Chapter 2
A concussion and two bruised ribs were not the normal ending to his nights. He had seen his fair share of injuries, but they were not a nightly occurrence. Pulling the body armor over his head, he winced. It felt as though his chest was on fire with every breath he took. Swallowing hard, he looked at the clock. He was two hours earlier than normal; Alfred would still be asleep.
Being thrown off a building and onto a moving car was enough to convince him to retire early for the night. The building had only been three stories, but he was glad to have gotten away with the light injuries he had. Under the layers of Kevlar and body armor, he sported a few rather large bruises on his back and chest.
Pulling the bottom half of his armor off, he changed into track pants and a t-shirt and starting stretching. He had an inkling that if he didn't stretch his sore back, he wouldn't be able to stand after sitting down at his computer. Since Bane had broken his back ten years ago, he had been forced to stretch before and after being sedentary for any period time of time. It made stake outs very difficult.
Swallowing a few ibuprofens for the swelling, he took a seat in front of the Cray computers and started categorizing his nightly activity. The criminal element was never going to learn not to smuggle guns through Gotham city, he thought. Another faction of the gun cartel had been destroyed tonight, along with a few warehouses and a quarter of the city's docks. He thought it was a small price to pay to stop more arms from reaching street dealers.
A small shuffle alerted him to someone else in the cave. Wearing a red bathrobe over his striped pajamas and slippers on his feet, Alfred looked more than a little out of place in the cave. Bruce almost smiled.
"Early night, sir?" Lowering his aging body into a nearby chair, Alfred relaxed his rigid spine for a moment.
Bruce had a look of pain on his face, but it was not due to his physical ailments. Alfred was eighty-two; Bruce winced when he thought about the odd hours his butler kept due to him. He wanted Alfred to rest at least a few hours a night, it wasn't good for the aging man to sleep in short bursts as he so often was forced to do.
"Blew up much of the waterfront. It was quiet after that."
"I am glad to see your safe return, Master Bruce."
Turning back to his work, Bruce frowned for a moment. Not ceasing in his typing, he took a slow breath before talking to Alfred. He ignored his friend's mortality ninety-nine percent of the time; it was rare that he spoke to Alfred of such imminent things.
"You look stiff."
"An aging body, young sir."
Regarding the back of his charge's head, he almost let out a very ungentlemanly sigh but refrained himself at the last moment. The thought of leaving Bruce alone was almost unbearable. Even Master Richard and Miss Barbara and their two children would not be enough for Master Bruce, Alfred feared. The idea of the man he regarded in many rights as a son coming home to an empty house every morning and night grieved the aging butler.
"The mind is still agile, though, sir. Perhaps I can be of assistance with whatever it is you are working on."
His features relaxed for a brief moment. Alfred was fine, he told himself. "Gun smugglers. I took down the majority of the operation here in Gotham, but the people behind it are still at large."
With that, an hour of using Alfred as a sounding board began. After that point, both men had to stand to stretch their aching backs and shoulders. Steadily climbing the stairs, Bruce longed for the security of his own bed and a few hours of peaceful sleep. The morning rays of sun had yet to begin peaking through his window, and if he fell straight asleep, he would be able to get four hours or so of rest before his duties at Wayne Enterprises demanded his attention.
The routine of the past twenty odd years had not changed much. He showered before going to bed to rid himself of the grime of his city and showered when he woke to get feeling in his tired muscles. Alfred, having awoken earlier, had breakfast ready and on the eat-in island of the kitchen.
On the weekends, Tim would come by. Sometimes, Dick and Barbara brought the kids over. Cassie was there more often than not. She had been covering another sector of the city last night and Bruce suspected she had gotten in much later than he. Luscious had backed off on the body guard idea after Vesper's murder, but Bruce had hired Cassandra a few years ago anyway.
Bruce had felt it highly important after her return from working with The League of Assassins to try to lead somewhat of a normal life. She had said something about the pot calling the kettle black but had accepted the position. He could have created credentials for her had she the need to work somewhere else. She didn't need to work if she didn't want to; he would have supported her. The routine of daily living, though, was good for her, he thought. It was an odd situation at first, but they had soon fallen into a routine that suited both of them.
After finishing his computer sciences degree, it had seemed natural that Bruce's third adopted son come to work for Wayne Enterprises. After only a few years, Tim was heading the technology division. There was no one Bruce trusted more with the position.
"I believe Master Richard will be bringing Miss Mary and young Master James to visit tomorrow, Master Bruce."
Allowing the corners of his mouth to quirk up around his coffee cup, he couldn't help but be happy at the idea of seeing his grandchildren. As much as he had tried to keep others at a distance throughout his life, he had found it hard to demand that Dick and Barbara stop from getting married and having babies. Even though they had been forced to use a surrogate due to Barbara's condition, they had been determined to have a family. Bruce figured that after years of denying each other they were finally ready to settle down.
"I'm going to pick up a few things on my way home today from the office. I haven't seen them in two weeks." He spoke as if explaining the absence of contact would justify buying them gifts.
"I believe I heard Master Richard saying something along the lines that is was not fair how you spoil them."
Smirking, he glanced through the business section of the paper. "Dick's just jealous I don't buy him as many presents."
It was Alfred's turn to smirk. As he was about to say something witty as a comeback, Cass walked in and plopped herself onto a stool at the island.
"Morning."
One word was quite a bit for her before she had her coffee in the mornings.
Bruce nodded his greeting and frowned at the bruise above her left eye. It was seldom that her injuries were visible; she was normally very adept at managing to keep herself bruise free.
She saw his staring and immediately gave him her bet Batman glare. "I'll cover it."
He grunted acceptance and moved on to the paper again. Cassandra had been spending more time at the manor since coming to work for Bruce, but Alfred doubted her ability to care for him as he himself did. Sighing, Alfred turned to stirring milk into his tea with great concentration, pointedly ignoring the looks Bruce was giving him.
Standing, Bruce frowned once more at Alfred and rested his hand on Cass's shoulder for just a moment before starting towards his bedroom once again. If not for his adopted family, he had little doubt that he would be completely alone; he doubted Alfred would have survived the incredible stress of his life had it not been for the support of their family. Bruce sometimes thought that being around younger people had kept Alfred young throughout the years.
He had been getting softer in his old age, he thought. Showing affection to any member of his team was a rare thing, but lately he had found himself becoming sentimental. He blamed his grandchildren.
He and Cassandra drove silently into the city. She was texting someone with her Blackberry, completely ignoring everything else around her. She merely grunted when Bruce asked her who she was talking to. Frowning at himself, he realized that not long ago, he would have glared and growled until she answered him. Now, he rested his head against his fist and concentrated on the road.
Definitely the fault of his grandchildren. They were making him soft. He hadn't thought he would live past forty, really. The idea of having grandchildren, until Dick had deposited the twins in his arms the day of the birth, had been completely foreign to him. Shaking his head, he shrugged mentally and decided the only thing to do was to spoil them to such an extent that they would drive Dick mad, therefore giving Bruce his revenge for ruining his steely exterior. An excellent plan if he did say so himself.