The black mustang pulled up outside the large 18th century manor house. Vines crawled across the entirety of it's façade, constricting and trapping the crumbling stone and looking almost like it was holding the place together. That may even have been the case.

Bruce Wayne stepped out of the driver's side door, moving round to the passenger side and opening the door. Alfred slowly extended his cain out of the door. The car was lower than he was used to, though he was thankful it wasn't the black Lamborghini he'd seen Bruce drive off in the night before. There was no way he'd have been able to get out of that car.

"Roberts said he'd arrive with the rest of your things later this evening." Bruce said as he moved to the rear of the car, popping the trunk and pulling out an old brown leather suitcase, looking at it for a moment before closing the trunk "You sure you've got enough in here for the time being? Getting everything as you want it could take a couple of days and-"

"It'll be fine, lad." Alfred cut him off as they started making their way to the stone steps to the house's entrance "Where are my quarters?"

"Same place as it was when you left." Bruce replied "I had them clean it up for you but to be honest, no one's really been in there since then."

Alfred was hardly surprised at the statement. Following Bruce's Parents' death, he could count on one hand the number of times Bruce had entered the master bedroom. The boy was nothing if not haunted by the ghosts of the past.

"And where is your room now?" Alfred asked, getting no response as he inferred "Still staying away from the master bedroom then?"

"My bedroom's more than big enough." Bruce said, opening the large oak door for Alfred "It's the size of most of the apartments in Gotham. Much more space than one man needs."

"You could always convert the place." Alfred suggested as Bruce closed the door behind them "Your mother's grandparents' house was converted into that asylum, you could have this place renovated and converted. Maybe into something your Dad would approve of. A hospital maybe?"

"You mean like the Thomas Wayne Memorial Hospital down in Park Row?" Bruce asked "Doctor Thompkins does well enough with the facilities there, and they're much more up to date than what could be installed in this place. Besides, major renovations aren't high on my priorities at the moment."

"And what is, Mr. Wayne?" Alfred asked as they reached the bottom of the stairs "You said you're working on something. What is it?"

Bruce paused, apparently considering whether to discuss the matter now. After a few moments, he spoke up.

"We'll talk about it later, over dinner." He said with a nod as he began walking up the stairs with the case "You can ask me whatever you want and I can find out what you've been doing all these years."

"You mean since you sacked me and kicked me to the curb?" Alfred noted.

"Yeah. Since then." Bruce grimaced slightly "Come on, I'll show you to your room and let you get settled in."

Bruce didn't say another word for the two minutes longer it took to get up the stairs and down the west wing corridor to Alfred's living quarters. Once they reached the room, Bruce simply set the case down on the chair by the dressing table and left the room. Alfred had recognised the expression on Bruce's face when he'd reminded the young men of the circumstances of his departure. It was one Alfred hadn't seen from the young man in over twenty years, since the night his parents had died.

Guilt.

….

Bruce walked into the study, moving to the left hand book case. He ran a finger along the books on the middle shelf, all of them leather bound journals with handwritten labels on them. Finally, he reached the red one marked "The Personal Journal of Thomas Wayne."

Bruce removed the book from the shelf, moving to the desk and setting the book down gently, before delicately opening to the handwritten contents page. He traced his finger down the index, before reaching what he was looking for; "For Bruce, in the event of my death."

He flipped through the pages until he reached the one indicated by the contents page. He'd done this so many times, he could have done so without reading it, but it had become almost a morbid ritual by this stage.

He took a deep breath, before looking down and beginning to read the page;

"My dearest Bruce,

If you are reading these words, it means one of two things. Either you are every bit as mischievous as I was as a boy or I am no longer with you, for which I apologise profusely. I hope that I lived to a ripe old age, that I lived to see you graduate high school and college, to see you find a profession that fulfils me as much as my work as a Doctor with Leslie and Roger has fulfilled me. To see you fall in love, get married and have children of your own.

I know I will have made countless mistakes with you, son, as my Father made with me, and as I am sure you will make with your own children. When we're children, we view our parents as perfect, but they never are. No one is. But, in spite of that, to me, you are, and I know that's a contradiction. Your Mother would kill me for risking giving you the ego complex that comes with being called perfect, but I look at you and that is what I see. Perfection.

I'd like to say this letter is just to tell you how much I love you, and that is a part of it. But another part of it is to tell you what I want done following my death. Obviously, you are my sole beneficiary. The money, the house, the company, it's all yours, with no strings attached. However, I have some requests for you, son.

First of all, don't rest on your laurels. Our family's legacy has always been to work to improve Gotham wherever we can, and I would ask that you honour that legacy. You will face great challenges in doing so, and I ask, no, I beg that you be strong in the face of those challenges. That you never give up and that you be the great man your Mother and I know you can be. Don't just waste your money on fast cars, outrageous clothes, and the pursuit of a destructive lifestyle. Do something that matters with your life. However, that is not the most important thing.

This city and the people in it have done so much for our family, Bruce. Never forget that and please, never abandon them or this city to fate. Use your money and resources to help people, to help those that cannot help themselves. Most of all, remember all of those who have helped us over the years. Leslie will always make sure you're healthy, as she has me. She's the finest physician I've ever had the honour of working with, though please, don't tell her that. Ego is the enemy of success.

However, the person who has always helped this family most is Alfred. He has been my friend and confidant since before you were born. I'm aware of the rumours about his having had an affair with your Mother, something she herself told me many years ago. However, that was not either of their faults. It was a difficult time for our family, and I was not the husband or friend either of them deserved. The details of the events that led to the affair can be found in pages 101 to 117 of this book, should you wish to know them.

What I'm saying, Bruce, is that as much as we have asked Alfred to take care of you in the event of our deaths, I am asking you to take care of him. I know you'll be angry to know of what occurred between him and your Mother, and I know how you struggle with your emotions at times, but I implore you, Bruce. Don't let them get the better of you.

Now, rather than trying to be the intellectual I don't feel myself to be, I will instead leave you with a passage from the poem Ulysses by Tennyson;

'Though much is taken, much abides; and though

We are not now that strength which in old days

Moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are;

One equal temper of heroic hearts,

Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will

To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.'

Never give in in the face of adversity. You can be Gotham's White Knight.

Love always,

Your Father, Thomas."

Bruce set the book down, tears welling in his eyes. He'd failed his Father's request regarding Alfred. He had failed to look after the man. It was not a mistake he intended to repeat going forward. However, he needed to know the circumstances that had led to the affair that was mentioned.

Unfortunately, it was not that simple. He flipped back to where page 101 should be, instead finding a mass of hastily torn out pages, causing the numbers to go from 100 to 118. Someone had removed the pages in question to keep him from finding something out about his family. All he knew from the dates on the pages was that the events happened somewhere between the 9th of July 1990 and the 10th of August 1990. Something had happened between those dates that someone didn't want him to know, and he would find out what. First, though, he wanted to fulfil his Father's other wish. He wanted to work to improve Gotham, in a way only someone with his money and resources could.

That was why he'd gone travelling, after that night in the study when he was 18. The night where the bat had crashed through the window. At first, he'd been terrified of the creature, a holdover from when he fell into the well on the grounds as a boy. However, he'd quickly realised that this creature that instilled so much terror in him could serve as his way to fulfil his Father's wish.

Yes. That was it. He would become a bat.