All rights to Nolan, D.C Comics, and Warner Brothers.
Chapter 25 – Incognito
Snow was crunching under the thick soled shoes. The sound was muted in the blanketed forest – winter had come and doused every viable surface with an inch of fresh powder. It was icing over in the last week, but a promise of fresh snowfall was possible tonight.
Selina kept up the punishing pace with all the added weight of pregnancy and the layers of thermal wear. Her headband tugged back the hair from her face, and already her skin was raw and ruddy with frost from exposure.
A little black shadow kept up – Bat had a habit of tagging along on these morning runs. He'd hop from one snow drift and nearly disappear in the powder before springing out into a newly made footprint she tracked.
The Wayne Manor was shrouded in the heavy snowfall, and from here she could see the cheery lights silhouetted in the wide panes of glass. It was an overcast day, and she doubted the Father would let the kids romp around in these temperatures. Some of the coldest Gotham had ever seen.
The latch on the Wayne family plot took a little jiggling to groan up on its hinge on top of a fair amount of shoving to move the bar through the heavy piles of snow, but she managed to wedge herself in-between the cracked gate into the space. Bat simply slithered between the bars and scaled up her covered leg to hang onto her shoulder, claws in. She didn't mind so much with the layers between his claws and her flesh – he'd earned a reprieve from the snow on his bare paws. He'd bounced back since October, and already he had put on a little weight and increased in size. Deep into December, he was a good thirteen pounds of pure muscle.
The orchids were from the hothouse back at home, and wouldn't last a day in this winter. But she figured the dead would appreciate the gesture. She was new to the whole mourning deal.
Bruce had contracted a mason to etch a beautiful headstone for Maggie. It was simple, just a cross of marbled stone with her name, birth and death date, and so on. The tall angel that stood sentinel behind the stone was at least six foot in scale and androgynous with flowing robes and hair, arms welcomingly outstretched in the cold air. On its block she'd had the words inscribed for Maggie and Maria.
Never let go of hope.
Selina thought it fitting. Her mother's ashes had long since been scattered, and she had not one inch of care to go dig up her father's corpse from the crummy pine box and dirty graveyard his destitute body had been interred in. The Wayne plot was for those that deserved the rest earned.
Selina placed her bundles of flowers on the granite block at the chiseled, bare feet of the angle. Then parsed out her two other tributes onto the Wayne graves beneath the names of Martha and Thomas. The fresher headstone erected near the older, solid stones was removed – Bruce had the balls to put his own gravestone in the rose garden as a joke before she'd planted ivy all around it.
After the winter set in, it became a lump of stone covered in the dead, twining vines forgotten in a corner of the gardens – anonymous and unknown. Just as she liked it.
His own addition of roses were wilting in the snow before the twin headstones – must've come earlier in the week. She let her gloved her fingertips graze over both of the Wayne names, lingering on Martha's before drawing back. A sudden chill filled her, and the need to get as far away as possible from the graveyard burned through her body.
Bat didn't mind much, simply clutching onto her shoulder and jouncing along with her jogging pace as she wove out of the ironwork and into the trails towards the underpass. She was on the other side of the highway in record time, slowing her pace to let her lungs suck in an aching dose of icy air that practically stung.
Death was something that scared most people. But since she'd discovered the pregnancy, the fear increased tenfold. That, and the sinking feeling that Maria Kyle and her history might be repeated. Bruce would never sink to the level of Brian Kyle, and it hurt to even compare the two men. Night and day.
But Maria Kyle had hit her stride of melancholy and left her girls behind, regardless of the consequences. Selina had resolutely told herself that she would never have kids – ever. Maggie was the one in line to have the whole house in the suburbs, husband, kids and picket fence. Didn't carry all that anger and fear on her shoulders like Selina did. The future didn't turn out that way, but Selina was sure that the family lifestyle was never something for crooks and conmen. Now here she was, at least seven months heavy with a kid on the way.
Bruce was gung-ho about the fatherhood role, already prepping with piles of books. He left the furnishing of the nursery up to her, but already a steady flow of children's toys and stuffed animals were piling up in the half-way furnished room. A highchair showed up in the kitchen this morning and inspired a little surge of panic in the young, soon-to-be mother. Was she ready for all of this? Could she manage to not fuck up and keep a straight, sane approach to motherhood unlike Maria?
She had things to accomplish today, though – best not spent on agonizing over stupid factors with enough hormones to take down a bull elephant charging through her system. Selina smoothly snuck through the kitchen door into the house past all the hustle and bustle of the hired staff. Alfred could marshal an army, and he was proving it with the smooth direction and calm orders he was issuing to the chaos brewing in her house.
Bat was deposited on the bed to calmly lick at his privates while she showered off the sweat and wintery smells. Bruce was already whistling in his office and readily dressed for the occasion, last she checked.
It was the second week of December, and the Wayne Christmas soiree was just hours away.
The party was planned months in advance. She'd helped Alfred with the guest list as far back as August, before she'd figured out she was carrying. The dress she'd chosen had to be let out a little, and a conservative, dark bolero jacket added to the wine red number that came down to her knees. Her feet were too swollen for pumps, so she picked out a pair of red flats and called it a day. She wasn't aiming for beauty, here. Bruce added a broach of rubies braced with diamonds to the lapel of her bolero before she could protest, smothering her grouchy commentary with his mouth in a hard, burning kiss. Well, she couldn't quite argue with a man wanting to deck her out in jewelry that normally took months of plotting to steal?
It was a change of pace, having all that she needed and more. But the large cask of jewels was getting a tad bit excessive. She rarely wore anything more than her pearls and rings. Bruce seemed to get the hint when those little pieces of flashy jewels were given to charity auctions, simply gathering dust in the velvet lining elsewise.
Selina was supervising the catering service with Alfred, feeling a bit wonky at the surreal quality of it all. It was the same company he'd hired for the Harvey Dent tribute a year back, when Bruce was reclusive as a paranoid Howard Hughes – rumored to be sporting nine inch nails and pissing into mason jars. Then she'd sashayed in, decked out in her disguise and no one had been the wiser.
Now the young billionaire, her husband, and her former target who'd been returned to his title after the stocks and shares were reacquired from Bane's tradeoffs, was jogging around the house in his Armani three piece. Apparently helping, but he was so out of practice with managing a staff he just took a step back and let she and Alfred handle the details.
Eventually he joined Leslie, lovely in a silvery cashmere suit with a large snowflake wrought out of diamonds pinned to her lapel, sitting at the roaring fireplace. The service staff was busy wiring the lighting in the garden for the whole Winter Wonderland deal – the reflection pond had frozen over and killed Alfred's dream of floating lanterns on the cold December breeze. Instead the bushes and shrubs were lit up with sparkling crystal lights that burned steadily in the cold snow, the terraces brushed and raked free of snow.
The first guests started pulling up the drive to give the valets something to do. The young, suited men scrambled to manage the growing line of Mercedes, Audis, and BMWs pulling up the crushed shell drive to the new Wayne Manor, all eager to socialize with Gotham's premiere family. She stood staunchly at Bruce's side, her arm laced through his as she brightened a smile for each and every person that walked through the wide, oaken doors.
In about thirty minutes flat, the place was packed wall to wall and the live band playing in the ballroom was roaring out classical Christmas melodies. Finely dressed couples were swaying to the tunes, and even more flocked around the staff carrying flutes of champagne. The open bar at the far end of the ballroom was covered in a press of black suited gentlemen.
Speaking of which, her husband was returning from snagging her a glass of plain punch with a blonde woman latched onto his arm, her breasts shoved into his bicep as she tittered on. His expression was a tad bit strained.
"Selina, I'd like you to meet Natasha-" he was cut off by an enthusiastic, lithe little blonde's heavily accented tone, "I have heard so much about you, Selina! Bruce tells me everything, saying you are such an intriguing woman!"
A small hand insinuated itself between them, so the former thief was obliged to take the iron-grip of the woman in a welcoming gesture. So this was the certain prima-ballerina Bruce had confessed to having a fling with nine or so years ago, eh?
Selina zeroed in on her with her most becoming smile, tightening her grip to match the lock the Russian had on her hand. "Very. He hasn't spoken about you much, though. I heard you had an injury that took you out of the company – ballerinas don't exactly have long careers with all those risks, do they?"
The grip lessened slightly. As did the strained smile. The Russian woman muttered something under her breath and turned on her heel, evicting the space and Bruce's personal space.
"The ice queen cometh," Bruce practically crooned into her ear. He winced as she stamped her heel down on his wingtip – subtly. All about the subtlety.
"If she comes within five yards of me again tonight, I can't guarantee her safety," she said sweetly into his ear, swishing off after laying a thick layer of color on his cheek in a kiss. Wine red to match the dress.
Bat wasn't happy about the reduction in his roaming space. He'd been relegated to the laundry room, and was making it known to the kitchen staff he wasn't happy with the downgrade in status. His black paw was jabbing out at any passing foot from under the door jamb, and Selina took pity on the cat by letting him out for a short roam around the kitchen.
The chaos she left it in after Bat was springing from one counter to the next with a pilfered kipper in his greedy maw while the chef shouted obscenities at the cat was really none of her concern. In her opinion, they were paying the celebrity cook an obscene amount for sub-par hors d'oeuvres.
Just as she was snatching a tray of the aforementioned delicacies from a lazy staff member to scarf down in the secluded privacy of the deserted library, she rounded a corner and knocked the platter and herself into what felt like a brick wall. Instead, she was met with the sight of a striking young man in a formal suit and a bow tie that seemed a bit too tight on his straining, thick neck.
She was a bit dazzled from the glaringly white smile the young man had. He was solidly built and muscular, even outmatching Bruce in height. His suit seemed to strain with the flexing of his biceps, and the horn-rimmed glasses seemed out of place over his blue, blue eyes. He was a looker, for sure. The wavy, close-cut black locks belonged on a model.
"Mrs. Wayne!" he shouted, a bit bashful and all smiles. He'd steadied her shoulders in a flash to avoid a fall, brushing off the crumbs with easy words of "no problem" as she apologized. The tray was discarded to a side table, and she smiled congenially up at her house guest. Right up until she saw the press pass clipped to his breast pocket.
"I hope this incident won't headline tomorrow in the Gotham Gazette," she said dryly, arching a thin brow at the man. He blushed, to her surprise – a genuine blush.
"No, ma'am – we're here to just cover the story on the Wayne Foundation charities that you head up. Daily Planet," he explained, flicking open his press pass to show his credentials. They checked out, so she eased the tension in her shoulders.
"What would you like to know, Mr. Kent?" she smiled, looping an arm through his own before leading him off towards the open doors. They walked out onto the cleared terrace into the cool night, chatting amiably about all the good-doings of the foundation and the weather in Metropolis.
Footnotes
Clark Kent/Superman belongs to DC Comics. I do not claim creative rights to their character. Yours Hopefully here! Yes, yes. Clark Kent is a superhero in every sense of the world, and Nolan will be incorporating his own genius as a producer for the new Man of Steel reboot in the works. Bear with your humble typer as she introduces the Metropolis gang to the Gotham gang.
In the Smallville series, Metropolis is vaguely alluded to exist in Kansas, where Clark hails from (besides being from FUCKING KRYPTON). In the official DC atlas, Metropolis is shown to be located on the eastern coast of the US somewhere in Delaware. Gotham is located on a short while away in the New Jersey/New York area. Therefore we'll be using the DC canon location, and Metropolis is only a short distance from Gotham.