Title: One And Only:
III
Author: D C Luder
Summary: Set four years after the
conclusion of Life Is Good. The Family moves on and...
apart?
Rating: PG 13 for language
Infringements: All
recognizable characters belong to DC Comics, not DC Luder.
Author's
Note: It is highly advisable that you read Time Will Tell and Life Is
Good or you may be a tad bit lost. I am writing this due to the
numerous requests for a sequel. That and I am absolutely obsessed
with the concept of the Bat and Cat living happily ever after.
A/N 2: Selina's "One in six billion" comment is from Fox Mulder in The X-Files (who says it to his true love Dana Scully.... shippy sigh)
V
After seating myself at my cluttered desk, fifteen minutes late and running on zero sleep, I finally managed to pull off the plastic cover of my coffee cup and indulge in Caramel Delight caffeine. Within six sips, the thirty-two-ounce cup was empty and I tossed it at the garbage can that sat overflowing fifteen feet away. Luckily, it landed on the top and did not teeter once.
"Hey Grayson, you work last night?"
I looked up to see Frank Hardy, a fourteen year veteran of the BPD and also the man who was responsible for getting me from the second floor and up with the Detectives "where I belonged." We had worked a few cases together back when I first made sergeant and he said he knew right away I was meant for more.
Today, he looked fairly casual in dark blue jeans and a firm fitting blue polo that did little to hide his beer belly. Most of the detectives were far from their peak physical status and it was all that they could do to survive the bi-yearly physical exams. I was one of the youngest, fittest and fiercest, so I had taken on a variety of nicknames ranging from Richard the Brave to Detective Run 'Em Down.
I looked up at Hardy and shook my head, "Nah, neighbors had some sort of all night party, didn't quiet down until four this morning." White lie. There had been an eight-year-old's slumber party down the hall from me but I had been too busy with never-ending patrols to have been bothered by their giggling and Truth-or-Daring.
"Too bad. From the way you look, no ladies will be swooning over you today. Poor guy," he chuckled as he walked passed me to his own over piled desk.
While awaiting the arrival of Trey, I began the far long put off task of putting my files away. My current caseload had been enormous, but thankfully, pleased with a near one hundred percent solve rate. Bar fights turned lethal, shootouts in the projects, and even an eighty-two year old man who had snuffed out his wife in order to use her social security checks to buy beer. The usual suspects, the usual hassles and then the usual confessions. No elaborate mysteries, people were just stupid.
At ten after eight, Trey Richardson passed through the high entrance of the Detective wing and aimed himself in my direction. I had managed to clear most of my desk and even had time to complete a few reports that had been left over from my last shift. He had the nerve to smile at me as he sat on the corner of my desk, "So, Richie, what are we going to face today?"
"Richie" was his self-proclaimed name for me, seeing how saying "Dick" made him blush.
Again, people were just stupid.
"Well, you get to type up the follow up interviews that you never did before you went on leave, then you get to type up the ones that I had to take while you were on leave and I'm sure I could find some other guys around here that could unload a few of their own follow up interviews for you to type up, as well."
"Whoa," he held his hands up, "Why the feist?"
"Excuse me?"
"The feist. The hostility. Honestly, I don't see how it's my fault that I had to go visit my---."
Hardy passed by and interrupted, "Yeah yeah, your sick, dying mother/brother/pet dog/aunt/cousin. We get the picture rookie, now just type the damned things."
Trey pushed himself off of my desk and turned to face Hardy. At six-five and two hundred and thirty pounds, Hardy made an impressive Goliath next to Trey's five-six and one-sixty-two. He opened his mouth and pointed up at Hardy, then bit his lip and turned back to me, "Say, how about I type up those interviews?"
"That a boy, Trey, I think you're finally getting this."
With him off at his laptop, which was set up on a card table by the windows, I sighed in peace. I contemplated laying on my nearly cleaned off desk for an hour of naptime. Just as I began to loosen my tie, the phone rang and after two rings, I reached over and picked it up, "Detective Grayson."
"Wasn't that formal."
My breath caught in my throat. I couldn't count the times that she called me, or that I called her, just so that we could hear each other's voices. Or the nights that I spent with her voice right in my ear, either when she had been alongside me or through the comm. link. My last count, it had been over a month since I had heard her real voice, and not the one that nagged me in my dreams.
"Barbara," I managed.
"Why are you whispering?" she asked. I could detect no uncertainty or apprehension in her tone. Same old Barbara.
"Uh," I cleared my throat and spoke louder, "Well, I wasn't expecting you." What was with me and the fibbing this morning?
"Who were you?"
"Who was I what?"
She sighed, "Who were you expecting?"
I probably could have blurted out any random name, but I had drawn a blank and only could say, "Well, someone who wasn't you."
"Well, that sure narrows down the list. Listen, Dick, we need to talk, and not over the phone."
"Fine."
"I have plans tonight, how about tomorrow?"
I mentally pictured my schedule for the week. I had plans that night as well, as in heading up to Gotham for a night of Mattie spoiling. Friday was my one clear day of the week, no work, no plans, no nothing. I had planned on sleeping and eating all day, maybe doing a load of wash or something helpful in the upkeep of my apartment.
After a moment, I said, "Tomorrow it is."
V
At half past ten, I met with Ms. Selina in the library for last minute preparations and reassurances.
She and I had somewhat been collaborating over this current project, leaving Master Bruce in the dark, so to speak. I thought it was a grand idea, a way that she could not only spread her wings but to also do good in a field that she cherished so. And seeing how her husband had a negative reaction to anything he had not been initially involved with, I thought it best to side with her.
For the occasion, she had dressed in a long, black silk dress, her mass of hair pinned up expertly and just the faintest dashes of cosmetics. When I entered, she was seated at the broad varnished oak desk, reviewing the various documents she had prepared within the last few days. While he had been away at work, she had taken the opportunity to slave away at her cause in order to be able to face him head on.
I cleared my throat to announce my presence and when she looked up at me, I could not detect any resignation or worry in her fine features. Then again, she had never feared Master Bruce's strong character. If anything, she used it against him.
"Are we ready?" I asked quietly.
She stood, gathered her papers and after putting them in a purple folder, walked up to me and kissed my cheek, "I am now."
She walked briskly, taking long strides and moving quickly. I had already brought the car out front and everything in the house had been tended to for the next few hours. It was difficult to keep up with her, but at the main door, as she pulled open the coat closet, I finally caught up, "Allow me, madam." As I offered my hand, she proceeded to hand over the file.
She retrieved the coat and donned it herself. Once settled, she took it back and smiled at me. "Let's do it."
The drive from Bristol to Midtown was quiet and the traffic was slight. She sat beside me in the front seat, finalizing the order of her papers and charts and reading over each one carefully. I knew she had already memorized each and every fact, but it seemed to comfort her to know the words were there for her.
As we approached the security booth that was at the entrance of the parking area, a tall, curly haired man stepped out and motioned for me to stop. He recognized myself, Ms. Selina and the vehicle and a grin broke out on his face, "Mr. Pennyworth, Mrs. Wayne. If you want you can pull into the VIP parking, just to left of those trees."
I nodded and then proceeded to guide the vehicle in the mentioned direction. Once parked, I stepped out and proceeded to the passenger side and almost moved quickly enough to open the door. Almost. She stepped out, smoothed her coat and then pressed the door shut.
She faced me suddenly and spoke quietly, "Alfred, you don't have to do this, if you don't want to. I mean, I know he thinks that your loyalty lies with him---."
"And it does," I commented.
"Right, but I don't want him to be upset at you, just because you sided with me."
"I've been under his wrath many a time before, Selina, this will be no different."
After passing through the glass doors emblazoned with the all too familiar WE logo, we made our way to the private elevator that was at the end of a row of elevators. I produced the necessary key, inserted it and then depressed the button that called upon the car. The ride up was quiet, but not uncomfortable. When the gilded doors opened, she stepped out confidently and I walked just to the left of her.
The reception lobby was near bare of people. Thursdays were rarely busy in the morning, and I had called ahead to be sure that he had no scheduled appointments before noon. His executive assistant, a lovely young woman named Melinda, grinned as she spotted us, "What a surprise, Selina. Do you want me to call him?"
She leaned over the desk and whispered in the woman's ear. They both laughed quietly and Ms. Selina looked back and winked at me. As Melinda depressed the speaker button on the phone, Ms. Selina removed her coat and handed it off to another assistant. I had not worn one over my two-piece suit and I nodded at the young woman as she paused next to me.
It was then I heard Melinda ask, "Mr. Wayne?"
There was a pause and then his voice replied, "Yes?"
She continued as we approached the doors, "Your eleven 'o clock environmentalist appointment is here."
"My eleven what?"
Before he could find out in the conventional form, Ms. Selina pushed the doors opened and stepped inside. I passed through as well and closed the doors behind me. He was standing beside his desk, his suit coat off revealing a slate blue shirt, dark gray tie and his dark slacks. He hung up the phone and turned to see his guests with a look of confusion, "What's going on, did something happen at school?"
"Keep your shirt on," Ms. Selina stated as she walked over to him, "This is just what Melinda said. An appointment with a environmentalist."
"I don't get it," he looked at me, "What are you doing here?"
"Sir, I would listen to what your wife has to say."
He seated himself on his desk and looked at her once more, "I'm listening, but no one is telling me anything."
Ms. Selina looked back at me and I stepped forward and seated myself in one of three leather chairs. She did the same and cleared her throat before speaking, "Bruce, I want you to take this seriously---."
He interrupted, a bad habit of his when he was upset, "Take what seriously?" She threw him an icy glare and his expression calmed, "Fine, I'm listening."
"In light of our daughter's enrollment in school, I now have a large amount of time available to me to spend any way I please. And thinking about this has given me two options. I could waste your money on shoes and vacations or whatever, or I invest your money in something worthwhile and important to me."
He was about to open his mouth but she stood and shook her head while holding a finger up at him. He closed it and resumed listening to his wife.
"I have been scanning the real estate journals that you subscribe to and I have come across a three hundred and ten acre plot of forest rich mountainside with a natural spring which runs down to an expanse of lake that is included in the acreage. With an abundant amount of natural wildlife in addition to natural shelter and terrain, it is a prime site for a wild cat conservation."
"Wild cats?" he asked.
I spoke up, "Varied large and small species, sir."
"How large is large?" he asked.
Ms. Selina spoke up, "Very large."
She offered him a twenty page plan that I had the liberty of reading over the night before. Her information and detail had been uncanny and something that would surely be able answer any and all concerns that Master Bruce would be able to produce.
"This outlines all aspects of the conservation, from certification with the US Department of Agriculture through training the staff. There are also preliminary designs of the facilities to house the cats, including fencing perimeters and medical facilities. In the back, you'll find a list and descriptions of the varied species that would be accepted into the program and their individual needs."
He took the hefty document and scanned it, turning the pages in a slow, calculated manner. The look on his face was one that I had seen many times as he scanned criminal files in the Cave. When Master Bruce closed the file, he looked up, "And how much is being asked by the Wayne Foundation to sponsor this project?"
"The current estimate is $3.3 million dollars. From there, annual contributions of $500,000 would be necessary to pay the staff, purchase supplies and to maintain the facilities."
His eyebrows barely arched as he spoke, "Lot of zeros."
"Hell of a lot more of them in your check book, last I looked, sweetie."
Master Bruce hesitated, then smiled, "True." He returned to skimming through the document and once he had read through it once more, he looked over at me, "How long have you known about this?"
"I'm not at liberty to say, sir."
Uncharacteristically, he smiled once more. He set the file on his desk and stood. I did the same and stepped beside Ms. Selina. The three of us stood in silence as he contemplated. I had feared the worst and I felt Selina had as well.
He offered her his hand and nodded, "Mrs. Wayne, I accept your proposal."
She took it, shook it briefly and then leapt at him, wrapping her arms around his back, "Thank you, Mr. Wayne."
V
I had been halfway through the introductory paragraph on my Business Ethics thesis when I heard playful screams come down the hall. Shortly after, two sets of footsteps ran by with more squeals and yells. I leaned back on my chair and glanced a look out my opened door. It seemed that there was some sort fun activity that I was missing.
Water gun fight.
I saved what I had typed, all three sentences, before standing and walking over to the door. Hanging onto the door jam, I let my head peer out into the hall just in time to see two short and tank top clad girls chasing each other with toy water guns. One of them was Stacy Kirsch, a native Gothamite who was currently the head cheerleader of our football squad. I didn't recognize the second one, but she had all the makings of a cheer girl. And both of them had wet white tank tops.
I shut the door and returned to my chair, muttering, "Never time for love, wonder boy."
Upon seating myself at the computer, I noticed a blinking indicator at the bottom of the screen. I clicked on it and smiled to see Barbara had instant messaged me, OraBG99: Tim, you there?
I replied quickly, JediTimmy: yep.
OraBG99: Were you going up to the family dinner tonight?
JediTimmy: no, went on monday, didn't know there was another one
OraBG99: Yeah, he's going up tonight, since I went up on Monday.
There was no need to discern who "he" was.
As if on cue, another message box appeared, this one from the man himself, XxDetective007xX: TIMMY! : )
I told Barbara I had to get going and she said she did as well, for she had to get some errands done. I closed the box after promising her to drop by later. She had a new spreadsheet program I wanted to try out for my Data Processing class.
With that out of the way, I typed back to Dick, JediTimmy: aren't u supposed to be at work?
XxDetective007xX: I am, just taking a break from being useful. Aren't you supposed to be in class?
I shook my head as I typed: class? I'm in college, bro, no one goes to class
XxDetective007xX: LOL, yeah, those pillows need company. Listen, are you coming to dinner tonight?
Feinging innoncence, I replied that the same thing that I had told Barbara. He took a minute to reply: Well, listen, if you're free, come up. I don't want to be the only one there besides Bruce, Selina, Alfred and the ankle biter. Besides, I haven't beaten you up in like three weeks.
JediTimmy: try 4, haven't been in gotham in over a month
XxDetective007xX: Tomato, tomahtoe. So will you come?
I told him I would do my best to get up there, but I had an evening class that didn't get out until eight, so if not at dinner, I would definitely see him on the rooftop of the Denmar Apartment building at ten sharp on Saturday. He agreed, and told me that he wouldn't open the can of whoop ass until I got there.
After the pleasant interruption, I returned to my work in hope of actually finishing the first paragraph of my paper. One sentence short, my cell phone chirped out the chorus of Outkast's "Hey Ya" and I leapt up quickly to retrieve it from the charger, "Tim here."
"Hi, it's Selina."
"Oh, hey." It had been the second to last person I suspected to call, Bruce being the last. I grinned, already knowing what she was going to say.
"Listen, we're having another dinner up here at the house if you're free."
"Wow, didn't know. Um, I have a late class, maybe I can make it up for some dessert."
She paused, "That would be great, it's another Alfred and Mattie concoction. I think it's lemon meringue."
"Yum. I'll do my best to get up there."
"All right, we'll see you then."
I hung and said to myself, "Aren't I the popular one."
That was when I realized that Jeff Parker, the guy who lived in the room next to mine, was in my room. He laughed out loud, "You won't be popular if you keep talking to yourself, pal. I'm going to grab some lunch, you free?"
I looked back at my nearly blank Word document and then over at Jeff's relaxed form. He was a fellow Brentwood graduate, although to look at him jock would be anyone's first impression, not future anthropologist. He was nearly as tall as Bruce and just about as fit, too. And with his wavy blonde hair and piercing blue eyes, he was the typical poster boy for an All American College Football QB. In four years, he would have his doctorate and would be a professor of Mediterranean Culture.
If only I was that motivated.
Or tall.
After putting up an Away Message, "Foodage with Jeff", I grabbed my keys and followed him out of my room.
V
"Dad!" I waved as I ran out of the front doors. He was standing a little ways down the sidewalk, towards the parking lot. Mom was with him as well and when I called out her name, she waved and smiled.
She was talking on her phone, but when I ran up to hug her, she spoke to me, "Hi sweetie, how was today?"
"Great! We're going on a field trip to the zoo in October!"
Dad's eyes widened but Mom smiled, "That sounds like fun." And then she returned to her phone, "Listen, I have to go, I'll call before I come down tonight... Bye."
We walked towards the car as a group and I reached up and took each of their hands. Dad asked if I wanted him to carry my backpack but I told him I had it. Once we were in the car and we all had buckled in, Dad backed out of the lot and turned onto the road. After a second, he looked back at me, "So anything happen today?"
I shook my head, "Didn't need my puffer once. And we played kickball during lunch. I made it to third base, Dad. Then Peter caught the ball and my team was out. I almost made it home."
"Almost," he replied. He then turned to Mom, "So when are you heading out for tonight?"
"Where are you going, Mom?" I asked.
She looked back at me before answering me first, then Dad, "I'm going to visit Barbara tonight at her house, and I'll be leaving around eight."
"Will you tuck me in before you go?"
She nodded, "Of course I will."
Her and Dad started talking quietly and turned the radio on a bit so I couldn't hear them well. They did this when they talked about things I wasn't supposed to know about. Grown up things, they called them. I leaned as far as my seat belt would allow, and only could hear a bit about cats and projects. Whatever that meant.
When I sat back, I took out my lunch pail and found my water bottle. After taking a sip, I went to put the cap back on, dropped it and said, "Uh oh."
Dad looked back, "What happened?"
"I dropped the cap."
Mom leaned back and picked up for me, still talking to Dad, "And that way, everyone can have the same benefits."
Boring.
Luckily, we were a few minutes from home, and then I could go see Alfred and the cats and all of my stuff. Alfred said I could help him make dessert again after I put my school things away, just like I had on Monday. Dick was supposed to come to dinner and I couldn't wait to see him. It seemed like forever ago was the last time he came to visit. Dad said he was working really hard at the police station and that he was teaching another officer how to be a detective like Dick. I asked him once if he was like Dick Tracy and he had laughed, saying he wished he were, so that he could wear the yellow hat and coat without getting picked on.
Dad let Mom and I out in front of the house and then went about putting the car away. Holding Mom's hand, I looked at the dress she was wearing. When she had dropped me off at school, she was wearing jeans and a sweater, but now she looked really pretty and I told her so.
"Thank you, Mattie. I visited Dad today at work and we went to lunch," she explained.
I loved going to see Dad at work. He had such a big office and comfy couches. In one of his des drawers, he kept toys and coloring books just for when I came with him. But now that I had to go to school, I probably wouldn't go see him too often.
Alfred was in the kitchen when I walked through the hall, I called out his name and waved and told him I would be right back. He nodded and said, "I'll wait for your return, Miss Mattie."
I ran down the hall towards the stairs, my backpack flopping against my back, and then dashed up the stairs as quickly as possible. We were going to make lemon meringue, one of Dad's favorites and mine too. Although Alfred wouldn't let me cook big meals, he was always glad to have my help making desserts.
It was just as I reached the third floor that I began to feel it. The bad feeling in my chest. It always felt like there was something pressing down on me so I couldn't breathe. Sometimes it wasn't bad and I could catch my breath on my own, breathing deep and slow like Dad taught me. I tried that as I stopped on the landing, but it didn't work. My breaths came shorter and shorter and I could hear the wheezy noises start.
I called out as loud as I could, but I don't think anyone heard me because it wasn't very loud.
I stopped moving and sat down on the floor, my arms wrapped around my tummy because it was starting to hurt as well. I kept trying to slow my breathing but it didn't work. I tried to reach for my puffer in my backpack but I couldn't move.
"Daddy!" I called out again.
I heard his footsteps coming up the stairs. He was moving quickly but he wasn't running. When he saw me sitting on the floor, he was still on the stairs, "Did you trip, Mattie?"
I shook my head as he approached. When he heard me breathing, he swore, something he rarely did, and knelt behind me on the floor, "Mattie, deep breaths, okay, deep breaths, where's your inhaler?"
I managed to cough and say at the same time, "Pocket."
He unzipped it and quickly found it. "Okay," he said quietly as he took the cover off of the mouth piece, "One, two, three, go," he held the puffer up to my lips and as he pressed down, I felt the air shoot in my mouth and did my best to breathe it all in. He took it away, shook it a bit and then held it back to my mouth, "One more time, one, two, three, go."
When he was done, he took my backpack off and held me up right against his chest. Mom always got really nervous when I had an attack, but Dad always stayed really calm and focused. He rubbed my back gradually and kept telling me to breathe slowly. The tightness in my chest faded and after a few minutes, I could take slow, deep breaths.
I had been trying to hold back my tears, for I got scared just like Mom did. Dad turned me to face him and wiped them from my eyes, "It's okay. Everything's okay. What happened?"
"I," I paused to take another breath, "I was going up the stairs and I started to feel sick."
He frowned a bit, "Were you running?"
I nodded slowly. I was supposed to walk up stairs and hills and never run up them. Now that I realized it was my fault that I got sick, I started to cry. He picked my bag and me up and carried me to my room. After setting me on the bed he knelt in front of me, "Mattie, that's why you're told to walk up the stairs, I'm not being mean by making you do so, I just don't want you to get sick. Do you understand?"
After I nodded to him and wiped my eyes with the back of my hand, he stood and kissed my forehead, "I'm going to get you some water, sit right here, okay?"
While he was gone, I got up and got a tissue out of the box on my dresser. I wiped my eyes some more, blew my nose, then threw it away. By the time he came back, I was back on the bed, looking down at my feet. He gave me the glass of water and told me to take little sips. While I did, he untied my sneakers and took them off.
When he put them away under my bed, he said, "Why don't you sit up here for a bit, okay. I'm going to get changed and then we can go back downstairs."
"Kay, Dad."
He stepped out into the hall, and even though I still felt sick, I got up and walked after him. When he noticed me following him, he stopped and turned around, "What's wrong Mattie?"
I reached up and he lifted me into his arms. I hugged him, kissed him on the cheek and then slipped back down to the floor. I knew he was staring at me as I walked back into my room. It was funny, the little things that it took to surprise him.
V
I was just outside of the den when Bruce came down the stairs, with Mattie in his arms. He had changed into jeans and a turtleneck and she looked as if she had been sleeping. They had been gone a total of twenty minutes and I feared something had gone on. I walked towards them and asked, "What happened?"
He set his daughter down and told her to go check in with Alfred. After she walked away towards the kitchen he stepped pass me and into the den. Once he had seated himself on the largest of the three couches, he spoke, "She was running up the stairs, had a slight attack."
"She okay?"
He nodded and motioned for me to sit with him, "She'll be fine. But she's worn out. Long day at school and a few minutes of not breathing will drain any kid."
I glared at him icily and he smiled slightly. I didn't approve of making light of her illness, especially when she had an attack. Finally, I sat down and looked over at him. When I sighed, he set his arm across my shoulders. Then, after a moment of silence I asked him, "So you really approve of me doing this? The reserve?"
"Well," he began, "The way I see it, I also have two options, just as you had. I can approve of this project and allow you to put your efforts and skills into something useful..." he trailed off and a leery smile formed on his lips.
"Or you could..." I began.
"Or, I could have to go back to the days where you wore purple leather and put your efforts and skills into something illegal."
I gasped at his boldness and then pushed away from him. He laughed quietly and ended up pulling me closer to him. In detest, I snapped at him, "That's not even funny!"
"I think it is."
"Well no one in here cares what you think."
"I do," he defended himself.
After a moment, we settled and I spoke again, "You'll have to come up once in a while, meet all of the cats."
"I think I'll stick to Isis and Taffy. Much smaller. Safer. Prefer Kitty Chow compared to my flesh."
"Oh, come on, big cats are sweethearts, you just have no affinity for animals."
"Not for ones that could eat me in the three bites."
"Speaking of eating, I called Tim. He said he would try to make it here for dinner," I said as I folded Bruce's collar over on itself. How he could wear turtlenecks in such warm weather was beyond me.
After he brushed my hand away he nodded and mumbled something that might have been a positive acknowledgement. It's been rather interesting, seeing Bruce and Tim's relationship develop over the last few years. Although Bruce has never taken on the role of a parent for Tim, in recent times he has stepped in to be a rather influential "adult figure" in the young man's life. Especially since his father was constantly nagging him about the ominous future. He was twenty years old, had the rest of his life to live and Drake Senior could do nothing but try and get him to the grindstone of business as soon as possible.
I recalled a few years earlier where I had convinced Bruce to talk to Tim about the boy's sudden obsession with perfection. It had been shortly after Bruce and I had been in the car accident and just a few weeks shy of our wedding. Tim had been over-stressing himself, trying to reach an unattainable goal of perfecting his form in a ridiculous time constraint that he himself had assigned. He felt as if he wasn't good enough for his role and with more pressure on his shoulders in Bruce's absence, I knew it wouldn't be long before Tim caved in exhaustion.
Whatever Bruce had told him down in the Cave that afternoon four years ago did the trick. He seemed to change overnight, returning to the carefree Tim we all loved and missed.
Occasionally, Bruce could actually fix something without being in Bat-mode.
I leaned over and kissed Bruce on the lips and he sat back in surprise. As he kissed back I heard a male voice snickering by the door, "Bruce and Selina sitting in a tree..."
And then Mattie's angelic voice, "K I S S I N G..."
After emitting a growl that even set Bruce aback, I looked towards the door to see Dick with Mattie on his shoulders. He was still dressed from work, wearing a dark blue suit, faded gray button up shirt with a black and blue striped tie. I could see the faintest hint of his leather gun holster beneath his coat from my seat on the couch and I knew Bruce could as well.
"Hey stranger, long time no see," I managed while turning myself around and pressing my back into Bruce's chest. Dick walked in, my daughter still on his shoulders, and seated himself on the sofa, "Hey, man's got to pay the rent."
"On the apartment building that you own," Bruce muttered.
Dick smirked, "I heard that."
Mattie bounced on his shoulders and then squirmed off of him, over his head and onto his lap. His hands found her sides and tickled them until she squealed. In light of the trouble she had already had that evening I spoke with the faintest overcast of sternness in my voice, "Mattie, Alfred still needs help. Why don't you go back in the kitchen?"
Dick took the hint and released her so that she could hop off of his lap and head back to her culinary job. "Sorry, I try not to rile her up too much, it just sort of happens."
Bruce was quick to inform him about the attack she had less than an hour ago and his face grew somber. After a moment he brightened and asked how she had been doing in school.
"Excellent," I answered, "We found out today that she's going to the zoo for a field trip."
Dick laughed, "Hey Bruce, you should go as a parent chaperone, seeing how you, uh, never had 'time' when I was younger."
I couldn't help but smile. Picturing Bruce corralling children all over the Gotham Zoo seemed too good to be true. I turned my head to face him and said, "Actually, that sounds like a good idea, don't you think?"
His face was rather serious and his brow was furled as he pointed to himself, "I was the brains of the dynamic duo," and then at his son, "Dick was character relief."
Dick and I erupted in laughter and Bruce didn't even crack a smile. I loved his bland humor, it was so twisted and yet cute all at once.
He was certainly my one in six billion.
V
"How is it that every single time Alfred makes lemon meringue, we get called out to the city?" Robin growled.
With one hard look, he gulped air and went pale and quiet at the same time.
Tim had arrived at the Manor just in time to drive passed Dick as he left for Bludhaven, to watch Alfred bring out the dessert tray and to see the Bat Signal sear the night sky.
Without dessert, we had changed and headed for downtown to meet with Gordon. After a quick rooftop discussion, it was discovered that former GSU professor Jonathan Crane, AKA The Scarecrow, had gone missing for nearly a week from the parole program he had been enrolled in. Arkham had taken on a softer look over the last year and a half and was now more concerned with rehabilitating the criminally insane rather than keeping them in their cells. Not that containing them had been a priority beforehand...
"So where to?" he asked as we stood poised on the Hart Tower's rooftop.
I looked away form him and then contacted Oracle, "Where was Crane living?"
She and Selina had just commenced their night together and I was rather unpopular amongst the two women at the moment. Barbara took a moment before replying, "The new apartment complex on Rondoma Heights. Turns out they were first built in order to provide a home for recently released convicts and parolees. A nice gesture, but it still wasn't a very bright idea to pile criminals on top of each other in one-bedroom bungalows."
I assigned Robin the task of working on patrols so that I could take a look at Crane's apartment. He agreed readily and said that after a quick stop to pick something up at the Clocktower, he would get on it.
After we departed, I made my way back to the Batmobile and pulled up the digital map on the LED screen. Rondoma Heights was a fairly seedy section in the East End and it would be a good twenty-minute drive. On the way, I set the car on auto and proceeded to pull up a few basic files on Crane. As they came up on the screen, I retrieved the small container of antidotes from beneath my seat and selected two vials of injection serum in addition to an inhaler. The latter was less effective but easiest to administer, to innocents or myself.
I parked three blocks up in a narrow alley lined with empty cardboard boxes and litter. There were few buildings to seek cover from and I had to time crossing the last street carefully to avoid being seen. Once in the cover of a cluster of large pines, I faded into the darkness, traveling along the fence line until I came to the second building. Crane had a second floor unit, it's windows facing east. I perched on an empty dumpster, leapt up to his small, rickety terrace and then snuck inside. No alarm.
Criminals fearless of others breaking in on them.
With my night lenses, I scanned the small living room/kitchen and saw pretty much what I had suspected. Towering stacks of unorganized psych journals, empty food containers and a single thrift store couch facing a fourteen-inch screen TV on a upside down plastic milk crate. A narrow hallway lined with mildew-covered walls lead the way to a closet sized bathroom and a cell-like bedroom. Mattress laying directly on the floor, single pillow and thin blanket.
His closet was small, but packed with laboratory materials. Countless boxes of Erlenmeyer flasks, test tubes and jars of sealed distilled water. No matter how low he had gotten, his never-ending thirst for research was still well supplied for. On the top shelf of the closet, there were several metal briefcases stacked, three across and three high. I reached for one, opened it and allowed myself a quiet, "Hmm," at the sight of over $100,000 in cash. Close to a million dollars if each case had money in it.
And knowing the doctor of fear as I did, he wouldn't have skipped town with out his cash. And at the sound of a floorboard creaking in the hallway, I knew I had been right.
After about-facing, I saw a faint shadow cross the floor. A tall lanky form, with gangly arms and legs. The darkness of the room cloaked me well, and Crane didn't even know I was in the room with him until I reached out a touched his arm.
He cried out as he flailed backwards, tripped over his own two feet and landed on the floor, hitting the back of his head on a small, wooden dresser. "Heavens sake!" he cried out, reaching behind his back in order to push himself up. When he looked up at me, his dark eyes widened with fear, "Wh-what are you doing here?"
"You broke parole, Crane."
"I-I had to go out of town."
I stepped forward and I noticed his knees were shaking. "A direct violation of your parole. I'd hate to have to inform Dr. Arkham of your inability to keep up with the rules you agreed to."
He shook his head, jerking it side to side, "No, I had to visit someone... Needed my help."
After another step towards him, he scrambled to his feet, leaning back against the dresser, bracing himself. I stared down at him, knowing I was one of the few people on this planet that could instill fear in him.
Unfortunately, I had been staring directly into his eyes, and not at his hands. When I saw the first fraction of movement in his left arm, I reached for it and pinned it hard against the wall. As he tried to twist away from me, I managed to force him against the wall, his face and chest pressing into the drywall.
But as I flipped him, his right hand had come forward and he stabbed something into my thigh.
He managed to turn his head so that his left cheek was against the wall. Through clamped teeth, he cackled, "Happy nightmare, Batman."
Furious, I delivered a blow to the base of his skull and he went limp instantly and fell to the ground in a heap. I looked down at my leg to see a small needle and syringe embedded into my upper leg. I carefully removed it, bagged it and secured it in my utility belt. After radioing Oracle to have a police unit come pick Crane up, I stepped outside and made me way back to the car.
Once seated and the door had sealed, I removed my glove and pulled up the sleeve of my tunic. After measuring out a five cc dose of the antidote, I injected it into the median cubital vein in the crook of my arm, winced slightly and then depressed the plunger. Once removed, I set the syringe on the dash and folded my arm to put pressure on it. Generally, if the antidote was given in time, whatever Crane could dish out would have little or no effect.
So when I began to feel drowsy and nauseous, I became all too aware that whatever he had given me wasn't a regular dose of fear toxin. I depressed the comm. link on the dash and did my best to tell Oracle what had happened. But just as her image came up on the screen, my eyes closed and I was unable to open them.
V
A little after midnight, I was putting away my medical charts and gathering my things to go home when my cell phone rang. It was a selected tone, one programmed in the phone so that when a certain individual called, I would instantly know who it was and what he needed.
When I answered, "Yes?" I was surprised to get a young male voice on the other end of the line, "Leslie, we're on our way, he's been poisoned by Scarecrow."
"Right," I replied and hung up.
Thankfully, having closed two hours earlier, the clinic was cleared out of both patients and staff. I traveled from my office, down the hall and stepped into a rear exam room that had long been the sanctity for an array of battered vigilantes. While I waited, I plugged in the oxygen tubules into the wall tank reserves, hooked up the cardiograms and retrieved syringes before setting up IV bags. Being poisoned, by any villain, was usually unpredictable in how to design a course of treatment.
I withdrew a dosage of Haldol and set it on the counter top. Having treated Bruce before while under the chemical control of Scarecrow's fear toxin, I knew he might possibly need to be put under in order to care for him. Fear was a dangerous thing.
I, along with everyone in the neighborhood, heard the growl of the Batmobile long before it arrived. It came to an abrupt halt in the rear lot behind the clinic and as always, I stepped out to the back exit to meet them halfway. I half expected Bruce to step out of the car, with Tim right behind him in case he stumbled or fell. When I saw Bruce, out cold in the driver's seat and Tim getting off of a cycle behind the car, I felt my concern triple.
Robin approached the driver's side of the car and began pulling Bruce out. I noticed his limbs jerked slightly and I suddenly panicked at thought that he was suffering from seizures. But on a closer look, it seemed to be regular involuntary movements, lacking the rigidity common with convulsions.
As we moved him into the exam room, Tim spoke quickly and as calmly as he could, "He contacted Oracle after subduing Scarecrow in his apartment, and then he called her back from the Batmobile and he passed out right in front of her eyes. She did her best to wake him but nothing worked. By the time I got to him, he was out for the count and then half way over here, Barbara saw him jerking over the camera."
"Did he tell her what happened before, with Crane?" I asked as we pushed him up onto the gurney.
He shook his head, "He didn't even tell her anything happened. There was a syringe on the dash, but he must have used it to give himself the antidote to what he thought was the fear toxin."
I took his vitals carefully before asking Tim to remove Bruce's tunic, gloves and mask. After he had, I applied the cardiograph monitoring equipment and studied the screen as it showed his heart rate and oxygen levels. Nothing too out of the ordinary, but definitely elevated. As soon as I had inserted the saline IV and secured it, I left Tim to watch over him while I retrieved the EEG from down the hall.
When I had returned, Tim had produced a cell phone and was dialing. He swore, looked up at me apologetically before hanging up and redialing. As he spoke quietly into the phone, I wiped Bruce's brow, paused for a half of second to stare at the faint scar on his forehead and then secured EEG sensors to his skull. As soon as the machine was plugged in, I watched the screen and studied the waves as they formed. Intriguingly, they were delta waves, high and slow, which were commonly found in the fourth stage of sleep, the one where people dreamed.
Tim hung up and asked, "What's wrong with him?"
I shook my head, "He's sleeping. Dreaming actually."
I pointed out my findings to him and he stared at me in disbelief before saying, "Why can't he wake up?"
"That I don't know, most likely whatever he was exposed to involved a strong acting tranquilizer that put him under so the toxins could affect his system. I'll test his blood, see what comes up. He'll have to stay here for observation---."
He shook his head, "I was just talking with Alfred, he's on his way with the van to pick him up."
"Well, I don't care where he stays, as long as it's under strict bed rest and observation. Especially until we figure what's in his system."
While I drew blood from Bruce's right arm, his form seemed to calm slightly. I studied the EEG to see his brain waves had reduced to theta waves, characteristic of the third stage of sleep. Interesting, I thought as I sealed of the tube of blood. I told Tim I would be in the lab and to get me if Alfred came while I was gone.
After placing a good portion of the blood in the centrifuge, I went about setting out a sample of blood in a Petrie dish. In the back of one of the lab drawers, I retrieved a box of testing strips that Bruce had designed himself and given to me "just in case". In one of the small plastic tubes, I retrieved one that was specifically designed to test for fear toxin. After I depressed it into the dollop of blood, I watched as the blue test strip faded to a purple. In most cases, a positive indicator of the toxin turned the strip red.
Red was half of purple, I thought to myself.
As the blood spun, I set the timer and returned to the exam room. Just as I opened the door, I spotted Alfred coming through the rear exit. He wore a dark sweater over corduroy trousers and a worried look on his face. I reached out and touched his arm, "It's nothing too serious. From his vitals, it appears that he's been put under a deep sleep and his blood test showed only a minute amount of the toxin in his system."
He nodded curtly and then stepped forward, following me into the room. I watched him as he looked over Bruce's unconscious form. I recognized the pained expression that came over his features. "When do you think we would be able to relocate him, Dr. Thompkins?"
I shrugged, "There's nothing unstable about his condition. I'd give him an hour or so and then transport him. By then, his blood tests will be complete and you could take them home with you."
He nodded once more and then turned to Tim, "Are you all right, Master Timothy?"
The young man nodded slightly, "I wasn't there when... When it happened. I was working patrols in Coventry and Barbara called me... Said she couldn't wake him up."
In order to change the subject to a lighter tone, I asked, "Where's Mattie?"
Alfred cleared his throat, "She's under her mother's care at Ms. Gordon's."
I nodded before asking, "And has anyone called Dick?"
Tim spoke up, his eyes locked on Bruce's still form, "He's just outside of Bludhaven there's no service until he's in the city limits."
I let out a low sigh and asked him to keep trying to get a hold of him and to tell him the basics and that it wasn't serious. But no matter how we played it down, Dick had a slight tendency to over react, especially with Bruce getting hurt. Not that I could blame him. If my father had been nearly gunned down by a French Gangster, taking a year to fully recover, I would foresee every injury as being another tragedy as well.
As Alfred and Tim loaded Bruce onto a portable gurney, I finished the blood tests and counts and surprisingly found high amounts of apohaloperidol, a strong, fast acting long term tranquilizer, but other than the fear toxin, it was the only thing out of line. Bruce's RBC, WBC, platelets and plasma levels were all within the normal ranges. I printed off the results and handed them to Alfred before he began to maneuver the gurney to the back.
He thanked me and promised to call with regular updates.
"No, need, I'm going with you."
"I beg your pardon---," he began.
I shook my head before he began to argue, "I'll call in, family emergency."
"This hardly qualifies, Leslie, as an emergency."
"Yes it does. He's sick. That counts enough for me, these days."
There was no way Alfred would let me drive, so I sought refuge from his flabbergasted glare in the passenger seat while he and Tim loaded Bruce in the back of the medical van. As Alfred took the driver's seat, Tim scheduled the Batmobile on auto-pilot so that it followed him home on the cycle he had driven.
And in a somber caravan, we traveled out of the city and headed to the dark recesses of Bristol.
V
