Time Warner & DC Comics own all the main characters in this story. I'm just borrowing them for a while to embellish a fanfiction story, no monies will be made from this story; mores' the pity.

Batman Begins, but lets make the story a little different: no longer a child's obsession, but a man's choice.

A Different Beginning

By

Whistling Fish

The large sleek sports car glided to a halt in front of stone steps leading up to the front door of Wayne Manor. Its driver removed his fashionable pilot's sunglasses and peered up at the second floor window: he knew the office of Thomas Wayne, multi millionaire owner of Wayne Enterprises, lay behind the elegant stained glass. Bruce always felt strangely inadequate and fearful when entering the presence of Thomas Wayne. A man who was a legend in his own life time.

Bruce stepped out of the car; his lean, athletic, six foot two inch frame was elegantly covered in a dark business suit: he looked every bit the heir to this stately pile.

"Bruce!" A dark haired young woman yelled as she almost flew down the steps flinging her arms about his neck.

"Claire, what are you doing here; why aren't you at school?"

"I graduated last Summer!" she stated in exasperation. "I'm no longer a little girl you know."

Bruce smiled down at her. To him she'd always be the little girl tagging behind her older brothers. The last baby in a much loved brood doted on by both parents and loved by all the family.

"I've been at college for almost a year. Anyway what are you doing here the middle of a working week? Does M.I.T. let all its handsome, young professors work part time? Gotham State makes its professors earn their salaries! "She ducked as Bruce made a playful swipe at her head.

"Well, the folks at M.I.T thought I should break the news to my family in person." Bruce stated.

"What news?"

Bruce leaned into the car and pulled out a letter: he handed it to the girl!"

Her eyes widened as she read it.

"The Nobel prize committee has the honor to informing Professor Bruce Wayne, that he has been nominated for Nobel Prize for Medicine in recognition of his work in micro electronics in the treatment of paralysis..."

"Oh my: dad will be so proud of you!" With that she turned and ran up the steps dragging Bruce after her.

Claire charged in to her father's office, skidded to a halt next to his chair and thrust the letter at him. "Dad, read that! You won't believe it, isn't it outstanding?"

Her father, used to her boundless enthusiasm and unorthodox entry into his place of work, read the letter. A look of amazement was replaced by one of pleasure. Then he glancing up at a much loved young man, stretched out his hand and firmly shook Bruce's hand.

"Well Done, Master Bruce! This is fantastic news and so well deserved. I'm so proud of you lad." Alfred stated.

Bruce smiled at his friend and mentor, Alfred's praise meant a lot to him.

"Thanks Alfred. But it's only a nomination, I may not win!"

"Yes, I suppose you are right, best not crack open the best bottle of champagne just yet. Seeing as you are just one, of the three nominees for one of the world's most prestigious prizes. I mean, what's so special about that. Best make it the second best bottle." Alfred said shaking his head.

Bruce grinned. "Stick it on ice Alfred; I'm just going up to show father the letter."

Bruce knocked at his father's door and felt the usual knot in is stomach as the gruff voice orders him to enter.

Bruce crossed from the door to stand in front of his father's desk. It took all his concentration to stop him shuffling his feet while he waited for his father to look up from the document he was reading.

"Bruce, I didn't have a meeting scheduled with you today, did I?" He asked, his eyes skimming over the current page of his diary.

"Err, no Sir, but I thought you may be interested in this."

Bruce held the letter out.

Thomas Wayne looked at the proffered document and reluctantly took it from his son's hand.

Bruce watched his father's face hoping to see some sign of pleasure or at least pride as he read the letter. But Thomas Wayne's face remained unchanged. Coldly he glanced up at his son.

"When will you know if you have won?" He asked.

"In a month"

"Arr... right" Thomas said making a note in his diary. He passed the letter back to Bruce, and his eyes slid back to the work on his desk.

Bruce stared at his father in disbelief. Anger welled up inside him. He spun around and left the room feeling hurt as much as angry. Why had he thought today would be any different from his past encounters with his father? From his first report card with straight A's to today's prestigious news nothing, absolutely nothing he ever did impressed his father.

He pulled the door shut behind him. "I didn't kill her; it wasn't my fault she died!" He muttered angrily. He turned away; not seeing the figure stood in the shadow of the wall, and headed towards his room.

Claire had been waiting for Bruce, but seeing his distress she headed quickly back down to her

"Why Alfred? Why is it my fault? I didn't kill my mother. She made the choice! So why does he blame me?"

"I know, Master Bruce, it's never been your fault, no one ever blamed you." He reassured the young man, the same way he'd had comfort him all through Bruce's life. I don't think he blames you, he just cannot accepted that your mother died giving him the son he always wanted. The guilt he feels has made it difficult for him to relate to anyone; I sorry to say and especially to you."

Bruce looked out of the window; he didn't want anyone, not even Alfred to see the hot tears that were pricking his eyes.

"Bruce, when your mother delayed treatment for leukemia, so that you could be born healthy, she knew the risks. She never told your father, because she desperately wanted to give him a son. If she'd had the treatment as soon as she was diagnosed; then you would not have survived and she could never have had any children. She wanted your father to have a son to carry on the Wayne family name, a boy to be proud of!"

"Well, she need not have bothered; because no matter what I do, or how much I achieve, he'll never be proud of me."

"I'm sure he's proud of you master Bruce. What parent wouldn't be proud of a son like you?" Alfred smiled at the troubled young man."I'm proud of you, and so is Leslie we're proud of all our children; especially you son."

Bruce turned and smiled at the man who had truly been his dad. Thomas Wayne had been his father by an accident of genetics. Alfred and Leslie Pennyworth had been his parents by choice. They had always treated him as a son.

"I've called the clinic and told Leslie and the boys that you're home. I've also told them you've had some good news. I thought you'd like to tell them the details over dinner at Mario's."

Bruce smiled; Mario's had always been the venue of choice for a family celebration. Bruce couldn't pass the small, family run, restaurant without being assailed by a warm happy feeling of belonging. From celebrating his first day at school, Leslie & Alfred's wedding, each new Childs arrival and all their successors, to him gaining his professorial chair at M.I.T. the extended Pennyworth family had made Mario's their special place.

The friendly hustle and bustle of Mario's was working its usual magic on Bruce's damaged self esteem. Robert, Steve and Leslie had listened with wide eyed astonishment to Bruce's news. The letter had been passed around to each member of the clan to read and reread. Robert a skilled surgeon like his mother and Steve a radiographer both looked at their older, surrogate, brother with a mixture of pride and awe. "Hey Bruce, all those extra hours of Maths coaching I gave you paid off then!" Robert laughed. Always behind with his Maths at college, he'd turned to his big brother for help." Bruce laughed at the good natured teasing. His family's pride in him washed away his pain and most of his doubts; yet still deep down there was the niggling suspicion he'd never be good enough.

Thomas Wayne read once again the Washington Post, London Times and the New York Herald; all three papers were running profiles of the nominees for the Nobel Prize for Medicine. One thing all these prestigious papers agreed on was the favorite in the field was the young M.I.T. Professor Bruce Wayne, who had pioneered the use of micro electronics to enable paralyzed patients to walk again. Thomas studied the photograph of his son working with young women who was stood using two sticks, her wheelchair left abandoned in the corner of the shot. A look of pure pleasure and gratitude on her face. A tear rolled down Thomas' cheek as he glanced at Mather's photo stood on the corner of his desk. "Look what our boy has been doing Martha!" He muttered. Then he cut article and photo out of the New York Herald, took a small key out of his waistcoat pocket and used it to open the bottom draw of his desk. He placed the cutting in a two inch thick file with the word Bruce neatly written across it. The cutting now formed part of Thomas' collection, each piece of paper noted an important event or achievement in his son's life. His eyes focused on Martha's photograph, "He's so like you my love" Thomas muttered. "Every time I see him he reminds me of how much I miss you." Thomas shut and relocked the draw, turned off his desk light and went up to bed.

As Thomas got to the stairs, a shadow moved in the Library catching his eye. No one was supposed to be in the house, Thomas moved towards the door, "Bruce, is that you?" he called as he reached for the light switch. Those were the last words Thomas Wayne ever spoke. The blow that felled him crushed his left temple killing him instantly. A security guard checking an open door from the garden raised the alarm. Bruce Wayne arrived home to find the manor under siege by police.