Author's Note: Another chapter! Enjoy!


Chapter Eight

Two days later, Bruce's birthday

Bruce's condition seemed to improve after that second day, after Mr. Fox arrived back at the manor with a supposed antidote. Lysa didn't even know what was wrong with him – Alfred forgot to mention it. And she didn't press him, he probably had enough to worry about and she would find out one way or another. All she wanted was for her father to be okay, and today more than anything. It was his birthday, after all.

Still, it was all very strange to Lysa, and her thoughts kept nagging at her, begging to be heard. Where was Bruce going at night? And why? What was he doing that rendered him unconscious and almost dead? Before she could stop it, flashes of the Batman flew through her mind. She remembered him perfectly, though she tried to remember his voice. But all that came up was a deep garble of words. Too bad she didn't have an auditory memory. Could her father really be this vigilante? She'd considered it before, but now all the details were coming together. The Batman showed up only days after Bruce returned to Gotham. And his exaggerated playboy behaviour, and then telling her and Rachel that it wasn't actually who he was…

Lysa pushed the thought away. She was driving herself mad. What reason would Bruce have to be Batman anyway? It was probably some cop taking the law into his own hands. It was plausible, she'd heard that many cops on the force were corrupt; maybe this Batman person was tired of the corruption. She laughed to herself. By this point, the Batman was starting to sound like her mother.

That day she'd left school early to give a statement to Officer Gordon about Walker, and then took a taxi home from the precinct. As the taxi pulled up to the front of Wayne Manor, Lysa noticed an unfamiliar car parked just by the door. Could it be Mr. Fox? Lysa clumsily gave the cabbie two twenty dollar bills and rushed out and into the manor. She quickly pulled of her converse shoes and rushed up the stairs, still holding her backpack. Please be awake, please be awake, she muttered over and over. When she approached her father's room, she heard voices. Alfred's, Mr. Fox's and… her father's. Her heart raced as she dropped her backpack by the door of the room and gazed in. Bruce was sitting against headboard. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his face was thinner. But he was awake.

"Dad!" Lysa cried as she wrapped him in a hug. He let out a soft groan in response. "Oh, sorry," she recoiled. Bruce smiled. "It's okay," he said before pulling her back into a hug. "I thought I lost you," she fought hard to hold back tears, but there was no stopping them. "Dad, you scared me half to death!"

"I'd never leave you, ever," Bruce whispered while stroking her hair gently. "And since when do you call me 'dad'?"

Lysa faced her father, hands on his shoulders. "Since Alfred brought you into the house halfway to death," she told him. "I like it. I missed it," he said in reply. Lysa's smile grew wide as she wiped a tear from her cheek. "I missed it, too."

It was then that Lysa remembered that they weren't the only ones in the room. Mr. Fox and Alfred were on the other side of the bed, smiling. "Oh, sorry for interrupting," Lysa flushed. "No problem at all, Ms. Wayne," Mr. Fox replied before turning back to her father. "Now as I was saying, I analyzed your blood for receptor compounds and protein-based catalysts."

"Am I meant to understand all that?" Bruce asked. "He means he created an antidote," Lysa explained, remembering what Mr. Fox had said a few days before. Bruce nodded. "Do you have anymore?" Lysa gave him a questioning look, as did Mr. Fox. Why on earth would he need more? "Planning on gassing yourself again?" Mr. Fox asked. Lysa knew Mr. Fox meant the remark to be funny, but she couldn't help tensing at his words. Bruce shrugged. "You know how it is… you're out on the town, looking for kicks… someone's passing around weaponized hallucinogens." Lysa's eyes widened slightly. So that's what this was. But who was doing it? Was it a personal attack on her father? She realized she was breathing faster than normal and steadied herself.

Mr. Fox shook his head and walked to the door. "I'll bring what I have, but the inoculation should serve as an antidote for now," he said before nodding at Alfred and Lysa and leaving out the door. Lysa gave her father another quizzical look, but shrugged it off. "Oh, happy birthday by the way," she smiled, to which Bruce smiled back. "You remembered?" he asked. Lysa gasped in mock-offense. "Of course I did." She got up from the bed and walked over to her backpack. It was slumped against the open door, its contents threatening to spill out. Had she really thrown it that hard? She took out a pale green envelope with Dad written in cursive from the back pocket.

"I even got you this last-minute card," she said as she handed her father the card. He took the envelope softly in his hands. Lysa's brow furrowed when she saw his knuckles covered in dark purple splotches. Bruises? Was he working out at night? By the look of it he would've annihilated the punching bag. "Try and get some sleep, sir," Alfred chimed in from behind her. "You'll need to be rested for your party."

"My what?"

"Just get some sleep, Dad," Lysa said, giggling. Reluctantly, Bruce slid down against the pillow, and Lysa and Alfred left the room. After Alfred closed the door, Lysa ran a hand through her hair. "What is he doing at night?" She wondered aloud. It was crazy to think that her father could actually be the Batman, but the theory became more and more plausible by the minute. Leaving at night, bruises, being gassed by a weaponized hallucinogen for God's sake. Out of everything that could be going on, Batman was the thought that continued to tug at her the most. Alfred must've heard her speak, because he replied to her question. "I'm sure whatever Master Wayne's doing, he has good intentions."


About two hours later, the doorbell rang, lifting Lysa's attention from her research on the Treaty of Versailles for her history essay. She walked down the empty halls of the manor to the stairs which lead to the front foyer. From the top of the stairs, she could see Bruce talking to a smaller figure, her mother. She started to descend the stairs, but something stopped her, and she just stared and listened in to her parents' conversation. "Well it is my birthday…" Bruce said matter-of-factly, leaning against the door frame. He was still in his red housecoat. "I know – I'm sorry I can't come to the party," Rachel said and handed him a small white box. "Just dropping off your present." It didn't surprise Lysa that she couldn't come. Some people don't change. But she tried to not take it too seriously; she'd just started to repair her relationship with her mother, after all. And she wasn't going to let one bail on a party ruin it. Suddenly, Rachel's phone rang, and she picked it up almost immediately. After exchanging short, sharp words with whoever was on the other line, she hung up, frustrated. Lysa'd seen this behaviour from her mother before, but this time it seemed different, more serious, like anything could set her off. Usually she was able to control her frustration, even on the toughest of cases. Lysa remembered one night when Rachel was on the phone for hours, arguing with a judge about a witness that was unable to testify. She'd spoken loudly, but never yelled. Lysa had even thought that Rachel had been about to throw her phone at the wall, but it never left her hand.

"What's wrong?" Bruce asked. "It's Falcone. Dr. Crane's moved him to Arkham Asylum on suicide watch," Rachel explained, clearly anxious to leave. Falcone? This was serious. "You're going to Arkham now? It's in the Narrows, Rachel," Bruce said. He was right. The Narrows were dangerous, and it would be dark soon. Lysa could see the sun just beginning to set out the front door. "Have yourself a good time," she said. There was no winning an argument with Rachel. Then she looked up the stairs, to Lysa. "You too, Lysa." She smiled softly.

Rachel turned to leave out the door. "Happy birthday, Bruce," she called, not even stopping to look back.


Lysa retreated to her room after that, and for the next hour, the manor was eerily quiet. She couldn't hear the voices of Alfred or Bruce, not even their footsteps around the house. The caterers had arrived to set up for the party some time later, so it felt a little less eerie with the hustle of people rushing around in the kitchen. Soon the guests would be arriving, and Lysa needed to get ready.

She took a hot shower, and didn't realize how long she'd been in there, letting the steaming water hit her skin. When he left her bathroom, the sky was so dark it was almost black. Still wrapped in a towel, she searched her closet for something to wear. Eventually, her eyes fell on a black pocketed dress with a golden shimmer. She'd gotten it in the summer to wear to the ballet with her mother, but that night she'd cancelled. Court case ran late. Lysa'd been infuriated, and stayed in that night, leaving the dress in the back of her closet. At least she could wear it now.

After slipping into the dress and blow drying her hair, her phone chimed. And then again. And again. Who was texting her? She picked up her phone from her bed. They were texts from Mason. Her brow furrowed as she read them. Stop whatever you're doing and turn on the news. NOW. I MEAN IT. Without thinking, Lysa raced for her laptop and immediately went to the Gotham City News website. What could be so important? She streamed the live news on her computer and crossed her arms against her chest. A female reporter with black hair and tanned skin talked of a car chase, the cops were in pursuit of the Batman, but Lysa's eyes were glued to the screen when the news cut to the chase. No less than six police cars were chasing a... a tank. A big, black monstrous tank, that for some reason looked… familiar. What the hell?

She thought hard for a reason why the tank was familiar, then a memory flash through her mind. She'd been eight when Bruce had given her a tour of Wayne Industries and had taken her to the Applied Sciences division. There, in the corner of the enormous room, had been a giant vehicle… the same vehicle that was on her computer screen now. Her eyes widened and she gasped. That was the Wayne Enterprises tank. And the Batman was driving it. "Holy shit," she gasped, unable to take her eyes off the screen.

But had the tank been stolen from the company? No, Bruce or at least Mr. Fox would've known if it had been taken. Unless… he was the one who had taken it. He had the means to, all the stuff in Applied Sciences belonged to his company, or if not that than his father. She continued to stare at the screen, at the tank, and realized something else. The disappearances at night, the bruises, the weaponized hallucinogen and now this. It made sense now, more than ever. Her suspicion was true.

Her father, Bruce Wayne, was the vigilante Gotham was obsessed with.

The Batman.