A/N: My apologies that this is late! We just moved houses in August and have had difficulties getting internet set up. Chapter 8 is almost finished as well. I should be posting that tomorrow and then hopefully back on schedule to be posting one chapter each weekend.

thomsonnoah862: Thank you! I can't guarantee that that will continue forever, unfortunately.

: Glad you enjoyed!

Larry Boodry: Thanks! Really appreciate your review! Yeah, it seemed from the moment Bruce promised to stay with her and the doctors bring her into surgery, forcing Bruce to leave, the writers were already setting up Selina to be mad at him.

Good theory, I hope to have a few surprises along the way as well... :D

CHAPTER 7

A few days passed by. Bruce was becoming more and more restless, always looking for something to do. Between pouring over his father's old books, swimming, and boxing sessions, he would occasionally catch Alfred gazing at him thoughtfully. But Alfred would always busy himself with something else when he realized Bruce had caught him staring. It killed Bruce that this was how Alfred had to see him: home, without anything to do, bored and restless. Less than six months ago, he had been at the height of the action in Gotham, rarely home, always busy with one thing or another. Boredom had never been a complaint until now.

But somehow, here he was, sitting in an armchair, pretending to care about the fall of Ancient Rome so Alfred would think he had something to occupy himself with. He flipped through another few pages, lost in thought about whether University might be a good option, when he realized he had been reading the same paragraph over again, barely paying attention to the book. He slammed it shut, annoyed. The idea of going through his father's library in its entirety had been enticing at first. Bruce imagined coming away from the endeavor a true intellectual. He had always been well-read, but the eclectic selection his father had accumulated would surely expand his horizons. The plan had failed in its execution. He had read some interesting books, but the vast majority of them were vapid, vague, long and tedious. Bruce found his thoughts drifting to the heist. He hadn't heard from Gordon yet, but he was curious to know which man he would be tailing. The gala was just under two weeks away and he was itching for more action.

The phone rang. Bruce stood up to get it, but the sudden stop of the phone mid-ring and Alfred's voice coming from the living room meant he had been too late. He sighed, dropping back down into the armchair, feeling useless. He couldn't even answer the phone fast enough. Bruce sat, listening to the sound of Alfred's voice, the pause, Alfred speaking again. Another silence, then Alfred said, "Right, we'll be over shortly."

Bruce raised an eyebrow, wondering what that was all about, but he stayed put. Sure enough, Alfred's footsteps grew louder as he entered the study.

"Master B," Alfred said, looking down at Bruce's splayed form. "The city council just called. They're looking for donors to rebuild some housing complexes in Gotham city. I told them we would sponsor two buildings. Thought you could get out of the house a bit anyway, so we're going to sign on it now."

Bruce clapped his hands together, standing up. "Great, thanks Alfred," he said, handing his book over to the Butler. "Mind saving me the spot?" He asked, reaching for his jacket.

"Certainly, Master Bruce," Alfred said, then paused. "Would you, er, like me to find it for you as well?"

Bruce looked up at Alfred, who was eyeing the closed book he had just been handed. "Oh. Damn. Never mind, you can just toss it on our way out," Bruce said, pulling the car keys from inside his jacket pocket.

Bruce flexed his fingers over the steering wheel as Alfred climbed into the passenger seat. He needed to get out. He glanced in the rear-view mirror as they pulled out of Wayne Manor, watching the mansion grow smaller behind them.

"Bruce." Alfred rubbed his hands together. "While we're out and about, I thought it would be a good time to discuss your growing… restlessness."

Bruce sighed, tightening his grip. "Yeah, we could." He didn't really want to discuss it, but he had felt the impending conversation for a few days now.

"I understand you've been a tremendous help to Detective Gordon over the past two years," Alfred said. "Multiple members of the police force have praised you highly for your initiative, as well as your work ethic."

Bruce said nothing, staring at the road ahead.

"Now, I suspect," Alfred continued, "that you have been finding it difficult not being needed, whereas before, your involvement was always critical."

Bruce appreciated in that moment Alfred's ability to get straight to the heart of the matter.

"Well, yes," he said slowly. "But you know, I've been thinking about what I want to do and even considered going for full police training, but somehow, I can't see myself doing that." That had come as an epiphany a few days ago. He had been asking himself why he didn't just get the necessary training to become a police officer when he realized the thought was not as appealing as it had once seemed. "There's so much bureaucracy involved - in getting warrants, making arrests, processing evidence – that by the time the paperwork has been dealt with, your guy is long gone."

Alfred frowned. "It's an unfortunate part of any man-regulated system. But there must be limitations in place to ensure due process and justice."

"That's only if you have criminals working in your system," Bruce grumbled.

"There are." Alfred said. "And even worse, morally ambiguous people who are neither here nor there. They would just as readily help an old lady across the street as they would steal her five-dollar bill if they thought they could get away with it."

Bruce slowly pulled into Gotham's industrial zone, passing by big mechanic lots and an old steel factory. "I want to do something useful. Something that can change the very fiber of this city. Make it a place where people are safe, and productive." He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I really have no idea what though. Most things that this city could use are probably illegal. And whatever's not illegal is another tedious bureaucratic process."

"Well," Alfred said, as they finally passed the last of the car lots and entered the city commercial center, "I can't tell you what the answer to that is, but I can remind you that you are in a unique position. Not many people wanting to help the world have the resources you do. And there are many ways to make a safe, productive city. Better education, better housing, more efficient law enforcement, just to name a few."

Bruce wound his way through the large buildings that made up the more affluent business district in Gotham.

"Yeah, maybe I'll build a school," he said finally as they parked across from the City Hall building and got out. "And if that's not exciting enough, I can always go into police work." He slammed the car door shut, not really sure why that last line came out so sarcastically.

"Mr. Wayne, Mr. Pennyworth." A stocky, balding man stepped forward to greet them as they entered the council room, extending his hand. Bruce shook it, eyeing the marble pillars that surrounded them. A long, dark wood table sat in the center of the room with chairs situated around it, not unlike the layout at the Wayne Enterprises board room. A young dark-haired woman sat at the table, a large stack of papers in front of her.

"I'm Charles Kingston," the balding man adjusted his glasses, sitting down beside the woman. "And this is my secretary, Mandy." She smiled up at Bruce, who nodded politely in return and took a seat, along with Alfred, across from Kingston.

"We appreciate your generous offer and willingness to help," Charles said, getting right to business. "We have four uninhabited buildings in the Gotham City Center residential area that are absolute safety hazards. Exposed electric wiring, leaking pipes, a faulty supporting structure. The Ministry of Health has requested they be torn down for a year now, but we simply haven't had the funds."

"Or the time," the petite woman with raven hair sitting next to Charles chimed in, batting her eyelashes. "There's been so much to take care of, as I'm sure you can imagine." She smiled again at Bruce. He could not remember her name. She appeared to be a few years older than him.

"I'm sure," Bruce said, imagining that the city council had probably gone a similar route to the police, taking charge first of the immediate and life-threatening problems. It was a sign of progress that they were now tackling reconstruction of a housing development.

"Mr. Wayne," Charles said, "As the sponsor of two of these buildings, I'd like to tell you a bit about our plans." He went on, explaining the process of tearing down the buildings, erecting new ones in their stead, and the total cost estimation for such a project.

"When will you need this by?" Bruce asked when Charles finished, nodding to the stack of papers he assumed was for him.

"Well, the sooner, the better," Charles said. "Those buildings are becoming more problematic by the moment. We've got vagrants living in them and the Ministry of Health on our back."

"No worries," Alfred chimed in, looking at Bruce. "We'll have our legal team take a look at your papers, and if everything's in order, we'll have them signed for you by tomorrow."

"Excellent," Charles smiled, standing up. He reached over once more to shake both Bruce and Alfred's hands. Bruce noticed the secretary glancing eagerly in his direction.

"Er, Mr. Kingston-"

"Please, call me Charles."

"Certainly. Would you mind walking us out?"

The woman's face fell. Alfred raised an eyebrow, but Bruce was not in the mood for conversation with an over-enthusiastic fan. After gathering their things, Charles escorted them out, through the main hall, and toward the giant double doors. He seemed slightly confused by the odd request.

"Charles," Bruce said as he opened the door. "We'll pay for all four buildings. If you'll send us the extra paperwork, we'll have everything for you tomorrow."

Charles beamed. "Thank you, Mr. Wayne. Much appreciated. That's incredibly generous of you."

"My pleasure."

Bruce and Alfred exited the building, the big double doors swinging slowly shut behind them.

Alfred glanced at Bruce, brows raised. "What an unexpected streak of generosity," he said, mildly amused.

Bruce said nothing.

"Really didn't want to talk to her, did you?" Alfred asked.

"Wasn't in the mood," Bruce muttered.

A chorus of voices caught their attention as they walked down the stairs. A small, but sizable crowd of people had gathered at the foot of the stairway. Some held posters, some were chanting. Many appeared homeless.

One of the signs read 'YOU HAVE YOUR OWN HOUSES – DON'T TAKE OURS'.

"What's that all about?" Bruce asked.

"It appears they are protesting the very buildings we just sponsored." Alfred said.

"Why are they protesting? The buildings are dangerous. It's a public service to have them rebuilt."

"I'm sure that is not how they see it," Alfred said.

Bruce paused at the base of the stairway, looking around at the protesters. There were not so many of them, probably about 50, but he noticed at least one reporter amongst the crowd, interviewing demonstrators.

One older, unkempt gentleman stood a little off to the side of the crowd. He was clearly homeless, missing buttons on his plaid shirt and pulling a cart of all his belongings behind him, glaring up at the city hall doorway. Bruce felt a flicker of resentment stir up inside him. He was in an irritably pensive mood to begin with. He had hoped that a donation to a worthy cause would cheer him up, but seeing these people demonstrating against the reconstruction of buildings hazardous to their safety and health pushed him over the edge. He approached the older man, sidestepping Alfred before his butler could stop him.

"What's your name, sir?" Bruce asked the homeless man.

"Nicholas."

"Do you live in those buildings?"

"No." The man shook his head.

"Then why are you protesting?"

The man gave him a cold, hard stare. "Because I could be. Might have friends in those buildings. They've no right to take our homes just because they want to build big high-risers and make money off 'em."

"You know those buildings are safety hazards," Bruce said, exasperated.

The man spat on the floor beside him. "Lies! They just want an excuse to kick us out!"

A number of people were staring, looking at them in interest. The reporter was also watching. Bruce frowned, reflecting briefly that Gotham's problems ran much deeper than a city plan could fix.

"Listen," Bruce said loudly, addressing the crowd. "If you know anyone living in those buildings, let them know I'll personally have them transported to shelters in Gotham and basic supplies provided."

Feeling satisfied that he had offered a reasonable solution, Bruce began to leave, when someone shouted, "What's it to you, you self-serving moron!"

Bruce turned to face the speaker, a man a little older than himself. He was thinner than Bruce, face dirty and arm covered in tattoos. "I know who you are," the man sneered. "You're Bruce Wayne. You live in a mansion. What's it to you where they all get placed, so long as they don't come live in your house." He spat out the last words.

"I'm just trying to help," Bruce said calmly. He felt unusually collected for someone being yelled at. "Do you need a place to stay, sir? I'm happy to help out in whatever way I c-"

Bruce never got to finish his sentence. The man leaped forward, face screwed up in anger. The glint of a steel blade flashed before Bruce's eyes as the man lunged at him.