HI, GUYS! I have been gone for a little while, but I'm finally back! Enjoy this next chapter :)
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Three Months Later
Ella scratched the bug bites scattered across her legs as she rested her back against the bottom of Bruce's Adirondack chair. His legs were on either side of her, protected from pesky mosquitoes by slacks. Ella slapped at an insect and groaned, "They are everywhere."
"Why didn't you use bug spray?" said Bruce, absentmindedly scrolling through his phone.
"I forgot," said Ella, kicking involuntarily as another bite occurred on her left leg. "Stop it!"
"I see someone forgot insect repellant," said Alfred, appearing beside them in his suit. He held a silver tray with a canister of bug spray placed on it, looking every bit the billionaire's butler that he was.
Ella giggled at the strange sight of Alfred serving repellant like a drink but scrambled to her feet to accept it. "Thanks, Alfred," she said. "You're a lifesaver. Well, for me. Not the bugs." She stepped away to coat herself in the spray thoroughly and then handed it back to Alfred. "I can feel it is working," she said.
"How can you feel it working?" asked Bruce. "It doesn't do anything."
"I mean, I feel rejuvenated," said Ella, dropping back to her spot on the ground.
"Mm, okay," nodded Bruce. "Thanks, Alfred. How are the guests?"
"Everyone is doing superbly," called Alfred over his shoulder, already on his way to keep an eye on the hired staff.
The Fourth of July. One of the biggest holidays in Gotham. Wayne Manor bustled with high society and plus-ones who managed to sneak along, and the day had sped by with swimming, drinks, music, and what Ella referred to as 'gourmet barbeque.' She had spent the afternoon running around with a few children she didn't know very well and was relieved when the Pavler's arrived in time for supper. The family had been invited to another party as well, so they only stayed for a few hours, but Ella thoroughly enjoyed reuniting with Misha and the others. The Pavler's and Ella had seen one other at least once a week for the past few months, but the stretches in between seemed numbingly long to Ella. Understandably, with Ella living so far out of Gotham, any chance to fellowship with people her age was a thrill.
Now evening was well underway, and Bruce had retired to a quiet part of the lawn with Ella to watch the fireworks. Every year he spent nearly two hundred thousand dollars on fireworks, and the show never failed to impress attendees. Many said that the grand finale was even visible in the city.
Bruce leaned forward, wrapping his arms around Ella's neck, "Are you excited to see the rockets, kiddo?"
"Yeah," she grinned, leaning back to see his face. "This was the best party ever."
"Because you didn't have to wear a dress?" smirked Bruce.
"Because I didn't have to wear a dress," nodded Ella.
Several couples strolled by and made small talk with Bruce, so Ella leaned back and relaxed, merely taking in the beautiful night. From where she and Bruce sat, Ella could see over the entire backfield down to the river that circled the end of the lawn. Fireflies dotted the grass and became brighter and brighter as the light faded. The pleasant strains of conversation floated across the yard as guests mingled here and there. Some lingered around tables, and some stood in groups, holding glasses of champagne. The folks talking to Bruce wandered off, and Ella twisted to face him.
"Are you okay?" she asked.
"Am I okay?" chuckled Bruce, lifting an eyebrow. "As opposed to dead or something?"
"No, I mean, is your body okay?" Ella gently nudged his knee and tilted her head towards his shoulder. She had gotten into the habit of periodically asking him this question whenever the memories of his injuries popped into her brain. The thought of Bruce being in pain gave her a slight stomach ache.
"Yes, missy," assured Bruce, leaning forward to kiss her forehead. "I am quite okay."
"You used your cane today," pursued Ella, knowing good and well Bruce always used his cane when he was up and about for long periods.
Bruce nodded, "Yes, of course. I did a lot of walking."
"So, there is a possibility your knee hurts right now," continued Ella. A firework exploded behind her, and she spun to see the brilliant red streaks fill the sky. "Oh, cool!" she exclaimed, twisting back to face the yard and leaning forward onto her knees.
Bruce sighed, relieved the questioning was over. His knee was in tremendous pain as it always was when he spent all day on his feet. He had convinced himself that his days as Batman were over, and he would be a sort of cripple for the rest of his life. Doctors assured him the cartilage in his knee was not only worse for wear, but it was also utterly non-existent. His shoulders and elbows were supposedly close behind. With the scar tissue on his kidneys, residual concussive damage to his brain tissue, and the general scarred-over quality of his body, he and Alfred had both agreed that a little break from vigilante work was in order. Well, Alfred had decided to a bit of a break. Bruce fully intended on never donning the suit again.
"Oh, that one was pretty!" exclaimed Ella, her face illuminated by the blue light flashing overhead.
"The finale will blow your mind," chuckled Bruce, reaching forward to pull one of her French braids.
Ella settled back against her father's chair to watch the show, and he gently ran his fingers over her plaited hair and across the back of her neck. Ella reached up and settled her hand over Bruce's resting on her head. They clasped fingers and sat that way as the fireworks concluded, Ella only breaking free to stand up as the finale exploded across the sky.
"Gosh, Dad! That was amazing!" she cried, executing a few nonchalant pirouettes in her excitement. "Best fireworks show I have ever seen!"
Bruce raised an eyebrow. Pirouettes. Another tick to the many boxes of talent Ella possessed. "How many fireworks shows have you seen?" he asked, expecting a low number, if any.
"Oh, trillions. Well, maybe only millions," shrugged Ella, brushing the question of with a shrug. "Every night in the circus."
Bruce narrowed his eyes. Of course, he should have thought of that. Bruce reprimanded himself for forgetting his little girl had another life. An entire existence of thrill and pain and sorrow before he had come along. Her optimism and strength boggled his mind. His parents were dead, yes, but a criminal had killed them, an unknown man with an itchy trigger finger. It had shattered Bruce beyond measure, of course, but he never had to question the motive. It took until he was a teenager, but he had eventually understood that it was not a personal vendetta against his parents. It was just a wicked man doing an evil thing. Ella's parents had been murdered intentionally and methodically by a man, she should have been able to trust, and for a reason, that was pathetic and utterly ridiculous. Yet here she was, striving to be a better person and make Bruce happy in any way she could. Her resilience gave Bruce the strength to go on. He had to be a better man for his daughter's sake because she deserved the world, and he intended to give it to her.
"Will everyone go home now?" asked Ella, her voice breaking into Bruce's thoughts.
"Hm? Oh, no," chuckled Bruce. "People will wander around until four or five in the morning and then call a taxi because they'll be too drunk to drive. You and I, though, are locking ourselves in the East Wing and going to bed. No all-night parties for us."
"Good, I'm tired," sighed Ella, and Bruce could tell she was. It had been an exciting day for her, and between the mental stimulation and physical activity, she looked exhausted.
"Run up and tell Alfred we're coming," urged Bruce, reaching down to pick up his cane. He knew it was going to hurt to stand, and he didn't want Ella watching and seeing his pain.
"Okey-doke, Dad!" said Ella, breaking into a jog across the lawn to find Alfred. Her long, suntanned legs carried her quickly across the grass, and Bruce watched for a minute, evaluating the tightening of her muscles and the speed of her gate. She was athletic, that was for sure. Being trained in acrobatics at such an incredibly young age had been a launching pad to a physically minded young lady. An idea flashed through Bruce's mind so quickly that he took a deep breath, but he just as quickly let out a halting chuckle. Train Ella to take over the mask.
"Oh, sure," Bruce said out-loud to himself. He glanced around to make sure no one was watching the eccentric billionaire talking to himself. "Let's just train our thirteen-year-old to fight crime. Brilliant, Bruce." There. Idea squashed. Well, theoretically. It lingered in Bruce's brain, refusing to slip away no matter what he told himself. "Well," he muttered, leaning his weight forward onto his cane, "maybe when she's a little older." He groaned as he slowly stood, wincing as a fire of pain shot through his knee.
"A hand, Mr. Wayne?" came a deep, smooth voice.
"Ah, Mr. Fox," smiled Bruce, extending a hand to his business manager. "I didn't realize you were here this evening."
"Just stopped by for the show," said Lucius, nodding towards the dark sky that had moments before been ablaze with rockets. "Not bad this year."
Bruce chuckled, "The fireworks, eh? Merely a social visit?"
"You know me, Mr. Wayne," said Lucius, supporting Bruce as the billionaire took a weak step forward. "My social visits are purely business-related."
Bruce laughed and bent away from Lucius, finding his footing again after sitting for so long. "Ah, thank you, Lucius," he said, acknowledging the help to stand. "Will you join me inside?"
"I can talk as we walk," said Lucius, falling into stride beside Bruce. "No need to pry on your family time tonight. By business, I meant the man behind the mask."
Bruce cast a sideways glance at Lucius and huffed, "Ah, Lucius. He's no more. That ship has sailed."
"Training the girl?" questioned Lucius, letting Bruce know he had overheard the man's musings.
"Ha! I think not," said Bruce, squinting as the pain continued to travel through his leg. "That was…I was just thinking out loud."
"I have a knee brace," said Lucius.
Bruce stopped walking.
"Designed it myself," continued Fox, folding his arms. "A cybernetic brace with servomotors. You won't need the cane anymore."
"And how do we know it works?" asked Bruce, trying to hide just how interested he indeed was.
Lucius raised an eyebrow, "I'm not as young as I look. These knees aren't what they were twenty years ago."
"Fair enough," smiled Bruce. "Alright, Lucius, bring it by, and we'll take a look."
"Do what you will with it," said Lucius, stepping away from Bruce and starting towards the front-drive. "I left it inside."
Bruce shook his head, a genuine grin spreading across his face. Lucius Fox. The man never ceased to amaze.
"Master Wayne, are you alright?" came Alfred's voice from behind. He appeared at Bruce's side, grasping the man's left arm.
"I'm fine, Alfred," nodded Bruce. "Did El make it inside?"
"She did," nodded Alfred, keeping his grip as the two continued into the mansion. "Taking a shower and hopefully scrubbing the ridiculous tattoos off her arms."
"They are washable, Alfred," assured Bruce. "I promise I won't let her get real tattoos yet."
"Yet!" said Alfred, unlocking an outside door into Bruce's private quarters and stepping aside. "I believe 'ever' would be more like it."
Bruce groaned as he took the small step up into the house, and Alfred immediately grabbed the younger man's arms, steadying him.
"Alright, Bruce, you need a warm bath with Epsom salts," said the butler, taking small steps beside his limping master. 'Bruce' slipped out when Alfred was more concerned for the young man than he was letting on.
"Lucius Fox left something for me," said Bruce through gritted teeth.
"I put it in your bedroom," said Alfred, stopping and pressing a hidden button to their right. The wall slid aside, revealing a disguised elevator, and the two stepped on.
"Of course, you did," said Bruce. "How do you manage to serve three hundred people champagne and still be fully aware of every person going in and out of the manor?"
"Lots of tea and a high-stress tolerance," replied Alfred. "You've built up my anxiety forbearance."
"You're welcome," said Bruce, resting heavily on his cane.
The elevator door opened and revealed Ella leaning against the far wall of the hallway, nose buried in a paperback copy of The Great Gatsby. "Hey," she said, barely looking up.
"I thought you were showering," said Alfred, helping Bruce off the elevator.
"I was," said Ella, trailing behind her two fatherly figures as they slowly moved down the hall towards Bruce's bedroom, "but I remembered my book and got distracted."
"Well, get undistracted and shower," said Alfred. "And wash of those tattoos."
"I can't," said Ella, the book still holding her attention. "They're permanent."
"If they aren't gone when I come in to say good night, I will personally scrub them off," said Alfred, turning Bruce down a hall and casting a no-nonsense look towards Ella.
"Come say goodnight later," called Bruce as Ella stumbled off towards her room, bumping into a few ornate chairs lined against the hall as she devoured the words before her.
"Roger!" replied Ella, pushing herself around an agar bureau into which she had walked. Ella lowered her book, deciding she could survive the short walk to her room before finding out what Nick, Gatsby, and Daisy would find as they strolled through Gatsby's mansion.
After showering and scrubbing off all the tattoos except for the ornate flag across her left shoulder, Ella pulled on a t-shirt and basketball shorts and grabbed up the book again, flinging herself across the bed. Tom Buchanan had just stopped in at Gatsby's for a drink when Alfred's soft knock sounded, and he entered the room, smiling at Ella. He hadn't seen the girl during the day, and he disliked separation from her for such a long period.
"I see F. Scott Fitzgerald has thoroughly captured your attention," smiled the butler, scooping up some stray clothes from the floor.
"Simply delightful book," said Ella, sliding the ripped envelope she had been using as a bookmark into the pages.
"Delightful?" asked Alfred, tidying the things scattered on Ella's dresser. "And since when do you use the word 'delightful'?"
"I dunno," shrugged Ella, tossing her book onto the bedside table and standing up. "Can I go see Dad?"
"May," corrected Alfred. "Yes, go on."
Ella raced towards the door but stopped, spinning on her heel. She ran back and threw her arms around Alfred, burying her face in his shoulder. "Ah, Alfred!" she said, breathing in his scent of strong tea and fabric softener. "I love you."
Alfred wrapped his arms around the girl, a flush of warmth spreading through his chest, "And you are loved more than you can fathom, my dear."
A quick squeeze and then Ella pushed back, grinning broadly. She ran from the room, swinging the door shut a little too hard for Alfred's taste, and hurried off to say goodnight to her father.
Alfred stopped for a moment and stared after her, a million thoughts running through his head. Most of them were in regards to seeing the staff off for the night and making sure the yard clean-up occurred after the party, but the biggest one kept pressing harder and harder against his unease. Bruce's words from moments before kept replaying over and over through his mind.
"I dunno, Alfred," the younger man had shrugged. "I mean…I could train her. She's strong and agile. Of course, not to be Batman himself. But some sort of sidekick. It's just an idea. Don't get worried."
But now Alfred was very much worried. He had immediately voiced his antipathy of Bruce's idea, and the young man had assured Alfred it was just a crazy scheme and nothing on which he planned to act. But Alfred knew very well Bruce would have never brought it up if it wasn't something more than an idea. Besides that, Bruce had used the word sidekick. That meant that his days as Batman were far from over, and the healing process was not going to be as easy as Alfred had hoped.
The butler sighed. Nothing was easy when it came to Bruce Wayne. And that was why he needed Alfred to keep him on track. As for training Ella…that was a very long discussion the butler and billionaire would be having very soon whether Bruce wanted to or not.
Sidekick.
Ella could do it. Alfred knew the girl was perfectly capable of learning the tricks of the trade, and she would be even more acrobatic than Bruce himself. But she was thirteen-years-old. No child should be learning how to fight criminals from beneath a mask. No, no, no. Absolutely not! Alfred berated himself for even imagining the possibility. No, he was the apparent grown-up in this situation, and Ella Wayne would absolutely not be learning to fight alongside Batman as long as Alfred had anything to do with it.
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Haha. Yeah, we all know what's going to happen next. Good luck, Alfred. Thanks for reading this far! So grateful for all my followers and readers!