congestive heart failure at his family home in Gotham City. Heir to the Wayne Corp.
fortune, he was orphaned after the shooting deaths of his parents, Thomas and Martha
Wayne. After college, he became the most infamous bachelor of Gotham high society,
courting debutantes to the point of engagement, and then suddenly appearing at a
gala event with someone new. After the Wayne-Powers merger, he disappeared from
the public eye for over twenty years, then to re-emerge and take back his company.
During that time, he was seen accompanied almost exclusively by his assistant, young
Terry McGinnis. Bruce Wayne was eighty-five years old.
"I can't keep pigging out like this with you!" Max was exasperated.
She
sent her black pencil skirt sailing out of the closet. "Nothing fits, and
it's
all your fault with the muffins, and Italian food, and - especially the damn
muffins!"
Jared ducked sheepishly, trying to avoid her murderous glare. She took out her
roomiest
pants, which thankfully slid smoothly over her thighs, and exhaled in relief.
The
rest would be easy: her black mules, plum-colored shirt, and black jacket completed
her outfit, then she and Jared, finishing off her bagel, left her apartment.
When they arrived, people were still filing in. Jared and Max found Terry,
Melanie
and Barbara in the front pews, the ones reserved for family members. They greeted
each other with long hugs. Terry's face was pale and his eyes were dark and
slightly
puffy - his was the stricken, pained look of the grieving. Melanie, looking
tired,
stood close to him, and clutched his hand as they took their seats.
Several people came forward to speak on Bruce's behalf. Among them were a priest
who, in his first years out of seminary, met Bruce at a soup kitchen near the
waterfront;
and Melanie's old boss, Artie Quinzel, who attested for his part in turning
his
mother's fortunes around by helping her leave her abusive relationship and get
job
training.
Next was a handsome, silver-haired man, who walked with eyes straight ahead
to the
podium.
"When I was nine, my parents died. And while the circus was like a family
to
me, it couldn't be my guardian. So I had no one. Yet Bruce, who hardly knew
me,
came forward as my foster parent, and then my adoptive father. You must understand,
this was a man with no significant ties to anyone else - no children, no wife,
serious
girlfriend - with a lifestyle that didn't accomodate the demands of a growing
boy.
Yet he made the enormous commitment to raise me as his own.
"It was an unconventional arrangement, sure, but it worked for us. And
of course,
we had our differences, and countless stupid fights along the way. I thought
he
was overbearing, rigid, and demanding. He thought I was foolish and stubborn.
And
as many young men with strong fathers do, I moved away from home, partly to
see
what I could become, away from his shadow.
"Whether I like it or not, I must admit that, because of Bruce's guidance
and values,
I have become the person who stands before you today. Bruce, I know you're up
there
gloating about being right, yet again," Dick paused as a light wave of
laughter
passed over the audience. Terry squeezed Mel's hand. "But as much as I'd
hate
to admit it, the man was right about a lot of things, and wasn't so much trying
to turn me into a Mini-Him, but that was how he did fatherly guidance and concern.
As an old man, I see that now.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I have wasted too many years nursing a grudge against
Bruce Wayne. And now I am sorry for all the time I lost out of anger."
Dick
paused for a moment - he didn't like how his voice had started quavering. "Unfortunately
there is nothing I can do about it. But if I could tell you anything today,
it would
be to not squander your life - even a minute of it - trying to make your loved
ones
pay for the pain you feel. For in the end, the cost is too great, and while
love
exposes your heart to great pain, the pain of love cannot kill you. So don't
be
afraid. Thank you." As he returned to his seat, Dick nodded at his grandson
and laid a hand briefly on Terry's shoulder.
Now it was Tery's turn. Melanie gave his hand one last squeeze, and he approached
the front.
"What if I told you that the Bruce Wayne I knew was a sentimental old
man who
believed everyone deserved a second - or hundredth - chance?" He paused.
He
thought he could do this, but damn, he wanted to cry.
"I was a punk kid when I met Bruce. He knew it, too. And while part of
him
regarded me as a punk kid, the larger part of him offered me a job. And I screwed
up a thousand times, but he never gave up on me. Sure he told me - in microscopic
detail - about my screw-ups, but he kept letting me try again, and risk failing.
"Here was a man who never forgot about his parents, who took in orphaned
kids
- even took in a homeless dog - but hid his generous spirit under gruff words
and
that evil LOOK," he paused. Laughter shook the back of the room, then hushed.
Those must be the Justice Leaguers, he thought to himself with a half-smile.
"Here was a guy who had every reason to be mad at the world - hell, when
my
parents divorced, I wanted the world to pay, but his died in front of his eyes
-
well, he didn't exactly go out for revenge, he went out to make the world a
better
place. To protect others less-fortunate. Except he didn't want anyone to know
about
his good deeds.
"There are things - priveleges, responsibilities - that Bruce left for
me.
Things I think he meant for me long before today, and I confess, I have mixed
feelings
about them. The fact that he would, he would, trust -" Terry turned slightly
and put a hand over his quivering mouth, hoping no one could see his shoulders
shaking.
Melanie rushed silently to his side and, behind the podium, took his hand. Terry
glanced at her thankfully, and took a deep breath.
"The fact that he would trust me with his vision is tremendous and a huge
honor.
But at the same time, how can I be worthy of it? How can I fill the spot vacated
by him?" he felt a lump growing in his throat again. Better make himself
laugh.
No, can't think of anything funny, fuck it...
"I'm going to miss him," he declared, tears runing brightly from
his clear
blue eyes. "The jabbing insults, the nasty glares, the unreasonable demands
- but especially his patience, his friendship - Bruce, the last thing you told
me
was that I was the right one for the job, and that I should trust your judgement
if I should ever have my doubts. Well, old man, that's going to be every day,
because
you are a hard one to follow, and I can't believe - I can't believe - that you
-
you were - were proud of me," his shoulders shook as he bowed his
head into
his free hand. Melanie wiped away a tear of her own, put an arm around his shoulders,
and took them back to their seats. Terry could only glance at his friends, but
saw
Barbara dabbing at red eyes, and Max hid her face in her hands. "Sorry
for
that," he mumbled, before Max enveloped him in a tight embrace.
After a few moments, the priest rose to give Communion. Terry let the familiar
words
wash over him.
"...Before he was put to death, a death he freely accepted..."
I'm getting too old for this. Melanie remembered her conversation with
Bruce in
the hospital. He had made up his mind that day.
"Take this, for it is my body..." Let me show you something. The image of Bruce's scarred body burned in Max's brain.
"...Do this in memory of me."
I will, Terry's mind whispered.
As he returned from receiving Communion, a rush of air fluttered his hair. Terry looked around, but saw nothing. Then he noticed a folded sheet of paper in his lap. He scowled - a habit he surely picked up from his mentor - and saw a hastily penned message:
We are here for you.
It wasn't signed, but he glanced back at the suspicious-looking row of conspicuously inconspicuous people. They waved. There are superheroes sitting behind me, Terry smiled to himself, as he nodded back to them.
"Go in peace, My peace I give you."
Fin
+++++++++++++++++++
A/N I am not suggesting that Batman is the Son of God. No, that would
be
crazy talk, and would also bar me from the Kingdom of God. If anything, I am
saying,
spirituality-wise, that in Christianity, the job God gave us is to be "bread"
for one another. That is, we must nourish and sustain each other by sacrificing
parts of ourselves, perhaps by being more generous, more forgiving, more whatever.
And IMHO, Bruce Wayne, while a very imperfect individual, did just that, to
the
best of his abilities. OK. So don't tell the pope on me, OK? ;-)