:)

I know that previously I had said that Mary was John Grayson's fiancee, but I realized that would have thrown off my whole timeline, so I went back and changed it to wife.

Thank you so much for Reading and Please Review!

Chapter 29: A Better Life

Haly's Circus, (Current Stop) Rouen France, August 1844

—John Grayson,

"Again, again!"

The toddler laughed as he sat perched on the lowered trapeze swing.

"Hold on tight my darling."

The sound of joyous squeals grew as the little boy was pushed on the swing by his adoring mother.

"Higher Mummy, higher!" He begged with bright eyes.

"So, you want to fly? Alright my little robin, I shall give you wings."

Joining her son on the swing she raised them high into the air. With one hand firmly holding her little robin, the other grasping the cold bar of the swing they went soaring through the air, marveling at the complete lack of fear and pure delight on his small face.

From outside the practice tent John watched with a warm smile, his attention torn between the endearing scene, the job he was trying to complete, and the complaining teenager who had sought him out to listen to his woes.

"I can't take it anymore Johnny, I'm telling you I've had enough! Traveling non-stop with hardly a chance to catch our breath before it's on to the next town. Lousy pay, bad food, the whole train smells like elephant dung and old peanuts, and last night one of the chimps got loose and wound up sleeping with me in my bed!"

"Was it your first time Pete?" the older man laughed at the teenager while he continued to knot the ropes he was weaving into a new net.

"I'm serious Grayson, I'm done. I have half a mind to go to Haly right now and tell him I quit! I mean what kind of life is this?"

Exasperated the eighteen-year-old kicked a large crate that held the juggler's equipment. He quickly regretted his action as he nearly broke a toe.

Still laughing, John helped the boy sit on the crate before going back to his work.

"What do you want to do Pete?"

The boy's eyes lit up.

"I want to be a sailor!" He exclaimed, visions of adventure springing into his mind. "That's a life for a man!"

"Life at sea can be hard too."

"That's right, you were a sailor, weren't you?"

John nodded as he counted his length of rope, making sure he hadn't misjudged the amount.

"I was, so was my father, and his father before him. I was practically raised on a boat; can't say I remember much else."

"How did you end up here?"

"Same old story, boy meets girl, boy falls in love."

Pete glanced at the open practice tent.

"Your wife, Mary's the reason you joined the circus?"

"In a manner of speaking. We were just kids when we met, about your age. We wanted to get married but neither of our families were too keen on the idea."

"Is it because she's a gypsy?" Pete asked, lowering his voice.

John calmly raised his head, making deliberate eye contact with the teenager.

"She's Roma," John corrected. "Gypsy is short for Egyptian, but they didn't come from Egypt. They came from India."

Pete had the decency to look sheepish.

"But yes, that was why. She was Roma, and I wasn't. We ran off together, our families disowned us, but the circus welcomed us in. Haly didn't care who we were so long as we kept our noses clean and were willing to work. We learned the trade and became acrobats."

"Have you been here ever since?" Pete asked, trying to understand the appeal of continuing in this life.

"No. The circus was good to us, gave us a family, but you're right Pete, a man will never become rich from it. I was frustrated, felt like I was letting Mary down cuz I couldn't give her the kind of life I wanted to. So, when an opportunity presented itself, I went back to sea and Mary stayed here."

"What kind of opportunity?"

John laughed at the boy's eager face.

"Don't get yer hopes up Pete, it was a rare offer. Some rich toff who wanted to learn how to sail and was willing to pay through the nose. I made more in a month working for him than three in the circus. There were no hard feelings though, Haly promised to look after Mary till I had saved enough to buy us a place."

"If the deal was so good why did you come back?"

John turned again to the practice tent, a fond smile on his face as the sound of a toddler's laughter drifted to his ears.

"While I was on a boat at sea, I became a father on land. When I heard the news, I was more determined than ever to save every penny I could. To give my son a better life than I ever had."

He studied the rope in his hands, a look of regret passing over his face.

"He was over a year old before I got to see him. He was everything I had imagined and more…but he didn't know who I was, his own father and he had no clue…"

He began to twist the ropes together to make them stronger.

"When I went back to the boat I began to think. I thought about the life I had planned for him, the life I wanted for him. And then I wondered, was it a better life if I wasn't in it?"

It grew quiet.

"So, you came back for your son?"

John nodded.

"He may never go to school, his clothes will probably have to be patched to keep out the cold, and the world might never know his name."

A warm smiled lit up his face.

"But I wanted to know my boy. I wanted him to have a father to remember, so that one day when he looks back, he'll know that his father loved him, and gave him a better life."

"Da!" a young voice excitedly cried.

With a huge grin on his face, John held out his arms to the toddler running towards him. Tossing him into the air the boy laughed and looked adoringly back at his father.

"Dick!" His father laughed, hugging his son close. "Have you been a good boy for yer Mum?"

"Uh-huh!" Dick nodded enthusiastically. "We flew!"

"Did you now?" John asked giving his wife a skeptical glance as she walked towards them.

"The youngest member of The Flying Graysons has to start training sometime." She said with a guilty smile.

"But at two-years-old Mary?" John questioned.

His wife laughed and kissed her son's cheek, running a hand over his dark hair.

"Look at him John, he's got his Mum's brown eyes and his Da's reckless charm. Your son is a born showman."

"Really? Well then," John tossed the boy in the air again, eliciting a stream of giggles, "Richard John Grayson, would you like to fly again?"

City of Gotham, Kent England August 1844

—Commissioner James Gordon,

Was it worth it? He wondered as he looked at the sheet-covered bodies lined up on the ground.

The fire had thankfully been contained before spreading to the other buildings in the tenement row, but those on the top floors had found their escape cut off when the ceiling collapsed, blocking the stairs.

A few lucky ones had jumped out the windows. They were alive now, several badly broken bones and burns, but alive. But for the fifteen people crammed into the back apartment, where only three were supposed to live, there had been no way out.

The victims of unscrupulous landlords who lied to the authorities and overcrowded their renters in order to squeeze more money from a well that had run dry.

These people had come to Gotham searching for a better life. Would they still have thought it was worth it?

This group had just been some of the many that flooded into the rapidly growing city over the past thirty years. The overwhelming population growth had left the city busting at the seams and straining to accommodate them all.

They came from all over. Displaced Irish, Scots, and Welsh, immigrants from the Empire looking for more opportunities in the "mother country".

Jews fleeing persecution or searching for a more tolerant climate, shady characters, and con artists looking to get rich quick in the booming industrial scene.

Retired soldiers and sailors with no skills for trade, landless farmers, and runaways. Disgraced women and wayward girls looking for work away from London's prying eyes.

Poor artists and paupers of all sorts, and an ever-increasing number of Europeans that had found themselves being squeezed out by rising nationalist fervor at home.

All vying for work and food. The city beginning to segregate among the various groups as old tensions rose and money was consolidated.

The factories filled just as quickly as they were built. Shoddy tenements springing up along the river and growing outward as new buildings seemed to appear overnight. Some of them legally built, most of them not.

Mob bosses and hit men ran the lower sections of the city while the old money controlled the social scene and kept the poor in their place. Add in a few crazy lunatic criminals who seemed to find no greater joy than causing chaos and bloodshed to tie the whole thing together and the growing cesspool that was the City of Gotham was born.

One thing remained the same though. As the city strained and struggled against itself one truth remained constant, as the poor population grew so too did the wealth of the rich, feeding off it like a cancerous infestation.

Some of the scrappy or unscrupulous entrepreneurs did make it big, but most did not.

Still, the new money brought its own set of problems as they found themselves shut out by the elites, and a spending battle of extravagance ensued. Each trying to outdo the other and prove their value to the world, and probably themselves.

The waste of it all was sickening when so many in the city were dying of starvation, disease, lack of sanitation, and crime.

Gordon took off his spectacles and rubbed his eyes as he made his way back to the wagon, giving the coroner a chance to do his work.

He was tired, he was so tired.

Jim had worked so hard to try and protect this city, given more to it than he had his own family. He felt a deep ceded guilt at that reminder. But it wasn't enough.

His hands were tied by the money and mob, both vying for control. He wasn't free to truly do what it would take to clean up the streets and keep the people safe.

Maybe no one could.

He glanced back at the row of bodies as a loud clap of thunder rolled and the heavens broke with an onslaught of rain.

A better life, that was all they had wanted…a better life.

Wayne Castle, Kent England August 1844

—Alfred Pennyworth,

Alfred smiled as he oversaw the opening of another crate of treasures the Duke had sent from Italy.

"Careful Howard, we wouldn't want to nick anything."

"Yes, Mister Pennyworth."

The dignified butler continued to supervise the footman who was carefully prying the lid off with a hammer and chisel.

A group of housemaids, footmen, and kitchen staff began to gather around, eager to see what the ducal couple had sent back this time.

"Got it!" Howard exclaimed, eliciting a cheer from the crowd.

"Well done lad," Alfred praised, giving the young man a pat on the back. "Samuel, give us a hand with the unveiling."

The trio made quick work of dismantling the crate, revealing a medium-sized painting wrapped in canvas.

"I wonder what it could be this time?" a maid named Anne said.

"Probably another landscape," someone replied.

"My money is on one of those myth paintings. Remember the last one had a lady wrapped in nuthin but 'a bed sheet?" commented a footman named Frank, rubbing his hands together eagerly.

"I'll bet you a shilling it's something biblical." Added his friend.

"Make it three!"

The sound of Alfred clearing his throat brought the chatter to a stand-still.

"I would remind you, gentlemen, that this is a respectable house and there will be no gambling while you are employed under its roof."

He cast a withering look at the two young men who quickly looked at their shoes with great interest.

A mumbled chorus of "Yes Sir," and "Sorry Sir," came from the guilty parties, who were sweating under Alfred's stern gaze.

"Very good. Now, let us see what we have here?"

The butler pulled down the canvas and a murmured gasp of appreciation went up from the group.

It was a portrait of the newlyweds.

Bruce stood in the background in white tie and tails, his expression dignified and commanding, one hand held behind his back, while the other rested on his wife's shoulder.

More than one of the maids took their time admiring the handsome figure. They were eager to catch a better look in person, curious to see if he lived up to the image.

Selina sat in the foreground wearing a stunning jade green gown that drew the viewer to her painted eyes. Her hair was in a high bun and the Wayne family tiara rested on her head. Platinum and diamonds with eleven ornamental spikes topped with emeralds, replacing the rubies that had previously adorned it. Clearly, the Duke had had it remained to better suit his new Duchess.

Her expression held an aura of mystery and beckoning. There was a barely perceptible smirk on her lips that seemed to be laughing. But whether her image laughed at or with you one could not tell for certain.

"It's lovely," Anne breathed, the rest nodding in agreement.

"Indeed," Alfred concurred, his eyes misting over as he began to read the note attached to the frame.

The portrait was eerily similar to that of Master Bruce's parents' which hung in the main sitting room. This new interpretation had an echo of longing that clung to it, a desire to recreate the nostalgia of the original.

"Where does His Grace want it Mr. Pennyworth?" Samuel asked.

Alfred refolded the note, tucking it into his breast pocket.

"Second floor, north corridor, I'll take it from there. Quickly now we have lots to do. The rest of you back to your duties, there is limited time to get the house ready before the Lord and Lady return."

Having dismissed the staff Alfred followed the painting upstairs.

The note had simply asked that the butler find a suitable place to hang the portrait. The logical solution would be the main sitting room, but Alfred knew Master Bruce would never consent to move his parents' painting. But it didn't matter, he had the perfect spot in mind.

It took a bit longer than he had anticipated to hang it without help but he managed. Now the Wayne family's caretaker took a step back and proudly admired his work.

The portrait hung over the marble fireplace in Master Bruce's bedroom, where Alfred hoped it would be a daily reminder of the happiness.

A moment of apprehension came over the older gentleman as he continued to stare at the painting. Thinking of the boy he had done his best to raise, the man he cared for like a son.

Alfred had had little choice but to stand back and watch all these years as Master Bruce ran.

Trapped in his grief from a young age the boy had studied languages, boxing, fencing, strategy, read more books than one could imagine, all with seemingly no goal but with fervor and fear that worried his guardian.

Alfred knew that his surrogate son had been searching. Searching for a way to keep his oath to his dead parents, a means to deal with his survivor's guilt, and a way to bring some meaning back into his bleak and broken world. But despite his obsessiveness, he had never found a way to make any of those things a reality, driving the boy deeper and deeper within himself.

It was because he knew his pain because he could see this aimless struggle, that the faithful butler had not fought him, but allowed Bruce to pursue anything that might gain his interest.

In the beginning, he was just relieved that the boy showed an interest in something besides staring at the wall and refusing food so he had readily helped in any way he could. But as time went on and the obsession only increased Alfred began to think again about supporting Master Bruce's "distractions."

He had felt a modicum of relief when the young man had entered university, deciding to study medicine like his late father. Alfred had hoped that this would bring him a sense of self and purpose that might finally end all his running and isolation. Maybe he'd finally break free from the darkness that dwelt deep inside.

But then he'd dropped out and told Alfred in no uncertain terms that he was going to travel the world, learning to sail, and visiting the east…and so he left.

Without any knowledge of where he might be or if he were still alive, Alfred kept watch, faithfully caring for the house, and praying that his boy was safe. e

The butler waited alone in that castle for five long years. Anxiously awaiting every irregular letter, scrambling for word of those sparse visits to Clark or Oliver, longing that one of them might be to visit himself.

Still, he never gave up the belief that his young charge would return to his ancestral home for good, and now it seemed his faith had finally been rewarded.

Master Bruce was married, he was coming home, and hopefully, this whole business of oaths and missions could, at last, be laid to rest once and for all.

Perhaps now his boy could find happiness…would realize that he still deserved to.

Alfred looked at the couple painted before him, knowing how happy the late Duke and Duchess would have been to see their son starting a family of his own…he just prayed that this time it would be a happy ending.

"Now Master Bruce, make a better life."

Kent Townhouse, London England August 1844

—Clark Kent,

He missed his father.

Clark wished he could have just one more conversation, one more moment with his Pa. He needed to ask for his advice, to feel the love and comfort that always came with his presence. To know that there was someone he could lean on when questioning what the right thing was to do.

He felt his wife place gentle hands on his shoulders, taking some of the tension away.

"Are you sure?" he asked softly.

She increased the pressure on his shoulders, slowly rubbing them, trying to pass her strength and reassurance to him.

"I'm sure Farmboy. I never wear it anyway; I prefer the laurel tiara if I have to walk around like a decorated wedding cake."

He snorted at her joke and her lips curled into a small smile, taking it as a good sign that he would get through this, would not lose that ever hopeful resilience that she found both infuriating and admirable.

"I'm so sorry Lois…I never wanted to involve you in this…didn't want you to worry, to suffer."

Lois's brow creased as she moved in front of her husband. Kneeling next to his chair she placed her hands on his forearm, tightening her grip until he looked her in the eye.

"Now you listen to me Clark Kent. I am not some weak or docile lady who needs to be protected from the facts."

She paused, making sure he was hearing what she said.

"I am your wife. I'm your partner, in everything… for better for worse, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer…This was my idea, and I won't regret it."

He appeared so weary and defeated. He tried to look away, but she tightened her grip on his arm, making him return her gaze.

"I know you feel like you are supposed to handle this all on your own," her voice softened. "I know you just want to protect everyone, to give us all a good life, but you don't have to do it alone. I'm glad you finally told me the truth…I'm not stupid you know."

Lois raised a reproachful eyebrow.

"I have never thought you were stupid." He said.

"I knew months ago how bad our finances are. I was just waiting for you to trust me enough to share it."

Clark looked away.

"I'm not good at looking at the bright side of things," Lois continued, "that's your specialty. But you haven't failed Clark. And I can promise you one thing,"

Impulsively she cupped his cheek with her small hand, turning his face back to hers. "I don't run away from a fight, and we will get through this together."

The longer he looked at Lois's firm set jaw and determined violet eyes the more the weight that had settled on his chest began to lift like she was helping make the burden that was slowly crushing him bearable again. It gave him an inkling of hope that all the sacrifices would be worth it in the end.

He slowly nodded his head.

Giving a reassuring smile she got up from the floor and shook out her skirt before giving him some final instructions.

"Now, you are going to take that circlet, sell it, and pay for the girls' education. It will last far longer and be more valuable to this family than that piece of jewelry ever could."

Lois gave him another reassuring pat on the shoulder, knowing that this decision was still going to be difficult for him, before leaving him alone again.

As an afterthought she shouted, "It's damn heavy anyway!" as she left, bringing a bemused smirk to her husband's face.

Clark looked bleakly at the object in his hands, carefully balancing it on his open palms.

It was beautiful, small, fitting neatly in one of his hands.

The Lonworth Circlet.

Made of gold and white diamonds, crafted into a design of standing pansy flowers on top of a double band of diamonds separated by gold myrtle leaves all the way around.

It had been worn by every bride in the Kent family for the last one hundred and sixty years, including his grandmother, mother, and wife…but not his sister…Kara would never wear it, but she would be better educated than most girls could ever dream to be.

Yes, he had to do this.

"But Ma must never know." He whispered to himself.

His shame would not allow it. He couldn't bear the thought of her knowing how close his father brought them to ruin.

He didn't want his Pa's reputation sullied, especially for his mother. In Clark's eyes Jonathan Kent had been the greatest father he could have asked for, and the kind of man Clark hoped one day he might be. So, he preferred to take the blame for the mess he'd inherited and allow his father's image to be left untarnished.

No, Ma could never know that he had sold his inheritance…to give the girls a better life.