Bruce pulled up to the arrival terminal at Gotham Central Airport. The doors to terminal B opened and a wave of people exited. Bruce scanned the moving faces for two familiar ones, but as the doors closed behind the last people, no one recognizable came into view.

Bruce sighed, glancing at his watch. 3:00 PM. Their plane was only supposed to be landing now and he was mildly irritated for arriving so early. The excitement that had kept him up the previous night had also woken him early in the morning. He had gotten to work right away, wanting everything to be perfect. When the house was clean to Alfred's standards and the lasagna dinner made, it was only 11:00 AM. Bruce spent another hour going over everything almost compulsively – making sure there were no creases in the set beds, straightening cutlery at the table (already set for dinner), and wiping down glassware in the cabinets to remove any smudges. Having completed everything he could find to do, Bruce became restless, trying to occupy himself with one thing or another - from a boxing session to a swim in the pool to leafing through an old novel. But nothing had distracted him for too long, and when he found himself pacing the empty home with nothing to do, Bruce pulled out of Wayne Manor at 2:15, reasoning that with traffic he would make it there on time.

It had taken almost two years for the airport to be cleared, the old structure and debris removed, and a new one built. He had been anticipating this moment for a week now, or, if you were really counting, the past two years. Bruce settled himself in his seat and leaned back, closing his eyes.

The rebuilding of Gotham had taken a while – it was still a work in progress. Getting the hospital staffed and running had been a big priority in the early days, as well as rebuilding the bridge that anchored Gotham to the mainland. It had taken 4 months to get electricity back to the entire city. Electric lines all over had been damaged – some in the explosions and many in the free-for-all that had commenced in the aftermath. Those first few weeks had been scary, with murders, burglaries and muggings happening left and right. Bruce had had some very hands-on experience helping Gordon patrol the streets, making a presence, showing criminals there was civil order in Gotham.

Of course, it had not been only criminals. Many citizens, helpless and hopeless about such basic things as food and shelter, were in a morally ambiguous place, caught stealing food and materials to rebuild their homes. Most had been let off; there were bigger problems to worry about. As the streets were cleared of debris, the hospital was restaffed and supplies flown in on helicopters. But the six months it took to get Gotham General Hospital fully functional cost lives. There had been three long weeks where the overworked and undersupplied staff of five had done their best with the resources they had. Dead bodies were sent daily to the morgue and one of the nurses herself caught an infectious disease ad died. Doctors finally arrived, but in the rush to get help and onboard new staff, it took a whole month to realize that one of the new hires was killing patients to harvest organs and sell them at exorbitant prices. The bridge had taken another eight months to repair and during that time all supplies had to be flown in.

The doors opened again, and a new set of people swarmed out. Bruce found himself searching their faces again, despite knowing Alfred and Selina weren't due for some time. Unsurprisingly, they did not step out of the double doors.

Bruce's personal life required a rebuilding of sorts as well. The first few weeks he had lived hour to hour, minute to minute, accompanying Gordon on long patrols, breaking up fights, calling ambulances whenever someone was found alive, and arranging for bodies to buried. He had eaten at the station with Gordon, often crashed at Gordon's house, occasionally they both stayed overnight at the police headquarters. On the nights he had made it to Wayne Manor, it was always past midnight; he would drag himself upstairs and be sleeping before his head hit the pillow.

He barely had a moment to think during that time. Though he had been present day in and out, always with something going on, those months really seemed like a blur to him and it was only as order was restored bit by agonizing bit in Gotham that he had a little time to worry about other things. Reinforcements were brought in and Bruce finally had time to realize that Wayne Manor was becoming an unacceptable mess. He was still helping out at the police station but was assigned to a 12-hour shift instead of working as needed. It was that first day, back at Wayne Manor by 7PM, that he had noticed the stench. Moldy dampness wafted in with every breath, and it took some time to find the source, or, as It was, the sources. Bruce had not done laundry for three months, and often found himself wearing the same clothes for three days at a time before changing. The sweaty, sometimes wet, always dirty clothing would make their way wherever they fell – if Bruce managed to take a shower one day, the clothing would scatter the bathroom hall, if he didn't collapse in his bed the moment he got there, articles of clothing would litter his bedroom floor, or sometimes, the hallway, as he would undress on his way to sleep. The clothing had started to mold, and Bruce didn't know what to do about it.

He had always been a gentleman. Alfred had taught him to cook, clean up after himself, sew, fold laundry, and set a table. But long-term upkeep of a house was beyond him. But he learned, slowly though it was, and often the hard way. The already moldy clothing he discarded, and he began doing his own laundry every week. Smell was a helpful indicator as to what needed to be cleaned, and it was a big surprise after doing his first shopping trip to open the refrigerator and find rotting vegetables and mold inside, which needed to be cleaned before he could put away any of his newly purchased goods. It was also a shock for him to realize that toilets needed cleaning – he had always thought the toilet was cleaned by flushing it.

Slowly, steadily, he got into a rhythm, and kept house in a manner he hoped Alfred would be proud of. He would spend most of his day at the station, patrolling streets with Gordon, and come home in the evening to dinner, housework, a shower, and bed.

Bruce glanced over the faces of people leaving terminal B, not expecting to see them yet. They had lost contact after Alfred and Selina left the city and for months Bruce pushed them to the back of his mind. Not that he didn't worry about them, because he did, a lot. But he knew Selina would be safe with Alfred and there had been so much to do, barely a moment he could really think, to spend quantity time worrying about them. When electricity had been finally restored, Bruce made a few phone calls, but reached a dead end. He had no idea where Alfred and Selina had gone and couldn't begin to know where to look. Phone lines had been down in Gotham and a new company had been flown in to replace everything. Wayne Manor had a new phone number, and Alfred would not be able to know that. But Bruce was comforted that Alfred was resourceful and knew where he lived.

Sure enough, a year and nine months after the apocalyptic-like event, the post was restored in Gotham and Bruce received twenty-one letters from Alfred at once. He had sat down in his favorite armchair as he read them and would not admit that he cried multiple times throughout. They had moved around a lot at first, stayed in a shelter, moved to a hotel, then were taken in by a sweet elderly couple upstate. Selina had much difficulty adjusting to a wheelchair. Alfred did not mince words describing her reality – "like a fish out of water". The first few letters were painful to read, it sounded like Selina was miserable and Alfred could do nothing to cheer her. But then, he wrote, sounding hopeful, of an operation that might restore the feeling in her lower body. It was unclear if she would ever walk again and Alfred wrote that he had not told her about the surgery yet; he didn't want to get her hopes up until more details were available. The next letter was short, they would do the operation, and Selina had become pensively quiet, an upturn from her previous behavior, which had been bitter and resentful. Alfred detailed the surgery in his next letter. It was a success, Selina could feel her legs, and the doctors were cautiously optimistic. With physical therapy, she might be able to walk again, although acrobatics as she had done in the past would never be on the table. The next few letters described the exercises she was doing and Alfred's pride at her quiet determination. The doctors said it could be years before she would walk again, but she was already much ahead of their planned schedules. Alfred wrote that she was happier then he had seen her in a while and they had formed a friendship. She was, in Alfred's words, "a delightful young lady". Selina had taken a few steps by Alfred's next letter, and was walking (though with a heavy limp) by the next. The last letter said that they missed him and hoped Gotham mail would be running shortly (they heard that it would reopen within the month), so they could finally be in touch, and provided a phone number to reach him.

Bruce had called immediately at that point and him and Alfred had spoken for hours, planning their return to Gotham. Selina's therapy took priority at that point, but once either Gotham Central Airport was finished being rebuilt ("Soon, the construction's been going on for over a year," Bruce said) or a qualified therapist would open a practice in Gotham (Bruce had heard rumors about this), they would make their way down. As it happened, the therapist opened a practice first, but the airport was set to open the following month, so they waited. There was another month's delay in the opening, and a rush for tickets once it did, but Alfred finally secured two tickets to Gotham the previous week. Bruce had been anticipating this moment since, although now he felt decidedly nervous. He had not spoken to Selina at all; she had been out whenever he and Alfred had spoken on the phone. And he wondered how it would be to have Alfred back, what sort of dynamic there would be, especially because he had been finding a quiet comfort in keeping Wayne Manor orderly and scheduled.

And he appreciated Gordon insisting he take the weekend off. Things hadn't gotten less busy over the two years at Gotham Police, but they had gotten less urgent. The major work now mainly involved busting criminal gangs and drug cartels that had risen in wake of the chaos. They were currently working on a case of an organized crime ring, where they had just gotten a plant into the group. Gordon had insisted Bruce take off a few days to prepare for Alfred and Selina's arrival as their plant needed to lay low for a short while anyway.

Bruce watched as more people exited the doors. They slid shut before opening again to allow some latecomers out, and hadn't fully closed again before they slid open, and a familiar face stepped out. Alfred, laden with two suitcases and a duffel bag and a backpack stepped out, scanning his surroundings, probably looking for Bruce. And behind him, a disgruntled look on her face, was Selina.