Summary: Batman has a long conversation with Bruce Wayne.
Author's Note: This story takes place after the current Bruce Wayne: Fugitive crossover. It assumes that Bruce Wayne is cleared of all charges, but of course, this being everyone's favorite dysfunctional Bat, all is not well.
(Dialogue) denotes subconscious musings.
Disclaimer: All characters belong to DC and Time/Warner; this is an original story that doesn't intend to infringe on their copyright. Feedback is welcome.
Copyright March 2002
A Knight's Long Journey Into Day
By Syl Francis
Nighttime in the City.
He looks out upon his sleeping city, perched on a favorite spot, a menacing gargoyle that juts out from the great Gothic spires of Gotham Cathedral. As the biting March wind whips his cape all around him, he feels as one with the stone carving of the mythical creature--cold, frightening, not real.
The bell tower behind and above him suddenly rings the quarter hour. 2:45am. The night's still young, the city whispers. Come...join me...
Without hesitation, Batman answers the call. Standing he walks to the edge and with a powerful kick, leaps out into the night. All too quickly, he is swallowed by the evening's protective shadows...
He lands easily on a rooftop overlooking a narrow alleyway, oblivious to the rancid odors of decaying dead things. He listens attentively to the elusive nocturnal noises. At last, he hears them--low, indignant voices arguing in self-righteous anger.
"What d'you mean two-fifty, man? We agreed on two hundred!" Batman notes the shaky, desperate edge to the voice.
Junky. Batman's mouth tightens in distaste.
"Sorry...price just went up. You want the party favors, hand over the two-fifty!" The speaker's voice is too suave, too in control of the situation.
Pusher. A single closed fist is the only sign of Batman's own wrath.
"But we had an agreement!" The desperation ratchets up another notch.
"Consider it inflation. Now, you gonna pay up, or do my friends here make you D.O.A.?" Cruel, taunting.
"Oh, yeah? You think you can just push me around?" Furious, fed up.
"Hey! Wha'chu you doin'?"
"Look out! He's got a zip gun!"
Batman instantly opens his cape and spreads it wide. He steps off the edge of the roof and silently glides to the alley below.
"Inflation? Well, consider this the price of doing business--! Oof!" The junky falls unconscious as the heavy figure of the Dark Knight slams feet first into him. Ignoring the still form, Batman turns to face the others, those who deal in the poison, which plagues his City with death and destruction. If there's one thing Batman hates more than guns, it's the drug trade.
"It's the Bat!"
"I'm out of here, man!"
"Hey, what's the matter with you guys? He's just one dude! Come on...ice him!" They pause to muster their courage. Soon, believing that there's strength in numbers they form a semi-circle and slowly begin to close in on him. As their self-confidence and resolve builds within them, they grow cocky, careless.
"Shank! Get your blade out, man!"
A faint sshiiick! followed by a brief glint to his left warns Batman that the lead shadow has a switchblade, poised and ready. At the same time, he hears the jangling clank of chains from behind him, and catches a club-like shadow being casually batted back and forth to his right.
Almost disappointed, Batman whirls on them. They fall in ones and twos, their grunts and cries of pain that of predators who are stunned to discover that there exists someone that they cannot defeat. Moments later, they lie in crumpled heaps across the narrow expanse of the alley.
A sudden urge to throw them in the dumpsters along with the rest of the garbage comes over him. About to disregard, instead he shrugs and proceeds to bind their hands and ankles with plastic tie-wraps.
One by one, he picks them up and tosses them in with the overflowing, putrid waste. Almost as afterthought, he contacts the GCPD...
As he rises over the city's rooftops, pulled along by his titanium re-enforced d-cel line, he deliberately tamps the memories that haunt his waking hours. They are not Batman's memories. They belong to him--Bruce Wayne--a persona who is no longer a part of his life.
Bruce Wayne--more mask than man, less real than the gargoyles of Gotham Cathedral--no longer exists. Bruce Wayne is dead. As are his memories, his past, his former life.
This last thought elicits a twinge of guilt...
...Dick. He closes his eyes, refusing to succumb to the pain he remembers in Dick's eyes, pain that his announcement put there...
"No. Us! You and me...if there is no Bruce Wayne, then who is Dick Grayson the adopted son of? Who raised me? Can you answer that...?"
..."No!" Batman yells, his eyes snapping open. Surprised, he alights on the nearest ledge, but momentarily disoriented almost slips. He catches himself, and suddenly shaky, drops onto the rooftop, clinging to the ledge, gasping for air, almost overcome by the unexpected panic attack. Minutes later, he regains his usual cold composure and pushes the incident to the back of his mind.
He remembers finding Vesper's body, his almost catatonic shock at realizing that he purchased the very gun that killed her. The weeks that follow flash through his mind: His arrest and arraignment, the trial, the verdict, his incarceration.
And through all this, Dick stands by him, his belief in his innocence never wavering. Then, what happened next, he wonders? What went wrong?
You snapped a dry voice tells him.
"No...Bruce Wayne finally died," he says. "Along with all his emotional baggage."
And what about Dick? After all he did for you? Finding the evidence that cleared you--?
"Not me...Bruce Wayne!"
So you're just going to abandon him? How about Alfred? Leslie? The others? What about Wayne Enterprises? All of your charities? Everything that means anything to you?"
"No...Those are all things that matter to Bruce Wayne. Not me. They mean nothing to me."
They don't matter? They're your life!
"No...they were a part of Bruce Wayne's life. And now he's dead," he whispers. "All that matters now is the mission."
He stares out at the twinkling lights of the city below. Inexplicably, they remind him of fireflies.
"Fireflies?" he murmurs. Where has he heard that before...?
"What was it you said, Robin?" He looks down proudly at the brightly clad youngster. Robin has performed well tonight and every night this past week.
"I said that the city sure is pretty at night," Robin answers earnestly. "Kinda reminds me of fireflies. You know...all twinkly and stuff."
"'Twinkly and stuff.'" Batman's tone does not reveal the smile that's trying to break free. His expression outwardly serious, he calls forth his iron will to keep the smile well hidden.
"Uh-huh," Robin says animatedly. "You know...like stars kinda, but different--more like fireflies!" Robin looks up at him and smiles widely. "Dad and Mom and me sometimes used to sit out on the fairgrounds at night--after all the crowds had gone--and just watch the fireflies as they swooped all the over the place." Still smiling, the young daredevil waves his arms to illustrate the enormity of the sight. Abruptly, his smile falters.
"I-I guess you think it was kind of silly, huh?"
Batman doesn't answer immediately. Instead, he places a warm hand on the boy's shoulder and squeezes slightly. "What do you say we call it night, partner? I seem to recall that the grounds around Wayne Manor are a real firefly magnet."
"Really?" Robin's eyes light up. At Batman's nod, he breaks out in delighted laughter and executes a back flip, a handspring, and a round-off in quick succession. "What're we waiting for? Let's go!"
Batman's self control finally slips, and the smile he's been holding back breaks free...
The sharp staccato din of automatic gunfire comes over his GCPD radio link, alerting him that his City is in need of him again. Vaulting in a single smooth motion to the waist-high ledge around the roof, he fires a jump line and swoops over the city once more.
He recalls the GCPD reports that a gang turf war has been brewing for the past two nights. Word on the street is that something big is going down tonight. As he swings past the Gotham Cathedral, the carillon comes to life and abruptly rings out the hour--4:00am.
The night is almost done. So far, it's been relatively quiet. No major crimes to speak of. Nearing the intersection of 10th and Kane, he drops down into a hidden cul-de-sac. Taking out a handheld autolock, he presses it. The Batmobile's massive engine roars suddenly to life and waits impatiently while he climbs in and takes the wheel.
Moments later, the Batmobile races down the darkened, empty city streets. He activates his on-board computer, which uses the latest in GPS technology to quickly locate and triangulate the exact position of the gunfire. Within seconds, a blip appears on the screen. Batman quickly overlays the blip onto a city map.
He punches in the coordinates and the Batmobile's autopilot kicks in. He sits back, allowing the car's AI to determine the fastest, safest route to the Tricorner Yards neighborhood. He monitors for a few minutes, analyzing the back roads and major intersections that the Batmobile bypasses.
Moments later, he is again besieged by unwanted images of memories long forgotten...
"But why doesn't he like Roy anymore, Bruce? I don't understand."
"It's not that Ollie doesn't like Roy anymore, son. He just has a different set of priorities at the moment."
"Like taking off for weeks at a time and leaving Roy all alone in that apartment?"
"Dick, I--"
"Bruce, Roy's just a year older'n me. You and Alfred never leave me by myself...I mean, not like that. Not for days...sometimes weeks at a time." Only twelve, Dick is already the leader of the Titans. He states his concern for his teammate and friend to the only person he believes is capable of fixing the world's problems.
Bruce walks out into the patio. Spring is almost here. Spring--Dick's birthday. He marvels at the idea that his boy will soon be a teenager and just as quickly cringes at the thought. Where has the time gone, he wonders? He senses Dick next to him, as well as his agitation.
"Bruce...?"
"Yes?"
"Bruce, Roy told me that Mr. Queen goes out a lot with Mr. Jordan and Miss Lance..."
Bruce stiffens at what Dick is about to say.
"Especially, Miss Lance..." Dick's voice drops to a soft whisper. The boy doesn't say anything for a long moment. Bruce finally looks down at him and is surprised by the stricken look in Dick's dark blue eyes.
"What is it, Dick?" Bruce asks. Dropping his eyes, Dick shakes his head.
"Nothing, sir."
"Dick...you can say anything to me, son. You know that don't you?"
Dick nods and slowly raises his eyes.
"Bruce...Roy thinks that Mr. Queen's in love with Miss Lance. He says that's why he doesn't have any more time for him. That he likes her more than he does him."
Bruce feels a stab of guilt over the pain that Roy must be going through. He rages silently at Ollie's insensitivity to the boy's needs, and at Dinah and Hal for allowing him to abandon Roy for long periods of time. As these thoughts flash through his mind, he almost misses Dick's next question.
"Bruce...if you get married, will you still like me? Will you still want me around?"
Overcome with emotions that war within him, Bruce places both his hands on Dick's shoulders and locks eyes with him.
"Listen, Dick. If you never learn anything else from me, then learn this: No one and nothing will ever come between you and me. We're partners, remember? And partners don't abandon each other." He gives Dick's shoulders a slight squeeze, adding, "And for as long as you live, Wayne Manor is your home."
He pauses suddenly, recalling the impending milestone birthday. A half-smile plays around the corner of his mouth. "Don't be surprised though if one day, you meet someone, fall in love, and get married. Then I doubt if you'll still want me around."
Unselfconsciously Dick throws his arms around Bruce's waist. "Never! Like you said. You'n me...we're partners! For always!"
Batman squeezes the bridge of his nose in an attempt to fend off the poignant memories.
"No!" he cries, slamming the palm of his hand on the steering wheel. "I will not succumb to the useless ramblings of Bruce Wayne's tortured soul. Wayne is a liability. He's always been such. He foolishly allies himself with people he cares about, only to face their loss later, causing him--me--to lose focus on the one thing that matters--the mission!"
He refuses to look upon the ghosts of Bruce Wayne's past, but they relentlessly fight through his inner defenses...
His parents laughing as they leave the Monarch Theater that night.
Alfred offering quiet comfort in the form of a nightly cup of hot cocoa before Bruce goes to bed.
Dick falling trustingly into his arms the night his own parents fall to their deaths.
The memories quickly turn painful...
Jason lying battered, bleeding, and dying after the Joker brutally beats him with a tire iron.
Graphic photos of Barbara helplessly lying on the floor, also bleeding, posed at different obscene angles for the camera. She now lives out her days in a wheelchair.
Tim glaring at him for what he perceives as the ultimate betrayal--revealing his secret identity to Spoiler.
Pushing everyone away after Jim is shot, unable to bear losing another. Unable to face their smiling faces as they go happily through life, oblivious to any possible danger to themselves.
Unable to listen to their hurts and angers when their personal problems seem overwhelming...
"Those things no longer matter," he insists. "It's over. Bruce Wayne is dead. Let the dead rest in peace."
The squeal of brakes alerts him that he's arrived at his destination. He orients himself to the location, committing to memory the exact coordinates of the separate gang members. Ready, he opens the canopy and shoots a jump line.
He lands behind 'enemy lines' in the middle of the turf war. Moving as quiet as a whisper, he quickly works his way through the line of street warriors.
Coming behind one, he taps him on the shoulder. The young hood instantly whirls around, lead pipe held ready. "Who's there?"
"Nunya."
The low growl comes from behind the punk, and he whirls around yet again. Confused he asks, "Nunya who?"
"Nunya business!" A steel fist that rivals the lead pipe that the now unconscious gang member has been holding punctuates his answer. Batman steps over the still form, outwardly unaffected by the encounter. Inside, he gives himself a mental kick.
That was stupid, he berates silently. A Boy Wonder stunt if ever there was one! Even Dick wouldn't say anything so infantile.
Oh really? Just who do you think said it first?
He stops. Who said that, he wonders? When no answer seems immediate, he continues the hunt.
Sure, go ahead and knock some heads. Ignore the problem. That's about all you've been good for these past few months. Since Jim's shooting.
Batman stops again. That voice. It couldn't be...and yet?
That's right, Mr. Dark and Dreary. It's me--Bruce Wayne! And no matter how hard you try to get rid of me, I'm here for the duration.
"But that's impossible," Batman whispers. "How?"
Sadie.
"Sadie? What?"
Not 'Sadie, what?'--'Sadie, who?' Go on...say it. It won't kill you.
"Sadie, who?" Batman growls impatiently.
Sadie magic words, and I'll tell you! Bruce Wayne mocks.
Batman comes across three more gang members who lie in ambush. Without hesitation, he knocks all three heads together. They collapse without so much as a grunt.
So? What are the magic words? Bruce prompts.
"The magic words are that you're not real and I'm not listening to you," Batman says dismissively. "Now go back to whatever corner of my subconscious you belong in."
I'm not real? Bruce yells. Listen to me, you big bag of wind! I invented you! Get it?"
"That's where you're wrong. Bruce Wayne is not real. He's just a character I created, a part I play during the day. Batman is--"
Hey! Who's the guy with the mask here!? Bruce interrupts. And what would Mother and Father think if they were to find out that you rejected the name they gave you? Is this how you honor them? By turning your back on your family?
"Bruce Wayne died that night in Crime Alley when he saw his parents lying in a pool of their own blood. That night the Batman was born--"
Oh, you are so full of it! Bruce Wayne no more died that night, than Dick Grayson died the night his parents fell to their deaths. I--!
Batman finds himself completely surrounded--ten maybe more.
"Well, lookee here! It's the big, bad Bat," a taunting voice says.
"Why don't we teach him not to mess with the Tricorner Warriors?" another asks.
"Yeah! Come on, Warriors! Let's show the Bat that no one messes with our business!"
They attack from all sides, twirling their individual weapons of choice. Batman instantly disarms one carrying a switchblade with a vicious chop to the wrist. The hood cries out in pain and holds his injured wrist. In the dim light from the corner lamppost, Batman sees the arm bent at an odd angle.
"You broke it! You broke my arm!"
But Batman has already put him out of his mind and instead concentrates on the next one and the next.
All too soon, or perhaps ages later, he stands watch over the damage. Everywhere he sees what appear to be discarded piles of old clothing. In the distance he hears the first wail of a siren. Soon, it is joined by several more. In less than ten minutes, the first GCPD units respond to the call made earlier. He heads towards the Batmobile.
Knock. Knock.
Wearily, Batman asks, "Who's there?"
Atunna.
"Atunna who?"
Atunna trouble if you don't get your act straight--and soon.
Batman slams the Batmobile driver's side door with the sound of finality. "Bruce Wayne is dead. Get over it!"
And what about Dick? How can you just walk away? He was orphaned once already. Think of what you're doing to him.
"Dick is strong. He'll survive."
Like you survived when you were orphaned? Is this really what you want for him? A relentless war--day in, day out? No life outside of this darkness that you've descended to?
"Dick understands--"
No, he doesn't! How can he? You're telling him that the man he loves and admires the most in the world is irrelevant, unimportant...dead! How can you do this him?"
Batman shakes his head vehemently, trying to throw off the incessant voice in his head.
"Stop it! Stop this! You are not real! I will not listen--!"
Oh, you will listen, you Pointy-Eared Night Rat! You know, for someone who's supposedly the World's Greatest Detective you can be very stupid!
"I--"
Shut up and listen! I raised that young man. When I saw the Graysons plunge to their deaths, it was like re-living my own parents' murder. I knew that I had to help that little boy somehow, and I did. But more importantly, Dick helped me...Don't you remember what it was like in the early years? How I'd go out and hunt--much like tonight--with no sense of justice, just vengeance. I remember when I caught Zucco's partner, Cowboy--soon after the Graysons' murder. I almost killed him with my bare fists. But I didn't...Do you remember why?
"Because Dick stopped us..."
Go to the head of the class. Neither spoke for several minutes. And then when Dick became my partner--
"You mean my partner!"
Okay, make that our partner...when he became our partner, how could I--we--stay constantly angry and revenge-driven, when this kid in that neon-sign costume of his was fighting right alongside us?
"So, what's your point?" Batman asks tiredly.
Remember that first fight? When he swooped in on the lead gunman? As he knocked out the mook with a solid kick to the chin? Robin called out...Remember what he said?
Batman shakes his head. "Get to the point!"
He said, 'Hi, my name's Robin! And I sure do get a kick out of you!
In spite of himself, the corner of Batman's mouth quirks slightly at the memory. Abruptly, he calls his iron self-control forward and forcefully pushes the grin back in place.
Bruce sighs. Stubborn...Okay, my point. What's my point? I'm not sure what my point is, dammit! But I do know this...You can kill me. You can write me off. You can act as if I don't matter. But in the end, this whole charade will cave in on you. A man can't exist without anchors--at least not for long.
"Anchors?"
The ties that bind us to this world. In our case, the ties of family. This mission started because I didn't ever want to see another little boy suffer as I suffered that night. Dick joined the battle because he saw the same things I did--suffering, pain, injustice in the world--and like me, he wanted to do something to set it right.
"You mean, he wanted to help me--!"
For chrissakes--! Us! Okay? He wanted to help us--
"Which he has. And he's done a fine job of it, too. In some ways, I believe that he's even better than me--"
Make that in all ways! Dick has a life outside Nightwing. He has friends he cares about and who care about him. He's found a way to balance his civilian identity with his mission by becoming a police officer by day and Nightwing by night. But first and foremost, he's Dick Grayson. He is the once and future Boy Wonder--a Flying Grayson who is proud of his Romany heritage and his circus roots. More importantly, I'm proud to call him 'son.'
"No! I call him 'son'! He's my son!"
Batman didn't adopt Dick Grayson, remember? Bruce Wayne did. Batman didn't sit by his bedside at night when he suffered from nightmares. Bruce Wayne did. Batman didn't worry about him that time he got strep throat and had a temperature of 103. I did! Bruce pauses. Shall I go on?
"Please don't."
That's what I thought, Bruce says unperturbed. Who sat and watched fireflies with him on the manor grounds? Took him to the park to fly kites? Taught him how to throw a curve ball? Who was there when he graduated from high school?
"This is ridiculous! Of course, I was there! Through each one of those events you just recited."
And how is that possible, Mr. I'm Batman and you're not? Mr. There's nothing more important than the mission? Dick is Bruce Wayne's son--not Batman's. Dick told me once that he'd die for me...and the reverse is true as you well know. But he didn't say that out of loyalty to Batman, nor because he's a very courageous young man. Even if granted he is all these.
"Then why?"
He said it out of love. Pure and simple. And I know that you know that I'd trade my life without hesitation for that boy. Not because he was my partner, but because he's my son. And if I've never been able to say it out loud, you more than anyone should know the real reason. Because I love him. Pure and simple.
Batman doesn't respond to this. He parks the Batmobile in the same spot near the intersection of 10th and Kane. Satisfied that it's locked safely, he shoots his grapnel and rises into the still darkness. In the East, he sees the very beginnings of the coming dawn and notices a subtle change in the midnight black sky.
As he alights on his favorite perch, the stone gargoyle, he tries to clear his head for a few minutes, but can't. His mind keeps returning to Dick.
"What have I done?" he whispers.
He surveys his city as she slowly begins to wake up. Down below, he knows that she is already welcoming the early morning delivery trucks over the New Trigate Bridge, which spans the Gotham River. Half-asleep commuters are even now dozing on their long journey from the surrounding suburbs. Most won't even notice as they enter the City via the Petersen Railroad tubes.
The cathedral's bell tower suddenly springs to life and rings out the half-hour. "6:30am and all is well," he intones ruefully.
As the horizon changes from twilight gray to rose pink to gold, he begins to think about Wayne Enterprises and all the good his company has done through the years. He thinks of the work that he and Lucius Fox have done together to make Gotham City a better place to live. He thinks of the thousands of people who've been touched in some way by one of Wayne Enterprises' altruistic projects.
Certainly not anything to be ashamed of, the voice whispers.
Wanting to agree, Batman instead counters with "But there's been so much pain. Jason, Barbara...Jim."
And you survived...They survived! Well, not Jason, but what could you have done about a boy who was on a self-destructive spiral. I tried--we both tried to help him. But he wasn't to be helped. What happened to him wasn't our fault. It's okay to feel responsible. He was only a boy, after all. But you can't let the guilt eat away at you.
"And Barbara and Jim. What about them?"
They're strong and they've survived on their own. Barbara has a calling just as strong and powerful as yours. As Oracle she may just do more good than all the Justice League combined! As for Jim...he's hurting at the moment, but he'll bounce back. Jim is tough as nails and it'll take more than a bullet to stop him. He proved it by not dying. Now he has to learn to live again.
"Learn to live again...easier said than done."
No one ever said otherwise. Dying is easy...Living is hard. That's why you're so determined to kill me off, I think.
"I don't understand."
It's easier for you to kill off Bruce Wayne, than it is for you to live through the daily hurts and pains that ordinary people have to endure every day of their waking lives. Guess what, pally? That's what makes us all human. You're trying to shake off the 'man' in Bat-man, and concentrate only on the Bat. But the Bat isn't human. If you discard the 'man' then you sacrifice your humanity. Are you ready to do that?
As the horizon lightens with each passing minute, the Gotham Cathedral bell tower rings out the next quarter hour, 6:45. At last, the sun breaks through and the new morning dawns. As the first rays kiss the Dark Knight's exposed face, he gazes out upon his City.
One by one the lights below wink out until the city lies warmly embraced by the light of day. Another night has come and gone and both he and his city have survived.
Perhaps it is time to step out from the darkness. He thinks of Dick. On impulse, he calls Nightwing. Almost instantaneously, he raises him on their private satcom link.
"Wait." The low voice at the other end, so like his own, abruptly cuts him off before he can speak and puts him on hold. As he waits, he realizes that Nightwing has been playing with the communications equipment again. Over his earpiece Batman hears a Muzak version of Barry Manilow, a singer that Dick knows he detests.
We're gonna have a long talk, young man...
"Okay, I'm back. Had to knock a little sense into a couple of mooks who thought it's a good idea to hijack my Wing cycle." Batman feels a chuckle forming deep in his chest. "So...hey, Batman! S'nu?"
"S'nu?"
"Oh, nothing much," Nightwing deadpans. "What's s'nu with you?" At this, he breaks up in helpless laughter. Batman's mouth quirks up in his signature half-grin.
After a couple of minutes, Nightwing finally settles sufficiently to ask, "So, what can I do for you, Big Guy?"
"I've been doing a lot of thinking lately, and..." Batman stops, unsure of how to continue. "Well, I was wondering if you would...?"
"If I would 'what'?" Nightwing asks worriedly. "Hey, come on Batman. You're scaring me. What do you need? You know I'm here for ya!" Batman nods at the truth of this.
Yes, he's always been there for us, hasn't he?
"I was wondering if you'd be willing to have lunch with the Old Man," Bruce replies. "You know...to celebrate my return?" His request is greeted by momentary stunned silence, which is quickly followed by a long and happy cheer. At the sound, the corner of his mouth twitches briefly in his usual half-grin.
"You just name the time and place, Bruce. I'll be there!"
And behind and above him, the bells of Gotham Cathedral chime in commemoration of the new day.
The End