship, then Clark is the Sensitive one.
He still gets a bit weepy when he sees Titanic, and when he holds babies, gets stupidly jealous of Jimmy Olsen when he and Lois work on an article together, the whole nine yards.

When he finally got girls to go out with him, in college (post growth spurt, of course) they always dumped his ass. All the time.
If he had a nickel for every time a girl had broken up with him, while he awkwardly stood there, he'd be Bruce fucking Wayne. One time, he actually tried to thank the girl for her time when she broke up with him. Lois still laughs about it.

Lois. Wow. How did that one even happen? He really hopes she doesn't dump his ass.

 

He took her to Kansas last month, to meet his parents. Things are getting serious. Lois Lane, Pulitzer prize winner and arguably the best investigative journalist of the Daily Planet, blushed like a schoolgirl when his Ma said that they looked cute together.
She was really nervous. He remembers her hissing at him at in front of the door of the farmhouse, frantically asking if Martha liked career women or not. Stop laughing, she had groused, elbowing him before the door opened.
Then she had straightened up and smiled. She had flicked a strand if hair behind her ear, and introduced herself like she would in an interview, all while thrusting upon the older woman a pie she had picked up from a bakery in Metropolis.

"It's lovely to meet you Mrs. Kent. You have a beautiful home. I can see why Clark is so fond of Smallville. I made you some pie."

Clark had seen her practising this speech in the airplane. It was adorable, really.

(Clark! Does your mom like pie. I need some right now. I need pie, Clark. Will pie make her like me Clark?)

Martha Kent blinked at the pie.

Then she smiled wide and pulled Lois into a hug.
"The pricetag is still on at the back of the tin," She had whispered into her ear. Lois went still.
Martha Kent had patted her shoulder consolingly.
"Don't worry, honey. I can't bake for shit either."

"Ma!" Clark had almost squeaked, the tips of his ears turning pink.
Martha smiled, the corners of her eyes crinkling. "Oh hush now, Clark. I'm just trying to make your new girlfriend from the city feel at ease."

Lois had blushed even more than Clark, a bashful smile tipping the corners of her mouth upwards.

"Yeah, Clark. Hush."

 

So that's his girlfriend. She's pretty super. He grins at the memory, while making his way through the small groups of people milling around in the lawn.

Clark is about to go through the open doorway of the manor, into the deep dark depths if this party, when something angry and clad in black, bumps into him.

Selina Kyle glares up at him, crossing her arms.
The first thought that goes through his head is that she looks slightly cold. His fingers itch to hand her his jacket.

The second one, is that he really should be asking her some questions right now. Perry might actually murder him if he knew that he saw Selina Kyle and didn't do anything about it.

The third, and final thought, is that, wait, are her eyes red? Is she actually crying?

Clark stuffs his hands back in his pockets, suddenly uncomfortable. If this was Kansas, or hell, even Metropolis, he'd sit her down and hand her some water, and preferably his jacket. But this is Gotham, and he doesn't know how things work around here, so he settles for a simple question.

"Ma'am, are… you okay?"

Okay. Wow. Bad idea. Some kind of dark cloud comes over her face and with a murderous look in her eyes, she opens her mouth to give him some kind of lecture-

-before she spots his press pass, now clipped neatly onto his shirt pocket.

Ah. She thinks he's going to write about this.

Something flickers in her eyes, and suddenly her face is perfectly expressionless. Even her once teary eyes no longer seem wet. Her voice is perfectly modulated and composed, when she says,

"Yes, perfectly. I am sorry that I bumped into you, Mr.. Kent." She reads his name off of the tag on his shirt.

"Oh." Is all he manages to say, because despite all her best precautions, he did see her practically run out of a mansion, angry and crying. "Are you sure, Miss Kyle?"

Selina fixes him with a cool smile, some of her composure dripping away now. She's getting twitchy; she keeps eyeing the lawn behind him.

"Absolutely, Mr. Kent. Now I really must get somewhere, but don't hesitate to go inside and enjoy the celebrations. We have free bottle service." She leaves him with a wink and a tinkling laugh, striding away on her high heels into the night.

Clark wouldn't normally do this, and hell, he shouldn't be doing it now, but there's something about the worried hitch of her voice, the anxious pulls of her eyes to the road outside the manor, the unnatural tension in her shoulders, that makes him follow Selina outside. It feels a little wrong, like an invasion of her privacy in her own home, but he can sense trouble. And come on, he is an investigative journalist. Trouble would be his middle name if it wasn't already Joseph.

He waits by the door, casually checking his phone until she's at a safe distance. Then he starts to walk in her direction, deftly unclipping his press pass and slipping it into his pocket. The party is almost over; he can hear it winding down- the slamming of the car doors of their fancy Cadillacs and Lamborghinis. Huh. He didn't make it to the party at all. Perry is going to have his hide for this one.

Eventually Selina reaches a more secluded area of the manor grounds. She cups her hands around her mouth and starts to yell. "Dick!"
Clark freezes in shock for a moment,
(Gotham is really weird)
before he remembers. Right. Bruce Wayne and Selina Kyle have adopted a young ward. It was all over every tabloid in America five months ago. A boy, by the name of Richard Grayson. He goes by Dick, for some reason. A boy who Selina Kyle is calling for, which means, that sometime during the course of the party, he must have gone-

"Missing. And I can't find him. I'll call the police if-"

Clark ducks behind a fountain. About ten metres away from him, Selina is speaking to two other women in urgent, hushed voices. One of them, blonde, with grass stains on her knees, pats Selina's shoulder comfortingly. After a brief discussion, they split up, now all searching for him.

Clark straightens up again, and tries to straighten out the furrow that has formed in his brow. He feels like a total shmuck. He thought this might be about Miss Kyle illegally siphoning away funds from her billionaire boyfriend, or some kind of under-the-table black money deal. Not this. Not about a missing child.

He turns to go, when a sudden glint catches his eye. It's dark, and the odd gleam was deep in the bushes, but he's always had good eyes. He walks towards it slowly, his scuffed shoes now muddy as well.
And there, sitting on a grassy patch, with another boy with red hair, is Dick Grayson in the flesh. Their heads are bent over something, and they gasp every once in a while. Dick has mud all over his thousand dollar tux.

Clark looks at them, bemused. They seem to be playing with some kind of game boy. That's where the light was coming from.      It's still called a game boy, right? Their heads are so close to it that their breath is fogging the screen up. The kid with the reddish hair seems to have made some sort of high score, judging from the loud exclamations from both of them. Clark clears his throat loudly. They don't notice.

So Clark goes for a less subtle approach.

"Dick Grayson? Do you know how worried your mother is?"

Dick turns around, his smile widening impossibly more. "Who? Selina? She's not my mom." He turns back to the other kid. "Wally, we better get outta here. Bruce and Selina are gonna FREAK."
Wally shrugs, and puts the game boy back into his pocket. He gets to his feet, giving Clark an appraising look.

"Dude, you're built like a shit brickhouse."

"It's brick shithouse, idiot." Dick interjects.

Wally grins at his partner-in-crime and shoves him into the mud. Dick laughs and shoves him back. Soon they are utterly embroiled in some kind of pushing contest. Clark makes an exasperated noise in the back of his throat. How do parents do this? He pulls them apart by their collars, and gets them out of the shrubbery.

He fixes Dick with a (hopefully) stern look. "How do you know this kid?"
Dick shrugs, still half-heartedly trying to kick Wally's shins. Wally dodges, lightning fast, and sticks his tongue out at Dick.

"He's my friend from school. Bruce let me invite him, cause these boring parties suck ass." He enunciates the last two word particularly gleefully, and Clark has a feeling that he's not allowed to use that kind of language at home.

"Well, you're going to go right on home, and apologise to your paren- uh, to Bruce and Selina."
Dick shrugs, skipping ahead of him.

Wally fixes him with another scrutinising look. "Seriously, I mean, man you're ripped. Have you considered WWE?"

Clark sighs. How did he get involved in this again?

 

He meets Selina about halfway back to the manor. She looks like she's still deciding whether or not to be furious at Dick or hug him. She decides to go with the latter, fixing Clark with a strange look or Dick's shoulder. She's going to deal with him later.
Dick squirms in her embrace, going a bit pink.
"Selina," he hisses, "Wally's here. Be cool."
Selina narrows her eyes at him. "You are in so much trouble, Dick. I don't care if your entire school is here."
She hugs him again. This time Dick is quiet. More or less.
Wally smirks from behind Clark.

Clark stands around awkwardly as Selina calls up a number of people, telling them to stop the search. Every so often, Selina alternates between pacing with her phone pressed to her cheek, glaring at Dick, and giving Clark that strange look again.

Clark should leave. It's getting late, almost ten. His flight is at eleven.

Bruce Wayne reaches first. He strides to where they are, with long, measured steps. He looks tired, but relieved. He takes one looks at Selina, and puts his jacket round her shoulders. Shit. Clark curses himself mentally. He completely forgot to do it himself. Then Bruce looks at Dick.
Everyone quietens. Even Wally shuts up.

Dick looks at Wayne at little angrily, like he's already prepared to defend himself. He also looks a little scared.
Bruce's face is expressionless. He puts a hand on Dick's shoulder.

"You scared Selina. You scared me. You're grounded for the next week."
Dick nods, looking down. The kid doesn't even argue. It's a big change from two minutes ago.

Wayne turns to Wally. "I'm dropping you home. Grab your coat. Let's go."

The air crackles with tension.

Clark turns to go. He doesn't belong here. This is pretty much his cue to leave.

"Wait. Mr Kent?" Selina's voice rings out through the silence.
Clark turns.
"Thank you. Uh, it- you helped a lot." She says, warily. She still remembers that he's a reporter.

"It was no problem, ma'am. And this won't ever make it to the papers." Clark doesn't like to beat around the bush. Selina nods, grateful.

Wayne cocks an eyebrow at that. Clark shows him his press pass as a means of explanation. Bruce tilts his head, considering things.
"Let me help you catch a cab." Wayne says this in a laid back manner, his hands in his pockets, and his eyes light, but Clark has a feeling that this is very much an order and not a request.

They walk down the long driveway together, in silence. The leaves of the trees on either side of the road flutter in the night breeze. Clark is unsure of what to say. What is an appropriate conversation to have with a billionaire who's helping him find a ride?
Wayne doesn't seem to mind the silence. So they keep walking, until Clark just has to say something.
"Mr. Wayne, can I just-"

"Call me Bruce. You did just singlehandedly locate my missing son." Bruce's voice is more easygoing now. Clark has a feeling that Bruce is doing it deliberately to put him at ease.

It's really not working.

"Oh. Um, Bruce can I just say, that uh, maybe go easy on Dick. Kids do this kind of stuff. I- uh have this cousin Kara. When she was younger, oh boy. She was a lot worse than Dick, is what I'm saying."

Clark would really like for the earth to swallow him up right now. Why is he telling Bruce Wayne about his extended family?

Bruce doesn't seem to notice Clark's embarrassment. Or perhaps he pretends not to. He looks back at the manor, with a thoughtful look. 
"I know. I won't actually ground him. I'll make him write a written apology to Selina. My butler, Alfred would make me write those, when I was younger."

Clark thinks about how it must have been, for a young Bruce to live alone at that gargantuan house, all alone, save for a butler. He has never felt so incredibly lucky to have grown up with both his parents, in his sun-dappled Kansas farm.

They reach the end of the drive way, and Clark watches the mostly empty road for a vacant taxi. Bruce stands next to him, eyes sharp on the road.

"There's an event that Wayne enterprises will be hosting in Metropolis town hall on Saturday. Heard of the Livestrong foundation?"

Clark nods. "Sure. It's a cancer non-profit."

"I'd like you to be there. Maybe write a piece on it."

Clark looks at him scrutinisingly. What is he trying to get at?

"That's not up to you. I go where I'm assigned to go by the Daily planet. My immediate supervisor is Perry White. He's the editor-in-chief of the paper. You should speak to him if you want media coverage."

Bruce shakes his head, hailing an empty cab. "I'm not trying to pull rank, Mr. Kent. All I'm trying to say is that I respect your integrity as a journalist. I'd like you to be involved with Wayne enterprises events a lot more, because I have a feeling you're trustworthy. You won't ever write a story without knowing all the facts."

Clark blinks. That's the most he's heard Bruce say this entire evening. He should feel flattered, but he's mostly just glad that Perry won't be able to kill him now that he's managed to bring in some business. But seriously, this is huge.

"Thank you… Bruce. I don't know what to say." Clark gets into the cab.

Bruce nods, shutting the car door with a muted click. "Don't worry about it. If I found your son before you declared a national manhunt for him, I'd expect a lot more in return."

Clark thinks this is a joke, as the cab begins to move. He honestly can't tell.

~

Bruce tiredly walks back to the alley where he parked his car.

It's a long drive from the manor to Wally's house. It's funny, the closer he got to home, the quieter Wally got. As soon as they reached, Wally whispered a hushed bye Bruce and ran up the stairs. Then Bruce was forced to make tedious small talk with his parents, who mostly just complained about their son. Wally's parents rub him the wrong way.
Or maybe it's just Bruce. He finds almost all social interactions slightly grating.

It's almost two in the night, and he just wants to get home to Selina and Dick. He feels… uneasy about what happened with Dick. He thought Dick would at least argue back.
He doesn't want to be scary. Or be the bad cop. He wants to be just like how his own father was. Thomas Wayne.

Suddenly this alleyway feels a lot like another one from another lifetime. Cold gunmetal. His father's bloodied collar. It almost feels claustrophobic. His chest is feeling too tight.

Bruce takes a deep breath and mentally blinks away the pictures. He's just tired. That's all.

 

Then he sees something that actually makes him stop and blink. There's a young boy stealing his car tires. Well.

 

(In hindsight, he probably shouldn't have parked the Bentley in an alley)

 

 

 

Notes:

Sorry for posting late. Was really busy this last week.
Also, I have nothing against Republicans XD

I always appreciate comments. :)

Chapter 8: The Catcher

Summary:

Alfred's anti- swear enforcement pretty much goes to shit.

Jason glares angrily at the man.
The tire wrench slips from his hand, and falls into the gutter below because his hands are trembling too much. Great. Fucking amazing. His primary weapon is gone now. He turns quickly, looking for a way out, but the alley's a dead end. There's only one way out, and that's to go through where the man is standing right now.

"Listen, if you try to call the cops, I'll kill you. I have a knife." His voice is shaky. He hopes the man didn't notice. He can feel the old switchblade in his back pocket. The guy standing in front of him must be at least six feet tall. He's huge. No way this glorified penknife is going to even make a dent in him. But there's no way he's telling him that.

The man cocks his head, looking curiously at Jason. Or, whatever qualifies for curiously, for this guy. He seems to have like, one facial expression. Jason stands up fast, his right hand going to his back pocket warily.

The man steps ahead. Jason flinches back a step. No way he's going to get beat up again. No way. Fuck. Fuck fuck.

"Just fuck off. I'm not looking for trouble. I'll leave, okay?" His hands are sweating.
The man takes another step ahead; his blue eyes glint in the streetlight. He looks like he could throw a mean punch.

"If you hit me, I'll-" Jason cuts himself off, because really, what can he do if this guy decides to backhand him? He's maybe eighty pounds soaking wet, and this guy looks like he's a navy commando or something.

He takes a deep breath.
Okay. Worst case scenario, this guy is going to knock him around a bit, and then take him to the cops. But he's not really worried about that part too much. There's no space left in Gotham juvie anymore. Too many minors with drug problems and assault charges. He's just a petty criminal. His name will get mysteriously lost in the paperwork again. He'll be let out by noon, latest. So Jason squares up, and prepares to get punched. God knows that he's used to it by now. He squeezes his eyes shut, and really hopes the guy won't kick him when he's down. Some sadist assholes actually like doing that.
The man steps up to him, his shoes scraping jaggedly against the pavement. Oh God, here it comes. He raises his hand-

-And places it on Jason's shoulder. Gently. Jason opens his eyes slowly, frowning. What the hell?

The man looks at him through the dark, and Jason could swear he almost looks concerned. His hand is heavy on Jason's shoulder. This man could smash his head in if he wanted to right now. He has an out; the man is no longer blocking the entrance of the alleyway now. He should be running. Except, weirdly enough, Jason's not scared anymore.

The man speaks for the first time, his gravelly voice almost as dark and heavy as the night itself.

"Are you hungry?"

Jason blinks.

~

They're at a McDonald's.
He's eating a Big Mac with extra cheese and two large fries. And Mcnuggets. The last time he ate this much food was at a Thanksgiving meal service at the soup kitchen.

Holy shit, that was almost eight months back.

The man stares at him intently from across from the sticky plastic table. He looks out of place here, in his slacks and dress shirt, even though his sleeves are rolled up. His phone buzzes once in a while, but he quickly pockets it, ignoring the messages.

Jason is pretty sure one of the notifications said 'Dick'. He'd snicker, but he has large amounts of food in his mouth.

The man loosens his tie a bit, and leans back in his chair.

"How were you going to move all four of the tires? They're almost bigger than you are."

Jason finishes up the burger, and moves on to the nuggets. "I would have rolled them back individually. The place where I sleep isn't too far from where you parked."

The man tilts his head a bit, musing. "And where is it? Where do you sleep?"

A beat.
Then Jason shrugs, a little too casually. "You know, wherever I can. Right now, it's under a bridge near the highway."
He looks down at the food, and forces himself to keep chewing. He doesn't want anyone's pity.

The man nods thoughtfully. He doesn't look like he feels particularly sorry. Good.

The sun is beginning to come up again, and they're the only people here. The waitress looks annoyed. She probably wants to go home. Jason grins while putting a fry in his mouth. He doesn't really care. He's going to take his own sweet time. He plans on eating a lot more.

"Would you like to come home with me? I have a son a little older than you. You might get along well."

Jason would spit out his Mcnugget if it wasn't so dear to his heart. Seriously, this guy is messed in the head.

"Okay. Here's the deal, ah- Ben."

"It's Bruce."

"Yeah whatever, man. Listen, it was really cool buying me a burger and all, 'specially after I tried to nick your tires, but I think you need to like, go home and get some sleep or something. Trust me, you're going to regret trying to adopt a homeless thief tomorrow morning." Jason grins ruefully.

Bruce smiles ruefully back. "And you want to go back to sleeping under a bridge?"

"That's only a temporary living condition. By next summer, I'll have made enough money selling tires, to afford a small flat in crime alley. And look who's ruining that plan."

Bruce looks squarely at him. "Fine. Let's make a deal. For every day that you stay with us at Wayne manor, I'll give you a hundred dollars. You can leave anytime you like, but then you won't get the next day's installment."

Jason stares. This guy is a fucking idiot. He almost feels bad for him. "You do know that I'm going to stay there a month, trash your pad, eat your food, and then leave with three thousand bucks, right?"

Bruce grins, for the first time. "We'll see."

Jason shrugs. What's he got to lose?

Bruce stands up suddenly, his chair sliding back on the marble floor. "Good. Then I have a few calls to make." He strides out of the McDonald's, his phone pressed to his ear already.

He leaves behind a fifty dollar tip. You're not even supposed to tip at a McDonald's. Seriously, this guy's an idiot.

~

 

Selina is not amused.

"There is a time and place for this stuff, Bruce! Where were you anyway? I tried calling you six times." She whispers fiercely into the phone, because she doesn't want to wake anyone up in the manor, since it's five in the morning, and her boyfriend is calling her up to ask if he can bring a delinquent child home.

"Selina, he's just a boy. Dick needs a friend. They'll get along well."

"Dick gets along well with everyone! And you're doing that thing again!"

Bruce sighs through the phone. "What thing."

"The thing, Bruce, where you make major life decisions without consulting me first. That thing."

"He's been sleeping under a bridge. He's eating like he's never seen food before."

Selina takes a deep breath in. "Bruce, this is the same boy who actually tried to steal the tires of your car, right? If you're that concerned, take him to a home."

"Selina, he thought I was going to hit him." Bruce is whispering as well.

Jesus Christ. She opens her mouth to reply, when she hears a voice in the background.

"Hey Bruce, could get some more of these fries to-go? Also how do you feel about stopping along the way for a chilli dog?"

Shit. She can almost feel Bruce smile through the phone; he knows that she's going to say yes. Selina pinches the bridge of her nose in frustration. What has her life even become?

The voice continues in the background.
"Oh! I forgot. I also want a Coke."

~

Dick scowls down at his lap. He's sitting on one side of Bruce. Jason is on the other side. Dick can feel Bruce's warning gaze on him.
This is not how it was supposed to go.

 

Before Bruce came back home with this kid, Selina had woken him up.
He remembers being shook awake early in the morning, squinting in the dark. Selina was looking at him, biting her lip like she was unsure of what to say.
"It's a Saturday. I don't have school today, Selina." He had said, rubbing the sleep away from his eyes. He did have gymnastics later, with Harley.

"I know, kiddo. I woke you up because there's something you need to hear before Bruce comes home." Selina was holding his hand. Weird.
"Bruce still isn't back from dropping Wally? Jeez, exactly how bad was the traffic situation?" He had grinned up at her.
She didn't grin back.
She had looked to the side, as if to think of how to frame her words best. "Honey… you're going to get a younger brother."
Dick almost fell out of the bed. "You're pregnant? Finally? Wow Selina! Is Bru-"
She cut him off with a bitter smile. "No. I'm not pregnant. Not yet, anyway."
Dick frowned. Then what was she talking about?

"I meant that Bruce is bringing a boy home. His name is Jason. He's eleven. He's going to stay for a while. Bruce says he's a really good kid."

"So is this like a foster situation?"
"No. I think it will be permanent."

Dick stared at his hands. "Oh."
Jason. Huh.

Selina sighed, moving closer to Dick. "You'll love him, kiddo. And no one can replace you."

Dick looked up at her, nodding. "Yeah, I know." But it was all wrong.

Then he had started to cry at some point, the salt cutting jagged lines across his cheek. It hurt, and he didn't even know why.

Selina wrapped her arms around him. "Oh baby, come here. It's okay. Don't cry."

Dick started to cry in earnest then, big, ugly sobs wracking his thin frame, crawling up into Selina's lap. He was too big. He didn't care. He cried until his sobs quieted down to jerky exhales.
"You can't tell Bruce. Please. I'll be fine. Promise you won't." He had said, shakily.

Selina had sighed, rubbing his back gently. Her eyes were sad. she nodded into his hair. Don't be sad, baby.

She had wiped his face with the bottom of her T-shirt, and give him a cookie. It was dumb, and he was thirteen now, but it still made him feel better.
She had framed his face with her fingertips, and given him a kiss on his forehead. "Sweetheart, I have to go tell Alfred. Will you go shower?"

He had nodded. When he came out of the bathroom, they had already reached.

 

So he's sitting on one side of the couch now, while Jason is on the other. No one is talking. Bruce looks confused. He probably thought that everyone would get along hunky dory. Typical of him.

Selina decides bravely to make the first attempt.

"So... Bruce told me that you liked school?"

Jason shrugs, kicking idly at the coffee table. "Sure. I liked Math and PE."
He laughs suddenly, making Dick flinch. "I also liked lunch period. The lunch lady would give me extra pudding. That was before I had to drop out, anyway."

Dick hates pudding.

Selina fixes him Jason curious look. "Tell me, did you go to Riverside elementary over at Old Gotham? Near Crime Alley? With lunch lady Allison who-

"- always gave extra chocolate pudding!" Jason finishes off, laughing. He looks at Selina, amazed. "You went to school in Crime Alley? But you're rich!"

Selina is smiling too now, excited. "I wasn't. Not earlier. Is Mr. Gaffigan still around? The American history teacher with the stuffed dog?"

Jason nods quickly, grinning wide. "He has a stuffed parakeet now too."

Selina snorts, rolling her eyes.

They both talk and smile at each other for a while longer, recounting memories. Bruce looks reassured again.

Dick looks away. He never went to public school. The circus moved around too much. His parents home schooled him, teaching him math with examples of elephants and clowns. He only knows about lunch ladies, from movies that he's seen. And now he's lost Selina to the dark side as well.

No one seems to register his unhappiness anymore. Bruce is smiling at Jason. Selina is talking to Jason. Even Titus is curled up under his feet. It's all about Jason. Jason Jason Jason.

He gets to his feet quickly, slipping out from under Bruce's arm. He wants to leave. The conversation comes to an unsteady halt.

"Dick?" Selina's smile is fading somewhat.

"I have homework." He lies. Than he turns around awkwardly, and leaves.

Once he's outside the room, he breaks into a run. He feels sick to his stomach, and his eyes are stinging again. His feet pound hard against the carpeted halls. He trips on his own feet, and gets back up again. He runs downstairs, as he scrubs at his eyes.

He knows the manor well enough now that he can go anywhere with his eyes closed. He made Bruce try it once, and he bumped his head on a wall, laughing. You know I can't do it as well as you can.

Bruce. Why would you just bring some stupid kid home?
He runs harder.

He finds himself in the kitchen, with its yellow tiles and soft light. He comes here sometimes, to watch Alfred bake pecan pie, or prepare some mulligatawny soup, its rich, sharp smell hitting Dick's nose immediately.
Sometimes Selina sits here, leisurely leaning back on a counter, arguing good naturedly about art history with Alfred. Modern art vs. Conservative art forms. Fernando Amorsolo. Victorio Edades. Neo-impressionism and Post-war Modernist styles.
Bruce comes here once in a while, pretending to do paperwork while listening to Selina and Alfred talk. Dick sits at the table and does his homework. They pass their evenings this way. A family.

And now, Dick is not so sure. He sniffles near the doorway, panting hard from the exertion. He can hear a quiet record play in the background, and the comforting sounds of the kitchen. Alfred is here.
Dick enters with hesitant steps, still breathing fast. Alfred is packing up the last of the leftovers from the party. They will be sent to a soup kitchen somewhere. Dick moved wordlessly towards Alfred to help. He still sniffles every once in a while. No doubt Alfred has noticed.

They work in silence, until Dick can't anymore. He puts down the box with angry hands.
"Did you know, that Bruce is paying Jason a hundred dollars everyday, just to stay?"

Alfred puts his box down as well, albeit more gently. He looks at Dick briefly. "No. But I do not think it is a bad idea."

So no one is on his side. Fine. "That kid stole Bruce's tires, you know." Dick interjects, furious. "And he's being paid to stay here?"

Alfred starts putting the boxes away, seemingly unaffected. "Master Dick, you of all people should know that he needs a home."
Dick stares sullenly at a yellow tile. What can he say to that without sounding like a selfish asshole?

Someone clears his throat. Dick turns at the sound, to see Bruce standing at the doorway. With his hands shoved in his pockets, he clearly looks uncomfortable. He nods at Alfred, and then looks at Dick, almost warily. "Selina told me what happened."

Dick goes red, and looks away. She had promised she wouldn't. He really wishes the ground could swallow him now.

Bruce places a hand on his shoulder, somewhat haltingly.
"I was… wondering if we could go to that ice cream place, that we went to before you first came to the manor. It'll be just the two of us."
He's trying to reach out, Dick realises. Huh.

Alfred is watching them.
Dick tries to shrug casually. "Okay I- fine. I guess."

Bruce nods again, a little relieved. "Good. I'll tell Selina we're going, okay?"
Dick shrugs again. What are you doing Dick? Why are you shrugging so much?

Bruce starts to walk away, but falters suddenly. He scratches his neck, slightly awkward. Indecisive. He looks at Dick, and then at Alfred helplessly. Alfred pretends not to have noticed.
Bruce then makes some kind of split second decision and squares up, striding forward. And suddenly Dick is caught in an awkward half-hug, his cheek plastered to Bruce's chest.

Bruce pats his shoulder gruffly,"I love you."
"Uh- I love you too, Bruce." Dick manages to squeak out.

Bruce breaks up the hug and nods, clearing his throat. "Good. I'll uh-go now. I mean, to tell Selina about the ice cream thing." He walks away, a little pink himself.

Dick blinks.

Alfred tries not to smile.

~

The door slams open, banging hard against the wall behind it. Dick jumps, turning around to see who it was.

Of course it's Jason.

He walks in like he owns the place, and goes to where Dick is sitting, at his study table. He's holding a book in his hand, that Dick remembers from his previous year at school. The Catcher in the Rye.

Jason holds the book out in front of him. "This is bullshit."

Dick sighs. He'd been expecting this. It was only a matter of time before Jason would have started asking for help for book reports and tests. Then he'd start copying all his notes, and eventually start cheating off of him. And he wouldn't be able to do a single thing about it, because for some reason, everyone was convinced that Jason was the golden child. Not that he any longer blamed Bruce. Or Selina. They were just too trusting to believe that a kid like Jason could be a bad egg.

Jason had stayed with them three weeks and already made more than two thousand dollars. He didn't look like he was in any hurry to leave.

Jason makes a frustrated noise, brandishing the book even closer to Dick's face. "Stop zoning out. This is bullshit." He repeats, gesturing to the book.

Dick scowls at him. "The Catcher in the Rye is a really good book. Maybe you didn't like it, because you haven't even bothered to read it."
Jason's eyes widen at that, but he sets his jaw and scowls right back. "Listen man, I'm leaving once my month is up. But Bruce and Selina have insisted on putting me in a school till then so whatever. Just give me your old book report, and I'll be outta your hair in a week."

Dick's scowl deepens. This is exactly what he thought was going to happen. "No. There's no way that's going to happen. Read the book yourself. And you can't leave now. They'll be heartbroken."

Jason looks like he's about to scream. "They don't really care. Bruce and Selina don't actually want me around dick."

"Haha. Yep. Jokes about my name. Completely original. Real funny."

Jason sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. He's already picked that up from Selina. "The problem is that I can't read the book, okay? Just give me the report."

Dick frowns. "What do you mean you can't read the book? The subject matter isn't that dense. It's easy to go through."
Jason is looking progressively more panicked and embarrassed. "I mean- I mean I can't, okay. I can't read the book."

Dick stares. "You can't read?"
Jason's face is completely red now. He shuts the door of the bedroom quickly, and looks back at Dick, scowling.
"What? No! I can read. Just like, not so well. I mean- I had to drop out of school and then my, home situation got rough. I just can't get through the … the bigger words, okay. And jeez, and keep your fucking voice down." He whispers fiercely.

Dick looks at him with wide eyes. "So I'm guessing that Bruce and Selina don't know."
Jason runs his hand through his unruly hair. Wow, sometimes he really looks like Bruce. Like Dick.
"No. They don't. And It doesn't even matter, cause I'll be gone in a week. So are you gonna gi-"

"Can you read the cover? Of the book, I mean." Dick interjects, curiously.

Jason rolls his eyes. "Course I can. It's called The Catcher in the Rye."

Dick stands up now. He's still a bit taller than Jason, but he has a feeling that the boy will outgrow him eventually. "No. You heard that in school, when the teacher announced the assignment. Can you really read the cover?"

Jason is silent.
Dick pushes anyway. "Well? Can you?"

"I couldn't read the 'Catcher' part." Comes the sullen reply.

Shit. This is worse than Dick previously thought. "You really need to tell them. Bruce and Selina."
Jason looks up immediately, a fierce look in his eyes. "No fucking way. If they find out now, they'll make me shift to a special class or something with the little kids. And anyway, I'll leave in a week."

Jason has been repeating this sentence so many times, that Dick wonders if he's really just saying it to reassure himself at this point.

Dick sighs. There's only one option left, because no way is he giving Jason his book report.

"I could teach you."

Jason looks at him, startled. "What?"

"I could teach you the bigger words."

 

So every evening they sit at the kitchen table, and Dick reads out a couple of pages of The Catcher In The Rye. It may not be the most effective way to teach him how to read, but time is of the essence here. The book report is due in five days.

On the second day, Selina finds them there, and instead of asking why they're spending time together, after three weeks of giving each other the cold shoulder, she wordlessly sits down next to them. Dick, after a moment's hesitation, continues to read.

The next day, Bruce comes down to the kitchen with his laptop, and a stack of paperwork, which he proceeds to spread around the table in a way only he can understand, while listening to Dick read. Selina makes them sandwiches.

On the fourth day, Alfred takes off his apron and sits next to Bruce to listen. They talk about their favourite characters. Jason and Bruce both like Holden. Selina and Alfred like Phoebe. Dick can't choose yet. He reads more. They listen.

Jason gets an A minus for his report. He smiles about it the whole day.

The day before his last week is up, he brings another book. It's To Kill a Mockingbird. He mumbles something about leaving a little later.

Dick smiles. He's glad.

Notes:

I honestly think that Bruce is the Catcher in the Rye in this story. He's literally 'Catching' these kids from the danger that surrounds their lives. He's protecting their innocence.

Aaaaaand that's how I managed to compare one of the greatest pieces of 20th century literature to my shitty fanfic. Well done.

 

Anyway, please comment! How did you like Jason? Did Dick come off as unlikeable in this chapter? Your opinions are important to me!

Chapter 9: Waves in Motion

Notes:

MOSTLY FLUFF :)))))

Pam smirks at Harley across the rink while she clutches onto the railing at the side for dear life.
This is pretty great.
Harley groans back in reply. "You only brought me here cause you knew I'd fall on my fucking face, red."
Pam shrugs, skating around her in a perfect circle. "Maybe."

It's their one month anniversary. Harley thought for sure that Pam would take her out to a fancy restaurant. She even bought a new dress for the occasion. It's black and very tiny. Harley might fall on her face, but atleast Pam can enjoy the view.

Harley glares at her. "I can't believe you took me ice skating. I learned how to pronounce Hors d'oeuvre for this?"
"And Le coq au vin."

"And Le coq au vin!"

Pam smiles. She doesn't feel bad at all. She skates leisurely towards Harley, and holds her hands.
"Step forward slowly, and take my lead."
Harley stumbles ahead along with Pamela, all while cursing her under her breath. They go ahead a few paces shakily, and then Harley stumbles, making them both fall.

Harley shrieks when her body makes contact with the ice. "Fuck! Do you even know how cold it is, red? This dress was not made for winter sports!"
Pam bites her lip to stop laughing. This is turning out to be even better than she thought it would be.
Harley catches her expression, and the corners of her mouth tilt up grudgingly a well. They're still lying on the ice. They must look like idiots.
Pam grabs Harley's hand again.

Harley leans over to Pam's ear, her voice dropping to a sultry whisper. "Let's get outta here."
Pam really likes that idea.

~

Harley stares up at the ceiling, her eyes wide. Holy shit. She can hear a ringing sound. She ignores it for now, focusing on her breathing. What the hell did Pam do to her? The ringing gets louder.

"Hey Pam?" She manages to croak out, her throat dry. "Is your phone ringin'?"

Pam is staring at the ceiling too. They are both naked and sweating. "No." She says, hoarsely. "That's just your ears."

"Oh"

"Yeah."

"Holy shit."

"Yeah."

Harley's fingers haven't stopped trembling. She looks over to Pam, who is still staring up, with an expression of awe on her face.

"I really liked that dress." Harley says, regretfully. It's lying on the floor now. Well, part of it anyway.

"What?" Pam asks faintly. She's pretty out of it.

Harley shakes her head mutely. She'll just buy a new one. She'll probably have to buy a new pair of sheets too. She doesn't really care. The sex was more than worth it.

 

She must have fallen asleep because the next thing she knows is that she hears a ringing sound. A real one this time. Harley squints in the morning light, filtering through the curtains of her flat. She risks a look at the clock on her bedside table. It's almost ten. They've slept over twelve hours.

The phone rings persistently from somewhere in the flat. Pam groans next to her, and puts a pillow over her head. "Make it stop." She mumbles.

Harley gets up, rubbing her eyes, and looks around for the phone. The sound seems to be coming from the bed itself. Pam groans again. "Why is it getting louder?"
Bud trots into the room with something black and lacy in his mouth. They're Pam's panties.
"Bud! Drop it. Drop! No don't climb- get off the bed!"

Bud of course, doesn't listen. He jumps onto Pam's stomach, who lets out an audible oof noise.
"Harley, your dog is doing that territorial thing. I think he's tryi-"
Harley finds the phone. It's under Pamela's bra, which was, for some reason, stuffed under the mattress. She picks it up with a triumphant grin. It's Selina.
"Hey kitty! What's up?"

Pam meanwhile, is still trying to unsuccessfully push Bud off her lap. He thinks she's playing with him, and starts to lick her face.
"Hey is that Selina? Tell her about the ice ska- Harley, your dog is trying to French kiss me." The last of her words are distorted, on account of Bud licking her mouth.

"Bud No. Stop that. And Pam, no one says 'french kissing' anymore."

"Harley?" Selina's voice comes through the phone.
"Yeah yeah, I'm listening." Harley says distractedly. She's still trying to wrestle the panties away from Bud.

"Could you just babysit Dick for a couple hours? He has the day off today, and we got called by Jason's principal to the school. Alfred's not here so-"

"Harley, your dog just tried to pee on me!" Pam scoots away rapidly. Bud follows her like a heartsick lover.
Harley sighs. "Yeah, he does that sometimes. Territorial thing. Bud! Stop that! She is not your property- No! Don't lift your leg. Ju-"

"Harley? What's going on? Are you busy?" Selina asks through the phone.

"No! No! It's fine. Bud's just trying to pee on Pam. Go on. Where's Alfred?" Harley gives one last pull, and finally Bud drops the panties. Ha.

"What?" Selina asks, confused now. "Bud's trying to pee on Pam? Did Pam stay over?"

Pam tries again to push Bud off her lap, but fails miserably. She shoots Harley a miserable look. "Normally, I have nothing against dogs. But this one, is trying," she says, with a murderous pause, "to urinate on me."

Harley goes to help get Bud off Pam. She is still speaking on the phone. "Yeah. Pam stayed over and we had wild sex."

"Nice. Alfred's gone to his golf club. And it's too late to hire a sitter now."

Harley grabs Bud's collar, and starts to scratch his belly vigorously. This should usually render him immobile with pleasure, but today, he's too excited for it to have much effect. "Golf club? Is that even a thing? And why did Jason get called to the principal's office?"

Pam narrows her eyes at that, momentarily distracted. "Did Jason do something?" She asks Harley.
Harley shrugs, pointing to the phone. She doesn't know yet.

Seizing the opportunity, Bud reclaims the panties. Shit.

"He apparently punched another boy." Selina sounds furious, but also concerned.

"Punched a boy?" Harley asks incredulously. Pam, who's been listening in, widens her eyes, dropping her defensive stance against Bud. Wow. That was a bad idea.

"Harley!" Pam shrieks, her eyes wide. "What is he doing?"

"Bud no! Don't hump her! No! You're a bad dog! Bad! No humping!" Bud is going at it like a horny teenager, panting happily.

"Okay- so maybe I'll call later?" Selina is very confused.

"No no! It's cool. I'll babysit him. Bring him here now. Well, maybe not right now. Things are a bit busy. In like fifteen minutes. Just go and sort out the situation with Jason. BUD FOR THE LAST TIME-" the call disconnects.

Selina frowns down at her phone. What just happened?

~

Jason sits in one of the chairs at the office, scowling down at his clenched fists.
Bruce is apologising to the parents of the other kid, glaring at Jason at intervals. He's still wearing his suit. Came straight from work when he heard.
Selina sighs. What a disaster.

The apologies seem to have no avail, the other boy's mother only seems to get more and more hysterical. She is practically in tears. "This idiot of a boy punched out my son's teeth! He should be expelled."

Bruce looks at her sharply. "There's no need to call him that. He made a mistake, and he'll apologise for it." Bruce then looks at Jason pointedly.
Jason's scowl deepens, but he mutters a quiet, "sorry."

At that the mother seems to get even more angry. "Yeah, well my poor Lonnie is traumatised. A sorry, can't change that. I don't care if you're Bruce Wayne, with a son like that you're just another entitled asshol-"

"Dierdre!" The father intervenes, looking shocked.

The room is thick with tension
Bruce looks at her, his eyes icy. "My son apologised. We're done here."
Selina nods coolly towards the principal, who looks like she's nursing a major headache. "Thank you for your time." She gets up, and grabs hold of Jason's hand, fighting down a wave of anger. What kind of an asshole names their son 'Lonnie' anyway? They turn to leave.

Then something happens.
"Your son is a piece of garbage, white trash from the streets, and he doesn't belong here in this school!" The mother says, her voice quavering with hate, almost desperately trying to get the last word in.

A beat.

Bruce stops walking. Selina can almost feel his cool facade cracking. It's not worth it, Bruce. Walk away.

The principal looks at the mother with wide eyes. "Ma'am, I'm going to have to ask you to leave now."
The mother looks like she's going to say something in retaliation, but her husband jumps in. "Of course. We understand." He ushers her quickly out of the room, shooting all of them an apologetic look behind her back.

The door clicks shut.

Bruce looks at the principal with a murderous expression. "What the hell was that?"
The principal sighs, massaging her temples. "Some parents can get a little… wound up. Please have a seat."

They remain standing. The principal sighs again.

"Wound up?" Selina says, incredulously. "She called Jason white trash."

The principal holds up her hands complacently. "I heard what she said, and while I don't condone it at all, I can't let Jason off the hook either. He did punch out two of Lonnie's teeth. Two days suspension, starting from today," she says, "is my offer."

Bruce sets his jaw. "Fine." He gets up, and goes over to Jason. "Go get your things. We're leaving."

Jason meanwhile, has been looking at his fists pointedly the entire time. When he realises that Bruce is talking to him,he finally looks up, unclenching his fists with some effort.
"Yeah." He agrees quietly, getting to his feet.

Once they're outside, and Bruce has gone to get the car, Selina kneels down to his level. She wants to know the whole story.

"What really happened, Jason? Why did you punch that kid?"

Jason looks away for a moment. Selina swallows, her hands going up to frame his face. He leans into it.

"Is it because he said something about you, honey? Something about you being poor? Taking advantage of Bruce's money? Something along the lines of what his mother said?" She asks, whispering.

He's too young for this. Atleast when people said this about her, she was much older.

Jason smiles ruefully, shaking his head. "I wouldn't have hit him for it, even if he had said something like that. I've been called a lot worse."

Selina's chest aches with worry. "What was it then? What did he do that was worse?"
Jason avoids her eyes, shaking his head furiously. "I don't want to tell you."

"Jason." Her voice is sterner now.

He sighs, faltering a little. "He said something about you. He said that you were a gold-digging… whore." He reddens; whether it is with anger or with embarrassment, it is not apparent. "He said, that's what his mom told him, and that's what everyone knew. That you're with Bruce only for his money, and not because you love him. So I hit him as hard as I could. And I'd do it again." Jason looks close to tears now.

Oh. Selina could almost sob with relief.

Jason frowns when he sees her smile. "You're not... sad? Or angry?"

Selina gets to her feet. "I been called a lot worse." She mirrors back, grinning.

Jason looks at her, a small, relieved smile emerging on his face.

Bruce comes back with car, which they both get into. Inside, the tension is still palpable. Bruce, unlike Selina, doesn't know why Jason did what he did. And he's angry about what the lady said as well. So he drives in silence, his hand clenched tightly on the steering wheel.

Jason shoots Selina a helpless look. Should I tell him? He mouths at her, silently. Selina shakes her head immediately. No. Just because she's not angry, doesn't mean he won't be.

Instead, she clears her throat authoritatively. "Jason's classmate said something that was completely baseless and wrong, so we're going to take Jason to the beach."

Both of them look at her incredulously.
She nods. "Good. If you've agreed, I'll call Harley, and ask her to watch over Dick a little while longer."

Bruce pulls over on the side of the road, frowning."Jason just punched a boy, and got suspended for it, and you want to take him to the beach?"

Selina looks him in the eye. "Yes."

Bruce turns around, to look at Jason in the backseat. "And what was it exactly, that this boy said?"

Jason shifts uncomfortably. Selina intervenes.
"Bruce, honey. If you don't start driving, I will."

Bruce shoots her a strange look, but starts the car again.

As they slowly drive out of Gotham, and towards the sea, Selina thinks of just how different Jason is, from Dick.
If it were Dick right now, he would started chattering fifteen minutes ago, filling the car with sound, and laughter. If it were Dick, he would never have punched that kid. He would find the perfect solution, somehow managing to befriend the kid, and changing his opinion about Selina at the same time.
But he is not Dick, and the car is shrouded in silence as they drive, Jason looking out of the window, and not speaking a word.

In some ways, Jason draws up short, where Dick never did.
Selina can relate, she thinks, as she glances at Bruce, his posture perfect as he drives expertly, always so good at everything.

But Selina and Jason are not second best. She just has to make him see.

 

They reach just before lunchtime, and Bruce switches off the engine, with a click.
"We're here." He announces shortly. He's still angry, and maybe a little bit hurt, at not being told what really happened.
She's going to fix that.
Selina unbuckles her seatbelt. "Great. I know just the place."

The beaches outside Gotham aren't Hawaiian paradises, full of white sand and bronzed people with surfboards. The beaches here are rocky, and the water is always too cold. Still, Selina thanks her stars that she can still remember the way, as she leads them through the rocks and boulders, to one of the few pockets of warmth, tucked away in her cold childhood.

Jason sucks in a breath when he sees it. A cove, secluded from the rest of the beach. The water here, while naturally choppy, is still enough that he can see the shallow bed. Here the ocean water turns a light turquoise, sun dappled. It reflects on the walls of the cove, making it seem like they are underwater. It's beautiful. Even Bruce looks a little impressed.

"I didn't know…"
"That Gotham even had places like this?"
He nods, quietly amazed.

Jason is already taking off his sneakers. "I'm gonna go for a swim." He announces.
Selina smiles, shaking her head. "No you're not, kiddo. The water's too deep. You can go till," she points to a large boulder half submerged, "maybe that rock, over there."

Jason looks at her, his eyes wide with curiosity. "How do you know all this stuff?"

"I used to come here all the time, with my sister Maggie."
Bruce looks at her sharply, judging her expression. She never talks about Maggie.
Jason's eyes widen even more. "You have a sister?"
Selina swallows, and nods. "I- yes."

"Cool! Can I meet her? Is she nice? Is she supposed to be my aunt or something?"

Selina is suddenly overwhelmed. "I- uh, I don't-"

"Jason," Bruce says gently, still looking at her, "let me come with you. I think we can try to go a little further than the rock, don't you think?" He says, effectively shifting the focus from her.

Jason grins. Bruce is talking to him again. "Let me take off my shoes, B."

They walk hand-in-hand, towards the water. Selina watches, as Jason wades into the water, laughing about how cold it is. He drags Bruce in too, and when they make it up to the rock, the water is reaching Jason's hip. But Jason won't give up, and he makes it a few yards more, still determined, his teeth chattering, until Bruce suddenly picks him up and carries him back.
"You'll get hypothermia."
"Will not!"
"Yes, you will."

Jason sighs, but makes no move to wriggle out of Bruce's hold. Selina can tell that he's soaking up the attention. That's good. He needs it.

They come back, and Selina is standing there, smirking. "Congratulations Bruce, you've ruined your five thousand dollar suit."

"Suit-ruining is good for the character, master Bruce." Jason says, in an imitation of Alfred's voice.

That gets a laugh out of Bruce, which surprises Jason, making him smile proudly.

Bruce puts Jason down, who runs off to explore the rest of the cove, leaving the both of them alone.

Bruce still has a leftover smile on his face, from his laughter earlier. He kisses her suddenly, like he can't help it.

Selina smiles, surprised, into the kiss. "What was that for?"

Bruce shrugs. "Why does there always have to be a reason?" He kisses her again.

Selina bats him away, laughing. "Okay Romeo, ease off. There's an impressionable eleven year old running around."

Bruce smoothens back a strand of her hair. Suddenly his eyes have that intense look in them again. "About him, Selina, if it were just me, I would've been angry with him for days. You know how to break his walls."
He looks down at their hands. "I'm not always that perceptive, about feelings and emotions. I don't- I wouldn't have known what to do."

He looks back up at her again, and her breath catches.
"You're a good mother, Selina."

~

Later, when they reach the manor again, Selina turns to the backseat to wake Jason up. He fell asleep in the car, on the long drive back home. He's using Bruce's blazer as a blanket.

"Jason?"
"Mm?"

"Wake up, we're home."
Jason stirs, rubbing his eyes.
"Carry me." He says childishly, and goes back to sleep.

Behind the steering wheel, Bruce is laughing quietly. Selina decides to throw in an incentive.

"Jason."
"What?"
"Alfred made cookies again."

Jason gets up so fast, the blazer falls off of him.

"This is like, the best day of my life."

Notes:

I'm sorry for the late update, I kinda wanted to edit this chapter a bit.

Anyway, leave comments!
Did you like it? Do you hate it?
I love Con Crit.

:)

Chapter 10: Crowbar

Summary:

After a while, Jason says, "I don't like the guy from the notebook."
Bruce nods gravely. "That Ryan Gosling is a real tool."

(Actually this is totally misleading. This is like, the one island of levity in the ocean of angst, that is this chapter.)

Warning: there will be some blood and gore in this chapter.

He stands in front of his parents' graves again. It's been a while. He wipes the snow off the grey stones with his gloveless hand. The words engraved on the headstones are minimal and fading.

Thomas Wayne. Martha Wayne.

That is all. There are no stone angels or cupids. No fancy crypts. Just two square headstones with a small cross atop each. Alfred had made all the funeral arrangements. Bruce was too young.

He stands there for a while, the dull pain coming and going in intervals. The first few years were much worse. It used to cut through his lungs, a searing grief that left him gasping with tears. But now… but now it's been a long time.
So long since he knelt in the alley with blood on his hands that he couldn't wash off for years.

He looks around. It's snowing again, the grey flakes melting on his fingertips as he raises his palm observantly. It's December. Almost Christmas. Two years ago since Dick came home. More than a year since Jason did. He turns around to look back at the manor, and a small scuffle near a tree catches his attention. It's Jason. He's trying to not be seen. He pays no attention, and trudges back to the manor.

Inside, it's warmer. It smells like cinnamon and woodsmoke, the fireplace lit with fresh wood. He walks through the halls, his coat still on, till he finds Selina. She's leaning down, her short hair still slightly mussed and wet from the shower. Her T-shirt has ridden up a bit, so he can see a small sliver of the pale flesh of her back.
She's showing Dick how to paint Christmas tree ornaments. She sees him just looking at her, his cheeks and nose pink with the cold, his eyelashes wet, with that expression. The one where he manages to look lost and scared and sad at the same time.

"How was it?" She asks quietly. She's already on him, taking his coat and scarf off, fussing worriedly. He stills her slowly, his hands trailing down her shoulders, and then lower.

His fingers graze past the hem of her T-shirt until they are on the soft, warm skin of her bare back. The dip of her spine. He touches her there, his fingers pressing to her skin urgently.

He isn't too obvious about it of course, Dick is right there, but he just needs to feel something right now. Just hold her for a while.
Selina wraps her hands around his neck and sighs. "Oh, baby." He buries his head into her shoulder. Her warm breath flutters against his collar.

"Your hands are cold." She says into his collar, after a while.
He retracts them, and smooths her shirt back down.
She looks up at him, her bright green eyes in a million places at once. "You should have worn gloves."
"I know. I forgot." He doesn't want to worry her, but he can still feel her looking at him when he walks over to Dick.

Dick, oblivious to their exchange, is painting one of the glass ornaments a brilliant chrome shade. His temple has a dab of blue on it. Bruce wipes it off with the corner of his thumb.

"Uncle Clark's here." Dick says, without looking up. "He's waiting for you in the study. I asked him to help me paint these, but he said that he's done a lifetime's worth already and ran away."
Bruce pulls up a chair beside him. "Uncle Clark can wait for a while. I heard that someone won a prize at school."
Dick shrugs, but he's looking pleased with himself. "Gymnastics. I got into the next round."
"You did good." Bruce leans closer, wrapping his hand around Dick's shoulders. Dick is losing some of that baby fat he had now. His body is all sharp, jutting angles and wobbly, too-long limbs; that awkward teen phase of being in-between.

Dick smiles, rolling his eyes. "I know, B."
Bruce squeezes his shoulder one last time, and gets up to go to the study.

Clark Kent is sitting there, looking at home in one of his chairs. He's wearing some strange combination of flannel and khaki. You can take a man out of Kansas.
"Hey Bruce." Clark looks up, adjusting his glasses good naturedly.

Bruce nods, going towards his desk to get out the chess set. "White or Black?"
Clark sighs, "I don't have time to play today. I have to head to the precinct; Lois and I are covering a story about the Maroni crime family. They're apparently in talks with some black market weapons manufacturer based in Meetropolis. There was a double homicide there yesterday, and the cops think it may be connected."

"I heard about it too. White or Black?"

"Bruce."

"Clark."

"Aw, what the hell. Lois won't kill me if I'm a little late, I guess. I'll take the black. I hate making the first move when you're playing with me. You keep staring at me with that expression."

"I do not stare at you with any expression."

"Sure you do. You don't say anything, but I can tell you're thinking: Are you sure you want to do that, Clark? That move? Really?"

"Hnnn." But he's smiling.

He takes the chess set out from one of the drawers, and sets it on the table between them. Takes out the pieces, and begins to set them up.

Clark's face brightens suddenly. "Oh, I forgot. Lo wants you to come for Christmas dinner. Bring Selina and the kids."

Bruce starts first. Pawn to e4.
"What makes you think we don't already have plans?"

"Because you never make Christmas plans." Clark chuckles, making his move. Pawn to e6.

Bruce gives him a look. "Is that the French defense? Really Clark? That move?"

Clark looks at him incredulously before he realises that Bruce is joking.

Bruce shrugs. "This time the kids are here. It'll be different."

"Well, Dick was there last Christmas. What about then?"

"Dick didn't really feel like celebrating that year." He remembers the countless nights that he was woken up with a sniffling, wet noise near his chest, and Selina's soft voice, telling him it was going to be okay. Meaningless consolations that meant the world to him.

Pawn to d4.

"Ah." Clark sighs sympathetically. "His parents?"
Bruce nods.

Clark pushes his glasses up, thinking. "Then why don't you spend Christmas morning here, and come to Metropolis at noon? It's not that far, and the kids can open their gifts and everything." He moves his pawn to d5.

"They'll be too tired to come." Knight to c3.

Clark grins. "Are you only saying that because you hate Metropolis?"

"It's always wierdly sunny. Everyone is so… happy all the time. Your move."

"C'mon Bruce. Lois wants to see the kids. And they love me."

He captures Bruce's pawn with a grin. "Would you look at that, I made first kill."

Bruce stares at the board. "They only love you because you come bearing gifts. My children are sellouts."

"So they are. What does it matter? Kids should be a little spoiled."

"Fine." He captures Clark's pawn.

"Fine what?"

"Fine, we'll come for dinner."

Clark smiles wide, "Great. This will be great. And don't worry, Lois won't be cooking."

Bruce grunts in reply. They play in comfortable silence.

Clark brightens, leaning back. He proclaims smugly, "I'm attacking your flank."

"Don't say that out loud."

" Oh. Right." Clark colours. Suddenly, his phone starts to ring. He checks it, and curses.
"It's Lois. I'm late." He explains to Bruce. "I should leave."
He looks at the board for a while, his eyes twinkling. "You know," He says, in an amused tone, "I'm actually winning."

"No you're not. I just figured out how to capture your rook." Bruce gets to his feet.

Clark puts on his coat and picks up his messenger bag, shooting Bruce a look. "You're bluffing."

"Leave before I actually figure out how to do it, Clark."

Clark is already out of the door, leaving it wide open behind him. "Bye, Bruce." Bruce can still hear the amusement in his voice.

He can hear Clark say goodbye to Dick. Tell Bruce not to be such a hardass won't you? Clark says, to which Selina laughs.

It's odd. Bruce has been living in the manor all his life, but he's never felt more at home.

 

 

And now comes the quandary of Jason.
Jason Peter Todd. Twelve years old. Black hair. Blue eyes. Drug addict mother and abusive father. Knows all about ghosts from the past. Knows how they can consume you. Sees his adoptive father go to his parents' graves and gets worried. Worried enough to follow him. Sees something he shouldn't have.

Bruce walks up the stairs to Jason's room. Knocks at the door.
"Jason? Can I come in?"

After a short silence, there is a muted reply. "Okay."
Bruce walks in. Jason is sitting cross-legged in the middle of his bed, oddly still. He looks away to the window as soon as he comes in, not able to meet Bruce's eyes.
Bruce sits next to him, pulling Jason by the hood of his sweatshirt to lean back on Bruce's chest. Jason does it without complaint, closing his eyes against Bruce's shirt.

"Hi."
"Hi."
"How's school?"
Jason looks up. There's already a furrow between his eyes. He's too young for that. "I know what you want to talk about, Bruce. I know you saw me. Stop treating me like a kid."

Bruce looks at him, trying to get a grasp on the mind of his younger son. It's so hard to put him in a box. "Why are you angry?"
Jason gets up abruptly. He shakes his head. "Forget it." He walks to the other side of the room, towards his bookshelf, his back now to Bruce.
Bruce stares at Jason's back while he rifles angrily through paperbacks. There is a gap between them, that he cannot surpass. What should he say? What should he do to make it go away?  I love you, son. I love you so much.

Instead he goes with, "Am I expected to apologise for something that I didn't know I did wrong?"

Jason explodes, throwing a book across the room. It hits the wall next to Bruce with a thwack noise, and slides down. Bruce doesn't flinch.
Jason turns around to face Bruce, and there's a bitter look in his eyes. "I saw you, you know. In front of the headstones. You were crying. You were doing it real quietly, but I could see your shoulders shaking." He breathes hard, scowling at Bruce.

"I know." Bruce goes to the bookshelf, and pulls him closer, ignoring the weak jabs that Jason is throwing against his chest. "I know. I'm sorry."
He holds him tight till Jason has stopped hitting him, the rage gone as quick as it came.

"You're not supposed to be sad. You have us. Aren't we enough?" Jason asks quietly, his voice muffled against Bruce's shoulder.

"I'm not sad. I have a beautiful family. I'm very happy. But we all have scars, Jason. I'm sorry that you had to see me like that." Bruce sits back on his heels, and puts Jason on his lap.
Jason doesn't say anything.
Bruce tilts Jason's head towards him. "Hey. You have to talk to me."

Jason looks away, still upset. "You're not supposed to cry, you're a grown-up."

"Grown ups cry too. Clark cries every time he sees the Notebook."
Jason chuckles, and Bruce can feel it on his chest. "Don't forget the Titanic."

"Right, the Titanic. There's something about Kate Winslet and Leonardo DiCaprio extending their hands out in the bow of a ship to the powerful vocals of Celine Dion, that just pulls on his heartstrings." He deadpans.

Jason really laughs this time, burrowing his head into Bruce's shoulder.

After a while, Jason says, "I don't like the guy from the notebook."
Bruce nods gravely. "That Ryan Gosling is a real tool."

Jason lifts his head back up, looks at him incredulously, unsure how to react. "Tool?"
"I heard one of Dick's friends say it."

Jason shakes his head in disdain. "Why do all the chicks love him so much?"

"Hell if I know."

Jason smiles.

Bruce gets off the floor, still holding onto Jason, who clutches at Bruce's collar, laughing. "Bruce! You're going to throw out your back or something."

Bruce soldiers on, unwavering. They're going down the stairs. "I'm not that old yet."

"You're like thirty, B. And where are we going?"

"Thirty two, you punk. You can't even remember how old I am."

"See? You're old. Only old people say punk. And stop carrying me."

Bruce puts him down. "We're going to the bank. I needed to make a trip anyway, so now I'll multitask and it'll be part of father-son bonding time as well."

Jason shoots him a wary look. "Stop joking. It's unnerving."

Bruce grins, ruffling his hair. "I'm the cool dad."

"No. Just, no."

~

They stand at the line for the teller, Jason looking around impatiently. "I thought there weren't any lines in rich-people banks."

"There are, so stop fidgeting, and stand still."

"Just for the record, this father-son bonding time sucks balls."

"Mmm." Bruce is not paying any attention. He's perusing a life insurance pamphlet that he picked up from the counter, even though Jason is sure that even Titus is triple-insured.

Jason doesn't have the time to voice his opinion out loud because suddenly there's a loud noise and tiny glass shards hit his face, causing pinpricks of stinging pain.

He's lived in Crime Alley for years. Gunshots should sound familiar but they always manage to surprise him.

Bruce throws him down, covering Jason's body with his own, as he turns around to see what's happened. He curses under his breath, his grip on Jason tightening.

Four men. Clown masks and semi-automatics. One of them has a crowbar as well. They open fire, spraying the teller and the security guard with bullets. Bruce knows by the way that their bodies jerk back in a horrendous dance, that they are already dead.
Jason moans under him, his face is plastered to the carpet. Bruce gives him a once-over, but except for the tiny cuts on his face, he looks unhurt. Jason's eyes meet his own, and Bruce can only see wild panic and terror. He clamps his hand down on Jason's mouth, and just hopes to God that he won't scream.

Two of the men make their way to the back of the bank, where the vault is, shooting through another glass wall as it comes in their way. Several people scream, the noise creeping down Bruce's back and like a cold blade.

The other two start making people kneel, and make them give up their phones and jewellery one by one. After that's done, one of them hits them on the head with the butt of his gun. Bodies slump and fall to the floor. He can hear someone sobbing.
Jason struggles underneath him, whimpering. Bruce leans down and whispers into his ear. "When they come for me, you need to run, okay? I'll distract them. There's a supply closet to your left. Go hide. Call 911. Can you do that for me?"

Jason shakes his head vigorously, saying something that Bruce can't hear because his hand is still clamped on Jason's mouth. He takes it off.
"-not leaving without you, Bruce. I won't-" Jason stops abruptly when he realises that he spoke too loud without the hand on his mouth to muffle the sound. He looks at Bruce with wide eyes.

One of the men in the clown masks stops mid- blow. He tilts his head in the direction of Jason's voice. The room goes deathly still.
He steps forward, twirling the crowbar in his gloved hands. He "Did someone say Bruce?"

He looks at him for the first time, and the clown mask contorts hideously as he smiles. "Bruce Wayne is here?"

He turns back to his accomplice, and says, "Take care of all of them." The other man starts to methodically knock out everyone in the room, until the room is full of slumped bodies.

Bruce releases Jason from his tight grip. "Run. Now." He orders, in an urgent voice. But Jason only shakes his head again, holding onto Bruce's shirt with trembling hands.

The man walks towards them; his shoes tapping against the marble floor is the only sound that can be heard.

Tap. tap. tap.

"Bruce Wayne? Gotham's own prince? Today's my lucky day." He laughs crazily, and the sound echoes through the room. "Heard you've scored a helluva hot piece of ass too. Did you being Miss.. what was it? Selina Kyle? Did you bring her too?"

Jason is shaking violently, his tears wetting Bruce's shirt.

Tap. tap. tap.

The man looks around them a little disappointedly. "No? Shame, it would've been fun. Anyway, who's this little guy here?"

Bruce shoves Jason back a few steps. "You so much as look at him, and I'll kill you."

Tap.

The man stops walking, and tilts his head. "Did you threaten me, you asshole?" He chuckles again, but it's darker this time. He's pissed off. He walks forward until he's right next to Bruce.
"You dumb piece of cock-sucking shit, I'm the one with the AK-47 here. What's you money gonna do, huh? You gonna try to fire me or something?" He laughs at his own joke, and pats Bruce's cheek.

Bruce's jaw hurts from being clenched for so long. There is no justice in Gotham. Never was. He's going to fix that.

The man starts to walk away from him, still twirling his crowbar merrily, when Bruce throws the punch. He lands a solid hit on his shoulder.
The man stops walking, and turns around. Shakes his head in disgust. "You fucking idiot. You asked for it."

He grabs Jason, who had, since then comes back to Bruce's side. He points his gun under his chin. "Move, and I'll blow his brains out."

Bruce freezes, his blood running cold. Jason starts to cry, small gasps ripping out of his throat.

The man shouts a terse instruction to his accomplice, who goes up to Bruce, and presses the barrel of a gun to his back. It's cold enough that he can feel it through his shirt. He pushes Bruce to face the wall, until his forehead is in contact with it. Ties his hands together.

The man sighs deeply. "I hate to do this, but you need to be taught a lesson, Mr. Wayne. No one just disrespects me like that, and gets away with it."

Bruce's throat is choked up with fury when he whispers, "I'll pay you. I'll give you as much money as you want. Leave him alone."

The man makes an exasperated sound in the back of his throat. "But I'm already robbing the goddamned bank, Brucie! I'll have all the money I need! No, no, no! You need a lesson on manners. All you richy-rich, socialite types cruise through life without a care in the world. I bet you've never been on the roads, so hungry you'd eat just about anything."

Bruce says nothing.

The man laughs jovially, and pokes Bruce with the crowbar in the back. Bruce flinches. "Told ya! Anyway, I'm starting to fucking monologue again. So I'll just shut up and let this do the talking.

He brings the crowbar down on Jason. Jason gives a strangled sort of shout, and starts to cry harder. Bruce squeezes his eyes shut. This can't be happening. The man laughs, and brings it down on him again, this time aiming for his ribs. His ribs, his legs, his back, his head, he hits Jason again and again and again. Jason keels over, coughing up blood. The man keeps hitting him. Jason keeps screaming.
Most of the time, it's just Bruce's name over and over again. Asking him to help. Asking him to do something.

Eventually they quieten down to shaky gasps or soft whimpers. He starts blacking out for a few seconds at a time.

Bruce has struggled so much that his wrists are bloody, slicking up the ropes. Good.

The man in the clown mask stands back proudly, to observe his work. With a panicked start, Bruce realises that Jason's not breathing anymore.

Then Jason gasps out loud again, and wretches some more blood and Bruce could almost sob with relief.

He puts his forehead against the cool wall again. His cheeks are damp. He has to say something, anything to distract the man again.
"Please," He begs hoarsely. "He's just a boy."

He works at the rope, thinking of all the memories. It's almost off. He just need a few more seconds. So he thinks, and he remembers. Jason eating three burgers at once. Jason reading a book on his own for the first time. Jason stealing tires. Jason smiling. Jason laughing. Jason. Jason. Jason.

The man twirls his now-bloody crowbar again. "Just for that, I'll hit him again." He lifts it up one more times, and Bruce's heart almost bursts because oh God this could be the one that might actually kill Jason and-

"What the hell are you doing?" The other two men are back, now equipped with loaded black duffel bags.

The men turn to stare at each other, and that's all the distraction he needs. He's slipped out of his ropes, and he slams the man's head against the wall.

He takes all of them out, one by one, their bones crunching under his clenched fists and their ligaments are tearing and he just keeps hitting and hitting and there's blood everywhere and skin tearing and skulls getting smashed in and they're screaming so loud and they won't stop but no one is hurting like he is and he doesn't care anymore because he's going to end every last one of them for w-

"Dad?" Jason whispers, and coughs up more blood. He's crying quietly, his eyes squeezed shut because of the pain.

Bruce goes to him, breathing hard. "Jay." He whispers, pushing his hair back from his bloody forehead.

Jason hears him, and starts to cry louder. "I can't see you. I can't see, Bruce. I'm so scared."

Bruce cradles his head in his lap. His eyes are wet too. "Shh. It's okay. It's okay. That's only temporary. Nothing's wrong. You need to stay awake, okay? Just stay awake, Jay."

Jason rolls over and vomits, while Bruce rubs circles onto his back. He sobs, curling up in Bruce's lap again. Bruce holds him tighter that he should right now. "It hurts."

"I know. I know. I'm going take you to a hospital. It'll be okay. You just need to stay awake. Talk to me." Bruce gets up to his feet, carrying Jason. He runs towards the exit.

"Dad, I can't see." Jason repeats suddenly, gripping him tight.

"Jay, you already said that. It's okay. We'll get you to a hospital. And you can see Selina and Dick there. I'll ask them to come. We'll eat chilli dogs and cookies. Whatever you want. I love you so much. Keep talking to me."

But Jason blacks out again. His pulse is erratic and thready.

Bruce runs out of the bank, and considers his options. Jason doesn't have more than half an hour at this point. He'll bleed out if they go by car. Too much traffic. If he runs fast, he can get to Gotham general in twelve minutes. If he takes a shortcut through an alley, he can reach in seven.

Jason wakes up again. He is silent now, barely conscious. "What would you do if I died?" His voice is so soft, Bruce almost misses the question.

Jason stealing tires. Jason singing in the shower. Jason arguing with Selina. Jason joking. Jason smiling. What would he do if he died?

Bruce kisses his forehead, and blinks away the wetness in his eyes. "If you died, I'd want to die too."

He turns into the alley and runs.

Notes:

(please don't hate me)

 

(Leave a comment if you kinda hate me thanks)

Chapter 11: In Sickness and in Health

Bruce sits in the waiting room, his shirt covered in blood. Not all of it is Jason's. None of it is his.

He sits, and he waits.

They taped his wrists up, so lots of people pass by giving him pitying looks. His expression probably doesn't help either.

He feels this constant wave of fear and sickness roiling through his stomach again and again until he is drowning in it, thrashing and clawing at the edges to escape. This happens every few minutes or so, and he needs to go to the bathroom and wash his face, or vomit in the toilet until he's sitting on the floor of the stall, cradling his head and taking loud, gasping breaths and wondering how things could have gone so wrong, so fast. The nurse said he's having a panic attack. She gave him some pills, but he didn't have any.

Selina is on her way. He told her not to bring Dick. He's still a boy. How will he be able to deal with the site of his younger brother lying unconscious and covered in tubes, if Bruce can't handle it either?
The doctor came by about fifteen minutes ago, to get him to sign some forms.
He told him that Jason slipped into a coma at half past nine, after two hours of observation in the ICU. The excessive blunt force trauma to his head has caused swelling and bleeding in his brain, and his brain fluid started pushing down on his brain stem, responsible for arousal and awareness.
The doctor says this in soothing, modulated tones. He's probably done this a thousand times before. He tells Bruce that the neurosurgeon will also insert pressure monitoring devices inside the brain, allowing medical personnel to intervene when the pressure in the brain increases. When this happens, a device called a ventricular drain will be used to drain excess fluids. He needs him to sign the consent form, because Jason is a minor.
There's a dull ringing in his ears that's getting louder and sharper by the second, but Bruce signs the form. Then he walks to the bathroom with calm, measured steps, and pukes his guts out again, heaving violently even after there is nothing left in his stomach to throw up.
He wipes his mouth shakily, the sharp taste of bile still lingering in the back of his throat, and leaves the stall before he ends up sitting on the floor again. He looks at himself in the mirror, and has a vague feeling that he should be shocked to see the wide-eyed, pale looking man staring back at him, but he can't bring himself to feel much of anything anymore.

He opens the faucet and stares at the water fall out of it. It gushes out of the spout, spurting in jerks, and then slips away into the sink drain. There was so much blood.

He stays there until his breathing returns to normal, and walks out again. He's not allowed to see Jason yet, but someone comes every hour to update him on his condition.

So he sits, and he waits.

Selina reaches in another ten minutes, and when she sees him, she stops where she is from across the room, inhaling sharply. He must look terrible.
He's been watching whatever's going on in the sports channel on the TV in the waiting room. Looking, but not really watching. The blood on his shirt has started to dry, slowly clotting and staining it brown. The nurse who gave him the pills asked him if he wanted a set of scrubs, or even a T-shirt from their gift shop, but he said barely even heard her. He was having a hard time breathing.

The sound of a crowbar breaking your son's bones is a noise that is hard to get out of your head.

Selina walks to him in quick steps, and pulls him into a hug, wrapping her arms around his neck. Bruce stares at her, "You'll get blood on your clothes." He says.
She doesn't move.

"How's Jason?" Her eyes are red.

"He's still in the ICU. No visitors allowed. They'll keep him under observation until he stabilises." He runs a hand through his hair tiredly.

Selina takes a shaky breath, nodding. "I just want to see him. I just want to see my baby." She's leaning against him now, and Bruce cards his shaking fingers through her hair.

They must look look crazy, clutching onto each other helplessly, bloody shirts and bandaged wrists. Bruce holds her closer. Tighter. He kisses her desperately, open-mouthed and hard and a little messy, cupping her face with both his palms. He doesn't want to let her go.
"Me too." His voice is still rough from emotion.

 

He gets her some coffee, that terrible ready-made stuff from the vending machine, hands her the steaming plastic cup and starts to tell her what happened.

She looks down at the coffee in her hands the whole time he's talking. After he finishes, she looks up at him slowly, crumpling the now empty cup in her hands.

"Jason is lying in a bed on a ventilator, because you decided to punch a dangerous man who didn't fit the standards of your skewed sense of justice?" Her voice is deathly quiet.

Bruce opens his mouth, and closes it again. "You know that's not what happened."

Selina looks away from him, not quite able to meet his eyes anymore. "That's exactly what happened, Bruce. You saw a fight, and you couldn't stay out of it. Did you even stop and think for a second about your son? The little boy, who was scared out of his mind?"

Both of them are angry now. Bruce looks at her incredulously. "You're making it sound like I'm the bad guy. I love Jason. You know that. I'm scared for him too."

Selina looks at him, her eyes flashing with anger, "No. You don't get to be scared, or sad. You don't get that privilege. My son might die."

"He's our son. You don't have the monopoly on sadness." Bruce snaps back, with an edge to his voice. What's happening? Why are they fighting? She was clutching him by his collar and kissing him just five minutes ago.

Selina's face hardens. "This wouldn't have happened in the first place if you had just kept your head down. If you'd just let them take the money and leave. Why do you always have to play the hero, Bruce?"

"Are you saying that this was my fault?" Bruce challenges, furious.

She says nothing.

"Well?" Bruce asks, his eyes heartbroken and angry.

She wipes at her eyes. "He looks just like you, you know. The dark hair, and the beautiful blue eyes. I can't even bring myself to look at you." She laughs a little, and then immediately stops.

Bruce looks at her with surprise. What the hell?  "This isn't my fault. You know that, right? I didn't do this."

A beat.

Selina looks down at the crumpled cup in her lap. A small teardrop lands on it.

"Didn't you?" She whispers.

 

They don't talk after that. They sit next to each other, but don't touch. Selina doesn't look at him again. When Alfred calls, she wordlessly hands him the phone. He talks to Alfred and Dick, reassuring them, and telling them that they can come as soon as Jason is cleared for visitors. He gives her the phone back.

"Selina. Please talk to me."

She looks away, but she's shaking.

When they are finally allowed to see Jason, Selina sits next to the hospital bed, holding his hand, smoothing back his hair, whispering comfortingly. Jason of course, cannot reply.
Bruce stands near the door, clenching his fists in his pockets. He feels angry and sad and where did he go wrong?

The gap between them is thick with the countless things that remain unsaid.

She says she needs to be with Dick, who's scared and needs his mother. So she presses a kiss to Jason's forehead, and goes back home.

He doesn't. He stays with Jason, sitting on the chair next to his bed, and all he can do is bury his head in his hands because he's realising with startling clarity that it is all his fault.

The monitors beep steadily. Jason breathes through a tube. Selina doesn't meet his eyes anymore. And life goes on.

~

Dick shuffles through the hospital corridor, making his way to Jason's private room. Selina holds his hand, leading him, even though he doesn't need the directions. He's done this at least a hundred times in the last week now.

Wake up. Eat breakfast. Visit Jason. Watch Bruce and Selina avoid each other, one leaving the room as soon as the other enters. Go back home. Have lunch. Do holiday homework, or alternatively: stare at the ceiling. Have dinner. Go to sleep. And repeat.

He walks in to see Jason moving restlessly in his sleep. His brow is furrowed, like he's having a bad dream. Dick remembers when he saw Jason do it for the first time. He was so excited, that he peeled out of the room to call a nurse.

He's come out of the coma. He's awake again, he'd told her.

So it came as a nasty shock when the nurse with the sad smile told him that patients actually moved around quite a bit even when they were in Jason's state. When they were comatose. She said it with a strange look on her face, like she was feeling bad for him.

He goes to sit on the chair by his bed, and the seat is already indented and warm. Bruce was here. He must have gone outside or something. How convenient. Selina's expression is an odd mix of relief and disappointment.

Jason looks pale, as usual. Pale and surrounded by machines. Dick reaches out to hold his hand; it's something he would never have done before. Holding hands is for girls, he would have said. But now he holds it tight. Selina is fidgeting unconsciously, fingering the strap of her purse as she looks on.

"Hey, Jaybird. What's up?" He keeps talking, not waiting for an answer that won't come anyway.
"Today Alfred made plum cake. It's for Christmas. We're not going to Metropolis for Christmas anymore, so. It's pretty good. I had some when Alfred wasn't looking. He came to see you yesterday. Do you remember? He was wearing that beige sweater that," Dick snorts out a laugh, "you said looks like the carpet in Bruce's study."
"Hey Jay," Dick continues brightly, smiling hard enough that his face hurts. "think you can wake up before Christmas? I have a feeling Bruce'll let you have some eggnog if you do."

Jason doesn't reply.

There is a sad silence.

Selina puts a hand on his shoulder. "Dick, I think you should go find Bruce. Ask him to get you a juicebox or something."

A juicebox. He's fourteen. He's old enough to know that Selina wants some time alone with Jason. But he doesn't say anything, only shrugging and leaving the room.

Bruce is right outside the room, waiting for them to come out, so that he can go back in. He's leaning against the wall, his jacket slung over his forearm. He's taking long pulls from the thermos of coffee that he's holding.

"Hi." He says. He looks like shit.

"You look like shit." Dick replies, leaning against the wall beside him.
Bruce ruffles Dick's hair absentmindedly. "I know. It was a long night. Didn't sleep." He yawns, the dark circles under his eyes even more prominent now that Dick is seeing him up close.

Dick decides to take a leap. "And where have you been sleeping anyway? I went to the master bedroom in the morning, and only Selina was there."

Bruce looks down into his coffee, his voice rough with tiredness and something else. "One of the guest bedrooms. I've been here since visiting hours started."

Dick stares at him. He should ask why. Why his parents, who've been resolutely in love with each other even since Dick met them, can now hardly stand to even be in the same room with each other. But he's too afraid to know the answer.

Bruce looks at him, rubbing a hand over his stubbled jaw. He hasn't shaved today. It's not like him, to forget something like that. And even if he did, Selina would remind him, with a teasing smile and complaints that it prickled when she kissed him. And when was the last time Selina smiled?

"You know that this won't change anything, right?"

Dick can only shake his head. "But everything's already changed."

Bruce sips his coffee. He has that helpless look on his face again. "It's my fault. Don't get angry at Selina. She didn't do anything."

"I don't care whose fault it is. When Jason wakes up, I don't want him to see the two of you like this. We're all he has."

Bruce looks miserable. "Selina won't even-"

The door opens loudly, and the two of them jump. It's Selina. She sees Bruce and takes a shaky breath. "Good, you're here. I need to talk to you."
Bruce straightens, looking at her hopefully. Atleast, whatever counts as his version of a hopeful expression.
"Dick, go sit with Jason." He says, not taking his eyes off Selina.

Dick won't lie, he's feeling hopeful himself. He rushes into the room, leaving the two of them alone outside, and sitting down next to Jay again.
But eventually he realises that it's not good news. He can hear raised voices, and then a sudden loud noise, like someone slammed their fist against the door in frustration. After a while, it quiets down to just hushed voices, speaking in angry tones. And then there is only silence.

Dick holds Jason's hand tight.

The door opens again, and only Selina is standing there now. Her eyes are bright, and her cheeks are flushed with anger. "Dick, I need to tell you something."

Dick doesn't want to hear it. "Where's Bruce?" He asks nervously.

Selina bites her lip, "He went outside for a bit."

"You mean he was too angry to talk."

Selina sighs, rubbing a crick in her neck. "Dick, I- I'm going to leave the manor for a while. I can't bring myself to stay anymore. I'd like it if you came with me."

Dick stares, getting to his feet. "No. I'm not leaving, and neither are you. Where's Bruce? Bring him back. It's okay, we'll just talk this out. It's going to be fine!"

"Sweetheart, I don't think i-"

But Dick is already outside the room, jogging towards the exit. "BRUCE!" he calls out, his hands cupped round his mouth. "COME BACK!"

"Dick!" Selina calls after him, from the door.

Dick turns back, reassuring her. "Selina, It'll be fine! We'll fix it. Don't worry, I'll just call Bruce. Let me go talk to him."

"Dick please-"

"It's going to be FINE!" he yells at her. And suddenly realises what he's doing. He deflates a little, standing unsteadily between Selina and the exit. His knees feel like they're going to give out any second now.

Selina hugs him suddenly, and Dick sniffles. "Sweetheart, I love Bruce, but I don't think it's going to be fine. I'm so sorry."

~

She lets him stay with Jason for an extra ten minutes before they have to leave to pack their things from the manor.
She kisses Jason's forehead as per usual before she leaves the two of them alone, this time to get a taxi back to the manor.

Dick gets into the hospital bed next to Jason after a moment's hesitation, and puts his head on Jason's shoulder. He leans up to whisper in Jason's ear.

"Hi. Things have kind of gone to shit here. But if you can hear me, and the doctors say you can, you need to wake up now. Okay? Come back to us, Jay. Because this is not your fucking ending."

Jason never replies.

Notes:

I am so so sorry about the late update. I went for a vacation to this place that had no internet access. It was hell.
Anyway, I promise to have the next chapter up in the next 48 hours as a consolation.

Also, I made aTumblr like 3 days back, so you can follow that here.

Please leave a comment. Your opinion is always valuable :)

Chapter 12: Snapples on the porch

Bruce wakes up quietly. He blinks, almost painfully, and reaches out to the other side of the bed. He knows it's empty, but he just wants to make sure. To press the searing pain of finding empty spaces and cold sheets into his brain. To really drive the point home.

You dug your grave, and now you must lie in it. In the cold, rotting coffin.

It takes all his strength to get out of bed in the mornings, now. Mornings are the worst. Atleast he can work through the day, and maybe get drunk quietly at night to take the edge of the pain; sipping on scotch in the darkness in his study, so that the thick amber liquid burns his throat until his eyes sting. Take him away to oblivion.

But in the mornings, he is alone. Alone with his mind. He starts to remember things, like grotesque and beautiful pictures in his head.

Selina snorting as Titus licks Bruce's nose. Dick grinning at Alfred. Jason's proud smile when he shows his parents his report card. Dick sneezing when he catches the flu. Bruce throwing a laughing Selina into the pool. Selina gasping, her head falling back when Bruce kisses the inside of her thigh. Jason's hair curling up in the heat.

He can't get them out of his head. They haunt him, a broken record of memories, spinning round and round but never actually ending. He usually settles for staring at one of the walls of the ceiling until it is time to go to work. But the Wayne enterprises office is closed today. It's Christmas.

He closes his eyes again briefly, and keeps them pressed closed. He'll just go visit Jason today. And stay there the whole day.

~

Alfred makes him French toast. He sits down opposite to him, and for a long time the clattering of cutlery and plates is the only sound that he can hear.

Bruce realises that Alfred is looking at him, like he would at a sick puppy. Pity is a horrible thing.

"Merry Christmas." He says stiffly, not looking up from his plate.

"And to you, Master Wayne." Alfred inclines his head politely. "Now, when do you plan on calling Miss Kyle and Master Dick back home?"

Bruce stops eating, setting down the fork. The French toast, though syrupy sweet, has turned sour in his mouth."They won't come back. So I won't ask."

Alfred gives him a look over his tea. "Have you apologised for whatever it is, that you did? I would hate to set the table for one for Christmas dinner. I worked exceedingly hard on my glazed ham this year, you know."

But Bruce is in no mood for jokes. He stares down at his plate.

"I didn't just forget to get the mail, or to put down the toilet seat, Alfred. I made a huge mistake. She won't listen to anything I have to say. I wouldn't expect her to."

He hasn't told Alfred what he did because then Alfred will leave too, and he'll be alone. And he really doesn't want to be alone.

Alfred stares at him for a long time. Then he puts down his teacup, and hands Bruce his phone. "I don't believe for a second that you are the kind of man that would ever do anything so terrible that she wouldn't take you back."

Bruce looks at the phone in his hands. "Then your faith in me is misplaced. I won't call her because she wouldn't answer anyway."

Alfred raises an eyebrow. "I never gave you the phone to call miss Kyle. I sense that it is a matter that you won't change your mind about, any time soon. I was however assuming, that a little boy who has quite recently had his whole life turned around, would very much like to at least speak to his father on Christmas day."

Bruce looks at him, surprised. Of course. It never even occurred to him that Dick might want to talk to him today. He looks at the phone warily again, and then again at Alfred.

Alfred only gives him a haughty look, and goes back to his drinking Earl Grey.

Bruce sighs, and calls the number. His palm is sweating. On the fourth ring, someone picks up.

"Hello?"

"Dick?" Bruce swallows.

"B? Hi!" He can hear the surprised smile in Dick's voice.

"Merry Christmas." Bruce manages to get out.

"Yeah, Merry Christmas! I got the gift you sent me. The chemistry set. It's really cool. The sweater from Alfred is nice too. Selina said that it made me look dignified." Dick snorts like it is the funniest joke in the world.

"And, how... is Selina?" Bruce asks, his voice tight.

"She's okay. Hanging in there, I guess. A little busy with the new shift and visiting Jason, but she still manages to get home before I'm back from school, so that's pretty cool. She showed me how to play checkers yesterday. Can you believe that I didn't know how checkers worked? Crazy, right?"

"Wait. What new shift? Is she working somewhere?" Bruce asks, his brow furrowed.

But Dick is already talking about something new. "And she said that I could totally come over to the manor and everything. She said it's my right to decide where I want to live and for how long. So I guess I'll come over for the evening if that's cool with you? I still have dreams about that plum cake, Bruce." And then he clears his throat, embarrassed. "And seeing you would be nice."

"Dick," Bruce says incredulously, "you can come over whenever you want. It's your house too."

"Well, yeah I know, but…" He trails off, sounding pleased anyway.

There is a small lull in the conversation. Both of them are relieved but still cautious to overstep boundaries that were never there before.

"I missed you. I miss you both." Bruce says suddenly, urgently. He can feel Alfred's eyes on him.

There is a sound of static through the call, one that very much sounds like a sigh.
"I miss you too, Bruce. So does Selina, you know. She doesn't mind the work, and she likes having me around her 24/7, but sometimes she gets this look on her face, or gets really quiet, and I know she's thinking about you." Dick's voice is soft.

Bruce takes a shaky breath, clenching his hand tighter around the phone. Hope surges through him like fresh air. "Can I speak to her? To Selina?"

"Hold on a sec. Lemme ask." And then Dick is gone for a while, and all Bruce can hear is a set of voices, too faraway to decipher any real meaning from them. That doesn't stop him from trying.
Alfred is still looking at him, his expression unreadable.

"Hello, Bruce?"

"I'm still here."

"I'm sorry B, but she said no. She said she'd think about Christmas dinner though." Dick's voice sounds small.

You dug your own grave, and now you must lie in the cold, rotting coffin. And Bruce really hates this coffin.

Bruce nods, reassuring Dick. "No, it's fine. She doesn't have to come for dinner if she doesn't want to."

" Oh, okay. Are you sure it's fine? Cause I'm pretty sure I could get her to take the phone and talk to you if I tried hard enough."

"No, listen- it's alright. She doesn't want to talk. It's fine."

"Okay, then. See you tonight? I'll get Selina to drop me here."

"Yes. See you. Bye."

Bruce hangs up, and closes his eyes for a second, his chest heaving.

Then he stands up, picking up his glass, still half full of water, and throws it across the room, where it smashes against the wall and breaks.

Alfred jumps, startled. "Good heavens, Master Wayne! Why in the name of God would you do that?"

Bruce sits back down, suddenly so tired, and rests his forehead on his palms. "I'm sorry, Alfred." He whispers. "I'll pick it up."

But Alfred is already on his feet, collecting plates and dishes. "What you need, is to go outside for a while. Let me take care of this."

Bruce shakes his head. "I'll clean up. I'm being a-"

"Master Wayne. Go outside, now please. Take a walk. Perhaps it may calm your nerves."

Bruce sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Okay. Thank you."

"Always, Master Wayne. And Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, Alfred." He really means it this time.

~

 

Bruce steps out of the manor, walking past the porch, towards its steps. It's snowing heavily of course, a detail which both Alfred and Bruce seemed to have forgotten about, when they decided that this impromptu walk idea was a good one. He pulls his scarf closer to his neck, and turns the collar of his coat up.

He should never have called Dick, or asked for Selina to come back and this was a very bad idea and he really shouldn't be leaving Jason alone in the hospital on Christmas like t-

He stops suddenly.

There is a tiny human-shaped bundle of coats that is sitting on the front steps of the manor. The bundle looks quite at home, humming under its breath. Something that sounds like the theme song to Star Trek.

He clears his throat, stepping forward towards the bundle. It turns towards him, scrutinising him, while drinking a… Snapple?

He frowns at the bundle. "This is private property. It's a gated residence. How did you get in?"

The bundle shrugs. "I got in through the hole in the hedge." He points towards a hedge about a hundred metres away, marking the end of their land.

Bruce looks at the bundle dubiously. He looks to be around four feet tall. Hardly big enough to be seen under all those extensive layers of winter wear, much less come through a hole in a hedge.
"You walked all the way here, knee deep in snow, without any help?"

The bundle shrugs again, and takes another sip from his plastic bottle. By the way the drink is steaming, Bruce has a very strong feeling that it is not in fact, an actual Snapple.

"What's your name, kid?"

The bundle takes its hood off, and looks up, revealing that it is, in fact a boy. "Timothy Jackson Drake. But you can call me Tim."

Bruce tilts his head in surprise. "Jack's son? Jack Drake?"

"Yeah."

"You live in the mansion next to this one, don't you?"

Tim nods. But his teeth are chattering.

Bruce swears under his breath. The kid must be cold. He should take him inside, to the manor.
He takes hold of one of his baggy coatsleaves and tries to get him up. Tim jerks away, gasping.

Bruce steps back like he's been burned. Then he remembers. Jack's son. Jack's son with Asperger's.

Tim looks up at him with wide eyes, almost close to tears. "Why did you touch me? I don't even know you."

Bruce scratches the back of his neck, uncomfortably. "I'm sorry. I forgot about the... you know, touch sensitivity? Is that what you call it? I'm not sure. I just wanted you to get in. It's cold outside."

Tim nods stiffly. "Thanks, but I think I'll stay here. You're a strange man offering to take me to his house. I don't think it would be wise."

Bruce frowns. He doesn't point out that Tim was the one who came to his doorstep in the first place. And he looks too young to be speaking so well. "How old are you?"

Tim sips more of the suspicious liquid. "Nine."

"Then how are y-"

"I'm a child prodigy, Mr. Wayne." He says, revealing a gap in his front teeth. "I'm especially good at computer programming."

"That sounds fun."

"It is." Tim says nothing more, sipping his drink in silence.

Bruce looks at it warily. "I have to ask. What is that?"

Tim looks at the bottle. "Oh, this? It's coffee. Black."

"Aren't you too young to be having coffee?"

"That's exactly why I'm hiding it in a Snapple bottle, Mr. Wayne." Tim grins a cheeky smile, and it makes Bruce smile too. It's refreshing. He hasn't smiled in a long time.

They sit in silence for a while, Tim occasionally humming some more bars of Star Trek. Then, at exactly ten thirty, he abruptly gets up, and starts making his way back to the hedge.

Bruce gets up as well, looking at his retreating figure with curiosity. "Why did you come here?"

Tim replies without turning back. "I like how the snow looks, in your driveway. Like a sea of white. It looks like Hoth, from Star Wars. I wanted to see it up close."

Bruce shakes his head in wonder. This kid is something else. "Well, you can come see it any time."

Tim nods his head in approval. "Good. I'll come here everyday from ten to ten thirty. Don't be late."

"Okay." Bruce says, smiling. It's a little hard to take a boy who's ordering him around seriously, when he can scarcely reach up to Bruce's elbows.

"Merry Christmas." He calls out, still smiling a little.

Tim nods seriously again. "And a happy new year, Mr. Wayne."

That does it for Bruce. He hides it as well as he can, but it feels good to laugh again.

Christmas dinner goes as well as it can. Alfred's glazed ham is delicious, of course. Dick is mostly his usual happy self again. Even Bruce cracks a smile once in a while. Still, it's not the same without Jason and Selina, and everyone knows it. No one mentions it.

 

The next day, Bruce is at the steps by nine fifty-two with two cups of black coffee. If Alfred thinks that anything is out of the ordinary, he doesn't mention it.

Tim sits next to him, his small hands cupped around the mug. He looks out ahead, at the snow. "There used to be two boys that lived here. I saw them sometimes, from my window. Where are they now?"

When Bruce doesn't answer, Tim asks bluntly. "Are they dead?"

Bruce shakes his head, huffing out a sad little laugh. "No. No they're not dead. Well, one of them is in the hospital. But not dead."

"What about the other one?"

"He's with his mother. We had a fight." Bruce looks down at his coffee, his eyes are dark and sad.

Tim nods. "My parents used to fight all the time too. Now they go on adventures. Maybe you should take your wife on an adventure, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce looks at him, his brow furrowed. "What do you mean, adventures? And Selina's not my wife."

Tim shrugs. "They go on archaeological trips around the world. Discover new artifacts, explore caves and all of that."

Bruce frowns. "But what about you? They leave you alone?"

Tim shakes his head, and it's oddly endearing to watch him do it while trying to take a sip from the mug. "I have a nanny."

"Hnn." But he doesn't feel too good about it either. Who would leave a nine year old child alone at Gotham for a better part of the year?

At ten thirty, Tim goes back out through the hedge again. Bruce makes a mental note to open the gate for him next time.

 

The next day, they talk about Selina.

"Tell me the story again." Timmy says, wide-eyed and fascinated.

Bruce laughs a little, the sound coming from deep in his chest. "It's not even that good."

"Tell it." Tim is insistent, a wide grin on his face.

Bruce grins as well. "Okay. So she steals the watch from my wrist, and she really thinks she's nailed it, because her fake smiling becomes real smiling, and she's about to walk away, when I snatch it back. And she's really impressed, because apparently no one has bested Selina Kyle before, and I'm supposed to feel really good about that. But you know the best part?"

"What?" Tim is already laughing. He knows what's coming, because Bruce has already told him this story five other times.

"I grabbed it by mistake. I didn't even know she'd taken it. I was reaching to grab her wrist to deliver some kind of cheesy one liner and my watch just fell out of it. So I just took it back, and rolled with the flow. And you should have seen her face."

Tim collapses into silent giggles, leaning against Bruce's side. And Bruce realises with wonder, as he puts a hesitant arm around the boy's shoulders, that Tim is letting him touch him.

Tim laughs until his stomach hurts, and then laughs some more. Once he is able to look at Bruce again, leftover smile still on his face, he realises that the man is looking at him intently.

"What?" He asks.

Bruce shakes his head, embarrassed. "Nothing. You just look a lot like Jason. My son in the hospital."

"What happened to him?"

Bruce shakes his head. He can't talk about it yet. The wound is still too raw. Too fresh.

Tim shrugs. "Tell me what happened to Selina then." He's still leaning against Bruce's shoulder.

"I made a mistake. We had a fight about it. She left." The matter-of-fact way the Bruce speaks in, doesn't match his expression at all.

Tim pats Bruce's cheek with his small hand. "It's okay. She'll come back."

Bruce leans into the hand, but shakes his head. "I don't think so."

That's all he says till ten thirty, and Tim leaves from the gate this time.

 

The next day he doesn't show up.

Bruce waits patiently at the steps till five minutes past ten. Then he starts to get nervous. The kid follows his schedule perfectly all the time. He's always five minutes early.

At ten past ten, he starts walking to the Drakes' mansion.
He rings the doorbell and waits.
A very hysterical nanny answers the door, and says that she's been looking for Tim since eight in the morning, but hasn't found him yet.

Bruce begins to feel coils of panic slide into his stomach. He briefly even considers calling up the Drakes, to see if they might know where Tim went. Then he dismisses the idea. The Drakes haven't seen their son in the last two years. How would they know where he's gone?

So Bruce can do nothing but pace. He tells himself he'll go to the police in another two hours, just in case Tim has wandered off on his own, and will be back in another ten minutes.

He'll be just fine, and he'll be back saying things like I'm a child prodigy and it's okay, she'll come back in no time at all. He'll be just fine.

But Bruce can only wait another twenty minutes or so, before he puts on his coat, and gets up to go look for him outside.

He opens the door just as the doorbell rings, and when he finds Tim outside, he could almost sob with relief.

He opens his mouth, ready to yell at him about running off, but he can't bring himself to yell at Tim right now because he's just so goddamned happy. When did this happen? When did Bruce get so attached to this quiet, smart kid with a flair for computers and a manic love for coffee?

But Bruce never gets to say any of these things, because Tim is grinning wide. His eyes have practically lit up with excitement.
"Look who I got to come back home."

And standing right there in front of his eyes, biting her lip and looking more than a little nervous is Selina.

 

Notes:

Told ya I'd have it up in 48 hours.

Leave a comment!

Chapter 13: Reconciliation

Notes:

I realised that I never actually got around to doing this. so here goes:
I do not own any of these characters. They belong to DC comics.

 

This chapter contains mild sexual content. If that's not your thing, then you can skip the second part of the chapter :)

Enjoy!

Selina pushes a wisp of hair behind her ear as she flips the pancake. The batter's not right- it's too sticky. She has to slightly scrape with the spatula to get it off cleanly. It's that ready-made powder stuff from the store. Anything else is too expensive now.

Expenses. Money. Bills. It's something she hasn't had to deal with in a long time. Even before she met Bruce, she was pretty much stealing all the time. It was quick and easy, and she never had to think about it too much. Flirt with someone over drinks, get them drunk, and take their money and go. She'd make around a thousand dollars an hour. Spend the night in some fancy hotel room drinking champagne to celebrate. There was always a rush. Sometimes, if she stole enough, it wouldn't wear off for days.
Other times, she wasn't so lucky, and would wind up staring at an empty champagne bottle in a lonely hotel room. It's hard to be alone, sometimes.

Dick walks in, still in his pajamas.
"Are you making pancakes? Can you put some chocolate in mine?"

Selina turns to look at him, spatula still in hand. "It's almost ten. You're up late today." She presses a kiss to his forehead, which he makes a face about.

"Yeah, yeah. Guess Bruce passed on the 'won't wake up before eleven' thing to me."

Selina says nothing for a while. Bruce.

The spatula digs into her hand, and Selina lets it, until Dick taps her shoulder.

"Selina. It's burning." He says, quietly.

Shit. She leans over the pan, and turns off the heat. It's the stupid batter. Doesn't cook well. That's all.

Dick yawns, and goes to sit at the table. Or, what constitutes their table anyway. Right now, it's just a large crate and two plastic chairs. They moved into the apartment last week, and they haven't finished unpacking yet. No wait, scratch that. They have finished unpacking. It's just that there's not much to unpack. All their furniture technically belongs to Wayne manor. Selina doesn't own much.

She never really did.

"Dick, we have to go to an IKEA today." She goes to the crate-table with two plates of pancakes. Extra syrup for Dick. Extra syrup which put an unnecessary nine dollar dent in Selina's already tiny budget. She tries not to think about that. Being undone by maple syrup is one of the more embarrassing ways to go.

Dick slides the plate over to himself, still yawning. "But Wally wants to come over today. We're having a sleepover. Let's go tomorrow."

Selina looks at Dick. "You know Wally can't come over yet. There's not enough space. Let's settle in first, okay? We need to unpack, and buy things for the flat."

Dick stares at her. "We're staying here long enough to have to settle in?"
When she says nothing, he asks. "Selina, aren't we ever going back home?" A frown cuts a notch in his brow. She wishes she could wipe it away.

She stares at the pancakes. An Alfred special. The secret ingredient is supposed to be cinnamon, which they can't afford.

"I'm not sure. You can always go back. You don't have to stay with me."

Dick leans back in his chair, making it balance on the back two legs. He looks upset, but Selina can't really tell how upset. He's getting better at hiding his feelings. It fills her with a strange heaviness, low in her chest.

"There's an IKEA ten minutes away from here. I saw it on the way back from school. We'll assemble the stuff together." He says finally, his brow still furrowed.

Selina nods. She puts her hand over his, "Thank you, Dick."
And Dick knows that it's not because he gave her helpful directions.

They almost finish breakfast before the bell rings. Selina gets up, pushing the plastic chair back with an audible scrape against the tile. "I'll get it." She says, putting her fork down.

Dick shrugs. The corner of his mouth has chocolate on it.

Selina heads towards the door to open it, but the doorbell rings three more times before she opens it.
"Calm down! I'm comi-"

A tiny boy stares up at her with wide blue eyes.
"My name is Tim Drake, and we need to leave now."

Selina stares back. He looks familiar. "Who are you?"

Tim takes a deep shuddering breath. When he opens his mouth again, it's almost like he's talking to himself.
"It's already ten 'o' clock. I was supposed to reach the manor with you at ten. Before he realised I was gone. I'm so late." He says, on the verge of tears.

Selina's eyes widen further. "The manor? Bruce sent you to get me back? I cannot believe that stupid son of a-" she cuts herself off, clenching the doorknob, trying not to look as furious as she is. Count on Bruce to enlist a child to do what he should have done himself, a week ago. Fuck.

"Look, kid" Selina kneels to his level. She tries to put a hand on his shoulder, but he dodges it smoothly. Weird.
"Look, kid," she repeats. "I'm so sorry that Bruce sent you. You don't need to do anything for him. Give me your parents' phone numbers, and I'll drop you back home, okay?"

Tim looks at her disbelievingly. "But he didn't make me do it. I came here on my own!" He's looking increasingly more panicky, and keeps staring at his watch.

"You're saying you came here by yourself?" Selina asks, her eyes narrowing.

Tim nods vigorously, his eyes starting to fill up.

The reason he looks familiar, is because he looks like Jason, Selina realises. And if he looks like Jason, then he looks like Dick and Bruce as well. Blue eyes, Dark hair and a sad smile- it's all there.
Although, he's not doing a lot of smiling right now. The poor boy looks so upset.

"And where do you live?" She asks, quieter this time.

Tim looks at his shoes. "We're getting late. I don't like being late." He whispers. "Let's go."

At Selina's silence, he relents. "Drake mansion. It's next to Wayne manor." He adds, looking at Selina's surprised expression.

Selina shakes her head, still looking shocked. "I know where it is. It's a long way from here. Almost twenty miles. And you came yourself. How old are you? Nine? Ten?"

Tim coughs uncomfortably. He must be freezing. "Nine. I took three buses. I got late because I could only take the even numbered ones, and one of them got late." He scrubs at his eyes, tiredly.

Selina frowns. "Why did you only take the even numbered buses?" She realises that they've been talking this way for a while now, her on the threshold, and him standing outside and trying not to cry. "Come in, Tim." She adds.

Tim walks in stiffly, trying not to touch more of the floor than is absolutely necessary. Something's off about the kid.

"Why did you only take the even numbered buses?" She repeats.

Tim laughs a little, disbelievingly. "Because I couldn't take the odd numbered ones, obviously. Unless they were multiples of three and five. I like multiples of three and five."

Selina feels a headache coming on. Of course. Tim Drake. She saw him once at a party when he was five. Wouldn't meet anyone's eyes. He started to cry when the music got too loud, hiccuping softly as his embarrassed parents took him home. She remembers being angry about it. They shouldn't have brought him in the first place. Harley had said that it was textbook case of Asperger's.

"Okay. I'm going to call your parents. And then I'm going to call Bruce, because I have a few things to say to him." Selina tells him, fiercely. Who the hell, would make an autistic nine year old kid come twenty miles out of his comfort zone and do this?

Tim opens his mouth to say something, when Dick walks in.

"Selina? What's going on?" He asks, looking back and forth between the two of them.

Tim snaps his mouth shut, and opens it again. "You're Dick Grayson." He breathes out, his eyes wide.

Dick frowns. "In the flesh, yeah." And then he turns to Selina. "Who's this kid?"

Before Selina can say anything, Tim talks again. "And you're Selina Kyle. And you have another son Jason in the hospital, who's not doing well. I know. Bruce told me all about you." He's still looking at Dick in awe.

"Did you really sneak a full rotisserie chicken to school one day?" He asks breathlessly.

Dick grins at the memory. "Heh. Yeah I did. Shocked the hell out of my history teacher when I pulled it out in class too."

"Wow." Tim breathes out. It's like he's met his hero.

Selina decides to intervene before Dick starts preening. "Dick, why don't you go do your homework? I want to talk to Tim alone."
"Finished my homework yesterday." Dick shrugs.

"Then go wash the dishes."

"But, I wanna know what's going on." Dick says, curious. He turns to Tim. "How do you know about Bruce?"

"We have coffee together at ten every morning. And I'm already ten minutes late." Tim says, a little hysterically.

"Actually," Dick says, looking at the clock on the crate-table, "it's twelve minutes past ten."

Tim starts to tear up again.

Selina pinches the bridge of her nose, and tries to take a deep breath. "Dick, if you leave the room right now, I'll let Wally come over for a sleepover."

Dick is out of the room with a yelled, "bye, Timmy!".

Tim nods in reply. Then he looks worriedly down at his watch again.

Selina sits on a plastic chair. "Why are you here?"

Tim looks at her seriously. "You need to go back home. Bruce is sad."

"Everyone's sad. Doesn't make me feel bad for him, or what he did." She almost snaps at him. It comes off as more bitter than she thought it would. "I'm sorry." She adds.

Tim is quiet for a while. Then, "But he's sorry. And he misses you. He talks about you all the time."

Selina laughs. "He doesn't miss me at all. He hasn't tried to call at all. No apology, nothing."

"He tried on Christmas, didn't he?" Tim offers.

Selina rubs at the pain in her temples. "Yeah, but that doesn't count. Pin that one down on careless decisions made in holiday spirit. Besides, he called on Dick's phone. He didn't really want to talk to me."

Tim looks at her, and he suddenly looks startlingly older than he really is. "I don't know you at all, miss Kyle, but I think you're just making excuses. You know Bruce. You know he won't talk to you unless you initiate it."

"Saying sorry is the least he could do."

Tim tugs at his jacket uncomfortably. "If he called to apologise, would you even pick up the phone?"

Huh. Kid's got a point.

Selina leans back in chair, her anger draining away. Closes her eyes briefly. "Are you sure you're really nine years old?"

"Yes." He says, very seriously.

Selina smiles, her eyes still closed, "It was a rhetorical question, honey."

"Oh. I understand." says Tim, clearly not understanding.

Why is she letting this go on? Letting him talk about something she's clearly made up her mind about? She should call his parents and take him back home. They must be worried sick.

She wants Tim to say something. Anything that will redeem Bruce. She wants to forgive him, she realises. She just wants to go back home again.

Tim is looking at a tile on the floor. It's chipped. Judging by his frown, it's clearly offending him.

Selina sighs. She can feel herself giving in. It's hard to be alone, sometimes.

"You know, he took me to Paris once. I'd never gone out of Gotham before, and when he asked me where I wanted to go, it was the first thing that popped into my mind. Paris. It's in all the movies. Romantic. Cheese and wine and art galleries.
But it was terrible. It rained the whole time we were there, and we never even went out. We had some stupid fight about something I don't even remember, and we didn't talk to each other the entire time. But at the end of the day, it was just the two of us, holed up in a hotel room, in the rain.
It was the best goddamned vacation of my life." She opens her eyes, and looks at Tim. "It's hard to stay mad at him."

Tim nods soberly, even though Selina's pretty sure that he has no idea what she's talking about.
"Bruce is a good man. He's just too proud to say that he hates being alone."

Selina nods. "I know."

She gets up, stretching a little. "Okay, Tim. We're going to back to Wayne manor. But we're taking a car this time. And it has an odd numbered licence plate. Is that fine with you?"

Tim looks mildly pained. "What's the number?"

"1331."

"Oh." Tim looks relieved. "That's okay. It's the cube of eleven. Cubes and squares are fine too."

"Great. I'll get Dick. Let's go."

~

Bruce stares at her.

Selina looks at a spot on the wall behind him.

"Selina." He says, his voice rough. It sends a strange shiver down her spine. "You came home."

She nods, her throat dry.

"Yeah. I came home." She says, at the same time that Bruce says, "I'm so sorry."

"Oh." Selina whispers. "I- it's okay. I forgive you. I thought about it, and I'm just so tired of fighting."

Bruce's knuckles are white, his hand clenched tight on the door. His chest is heaving.

She touches his face, his cheek with her palm of her hand, her fingertips grazing his temples. He leans into it, closing his eyes. Inhales, and exhales, warm breaths that she can feel misting over her wrists. He puts one of his hands over hers, stroking the back of her hand with his thumb.
"I love you." He whispers into her palm, his eyes still squeezed shut, pressing a kiss to her wrist, where he can feel her pulse on his mouth.

And God she's missed him.

She pulls him into a hug, carding her fingers through his hair, and kissing his temple, his cheekbone, his jaw, small butterfly kisses, and taking small broken breaths in between. When did she even start crying? He wraps both arms around her, burying his head into the crook of her neck, and he's shaking a little too. He smells familiar, like the manor, and his aftershave and Bruce.

"I love you. I love you. I love you." He keeps saying it like she's going to forget. Like she'll go away again.

She inhales shakily, her face pressed against his jaw. It feels good to be home.

 

~

 

Tim and Dick get along very well. Timmy mostly follows Dick around like a starstruck puppy, while Dick brags about his various exploits. They run all around the manor, and Dick recounts epic stories of the amazing quests that he's carried out in each room. Most of them are made up.

Selina makes sure that Tim gets something to eat. Apparently Bruce has been giving him nothing but coffee. Coffee. For a nine year old. She tries to give him an annoyed look, but he pulls her into another long kiss, and the annoyed look cracks from the edges and she's smiling again.

Alfred nods when she sees him, but his eyes are twinkling, and she can see that he's pleased. He fusses with Dick for letting his hair grow too long, and Dick lets him, rolling his eyes the whole time.

Tim mostly sits by himself, humming under his breath. He smiles wide every once in a while, his feet dangling from the chair. Bruce fills her in about him. His parents were last seen in Peru. They haven't come home in two years. His hands are in his pockets while he says it, but Selina knows Bruce well enough to know that they are clenched.

She kisses his forehead, lingering there for a while, and gets up to go sit next to Tim. He's playing with one of Jason's old toy trucks on the carpet, making truck noises.

"Tim, do you miss your parents?"

Tim shakes his head, not looking up from the truck. "Not really. I don't remember them so well." He says this very matter-of-factly.

It makes Selina's heart ache.

"Tim?"

Tim looks at her. "Yes?"

"Can you give me a hug?"

"Yes, I can." He says, flipping the truck into the air, and making it land upright again, defying all laws of physics.

Selina bites back a smile. "No, I meant that I would like for you to hug me now."

"Oh. Okay." He clambers over to her chair like a little monkey, and slings his small arms around her neck. He smells like coffee and snow, and woodsmoke. It's a really nice hug.

It's a really nice day.

~

 

Later that day, she's washing a plate in the kitchen, enjoying the sweet silence. Alfred took Dick and Tim to the hospital to see Jason. Tim wanted to see him for some reason. It's not like anyone minds. Timmy is the sweetest kid, with that gap in his front teeth, and the twitchy rabbit nose when he sneezes.

Bruce walks in wearing a three piece suit. She looks at him, raising an eyebrow. "Going somewhere, Michael Corleone?"

Bruce gives her a look, striding over to where she is. "I'm taking you to an art gallery that opened last week. They have a new exhibit that's up."

"You hate art galleries. I tried taking you a bunch of times."

"I changed my mind."

Selina stills, turning the water off. Then she looks at him again. The three piece suit. The new art gallery. And are those… flowers that he's holding? It all makes her come to an abrupt realisation.

"Are you trying to take me on a date, Bruce?" She asks, laughing a little. What the fuck?

A flush rises to Bruce's cheekbones. He puts the flowers down on the counter, and looks at her helplessly. "Trying to, would be the operative phrase here."

She laughs harder. She really shouldn't, it's rude, but she finds that she can't help herself. "Are you trying," she says, gasping out between laughs, "to romance me?"

Bruce scowls. He's definitely blushing now. "You're not really helping my ego here, Selina."

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! It's just that," her shoulders shake with mirth, as she gives his flowers a look. "you don't have a single romantic bone in your body."

"Okay, that's it. Forget this even happened. I'm leaving."

"No! No, wait." She pulls him back, still grinning a little. "What I meant to say, was that you're serious, steady, and pragmatic. And not to mention very hot. And if I wanted a soppy, sonnet-writing romantic, I'd find someone else, okay?" She puts her arms around his neck, and stretches out leisurely against him. "And yes, you can take me on a date any time."

Bruce looks at her for a while to see if she's still making fun of him. Then, "Good answer." he says grudgingly and draws her closer, so that she's pressed up against him.

"Good." She whispers back. "Let me go change into something nicer, and then we can go."

They don't move.

Bruce looks down at her thin tank top, which has ridden up to the top of her waist. "I don't know," he says finally, fingering the hem. "I like this look on you." He takes a finger across her stomach, almost grazing her bra. Heat pools into Selina's abdomen.

"Oh yeah?" She says, pulling the tank off slowly. "I think I look better without it."

Bruce doesn't bother with a reply. He has a hungry look in his eyes. Predatory. He lifts her up, and pins her against the wall, his mouth already working on her neck. Selina takes off his blazer with impatient hands, and starts working on the buttons of his vest. "You're wearing too many clothes." She says, breathlessly, as she wraps her legs around him.
Bruce growls something against her collarbone that she doesn't quite catch, and starts helping her with the buttons.
He unhooks her bra deftly, letting it drop to the floor. Selina watches, dazed, as he circles one nipple with his tongue, and she inhales jerkily, clutching at his dark hair. "Bruce. We can't have sex in the kitchen."
Bruce doesn't even look up as he unbuttons her jeans, his mouth moving back up the her neck.
"Bruce."
"What?" He looks at her, his eyes darker and glazed over.

"Alfred will burn you alive."

Bruce sighs, and carries her out of the kitchen. "It's been two weeks, Selina. I'm desperate here."

"I can see that." She says, palming him through his pants. Bruce stops walking and groans, burying his head back into her neck.

"You're killing me. I won't last two minutes." He husks, setting her down on a sofa roughly.

Selina pulls him towards her, her shaky hands unbuttoning his slacks. "We'll see."

 

He lasts half an hour, and they miss the art gallery opening. 

Notes:

This was like. 90% batcat and 10% Timmy. What am I doing.

 

Leave a comment. I always appreciate feedback. Thank you!

Chapter 14: Wake Up

Summary:

When it happens, no one knows what to do.

Notes:

I use British English. So you might see colour instead of color, and so on.

Enjoy!

When it happens, no one knows what to do.

It starts out as an ordinary day, or, whatever their version of ordinary is, anyway. Dick is watching something on the TV, and Selina can hear the muted sounds from the other room. Tim sits with her, sprawled out on the carpet of Bruce's study. Bruce is going through some paperwork; there's a little furrow on his brow that usually makes an appearance when he does this kind of stuff. He doesn't know he does it. It's endearing.

Tim is filling up a page in a Mickey Mouse colouring book, his small fingers clutched around a bright crayon, while animatedly trying to teach her the intricacies of various specialised computer programming languages.

He's a special kid.

"Java is, like python, a general purpose programming language. Since it's a statistically typed, compiled kinda language, it's faster than any other scripting language like python, ruby, php, javascript, etcetera. But that's like, the only advantage.
Java is much more verbose than python, and it takes a lot of boilerplate code to achieve even the simplest task. You know what I mean?"

"Of course, honey."

She really doesn't.

Tim grins happily, trying to colouring inside the lines. "Pass me the blue crayon, Selina."

Selina scoots over to Bruce's desk, and reaches up to grab the blue crayon for Tim, accidentally knocking over a folder in the process. She picks it back up, and places it on the desk with an offhand apology to Bruce.
Bruce doesn't look up, still reading through a file. "Hnn."

"Bruce? Let's take Timmy to the zoo today. He's never been."

Bruce nods, flipping to the next page. "Ask Alfred."

"Ask Alfred to take Tim to the zoo?"

Bruce grunts in reply.

Selina frowns at him. "Are you even listening to what I'm saying?"

"Mmm. Of course I am." He says, signing at the bottom of a contract.

"Bruce. I was thinking about buying a car. A vintage Corvette, maybe? It would put a bit of a dent in our bank account, though."

"Hnn."

"And helicopters. Bright pink, and with genuine leather seats. One for each of the kids."

"Okay." His mouth twitches upwards as he tries not to smile.

What an asshole. Fine. Time to bring out the big guns.

"And a suit for Clark. Double breasted, Italian made. He'd love it."

"No." He says, putting away the files. "Clark gets nothing."

Selina grins as she goes to kiss Bruce's head. "You boys, and your stupid rivalries. Clark Kent is a sweet man who has never done a bad thing in his life."

Bruce snorts, letting her kiss his forehead. "You'd change your mind after you saw him on poker night. He swears like a sailor."

"I refuse to believe that for a second. You're lying so that I can believe that you have the most integrity in that poker group of yours. Clark goes red every time someone talks about," she pauses, looking at Tim, who's still colouring away happily, "S-E-X" she whispers theatrically.

Bruce looks at her. "Have you seen the people in my poker group? Hal Jordan? Oliver Queen? I shouldn't even have to tell you that I am the most morally sound one there."

"Not while Clark Kent is alive and kicking, buddy." She says, handing Tim the crayon. "And I like Ollie. His stupid goatee cracks me up every time. And you should tell him to bring Dinah over one day. We can all have dinner together."

Bruce says nothing, but she swears she can feel him grumbling. Good.

Still grinning, she goes back to sit next to Timmy on the ground. He's lying on his stomach now, colouring on a new page. She points to a spot that he missed, and he quickly fills it up.

"Are we really going to the zoo?"

"If you want to." She says, pushing his unruly hair away from his eyes. She feels a sudden pressure on her back, and realises that it's Bruce. He's joined them on the carpet, placing one arm around her waist, and the other on Timmy's head, ruffling it.

Tim's eyes light up when he sees that Bruce has stopped working, and come to sit with them. Of everyone in the manor, Bruce is his favourite.
"Hi, Bruce!" He says happily, sitting back up.

"Hello, Tim. What are you colouring?"

Timmy brandishes the book to Bruce. "It's a picture of Mickey Mouse and Goofy. Did you hear what I was telling Selina about Java?" He asks excitedly.

Bruce says, No he hasn't, and could he please repeat it for him. Timmy grins wide, and starts all over again, with Bruce listening patiently, and appearing to actually understand what he's talking about.

Selina gets to her feet to stretch. She's been sitting on this carpet for an hour now. Her knees are a little stiff. She must be getting old.

She walks around a few paces, before her back pocket starts buzzing. She reaches for her phone, and on taking it out, frowns at the screen. It's the hospital. They never call usually. Unless- she picks it up.

"Hello? Is this miss Kyle?"

"Yes. This is she."

"Ma'am, your son, Jason is showing increasing signs of awareness. He's been talking in his sleep for the last ten minutes. We think he may fully wake up sometime in the next twelve hours. You should come to the hospital."

"I'll be there. Thank you so much."

Selina hangs up, the phone's weight substantial in her hands. It's a good weight. One that she's happy to carry.

Actually, happy seems like an understatement.

Exuberant, she supposes, is the word to use. Euphoric. Exultant.

(It reminds her of Tim's vocabulary chart, that she occasionally quizzes him with. He doesn't need it. He's learned all of them).

Effervescent. Rapturous.

Jason is awake.

It feels too huge, to actually pin down something so tiny like human emotion for this.

So she puts away the phone carefully, and turns to Bruce and Tim. They are both looking at her now, conversation abruptly ended.

"Jason is awake." She says this carefully, and quietly, enunciating each word slowly so that the happiness doesn't slip away again.

Jason is awake.

~

When it happens, no one knows what to do.

Dick looks at her with wide eyes, Really? He's really awake? But are you sure? Are you absolutely certain? He keeps asking her, like he'd given up hope.
After a while he starts to grin. Jason's awake, he whispers. To Tim. To Alfred. To everyone. To himself, like he still can't believe it.

Alfred smiles, watery and kind. He presses a kiss to Dick's forehead when he comes running to tell him. His hand shakes while hugging him. Trembling, he says that he'll make cookies for Jason. Chocolate.

Bruce stares at the wall. What is he thinking? That this was all his fault in the first place? That he'll have to tell his son that he failed him? Selina can't tell.

Timmy grins, the gap in his teeth on display. He doesn't even know Jason, but no one looks more excited than he does. He crawls onto Bruce's lap, tugging on his shirt to get his attention.
Bruce looks down at him, roused from his stupor. Tim whispers something into his ear, his small hands cupped around his mouth, like he's disclosing state secrets. Bruce listens, leaning down a bit to compensate for the height difference. Selina can't quite hear what Tim says, but Bruce smiles a little.

Bruce doesn't stare at the wall after that, choosing instead to get one of the cars, and drive them all to the hospital immediately. Along with Tim. It feels wrong, somehow, to not bring him along. They notify his nanny, who agrees reluctantly. It's not like he doesn't come to the manor everyday, anyway.

(Selina just cries.

Sits and cries quietly in the bathroom, where no one can see her. She presses a fist to her mouth to muffle the sobs. but they just keep coming. Her son. Her beautiful baby.)

No one knows what to do, other than to feel dizzy, and a little shocked.

The happiness will sink in soon.

~

When Jason peels opens his eyes for the first time into three weeks, he sees a small boy so close to him that their noses are almost touching.
His head hurts so bad that he can hardly see, but he's able to retain enough brain function to say,

"Who the fuck are you?"

His voice sounds so different that it scares him. It used to be a little squeaky- his voice breaking with the onset of puberty.

(That's what Bruce told him, when he sat both him and Dick for the Talk. He remembers that Bruce had looked mildly scared while giving it. Heh. He hasn't seen Bruce look scared before.

Wait. He has.

The memory brings back the pounding to his head. It's like a crowbar.)

His voice sounds so hoarse that it's barely more than a harsh whisper. His throat feels dry and terrible, and every part of him hurts. His skin feels itchy and too tight.
And his head. His head hurts the most. It's pounding so bad, that Jason has to hold back tears. He can't even hear most of the reply that the boy gives him.

"-im Drake. They went to the cafeteria for din- -coming back soon. Ju-"

But Jason is too tired to stay awake anymore. He goes back to sleep.

~

When he wakes up again, it's dark. Or maybe it was dark before, too. He can't tell. He can hear someone breathing slowly, deeply, like they're asleep. He turns his stiff neck slowly in the direction of the sound. The small action almost makes him throw up with nausea.
It's Bruce.
He's fallen asleep in a chair next to the hospital bed. He's holding Jason's hand. Jason tries to squeeze it, but he can't move his hand. It sends a hot flare of panic through his body.

He can't move. He tries to speak, but all that comes out is a wet gasp, and suddenly Bruce is awake and at his bedside.

"Jay?" Bruce's voice is still rough with sleep, but urgent. "Are you awake?"

Jay tries again to squeeze his hand. It must have worked this time, because Bruce starts crying. Crying and touching Jay's face like he's not real.

It's too much for Jason. He's so tired. His head hurts so much. He closes his eyes again, and lets the darkness roll over him again, like black waves, quiet and comforting.

~

"-woke up at dinner too. Tim was there-"

"Jason? Are you awake?"

"Nurse! He's coughing, shou-"

Jason turns to the side of the bed, still coughing. A bedpan is thrust towards him, and he retches violently into it.
He can feel a hand rubbing circles onto his back soothingly.

"Head hurts." He croaks out, still leaning down over the bedpan.

"I know, baby. Want some water?" Selina's voice is soft.

Jason nods. His throat feels terrible- dry and painful. Selina comes back with a glass of water, and makes Jason drink it, sip by sip. It takes him a long time to finish the entire glass. He has to stop for breaks in between, because he's so tired.

Once he's done, he looks around the room to see who else is there. Bruce is standing near the chair, his hands in his pockets. He looks pale, but still more composed than last night.

Jason wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. There's sweat dotting his brow, and all he wants to do is go to sleep again. But he has some questions first.

He opens his mouth, and it takes a considerable effort to speak.
"How long?" His voice comes out as broken and cracked.

"Three weeks." Selina's voice is quiet. She pushes back his sweaty hair from his face, her hand cool on Jason's forehead.

Jason stares at her and Bruce. He finally says, "I guess I missed a lot of school."

Selina laughs a little hysterically at that, like she can't believe what he just said. "Yes, you missed a lot of school. And Christmas."

"Shit."

"Yeah." She smiles at him, watery, and pulls him into a hug.

"Aww, Selina don't cry."

She sniffles into his collar. "I'll cry if I want."

Jason tries to shoot a helpless look to Bruce, but he only shrugs helplessly back.

"Where's Dick? Alfred?" He croaks into Selina's hair.

"Dick went to school. He didn't want to, but he has a test today or something. And Alfred's back at the manor. I'd gone back with him at night, to drop off Timmy. Bruce stayed here overnight. I just got here."
Selina makes him lie back down on the bed, kissing his forehead.

"Who's Timmy?" Jason mumbles, half asleep already.

"You met him, remember? When you woke up at dinnertime, and he was the only one there?"

But Jason is out like a light, snoring softly. The doctors said that this was normal, so she's not worried. His mouth is slightly open. She closes it, pushing his chin up with two of her fingers.

Selina looks at Bruce. "When do you think we should tell him that we want to adopt Tim?"

"As soon as he wakes up again." Bruce goes over to the bed, looking at Jason's sleeping face. He looks younger when he sleeps. More vulnerable. He traces one of his eyebrows with the corner of his fingertip.

And suddenly Selina reaches across the bed and hugs Bruce fiercely. He cups the back of her head, and holds her there, against him.

After a while he says, "You're crying again."

"Shut up." She says, her voice thick.

Bruce smiles, holding her tighter. Jason is awake.

 

 

 

 

Notes:

Leave a comment. I love Con Crit.

Chapter 15: Notches on the Wall

Notes:

This fic is becoming a MONSTER. This chapter became HUGE. About 4.5k words.

I'm already on my 15th chapter and Damian hasn't even been introduced ugh. Hopefully I'll be able to end it in 20 chapters.

Jason props himself up on his elbows as Selina walks into the hospital room, putting the TV remote down on the bedside table.
He scowls at her from across the room, ready to complain. This place is terrible. There's no WiFi here, and he's been watching the same episode of Pawn Stars on loop for the last three days.

"How long before they let me leave, Selina?" He asks, somewhat grumpily.

"Good morning to you to, Jay." She says, smiling fondly. She goes and sits next to him, close enough that he can smell her fruity perfume, and kisses his cheek. He makes a face; she's been hugging and kissing him a lot since he woke up.

"I just wanna go home."
Great. He sounds whiny even to himself. He huffs in annoyance, slumping dejectedly.

Selina ignores his pout, smiling wider. "C'mon Jay, it can't all be that bad. You're missing school. That's got to be good, right?"

Jason looks away pointedly, crossing his arms. "I'm bored as fuck. There's nothing to do here. They put me in the children's ward, Selina. I'm twelve! If you tell them you're bored, they give you teddy bears. Teddy. Bears."

Selina puts an arm around his shoulders, effectively pulling him back to her side. "They'll let you go as soon as they've run all the tests. And Bruce and the boys are coming in about twenty minutes. They're bringing a movie, and I'm sure we can smuggle in some popcorn. It'll be just like movie night." She smiles, a single dimple forming on her cheek, and for a second, she looks exactly like his mom.

Jason frowns, a little crease appearing on his brow. "Bruce and the boys?" He whispers slowly, like he's testing out the words.

Selina sighs. This again. "Do you need a jumpsta-"

Jason shakes his head. The frown is still the there. "No jumpstarts. I'll remember. Just give me a minute."

Selina waits.

Jason closes his eyes- concentrating. The slump in his shoulders becomes more pronounced. It's hard for him, to remember, sometimes.

After a while, he looks at her, and she can see a hint of helplessness in his eyes.
"Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson and Tim… Drake?" He says this slowly, still thinking hard.

Selina nods, smiling. "See? You got it right this time. No jumpstarts."

Jason still looks unhappy. "I know them, obviously. I just can't... match the name with the face, y'know? If I just see them I'll remember their full names and everything. Like how I know your name's Selina Kyle."

Selina nods, dusting off some non-existent lint from his T-shirt. "The doctors told you this would happen, remember? That it's very common afterwards for you to have trouble remembering things? It's going to get better, okay?" Her voice is comforting and soft, and it should make Jason feel better, but it doesn't.

"I still don't think we should call them 'jumpstarts'. Sounds weird."

"Tim suggested 'info-dumps', but I think that sounds weirder." She replies.

Jason shakes his head. Any mention of Tim… makes him feel like there's this tightly coiled, cold weight in his chest. Or it could just be the meds. Whatever it is, it makes him feel terrible. He huffs out a sigh again. He just wants to get out of this fucking shithole.

Selina tilts her head a little, her eyes warm and perceptive, and tips up his chin with her fingers .

"Hey," she says, softly, "want me to quiz you again?"

Jason straightens up a little bit, and nods. Those quizzes are the best part of his sucky day, anyway. Selina invented them to help him remember stuff, and he kinda likes it. They usually start out as serious questions, and then the game rapidly devolves into a rapid-fire round of bad jokes that have the both of them cracking up.

"Only if you're prepared to lose, horribly."

Selina grins a little, brushing her hair away from her face.

"Watch your words, youngling. I am the undefeated master." She cracks her knuckles dramatically, like she's preparing for battle.
Jason grins a little too. This is kinda dorky, but it's fun. "You ask first."

Selina narrows her eyes at him. "An unusual move, my little grasshopper. You know I'm going to school you, right?"

Jason rolls his eyes. "Whatever. And stop calling me grasshopper. I'm giving you the upper hand, so that you can win- for once."

Selina snorts. "Fine. I'll start easy. Give me 50 words about... Alfred."

"Are you kidding? Alfred Pennyworth. Served in the army. Butler to the Waynes for the last thirty years. Interests include: golfing, going to the opera, and smacking Bruce on the side of his head when he does something stupid. Makes the best goddamned cookies in America, and has three different cardigans that are the same exact shade of beige."

Selina shrugs coolly, looking at her nails. "That was passable."

Jason grins. "Your turn. Dick's favourite cereal. Go."

"Lucky Charms? They're the ones with the marshmallows, right?"

"That sounds like a question and not an answer to me, undefeated master."

"Lucky Charms. That's my final answer."

Jason looks triumphant. "Ha! You're wrong. It's Froot Loops."

Selina groans melodramatically. "Godamnit to hell! Curse this day!"

"Yeah, you're overplaying it. No one believes you."

Selina looks over at him, her hand still clenched to her chest theatrically. "Okay, buddy. Here's a tough one. Are you ready?"

"Oh yeah. Bring it on."

"Wayne enterprises. Discuss."

"Bruce runs it- no. Actually, Lucius Fox does all the work. Bruce just sits on his butt all day. It's a big company, with branches all over the eastern seaboard. It has lots of boring departments that I'm not going to get into. They have a Christmas party every year, where Bruce pardons a fir tree, like the president does with the turkeys on thanksgiving. Everyone loves it. It's really weird."

"Titus the dog."

"Oh my God. These aren't even tough. He's big, he's smelly, and he sheds everywhere."

"Who lives in a pineapple under the sea?"

Jason laughs a little, despite himself. "Spongebob Squarepants. And you've asked me three in a row. I get a question now."

"Shoot."

"What do you call a cow with no arms and no legs?"

"I don't know. What?" They're both grinning like idiots.

"Ground beef." He says proudly, and she winces.

"Jason, honey. That was terrible."

"I know. It was the worst one I could think of." He leans back, his face smug.

"Okay. My turn. What did the shoes say to the pants?"

"I can tell this is gonna be bad." But he's laughing, a far cry from the surly Jason from five minutes ago.

"SUP, BRITCHES!"

And they're both laughing, loud enough that his stomach starts hurting. Jason's shoulders shake in silent mirth, and he's covering his face, because that joke was really bad, and laughing at it this hard, is slightly embarrassing.
Every time they start winding down, one of them says gasps out 'britches', and they start laughing all over again.

"Okay, okay," Selina wheezes, wiping away tears from her smiling face, "I'll ask you a serious one now. Tell me what happened that day when I took you and Bruce down to the beach."

Jason still has a leftover smile stuck on his face. "The day on the beach?"

Selina nods. "Yeah. After you punched that boy."

Jason looks confident again. "Oh right! Fuckin' Lonnie. I still remember his name. Isn't that weird?"

"Jason. The beach." She prompts.

"Uh, we went to the beach. It was- it was a- rocks? I remember rocks." The smile is replaced by a more thoughtful expression. Sometimes it takes all his energy to remember things.

"Yes, it was a rocky beach. Anything else?"

"And then we, uh, we- I- the beach was, it was"
He's silent for a while. He can't remember.

"I think I need a jumpstart." His voice is quiet.

"Sure. We went to a cove, remember? And you and Bruce walked into the water, and it was freezing? You said," she laughs a little, "that it was the best day of your life."

"I said it was the best day of my life." He repeats, frowning down at his lap.

Selina looks at the space around him. Around the bed. Where just three days ago, the machines were. There was an actual ventilator in here. This, right here- her talking to him, is a miracle in its own right. She doesn't want to push him too hard.

"It's okay. You'll remember eventually." She says carefully, placing her hand on his shoulder.

He shrugs it off, angry.

Selina stares. That's new.

"Jay, it's okay. It'll all co-"

"The best fucking day of my life, and I don't even remember it." He glares at the wall. "Amazing. Just fucking dandy."

"Jay. You'll remember." Selina looks concerned now, eyes slightly wide. He was fine a minute ago.

Jason is about to shake his head-
             

               -when the door opens very loudly.

"Let's get this party started!" Someone hollers excitedly. It's probably Dick.

They've come early, with what looks like all five terminator movies. Tim has a large tub of popcorn in his hands, and that cold weight in his chest drops further down Jason's stomach. He really doesn't feel like having company right now.

Dick does a running start and jumps onto the bed- landing right where Jason's shins are.

"Dick, what the fuck? Get off!" Jason scowls, rubbing his now-sore leg.

Dick ignores what he said completely, pulling him into a tight hug. "Hey, Jaybird. How's it hanging?"

"I'll find something to hang you with if you don't stop hugging me."

"Ouch, Jay." Dick grins, but gets off the bed. "Someone's getting cabin fever. Or, in this case- hospital room fever." He points two finger-guns at Jay, pretending to shoot him and waggles his eyebrows, looking at everyone in the room to see if they laughed.

No one did. Dick retracts his finger guns sadly.

Jason rolls his eyes. "Shut up and put on a movie."

Bruce clears his throat. "Actually, I and Selina want to tell you all something."

Selina jerks her head around at Bruce sharply, desperately trying to catch his eye. When she does, she shakes her head imperceptibly, a minute message passing between them- not now, Bruce.

Jason almost doesn't notice.

"What is it?" He asks, a little sharply. Enough that Tim flinches a little. Good. A raw burst of sick satisfaction rips through him. Before he has time to feel bad about it-

Dick mouths something to Selina.

Huh.

Dick is on it too.

"What's going on?" He asks, looking back and forth between the three of them, getting steadily more pissed off.

The three of them are quiet. Bruce and Dick look confused, and Selina just looks pale.

"Bruce," she says, "maybe we should do this later. Now is not the best-"

"Do what?" Jason says that a little louder than he meant too. It was almost a shout.

They say nothing, avoiding his gaze.

Dick keeps shooting looks at Tim, who's looking at all of them curiously.

Oh.

Oh.

His blood runs cold in his veins. He closes his eyes, and leans back until his head hits the bedpost with an audible thunk noise.

"When were you going to tell me?" He whispers hoarsely.

Selina is the first to talk. She sounds guilty. "As soon as you woke up, Jason. But we just wanted you to adjust a little, and-"

Jason laughs. It's a cruel, bitter sound. "So you gave me three whole days. Thanks a lot."

Bruce sighs. Sighs, like Jason is the problem here. Like he's the one who's causing the trouble. He just woke up from a fucking coma, for God's sake. Can't he catch a goddamn break?
So nothing has changed in the last three weeks. Everything is still always Jason's fault.

Dick pipes up. "Hey Jay, it's gonna be great! Timmy's ad-"

"Shut the fuck up, Dick. Not now." Jason is still whispering. The cold weight in his chest is now getting hotter.

Something is in his hand. He's unconsciously clenched his fist around the TV remote.

Dick goes silent.

Bruce glares at Jason. "Don't talk to your brother like that."

Selina turns to Bruce; she looks a little sick. "Bruce, plea-"

But it's too late now.

"I'LL DO WHATEVER THE FUCK I WANT." Jason screams back, livid. Fuck. Fucking hell.

Selina inhales sharply. Dick's eyes widen. Tim covers his ears and starts to sob.

Bruce looks so taken aback at first, that he almost takes a step back. Then his face hardens as well.

"Apologise now. You're saying things you don't mean. You'll regret saying them later." His tone is clipped and businesslike. Almost like a dismissal.

Jason glares back at him, panting from the exertion of screaming. "Fuck you, Bruce."

Tim is rocking back and forth, crouching with his head tucked in between his legs. He's whimpering every once in a while.

When Jason sees the look on Bruce's face, he knows. He's seem Bruce wear it before. Once, when a reporter tried to take picture of Jason and Dick when they were at school. One time when some asshole tried to cop a feel from Selina when they were at a subway station. When one of his department heads got arrested for embezzlement from the company.
He's wearing that look on his face now.

He knows he's screwed. That doesn't stop him.

"Fuck all of you. No one gives a shit about what I think, huh? Godamnit." He's yelling again. He feels slightly dizzy. Off-centre. It's probably the meds.

Tim starts crying louder, and Jason just wants that noise to stop. Just wants to just punch something. His fist clenches tighter around the remote.

Bruce clenches and unclenched his jaw. "I'm going to take Tim, and leave this room. You're scaring him. I'll come back when you're acting more mature."

That does it for him.

He doesn't know how he could ever have been that stupid. That terrible of a person. He will think about it and regret it for all the days to come. Maybe it was the cold weight in his chest- now getting hotter and hotter until oh God it was burning, and he was burning, and he was rage and fire and ice. Maybe it was Tim's constant, repetitive crying pounding into his head over and over and over. Maybe it was the meds. The PTSD. Maybe it was a mixture of everything, or of nothing or of all the incidents that led up to this moment. Something in him just… snapped.

He throws the remote. Hard. It hits Tim's chin, and he screams.

A beat.

And then everything happens at once. Bruce starts shouting and Tim starts crying and Dick is looking terrified of Jason and Selina is scooping up Tim and checking his chin for blood and shushing him while he's bawling his eyes out and everyone looks horrified but Jason beats all of them by a long shot.

He stares at his hands with wide eyes. They're trembling violently. He can feel the wet tear tracks on his face, and looks up at them. His family. His family looks back at him, their eyes just as wide. They'll probably want to throw him back out onto the streets.

"I didn't mean to. Oh God. I didn't mean it. You know that. Fuck I'm so sorry. I'm sorry." And he's crying harder than Tim now, wrapping his hands around himself while he shudders and gasps.

Selina is the first to move. She hands a still-crying Tim to Bruce, and whispers something to him. Bruce gives Jason a long look, his expression unreadable, before taking hold of Dick's hand, and leading both the other boys out of the room.

That leaves only the two of them.

Selina stands at the foot of the bed while Jason cries. Her eyes are not angry, but they are not soft either. They are sharp. Thinking. Thinking of a solution for the problem that is Jason.

Why does this keep happening? Why does Jason keep becoming a problem?

 

Finally, she says something. "I'm going to take you somewhere. Can you walk till the parking lot?"

Jason looks up at her, still hiccuping, and wipes his nose. If she's going to dump him somewhere, he'll go with his head held high. "I can walk." He says, his voice whisper soft, and watery.

Selina nods once. "Let's go."

He gets to his feet shakily, putting on his shoes while Selina watches. "Won't the doctors say something? I'm not allowed to leave, right?"

Selina shakes her head, her voice distant, like she's still thinking. "I'll talk to them when I get back."

When I get back. Not when we get back. She's going to drive him someplace and leave him there.

 

She walks ahead of him, leading the way. While they walk to the parking lot, it strikes him that he's never actually walked through the hospital, or been anywhere in it, except for his room. And judging by the confidence with which Selina is navigating through the hallways, she and Bruce and everyone else must have visited regularly. Every day, even.

They visited him every day, and he returned the favour by throwing a remote at an autistic nine year old boy they wanted to adopt.

~

They drive in silence.

Jason turns his head to look outside the window, and he can see that they're turning away from the richer part of Gotham to the more rundown areas. The buildings get smaller, the roads narrower. Some street light flicker. Others are broken. He sees a lot of graffiti. After a while, their car- a Rolls Royce, stops getting awed looks and starts getting resentful ones.

They enter Old Gotham. Crime Alley, where he grew up, is fifteen minutes away. He tries not to think about it.

Selina hasn't looked his way the entire time.

Jason clears his throat a little, his voice small. "Are you going to leave me here?"

Selina looks at him, surprised. "Of course not. Jason, I would never abandon you."

How could she say that after he did what he did? But Jason says nothing.

They stop at a small, greying apartment block. The bricks look like they're crumbling, and most of the windows are gone. It looks like it's been abandoned for a long time. The plaster and cement are peeling off with old age, revealing scaffolding and rusting iron beams underneath, giving the whole building a skeletal appearance. The entire structure is caked in dust.

Selina gets out of the car, and opens the door for Jason. Once he's out, she starts walking towards the building, and he follows hesitantly.

Once they reach it, she points out one of the flats in the building, one with missing windows.

"That's where I grew up."

Jason stares at her. He turns his gaze to her wrist, where she's wearing a Tiffany tennis bracelet, and then up to her neck, where she's wearing Martha Wayne's pearls. That alone looks like it costs more than the rent of the entire building.

She walks in, propping the rusted gate open with what looks like practiced ease. Does she come here a lot?

Inside, there is no elevator. No fancy doorman, that Selina would usually tip handsomely. Instead, he follows Selina up the stairs. When he looks closer, he sees that they are infested with termite mounds.

They walk up seven floors, and when they reach, Jason is panting, but Selina looks the same as ever, if only slightly apologetic. "I'm sorry I made you climb so much. You don't even have medical clearance."

Jason can only look at her, wide-eyed, because she's actually apologising. Apologising to him, after he hit Timmy. "It's okay." He says, his voice tight.

They make their way down the empty hallway, and finally pause at a door. Selina pulls out a bobby pin from her hair, and slips open the lock neatly.

Jason gapes at her. Who is she?

She opens the door, and walks inside, looking around. He follows, going in silently.

"Oh, good," she says, giving the place a final checkup. "There are no infestations. Yet. I wouldn't want to have to deal with that."

"Infestations?" Jason squeaks. It's hard to think of Selina having to deal with a rat infestation. It's like she belongs in a world where rats and termites and crime alley do not exist, and only diamonds and Russian ballet and billionaires do, and now the two worlds have collided, and Jason's experiencing some sort of interplanetary vertigo.

Selina shoots Jason an amused look. "Close your mouth, Jason Peter."

Jason stops gaping at her, snapping his mouth shut with a click of his teeth.

Selina walks over to another room, calling him without turning back. "Come here. I want to show you something."

Jason scurries after Selina, not wanting to be left alone with any possible infestations.

She's standing at the entrance of a room, looking at something on the wall and smiling. Her eyes are a little sad.

She sees Jason, and points out some markings. They're tiny notches, made in pencil, with a small 'S' or an 'M' written next to it, in cramped cursive. There are dates written next to most of them, the highest notch reading - 2002, and the lowest one, much more faded, reading out - 1991.

"It's a height marker." Jason says. They do this in the manor as well. Alfred makes him stand against the wall and marks his height every month. Going on his tip-toes is not allowed. Jason knows this, because he has tried many times.

"That's right." Selina says, her hand tracing the notches. "My mother would do it for us." She points to the 'S' besides one of the notches. "S for Selina," and the points to the 'M' on another. "And M for Maggie."

Jason studies the wall for a while. "And Maggie was your sister." He uses past tense, because he has a feeling. Usually he's right about these things.

Selina nods. "She was."

Jason hates being right about these things.

Selina looks around the rest of the room. "I shared this room with my sister for ten years. It was me, my mom, my dad and Maggie in this eight hundred square feet dump of an apartment. It was cramped, sure, but I loved them very much. We were happy.
Then my mom got sick. She was in a lot of pain. So she started drinking to take the edge off. Cheaper than painkillers. She got better eventually. Didn't stop drinking. You know what it's like, having a parent who isn't a hundred percent there all the time."

Jason nods. He does.

"So for a long time, it was just me and Maggie. My dad worked a lot. He had to, to pay all the bills. Just me and my younger sister, against the world."

She kneels down on the floor, her finger grazing the lowest notch in the wall. It has an 'M', and is marked 1995.

Jason has a sudden urge to tell her to get off the floor, because she's ruining her seven hundred dollar coat with dust, before he realises that this damp, musty and termite ridden house must mean more to her than all the designer coats in the world.

"When Bruce called the Drakes, he was expecting that they'd put up some kind of fight for their son, you know? The worst part is, mostly they were just relieved. The mother, Janet, cried a bit on the phone. She said that she had never wanted children. That she wasn't a good mother to Tim anyway. That he deserved much more. It really shocked us. We didn't have to file for child abandonment or anything. They just… gave their baby away. Sometimes you're stuck with people who don't want you anyway. But sometimes you get to choose, and that's the beauty of family."

She turns back to him, and unlike what he expected, her eyes are clear and dry.
"Jason, I was stuck in a hovel in Old Gotham, two floors above a guy who cooked meth, and a block away from the biggest human trafficking organisation in the city, with an alcoholic mother, and a father who never had enough time for us. And it was hard. But I got out, because I had the best sister in the whole world, and I didn't even choose her.

You're lucky, because you get to pick your family. Give Tim a chance, okay? He helped with a lot of things while you were gone. And being an older sibling is a beautiful gift. Now, I'm sorry that the timing was so wrong, and we decided on this just when you woke up. I never wanted to hurt you. No one ever did. We love you so much, Jason. So much. Never doubt that."

And if Jason cries again that day, still in her arms, both of them now kneeling on the dirty, sticky floor of the shadiest apartment in Gotham, Selina tells no one.

 

~

 

When they reach the hospital again, it's almost noon, and Dick and Tim are both lying on the hospital bed and are midway through the second terminator movie, their eyes half glazed with boredom. Bruce is sitting on the chair next to the bed, answering emails on his phone.

All of them look up when Jason walks in, their faces show varying degrees of fear and concern. Tim whimpers again, and the sound makes Jason flinch. The small boy's chin now has stitches on it, he notes with increasing shame.

Jason walks up to Tim haltingly, a guilty expression on his face. "I'm sorry that I hit you with a remote."

Tim looks at him suspiciously, but the expression doesn't quite work because he's too damn cute to look threatening.

Jason brings out a small bag from his jacket pocket, a sheepish expression on his face. "I, uh. Got you some gummy bears. Selina told me they're your favourite."

Tim peers at the bag carefully, and opens it a little. There they are. Gummy bears.

Timmy thinks for a while. He has to make the right decision.

"You're forgiven." He says, quickly putting a gummy bear in his mouth.

Jason smiles shyly, and crawls onto the bed to watch the movie with them.

 

Sometimes you get to choose, and that's the beauty of family.

 

Notes:

As always, please leave a comment.

You can check out my Tumblr if you want.

Chapter 16: Pool party!

Summary:

Jason gets a 'Hey he's back home!' pool party.

Notes:

Sorry for being late. I am absolutely swamped with work. I literally wrote this in a coffee shop in between study breaks.

 

So here's some fluff :)

Selina yawns, putting her shirt back on. She's suddenly very sleepy. The mid morning sun filling their room warms her bare legs.

Bruce gives her a look while slipping on his boxer shorts. His hair is still slightly mussed. "Didn't get any sleep last night?"

Selina shakes her head. "Not a lot. Jason kept waking up. First nights are tough."

Bruce pulls her back over to his side of the bed, and starts helping her with her shirt. Selina rubs her eyes tiredly. "Thanks. I think I'll just sleep for a few hours. Keep an eye on the kids, will you?"

Bruce finishes up her buttons, and puts the comforter over her as she lies back down.

She hears a loud shout of laughter from downstairs, and then a clanging of metal. Bruce tilts his head, his hands still on her waist. "I think they're taking care of themselves just fine."

Selina smirks sleepily. "I told them to make breakfast for us today. Give Alfred a break. I was thinking of something more along the lines of cereal, but knowing Dick he's attempting to make crepes or something."

Bruce smiles against her collarbone, and she can feel it, all weight and warmth and heat. "I'll go help them clean up the mess."

He pushes off of the bed, and walks to another part of the room, picking up a pair of jeans.

Selina gets back up on her elbows to look at him go. The view is nice. "Did you call Clark?"

"Yeah. Lois is coming too. Clark told me she's pregnant. It's a boy." He looks at her carefully when he says this, trying to gauge her reaction.

Selina grins. "Really? That's amazing! We'll get another cake for them, then."

Bruce looks at her again. "Okay."
He feels like he's treading on thin ice.

"Bruce, you know that I'm not going to get upset every time another woman gets pregnant, right?"

He shrugs a little uncomfortably. "I don't know. I didn't want to you to be. . . unhappy."

She smiles at him again. "I'm not. Have they picked a name yet?"

Bruce goes back to putting on the jeans. "They want to name him Jon. After Clark's father."

"Bruce, honey - those are my jeans." The corners of her mouth twitch up; she's trying not to laugh.

"Oh." Says Bruce, very matter-of-factly. "That might explain why they're so tight."

Selina snickers. "Your jeans are somewhere in that general quadrant of the room. We tossed them somewhere near the dresser, I think." She points toward it.

Bruce heads over to the dresser, and picks up his jeans from the floor.

Selina hears a louder noise from downstairs, which is immediately accompanied by one of the boys (probably Jason), shouting 'ABORT!'

She groans, "This was a bad idea. Go find out if something is on fire."

Bruce puts on his (not-too-tight) jeans.

"Don't worry," he says, closing the door behind him as he leaves. "we're insured against natural disasters."

~

Dick stares at the mess sadly. All he wanted was to make an omelette. There's eggshells all over the floor where Jason tried to unsuccessfully carry them from the fridge. And the counter is covered in egg whites. They're not so good at whisking anything either. Titus pants happily. He's not allowed in the kitchen, but if no one knew, what was the harm right?

Turns out, there's a reason behind that rule. Titus tried to eat the spatula.

He eyes the roll of burnt paper towels warily. Dick tried to mop up the mess, but he forgot that he left the burner still on, and there may have been a small fire.

Dick turns around to his brothers. "No one tells Alfred."

They all nod solemnly in agreement.

"No one tells Alfred what?"
Bruce is standing at the doorway, leaning casually on the frame.

Tim's eyes widen as he scrambles to hide the burnt paper towels behind his back. Jason shoots Dick a desperate look.
Dick shrugs desperately back. There's not much they can do at this point.

Bruce takes in the eggshells on the floor, and looks at Jason's hair - which has a little bit of ham in it. At Tim, who is failing to hide the paper towels behind his back, on account of the fact that the roll is may possibly be bigger than he is. At Titus, who's nosing through Jason's hair.

He turns his face away for a while, and Dick can tell he's actively trying not to laugh.

"Boys," he says in a strangled sort of voice, "I'm very disappointed in you."

Dick sighs in relief. He's not mad. Good. "B, you have to help. If Alfred finds out, he'll kill us."

Bruce clears his throat a little, eyeing the paper towels behind Timmy. "And what is that?"

"Nothing." Dick says, while Tim shouts "I'm sorry!" at the same time.

Bruce raises an eyebrow.

Dick sighs. "There was a small fire."

Bruce shakes his head, still smiling a little. "We're going to clean up, and then make cereal. And then all three of you will take showers. You all smell like burnt eggs."

Jason leans back against the counter, "Phew. Thank God you didn't yell at us, B. I think Dickie would've popped a blood vessel or something if you'd have told Alfred." He says this very casually, but looks obviously relieved.

Bruce picks up the chewed remains of the spatula delicately. It seems to have . . . fur on it?
"Oh I'm telling Alfred. And I will enjoy every second of punishment he chooses to dole out to you."

They collectively groan. Jason slaps a hand on his forehead. Bruce looks at all of them, his mouth twitching up. If only they were as scared of him as they are of Alfred.

Dick shakes his head sadly. There's no other option. It's time to put his last card on the table. Dick nudges Tim sharply, giving him a look. Tim nods seriously. He's been chosen.

He steps up to Bruce, barely reaching his waist. Tugs on his shirt to get his attention.
"Bruce?" He says, with a soft voice and wide eyes.

Bruce looks at him, spatula still in hand.

"We're sorry." Tim says, softly. His lower lip is trembling, and his large blue eyes are expressive and sad. Bruce feels himself falter.

Tim tugs on Bruce's shirt again, the way he does when he wants to be carried. Bruce picks him up, tucking his head into his shoulder. Tim slings his arms around Bruce's neck, sniffling a little.

"Please don't tell Alfred." He whispers into Bruce's ear.

Bruce sighs. "Maybe just for you, Tim. I don't think you actually did anything to mess up the kitchen."

Tim shakes his head vigorously. "For both of them too." He fixes Bruce with another wide-eyed, puppy dog look.
"they're my brothers, dad."

Bruce pauses at that. "Hmmph. Maybe."

Tim shoots Dick a thumbs-up who gives him one back enthusiastically. The mission is going well. The Subject is emotionally compromised.

Bruce frowns. "I saw that."

"Saw what?" Tim asks innocently.

Dick mouths something at him, shaking his head furiously.

"The thumbs-up. Are the two of you playing me?" Bruce asks, narrowing his eyes.

"What? No!" Tim says, panicking. He switches to the last resort, and kisses Bruce's cheek. "I love you!"

But the act is up. Bruce puts him back down gently, shaking his head. "You boys have no shame. Just for that, I'm going to tell Alfred that you broke something." Tim pouts.

Dick sighs. Tim's just not meant for field missions.

Jason is snickering in the corner. "Don't you think you overdid it a little there, Timbo?"

Tim glares at him. "I don't see you trying anything."

Jason shrugs. "I've accepted my fate."

Bruce smacks him lightly on the head. "You're overdoing it now. Alfred is not going to hang you from a cross. Get out of here. Go take a shower - You have pastrami in your hair."

The three of them trudge out of the kitchen, leaving Bruce looking at the mess in amusement.

Dick deigns to tell him about the waffles they were trying to make before this. It resulted in the stunning explosion of their waffle iron, and nearly burned all of Titus's fur off. He has a feeling Bruce won't react as. . . positively to that.

 

~

 

Timmy sighs, throwing the pen down. "This sucks. '50 ways to cook an egg without ruining the counters or giving someone salmonella'?
Does Selina know that he's making us do this?"

Jason leans over to grab another book from the shelf. "She's out like a light. Sleeping upstairs. Completely oblivious as to our less-than-humane punishment."

Dick looks up at them, rolling his eyes. "It's just writing a report, Jay. You know how many times I've had to do this? You remember that rotisserie chicken incident? I had to write a five page report on the poultry and fowl industry regulations of Gotham. Trust me when I say that we got off easy this time."

Jason scowls, opening one of the books. "I don't see why we aren't allowed to use the internet. This whole reference book thing is going to take fucking forever. We'll miss the party."

"Don't be ridiculous, Jaybird. It's your party. They won't start without you, dumbass." Dick grins.

Tim passes him another book. "This one's about germs, I think. I don't know why it's on the cookery shelf. Also, why do we have a bookshelf just for cookbooks?"

Dick looks at that. "Oh yeah. He made me write that report about germs one time when I refused to take a bath for three days."

Jason scrunches up his nose. "Dude. Gross."

Tim takes another book out. "What about this one? 'The Fresh Egg Cookbook: from chicken to kitchen," he reads out, "recipes for using eggs from your farmer's markets, local farms, and your own backyard."

He looks up at them. "Let's grow some eggs in our backyard."

Dick snorts. "Sure thing, Timmy. Right after we finish this. Hand me that book. Think Alfred ever made Bruce do this?"

Tim slides the book over across the library table. "If he did, then I want to read one of his reports. I'll go get the other books."

Jason groans, staring at the cookbook. "'50 ways to cook an egg without ruining the counters or giving someone salmonella' is not what I intended for my first ever book to be."

"He also asked us to include 500 words about how cleanliness is next to Godliness." Tim's voice is muffled behind the shelf. "God, I need some coffee."

Dick opens the book, flipping through its pages. "Welcome to the club, dude. Alfred is a mean, mean man."

~

Pam and Harley reach first, their hands full of gift bags.

Pam shrugs when Bruce raises an eyebrow. "It's not everyday that you wake up from a coma and come home. Besides, they're not all for him. We haven't even seen Tim yet. Got him a remote helicopter thing."

Bruce lets them in, taking all the gift bags. "He'll love it. Selina's outside, by the pool. So's Jason."

Harley beams. "I swear ta God, I'm gonna burst into tears when I see him. That kid is one strong sonuvabitch."

She heads towards the pool outside, bouncing on the balls of her feet. Pam watches her go fondly. She turns to Bruce.

"She'll really do it, you know. She'll start crying all over Jason. I should go make sure she doesn't make anyone uncomfortable." But her eyes twinkle with mirth as she turns to follow Harley to the pool.

Next come Clark and Lois. Clark has two over night bags slung over one shoulder, and a skateboard in the other arm.

"Men over thirty aren't allowed to skateboard in my house, Kent."

Clark grins. "Don't be an ass. You know this is for Jason."

Selina chooses that moment to come into the house. Her hair is wet from the pool, and she's wearing a bikini. Bruce's brain short circuits a little.

"Hey Clark. Is that for Jason?" She asks, eyeing the skateboard.

"Yeah. Figured he'd like it." He takes something out from his bag, and hands it to Selina. It's a helmet. "It's got extra padding, so just keep that on him all the time, and he'll never suffer from a head injury again."

Selina chuckles. "I'll do that."

Bruce leans against door. "I told Selina that Lois is pregnant."

Lois beams. "Yeah. Five weeks along."

Selina beams back. "I got you guys a cake. And a onesie."

Bruce frowns. "Isn't it too early to get them baby clothes? I mean-"

"Shut up, Bruce."

"Okay."

Clark mouths "you're whipped." over Lois's shoulder.

Says the man holding both bags, a skateboard and and now a new onesie for his wife.

They're both whipped, he supposes.

 

Wally makes his entrance a little late, as always. But when he does, all that anyone sees is a blur of red hair and trunks diving into the pool yelling "Cannonball!"

Dick laughs and jumps in as well. Then he screams and jumps out, hugging himself tightly. "Who's idea was it to throw a pool party in January? My balls just froze off!"

Bruce looks at Dick jumping around, amused. He takes a sip of his beer. "It was your idea. And we have a heated pool. Turn up the heat if it's too cold."

Dick shoots Bruce a resentful look. "I bet you put the settings on minimum just to see me do this."

"Now why," Bruce smiles, "would I do that?"

He's pretty sure Dick mumbles something like 'sadist asshole of a father' before he gets back in the water.

Jason tries to throw rocks at them in the water before Bruce can catch him. (But Bruce! It's like shooting fish in a barrel! Look at them flailing around!)

Everyone else is either talking around the cooler, where the drinks are, or sitting near the pool. The sun is going down slowly, leaving the sky orange-streaked.

It's a beautiful day.

~

Jason watches Timmy carefully, a rock in his hand. He's grinning a little, hair still standing on one end from when Harley tried to forcibly put that helmet onto his head.

"Okay, buddy. That's it. You're on cleaning duty with me." Bruce takes the rock from his hand. "And where are you getting these rocks from anyway?"

Jason scowls, but lets himself be led towards the house. "A magician never reveals his secrets."

"Think you can wash the punch bowl for me, Mr. Magician?"

Jason groans. "You can't make me work for my own party, B!"

"Watch me." Bruce hands him the now empty punch bowl, but Jason is already looking to a side. A table, where all Bruce kept all his presents. It holds a small mountain of gift bags.

"Are those all for me?" He asks, smiling a little.

Bruce ruffles his hair, as they stop in the middle of the hall to look at them.

Jason breathes out in a long exhale. "Wow. Y'know, I've haven't been given so much stuff at once since, since-"

He thinks for a while.

"Scratch that. I've never been given this much stuff." He looks at the pile more closely, and finds a small package, covered in cream-coloured paper.

"What's that one?" He asks, picking it up.

Bruce puts his hands in his pockets. "That one's from me."

Jason turns to look at Bruce. "B. You didn't have to get me anything." But he's grinning.

Bruce puts his hand on Jason's shoulder, and Jason can feel its solid weight.

The gift is rectangular. It feels like a book. Or maybe a photo frame.
He turns to Bruce, still holding the gift. "Can I open it?"

Bruce nods, his hand still on Jay's shoulder. His eyes look warm. "Maybe just this once."

Jason tears through the paper quickly, and Bruce laughs, a deep sound, which seems to come straight from his chest. "Calm down, Jay. It won't go anywhere."

Jason can see a corner of it peaking out through the paper as he unwraps it. He looks up at Bruce. "It's a book." He grins.

"Go on. Take it out." 

Jason takes the book out of the creamy paper, holding it up to read the title. "The Road."

Bruce nods, averting his eyes for a second. Jason wonders if he's embarrassed. "The books is- it's about a father and a son."

"Oh." Jason says. Not very eloquently.

" When I saw it, I- I thought about you." He clears his throat uncomfortably. Selina's much better at all of this.

Jason smiles again, a little shyly this time. "Thanks, dad."

He hugs him before Bruce can fully process what he just said, the book clutched tightly between them.

The punch bowl lies to a side, forgotten.

~

Tim scurries upto Selina, clad in swim trunks and a desperate expression.

"What is it?" Selina asks, concerned.

"Selina, we've run out of sunscreen. Now everyone here is susceptible to skin cancer."

Selina tries not to smile. "There's some in my dresser. You can use that."

Timmy scrunches up his nose. "Yeah, but that smells all flowery. It's for girls."

"Would you rather wear sunscreen for girls, or get skin cancer?"

Tim sighs loudly, "Fine." and runs off again.

Harley snorts. "Your kids are fucking awesome."

Selina shakes her head, grinning. "A fucking pain in the ass is what they are. Apparently they almost caused a fire in the kitchen today."

Harley laughs, leaning back on the pool chair. "You made your bed, and now ya have to lie in it. What is this, the third child you guys have picked up from the street, Selina? Anyone ever told ya that your boyfriend has a serious hero complex?"

"Oh yeah. Pretty much everyone I know. He also has a very specific type of damsel in distress."

"Orphan boys who look exactly like him, and are so freaking cute I might spontaneously combust?"

Selina smiles as she sees grinning Dick splash Wally with water. "You know it."

They sit in silence for a while, listening to the sounds of the party.

"Hey, kitty?" Harley's voice is suddenly quiet. Serious.

"Yeah?"

Harley looks at Pam, who's standing with Lois, laughing at something. "She asked me to marry her."

Selina sits up, looking at Harley with wide eyes. "Holy shit."

"And I said yes." Harley whispers.

"Holy shit." She squeaks.

"Yeah." Harley looks a little surprised herself.

They both sit in a slightly disoriented silence for a while, processing.

"What- when did she ask you?" Selina finally manages to say, spluttering a little.

"A week back." Harley laughs, a little nervously.

"You kept this from me for a week?" Selina's eyebrows shoot up to her hairline.

Harley gives her a look. "C'mon Kitty. You were more than busy this last week, don't ya think?" She says, pointing at a Jason and Bruce, who are coming out of the house, both smiling.

"Well, yeah but-"

"Listen! We haven't told anyone! I wasn't even supposed to tell you. We were going to throw a big party to announce it, but cat's outta the bag now, I guess." She nudges Selina at the 'cat' part.

"Where are you having the wedding? Have you decided for a venue? Or a guest list? Dresses?" Selina is breathless with excitement.

Harley looks at her with wide eyes. "Kitty! Calm down. I don't even know if there will be a wedding. We could just go to a courthouse and sign some papers, man."

"Okay, okay." Selina says, holding her hands up in surrender. "Just saying, if you want a nice outdoors wedding, you could have it on the Wayne Manor grounds. What do you think? Near that greenhouse where you two first did the ah- horizontal hula"

Harley laughs deal the herself. "The horizontal hula? What the fuck, Selina. And we did not have sex in the greenhouse. We just made out. Heavily."

"Whatever. No one has been to that greenhouse ever since. Next time you get antsy, go find a bed, Harley. Not a bunch of plants."

"We were very drunk." Harley laughs. Still, the more she thinks about it, the more this Wayne manor thing sounds like a good idea.

"Goddamnit Selina. Now I actually like this plan. I mean if Bruce is-"

"Bruce will be fine with it. Stop worrying."

"Well then I- okay. I'll have to talk to Red but, yeah. Okay."

Selina grins, and does a silent fist pump. Harley rolls her eyes. She's spending too much time with boys under the age of sixteen.

"Hey Harley?"

"Yeah?"

"It's a beautiful fucking day."

 

Notes:

As always, please leave a comment. Thank you for reading.

Chapter 17: The Calm Before the Storm

Summary:

A boy travels on a long journey. Meanwhile, Harley and Pam get married.

Notes:

All italicised dialogues are in Arabic.

The boy spars with his mother. They are out in the open, in the courtyard of their personal quarters, in one corner of the security compound. It is noontime, and the hot desert sun beats down heavily on their backs. He steadies his grip on his twin swords, sweat trickling down his back.

His mother stands strong, her own sword sure and confident in her hand.

She nods.

He charges.

He strikes first with his left blade, aiming for her shoulder. She parries it with an effortless flick of her wrist, angling the blade in front of him. The dazzling reflection of its jagged edges hurts his eyes, but he continues onwards, thrusting his small but fast body towards her undefended side, and feints at her right leg.

Strike.

Counterstrike.

She flips around towards him, her bare feet moving nimbly on the reddish soil. Kicks a sword out of his hand.

The boy is undeterred. His light eyes, an unusual feature in the desert, study her stance. He thinks fast, anticipating her next strike. He moves forward again, this time dodging her sword and aiming for her ankle. His mother leaps back, looking at her opponent appraisingly.

There is something resembling pride in her eyes, and it makes the boy smile. A deathly one, but a smile no less.

I am not going to hold back anymore. His mother says, sheathing her sword, and taking out a small dagger. She is even better than his grandfather in yielding this weapon. It is her favourite- even more so than her guns.

The boy nods.

She charges.

He ducks and rolls, the desert sand caking his back, scraping harshly against it. His mother switches course at the last moment, slicing into his arm. He gasps a little, dropping the other sword, and sees the blood drip down onto the sand. Small, red poppies, blooming up in the soil.

His mother draws back slowly, and resumes her fighting stance. He holds his arm tenderly, breathing hard. He is good, but his mother is better. His arm hurts, throbbing painfully. Only the weak show pain. So he holds back his tears.

His mother's face softens a little. You fought well today. Let me wrap up your arm.

She sheaths her dagger, and picks up his twin swords from the sand. Leads him back inside, to their rooms.

The boy is quiet. He has failed again. What will his grandfather say?

His mother wraps up his arm in silence. She fixes him with a look. Do not be disheartened, son. You are only six. There is still time to learn. One day you will be the best of all of us.

The boy is still quiet. Still sullen.

She takes out her gun from the dresser, and lays it in front of him. Take it apart and assemble it again.

The boy nods, perking up a little. This, he's good at. He deftly picks at the parts.

Mother, He says, not looking up.

Yes? His Mother asks, wiping away his blood from her dagger.

Is it time now? He asks, too casually. Can I go?

His mother slams down the dagger. He does not flinch, but continues to disassemble the gun. He has asked her this thousands of times, and she has always reacted this way.

Stop asking me this. I will let you go when you are ready. When your grandfather thinks you are ready.I have told you this time and again, She hisses, her face regal and proud. Beautiful, like his father must have once thought.

I have to see him! He hisses back, equally furious, his light eyes aflame. The gun is disassembled.

She scoffs. There is not much to see. Your father is not some god to behold. He was too weak to even stay with us. To join us.

The boy scowls. That's not what you always say. You tell me he was a brave man. That he was the best. I want to learn from the best, Mother. His hands clench into fists, smeared with gun oil.

Strike.

Counterstrike.

His mother shakes her head. You're too young. This is the last time we will talk about this.

The boy looks down at the gun. For a long time he says nothing. Then he starts reassembling it again.

His mother sighs. She knows he'll ask again. And again. And again. She should never have told him about his father in the first place. The man with the unsettling and sad light eyes who stayed with them in the compound for a year. In search of a purpose.
At that time, it seemed like they were in love. Love. How trivial a thing. She's not as young and hopeful as she used to be anymore. She knows that he will never come back. But maybe, for her son, it's not too late.

Is this really the life she wants for her son to have? Six years old, and he knows how to take apart and put together a gun? How to kill people?

She looks at him, her hands still curled around the dagger. He's still assembling the gun.

Son?

Yes. His voice is short. Clipped. It reminds her so much of the man's. How it had become when they started to fight with each other, nearing the end of his stay. He wanted to leave. Come with me, he'd said, his eyes ablaze and determined. Come with me. I love you.

Love is for children, She told him. So he left. She stayed.

(If he'd really loved her, he wouldn't have left. If he'd really loved her, he wouldn't have asked her to leave the only home she knew. So she didn't tell him about the baby)

Son? She asks again. I won't take you to see your father. Your grandfather wishes to sever all ties with him. If I take him to you, he may kill the both of us.

He scowls, his hands still working.

I won't take you to see him, but I will take you to America. We have clients there. A company called LexCorp. Their CEO has requested a private meet-up with me. I think I will take you. For practical experience, of course. You've never even been outside the compound. You will stay in the hotel room for the entire duration of our trip, of course. Now, this company is in Metropolis, only a few hours away from Gotham city. That's where your father lives.

His hands still. He looks up at her.

From there it's only the matter of taking a train or a ferry. Then a taxi to Wayne manor, where he lives. 1007-Mountain Drive, Bristol, New Jersey. Remember that adress. I will go for the meeting the evening after we arrive, leaving you alone in the hotel room for five hours. There will be one thousand dollars in my suitcase, which would be enough to cover ticket costs if someone hypothetically wished to make the journey.

The boy presents her the gun, now reassembled. He did it in under a minute.

You did a good job, she tells him.

Thank you, Mother. He's not talking about the gun. They both know it.

Talia Al Ghul tucks it in her waistband. If you tried to do any escaping of any sort, both your grandfather and I would be very disappointed in you, son. She smiles at him.

Of course not, Mother. He smiles back.

~

Harley takes a swig from the little bottle, and immediately makes a face. "Wow. This is really strong."

Selina frowns. "Yeah, on second thought, maybe I shouldn't be giving you any alcohol. You're a lightweight."

Harley huffs, putting the bottle down. She fingers the hem of her dress, and looks at herself in the mirror. "Not too bad, Ms. Quinzel." She says, flashing herself a bright grin.
She turns back to look at Selina. "I think I'm gonna go up there, and just melt. Just turn into a puddle. A big quivering mess of tears and makeup."

Selina nods. "Forget what I just said. You can have one more sip of the bourbon."

"Thank God." Harley takes another sip, and scrunches up her nose. "This stuff is disgusting."

"It's liquid courage. But don't have too much. I don't want you throwing up on the priest midway through the ceremony." Selina says, fiddling with Harley's bouquet a little.

"I'll try." Harley says, putting the bottle away again. She takes a look at Selina. "Kitty, you don't clean up so bad either." She grins, looking at Selina's gown. It's cut pretty low.

"Eyes up here, buddy. You're getting married in two hours. Have some shame." Selina says, rolling her eyes. She hands Harley the bouquet with an over-dramatic flourish.

Harley accepts it with a teasing courtesy. "Hey, all I'm sayin' is that if you keep walking around in that dress, Bruce is gonna explode. Down there" she adds, whispering theatrically.

"That's romantic." Selina states drily.

Harley grins. "I'm getting married!" She says, doing a little dance.

"You're going to ruin your dress by stomping on it." Selina laughs. Then she stills as she remembers something. Takes something out of a bag. "Oh, I forgot. Here, put this in your hair." She hands her a flower.

Harley takes it, clipping it in place. "Shit, I look nice." She laughs nervously.

"You do. And don't worry about the ceremony. Everyone else will be too much of a quivering mess to notice that you are too."

Someone knocks at the door. "Can I come in?" Tim asks.

Harley opens the door. "Hey Timmers, watcha upto?"

Tim pulls at his bowtie a little. "Do I have to wear this? I mean, I think the cummerbund is a little unnecessary."

Harley beams at him. "You look amazing, Timmy. Perfecto."

Tim frowns. "But did the bowtie really have to be green?"

"It's Pam's favourite colour. Besides, it brings out your eyes! You look so handsome." She says giddily.

"Are you a little drunk?" Tim asks, looking more confused than ever.

Harley nods, still beaming.

Selina rolls her eyes. "She's not drunk. It's the nerves." Then she goes completely still, cocking her head to the side.

"Jason! I can smell it from here! Put out that cigarette." She says, yelling to him through the door.

Jason comes into the room, scowling a little. He flicks the cigarette into an ashtray. "It wasn't mine. I bummed it off of the commissioner. You should see his suit. It's a lot of tweed."

Selina raises an eyebrow. "And why would the commissioner give a child a cigarette? Besides, Jim doesn't even smoke. Make better excuses next time."

"I'm turning thirteen in two months, you know." Jason says, weakly.

Selina narrows her eyes. "We're going to talk about this later."

Harley looks at Jason. "You look even cuter!" She says, clapping her hands in delight. He's wearing a matching tuxedo along with Timmy. Green bowtie.

Jason's scowl deepens, and he goes a little pink. "This is so embarrassing. Don't take any pictures."

Harley takes a picture.

Jason groans. "If this finds its way to the internet, I will hunt you down to wherever you're going for your honeymoon, and shove this ashtray up your-"

"Jay." Selina's tone is reprimanding. "Be nice to women on their wedding days."

Tim snickers. "Yeah Jason, be nice."

Jay smacks him on the head.

Tim shoves him back.

Selina sighs, watching, as they get into a full blown wrestling match. "Boys, you're ruining your suits." She says, trying to pulling them apart.

"Hey boys, no fighting on my wedding day!" Harley adds in cheerily.

~

The boy sits cross legged in the middle of his hotel room bed, practising his American accent. It is mostly perfect by now.

His mother is in the bathroom getting ready for the meeting. He can hear the sounds of the shower running. He pulls his jacket closer to himself, shivering a little. It is cold in America.

He feels tired; they had to take a direct flight, and it was a gruelling eleven hours of sitting in one place, not doing anything. He longs to run again, to feel the sun on his back and the sand under his feet.

His mother comes out of the bathroom, wearing a long, slinky dress. She slips her handgun in her purse.
The boy raises an eyebrow. I thought you were going for a meeting.

"Speak in English now. It will be good practice for you." Her own accent is impeccable.

"I thought you were going for a meeting. Why are you wearing that." He repeats.

"It is a meeting. Just disguised as a party. Americans do this a lot. Throw parties for everything. Charities, meetings, even sports." She says, applying a reddish lipstick.

The boy makes a face. He does not understand their archaic traditions. He continues to practice his English, saying his American name out loud. They chose it for him before the journey, forging his official papers accordingly. Apparently, it's very modern. It fits in.

The last thing he wants to do is fit in, but he'll do anything to see his father.

"I am leaving now." His mother tells him. "Don't leave the room." She says, giving him a wink.

This kind of joviality is out of character for his mother. It sends a hot, wet lump down his throat. He nods stiffly. This may be the last time he sees her.

Her face softens, and she comes to sit on the bed with him, pul him onto her lap. be careful, She says, diverting back to Arabic.

I am always careful, he tells her, but makes no move to get off her lap.

She hugs him to her chest. You are my son. Never forget that. Never forget where you came from.

He nods against her shoulder, his small hands tight around her.

She lets go of him.
Be good. She kisses his forehead, and the boy squeezes his eyes shut, trying to will the tears back inside. Only the weak show pain.

She turns to leave. "And tell your father that I send him my regards."

The door clicks shut behind her.

He sits cross legged in the middle of the hotel room bed for some time, sniffling a little. Then he gets up, and opens up her suitcase. There are one thousand dollars inside, tucked between toiletries and guns.

He has a journey to make.

~

The corner of Pam's eyes crinkle when she sees Harley.

They stand in the garden, on the grounds of Wayne Manor. There is a fountain a few feet away, carved with honest- to-god cupids. Fairy lights twinkle prettily on the trees, the manor done up for the day by a crew of wedding planners. There are flowers everywhere. And candles. So many candles. This whole place is one big fire hazard.

Selina and Harley might have gotten a bit too excited with the whole wedding planning thing.

Still, the sun is setting, and there's a live band, her mother's not there, and even Pam had to admit that the while thing looks pretty great.

And Harley looks amazing.

She's smiling shyly up to her right now, her cheeks flushed and her eyes alight. "This is so crazy." she whispers, as the priest is officiating them.

"I know." Pam mouths back. There are actually people sitting on the rows, that are crying right now. Pam just feels a little dazed, like she's in a traffic accident. Like the idea has not sunk in yet.

Like an - Oh. I'm going to crash into this tree now.

Oh. I'm going to crash into this girl now, and fall head over heels in love. And now I'm getting married.

The priest asks them to kiss, and they do. It's soft and earnest. Harley's lips are chapped and sweet and lipsticky. She tastes like spice and bourbon and Harley.

They kiss, and everyone erupts into applause and cheers. Seriously, it's like the Superbowl. Why do they know so many rowdy people? Someone (probably Dick) whoops loudly, and everyone laughs.

Pam would roll her eyes, but she's too busy smiling.

~

The boy sits in the train, keeping to himself. He's pulled his hood up, and clutches his backpack tightly.

He sits still, and tries to meditate. This is made harder by the fact that some annoying toddler keeps crying near his face, while the child's mother desperately tries to claim him down.
Should have gone with a first class compartment.

He should reach Gotham in the next half-hour or so. Every time the someone asks him where his parents are, he points to the nearest grown up and smiles charmingly. He knows how to fool them.

He looks out the window as they enter the city, watching the scenery bleed by him, a streak of lights in dying sun. It's almost twilight. He will reach the Manor by midnight.

His heart thumps in naked anticipation, going as fast as the train itself.

~

They run down the aisle, laughing like children. So happy, and so in love.

Harley squeezes her hand tight, and she squeezes back.

She almost trips on something, but she doesn't care. Harley steadies her, eyes filled with mirth, hands shaking a little. It almost reminds her of that first night in the greenhouse. Drunk off of each other.

"Are you okay?" Harley asks, her voice high and breathless with laughter.

Pam looks at her, and her world expands to infinite proportions. All the instances and possibilities that led to them meeting. Her whole life leading up to this moment.

If Pam hadn't come to the party that day, or if she hadn't slipped her number to her at the end of the night, if they had let that stupid fight they had two months into their relationship tear them apart, she'd be at home today.

At home eating Chinese takeout, and reading through botanical research journals. Instead, she's here. Running through a garden in a wedding dress, and laughing.

She looks at Harley and grins. "Always."

~

The boy gets on the bus from the train station. It's dark outside now, and there are hardly any people in the bus. The bus driver shoots him a strange look, but doesn't ask any questions. Good.

He sits at the very back, slinging his backpack onto his lap. He zips up his jacket, and squares his shoulders, trying to look a little older, and more intimidating. Getting robbed now would be inconvenient. Apparently, Gotham is known for its high crime rate.

Most of the people around him are sleeping, but he's almost shaking with excitement.

Will his father be surprised to see that he came all the way here, thousands of miles across the world, to see him? Will he be proud?

His mother says that he had been the best. The best of all of them. Better than even, he suspects, his grandfather.

He takes a deep, calming breath. Smiles to himself, in the darkness of the bus. He will prove to his father that he is worthy of him. That he is his son.

~

Harley throws the bouquet behind her with a toss, laughing.

Dick leaps up with one fluid motion, and catches it before it hits the ground. He gets up, grinning. "Did you see that, Selina? I'm gonna get married before you do."

"I'm going to die an unmarried crone." Selina says laughing, dramatically placing one hand over her heart.

Pam nudges Bruce in the ribs. "Maybe you should do something about that."
Bruce looks up from his phone. He's been checking his emails. Again. "What?" He asks.

Harley swats the phone away. "It's dancing time. Go dance, Bruce. Wayne enterprises can do without you for the next few hours."

"I don't dance." He looks at his phone, dangling from her fingers.

"Then start." Harley tucks the phone into Selina's purse. "Don't let him have it for the rest of the night."

~

He hails a taxicab from the bus stop.

"1007, Mountain Drive. Make it fast."

The cabbie looks at him, his teeth stained with nicotine. "Where's yer mom, kid?" He asks, his voice scratchy with smoke.

He gives the driver two hundred dollars. "You can keep the change if you stop asking questions."

The man stops asking questions. "Get in the car."

~

The manor hall is now a swirling mass of bodies, dancing together. Dick is teaching Tim how to dance. Tim tries to follow Dick's vague instructions of 'move your body' and 'Go with the flow', as Jason records the whole thing gleefully.

Harley and Pam dance together in the middle, all smiles and laughter. Hands slung around each other, they are both more than a little drunk.

Selina furrows her brow as she tries to teach Bruce how to salsa. He's not a very patient student, opting to grab her every now and then and spin her around. (That's not how this works, Bruce. Leg in, leg out, then spin. It's not rocket science) Bruce looks a little frustrated. Salsa is hard.

They all look up to see the fireworks when they start. The wedding planner really went all out. Little streaks of light, puddling and shooting into the inky black sky. Ribbons and bands of jagged white light, soaring towards the stars.

~

The boy climbs out of the cab, just outside the manor gates, smelling smoke and ozone.

He looks up, and sees fireworks.

~

The party comes to an end, accompanied by loud goodbyes and congratulations. Car doors slam shut, and drive off to their homes.

The fairy lights twinkle in the quiet darkness. Harley turns to Selina, her face flushed and her eyes shining.

She hugs her hard. "Thank you, Kitty. It was perfect."

"Weddings are only as good as the couples. Now go, or you'll miss your flight. Pam's already in the car." Selina says, wiping away at Harley's face. "And stop crying. You're ruining your makeup."

Harley laughs wetly. "Bye Kitty. See you in two weeks. I'll send pictures everyday."

Selina waves goodbye as the car leaves, tin cans bobbing comically behind the 'Just Married!' sign.

She turns to Bruce. "It was pretty good, I think. Even your dancing was not so bad."

Bruce gives her a look. "I can dance, you know. Just not salsa."

Selina leans over to him, patting his chest. "If that makes you feel better about yourself, then sure. All I'm saying, is that acceptance is the first stage of addressing the problem."

Bruce puts his hands on her waist. "Speaking of a dress, have I mentioned that I really like yours?" He says, eyeing her neckline.

She grins and kisses the corner of his mouth. "I'm putting the kids to bed. Come up quick, okay? Then you can mention how much you like it in great length."

She walks back to the manor. Bruce stares after her.

Then he takes off his bowtie, and his tuxedo jacket, draping it over his forearm, and looks at the driveway from where the car just left.
Takes a deep breath, his chest rising and falling. He always likes quiet night like these, but today it feels unnatural. Like something big is going to happen.

The last of the fireworks have long since flickered out, and a burning smell dissipates through the air. The calm before a storm.

~

The boy walks up the driveway, as the manor comes up closer in his vision. With every step he takes, his heart beats louder, until he's sure that anyone nearby could here it.

Then he sees him. A man, standing at the very end of the driveway, looking out to the great beyond. There is something fierce in his eyes. In his piercing pale eyes, that look just like the boy's own.

It's him.

It's him.

~

Bruce stares back at the boy, who seems to have emerged from the shadows.

The boy draws back his hood, and Bruce almost takes a step back, inhaling sharply, his pulse skittering.

The boy draws back his hood, and he sees himself. The boy draws back his hood, and he sees Talia, all over again.

Oh God, why didn't she ever say anything?

This is the storm. There will be no calm anymore.

~

The boy lifts his chin regally, and looks at the man, his father, who is now staring at him with wide eyes.

"My name is Damian Wayne," he says, saying his American name out loud to someone other than himself and his mother for the very first time. "and I am your son."

 

 

 

 

Notes:

So I tried a bit of a new writing style in this one. I wrote it in snippets, two story arcs happening together, to boil down into one main climax.

And. I completely refuse to accept Grant Morrison's whole rape story as Damian's birth. He really messed up. Talia Al Ghul maybe a villain with a very different ideology from that of Bruce Wayne's, but she loves her father and her son. She is NOT a rapist.

Tell me what you thought, and if it worked. Thank you for reading!

Chapter 18: Mistakes

Summary:

Damian didn't get the welcome he expected.

Bruce stares at Damian; his shirt feels too tight around his chest.

"Are you-"

"Talia's son. Yes. And yours." Damian says crisply.

Bruce presses his eyes closed. What did he expect? The boy looks exactly like him.

" I thought you would be taller, you know." Damian muses, smirking.

"No." He gets out, gritting his teeth.

"No?" Damian asks, arching an eyebrow.

"No." Bruce says definitively. "It's not possible. We used - protection." He falters, realising that the boy he's talking to cannot be more than six years old. "Always."

"Apparently not, because here I am."

A memory comes to his mind, dragged out in from the dredges of the things he doesn't want to remember. Stories he doesn't want to listen to. They were fighting. He wanted to leave. She didn't.

Talia glares at him, crossing her arms. "Why the hell did you ask me to come here? My father might find out."

Bruce shakes his head, switching on the lights in the old servants' quarters. "No one will know. This place isn't used anymore."

Talia's glare only intensifies. "I know. This is my home." She says, icily.

He feels her unsaid accusation like a stab wound in his body. Bleeding out slowly and nothing left to staunch the flow.

He turns towards her, his heart in his throat. "Talia. You have to come with me. Your father and his 'employees' take out hundreds of innocent people every month. These are bad people. You can't stay like this."

When Talia looks at him, he sees something strange in her eyes. It's disgust. Hate. For the first time he realises that maybe they are more different than he ever thought.

"These 'bad' people are my family, Bruce. You wouldn't know anything about having one." She says, quietly.

It hurts that she's right. It hurts more than he thought it would.

Bruce clenches his jaw, fighting the urge to shake her by the shoulders. "Fine."he says, bitterly. "I'll leave alone."

And suddenly Talia is on him, shoving at his chest. "Do whatever you want," she hisses at him. "I don't care. I don't need you. I don't need you." She repeats, almost like she's telling this to herself. She shoves him again for good measure.

Bruce grabs her wrists to stop her from shoving at his chest again. "Godamnit, Talia." He whispers, scowling, "I need you."

He kisses her angrily, and she lets him. He peels off her clothes, breathing hard, and doesn't stop until he slips into her. She cries out, clinging onto his shoulders, and he thinks that maybe, just maybe, this is the Talia that he fell in love with. That she's back.

He isn't thinking properly. They don't use a condom.

Afterwards, she puts her clothes back on, while Bruce stares at his hands.

There is a viscous silence.

Talia turns to leave, flicking the light switch off. "I am not leaving with you."

She leaves him there, naked and alone. Doesn't look back.

He can feel a distinct headache coming on right now.

Bruce shakes his head. "No. This is a mistake. You need to go back home." He rasps out.

Damian's smirk flickers out like a broken light. A mistake.

"Very well. I will leave if you feel that I am not worthy." His voice is small, but brave.

Bruce stares at him, standing in the driveway. They are about ten feet apart. He looks so small, like the earth could swallow him, and no one would even notice.

"Come in," he says, reluctantly. "I'm going to call your mother and tell her that you wound up here by accident. She'll come to take you back home."

He turns around and starts walking to the manor.

Damian folds in on himself. "I am not a mistake." He whispers.

No one hears him.

~

Dick answers the door, skidding across the hall. "I've got it, Alfred!" He yells in no particular direction. Still, Alfred must have heard him, because he can hear footfalls getting fainter.

It's Bruce. He looks all scowly and mad. Heh. What's new.

What he didn't expect is the little kid standing behind him.
He looks like a fun-sized version of Bruce.

Dick gapes.

Bruce scowls harder.

"Uh, B? Who's that?" Dick asks, his eyes slightly wide.

Bruce enters the manor, moving past him to go towards his study. He grunts something like "not now."

And Dick's left alone with the little boy.

The boy is still standing outside the door, and his glare resembles Bruce's remarkably.

Dick tries to go for a smile. That always works, right? He puts his hands on his knees, and leans down to the boy's level. "Hey kid. What's your name?"

"Damian." The boy says, angrily. Then he adds, with a slightly defensive look on his face, "Damian Wayne."

"Yeah. I kinda put that together when I saw your face, dude."

Damian says nothing. There's an awkward silence.

Dick scratches his neck. What's he supposed to do? Bruce just upped and left. Is he supposed to keep him company, or something?

"My name's Dick Grayson. Why don't you come in?" Dick asks, trying to come across as friendly. The poor kid looks like he could do with a hug right now.

Damian steps in. One step. That's it.

"Um. I mean, to the living room or something."

Damian follows Dick to the living room, trudging behind him hesitantly. He can see Damian take in the house from the corner of his eyes. It can be a lot to take in. He's pretty sure that this wing of the manor has its own zip code.

"So, how old are you?" Dick asks, a little too casually. He masks it by shooting the kid another smile.

"Six." Comes the sullen reply.

"Oh, okay." Dick does the math mentally, and sighs in relief. He never actually thought Bruce would cheat,but he never thought he'd see a miniature copy of him standing at the doorstep either.

"Are you hungry?" He asks suddenly. His mom always told him to feed anyone who came to his house.

"No." Damian says, looking around for Bruce. "I need to tell Father that Mother won't take me back anymore. I have to stay here." He sounds upset.

Dick stops walking. "Who's your mom? Where are you from? India? The Middle East?" He has so many questions.

Damian's stomach growls, and he turns bright red.

Dick could almost sob with relief. This, he can do. Hospitality is his thing.

He grins. "Want some Oreos and milk?"

~

Bruce sits at his desk, tapping the desk with impatient fingers. She picks up after six rings.

"Hello?" Her accent is carefully neutral. He can hear the sounds of a party in the background.

"Take him back." He growls.

Talia doesn't say anything for a long time. Then, "No."

"What?" He sputters. "You have to. He's you son."

"He's our son." She says, and he can hear the sounds of the party fading, like she's moving to a more private place. "We have a collective responsibility. He's been hearing stories about you since he was a child."

Bruce glares at the wall. "You conveniently forgot about 'collective responsibility' when you decided to not tell me about him. Take him back."

"No. He wants to be with his father." She says, just as calm as he is angry.

"Talia." He grits out, trying to put a leash on his rage. "There was a time, when I would have been happy to have my own son. But now I already have a family. Do you understand? He's not my responsibility. Take h-"

She hangs up.

He swears loudly, slamming the phone down. Fuck.

 

When he enters, she's already asleep. The blankets are spooled around her, moving up and down gently, as she breathes slow and deep. The room is quiet and dark. Comforting.

He stands there for a while, looking at her, before he climbs onto the bed beside her, fully clothed. Puts one arm around her waist. His face against her neck. He can feel her breath, warm, on his hair.

He wakes her up slowly. She looks at him and smiles sleepily.

"Hi."

"Hi." He feels oddly empty. Closes his eyes against her jaw.

"I tried to wait up for you. What took so long?" Her voice is heavy with sleep. She kisses his forehead.

"Selina. I have to tell you something." He says quietly.

She stretches a little against him, arching her back. "Hm?" He can see her bra strap under her tank top. It's pink.

He nearly stops right there. Doesn't tell her. What does it really matter anyway? He'll tell her in the morning. Just a few more hours of quiet stretches and soft noises this way. Before her edges turn hard and she pushes him away.

Selina pulls the blanket up a little. "Bruce? Can we talk later? I'm just re-"

"Selina, just listen." He says. It comes out angrier than he thought it would. Who is he angry at? Himself?

She falls silent. Hurt.

Bruce sighs, "I'm sorry I snapped at you."

She nods against his chest. Because when has she not forgiven him?

"I'm sorry." He says again. It's not for what he just said. It's for what he's about to say.

"A week before we met for the first time, at the gala, I got off a plane coming from Saudi Arabia. I'd spent a year there, in this security compound. They gave me special training; training that I couldn't get anywhere else. I shouldn't have stayed. It was- they were hitmen. They killed people professionally. Had an elite clientele. I should have left the moment I found out, but a part of me just didn't care anymore. After."

After his parents died. He can feel her eyes on him, wide awake now.

"There was this girl there, the daughter of the man who ran the place. Talia. I had a - We were in a relationship." He looks at her. "By the time I left, she was already pregnant."

She sits up. So does he.

"Selina," his voice is urgent, low. "I didn't know. She didn't tell me anything." He says, looking angry."No one told me anything."

Selina is getting up from the bed, the blankets falling away from her in a heap. Her hands are in her hair, clutching. "Where's the baby?" Her voice is surprising calm, not at all like her body language.

"Selina, I didn't know. He's six now. He-"

"Where's the boy?" She asks, a slightly wild look in her eyes.

They are both drowning at sea, trying to cling desperately at each other with their bloody hands, and being torn apart again and again.

He looks away. "Downstairs."

~

Dick pushes the Oreos over to Damian across the table.
"They're good! You won't know if you don't try any." He says, when Damian scowls at him.

"Grayson, I did not cross the Atlantic ocean to eat biscuits. I demand that you let me see Father. I must talk to him." Damian pushes the Oreos away.

"Uh- about that, who exactly is your mom?" Dick asks, stalling. He has a feeling that Bruce is not going to react very well if Damian tried to find him now. Things will be said. Feelings will be hurt.

Damian shifts in his chair, still annoyed. "Talia Al Ghul. Here she calls herself Talia Head. Now could you jus-"

"Head? Why?" Dick interjects. He also discreetly pushes the Oreos back towards him.

Damian looks at him exasperatedly, "Because it's the literal translation of Al Ghul in English, Grayson. Stop being so oafish."

But he takes an Oreo, so Dick counts that as a victory.

"So you got here on your own? Does your mom know you're here?" Dick asks, glancing in the direction of the study. Where is Bruce?

Damian is quiet for a while.
"I lived in a security compound."

"A security compound?"

"Yes. In the desert."

Dick can work with that.
"I used to live in a trailer. In a moving circus. We all had caravans, and we used travel hundreds of miles every month." He steals a look edgeways to Damian, who's looking down at his lap. He keeps talking, and slowly the memory starts to flow. To unspool.
"One time we were crossing the desert, in Nevada. Going to Las Vegas. It was a pretty big show, but I was too young to participate." He smiles, "I remember that I threw the hugest tantrum about it. Anyway, we were crossing the desert. And it was just miles and miles of empty highway, and sand and dust and nothing else. I remember looking at that, and thinking, that when I grew up, I'd like to live there. Feel the sun on my back all day."

Damian says nothing to that.

Dick leans in, "Damian? Are you okay?"

"I miss my home." He says, finally, rubbing at his eyes.

Dick sighs. "We should find you a bed to crash in. You've probably had a long day."

Damian lets Dick lead him to a guest bedroom. When Dick turns to leave, Damian stiffens.

"What is it?"

Damian shakes his head, and for the first time Dick notices how scared he looks. "It's a big room."

Dick understands. He grew up in a trailer. He likes small places too; they make him feel bigger.

"You want to find a smaller one?"

Damian shakes his head, but his hold on Dick gets a little tighter.

"Want to sleep in mine?"

Damian shrugs, looking anything but nonchalant.

Dick takes him up to his room, the one with the skylight, that he had found all those years ago. They lie on the bed, looking up through the window, at the stars.

"Do you know any constellations?"

Damian shakes his head, still looking up. "Mother does. She points them out to me, sometimes." He mumbles, already half asleep.

Someone's footsteps sound in the stairwell, coming up rapidly. Both of them turn to see who it is.

Selina stands at the doorway, her mouth tight.

"This is him?" She asks Dick, her voice quiet.

Dick nods, gently pushing "Damian, say hi to Selina. She's my adoptive mother."

Damian nods stiffly. "Hello. You must be Father's wife, then."

Dick shakes his head. "Actually they're not-"

"You look just like him." Selina whispers, taking a step towards Damian. She lifts her hand to touch his brow, tracing it with her finger. It's so familiar, like she's been seeing this face all her life.

Beside him, Dick can feel Damian shift around. "Stop this." Damian says, getting up. "Don't treat me like a child."

Selina retracts her hand, and suddenly in the starlight streaming in through the window, her face looks a lot sadder.

"But you are. You are a child. It's like a miracle." She looks away, "Bruce made a living, breathing child by accident, and I still can't do it, after trying for six years."

Damian stiffens. Accident.

Selina takes a long shuddering breath. "I'm sorry I said that. It's not your fault." She says, running a hand through her hair. "I'm sorry."

"It is alright." Damian reluctantly acquiesces.

"No." She says, looking at him. Her eyes remind him of a cat's. Green and large, like they can see into you. "It's not. I should have never said that. None of this is your fault."

Damian doesn't know what to say to that. He goes back to the bed and sits next to her. Something about her makes him feel... easier. Like he doesn't have to attain worthiness. Like he is already worthy.

All three of them look up at the stars.

"I don't know any constellations either," she admits, "like your mom does. I can try and learn."

Something about that makes Damian smile.

"Where is Father?" He asks, still looking up.

"I don't know." She says, softly. "He's not taking this very well."

"Neither are you." Dick observes, from the other side.

"No." Selina agrees. "But I guess I'm getting there." She squeezes Damian's hand, and he lets her.

They watch the stars in silence for a while.

"Grayson?"

"Hm?"

"Where there any animals in your circus?"

"Oh yeah. Tons of 'em. There were elephants and horses, and we even had a bear. And a lion. But she was really old, so she didn't do any tricks."

"I like animals." He says sleepily.

"We have a dog."

"I like cats more."

Selina smiles.

 

 

 

Notes:

So, this story is nearly over, and I only have a few more chapters (maybe 2 + an epilogue? Idk) to go. But I also have my exams going on right now, so updates will slow. Slow - but not non-existent! Maybe once a week.

Please leave a comment; even if I am too busy to reply, I will definitely read all of them! Con Crit is always appreciated.

Thank you.

Chapter 19: Cats and Butlers

Summary:

Damian settles in with some help.

When Damian wakes up the next day, it is already mid morning. Sunlight streams through the skylight overhead, and beside him, the bed is empty.
He yawns, rubbing at his eyes groggily. Usually he's up at the crack of dawn, but here he's still getting used to the time zone. It probably didn't help that they stayed up all night looking at stars and talking idly. Selina left after a while, all weak smiles and quietness. She's still getting used to the idea.

The idea of him.

That left him alone with Dick, who told him a little more about the circus. Then he sneaked in their dog Titus, and Selina's cat Isis, onto the bed. Warm fur on cool sheets.

Titus panted happily, and fell asleep on top of Dick's stomach. Isis looked at him dolefully, reluctantly allowing him to pet her.
"She was named before the terrorist organisation," Dick had explained, patting her rump. The cat purred languidly, stretching her back impossibly long.

She's gone too now, the rumpled and fur covered blanket the only hint that she was ever there. He sits up, pulling the blanket further towards him, and the door bangs shut with a sudden noise.

He's being watched. He turns around, and the door is still closed shut, but a stream of steady whispers permeate the room from the other side.

"Shit, d'you think he saw us?"

"Uh, I don't know but-"

"He looks exactly like B! Did you see? I mean, the chin and the nose and the jaw and the everything!"

"I don't know Jason, is this really the best idea? He looks exhausted, and Selina told us not to bother him till he woke up, right?"

"Come on Tim, it's gonna be fun. We'll just be in and out in no time and no one will have to know."

Before Tim can reply, the door is thrown open, and an older looking boy walks in, striding towards the bed. Damian blinks up at him, trying to appear intimidating. He only manages to look squinty.

The boy grins down at him. "Hey kid."

Damian scowls. "You must be another one of Father's wards."

The older boy raises an eyebrow, "Ward. Yeah. That's me, ward number two. My name's Jason Todd, and this is Tim. Drake. Or is it Drake-Wayne now?" He says, putting one hand on the other boy's shoulder. "Ward number three. I guess you met numero uno yesterday, judging by the fact that you're sleeping in his room. And he won't shut up about how cute you are."

Damian's cheeks flush. "I am not cute." He spits out. "I am Damian Wayne, heir of-"

"Yeah, yeah." Jason says, good-naturedly. "We heard. Bruce slipped up and did the dirty tango."

Tim looks at Jason with knitted brows. "I'm… pretty sure 'Dirty Tango' is not a saying. And it's Drake-Wayne."

Jason shrugs. "So what? I made it up. It sounds cool."

Damian scrunches his nose. "Tango? What is tango? Some kind of fruit?"

Jason shakes his head disbelievingly. "That's mango. Tango's a dance. Man are you in for a culture shock."

"Father did the dirty tango? Does that mean he could not dance well? Is he not a proficient dancer?"Damian looks confused.

"No it's not like that- well come to think of it, I've never actually seen him do the tango, so I don't really know if he can do it w-"

Tim cuts in. "I hate to interrupt, but talking about Bruce and sexual intercourse at the same time makes me very uncomfortable."

Damian frowns. "Sexual… intercourse? I thought we were talking about fruits."

Jason winces, turning to Tim. "You just talked about sex in front of a six year old."

"I know what sex is, Todd. I am hardly an idiot."

"Yeah well, you don't know what tango is, so I guess you are-"

Tim puts his head in his hands. "Just forget about it. Let's go get you breakfast."

They go down for breakfast, and Selina is already there, reading a book while drinking coffee. Dick sits across her, wolfing down eggs and talking animatedly to her about something. A man stands to a side, pouring some juice into Dick's cup. Father is not present. They all turn to look when Damian walks in.

Selina puts her book down and sighs. "Jason, I told you not to wake him. He's hardly gotten any sleep."

Jason shrugs, sitting at the table and propping his legs up casually. "Tim did it."

Tim's eyes widen, and he turns to Jason, "No! I didn't- he- He's lying!"

Jason snickers into his bowl of cereal. "I would never lie. What are you talking about, Timmy?"

Selina sighs again. "Stop antagonising your brother, Jay."

Damian sits at the table stiffly. A man pushes a plate towards him.
"I am Alfred Pennyworth. The family butler. Have your eggs . . . Master Wayne." He says, and then frowns, "Well, that won't do. Would it be quite alright if I called you Master Damian instead?"

Damian frowns. "I abhor such traditions and titles.They are antiquated at best and shamelessly classist at worst."

The man raises an eyebrow. "Very well, sir. Master Damian it is."

Dick leans over to him, grinning. "Good morning, Dami! Did you sleep well? The bed springs get a little squeaky sometimes."

Jason groans. "We know. We can all hear you when you bring Kori over."

Dick hits Jason upside the head, his cheeks flaming red, as Selina looks at him sharply. "What?"

"Nothing! I- she won't even let- we haven't even got to second base, okay! Jason's lying again!" Dick cries out, looking flustered.

Tim covers his eyes with his hands, "I'm nine! I shouldn't be hearing this."

"Oh shove off, Timmy. Like you haven't heard worse." Jason grins.

"I don't know, Jay. Has he?" Selina asks, in a dangerous voice.

There is an awkward silence. Jason shrugs weakly. "I… may have explained the basic process to him."

Tim looks traumatised.

Dick clears his throat. "So. How did you sleep?" He asks, very pointedly looking at Damian.

"Tt. It was satisfactory." He allows.

Dick grins. "Great. So I have a plan for today. We'll get you acquainted with Gotham, take you to the zoo and then we can get some tacos at the-"

"When is Father coming down for breakfast?"

Dick stops talking. Even Jason shifts in his seat a little.
Everyone looks at Selina.

"Work. Uh- he went for work early today. He's not here, sweetie. I'm sorry." She says, quietly.

Tim frowns. "It's a Sunday."

"He went anyway." Selina is looking at Damian with pity. He hates it.

Damian scowls. " That's fine. I don't care. And I do not want to go with Grayson to the zoo. I hate zoos."

Selina gives him a look. "Okay. You can stay at home today. I'll send the boys out of the house. Give you some peace and quiet so you can sleep."

Damian gives his plate another glare for good measure. "Fine. And I don't eat eggs, Pennyworth. I am a vegetarian."

He realises that he can't walk off without actually eating anything, so he settles for angrily chewing on some bread instead.

He sleeps for the rest of the day, restlessly waking in fits and starts. When he finally wakes up, it's twilight, and the room is dark again. Isis has curled up next to him again, her warm, rough tongue lapping at his face.

"Hello, Isis." He says, putting one hand on her silky coat.

She regards him sagely, and goes back to licking his face.

It makes him grin.

Father does not come for dinner either. Selina mentions something about him being held up at the office. No one says anything. Damian eats his vegetarian lasagna.

A week goes by. He sees Bruce only a handful of times, an it's usually in passing; When Bruce is going from one room to another and has to cross from where Damian is sitting. They do not talk to each other. The atmosphere is not hostile, just uncomfortable.

He makes a sketch of Grayson one day. Mouth wide open in a quick grin, eyes dancing with mirth. He gives it to him grudgingly, on being prompted to do so by Alfred. Damian lets himself be hugged.

He is enrolled in a school. The same school the rest of them go to. Alfred does all the paperwork, and when his father's signature is asked for by the school office, Damian looks away, embarrassed.

Isis sleeps next to him now. On his chest sometimes. He doesn't mind. Selina complains jokingly that she's forgotten about her.

Alfred tells him he looks exactly like Bruce did, at his age. Except Bruce was a little taller. Damian sits at the table sometimes, while Alfred is preparing dinner. He tells Damian stories about Bruce, his childhood, his parents. Damian likes listening to stories about Martha Wayne. She seems like a nice grandmother to have.

One Saturday, he gets into a fight with Tim about a computer. Tim wants it for some project, but Damian needs it for school. It becomes an ugly argument, and Damian shoves at him. Tim screams, his hands over his ears. Jason comes over running, sits him down and rubs his back in slow circles. Damian can only stand and watch, while Tim's shouting turns to slow hiccuping. He didn't know.

He doesn't know so many things. Why Selina keeps making those excuses for Father. Why no one seems to like him. Why he thought coming here in the first place would he a good idea. Why Pennyworth is so kind when he has no reason to be. Why his father won't even look at him.

He doesn't know.

He apologises to Tim haltingly, giving him the laptop, and runs out of the room. He can feel Jason's gaze on his back. He can barely make it to his room, and lock the door before he bursts into tears. He feels awful and small and forgotten. It is stupid and selfish, but all he wants right now is for someone to sit him down and rub circles onto his back.

He misses his mother and her stern smiles and his grandfather and his home and the desert and the sun and he just wants to go back home. No one even likes him here. It makes him curl up in another bout of fresh, hot tears, streaming down his face and cutting down his chin.
He sits there for a long time, one arm around his shaking frame, and the other against the door, holding it closed. He wipes at his nose, gasping out the last of his tears. Only the weak show pain, so he must be the weakest of them all.

It makes him feel sick to the stomach.

Someone knocks at the door. A single knock, polite but firm. He scrubs at his eyes desperately. "What is it?" He calls out, trying to make his voice sound steady.

"Master Wayne is requesting for your presence in his study."

Damian shakily gets to his feet, and opens the door that he'd been leaning on. Alfred gives him a once-over while he tries not to look like he was bawling his eyes out.

"I can go to the study myself, Pennyworth. You don't have to accompany me." He says, tipping his chin up.

Alfred doesn't even falter. "Regardless, I will."

Damian is too drained to argue, so he lets himself be led to the study in the other wing of the manor.

He is unceremoniously pushed into the room and the door is closed shut behind him. He looks around himself a little nervously. Has father finally decided to throw him out? He only realised a few days back that Father did not actually like his mother. Atleast, not anymore. It's no wonder that he does not like Damian either. He must be reminded of her every time he looks at Damian's face.

But he didn't know.

"Damian?" His father is looking at him, his eyebrows slightly raised. He's sitting in a wingback chair, his hands clasped in his lap, like he'd rather be anywhere but here. Figures. There's a roaring fire in the fireplace, heating up the whole room. A fire, in June?

"Damian," his father repeats, louder this time, "Have you been crying?"

That makes Damian snap out of his reverie. "No I haven't-" He stops. His face must be covered in tear tracks. What's the point anymore?
"Yes." He says, tightly.

Father's eyes widen slightly, like he doesn't know what to do with this information. "Oh," he says finally, slightly lamely. "Why?"

Damian averts his eyes, looking at the expensive shag carpet below his feet. "I miss home." He says bluntly.

Father raises one hand a few inches up from the arm of the chair, then puts it down again awkwardly.

They stare at each other for a while before Damian speaks. "Why did you call me?"

Father runs a hand over his face tiredly. "Because," he says, "I've been an ass."

Damian blinks. "Yes." He says. He is unsure of what to do with his hands, so he holds them stiffly at his sides.

Father looks down at his hands uncomfortably. "Alfred talked to me for a while. Yelled at me, actually."

"Yes." Damian seems incapable of saying much more.

"You're only six." Father looks at him, squarely. "I shouldn't have done that, and I understand if you won't forgive me, but I'm sorry."

It tears open a fresh hole in Damian's chest, and suddenly he's not standing with his hands by his sides anymore, he's on Father's lap with his short arms around his neck, and a lump in his throat.
Father looks surprised, to say the least, but he puts one hand on Damian's head, stroking his hair slowly.

"It is alright." He says into Father's collar. "I forgive you."

"Are you sure?" Father asks, slowly. "What I did was pretty irredeemable."

Damian nods against his chest.

Father tightens his hold around him. "I'm sorry," he says again, his voice rough. "I've been a bad father."

Damian nods again, and Father laughs a little, his chest shaking because of it. Damian squeezes his eyes shut. He can feel the slight heat of the fire on his back.

He lets himself be hugged for a while. It's nice. Not that he'll admit it to anyone outside the room.

"I should have looked for you. Should have found you earlier. My son." His father says, and he sounds proud. It makes Damian's eyes prickle.

"Sometimes," he blurts out, still curled up on Father's lap, "it feels like no one likes me."

Father rests his chin on Damian's head. "That's not true." He says softly. "I heard that Dick and Isis like you very much. And so does Selina."

"Isis is a cat," Damian says miserably, "and Grayson seems to like everyone. I made Drake cry. We had a fight and he just started to cover his ears and shout all of a sudden."

"Ah," Father says, "so that's what I heard in the morning. Tim is not like other children. He doesn't react well to certain things."

"I know that now," Damian whispers, loosening his grip somewhat, "but they all hate me already."

"No one hates you, Damian." Father pushes back his hair from his brow. "Is that why you were crying?"

Damian sniffles.

Father kisses his forehead. It makes Damian blush. His mother never did that.

"I got you a present. As an apology." His father says, gently setting him down. He goes to the far end of the room, and takes out a medium-sized cardboard box from a corner. It has small holes cut out in it.

Damian peers at it curiously. "Is that-"

"Yes." Father says, setting the box on the floor in front of him.

Damian smiles, and opens the box. He takes out the small kitten from the bottom, and puts it on his lap. It's black and white, with slightly mangy fur and a clipped tail.

"Alfred found it in trapped in a storm drain on the grounds. Now Selina can't complain about you stealing away Isis anymore." Father explains, watching Damian pet it gently.

The cat looks up at Damian plaintively, curling around his hand. Damian looks up at Father. "I can keep it?"

Father nods, giving him a look that makes him suddenly feel shy. He gathers up the cat in his arms, and burrows his face into its coat so he won't have to look at Father.

"What will you call it?" Father asks.

Damian thinks about it. "Alfred." He says, finally.

"What?" Father laughs, his eyes light. "Alfred?"

"Yes. Pennyworth has proved himself valuable time and again. He is a satisfactory butler."

They are both thinking about how Alfred managed to singlehandedly fix this fiasco.

"Well," Father says, scratching under the cat's chin, "I'm sure he'll be delighted when he hears about it."

Damian nods. The cat eases itself out of his grip and meanders over to the hearth, to bask in it's warmth.

"Why is there a fire in your study? It's summer."

Father shrugs, looking away, embarrassed."The heat. I thought you'd feel like it was home. It was not a very smart idea, in hindsight. I should put it out before we get a heat stroke."

Damian crawls over to the fireplace. "I think," he says slowly, "that home reminds me of home."

He pets the cat idly, looking into the flames. The heat washes over his face, and he closes his eyes.

"And right now I am home."

 

 

Notes:

SO. SORRY. FOR THE. TERRIBLY LATE CHAPTER.

Exams are over now, so expect regular updates again.Thank you for your patience! :)

Comment, and give me any criticism is required. I'd greatly appreciate it.

Chapter 20: Enough space

Notes:

We end this story with a heavy dose of batcat. ;)

Tim blinks up sleepily at the dark sky. The shingles of the manor roof are digging into his back. He shifts a little, so that they don't hurt quite that much. He counted all the shingles of the roof, once. There are exactly 8,312. It's a big house, with a big roof. It's an even number, so it's okay. Otherwise Tim would've made Bruce put in an extra.
352 of them are covered in moss or ivy. Selina told him to be careful about those ones. Moss can make roofs slippery, especially at night, when you can't really see much.

He yawns, pulling the blanket up. Dick stirs a little next to him. The roof slopes enough that the blanket keeps slipping down every once in a while.

It's not really that cold outside tonight, but Damian is always cold, so Selina got some blankets up.

"I don't see it, B." Jason says, yawning. "When did you say it was gonna come?"

Bruce sits a little above them, his legs propped casually against Jason's back, holding a sleeping Damian in his lap. He's looking out to the sky too. "Any minute now."

(Damian is snoring a little. He does it rhythmically, two times every ten seconds. Sometimes every eleven. Soft sounds, hardly audible unless you really listen for it. And Tim does. He likes listening. Sometimes the sounds get too loud, like nails scraping on a blackboard- skin crawling and too much, too fast. But other times, he loves the sounds. Birds in the morning. The soft static on old timey radios. The tinkling sounds of cutlery during family meals. The sound of Damian's snores.)

Tim taps out a rhythm on the roof. Five beats over and over again. He also likes the number five. Five, because he has five fingers. He's allowed five cups of coffee every week. Five people on the roof right now, excluding him.

He really likes all the people here on the roof.

Dick rubs at his eyes and looks at Bruce's wristwatch. "It's ten minutes to twelve. We're running out of time, B."

Selina pulls Dick gently by the back of his T-shirt until he's leaning on her, his head on her shoulder. "Just wait for a bit, Dick. It'll be there."

They looks back up at the clear black sky, cloudless and inky. Jason shifts a little. "This is not very safe, is it?"

"Us sitting on a roof, thirty feet above the ground with no protection? Probably not." Selina laughs. "Just stay away from the edges and the mossy bits, and don't tell Alfred. We should all be just fine."

"Okay. Just saying, I don't wanna die on my birthday." Jason says, pulling out a soda from the small paper bag that Selina brought up along with the blankets.

Jason pauses. "Is there any beer?"

Selina shoots him a sharp look. "No."

"Look, I may be thirteen now, but I've always been twenty at heart."

"You're not thirteen yet. You will be," Dick pauses, leaning over to look at Bruce's wristwatch again, "in five minutes, now."

"Whatever. Same difference."

Tim doesn't understand. Same difference. Isn't that antithetical? He doesn't say anything, though. He's getting used to it. There are lots of things he doesn't understand. That's okay.

"Pass me a Doctor Pepper." He says, still looking up at the sky.

Selina taps his shoulder. He corrects himself.

"Please."

A can is handed to him. He opens it, and takes a sip, letting the fizzy bubbles pool into his mouth. He doesn't know why they're called soft drinks. They always taste hard. A little metallic and sugar-sweet. It burns slightly, at his nose and lips, as he swallows. He likes it.

"There! I can see it." Dick gets up, pointing at the sky. Everyone turns to look.

Streaks of white light shoot by, illuminating the pitch dark sky. Tiny spheres of florescence, whizzing into the atmosphere and burning up just as quickly. Tim smiles.

Bruce is waking Damian up, his eyes soft as he looks up at the night.

The sky is almost full of them now, little pinpricks of moving light, dancing through the air. A meteor shower in its full glory.

"Wow," Selina whispers, tugging Jason closer. "that's really something."

Bruce looks at his watch. "Happy Birthday. It's two minutes past twelve." He tells Jason, who's looking up with his mouth slightly open.

A chorus of happy birthdays fill the air as Jason blushes a little. "Thanks." He says, running a hand through his hair and smiling.

Damian has only now blinked awake. He rubs at his eyes, shivering a little. He pulls the blanket closer around him, and tries to go back to sleep.

"Damian, look up." Bruce tells him, turning him around a little so he can get a better look at the sky.

Damian looks up. "That's it?"

Bruce's mouth quirks upwards. "What did you expect?"

Damian shrugs, curling up a little tighter under the blanket that covers both him and his father. "I thought there would be more stars."

"They're meteorites. Not stars." Tim corrects, taking another sip of the soda.

Damian shrugs. "They're tiny. I'm sleepy." He says, a little childishly. He looks at Bruce. "What time is it?"

"12:05."

"Happy birthday, Todd." Damian says, and after a brief pause, "you are a good brother."

Jason looks at him with fake-shock. "Did the demonspawn just say he loved me? Did you guys hear that too?"

Damian scowls as Selina gives Jason a look. "Jason."

Jason snickers. "Alright, alright. Calm down, it's just a joke."

They watch as the meteorites flash by, blinking out one by one, until the sky is clear and dark again.

"Isn't it cool that this happened just before your birthday?" Dick asks Jason. He's lying down now, sprawled out across the roof.

"Hm. Coincidence? I think not." Jason says, looking at Bruce with narrowed eyes. "Did you arrange for this Bruce? You very well could have; you've got more money than God."

Bruce raises an eyebrow. "Yes, Jay. I did arrange for a meteor shower to take place on the night of your birthday. The logistics were tough, but in the end it was worth it. I pitched the deal to the meteors personally."

Jason laughs, getting to his feet. "I'm beat. I'm going to bed so that I can wake up in six hours with several presents at my bedside." He says, looking at all of them pointedly.

Dick gets up as well. "Me too. Want me to take him?" He asks Bruce, gesturing to an asleep Damian on his lap.

Bruce nods, and Dick eases Damian into his own lap. Damian doesn't stir. The three of them go back downstairs, mindful of the sloping surface of the roof.

Tim puts his now-empty can back in the brown paper bag. He looks at the two of them. Bruce and Selina. They look at each other differently sometimes. Secret looks, when they think no one is noticing. Tim notices. He's good at that. Noticing and listening. He remembers when he first met Bruce, how different he looked. Raw and hurt and alone. He feels oddly proud now, for having been the catalyst for their recovery.

"Should I leave too?"

Bruce shakes his head, putting his large hand on Tim's shoulder. "You can stay as long as you want."

"Okay." he says, and Bruce pulls him against his side. They sit in silence for a while.

Selina stretches out on the slope of the roof. It makes Tim think of a book he saw in the manor's library once. Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. She shoots Tim a friendly wink.

It seems strange, but it feels, at that particular moment, like Bruce and Selina do belong on rooftops. Like that is their natural place. Their real home.

He has weird thoughts sometimes.

"The two of you should get married." He blurts out, and instantly ducks his head shyly.

Bruce jerks back, and Selina almost falls off the roof. Bruce pulls her back up hastily.

"What?" Selina sputters, looking more than a little flustered.

Tim turns slightly pink. "Y'know," he mumbles, "just do it already. You've been together a long time."

Bruce looks at Tim, his expression unreadable. "Is that what you want?"

Tim shrugs, mumbling his assent. Isn't it obvious to everyone but the two of them that they belong together?

"It's been long enough. Most people do this the other way round, you know? Get married, then raise children." Tim says, feeling like he has to justify himself. He should have just stayed silent.

Bruce looks at him with his head slightly tilted, like he's trying to figure him out. Then he looks at Selina, whose eyes widen.

"Okay," he says, finally, still looking at Selina. "I'll keep that in mind."

Tim nods once, quickly. He should probably go before he opens his mouth and something stupid comes out again. "Okay. Uh. I'm going to go back downstairs." He gets up, and leaves fast, careful to avoid the mossy bits.

That leaves the two of them alone on the roof.

Bruce looks at Selina.

Selina looks back at him with widening eyes, shaking her head. "Stop it. Don't even think about it."

Bruce grunts, a little hurt. "I didn't even say anything."

Selina scoots away by a few inches, looking cornered, like a hunted animal. "Don't ask me anything."

Bruce pulls her back, so that her head is against his chest. "Stop being so dramatic," he says into her hair, "I'm not going to ask you anything."

Selina breathes out shakily. "Good."

He kisses the inside of her wrist. Her pulse is fast and hot.

They watch the sky, not really looking. The trees rustle in the night wind. They sit still until she's calmed down enough to properly rest her head on his chest.

Bruce looks down at her. "Were you really telling the truth to Jason earlier, when you said there was no beer?"

Selina grins.

Bruce smiles.

She produces two cans from the bottom of the bag, and hands one to Bruce. "Drinking alcohol on the roof is probably not the wisest idea we've had. We could fall off and break our necks."

Bruce cracks the can open. "That's okay. We're still young, right? Youngsters do reckless things."

Selina snorts. "Young people don't say 'youngsters', Bruce. We're pretty old."

Bruce raises the can to his mouth. "Worth a shot."

Selina laughs a little, and takes a sip. It's not cold anymore, but the condensation still clings on the the metal, wetting her palm.

"Hey, Bruce?"

"Hm?"

"What do the kids say again? Let's make out?"

Bruce puts his can down and reaches towards her.

He kisses her hard, one hand in her hair and the other cupping her face. She puts her arms around him, fisting the back of his cotton T-shirt. His hands roam unashamed, going from her hair to her waist and everywhere in the middle. She runs a hand through his short hair, and a bolder still hand, under his shirt, where she splays it over the small of his back. Thank God they're already sitting, because she can feel her knees give out. Bruce's mouth is insistent and stubborn, and Selina finds herself going pliant under him.

She's breathing hard when he finally pulls back, giving her one last, small kiss in the hollow of her neck.

"Is that how the kids do it?" He asks, making her laugh again.

She buries her head in the crook of his neck, and he holds her close. Curled up against him like this, she barely reaches shoulders. She's so small. It surprises him, sometimes.

He picks up his can and takes another sip. "I was thinking," he says, stroking her hair with his free hand, "that maybe Tim's right."

Selina stiffens. "I thought you said you wouldn't ask me anything."

"I won't." He tells her. "Not if you don't want me to."

She says nothing, only burrowing her face further into the hollow of his neck.

Bruce waits, idly sipping his beer, his heart in his mouth.

"Okay." Her voice is small, and muffled by his skin.

Bruce puts his beer down slowly. Carefully. "Okay, what?"

"Okay you can ask me." She says, not quite looking at him.

Bruce smiles. He tips her chin up and towards him, and pulls her into a long kiss. Long enough to warm her right down to the tip of her toes. "I'll ask in the morning, when we're not on an old roof, drinking cheap beer from a can."

Selina smirks, but her cheeks are still red from the kiss. "Make it something romantic."

"I thought I didn't have a single romantic bone in my body?"

"You don't. Ask Dick for advice."

"That's it. I'm throwing you off this roof." He says, pulling her to her feet and picking her up.

"Bruce!" She shrieks, giggling and clinging onto him. "What are you doing? Put me down! We're both going to fall!"

He swings her towards the edge of the roof slowly, and her shrieking becomes louder. He raises his voice to be heard over hers. "I don't hear any apology yet. You want me to throw you over?"

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Put me down! I will never challenge your romantic prowess again." She gasps out, laughing and clutching onto his shoulders tightly.

Bruce puts her down, dusting her off. "Romantic prowess? I think you overdid it."

Selina giggles again. "I was under duress. I can't believe you just did that. Let's go back down. I can no longer feel safe with you on this roof."

Bruce stills for a second. He turns to Selina. "Can you hear that?"

Selina strains to listen to the sounds from the house underneath. She can hear Dick and Tim and Jason laughing, and Damian squealing. The dog is barking excitedly in the background.

"What do you think's going on?" She asks, whispering.

Bruce shakes his head. "I don't know," he says, tracing her lower lip with his thumb, "but we did that. We made that family."

Selina looks at him, and cups his slightly stubbled jaw with one hand. "Four kids and three pets. In three years. We need to stop taking in strays."

Bruce pulls her closer, flush against his side. "I don't know about that. Damian wants a cow."

Selina laughs for what seems like an age. A cow. And why not? It's not like they don't have enough space.

 

Notes:

Don't worry kids, there's an epilogue. I'll post it on Christmas? Idk.

Please comment!

Chapter 21: Epilogue

Summary:

Christmas in Metropolis is better than Bruce expected.

Notes:

Merry Christmas, everyone!

Bruce sticks his head out of the car window, watching the boys come out of the manor. "Hurry up. We have to stick to the schedule."

Dick lugs his bag down the stairs, rolling his eyes. "Bruce, you need to calm down. Have you ever had fun in your life?"

Selina smirks at them from next to Bruce. She's wearing his sunglasses even though Bruce knows that she has her own in her bag. "I'm offended. I'm all the fun he had."

Jason snickers, loading his bag into the trunk of the car. "Hey Selina, why'd you settle for a guy like Bruce? He's in alternating periods either the most dramatic man on the planet, or the most boring."

Selina leans back in her seat and gives him a chastising look. "Why because I love him, of course." She pauses, and then whispers conspiratorially, "and the money doesn't hurt."

Jason yells "Things just got real!", While Dick snorts and says, "Shots fired." Even Tim is smiling slightly.

Bruce turns to the backseat to see if Damian will back him up. Damian usually does, in these situations.

He's fast asleep, one hand curled around his head.

Bruce sighs. Five more hours of this. Six if there's traffic (and there usually is. Murphy's law, and all that). This was not a very smart idea.

The boys get into the car, and Bruce turns his car keys in the ignition.

Selina is smiling, and whispers to him, "Last chance to get out."

"Stop putting ideas in my head."

~

A road trip with five people, especially when four of those five people are under eighteen, is even worse when it's a road trip to Metropolis. In the winter, with low visibility. Bruce hopes they fall asleep.

They don't.

"Hey Jay, did you touch my charger again? Because you keep using it and then it gets spoiled. Where's yours anyway?"

"Father, Grayson is putting his cold feet under my shirt!"

"Stop it, Dick."

"I don't know where your stupid charger is. Why do you think I'm the one that took it?"

"Um, maybe because you always take it?"

"That's not true! And besides, you're like ten. You're too young to have a phone anyway."

"Grayson, stop it! It's cold!"

"I'm sorry, who's the tech genius in the car?"

"Boys, stop fighting. Take the charger from my bag. It's the pink one. With the- yeah that one."

"Ew Selina, why d'you have a pink bag? Gross."

"Grow up, Jay. Pink is in."

"I cannot believe you just said that, Dick."

"Hey Dami, pull my finger."

"Grayson, I will do no such thing."

"Come on, try it!"

A short pause. Then the car erupts in outraged shouts.

"That was disgusting!"

"Holy mother of Jesus! What did you even eat, Dick?"

"Onion tacos."

"Someone open the windows!"

"Dude. Gross."

"Wait, don't actually open the windows, it's snowing outside!"

"Grayson, your hands are cold too!"

Bruce sighs, pulling over to the side. "Boys," his voice is deathly calm. "Do you want me to turn this car around?"

Everyone falls silent.

"Good," he says. "That's what I thought."

Five more hours. Five more hours, he thinks. Six if there's traffic. And there always is.

Selina is laughing quietly in the seat beside him.

~

Jason scuffs his shoes against the pavement near the gas station impatiently.

Bruce comes up to him, a plastic cup of coffee in hand. They stand together in companionable silence, looking at the gas station. Tim is inside, using the bathroom. The rest of them are buying snacks for the road.

Bruce stirs his coffee with the disposable stirrer. Their breaths are white mist in the sharp cold. He looks at Jason.

"You should get inside. Either the car or the shop. It's cold out."

Jason shrugs, his thick jacket moving around his shoulders. "I don't mind it."

He grew up with the cold. It followed him around through the slums of Gotham, a silent observer- one hand always around his shoulders. He knows it like he would know a brother.

Bruce sips his coffee. It's got to be bad. Cheap and ready-made. He doesn't look like he really cares.

He closes his eyes to feel the cold on his face. "Last time this year," he says finally.

Jason is already nodding. "I know, B."

"I didn't think you were going to make it. None of us did."

Jason steals a look at Bruce edgeways. He's stirring his coffee again, looking as passive as ever. The words coming out of his mouth are anything but.

He takes the leap, and steps a little closer to Bruce, until their shoulders are almost touching through their jackets. Bruce is still a lot taller than he is, but he has a feeling he's going to grow up to be his height.

"There was so much blood, Jason. You were-" Bruce cuts himself off suddenly, his voice breaking.

"I know." Jason repeats, turning his forehead ever so slightly, so that it's against Bruce's arm. Bruce shifts to put that arm around his shoulders, until Jason is wrapped in a kind of half hug. Hugs are rare, atleast from Bruce, so Jason tries to memorise this moment.

There was this game that they used to play, in Jason's first few months at the manor. He'd come to Bruce in the middle of the night, woken up by a nightmare or unable to sleep, too shy to tell Selina about it. Bruce used to sling Jason over his shoulders and carry him to the study- pajamas and all. He'd ask Jason to pick a book from the shelves. Any book.

"Now turn to any page, and choose a line number. Ask me what it says." Bruce had told him, setting him down onto the carpet.

Jason had looked up at him cynically. "Any book?"

Bruce nodded, the corners of his eyes softening minutely when he looked at Jason. An eleven year old boy, his eyes puffy and red with nightmares, too stubborn to admit that he wanted to sleep in his parents' bed that night. He sat down on the sofa next to the window.

"Any book."

Jason gave him one last suspicious look, and picked out a book from the shelves, standing on his toes to reach it.

Jason looked at it once, recognition flickering through his features. "Walden. I've read this one. Page 53, line number 4. Go."

Bruce closed his eyes, concentrating. "For more than five years I maintained myself thus solely by the labor of my hands, and I found, that by working about six weeks in a year, I could meet all the expenses of living."

Jason shut the book with a snap. He looked at Bruce with wide eyes, all memories of bad dreams forgotten."No way," he breathed. "No freaking way."

Bruce shrugged with one shoulder. "Try it again."

Jason opened the book again, and turned to another page, shaking his head in disbelief. "Um, page 197, line number 11."

Bruce frowned, thinking. "Deliver me from a city built on the site of a more ancient
city, whose materials are ruins, whose gardens cemeteries. The soil is-"

Jason held up his hands in surrender. "Okay okay. I get it. Your brain is crazy weird."

Bruce smiled. "Guilty."

Jason shook his head again. "For any book?"

"Any that I've read, at least."

Jason looked down at the book. "D'you have a photographic memory?" He asked, and after a moment's hesitation, crawled onto the sofa next to Bruce.

Bruce put an arm around him, and Jason curled up against his side obligingly. "It's selectively photographic. Sometimes I forget things I don't want to forget, and remember things that I do. Now, do you want to go back to bed, or do I need to carry you?"

Jason wonders if he remembers that particular night. Nightmares, bad memories and dead or absent parents. Every member of this family seems to have familiar scars. Maybe that's how they found each other.

He speaks into the hug, his voice muffled by Bruce's jacket. "The Merchant of Venice. Act 5, scene 1. Line 285."

He can feel Bruce's smile against his scalp. It's an old favourite.

"I am dumb."

Jason laughs a little. "It always cracks me up when you say it."

Bruce looks up at the gas station. "They're coming back."

Jason pulls back. The moment is over.

Bruce is studying Damian's returning figure. "Jay," he says, suddenly, "I have an idea."

~

Jason watches as they reach him and Bruce, standing near the car. Dick is carrying a giant packet of M&Ms. Tim is carrying with him a T-shirt that says, 'Talk nerdy to me'. Jason wonders if he's even aware of the what that implies. And how the hell it came in his size.

Damian goes up to his father, crossing his arms against his chest authoritatively. "I was looking through the glass, and I saw that you gave Todd a hug."

"Really?" Bruce says. Everyone else looks various shades of amused and curious. Again, hugs from Bruce are rare.

Damian sniffs. "Yes, really. As the one true son, I too demand a hug."

Bruce almost smiles. "Well then, I guess you'll get one."

He stretches his arms out, and Damian clambers into them, his arms around Bruce's neck. Bruce pulls him towards his chest tight, and lifts him up. He looks at Jason over Damian's shoulder, and all traces of a smile are gone. This is an all-out grin. "Jay, now."

Grinning back, Jason takes the snowball out from behind his back and puts it down Damian's back, slipping it under the neck of his sweater. "One true son." He snorts. "That'll teach you."

Damian sputters with anger and shock. Bruce is laughing into Damian's hair, still holding him tight so that he can't wriggle out. Damian fixes him with a look of intense loathing.

"Father!" He cries, his voice full of hurt.

Selina has her fingertips over her mouth, her eyes full of laughter. "Boys. Shame on all of you. He'll catch a cold." She says, taking him from Bruce's lap.

"Poor baby," she croons gently. Damian burrows his head into her shoulder, but not before giving Bruce one last betrayed look.

"Of all the people, Father, I expected this least from you."

Dick is laughing so hard that he's dropped the packet of M&Ms onto the snow.

~

 

They get back on the road, driving the last few hours till they reach Metropolis. The highways are choked with people heading home for Christmas, and by the time they reach, it's almost sundown.

Clark greets them at outside lobby of their apartment building with a wide smile. "Hey guys! How was the drive?"

"Uneventful," Selina smiles, taking her scarf off. "Are Lois and Jon upstairs?"

"Yeah, Lois is trying to get him to take a nap." Clark says, beaming. "I swear, every time I see your family, it's a little bigger."

"Tell me about it." Bruce says, taking out an overnight bag from the trunk. There are eight more. Eight. More.

Clark looks at the trunk with amusement. "Let me help you with that." He takes out three of the duffel bags at once, slinging them on one shoulder casually. "How come you guys didn't come earlier, again? It's already almost eight."

"Bruce had to pardon the fir tree first." Tim pipes up, his eyes wide and excited. "He's going to let me do it next year, you know. When I'm old enough."

Jason shakes his head. "That pardoning thing is just plain weird and people love it way too much."

Selina hustles them into the elevator. "You've made your opinion about that pretty clear, Jay." She says, rolling her eyes. "It's become a nice tradition. People in Gotham need that. Leave it alone."

Jason rolls his eyes. "Whatever," then he brightens a little, "Hey, are we getting extra gifts this time?"

Clark grins, "Sure. You'll get one each from Lo and me. Plus your parents."

The elevator erupts in hoots and happy cheers. Bruce runs a hand over his face. "You're spoiling them again."

"Kids are meant to be spoilt." Dick says, sagely.

Bruce gives him a look. "You hardly count as a kid anymore, chum. I'm not even sure you'll be getting a gift next year."

Dick looks at him, an outraged expression on his face. "You take that back, Bruce. You take that back."

 

Inside the apartment, Lois greets them with a warning finger to her lips, and a hushed greeting. "I just put him down," she explains, whispering.

The hallway is filled with the sounds of four children trying to go to the living room quietly, and failing. Jon doesn't wake up, thankfully.

"Help yourselves to some cake," Lois says, putting everyone's coats away. When she sees their cautious expressions, she sighs, rolling her eyes. "It's store bought, you dummies."

Everyone adopts a suitably sheepish expression. "I like your cooking!" Clark says, cutting himself a large slice of cake from the dish.

Lois turns to him, a smile playing on her lips. "It's okay, honey. You're already married to me. There's no need to lie any more."

 

They spend the night eating cake and dinner, and playing board games. By eleven, conversations start coming to an end, and everyone starts making noises about going to bed. The kids are having dessert, too full of sugar and holiday spirit to go to sleep just yet.

Bruce puts on his pair of sweats from the overnight bag, heading to the guest bedroom to help Clark inflate the air mattress.

Selina intercepts him on the way. She's clad in something very green and very fuzzy.

"Is that supposed to be some kind of a Christmas sweater?" Bruce asks, cocking his head to a side.

Selina grins, and puts her hands proudly on her hips to show it off. "Yep. Pam sent it to me for Christmas." She spins around to show Bruce the back. It's practically covered with bells. "What do you think?"

Bruce purses his lips. How to put this in the best possible way. "You look very beautiful."

Selina narrows her eyes, poking his chest jokingly. "That doesn't answer any questions, buddy. I'd look beautiful wearing an old tire."

Bruce shakes his head, trying not laugh at the bells that jingle every time Selina moves. "Your friends have interesting choices, is all I'm saying."

Selina smiles slightly, dropping any pretences of being annoyed with him, and rolling her eyes. "I know, Bruce. I put it on to make you laugh."

He crowds her in, one hand on the hem of her sweater. He lowers his voice slightly. "It worked. I'm now determined to get this sweater off of you at any cost."

Selina's grin widens, but she shakes her head. "Maybe later. For now you have to put Damian to bed. He shouldn't be awake this long, and he's still upset about the snowball, you know." She kisses his cheek softly, rising to her tiptoes to reach his jaw. Her bells jingle. "Go apologise."

Bruce tugs on one of the bells before he lets her go. "Fine. But just saying, this is the worst sweater I've seen in my life."

"You're just jealous."

~

Damian is eating his ice cream with the others at the table, when a pair of large, strong arms pick him up from the back. He's carried down the hall, in the arms of a man that smells familiar, just like-

"Father!" He squawks, his legs flailing wildly. "Put me down this instant!"

Father just keeps carrying him, adjusting him in his arms so that he can't fall out. "I've been asked to put you to bed. Apparently it's past your bedtime."

Damian scowls as darkly as he can, at him. "Then there's no need to carry me. I can walk, you know."

Father says nothing, just puts him down onto the bed in the guest bedroom. "Go brush your teeth," He says, handing him the toiletry kit from his bag.

Damian scowls again, but goes to the bathroom anyway. He brushes his teeth, glaring at his reflection the whole time. When he comes out, father has already inflated the air mattress, the one that he's going to sleep in, next to the bed. He has switched off the lights.

Damiam crawls into the bed after a brief pause, and reluctantly lets his father smooth the hair back from his head. He is kneeling on the floor next to the bed.

"Good night, father." Damian says, stiffly.

"Good night, Damian." His father's voice is soft. "I'm sorry about the snowball." He adds, amusement apparent in his tone. Father is not sorry at all.

"Tt." Damian acquiesces grudgingly, "I suppose it was a little funny."

His father hums in agreement, hands still stroking Damian's hair.

A brief silence.

"Father?" Damian asks, hesitant.

"I'm here."

"Can I ask you a question about mother?"

The hand on his head stills. "Of course."

(His father's voice sounds fractionally tighter)

"Does it make me a bad person," Damian asks, in a small voice, "if I don't miss her that much anymore?"

Father sighs, pulling the blanket up to Damian's chin. "Of course not. You are not a bad person."

"All right." Damian turns his face away. He is not convinced.

He can hear father's slow, steady breathing. He doesn't say anything for a long time. When he finally speaks, Damian is almost asleep.

"Sometimes, I can't remember my parents' faces." Father's voice is quiet. "I forget to miss them, once in a while."

Damian rubs at his eyes, looking at Father in the dark. His shoulders are impossibly wide. Selina says that Damian's will be too, one day. Like father, like son.

Father looks back at him, eyes almost glowing with quiet intensity. "Not missing someone doesn't make you a bad person, Damian. It just means that you've got a sense of closure. That you've stopped grieving."

Damian nods. "Okay."

His father says nothing, only resumes stroking his hair. Damian closes his eyes again.

"Father?" He mumbles, after a while.

"Hm?"

"Will you stay until I fall asleep?"

"Of course."

Damian is too sleepy to know for sure, but he thinks that Father kisses his cheek.

~

 

Bruce wakes up when it's still dark out. He looks down, feeling a familiar weight on his abdomen.

It's Selina. She's resting her head on his stomach, and looking up at him with an amused look on her face. "Merry Christmas, Mr. Wayne."

He sits up, rising from the mattress on the floor that he'd been sharing with Selina. Shifts Selina a little so that her head is in his lap. "And too you, Mrs. Wayne."

Selina scrunches up her nose. "Stop that. It's still Kyle, Bruce. You just do it to annoy me."

He bends down to kiss her forehead. He realises that she's put that damned sweater on again. The bright green wool is particularly garish. "That's not what it says on the marriage certificate. You hyphenated."

Selina makes a face. "Well yeah, but just Kyle sounds better."

Bruce plays with a strand of her hair idly. "Why are you up so early? It's," he pauses to look at the clock on the wall of the guest bedroom, "barely five."

She yawns against her palm, "I was putting the gifts under the tree."

"You should've woken me up."

Selina shakes her head. "That's fine. I had it under control. Besides, you looked really peaceful sleeping." She shrugs.

He toys with one of the bells of the sweater. "Have I mentioned," he announces, "how much I hate this sweater?"

Selina smiles lazily, sitting up and reaching towards him. "Once or twice, maybe. Now stop talking and kiss me."

He lifts her onto his lap, nuzzling her neck. "The kids are here." He says, talking about Tim, Damian and Jason on the bed. Dick drew the short straw, and had to sleep on the couch outside.

Selina shifts in his lap. "Shoot." She sighs. Then she brightens.
"Tim? Damian? Jay?" She calls out, her voice slightly raised.

They stir a little.

"It's Christmas." She says, trying to go for an enticing tone.

Tim mumbles something into his pillow. Jason opens one eye blearily. "So?"

"So presents. Get up."

They all wake up with various degrees of excitement, rushing out of bed, and into the living room- where the tree stands, in all its glory.

She grins, turning back to Bruce, and putting her arms back around him. "Now go lock the door."

"Yes ma'am."

 

~

In the end, he manages to get that awful sweater off of her.

In the end, he makes love to her slowly and carefully, muffling the soft sounds she makes with his mouth.

In the end, they put their clothes back on, and when the kids come back with their gifts, they make faces when they realise what the two of them had been doing.

In the end, Dick hugs Selina shyly because of the gift he got from her- a poster of the flying Graysons. So that he won't ever forget his parents' faces. He tells her he's changed his mind. That maybe Bruce and Selina are his parents after all. He calls her mom.

In the end, Selina laughs a little and cries a little and hugs him back.

In the end, he sits there, surrounded by his children and his wife, and wonders how he ever got so goddamned lucky.

 

 

 end.

 

 

Notes:

When I first started writing this story, I never expected that it would get such an overwhelming (at least, for me!) response. Thank you ALL for your Kudos, comments, and bookmarks- but most of all, for reading the story. For sticking with it till the very end.

This was the first story I EVER posted to a public forum, and your enthusiastic feedback meant the world to me. Seriously, I love you guys.

Thank you again, and don't forget to leave one last comment! ;)