I.
one…two…three…
I close my eyes and count. It always seems to help.
four…five…six…
Alfred always asks me, "Why're you counting, Master Wayne?".
seven…eight…nine…
I always open one eye for a few seconds and just look up at him. How can I tell him that I know that by 'ten', everything will be…
…ten.
…wonderful again?
Because it never is.
By ten, my parents are still dead.
I know Alfred knows why I count because every time I open my eyes, he smiles at me with all those tears in his eyes and says, very softly but very firm, "Everything will be wonderful again, Master Bruce. I promise."
II.
I lay in bed some nights, my eyes closed so tight I see flashes of color, wishing everything had been different. Sometimes I wish I had died with my parents just so I'd never have to live without them.
When I told Rachel that, she smacked me and ran away crying. I didn't understand.
Alfred found a note on the foor later that day. It said, very plainly, I'd miss you if you went away. Please don't die. Love, Rachel.
I laughed…
And then I cried. I've never cried as hard and long as I did that day.
Later, I found Rachel hiding in the rose bushes. I hugged her. Hard.
"I won't go away. I'd miss you, too."
III.
The gun in my hands feels foreign. Wrong, even.
Do I really want to kill him?
"He's coming out the side! Joe Chill!"
"Joe! Hey, Joe! Falcone says 'hi'!"
bang!
"Come on, Bruce, you don't need to see this."
"I do."
I can't stop staring. The gun just hangs in my hand. The man who killed my parents is dead. Murdered.
I can't stop myself from smiling just the tiniest bit.
IV.
Seven years. A whole seven years I spent, training, becoming stronger mentally and physically, finding my place in the world, and yet, now as I'm climbing into the jet with Alfred, I can't help but feel completely out of place. Completely lost.
"Are you coming back to Gotham for long, sir?"
"As long as it takes, Alfred. As long as it takes for everything to be wonderful again."
I hadn't realised until now how much I missed Alfred's smile.
V.
The Batman. A vigilante. That's what they're calling me and I can't seem to argue.
A hero. One man in particular seems to be settling on that moniker for what I do in the dark of night. I can't help but disagree. I'm no hero.
Lieutenant Gordon seems to hold this great hope in what I'm doing. Far more hope than either Alfred or Rachel seem to have. They doubt me, but Gordon believes. The floodlight on the top of his unit tells me so.
"You really started something. Bent cops running scared. Hope on the streets."
He's smiling, I can tell. In some ways, I think he's proud that finally someone has the guts to fight back against the criminals. He trusts me.
"I never said thank you."
"And you'll never have to."
It's at this point that I realise that Gotham is on it's way to being wonderful again.