Hero's Blood
Chapter Six
December 1st
"Winter has as last come to Gotham. The cold has driven many from the streets, but there are still those with no place to go. By all appearances, it has driven the Falcones into hiding as well. One would think that these men were bears, not gangsters, by their behavior, but I know as well as any what will happen when the bear wakes. I, above all, must be prepared. It seems, though, that we are to have a respite, however short it may be."
A hard wind blew against the windows of Wayne Manor, snow drifting in thick waves across the hillside. Thomas was at his desk, scribbling away in his journal. A warm fire burned in the fireplace, and Winifred was there, as always, with a cup of tea to warm the lord of the house.
"It is good to see you home this evening sir. I had been *kaff*. pardon me. worrying of late."
For the first time in many months, Thomas took a good look at his lifelong friend. Winifred had been a fixture at the Manor for as long as Tomas could remember. The doting Englishman had been there throughout his childhood, watched as he'd grown into man, and had become so permanent a part of his life that he had become, at times, almost unnoticeable in his constant presence. Now though, looking at his aged form, Thomas became keenly aware that he had grown old. The once stern, mannered posture that had been drilled into a young Thomas Wayne now stooped a bit as he laid the tray to rest on the table near the fire.
Thomas laid down his pen and sighed as he contemplated his elderly companion.
"When did it happen, old friend?"
"When did what happen, sir?"
"When did I stop being a boy?"
"We all grow older, sir. We all grow up. I am proud though, as I'm sure your father is, at the man you've become."
"Some times I wonder."
"Don't you worry, sir. I'm sure he smiles down on you with fondness. Even if you've yet to provide him a grandson."
Thomas smiled slightly and ducked his head at the familiar jibe.
"It'll be a good number of years before I'm ready for that, I think."
"Children are good for the soul, I think. They keep a man young. Remind him that there is still a bit of innocence in this world of ours."
Choosing to divert the topic from his own life for a moment, Thomas opened up his desk drawer and pulled out a stamp-laden envelope.
"Speaking of which, I took the liberty of collecting the mail this afternoon. I believe this is for you."
With a raised eyebrow, Winifred accepted the letter from Thomas and opened it. As he read the first lines, the old man's eyes lit up and a broad grin crossed his face, ordinarily so immutable as to be mistaken for stone.
"I presume it's from either Alfred or Wilfred, from your reaction."
"Indeed, sir. Alfred writes me from London. He cannot quite say what he has been about of late, some big hush-hush, supposedly. It seems he's a bit worried by events on the mainland. Some upstart in Germany making a mess of things. His job at the ministry goes well, though, and he assures me that he will be home to visit soon."
The unspoken words that passed between the two men were plain enough to Thomas. The look on Winifred's face, one of deep, abiding concern. A fear that something would happen to his boy. Even as an old man, whose sons were long since grown, he felt they were somehow his responsibility. Perhaps, Thomas thought to himself, this is why my sense of duty to Gotham is so keen. We all have that ability within us, to care so intensely that the thought of harm coming to that which we love is unbearable.
Love, he thought. So much power in such a simple sounding word. He turned back to the manservant, still drinking in his son's words.
"I think that'll be all tonight, Winifred. You should turn in. Say hello to Margaret for me."
The old man nodded and shuffled away, leaving Thomas alone with his thoughts of love.
Johhny ran through the alley alone, his threadbare coat wrapped around him tightly in an attempt to ward off the cold. He had to find her, he had to. She was his responsibility, he was supposed to take care of her.
Johnny's scream was muffled against the glove that clamped around his mouth, catching in mid-stride.
"Well, well. The other one. How good of you to save me the trouble of coming looking for you. I do so appreciate it."
Johnny went limp as the chloroform-soaked rag was placed to his face. His assailant hummed softly as he tossed the small boy into the back of his car and drove off, leaving only Johnny's scarf in the alley.
Chapter Six
December 1st
"Winter has as last come to Gotham. The cold has driven many from the streets, but there are still those with no place to go. By all appearances, it has driven the Falcones into hiding as well. One would think that these men were bears, not gangsters, by their behavior, but I know as well as any what will happen when the bear wakes. I, above all, must be prepared. It seems, though, that we are to have a respite, however short it may be."
A hard wind blew against the windows of Wayne Manor, snow drifting in thick waves across the hillside. Thomas was at his desk, scribbling away in his journal. A warm fire burned in the fireplace, and Winifred was there, as always, with a cup of tea to warm the lord of the house.
"It is good to see you home this evening sir. I had been *kaff*. pardon me. worrying of late."
For the first time in many months, Thomas took a good look at his lifelong friend. Winifred had been a fixture at the Manor for as long as Tomas could remember. The doting Englishman had been there throughout his childhood, watched as he'd grown into man, and had become so permanent a part of his life that he had become, at times, almost unnoticeable in his constant presence. Now though, looking at his aged form, Thomas became keenly aware that he had grown old. The once stern, mannered posture that had been drilled into a young Thomas Wayne now stooped a bit as he laid the tray to rest on the table near the fire.
Thomas laid down his pen and sighed as he contemplated his elderly companion.
"When did it happen, old friend?"
"When did what happen, sir?"
"When did I stop being a boy?"
"We all grow older, sir. We all grow up. I am proud though, as I'm sure your father is, at the man you've become."
"Some times I wonder."
"Don't you worry, sir. I'm sure he smiles down on you with fondness. Even if you've yet to provide him a grandson."
Thomas smiled slightly and ducked his head at the familiar jibe.
"It'll be a good number of years before I'm ready for that, I think."
"Children are good for the soul, I think. They keep a man young. Remind him that there is still a bit of innocence in this world of ours."
Choosing to divert the topic from his own life for a moment, Thomas opened up his desk drawer and pulled out a stamp-laden envelope.
"Speaking of which, I took the liberty of collecting the mail this afternoon. I believe this is for you."
With a raised eyebrow, Winifred accepted the letter from Thomas and opened it. As he read the first lines, the old man's eyes lit up and a broad grin crossed his face, ordinarily so immutable as to be mistaken for stone.
"I presume it's from either Alfred or Wilfred, from your reaction."
"Indeed, sir. Alfred writes me from London. He cannot quite say what he has been about of late, some big hush-hush, supposedly. It seems he's a bit worried by events on the mainland. Some upstart in Germany making a mess of things. His job at the ministry goes well, though, and he assures me that he will be home to visit soon."
The unspoken words that passed between the two men were plain enough to Thomas. The look on Winifred's face, one of deep, abiding concern. A fear that something would happen to his boy. Even as an old man, whose sons were long since grown, he felt they were somehow his responsibility. Perhaps, Thomas thought to himself, this is why my sense of duty to Gotham is so keen. We all have that ability within us, to care so intensely that the thought of harm coming to that which we love is unbearable.
Love, he thought. So much power in such a simple sounding word. He turned back to the manservant, still drinking in his son's words.
"I think that'll be all tonight, Winifred. You should turn in. Say hello to Margaret for me."
The old man nodded and shuffled away, leaving Thomas alone with his thoughts of love.
Johhny ran through the alley alone, his threadbare coat wrapped around him tightly in an attempt to ward off the cold. He had to find her, he had to. She was his responsibility, he was supposed to take care of her.
Johnny's scream was muffled against the glove that clamped around his mouth, catching in mid-stride.
"Well, well. The other one. How good of you to save me the trouble of coming looking for you. I do so appreciate it."
Johnny went limp as the chloroform-soaked rag was placed to his face. His assailant hummed softly as he tossed the small boy into the back of his car and drove off, leaving only Johnny's scarf in the alley.