"…Good evening, sir," Alfred greeted, coming into the foyer when he heard the front door close. Choosing to ignore the grumble he received in place of a reply, he went on. "A package arrived for you this afternoon."

The billionaire frowned. "…What is it?"

"I've no idea, Master Wayne. It was labeled to you, from a local address," the butler informed him, taking his jacket. "…My goodness, is it still raining outside?" he asked as moisture met his fingertips.

"Yeah. It's hasn't let up since the funeral." He paused. "It's getting windy, too."

Alfred sighed. "Well, I suppose the trees in the yard will receive a bit of pruning from Mother Nature, then." It's just as well; it saves me a bit of time on next week's task list. "…The parcel is in your study. Shall I bring you something hot to drink? You must be chilled from the weather."

"That's fine, Alfred."

"Very good, sir," he nodded, heading for the kitchen once he'd hung the jacket up to dry. Still no decision, he shook his head as he flipped on the coffeepot. At least, the look in your eyes hasn't changed to indicate that you've reached one. If the issue would just conclude itself, perhaps I could stop worrying about your eating habits…

As he'd said he would, Bruce had returned to the manor for his mid-day meal, at which he had merely picked. Had he not had a series of meetings scheduled for the afternoon, he would have called out of the office in order to try and get to the bottom of the worrisome fibbing he suspected Dick had done that morning. Instead, he spent the rest of the day tuning out earnings reports and receiving odd looks from Lucius when he failed to keep up with the conversation. He couldn't help it; Soraya's words, the boy's willingness to let him stay through the entirety of his graveside grieving, and the divide in his own mind all kept him distracted from business matters.

Entering the study now, only the paper-wrapped package diverted him from his adoption quandary. …I'm not expecting anything in the mail, he regarded it suspiciously as he circled the desk with measured steps. Not particularly keen on the idea of opening the thing only to have it explode in his face - something that he wouldn't put past some of his shadier business rivals - he opened his laptop and ran a quick search on the return address. …Gotham Social Services?! His eyebrows drew together. What the hell would they be sending me?

He tore into the box, his hands stilling when they brushed wool. …The jacket. They made him send the jacket back. As he lifted it out and set it aside, an envelope fell to the floor. And a note. Maybe it's from Dick, he thought hopefully, picking it up and pulling out a single piece of correspondence stock.

It most certainly was not from Dick, he realized as soon as he unfolded the paper. "…That bitch," he hissed, absorbing the sentiments between the lines.

"If you're still considering bringing a child into this house, sir, I would advise that you attempt to curb your gutter language," Alfred advised, entering at that exact moment with a cup of coffee in his hands. "It sets a rather poor example for a young gentleman to follow."

"It was justified," Bruce rebutted. "Read this," he shoved the foul letter over.

Setting the mug down, the butler accepted the note and watched his charge stomp to the window before he read:

Dear Mr. Wayne,

I confiscated this jacket from the circus boy on Saturday night. He stated that you let him borrow it, which would be in keeping with your usual reputation for philanthropy, but I don't imagine that you meant for him to keep it long-term. I'm sure neither of us is really shocked that he 'forgot' to return it to its rightful owner, given his background. I apologize for not having noticed that he had it sooner; hopefully you haven't been too inconvenienced.

I checked it over for damages, etc., but found none. My guess is that he didn't have time to destroy it. Rest assured that he will be rehabilitated as much as is possible for a child with such a dubious upbringing. To be honest, I personally don't hold out much hope, but we'll do our best.

Warmest regards,

Margine Randall

Lead Caseworker

Gotham Child Protective Services

Alfred's eyebrows were raised by the time he replaced the letter in its envelope. This social worker certainly must have taken a disliking to the boy, to have not even referred to him by name in her note. Her accusations seem unfounded at best; I cannot imagine that a child who had just a few hours earlier witnessed the sudden deaths of his parents would calculate a theft. Even setting that aside, judging from what Master Wayne said the other night he doesn't come from people who would condone petty crime, let alone purposefully instruct their offspring in such acts.

"…Can you believe that prejudicial bullshit?" Bruce asked, still staring into the storm. "Dick's not a thief. Hell, he didn't even want to keep the money Haly gave him, and that was from people he's known his entire life. And I could tell he was caught off guard by the funeral arrangements, too, once he figured out who had taken care of them."

"'Figured out,' sir?"

"Yeah. I didn't tell him I paid for it all; he came to that conclusion on his own." He turned back into the room. "…He's smart, Alfred. Scary smart. And I've never felt so instantly comfortable talking to anyone else before. Not…not even to you." He gave him a mildly apologetic look.

"It's quite all right, Master Wayne," the butler said gently. "I can hardly fault you for having made a deep connection with another human being." After all, I've only been hoping you would do so for going on twenty years, he kept to himself. "It sounds, then, as if I should prepare a room? Near to your own, I would think."

"I…I don't know." He dropped heavily into the desk chair and covered his face with his hands. "I want to bring him here, Alfred. I really do. But…I'm not the right person for this. I'm nothing like his parents, or the others with the troupe…they were so warm with him. I'll never be able to be like that." No matter what he might say to the contrary, he thought despairingly. "I can never give him the home he deserves."

"I believe that most parents who love their children feel the same at one time or another, sir. You'd hardly be alone in that sentiment, were you to decide to go forward with this." Look at you. This has practically driven you to tears. You care deeply for this boy, whether you're ready to admit it or not. That miraculous fact makes me think that perhaps, for once, prudence was not the road I should have advised you to take. This is a risky proposition for you regardless of how much thought you put into it first, after all; certainties can change in an instant, as we both know. I ought to have just let you run with your first instinct. I cannot make the decision for you, of course, but maybe I can help you choose what I now believe to be the better path.

"…There is no such thing as a perfect home, nor as a perfect parent," he continued slowly. "You've always striven for perfection, and you've always had difficulty acknowledging that oftentimes perfection is unattainable, not just for yourself, but for everyone. I understand your fears, sir, truly I do, but I think the time for self-searching is at an end. If you are going to act, you must do so very soon. If you are feeling this connection between the two of you so strongly, then you must assume that he is as well. You've now interacted with him twice; if you meet with him a third time and make no move to establish a more permanent situation, you'll only leave him confused and rejected."

And I don't want that, Bruce moaned to himself. "I don't know what to do," he whispered. "Logically, I've already wasted way too much time even considering the proposal. But it won't go away. I feel like he belongs here, but it doesn't make sense."

"If I may, sir," Alfred said, giving the top of the desk an uncharacteristically deep frown, "the most difficult choices are usually best made with one's heart at the forefront. With all due respect to common sense and rationality, perhaps in this situation you ought to do what seems right rather than what seems safe."

The billionaire gaped. "…You're the one who taught me to guide myself with logic," he breathed. "Now you want me to ignore it?"

"I'm well aware that I taught you that, Master Wayne," the Englishman answered a bit curtly. "What I evidently forgot to pass along – perhaps because at that point I'd misplaced the lesson myself, I'm not sure – was that no single philosophy will serve every moment or every aspect of a well-rounded life. Logic has done Batman and Wayne Enterprises much good, to be sure; but what has it done for you?" He was silent for a moment. "…I'll leave you with that, sir. Do call down if you need anything."

After Alfred had gone, Bruce stared at the crumpled box for a long time. 'Follow your heart.' Everyone keeps saying that, but…it's such a delicate thing, the heart. I don't think I'm wrong for wanting to protect mine. At the same time, though, what chance does his have if he spends the next ten years – hell, the next ten days, even – in a CPS facility? And…well…maybe his heart is worth saving, even if it is at the cost of my own. Letting a long breath out, his eyes narrowed. Where did that nasty woman send you, kiddo?

The only way he was likely to find out was through the social services data banks, which he'd already hacked several times over the past few days. Descending to the cave, he broke in again and clicked his way easily to Dick's digital file. "…Nothing? Really?" he sighed exasperatedly. The page was sparse; his name, age, height and weight, and a brief rundown of how he'd come to be a ward of the state stood out starkly amongst the otherwise empty fields. They've had him for going on a week, and that's the most they could be bothered to find out? he glared at the screen. His birthday isn't even listed. You'd think that would be the first thing they'd have asked, if only to make sure they didn't feed him a day past when he turns eighteen.

Surprised that the account didn't at least list where he was being kept, the billionaire turned to the institutional rosters accessible from another portion of the site. …I didn't realize there were so many group homes, he gave a mental gasp as he saw how long the list was. There must be two hundred separate locations. Jesus. Setting his jaw, he clicked on the first address and began to scroll through the current residents, reading every name just in case there had been a spelling error.

At some point Alfred appeared with a plate of warm pasta, leaving it at his elbow without speaking a word. "Thanks," Bruce mumbled, his eyes never leaving the screen. Fumbling for the fork with his unoccupied hand, he managed to get a few bites into his mouth before losing interest. His desperation grew inversely to how many facilities were left to be checked, and as he reached the bottom of the final roll call he felt his eyes growing hot. Where are you? Thinking back, he recalled hearing someplace called 'the Center' mentioned. …Well, I'll double check anything with that word in it, then, he decided, going back to the top of the list to conduct a more pointed search. Although you said they were going to move you…

By midnight, his eyes were grainy and his patience was spent. And I still haven't found him. He has to be somewhere in the CPS system, he shook his head agitatedly. Even if they're considering him transitory since he's so new, wouldn't he have to be listed so that they can keep track of his whereabouts? This makes no sense, and there are too many places for me to even begin to check on foot tonight. That means that the soonest I can find out where he is for sure is tomorrow morning. "Fuck!" he exclaimed to the room at large.

"Does Alfred know you curse like that when you're alone?" an amused-sounding voice came from behind him.

Oh, great. Clark. "Go away," he grumbled. "…And how did you get in here without being announced?"

"I was announced," the other man informed him, leaning against the counter beside him with a slight frown. "…Now I know you're sick, if you missed a meeting and didn't hear the Zeta introduction."

…Heartsick, maybe, the billionaire grimaced. Up until the last few days, I never believed that was actually a thing. Apparently, I was wrong. Wait…meeting? "What meeting?"

"It's Thursday. What do you mean, 'what meeting?'"

"…Oh. I…forgot." Oh, shit, I actually forgot. I got so caught up in everything with Dick…I mean, with the case… "Why do we have them in the middle of the week, anyway? We should move them to the weekends. Some of us have regular work schedules, you know," he pointed out with more bitterness than he truly felt.

"You're your normal, cheerful self this evening," he sighed, pulling over a chair and sitting down. "…Big case?"

"Double murder," Bruce answered vaguely.

"…Not of kids?" Superman asked, glancing at the screen concernedly.

"No. Not of kids."

"Then why are you looking at the roster lists for Gotham Child Protective Services?"

"None of your business."

The Kryptonian observed him for a long, silent moment before speaking. "…What's going on, Bruce?"

"Nothing's 'going on,'" he made sarcastic air quotes. "I'm busy."

"You're different," the other man stated quietly.

"…What?" he turned with a startled expression. What the hell does that mean?

"You're worried about something. Or…someone," his eyes flashed to the monitor once more.

"No," the billionaire replied brusquely. "I'm not."

"Your heart rate and respiration are up. They have been for a while, I'd say, based on the fact that you're sweating." He tried to look innocent under a full glare. "Bruce. Come on, don't play this game. We both know something's changed since last week."

He's not going to drop this. "…If I tell you, will you leave me alone to do my work?"

"Either that, or offer to help," he shrugged. "Whatever seems most appropriate at that point."

"…Fine." With a gargantuan sigh, he launched into a pared-down version of events, leaving out his more emotional moments and focusing on the facts. "…So his social worker seems to hate him," he concluded after several minutes. "…And I seem to…well…to not hate him."

"…Whew," Superman half-whistled.

"Yeah. 'Whew.'" Now that he'd spilled the story, and with it some of his tension, he was in less of a hurry for the other man to leave. "I don't know. Every time I think I know what to do, I swing back the other way."

"That sounds exhausting."

"Pretty much. And I'm still no closer to an answer."

"…You're kidding me, right?" the Kryptonian queried. "Bruce, think about what you just told me. Really think about it."

"I've already thought about it. Two people have already told me today that I'm overthinking it."

"No, I mean…you've never told me something like that before, and I have never seen you legitimately worried about anything less earth-shatteringly huge than planetary destruction. Until tonight, that is." He gave him a considering look. "This kid really got to you."

"…Yeah," Bruce looked away. "…I guess he did."

"Then I don't understand the problem."

The billionaire gave a derisive snort. "Clark, as much as it pains me to say this, you know me better than probably anyone in the world other than Alfred." And, for all that I've spent a grand total of two hours with him, possibly Dick, he didn't add. "…That being the case, how can you not understand the problem?"

Ah. The 'dark side' issue. "…We both know that what you're worried about isn't the real you, Bruce. But I think the real you wants this. And I think the real you will fight for it a lot harder than you're giving yourself credit for."

"…Maybe. But I can't guarantee that."

"Who can guarantee anything?" He stood up. "…Look, think of it this way. If nothing else, you'd be giving him a home with someone who's been through some of the same things that he has. What's more, Alfred has experience dealing with…well…emotionally distraught children," he phrased carefully. "And he didn't do a half-bad job the first time around, so…"

"So what?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

The Kryptonian gave him a chiding look, then shook his head and dropped one hand briefly onto his shoulder. "I kind of hoped it would be obvious at this point, Bruce. Go get him." With an encouraging squeeze, he moved back to the Zeta tube. If this kid can effect such a change in you so quickly, what else is he capable of? he wondered as he punched in a set of coordinates. Just before he vanished, he turned to find the billionaire staring at him pensively. …I just hope you give yourself – and everyone else – the chance to find out.

When he was alone again, the billionaire rose from his chair and walked slowly over to where his costume hung. This is insane, he told himself as he fingered the end of a sleeve. But…maybe not the most insane thing I've ever done. His gaze traveled around the cave, touching on a hundred little things that would never have been were it not for his audacity. Many of them had had a hand in saving countless innocent lives; almost all had saved his own at least once. …Okay, Soraya, Alfred, Clark...you win this round. The question is, am I strong enough to carry the whole fight?

There was really only one way to find out, he supposed as he climbed the stairs and leaned into the kitchen. "…Alfred."

"Yes, sir?" the butler inquired, looking up from a bowl of dough.

"…The room across the hall and to the left of mine. It's the second biggest in that wing of the house, right?"

"It is, Master Wayne," he bit back a pleased smile. Well. I see I haven't started this little baking project in vain, then. Good.

"Let's, ah…let's clean it up a little, okay? And I'd like you to come with me tomorrow; I don't want to sign anything until you've met him and…well…approved, I guess. You have to live with him, too, after all."

"I don't imagine that will be a problem, but very well." I couldn't possibly object to any child who managed to get through to you to the point that you would even consider taking him in, but if it will make you happy, I'll accompany you. It would probably easiest for the boy if I met him on neutral ground, in any case.

"Good. I'm going out." I know it's fruitless to try and check all those group homes and other places on foot, but that doesn't mean I can't punch some people to make myself feel better until I can force that wench at CPS to tell me where he is. Maybe I can get a little closer to tracking down that specialty acid that was used on the trapeze wires…I might be able to sleep if I know I've made progress on something other than my own confusion. He began to move away, then halted with a puzzled expression. "…What are you doing?"

Alfred glanced up again. "…I've never met a young person who didn't like chocolate chip cookies. I don't suppose he'll be the exception, do you?"

"I don't know. He seems to be the exception to everything else," he noted, leaning in to swipe a dollop of dough from the edge of the bowl. Ignoring the butler's raised eyebrow, he licked the mixture off of his finger. "…You're probably right, though."

"I do hope you won't make that the first habit you teach him," Alfred said archly.

"No. The first habit I'll teach him," the corner of his lip moved up infinitesimally, "will be to remember that you know everything that goes on in this house."

"…I don't quite take your meaning, sir."

"You'd already started the cookies before I told you I'd made a decision. How did you know? You haven't made cookies since Christmas."

"Ah!" he exclaimed, understanding. "Call it a hunch, I suppose."

"…Huh," the billionaire mused, recalling his conversation with Dick under the tree on Saturday night. "Those seem to be going around lately, hunches."

"Useful things at times, I find."

"When they're right," he nodded. "…I won't be out late. We've got an early morning."

"The Child Protective Services office opens at eight o'clock, sir."

…Of course you checked that, too. "I want to be there by seven-thirty." We'll beat her to her own office. And if she's not there at eight, I'll talk to her boss. Whoever it takes. He's not spending another night in…wherever they've got him sleeping. "See you later, Alfred."

"Master Wayne."

"Yeah?"

His eyes rose with serious intent to those of his charge. "Be careful this evening. There's no call to make him parentless all over again."

"…That's not another hunch, is it?"

"No. Mere caution."

"…Right." With that, he disappeared back down the hall, headed for the clock.

No hunch, Master Wayne, Alfred thought to himself as he poured in a generous portion of chocolate chips. Just parental worry, which coincidentally is something that I believe you are soon to become very well acquainted with, if you haven't already done.

Author's Note: I was going to wait until later in the story to bring Clark in, but it seemed appropriate here. Happy reading!