Apologies for the delay in updating, my hard drive was savaged by an evil virus, which has only just been banished back to whence it came. So just a short chapter to let you all know I'm still around . . .
All the reviews very much appreciated - it really makes my day to know that people are reading and enjoying. Critical comments are welcome too - it ain't gonna improve so quickly without your help.
Thanks again for staying with it.
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It was one of those days when being Bruce Wayne seemed to take up even more time than usual. Once the press had come and gone, and he had been photographed on innumerable occasions, standing on the ash strewn site of his fire ravaged property, feeling foolish and looking less than welcoming, there was still the insurance company and fire brigade to handle. A generous donation to the emergency services and the polite but firm assistance of Alfred helped to smooth things over but the paperwork alone was going to occupy him for several days to come.
Throughout it all his mind kept returning to Crane. The thought of the doctor was like an aching tooth, uncomfortable to touch but impossible to leave alone.
Although his conversation with Rachel had been painful it was almost easy to block it out, to pretend that it was no problem. There was no safe place for Rachel anywhere in his immediate future, and at least that much was certain. But the mental image of Crane lying serenely on the stone floor, his blue eyes looking mockingly upwards was a cold nagging presence throughout the long day.
Bruce greeted the setting sun with a sensation of relief not entirely unmingled with anticipation. Alfred was seeing the last of the insurance company representatives off the property, the final car scrunching slowly across the gravelled driveway. Long shadows were streaking the dusty green of the grass deep bands of black and in the plane trees above the kitchen garden little birds called fretfully, disturbed by the bustle of the day.
Beneath the long sweep of lawn the first of the bats would be starting to stir. Bruce wondered what else was stirring, down there in the dim blue light behind the waterfall.
The effort of sustaining the careless offhand persona Bruce Wayne chose to allow the world to see was leaving him drained. Right then he could think of nothing beyond a cold drink, something smoky and Scottish with a long dark finish that would burn away the troubles of the past week. Burn away all the people he had to be, the people he had become.
"Master Wayne?" There was a hint of concern in Alfred's voice.
Bruce realised he had been stood staring vacantly into the dirt beneath his feet, his gaze unconsciously trying to penetrate down through the cold damp soil. There was a brief but shattering second in which he had a very clear image of Crane looking calmly up at him through the roof of the cave.
"Alfred . . ." There was so much he wanted to say.
"Bricks and mortar can be replaced sir." The voice Bruce had known since childhood was kind, he realised Alfred must be thinking that he was still grieving the loss of Wayne Manor. At least Crane was a distraction from the incineration of his home, he thought, making an effort to shrug off the gloomy mood that had begun to steal over him.
The ruins of the house looked otherworldly in the shadowy red light of the setting sun, like buildings on another planet. Without the familiar shape of the property to guide his eye it was already becoming difficult for him to remember exactly where the house had stood. Where his bedroom window had once looked out over the estate. It was all gone as if it had never been.
As the evening drew in and the lights of Gotham began to blink open in a slow sequence across the line of the horizon he was increasingly eager to get underground. To slip into the comforting embrace of the Batsuit, feel the armour across his chest, the reassuring weight of the weapons against his hips. To pull the mask down over his face and feel the cool clarity of Batman wiping the muddled mess of his own mind clean.
Beside him Alfred made a small polite sound, too discreet to want to break in on Bruce's thoughts, but too concerned to leave him as he was. "I thought I might perhaps prepare something for supper?"
They walked back to the cottage side by side, the ease of old companionship making idle chatter unnecessary. Earlier in the day Bruce had smiled at Alfred's suggestion for "improvement to the foundations", clearly his butler was still standing firmly behind him and his quest to save Gotham. There would be time for all that very soon.
Meanwhile he was almost afraid to admit to the old servant exactly how much he was enjoying living in the more homely confines of the estate cottage. Far more suited to two people than the ungainly sprawl of the mansion, he thought. There had been several rooms previously into which he had been only perhaps once or twice in his life. It seemed somehow wrong to fight for justice whilst living a life of outrageous privilege . . .
An hour later he was sitting sprawled across the sofa in the kitchen watching Alfred tidy away the remains of the meal. A cold glass of single malt and an excellent cigar were gently smoothing away the lines from his brow, a classic jazz record spinning away on the turntable behind him.
What was it Alfred had said to him? "Start pretending to have fun . . . you might even have a little by accident." He slumped further into the soft cushions, feeling the deep velvet caress his aching back.
And then two things happened almost at once.
Without turning around from the small sink in the window Alfred said, "Will your friend downstairs be requiring any dinner, sir?"
And as Bruce pulled himself up in his seat and tried to adjust his scattered thoughts he saw that through the glass over Alfred's shoulder, high above the dim glow of the city, a single spotlight was throwing a pale disc of yellow up onto the scudding clouds. Even from the back of the room it was all too easy to see that the dark silhouette marked into its centre was that of an gigantic black bat.
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Yes, I know it was short, but there will be more very soon. I promise . . . Thanks for reading. Please do review if youhave a chance. . .
