3. From the Ashes

Carmine "The Roman" Falcone and his daughter, Sofia "Gigante" Falcone, went to visit the grave of Alberto Falcone that evening. After Sofia had had the Dent family assassinated by fire, she and her father had thought the Holiday murders to be done with. The shock of losing Alberto on New Year's Eve night had been devastating.

"Explain to me how this has happened, Sofia," Carmine said, his voice soft and terrible. "Explain to me why my only son now lies dead in the ground."

"I don't know, papa," Sofia murmured, hanging her head.

Alberto had been acting very strangely before he died. After the Dent family was murdered, he had flown into an uncharacteristic rage. Though he knew his father wished to keep him out of the family business, he had nonetheless been infuriated that no one had consulted him about murdering the Dents. In the following weeks, Alberto had become very depressed and quiet. On New Year's Eve night, he had been anxious and distracted. He had apologized to them all for his behavior then, but there had been an insincere bite to the apologies.

"I'm sorry," Alberto had said to Sofia that night, "that I was never as good a son to papa as you've been."

Sofa still felt bile rise in her throat when she recalled those words. She was a huge woman, much taller than her father and stronger than any man, but she was still a woman. She did not care about the way the city saw her, but to think that her own brother thought of her that way was disappointing.

"You assured me that one of the Dents was the Holiday killer," Carmine said. "When they fell to tragedy, we were certain this Holiday nonsense was over. You were certain."

"I was," Sofia admitted, "and I was wrong. I will find this Holiday killer, papa, I swear it on my brother's grave. And what about the Dents, anyway? What happened to them was no tragedy. Whoever did it did us a favor."

Before Carmine could say anything in response, a third voice joined them.

"Yes, it was … but not a random one."

Sofia whirled around, her immense figure moving surprisingly fast. She went to draw her gun, but something hit her hand hard. She barked out a yelp, curling both hands into fists. Darkness shifted against the twilight, and a fist took her in the stomach hard. She grunted, swinging at the shadow. She was good, but Batman was better. After a few exchanges, a punch to the head turned Sofia's world black.

"You come to me at my son's grave!" Carmine Falcone exclaimed furiously. "You come here like this, and you attack my daughter?"

Oh, so now she's daddy's little girl? Batman thought dryly, glancing at Sofia's fallen, massive form. He took Falcone by the front of his coat and slammed him against the wall of the Falcone tomb. Carmine struggled, glaring murder at Batman.

"You had the Dent family murdered," Batman growled at the man. He slammed him again, harder. "Didn't you?"

"I had nothing to do with that misfortune," Carmine said. "Do you think I am the kind of man that would hire a freak like the Firefly?"

"Then who did?"

"Why don't you ask the freak himself?" Carmine spat. "His name is Lynns, Garfield Lynns. You find him, you ask him who gave the order."

"I will."

Batman threw the Roman to the ground. By the time Carmine got to his feet, he was gone. The man cursed under his breath, brushing snow and dirt off his ten thousand dollar suit. Sofia came to groggily, standing.

"What happened?"

"What happened was I gave him the Firefly," Carmine said calmly. "Let one freak kill the other. What do I care?"

"But Sal—Maroni, he—"

"If the Bat gets a name out of Lynns and it happens to be Salvatore Maroni, all the better," Falcone said. "If neither Harvey Dent nor his wife were behind the Holiday murders, it must be Maroni."

"Maroni has lost men, too."

"A few here and there, well worth it to strike at me blamelessly," Falcone reasoned. "But that is done. This ends now, and it is far too late at that. If the Bat or the Devil don't take him first, I am finished with Sal Maroni. Let him try to touch us again. Just let him try."

Sofia's gut tightened. She could see from her father's eyes that he meant to be done with her lover, and that there was little she could do about it. She would need to tread very carefully if she wanted to save Sal, and find the real Holiday quick.

If Batman doesn't get him first, Sofa thought grimly as she walked with her father back to their car. Damn them all, these freaks! Business was smooth, simple. All we had to worry about was being the strongest. Now …

"A war won't be good for anyone," Sofia said. "Maroni won't like that we lay the Dent murder at his door."

"I did not like that you laid the task at his door, either, if that is what you did, but it turned out to be fortuitous," Falcone said. "While Salvatore is busy dealing with the Bat, we will hit him hard enough to break him. Once we have his territory and power, we will deal with all these upstarts, like the Penguin."

"I was there when Sal gave the order to Lynns," Sofia said. "He might implicate us anyway."

"He will not."

"How do you know that?"

"Because he owes me a favor."

"What?" Sofia stared at her father. "Why? How? When did you help him? I've been looking for Lynns since the idiot went overboard with the Dent bombing. You found him?"

"I did," Falcone said simply. "He was scared, worried about the Batman, worried that Maroni would take him out to keep his silence. I gave him a little present. He will not mention you. He will not mention us."

They got into the car, Sofia shaking her head in wonder. She felt betrayed that her father had taken all this action without her, but perhaps it was for the best. It was a shame that Sal would be framed, but he was a big boy, he could take care of himself. Family came first, it always had and it always would. There was nothing more important than family, not even love.

Batman hunted for Garfield Lynns when darkness fell. He found the abandoned warehouse where he was holed up. The warehouse had been converted to a mob safe house inside, and boasted a kitchen, bedroom, bathroom, and even a living area with a television and sound system. Batman narrowed his eyes and hid in the shadows of the bare rafters and catwalks above. Lynns returned from wherever he had gone, a plastic bag of groceries in hand. He was a man of medium height, thin, his hair very pale blond. It was always surreal to see the ordinariness of murderers; it was difficult to reconcile the capacity for evil with simple human beings. One always expected these people to be something more, or less, than human.

Batman swooped down from above, landing hard in front of Lynns. The man's blue eyes widened, and he dropped the bag of groceries. He took a step backward, and then turned on the soles of his red canvas and rubber sneakers to run. He looked more like a startled rabbit than a hardened killer. Batman lunged after him.

Lynns was damnably fast, and he threw every piece of furniture he passed back at Batman. He turned out of the redecorated area into a metal stairwell. Batman followed as he rattled down the stairs, but he lost sight of the man at the bottom. There was a maze of cold, rusting boilers and machinery in the basement, and Batman heard water dripping and the rustling of rats.

"Give it up," Batman called, walking slowly and quietly. "It will go easier if you do."

Lynns did not reply. Batman followed the echoes of human rustling for a while, keeping an eye out. He finally thought he had Lynns cornered, and spun around a turn to confront him.

Garfield Lynns had put on a suit of some sort; it was dark red and black, lined with gold, with wing-like protrusions in the back. Bruce Wayne recognized it immediately as a prototype firefighter suit that Wayne Enterprises had developed some years back—the "Firefly" model. Lynns raised what was supposed to be the hose, and Batman saw that it had been modified in some way.

"Trust me," Lynns said, his voice distorted into an insect-like buzz through the suit's speaker, "this is easier."

The hose sprayed a blast of intense flames. Batman leaped back, using his fire resistant cape to deflect as much of the heat as possible. It was not something he did often, but this time Batman knew there was no choice but to run. The remnants of oil in the boilers caused them to blow, and the entire basement was bathed in flames. Batman thought Lynns might have blown himself up, but there was nothing to do for the man now.

Suddenly, the Firefly came zooming through the fire towards him. He grabbed Batman by the cloak and flew up the stairwell, the suit's wings unfolded. Batman grunted, trying to pry his hands off, but the suit gave the Firefly enhanced strength. He was carried back up to the main floor of the warehouse, and thrown to the floor. The Firefly hovered above him.

"Did I singe your wings, Batman?" the Firefly asked. He raised the hose-turned-blowtorch. "Everything burns."

Batman rolled away, though he could feel the flames licking at him. His own suit was fire resistant, but it had points he knew might be less fireproof than others. He pressed the button to bring the other half of his mask up, so the smoky air would be filtered and the bottom of his face would not burn. The Firefly was blasting fire at him, zooming around in the air like the suit's namesake.

Batman took out his grappling hook gun and shot it at the Firefly. It wrapped around an ankle and he pulled the man out of the air with a mighty tug. Fire went flying everywhere as Lynns whirled to the ground. The old wood beams above and the new furniture below all went up in flames. The Firefly hit the floor hard, and Batman stepped on his arm to stop the blowtorch. The Firefly refused to relinquish his grip on the blowtorch, letting the flames burn against the concrete floor. Fortunately, Bruce knew how the Wayne Enterprises prototype was put together. He removed the mask and punched Lynns full across the face. Blood exploded from the man's thin nose, and he cried out. Batman pretended not to hear him.

A short, painful time later, Garfield Lynns was out of the suit and tied up on the floor. His head was bowed, fair hair damp with sweat and hanging over his swollen, bruised, bloodied face. He was trembling, tears and snot running down his face, but still he watched the flames whirling around them with fascination.

"Everything burns," Garfield murmured. "Everything burns, everything burns."

Batman grabbed him by the shoulders and slammed him against the nearest wall. Garfield flinched and moaned in pain. His arms were tied behind his back, but his legs kicked out in protest.

"Who gave the order to kill the Dents?" Batman asked. He shook the man. "WHO GAVE THE ORDER?"

"No, no, no!" Garfield exclaimed. "No, I won't tell you! They'll burn me if I tell you! I won't, I won't, I won't!"

Batman punched him in the stomach. Garfield gasped in pain, trying to double over.

"I can't!" he wailed. "I can't, I can't! I promised! I won't tell you! You can k-kill me. I won't tell you. I can't."

Batman decided that he would have to get the truth from Garfield Lynns in a subtler way. He dragged him outside the burning warehouse and threw him to the ground outside. Through the comm in his mask, he told Alfred to send the police to the warehouse. He began to walk away, but Lynns spoke then.

"Isn't it beautiful?" Lynns asked, sounding like a man in a trance. His blue eyes were orange with the light of the flames. "Don't you see how beautiful it is?"

Batman turned back to him. Incredibly, Lynns smiled. The expression made him look younger, and his thin, pale features became almost handsome for the vibrancy of it. Batman noted that the man was mentally ill. He did not regret beating him.

"Was it beautiful when you killed Gilda Dent?" Batman asked, crouching down before the man. He took him by the hair and pulled his head back. "When you let an innocent woman burn to ash in her own home?"

"She didn't burn," Lynns said sullenly. "She blew up. It was a split second, instantaneous death! She was … She didn't feel anything. She was lucky."

Batman slammed the man's face directly into the concrete. Lynns did not speak again.

After being patched up at the hospital, Garfield Lynns was jailed at the Gotham City Police Department. His entire body hurt and the post-adrenaline crash made his chest feel heavy. He tried to hold the image of the burning warehouse in his mind, but it hardly cheered him. He wondered what would happen to his suit. He hoped that he could find it again, and fly through the night shooting fire. He doubted the gods had ever had so much pleasure.

The jail cell was empty save for another man. He was dog-faced, bored, and sat up from the bench he was lying on when Lynns was brought in. Garfield was too exhausted to worry about being imprisoned. He sank onto the second bench and rested an arm over his eyes.

"What did they get you for?" asked the man.

"Fire," Garfield said wearily. "Always fire. I'm the Firefly."

"Seriously?" the ugly man asked eagerly. "You're the Firefly? The guy that blew up the District Attorney?"

Garfield took the arm from his eyes. With effort, he sat up, his body aching. He had never thought about what anyone thought of him, aside from not wanting to run afoul of the mob families. It was novel to see admiration in the man's eyes.

"Yeah, that's me," Garfield said. "It was a big one—my biggest bomb ever. It was like Christmas."

"Wow," the man said. "That's something. That is really something. Hey, can I shake your hand?"

They shook.

"You didn't like Harvey Dent?" Garfield asked. "Did you?"

"No one liked Dent," the man scowled. "He was a stupid weak man with stupid overblown ideals. Good riddance."

"I was only doing my job," Garfield said modestly.

"Yeah, but you did it well," the guy said. "How much does it cost to build a bomb like that? They said the neighborhood was lit up all night!"

"Oh, it's expensive," Garfield said. "But Mr. Maroni takes care of the money."

"Wow, you work for Maroni?" the man whistled. "You're big time!"

"I guess," Garfield said. "I hadn't thought about it."

The man got to his feet, stretching. He yawned, scratched the back of his neck.

"So, what did Maroni have against our dearly departed DA?" he asked. "Dent was going after him pretty hard, right?"

"Actually, it wasn't Harvey Dent that was the target," Lynns said. "Mr. Maroni was a little angry about … that. I was only supposed to kill the wife."

" … Gilda Dent? Why?"

Garfield did not notice the startled tone of the man's voice.

"Oh, he thought she was the Holiday killer," he explained. It felt good to get it all out, to someone that would not judge him the way Batman had. "Given what happened to Alberto Falcone, I guess he was wrong about that, though."

"Yeah, he was wrong. He was very wrong."

Garfield frowned up at the man. The grin of admiration had left his face, leaving his ugly features slack. Garfield felt a pang of fear. Something was not right here.

"What are you—Hey!"

The man pulled Garfield off the bench and threw him to the floor. He reached behind his head and pulled his face off. Garfield gaped stupidly as the mask tore at the edges, revealing the face of Harvey Dent.

"You were all wrong," Harvey said thickly. He kicked Garfield Lynns in the ribs. "You were wrong! You hear me? You were WRONG!"

In Gordon's office, Jim and Batman had been watching Harvey's disguised rendezvous with the Firefly. Batman turned to Jim.

"You better go get him before he kills Lynns," Batman told the Commissioner.

When Jim brought Harvey up to the office, Harvey was still red-faced and breathing heavily. He shrugged Jim's hand off of his shoulder, ran both hands through his dark hair, over his face. He sat down in the chair in front of Jim's desk, one foot up on the trashcan.

"Did you get all of that?" Harvey asked. He unbuttoned his shirt and began plucking off the wires taped to his chest.

Jim played the recording of the Firefly's inadvertent confession.

"Why would he think Gilda was the Holiday killer?" Jim asked Harvey. "I could understand Maroni thinking that you're Holiday, but Gilda?"

Harvey stared at his feet, one fist thumping lightly on the arm of the chair. He thought of a clown's grin, the tremor of Gilda's voice, the nozzle of a .22 caliber pistol.

"Stop. I'll … I'll kill you."

"I have no idea," Harvey lied, looking Gordon in the eye as he did. "Everyone's been desperate to figure this Holiday bullshit out. They were reaching, I guess. Or he lied to Lynns. Who cares? We've got him. We've got Sal Maroni."

Harvey slammed his fist down loudly on the arm of the chair. There was silence.

"Do you think it's time for Harvey Dent to return from the dead?" Harvey asked dryly. "I want to prosecute that son-of-a-bitch. Can't do that from beyond the grave, can I?"

"We'll announce tomorrow," Gordon said. "You'll get your conviction, Harvey."

Harvey nodded. He smiled bitterly, getting to his feet. He paced between Jim and Batman.

"It'll feel right, but it won't feel good," Harvey said. "I've put my entire life into this. I've thought of nothing else since I was in school. And it just feels … empty. It doesn't feel like it means anything now."

"Harvey—"

"The price was too high, Jim," Harvey said. He kicked the bottom of the desk. "It was just too damn high!"

To Harvey's surprise, Batman put a hand on his shoulder. He looked up at the masked man, eyes wide.

"It always is, Harvey," Batman said, more gently than Harvey had ever heard him speak. "I'm sorry."

"Thank you," Harvey said awkwardly. He cleared his throat. "You're right, it is. That's why we're doing these things, I guess. To lower that goddamn price, even a little. I've been trying to hold onto that, but it … it keeps slipping away."

"You should go home and rest, Harvey," Jim said. "You still have the brownstone. Bruce and I had some new things brought in to replace … what you had moved to the house."

"New things," Harvey said. "All new things … except a new wife. Given Bruce's tendency to baby me, I'm surprised he didn't replace Gilda by now. With himself."

"Don't start on Bruce," Jim said. "He's been very good to you."

"I'm grateful, I am," Harvey said. "That guy just treats me like I'm five sometimes, though."

"It's his nature," Jim told him. "Bruce had to grow up very quickly when his parents died. He had a guardian in his manservant Alfred Pennyworth, but he was still the only living Wayne."

"You trying to make me feel sorry for him?" Harvey asked. "You hope to get us together? Forget it. He won't touch me. Thinks I'm too broken or something, I don't know."

Jim stared at him.

"Harvey, don't tell me you already tried to—" Jim squeezed the bridge of his nose. "Jesus, Harvey!"

"I was in a … mood, earlier," Harvey said sheepishly. "Honestly, I was just glad he stopped me. I don't know what I was thinking."

Harvey suddenly realized that Batman was silently hearing all of this. He blushed, turning to the strange crime-fighter.

"Uh, is there a reason you're still here?"

"No."

Without another word, Batman exited through the window.

"Does he ever use the door?" Harvey asked.

"Not that I've ever seen," Jim said. "Don't change the subject, Harvey."

"Now you're treating me like I'm five."

"We're just trying to hold you together, Harvey," Jim said. "We care about you. You don't make it easy, but we do. The whole city cares, Harvey. You saw how it broke Gotham to hear that you had been murdered."

"Only I wasn't murdered, my wife was," Harvey said. He hesitated, then his eyes hardened. "Is that why you saved me, Jim? For the city? To pin me up as this great hope again? Is that why you didn't just let me burn in peace with Gilda?"

"What?" Jim asked in shock. "Are you telling me that I should have left you to burn, Harvey? That you wanted to die?"

"Of course I did!" Harvey snapped. "My life is over, Jim! This, all of this is just time biding! I'm doin' this because I don't know what else to do! My life, my future, my heart is gone, Jim! I'm already dead! But you just put me back in this goddamn body! So tell me, Jim! Tell me it was for the city or for Bruce or because you have this weird father complex when it comes to me! Tell me any of that, but don't you dare tell me it was for me! I didn't want it! I didn't want this, Jim, any of it!"

Jim slapped him. The blow sounded like a gunshot in the sudden silence. Harvey clutched his face, and when he looked up at Jim, Gordon's hand instinctively went to his gun. The look in Harvey's stormy dark blue eyes spoke of murder.

"Well, you have it," Gordon said harshly. "Do you think any of us wanted this? This life, this city, this battle? Do you think I wanted this life? I didn't! None of us did, probably not even Batman! But we have it, and it's the only goddamn life we have, so suck it up! Pull it together, Harvey!"

Harvey rubbed his cheek, and the anger faded from his eyes. He collapsed into the chair again. His hand moved from his reddened cheek to his temple. Jim sat on the desk in front of him, looking down at the man sympathetically. He hated to have hit Harvey, whose entire life had been filled to the brim with savage beatings, but his hand had acted on its own. Harvey's words had scared the hell out of Gordon.

"You don't want to die, Harvey," Jim told him, praying to God that was true. "I know it feels like your life is over, but it isn't. You still have the DA's office. You still have your life. You're thirty-three, and you're still alive, Harvey. Please don't take that for granted."

"How long have we known each other, Jim?" Harvey asked. He laughed hollowly. "You arrested my father when I was fourteen. Told me what scholarships to go after to get into college. When I testified against my father to get him in jail for a few months, you told me I'd make a hell of a prosecutor. I felt good about that, you know that? I was proud."

Jim smiled. He could scarcely remember what it felt like to be young and hopeful. He would still give a kid advice today, but the years had dimmed his faith in the future considerably.

"Do you know what my father did to me for that?" Harvey asked, the warmth of nostalgia going cold. "When he got out? Do you know what he did to me, for that testimony that I was so proud of?"

Jim had an idea, but he said nothing.

"Dad flipped the coin—" Harvey stopped abruptly and reached into his pocket. He held up the double-sided Liberty coin, now scarred on one side. "This coin right here. He flipped it like he always did … heads, I get punished, tails I don't. Of course, it was heads, never could be anything but heads. So dear old dad tied me to my bed with some old ties he had, wrists, ankles, tied me so tightly that my circulation was almost cut off. He gagged me, too. Dad was a smart guy, he had already had the police called for my screaming and he wasn't going to let that happen again. I had my mouth full of one of my own tee-shirts, spit and bile soaking it and choking me. I thought I wouldn't be able to breathe soon. But I guess I kept breathing somehow … I know I stayed conscious. I know because I can remember every single welt he laid on me that day. Eighty-two, Jim. I counted. Eighty-two lashes of that belt, the biggest, thickest one he owned. My entire back was bleeding and bruised, from my shoulders to the back of my knees. I didn't think it would end. I thought that I had always just been there, being whipped raw, and that I always would be there. I couldn't walk for a week. I just lay there, not eating, not able to sleep, hurting."

"Harvey, I'm—"

"No, don't apologize to me one more time, Jim," Harvey said wearily. "I used to hate you for a while. I wondered why you didn't adopt me. I wanted you to be my father. It passed quickly, of course. I knew the deal. I knew you had done everything that you could. That isn't the point of this. You know what the point is?"

"No, I don't," Jim said. "There is no point, Harvey. It's just senseless cruelty and suffering."

"Exactly," Harvey said. "In a way, when I was lying there unable to move, I was relieved because of that very fact. I was free of everything, even thought. I couldn't think of anything but the pain. Everything was gone but the pain, and it was … agonizingly refreshing."

"You told yourself that to cope," Jim said. "No one wants to be abused like that. No one can appreciate pain like that."

"But I did," Harvey said. "You know the other time I felt that way? When I was lying in that burning shed. I knew Gilda was dead, felt it in my soul. All I had to do was lie there and burn. It would hurt, but I've lied through pain before. I was ready. I was relieved."

"Harvey, don't talk like that," Jim said sternly.

"Or what?" Harvey grinned. "You'll slap me again? It's a funny thing, Jim, but you can only beat someone so much before they go numb. Oh, your legs and your back and your ass never go numb, too many nerve endings, but you go numb inside. It's just a part of your life, and you take it. You suck it up, like you just told me to."

"I didn't mean it that way," Jim said. "You know that I didn't."

"I'll take it however I want to," Harvey said. He stood, grabbed his suit's jacket. "I'm not going to kill myself, Jim. I'll take down everyone that I said I was going to. I'll avenge my wife, for all the good it'll do anyone. I'll be the shining hope of Gotham City. I'll take it, Jim. I'm not lying down anymore, I'm not a kid … so I'll stand here, and I'll take all of it."

"Harvey—"

Harvey was already slipping into his coat.

"Good night, Jim."

"Rough night, sir?"

Bruce peeled off his sooty, singed suit once he was down in the Bat Cave. Alfred raised his eyebrows at the damage, taking the suit to the small repair station nearby. Bruce dressed in black silk pajamas, and put a robe over himself for the drafty chill of the cave.

"This arrived at the door earlier, sir. I had it scanned for toxins, explosives, electronics, and the like. It's safe."

Alfred handed Bruce a small envelope. Bruce opened it, and pulled out a neatly flattened origami figure. There was writing all over it, apparently senseless. Bruce unfolded the sheet of paper and looked at both sides.

"This is a code," Bruce said. "I can only think of one person who would send such a complicated message … and I think I know what the key is."

Bruce sat down at his computer station and typed the code into the computer. He used 'Batman' as the key, and then a message became clear:

'Ask and you shall know. Know and you shall seek. Seek and you shall find. Find and you shall desire. Desire and you shall own. Own and you shall keep.'

"Poetic," Bruce said cynically. "This is from Edward Nigma, the Riddler. He's going to make his move soon."

"Are you ready for him, sir?"

"The suit is ready," Bruce said. "I was thinking of asking Bobby for help."

"Master Robert?" Alfred asked, startled. "Can the man be trusted? He's not been at his best these past weeks, and I'm sorry to say that his best is hardly reputable."

"He knows that I'm Batman, and that isn't going to change," Bruce said. "He hasn't done anything with the information. He hasn't threatened me. He doesn't want anything to do with me."

"Shouldn't you let sleeping dogs lie, sir?"

"I care about Bobby," Bruce said. "Last year, I watched Floyd Lawton destroy himself for his murderous career. I'm watching Harvey Dent fall apart. I can't lose Bobby, too."

"Is he not already lost?"

"I don't know," Bruce said. He typed a few keys on the computer keyboard. A street camera photo came onto the screen, showing Bobby Halloran and Roman Sionis speaking with Oswald "The Penguin" Cobblepot. "This meeting happened yesterday. Rumor has it that the Penguin is looking to expand his operations, and he'll need territory, property, fronts. I think Sionis intends to use his new club to front for Penguin, and now he's dragging Bobby into it. The Gotham criminal underground is no place for a boy like Robert."

"He is no longer a boy, sir," Alfred pointed out. "Master Robert is a man grown, a man that shall soon be the owner and CEO of HalloTech. He has always been volatile and reckless, but now he is growing into a dangerous man. Should you cross him, he may just tell your secret to the disreputable people that he is now surrounding himself with, Master Bruce."

"I have to try to help him," Bruce said. "He isn't a bad man, he's just confused. If he understands why I'm Batman, if he can see the good that I do, maybe he'll accept it. Even if he doesn't want me, I want him to understand."

"You've never needed anyone's approval, sir."

"I only need his trust," Bruce said. "If he doesn't trust me, I won't be able to trust him, and that could make things hazardous for everyone involved."

"You do have a point, sir," Alfred admitted. "I wish you luck with Master Robert, then. I have a feeling that you'll need it."

"I can't hope for any luck with anything, Alfred," Bruce said. "I need to make this year better. I can't watch people I care about fall to darkness one by one."

"Just remember that in any given year, you will not be able to save everyone, sir," Alfred reminded him gently. "As you learned with Floyd Lawton, there is a time to let a person go."

"I'll recognize that time when I see it," Bruce said. "Painful as it is, I always do. I ran Floyd out, didn't it?"

"You did, sir."

"I can be brooding," Bruce said, using a word Bobby had called him once and smiling slightly, "but I'm not stupid."