A/N Updated on time! Yay me! clap clap clap
Much thanks, as always, to my bat-beta, IcyWaters!
Disclaimer
Jingle bells, Batman smells,
Joker played a trick.
Batmobile lost a wheel,
I only wrote this fic!
Chapter 35
Henri: Is there anything you don't do?
Danielle: Fly!
- Ever After
Alfred shoved through the door of the waiting room, too upset to analyze what had just happened. Rachel jumped to her feet and hurried over. "Alfred! I was wondering where you were."
"I had some traffic trouble." He took her hand and patted it gently. She clung back.
"Thank you so much for calling me."
"Of course," he said simply.
She sighed softly, then pulled her hand away and folded her arms. "The tests came back clear, but he's still unconscious. Bruce is with him now."
"Mmm," Alfred murmured, wondering uncomfortably where the man actually was. "You got here in good time."
"I almost didn't get in at all. Only close family is supposed to be allowed up here." She smiled ruefully. "I had to pull a While You Were Sleeping and tell them I was Bruce's fiancée."
"What?" he demanded, so startled he actually jerked.
"It's all right, Bruce already knows. We'll keep it contained."
Despite her reassurances, a pucker of worry formed between the old man's brows. He walked over to the window and stared unseeingly down at the Martha Wayne memorial garden.
"Alfred, what happened? I didn't have a chance to ask Bruce."
He was silent for a moment, still watching the garden. "He was trying to fly," he said at last, and his tone had a sharp edge of decisiveness to it. "He jumped from the front hall second story balcony with a wing-like apparatus strapped to his arms."
Rachel was silent, but even with his back turned to her, Alfred could almost see the mental math clicking through her head as she predictably added up to an ugly suspicion. "I see," she said heavily.
My dear Miss Rachel, have you ever?
Bruce, balancing three Styrofoam cups of coffee, pushed through the door of the waiting room. He offered Rachel hers with a faint, apologetic smile. "It's probably thick enough to pave a road."
"Thanks," she said, not smiling back.
Bruce offered a cup to Alfred, not quite meeting the old man's eyes. "Coffee?"
"Thank you, Master Bruce."
Bruce walked over to the window with his own cup and stood staring down at the same garden Alfred had observed earlier. Alfred wondered whether the younger man knew what it was, but this hardly seemed like the appropriate moment to discuss it.
- - - - - -
Bruce closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the cool glass. He didn't want to look anymore at the snowy patch that had supposedly been created in honor of his mother, or think about people being reduced to nothing but an "in memory." Considering who had made the executive decision to release the funds, it was really more like the "To the Glory of Earle" garden, anyway.
It was interesting, he thought, to discover how very little he mattered to himself. To finally see how very little anything mattered, next to this. In a purely abstract way, he realized that outside the hospital there was still a city full of people whose lives mattered immensely, but for him, the only reality was the kid – his kid – lying in there on the white bed and hooked up to the heart monitor. And he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that if Dick didn't wake up, nothing else would ever really matter again.
- - - - - -
Cecilia handed her keys to the valet and walked slowly up the Manor steps. Banks was safely away, thanks to Gordon's contact. It was the other side's move now, and she tried hard to put herself on the other side of the board, to predict the moves of black as well as white.
It wasn't until she was inside the house that she realized she had had to open the door for herself. Tilting her head, she listened carefully. The mansion was always quiet, but now the stillness had a dead feel, as if the place really was devoid of life. Pulling off her coat and gloves, she stepped through the entrance foyer and into the expanse of the front hall. Two maids were standing next to some sort of wreckage. They seemed to be having an argument, although they spoke in such soft tones that not even an echo traveled back to Cecilia's hearing. The two women abruptly silenced as they saw her approach.
"What's happened here?" Cecilia asked, examining the tangle of stick and plastic.
"It's young Master Dick, ma'am," one of them explained, looking worried. "He's had an accident."
"An accident?" Cecilia prompted.
"Yes, ma'am. Nobody saw what happened, but we think he built himself some sort of wings."
"Is he all right?"
"We don't know. He was knocked unconscious and they took him to the hospital nearly four hours ago."
"Good heavens," Cecilia muttered, dropping to her knees beside the broken wings.
"Please, ma'am, what should we do with it?" It was the younger maid who spoke this time. "Mr. Pennyworth didn't leave any instructions."
"Don't worry about it. I'll take care of it." Cecilia carefully gathered up the mess and stood. "Do you know where the boy built this thing?"
"We think it was in the gym, Miss Somerville."
"Thank you." Cecilia carted her armful of wreckage down the hall. She had to turn sideways to fit through the gym door, but once inside, it was apparent why the maids thought the wings had been built there. A roll of duct tape, a pair of scissors, a measuring tape, some odd lengths of bamboo, and an empty box of Saran wrap lay on one side of the hardwood floor. There was also a sheet of paper covered with Dick's rather large printing and a dead bat. Cecilia gently poked the tiny corpse with her toe, then picked up the sheet. At the top were printed "Bat" and "Me," and there was a row of numbers beneath each one. The rest of the paper was filled with simple, though far above second grade level, equations.
Cecilia began to frown as she followed the trail of numbers down the page, and when she finished, her mouth was tight with anger. Dropping the paper back to the floor, she marched out of the gym and headed straight for Wayne's office. His "real" office, not the "thinking room." She was in luck. The computer was on and the network passwords had already been entered.
- - - - - -
The doctor pushed through the door. "Mr. Wayne?" Three pairs of intent eyes immediately fastened on his face. He smiled. "Richard just woke up."
Bruce suddenly understood what the phrase "knees weak with relief" meant. He leaned back against the window frame. "He's all right, then?"
The doctor nodded. "It would appear so. He was asking for you."
Bruce found that his legs worked again. The doctor jogged along beside, trying to keep up. "Don't excite him, Mr. Wayne."
"Right." Bruce forced himself to come to a complete stop before he entered the room. Dick was still lying motionless on his back, but his eyes were open and they turned toward Bruce as he approached. Bruce dropped into the chair by the bed. "Hey, buddy."
"Hey," the boy whispered after a moment.
"You gave us a pretty bad scare, but the doctor says you're going to be ok. Do you remember what happened?"
Dick frowned slightly. "My wings." His frown deepened. "They didn't work."
Bruce heard a soft sound at the doorway and turned to see Alfred standing just outside the room. "It looks like someone else is here to see you."
Bruce stood and let the butler take the chair. "Hello, Master Dick."
"Hey Alfred."
"How are you feeling?"
"My head hurts."
"I should think so. That was a very nasty accident you had."
Dick sighed and closed his eyes. "It should have worked." He fell silent and for a while it appeared as if he had gone to sleep. "Bruce?" he asked suddenly, his eyes still closed. "Can we go home?"
"Yeah," Bruce promised unhesitatingly. "We can go home."
It took some fast-talkingwith the doctor, but Bruce finally got the man to concede that a private nurse at home would be as effective as an overnight hospital stay. An hour and several reams of paperwork later, the billionaire carefully lifted his heavily bundled ward out of a wheelchair to carry him to the smaller limo. Unfortunately, the moment Bruce stepped outside, flanked by Alfred and Rachel, he was greeted by a barrage of camera flashes and shouted questions.Bruce cringed. If he'd been thinking straight, he would have had a delivery van pull around to a side entrance or something.
"Mr. Wayne, is the boy all right?"
"Hey Bruce, how's it feel to be a family man?"
"Counselor Dawes, what's your relationship with boy?"
"About that hostage situation last week…"
"Counselor, is it true you and Wayne are talking about wedding bells?"
Bruce hurriedly thrust Dick into the backseat and helped Rachel in after him. Firmly shutting the door on them, he turned around and held up his hands. The clamoring reporters hushed. "Thank you all for your concern, Richard is going to be fine. I can't answer any more questions right now because we need to get him home." Reopening the door, he hopped in with Alfred hot on his heels. The driver gunned his engine, and the reporters reluctantly pulled away from the vehicle as it began to inch forward.
- - - - - -
Rachel was looking for Bruce. Dick was safely asleep in his own bed under the watchful eye of a private nurse, and Alfred had declared that it was high time the rest of them had something decent to eat. Rachel saw light streaming from the partially open door of Bruce's office and hurried forward. The room's occupant, however, was not the room's owner. Somerville lounged against the side of the desk, phone tucked between her ear and shoulder, flipping rapidly through a thick manila file. Dressed in oversized sweats and with her hair hanging down her back in a single, thick braid, she looked utterly, and disgustingly, at home.
"What," began Rachel, and it came out as a hiss. "What are you doing in here?"
Somerville glanced over briefly and returned her attention to the file. "Counselor Dawes, what an unexpected pleasure."
Rachel stormed into the room. "I asked what you were doing in here."
"Oh, the usual office activities – juggling finances, playing solitaire, ruining other people's careers…" she broke off as the phone crackled in her ear. "Yes?...Hello, Mr. Dwight…Mr. Harrison has explained the situation to you?...Yes, I was sure you would see it that way…Quite so…I'm certain Mr. Wayne will prefer his legal counsel to handle things. It's such a distasteful matter…I understand your position, but Mr. Wayne is confident you'll take a proper course of action. No, I see no reason at this time to notify the national council…You're welcome. Goodbye, Mr. Dwight." She hung up the phone and smiled – the sleek and menacing smile of Shylock dragging Antonio before the judge.
"You seem very certain of Mr. Wayne's opinions," Rachel snapped.
Somerville looked over at her, and the smile deepened. "Wayne is going to do exactly what I tell him to."
Rachel's hands clenched and she drew a sharp breath, but before she could speak, Alfred appeared in the doorway. His shrewd eyes swept across the scene, taking in Rachel's tense posture and the file in Somerville's hand, but all he said was, "There you are, Miss Somerville. Would you care to join us in a light supper?"
"Thank you, Mr. Pennyworth, that would be lovely."
Rachel stepped back and made certain Somerville preceded her out of the room, then snapped the door shut behind them. This apparently amused Somerville, and she sounded practically jovial as she asked, "And how is Richard doing?"
"He's quite well, thank you Miss Somerville. A headache, but that's to be expected. We're only thankful it wasn't much worse."
They were nearly to the kitchen when they met Bruce coming the other way, cordless phone in hand. "Yes, thank you Mr. Fox. We'll be right down." He clicked off the phone and looked at the other three. "The box is in the vault at the Tower. Fox is waiting for us to open it."
"Does Richard need to be there?" Somerville asked.
"What box?" Rachel demanded.
Bruce looked at her, slowly realizing that he hadn't had a chance to really talk to her since Somerville had, figuratively, stripped off his mask. "We've found a box that belonged to Richard's parents. And, no," he added, looking at Somerville. "Dick doesn't have to be there. Fox checked with legal, and as Dick's guardians, he and I can open it." He tossed the phone onto a small table. "We should go down right away. Someone needs to stay here with Dick."
"I will," Rachel offered quietly.
Bruce tossed her a small smile – tired, grateful, intimate. "Thank you."
Alfred picked up the phone. "I'll have a car sent around."
Five minutes later, Bruce and Alfred met at the front door, securely wrapped against the night's chill. Bruce glanced down the hall. "Where's Somerville?"
"I believe she's in the kitchen."
Muttering, Bruce hurried down the hallways. "Are you coming?" he demanded in irritation, sticking his head through the kitchen door.
She looked up from the sandwich she was assembling. "I didn't think my presence would be welcomed."
"You found the thing. Besides, I'd prefer that you observe for yourself that all due legal processes are observed."
"Very wise of you." She slapped the top of her sandwich on and wrapped it in a napkin. "And I have to confess to an almost unbearable itch of curiosity. Whatever's in that box is well worth seeing."
Maybe it was her honest eagerness to see the contents of the box, or maybe it was the absence of her usual "executive from a third class hell" appearance, but Somerville was coming across as almost human. As he followed her down the hall, Bruce wondered if she was closer to his own age than he had at first assumed. A flickering hope emerged that the shaky alliance they had formed would hold. They joined Alfred who was already waiting in the car, and the vehicle took off through the frosty night.
- - - - - -
Dick blinked open his eyes and turned his head. A strange woman, dressed all in white was standing next to his bed. She smiled down at him. "Hello, young sir."
"Who are you?"
"Nurse Cherry, dear. I'm taking care of you for tonight."
Sudden anxiety seized him and he struggled to sit up, his head throbbing. "Where's Bruce?"
"He had to go out for a bit, dear, but Rachel Dawes is here. She ran downstairs, but she should be back in a moment."
Dick sank back against his pillow, relieved. "Oh good. I like it when Rachel is here."
Nurse Cherry smiled kindly. "I'm sure you do. And she'll be here all the time, soon enough."
Dick stared up hopefully. "She will?"
"Of course, dear, after she marries Mr. Wayne."
The news came as a surprise to Dick, but after a moment's thought he decided, "That's a good idea."
Cherry smiled in amusement. "I guess they thought so, too."
Dick's eyes were fluttering shut again. "Bruce and me," he mumbled around a yawn, "we like Rachel a lot." If Rachel came to stay, he thought fuzzily, they'd be almost like the family on the back of the cornflakes box. All they would need was a baby.
When Rachel entered the room a minute later, Dick was snoring gently. "He woke up for a minute and talked to me quite clearly," Cherry said in a low voice.
"That's good," Rachel whispered back and gently smoothed the boy's hair away from his forehead.
Nurse Cherry, looking at the tender expression on the D.A.'s face, smiled knowingly.
To Be Continued…
A/N Responses to reviews for the last chapter can be found on my homepage.
Also, I thought you all might find it interesting to know that Bruce Wayne is the seventh richest fictional character in America. Here's a list of the fifteen richest according to Forbes Magazine. Thank you to Chigger for sending me the list!
1. Santa Clause $?
2. Richie Rich - 24.7 billion
3. Oliver "Daddy" Warbucks - 10 billion
4. Scrooge McDuck - 8.2 billion
5. Thurston Howell III - 8 billion
6. Willie Wonka - 8 billion
7. Bruce Wayne - 6.3 billion
8. Lex Luthor - 4.7 billion
9. J.R. Ewing - 2.8 billion
10. Auric Goldfinger - 1.2 billion
11. C. Montgomery Burns - 1 billion
12. Charles Foster Kane - 1 billion
13. Cruella De Vil - 875 million
14. Gordon Gekko - 650 million
15. Jay Gatsby - 600 million