Hello. Well, I finally finished this chapter… It's a big chapter, and add to that the fact I have been quite busy in the last couple weeks… and you have all the delay to publish.
This was supposed to be the last chapter… However, I think I'll write another one, truly the last, which will be more like an epilogue. I still think, however, that this particular story here could have been finished in any of the previous chapters, including this one. I like the story to be seen like that, as various tales about Selina and Bruce in this particular situation.
Anyway, about this chapter… I guess this one really deserves the "M" rated. It has insinuation of sex, violence, adult themes… Nothing too hard core, I think, but "M" is the right rate, I think. Better safe than sorry, isn't that what they say?
Just one last detail… Any time football is mentioned here, keep in mind that I'm talking about soccer, okay? I guess that, in England, people call football the sport Americans call soccer. I'm neither American or British, but Thomas lives in England, so I thought it would be more appropriated… if I'm wrong, I'm sorry, I apologize.
I hope you can enjoy this chapter, even though it is different in style from the two chapters before. Please, review; the feedback is always useful… and we still have a chapter to go.
Thank you for reading.
Ten years
"Thomas, let's go! We're going to be late!"
"I'm going!"
The boy closed the newspaper, and left it over the coffee table. He didn't have the habit of reading that – boring, he thought – paper, not usually, but the news on that one had caught his attention. The headlines of the "International" section showed words that had made his heart jump, while he felt a cold sensation in his stomach: Batman Dead!, said the title. Under that: "Two nights ago, Gotham's vigilant saved thousands from terrorist's bomb, but couldn't save himself." Thomas read every bit of information the paper had, hoping to see somewhere that there was hope still… but it seemed everybody was counting Batman as dead. Even the Commissioner, a woman named Renee Montoya, said there was no way Batman could have escaped; according to her, they even found his last remains. And even nine years old Thomas knew this were bad news.
Thomas was not particularly interested in super heroes, except for Batman. After all, he was from Gotham City, his mother's home town, and he wasn't exactly a superhero… He had no superpowers. He was just… a man. Like everybody else. Thomas was fascinated by him, and was constantly asking her mother if she had seen Batman when she lived in Gotham, and what was he like, and had she ever met someone that was saved by him…? His mother would smile, but never told him anything. She said Batman was more like a legend, and it was better if you just think of him as a make up thing.
Thomas stopped asking, but he still thought about it a lot.
Now, the papers were saying he was dead; mom had said nothing, but Thomas wasn't sure if she had read, or if she cared anyway. She had been strange in the last days, worried, spending most of the time staring at the walls… She hadn't even gone to work today. He got home after school, and found her walking around the apartment, nervously looking for her earrings, or something. Then, she suddenly told him to take a bath and dress nicely, because they were going somewhere. "Right now, Thomas!', she told him in that tone of voice that he didn't like, not at all, but he thought it was better do what she said, since she looked kind of edgy, and he was feeling a little sorry for her; mom had almost no friends, and he didn't remember the last time she had a boyfriend, what meant she had no one to talk to when she felt sad or lonely. Well, no one except for himself, but Thomas knew there were things mothers wouldn't talk about with sons…
Batman dead? How could that be? Ralph, a stupid kid from Thomas' school – he was a big and fat guy, that usually spent lunch time pushing younger boys until they cried – told his dad was always saying Batman was nothing more than a crazy man in an ugly outfit. According to Ralph's dad, Batman was psycho-something, and should be in jail. Thomas got really mad with his fat colleague – he laughed when Thomas said Batman was just as much of a hero as Superman, maybe even more -, so mad he even punched his fat belly… it was a bad thing to do, Thomas knew now, and he knew it then, but he just couldn't help it. The principal called mom, and Thomas suffered a dire punishment: had to leave the school's football team.
And now, Batman was dead. Batman, of all superheroes!
"Thomas, the taxi is here! Let's…"
"I'm here!"
"Finally…!" She looked irritated, at first, but examined him for a few seconds, and smiled with satisfaction. "You look great, baby… loved the shirt."
"Mom…!"
"You are so handsome…" She kissed him lightly on his left cheek, and, although hiding it from his mother, Thomas smiled too. He had chosen to wear a shirt his mother gave him a few weeks ago, and he knew she would like that.
They entered the taxi, and his mother told the driver they were going to the airport. Thomas wasn't expecting that:
"Why are we going to the airport?"
"We are picking up a friend."
"Yours?"
"Yes, baby, mine."
"What friend?"
"You are a curious little boy, aren't you?"
"I'm not a little boy." Thomas was slightly upset to see that the driver had overheard the conversation, and even had let escape a brief laugh. "And you have no friends…"
She sighed, and Thomas regretted his last words. It was not nice when you point out to someone how lonely the person is, even if it's true. Even more because it was not mom's fault. She was a nice person, and a really cool mom. Maybe the best. Thomas knew his mother was different from other moms; she was always looking for fun things to do, and was always taking him to trips, and parks, and zoos. Every night they would do something together, like watch a movie, or go for a walk around the block, or even play games. Lately, they would play chess. She was not very good in it, true – Thomas had lost his last match a few days before his eighth birthday, and then, never again; but the point is, she was always trying. And that's the most important thing, right?
"It's an old friend, actually." Now she was looking outside the window, but clearly not paying any attention to the streets. "From Gotham."
"Holly?" Thomas asked hesitantly. He didn't want to be rude again.
"No, honey, not Holly. Someone else."
A friend from Gotham… Thomas pressed his lips together, restraining his excitement. Maybe this person would have news about Batman, maybe this friend could tell something… something the British papers didn't know. Details, maybe, that could give him hopes again. Batman wasn't dead, he couldn't be. From what Thomas knew, Batman was smart and resourceful – the boy loved the word resourceful -, and no stupid bomb would kill him. Batman probably knew more about bombs than anyone in the world. How could he die from that?
"And how was school today?" Mother was trying to make conversation. She would always ask about school, she really cared, but today… well, she just looked like she was somewhere else, distracted, aloof.
"Fine…" He answered anyway. After that awful commentary about mom not having any friends, Thomas would do anything to look more cooperative.
"Fine? Just fine? That's a very short answer…" She was a smart mom. Always knew when he didn't want to talk about things, and always knew how to take answers out of him: playing with his hair, smiling kindly, holding his hand.
"It was nothing, really."
She pulled him closer, her arm around him, letting his head rest on her shoulder. "Yeah… 'Nothing' is hard, sometimes."
"It's just…" He hesitated.
"What?"
"This stupid football game on Saturday…"
"Stupid? Well, who would say…? I thought you loved football…!"
Thomas pressed his lips together, a characteristic gesture that usually meant he was upset.
"What about this football game, baby?"
"It's stupid… it's called the 'father's game', or something… and you should go with your father… or older brother, or a relative." Sliding on the bench, Thomas reached the window, his forehead touching the glass as he looked outside. "So stupid. You have to take someone, if you want to play."
What sometimes would bother Thomas was not the fact that he didn't have a father; a father, he had concluded long ago, was a very much overestimated thing. He knew many fathers, since most of his friends had one. There were cool fathers, but there were also fathers that screamed, fathers that would always look angry, fathers that only worked, fathers that were away, even fathers that were dead. And most of the cool things fathers could do, well, a mother could do too. Yes, it was true that his mom didn't play football, but she would do almost everything else. For all that, Thomas rarely would care about the "father issue". Once or twice he had asked mom about this father thing, and she just said she didn't know where he was, or what he was doing. And she also told him that his dad was a good man, who cared about them, but he couldn't stay around. He was like a soldier, mom said. And Thomas thought this was a good enough explanation.
Of course, there was also that thing Thomas remembered… he had this memories, memories about this guy that visited long ago. It was all blurred, but he knew it had happened. There was a man that talked to him, that carried him… He could be his dad. Actually, Thomas was positive he was; however, he never asked his mom about it… what if she said something like that never happened?
Thomas just didn't want to hear that.
It would be better, Thomas always thought, if he at least had any other relative. Maybe an uncle, or cousin, or grandfather. In a way, it was so scary that there were only he and mom in the family…! What if something happened to mom? What would happen to him? Would he go to an orphanage? A foster home? Would this invisible dad show? And what if this dad was not a good person? Mom said he was, but what if he changed? Or what if she had lied?
All those thoughts could make him shiver, and so, he tried not to think about it. And that's why he hated so much things like "father's game"; it would always remind him they – he and mom - were alone.
"I'm sorry, Thomas…" Mom sounded kind of sad, like she always did when in similar situations.
"It's alright. Stupid, that's all." He sighed. "I don't care, really."
And then he could feel his mother's touch on his back, consoling him, somehow.
"You know, baby…" Thomas could see her reflection in the window glass, and realized she was smiling. "Maybe we could find someone to go with you!"
He turned to face her:
"Find someone? Like who?" Thomas couldn't avoid the doubtful tone of his voice.
"We'll find someone."
"Mom…! Please, it's not someone that will embarrass me…?"
"Have I ever embarrassed you?" Her look was, at once, daring and amused.
"No…" He couldn't argue with that.
"Don't worry, then. Just trust me."
The taxi stopped, putting an end to the trip and the conversation.
"Here we are, madam!"
Thomas left the car, and waited for his mom as she paid the driver. "We are late", was her only commentary when she joined him on the sidewalk, and took his hand.
She pulled him by his hand, and they walked the airport lobby, Thomas trying to keep up with his mother. For some reason, she seemed to be nervous and distracted.
"Mom…!"
"Yes?" Nothing would stop her, he realized. Mom would just walk faster and faster as they talked.
"Maybe you should check the flight…" He pointed at a panel as they passed by.
"His flight is not there, baby."
His? It was a man, then, the person they were going to meet. For some reason, Thomas just presumed it would be a woman, one of mom's old friends from Gotham… but a man? He never heard of a man friend.
And why wasn't his flight on the panel?
"Where are we going…?"
He had his answer as they got to an area of the airport he had never visited; there was a signboard: Private Flights.
"Here we are."
The arrival area had doors with dark glasses, so dark you couldn't see through. Outside, two security guards glanced at them; one said a polite "good morning", while the other just waved his head. Other than that, there was nothing much to be seen.
"Are you sure it's here?"
"Yes, Thomas, I'm sure." She used an impatient tone, one he was not used to hear from his mom.
"Maybe he got tired of waiting and…"
"He wouldn't leave." Thomas felt his mother's hand pressing his own, the nervous grip of her fingers.
Thomas was thinking the situation was pretty strange. Especially the way his mother was behaving; nothing like the calm and patient mother he knew. Who was this person they were waiting for, anyway? Why would mom be so nervous? A man. A man, coming from Gotham. And why mom didn't say something before? He had no idea there was a man coming to visit…
The glass doors opened, and Thomas understood.
The first thing Thomas noticed about him were his eyes. Blue eyes, he had. Than, the dark hair. He had dark hair, which already showed signs of grey on his tempers. He was tall; he had broad shoulders. He also had a recent scar over his left eyebrow, stitches still there to be seen; one of his hands, Thomas observed, was wrapped in bandages.
And, Thomas realized, the man was smiling.
So was his mom.
The man approached, but just until he was a few feet from them. He stopped. Had his lips pressed together, and looked kind of anxious. Mom stared at him for a few seconds, and she smiled too. Although, Thomas was shocked to see, there were tears in her eyes. Tears! But she didn't look sad, not really; she actually looked happy…
"Bruce…", she said, and Thomas realized that was the name of that man. Bruce, he repeated it, silently shaping the word on his lips.
Thomas felt his mother letting go of his hand, and she even tried to move… but Bruce was faster. He had already embraced her, arms around her body, pulling her close to him. Thomas saw how his mother trembled, and had a glimpse of her face, wet with tears, that she hid against the man's chest. They stood like that for a time that Thomas felt like eternity. They just wouldn't let go of each other, as his mother would mumble words the boy couldn't understand, and they held each other, mom crying, really crying, while Bruce hugged her… And then, she raised her eyes to face that man, glancing at him in a way the boy had never seen his mother do before… Her arms too went around him, but around his neck, and Thomas turned his eyes from them as he saw his mom… kissing that man… kissing him on his lips…!
For a second, Thomas was terrified. Never, never before had his mother ignored him, had let go of his hand, had… forgotten him?
"Thomas", he heard mother calling him, as he was still where she had left him, "come here, baby!"
He went.
"This is Bruce." She caressed the boy's hair, while smiling openly.
"Hi…"
Thomas looked up to meet the man's eyes, blue eyes he knew to be just like his own. Eyes he recognized from before, eyes that now watched him intensely, in a way, Thomas new, he hadn't been watched in many years.
"Thomas…!" Bruce said it in a whisper. Smiled. Raised one hand to the boy's face, touching lightly his cheek.
"I remember you…" Thomas said it, said it even before thinking, said it because the words jumped outside his mouth, said because, after all, it couldn't be just a dream.
"I'm sorry, what…"
"I remember you. I do." His mother had a puzzled expression, staring at them in confusion; Bruce, however, nodded slightly his head, encouraging Thomas to proceed. "We were at the park… we… you talked to me…"
Thomas closed his eyes, now almost seeing it again, hearing the words again, feeling the cold of that winter afternoon, years ago.
"It was you, wasn't it?"
Bruce took a few moments before answering; and then:
"Yes."
"I knew it was you…" He looked into the eyes of that man he now recognized. "You are… my father."
"I am."
Thomas felt his mother's hand on his shoulder, a gesture of reassurance. Bruce remained in silence, waiting for his son's reaction.
"You said you would be back… You are, aren't you…? You are here… to stay?"
A gentle, almost imperceptible smile could be seen on Bruce's features.
"Yes, I'm here to stay. If that's okay with you, of course."
The boy exchanged glances with his mother; she blinked an eye, and put an arm around him.
"I'm okay with it."
Bruce's smile widened: "I'm glad to hear it."
Thomas returned his father's smile. Father.
He just hoped Bruce could play football.
He would always remember the sweetness of her lips…
She could never forget the pleasure when his hands touched her skin…
The memory of her soft kisses…
The recollection of his caresses…
To recall the feeling of her tender body trembling under his own…
To keep in memory the plenitude she felt when he was inside her again…
Instead of a reminiscence, actually have her in his arms.
To be in his arms, and never again remember they once were apart.
In the end, Batman wasn't dead.
It was the tenth day since Bruce was there, living with them in the apartment. It was also the day that would stay in Thomas' memories as the one in which his father made a choice.
Sunday morning, no school, but still Thomas was up early. The clock showed it was half past six, but the boy couldn't sleep anymore. He never actually liked sleeping – mother would always tell how the pediatrician had him examined many times as a baby, because he slept much less than a normal child usually does -, but, in the last days, the boy could barely endure more than a few hours in bed. Since Bruce – dad – arrived, things were happening very fast, and there was so much to learn, to know, to ask… Thomas knew his life was changing, and in many ways.
The day Bruce arrived, mom cooked dinner, and they seated around the table for the first time. Not only Thomas and mom, like he was used to; Bruce was there too, holding hands with mother, and staring at Thomas like, the boy felt, he was something rare and precious. It was strange, at first, but the boy understood. Soon enough Thomas realized that Bruce was just like mom in this: he too was a lonely person. That dinner was probably as new for his father as it was for himself.
"So that's why…!", the boy thought to himself that first day, while watching how mom smiled and looked so happy. He finally saw the reason behind his mother's solitude; the thing is, all those years, she had been waiting for Bruce.
Just like he had waited for that man from his memories.
Bruce Wayne, Thomas was constantly repeating the name to himself. "Bruce Wayne, my father." Wayne was a famous name, Thomas soon learned. People knew his father, and it was not unusual to see guys called paparazzi taking pictures of them in the park, or in restaurants, or even in front of their building. Just a few days after his father arrived, other kids in school would ask Thomas about his dad like it was something of common knowledge. It was scary, at first, but mom explained to him: Bruce had money, lots of it, and owned a company or something like that. He was an important person in Gotham, she told him, so people would always want to know about him. Mom explained he shouldn't worry, because it would pass. "We are news now, baby", she explained, "but soon we will be old news, and they will leave us in peace."
Thomas hoped so.
The boy left his bed, walked out of his room. On Sundays, he usually prepared his own breakfast, because mom would sleep through the morning, sometimes until noon. She would always tell him he should have waked her up, but Thomas knew better; even moms deserved a break every once in a while. And now, now that Bruce was there… they were always together, the three of them, and Bruce would spend most of his time with Thomas, taking him and picking him at school, going to the park for long walks, playing chess or football – Bruce was a good ball player, but an amazing chess player -, or just talking; however, there were moments, the boy sensed, that were meant only for his mom and dad. They would never tell him, but he knew. Thomas knew they needed to be alone with each other, sometimes.
Another good reason to take care of breakfast himself: let mom and dad have their morning, if they wished.
The boy went to the kitchen, and found in the fridge the remains of the pizza they had eaten last night. Not a healthy breakfast, his mother would say, but Thomas just couldn't resist. Mom was not a fan of fast food, but, on Saturdays, she would make a concession. And, on Sundays, Thomas would enjoy the leftovers of his mother's good will. So, the boy took the last slice of the pepperoni pizza, and just went to the living room, where he could enjoy a morning of unhealthy breakfast and television.
Thomas had just finished the pizza when his father entered the room.
"Good morning", Bruce greeted him with a smile. "It seems I'm not the only one that can't sleep."
"Yeah…" It had already come to the boy's attention that his father also wasn't one that needed or enjoyed sleeping. "I don't see the point in staying in bed, especially when there's so much to do when you are awake."
"We agree on that." After a few seconds in silence, Bruce cautiously pointed the sofa where Thomas was: "Can I…?"
"Sure." The boy answered quickly, moving to the side to make room for his father. In the ten days they were living together, Thomas had noticed how Bruce was always so cautious. At first, the boy thought it was because they were still getting to know each other, but now he thought differently. He wondered if it was just how Bruce was: never rushing things, never a precipitable person. "What do you want to watch?"
"Whatever you're watching…" He looked at his son, an amused expression: "You smell like pepperoni."
Thomas opened his mouth to answer, but he couldn't think of anything.
His father laughed, and raised a hand to the boy's head, fingers gently passing through Thomas' dark hair. "Don't worry, I wont tell…"
"Really?"
"Really. If you promise, of course…"
"Promise what?" Thomas glanced at him with a suspicious look.
"Promise you'll let me prepare you a decent breakfast next Sunday. No more leftovers from Saturday's dinner, okay?"
Still the boy stared at his father with an expression full of doubt.
"What's the matter?" Bruce asked.
"Can you cook?"
"Well…"
"Have you ever cooked?"
Silence hung between them for a few seconds.
"Trust me, I can handle."
For a moment, Thomas thought he had seen an unknown look on his father's eyes, and even heard a deeper tone in his voice. Like he changed for a second, changed into someone so self-confident and sure of himself… that Thomas wondered how he could have doubted his father. That man, that man could do anything.
Even if it was just a stupid French toast.
"Okay."
"Okay." Bruce was smiling again.
The boy relaxed, seating lazily on the sofa. He let his head rest on his father's biceps, strong arms that – it had been proved already – could easily lift nine years old Thomas without effort, even though the boy was a tall child.
It was true that Thomas was glad that his father had so many unusual qualities, like the fact he was stronger than any dad he had heard about, and smarter, and richer… However, all that was a bit strange too. Thomas still didn't know why it had taken so long for his father to be there, living with him and mom; or why he had never called, or wrote, or why his mother hadn't mentioned him before. Bruce really loved mom, the boy saw it since they first met, and Thomas was pretty sure Bruce also liked being a dad. Then why…?
There were other strange things. It was weird, Thomas thought, that his father had so many scars… Right now, when Bruce was wearing only his pajamas pants, the boy could see the strange marks on his chest, from cuts and burns, and, on his dad's first night, Thomas even saw dark bruises - that looked very painful - present on many places of his body. The bruises were gone, now, but not the picture in the boy's mind, and the question: how?
Thomas never asked. Not to his father, not even to mom. He was afraid his parents would have to lie.
Using the remote control, Thomas switched channels, trying to find something interesting to watch. It happened that, at seven o'clock in the morning, there weren't many interesting things to watch. Bruce really didn't seem to care, and he didn't react to anything that was on television, letting Thomas free to choose.
The boy just went through the channels, thinking that, if he couldn't find anything interesting, maybe he could play chess with his father, or go outside for a walk. In fact, Thomas was so absorbed in this thought, that he reacted with surprise when Bruce put a hand over his, signing to the boy stop changing channels. Thomas obeyed, doing what he was asked before understanding what it was about… until something got his attention too. A word, actually; nothing more. Looking at the television, he realized they were watching the news. And the reporter, he heard, had said Batman.
Thomas felt his father's arm trembling slightly, an involuntary move that lasted less than a second. Still, it had been noticeable, and the boy raised his eyes to look at his father's face, and saw the paleness that had took it. A grave, cold look was all that could be seen in Bruce's face; a concentrated look, as he watched the television.
"… Gotham's vigilante surprised the whole world by reappearing, alive and well, during a bank robbery." Behind the reporter - a woman named Vicky Vale - a bank could be seen, with broken glasses all over the sidewalk, and a car crashed on the wall of the building. "Batman stopped the criminals as they were leaving in that car, taking with them almost two million dollars…"
To Thomas' surprise, Bruce stood up and got closer to the television, kneeling in front of it; the boy had the feeling his father was searching for something in the images. He looked so serious that Thomas was almost scared.
"According to the police, criminals and witnesses complained that excessive force was used by Batman…"
The boy couldn't hear, but he read the word "no" on his father's lips.
"Although the police didn't officially pronounce about Batman's reappearance, it seems that the methods used and the material collected discard this vigilant as a mere copycat…"
Thomas was a smart kid. At least smart enough to realize this: his father's secret, the one that had even kept him away for so long… this secret, this mission… they were watching it on television now. Bruises and scars, an absent father, his mother's silence, Batman's death… all the pieces were getting together to built the answer Thomas had been looking for. Indeed, his father had a secret. A huge secret.
And that was not all… This secret, the thing that belonged to Bruce for so many years… it seemed he had no control over it anymore.
But did it still have control over his father?
The boy knew the answer to that question… a simple, honest yes.
"I knew this was going to happen…!"
Selina was standing in her bedroom, watching while Bruce was collecting personal items from the wardrobe, and putting it in his suitcase.
"Please, don't be like that…" He took a second to look at her, but not more. "It's a minor problem; it will be solved in a couple days."
She glanced at him with cold despise: "I always knew you had flaws, but never thought of you as a liar."
"Selina…"
"I keep telling you… Don't treat me like I'm one of your casual dates! Long legs and no brains? You are on the wrong place, sweetheart…"
He walked to her, but she refused his touch; turned her back on him. "Do you forget I played this game too? Quite well, by the way…"
"I remember."
Selina heard as he took a deep breath, letting the air out slowly.
"You don't have to be nervous, Bruce", she was forcing a frivolous tone, "like I said, I was expecting something like that…"
"Why are you doing this? I'll be back in no time, I promise."
Tears were trying to come out, but she struggled against it. "Stupid woman! Do… not… cry…!"
"Really, Bruce…" Her voice, for Selina's relief, showed no signs of the inner pain. Actually, it sounded sarcastic and dry. "Don't you think that, if you return to Gotham now, you will be dragged in to it again?"
"You have to trust me, Selina." He approached her, his body pressuring against her back, his hands slowly caressing her arms, and finally resting on her waist. "I can do this!"
But her hands covered her face, hiding the tears that were escaping through her eyes. "I know you honestly think you can… I know you think you will do just this one thing, but it's not like that…! No, things like that will always lead to another problem, to another crime, to another villain, to another…"
Words were cut by an unstoppable wave of cry, an explosion of pain in her chest, one she couldn't hold inside… not anymore.
"No… No, it's not like used to be!" He pulled her close, feeling her against him, her warm body, her scent, and he kissed her neck and shoulders, desperately trying to push away the cry that hurt him so much. "You know I have spent years planning my way out, doing everything to be free, to release myself from all that, so we…"
She turned to face him, her green eyes piercing him with fury: "So we could be together, right? So you could be just Bruce Wayne… and Batman no more… right?"
"Right."
"Tell me, then", a sad and yet triumphant smile crossed her lips, "why do you care if some crazy fanatic is playing Batman in Gotham?"
Of course, he knew there was no good answer to that question.
Thomas sighed.
In ten days, he hadn't heard, or even dreamed about his parents arguing; least of all, fighting. Mom was so happy… now, she sounded furious. And she was yelling. And crying!
Bruce… dad… Thomas couldn't hear very well what he was saying – he was not yelling, but rather using a low and husky tone -, but it was not good. He too was different, he transformed since they saw the news… Serious, he was so serious and cold, distant… Like he had locked himself in an inner world, and no one was allowed in there. Just his look… would push anyone away.
Why?
The Batman. It was all about the Batman.
Right now, Thomas was anything but glad that Batman, the real one, was going to return to Gotham…
"I don't want you back. I don't."
"You don't mean that."
"The hell I don't! I mean it, and I only regret that I didn't do it before…!"
"It will not change anything!"
"You know it will!"
"I'm sorry, but this is something I can't leave to be done by somebody else… It's my responsibility."
"Oh, please! Don't you come and talk to me about responsibility! What about your responsibility as a father?"
"That's not fair…! You were the one that set boundaries and rules, you were the one that hid my son from me…!"
"Yes, hold me responsible. I am responsible! I'm not letting you or anybody else put my son in dangerous, or even hurt him again!"
"Hurt him? How dare you suggest I would hurt Thomas?"
"You already did! You are doing it right now! You will do it every time you leave this apartment to chase your insane mission!"
"Please… I have to visit Gotham eventually, Wayne Enterprises is still…"
"Wayne Enterprises. Right. You're really good at fooling yourself."
"All I'm saying is that Gotham is part of my life, even as Bruce Wayne."
"We both know it's not Bruce Wayne that is going to Gotham today."
"I'm repeating myself here… why can't you believe I'm coming back?"
"Because you are not."
"Selina…"
"No! No, Bruce, I won't have it again! It's too much! If you go, you're gone for good."
"You can't make a decision like that for all of us. Thomas is not a baby anymore, and I'll not leave my son again."
"Your son… Ten days and you think you know something about being a father?"
"The reason I only had ten days is because I wanted to respect you and your decision, is because I agreed with you…"
"Bruce, come on! You can't believe in that! Do you actually hold me responsible for hiding my pregnancy, for not telling you about Thomas? You, the greatest detective in the world, could really be fooled by me?"
"I know what you are doing. You're trying to convince me that I didn't want to know…"
"Am I wrong?"
"Of course!"
"If you want to prove me wrong, stay."
"A test? Don't you think I want to stay?"
"Oh, I'm sure you would like to stay… I also think you want to go!"
"I want to solve a problem."
"It's too much, isn't it?"
"What is?"
"See someone using the Batman, using your name, doing what you used to do…"
"If it was just a simple copycat…"
"You care because maybe this guy could be a good new Batman, right? And you wouldn't allow that… you are the one and only…"
"I worry that this person could use the symbol to take advantage, to hurt people, to commit crimes! I created it…"
"… and you should be the one to destroy it."
"Right."
"In the end, it's always about you."
He heard the door from mom's bedroom opening and closing. Then, steps in the corridor; they stopped in front of his bedroom's door, and Thomas waited.
But nothing happened.
Steps again. Farther and farther. The boy heard the front door opening and closing.
And he was gone.
She was lying on her bed, face hid on a pillow. It would keep the sounds of her cry from spreading, it would keep Thomas from hearing. He shouldn't, he didn't have to listen. He had probably overheard too much already.
Her poor son…
Silly, stupid mother! Selina thought of how many bad decisions she had taken, and how much suffering it caused to her child. She never regretted her first choice, the one of having the baby, the one that forced her to leave Gotham and life as Catwoman. That was not as hard as she thought it would be, not at all. No, it was never hard. Have Thomas, be his mother… that was priceless.
However, she remembered the promise. The one she made when she held Thomas in her arms for the first time. You will be happy, she said. Whatever it takes.
And now… Now she knew there was a little boy in the room next to hers, wondering what was going on. A boy that had gained a father and just lost it. They were great, they were great without Bruce, why did she allow him into their lives…? They didn't need him. Thomas didn't need him. He was a wonderful kid; he had never complained about this father issue, he had always been so understanding…! Such a good child. Smart. Handsome. Strong. So strong. Self-confident and independent. What else could a mother ask for?
"I ruined everything…"
Seven years ago, when Bruce had visited for the first time, Selina thought that maybe things could be different. It was hard, so hard, to tell Bruce to leave… It was so sad, look through the window while her son was carried by his father, watch the boy hug his father, see Bruce kissing Thomas… All that felt so… right.
Selina just couldn't resist when Bruce told her he was going to take care of them. When he told her he was going to be back. When he said they would be together, the three of them.
Back then, she thought it was all about Thomas.
Now, she realized it had been about herself.
About her love for him.
About her fear of being alone.
She allowed it because she wanted Thomas to have a dad, but even more because she wanted to have a companion. No, not merely companionship; because she wanted Bruce. Selina wanted him with her, and, also, she deeply desired this proof of love: the end of Batman, for the sole reason that he had chosen her over that masked persona. Her love over his mission.
"I was selfish…"
Now, now he was gone. Batman won. Gotham won. The crusade won. Again. And the cost?
She was devastated, but that was fine… Selina was used to get up and pull herself together. She had fallen too many times to not be able to pick herself up again. No, she would be okay.
But there was Thomas.
She failed her son. She didn't protect him. He now had lost something that, ten days ago, he didn't even know he had… But ten days are enough to make you love… to make you remember… And there was no way the boy didn't know about Batman. That kid was so smart, maybe too smart. Not only he had to watch his father leave, now he would have to live with a secret?
"I turned my son's life into hell…"
And she failed her promise.
Because, right now, she knew Thomas was not happy. Despite all her efforts, her son was getting to know a darker side of life.
Thomas decided: he would not be abandoned.
He would not be left behind. Neither would mom. She was crying in her room, he could hear, and that was hurting him a lot. He had never seen mom cry, not from sadness or pain, at least. Oh, Thomas knew she could be sad, Thomas knew she suffered, sometimes; but she had never complained, never cried, and would always say things would be okay… Mom was brave, Thomas knew.
And that's why her cry would scary him so much.
Thomas just couldn't let things go this way.
He had to do something. He had to stop all that right now.
Because it just wasn't in his nature to seat down and watch.
"I fell asleep?"
She had.
Selina seated on her bed, somewhat confused about what was dream and what was reality. The clock showed it was seven minutes past three p.m., meaning she had been sleeping for the last four hours, at least. "Oh, God…" All that conversation with Bruce was exhausting, even more considering they had been up almost all night, talking and…
"Over. It's over."
It was on the past, now. No more Bruce. He had made his choice.
But what about Thomas? Selina felt a little ashamed, she hadn't talked to her son since his father left, he was probably confused and upset; not to mention, lunch time had come and gone, Thomas was probably hungry… Unless he had prepared something for himself, but that was no excuse for her. She was his mother, and a lousy mother if she was staying in bed, crying all day. No, it was time to move, get out of her room, and return to life. Thomas needed her… and she needed him. They would be fine. They had each other, and had never needed anybody else.
She took off the shirt she had been using to sleep: Bruce's shirt. He didn't take it with him… Too bad. It was a nice shirt, long sleeves, maybe had been used too much, but that was part of the fun. It had been, at least – because his scent was all over that shirt… Now, it was only good to throw away. Or maybe she could send it to him by mail, along with all the other things he left there. The point was, she was not going to keep anything that belonged to him.
Selina dressed her own clothes, a sueter and jeans, and decided to let bath for later. She had to see Thomas first, take care of him, talk to him… everything else could wait. Maybe she could take him to the movies? Or any other thing he wanted to do. There was nothing that would erase what happened, true… but there were things that could help you put it behind.
Reaching the door of her son's room, she knocked gently. Thomas didn't usually closed his door, but considering the volume of her own voice when talking to Bruce… no doubt the boy wanted to isolate himself from that. "Oh, Thomas, I'm sorry…", she thought to herself. So many things she had done wrong. Just hoped he could forgive her, someday.
She knocked again, realizing no one had answered. "Thomas", she called.
Silence.
Maybe he was sleeping too? That would be strange, considering he usually didn't sleep much. Less of all during the day.
"Thomas, please, open the door!"
Maybe he was angry. Upset. Maybe he didn't want to talk. That was not his normal behavior, he used to be so… sympathetic. However, the situation was new. They had never been through something like that, and he was, still, just a child. Selina tried to open the door, but, as she thought, it was locked.
"Baby, please, just say something!" She noticed her heart was finally accelerating, and her hands were trembling slightly. "We don't have to talk, just tell me you're okay…!"
Silence was all she got.
"Thomas, you're making me nervous!"
He was; she was now worried to death. Her heart was pounding so fast, so hard against her chest… She had nausea. Did something happen…? He could have suffered an accident. Fell. Knocked his head. Cut himself. Hurt. Dead.
"Don't panic, Selina!" Panic didn't help. Do something, that would help.
She went to the bathroom in her suite. Opened the first drawer, sighing in relief; she had found what she was looking for, the small first aid kit Bruce had brought. He had arrived still wounded from Batman's last adventure, and brought the kit to finish treatment. Selina couldn't avoid a "thank you, Bruce", said in a quick whisper. In the case, she found needles for stitches; there were many different sizes of needles, and she took three of the longest ones.
"Hope I'm not too out of shape…"
Back to Thomas' room, Selina kneeled in front of the door, and immediately started to use the needles in the lock.
"Please, baby, if you can hear mommy, say something!"
No sound.
The lock cracked, and she recognized it as a success. She couldn't avoid a smile, a smile she hadn't give in many years… a Catwoman's smile. Almost ten years since she had picked a lock, maybe more. But she was still good at it. Maybe great.
"Thomas!" Her mind turned again to this one goal: her son.
The room was dark, all lights off and the curtains were closed. His bed, sheets and pillows, all a mess – the usual result after a night of sleep -, but no sign of the boy. Selina opened the wardrobe, looked under the bed, opened the window, checked the bathroom…
"Where are you, baby?"
That's when she noticed the paper sheet on his desk. "Oh, no, Thomas, please, don't…"
It was her son's handwriting, a note on one of his notebooks page:
Mom,
Don't worry, okay? I'm fine. I just can't let it end like that. You were angry, and dad didn't think this through. I know I can help, just give me a chance. Be back soon.
Love, Thomas
Selina took a deep breath, trying to remain in control while she read the message again and again. Was that really happening? Had her nine years old son sneaked out of the house and left her a note?
This had gone too far.
From what she could understand of the message, Thomas suggested he was going after Bruce… Selina checked the hour again: almost three thirty. How long since Thomas left? An hour? Two? Maybe more. He could have left any time between eleven and three, when she was asleep, after all. "Great mother, Selina, really…!"
He was in the airport, no doubt. Well, had been there, at least – so many terrible things could happen to a boy, so dangerous, all alone...
"No", she mentally yelled, "no, he is smart and resourceful, he can take care of himself…!"
But he was missing. He was. No doubt that, if he had reached Bruce in the airport, his father would have called… Bruce knew she would be worried to death. Bruce would call… wouldn't he?
"He would." She knew that, no matter how upset Bruce was, he would never let her panic; and he wouldn't leave Thomas on his own…
However, there were no calls. No messages, not on her home number, not on her cell.
Four hours… Bruce was already over the Atlantic, probably, and couldn't even dream about what was going on. His jet from Wayne Enterprises was in London, she knew that; they had planned a trip to Paris for the weekend, but called it off on the last moment… Bruce mentioned the plane would stay there, just in case they changed their mind. Of course, it would take time to prepare the jet to leave… but no more than an hour or two. Not Bruce Wayne's jet…
Selina put her shoes, got her coat. She didn't know exactly what to do, but she wouldn't stay there, seating on her apartment and waiting. Call the police? Maybe, but they wouldn't do anything for now, not if she said the truth… Considering the note – proof Thomas was not kidnapped -, and the fact she had woke up half an hour ago – the police would say Thomas could have left the apartment just a few minutes before she awaked -, the cops wouldn't do anything until night. And she just couldn't wait that long.
And, anyway, she trusted she was much more competent to track her own son than any police detective. There was only one other person better than her on that kind of thing… but he was not there. Not anymore. She couldn't count on him.
Selina opened the front door, stepping out of the apartment. Pushed the button, anxiously waiting for the elevator… She regretted that, and just went down using the stairs, running the entire way – three floors. Got to the lobby, and was just leaving the building when she saw him:
"Bruce?"
He was seated on one of the two chairs of the lobby, eyes staring the elevator – the chairs were positioned across the elevator, a clue of how much you could be forced to wait for that ancient thing -, hand supporting his chin, lips pressed together.
"Selina…" Her voice seemed to have brought him back from deep thoughts. He raised himself from that old chair, looking both intrigued and surprised; his mouth opened, making believe he was about to say something, but it closed without a word. However, he approached her, even though he did it in a very cautious manner, while watching her every move.
But Selina was not, under the circumstances, so interested in what he had to say to her; after all, if Bruce was there, she could be sure that Thomas was somewhere else, alone and disappointed. Maybe in danger.
"What are you doing here? I thought you had…"
"I couldn't." He simply said.
"The airport… Did you even…?"
"No. Never got there. I just walked for hours around the neighborhood…" He narrowed his eyes while staring at her. "Did something happened?"
"How long have you been here?" She couldn't avoid the way the question sounded, words coming out nervously.
Selina realized how he immediately noticed there was something wrong. In a second he was standing right in front of her, his eyes directly on hers, reading her every reaction.
"Forty six minutes", he answered her precisely. "What's the matter?" His fingers wrapped around her wrist gently: "You're trembling…"
"Am I?"
"You're pale… your pulse is fast…!" He blinked repeatedly for a few seconds, and the knowledge finally reached him: "Where's Thomas?"
She sighed, not sure if his presence there was, after all, a good sign or not.
"Are you alone?"
The man asking this was dressed as a police officer, leaning over Thomas while he was seated on a bench near the public phones. The boy had been there for almost two hours now, staring at his own feet, and had no clue what so ever of what to do.
Problem was, Thomas had not been able to find his father. He asked around, but no one had seen him; apparently, he had not been in the airport, at least not that anyone knew. The nice lady in the information even looked in the computer, telling him he was too late… Wayne Enterprise's private jet had left even before Thomas got to the airport. And it didn't seem like dad was in any regular flights either. That nice lady even asked Thomas if he didn't want to call someone… "maybe you mother?", she asked kindly. No, Thomas didn't want to. He just told her his mom was waiting outside, and quickly disappeared from the woman's sight.
He just seated on that bench, hours ago, because he had no better option or idea. He was not considering return home, thinking how awful it would be to see mom's sad face, and how the apartment would feel lonely and empty. And, of course, how much of a failure he would feel. He already felt, actually. Thomas was not only upset, but furious with himself: he had been too late; he had been a coward. Why he took so long to decide? Why he didn't say something when Bruce left? Why he had to turn on the television in the morning…?
Guilt, Thomas discovered, could be a paralyzing thing.
But now there was this cop, looking at him from above, giving him a strange smile… it was almost a malicious smile, Thomas thought. And he was pretty strange for a police officer. His uniform was wrinkled, and apparently dirty. There was dust on his shoes, and dark marks with a terrible aspect on the man's trousers.
"No, I'm not alone…" He made his best to sound confident, looking into the man's eyes – Bruce had taught him that this would reassure anything he says. "My dad is buying a cup of coffee."
"Is that right, my boy?"
The question made the boy shiver; the cop's tone was ironic and aggressive. Thomas understood: the man was trying to intimidate him.
"That's right." He tried to remain calm.
"Oh… Aren't you a little liar…?"
"What…?"
Something was wrong, Thomas now knew. Very wrong.
The boy moved as fast as he could, quickly standing and planning to run away from that freak. However, the man seemed to be prepared for that, because he immediately closed his finger around Thomas' arm, a grasp as cold and strong as a metal claw. It was painful, and the man made no effort to avoid hurting the kid, but on the contrary: he slightly turned his hand, causing Thomas to feel a burning pain.
"Don't scream!" The boy could feel a breath close to his neck, hot and of offensive smell. Then, the man forced Thomas to look at him, and showed him a very sharp blade coming out of his sleeve. "Say a word, and this goes directly into your eye…"
Looking around, all Thomas saw were people coming and going, most of them trying to keep a distance from this cop and the boy he was talking to. No one seemed to care. People were even trying not to look, turning their faces to the other way… The airport security had even turned his back on them.
The painful grasp on his arm got tighter, and Thomas felt unwanted tears coming to his eyes. He took a deep breath, making his best to avoid crying.
"Look at this pretty boy…" The mockery came while the man started to pull Thomas, forcing him to walk. For a moment the boy wondered if it wasn't all just a dream, that strange day that started with an unlikely revelation, and now had brought him to that place where all felt like a nightmare. Was that man real? That strange person dressed like a cop, a big guy that smelled terribly, pushing him through the airport corridor with such violence, while no one around would do anything? "Will you cry? Hm? Tell me, will you cry? I would like that, yes sir, I would… You look like a troublesome kid, a rebel… I bet your daddy has to spank you a lot, hm?"
"My father…" but before Thomas could end this phrase of protest, he felt the man pushing him against the wall, pressing the child against it with his own body, and making sure Thomas would hit his nose and mouth on it.
"A rebel, I said! I don't like rebels, kid!" The words were whispered near the boy's face. "Be quiet, hear me?"
The blade touched lightly Thomas' stomach. "Cold, isn't it?" The man asked, his expression a mix of fury and pleasure. "But your blood would make it nice and warm…!"
Now the boy couldn't hold a few tears that silently came down his cheek. Thomas could feel the crying he was containing pressing against his throat, but he swallowed it. Also tasted the blood that was coming from a cut in his mouth, a cut caused by the impact against the wall.
"Now, now… It will be fine…" A heavy hand brutally touched the boy's face, a mockery of a caress. "In a few minutes, I promise you will be able to cry as much as you want, okay?"
He kept dragging Thomas around the airport, under the eyes of dozens of people that were pretending not to see. The man was a cop, after all. Everyone probably just assumed he was doing his job, maybe taking a young shoplifter to teach him a lesson…
There were people even smiling.
In a minute they reached an area of the airport that was isolated with yellow lines and signs: "No trespassing", and "Men working" were some of the words Thomas could read on the several signboards. Apparently, that section of the airport was under some kind of construction work.
"Don't worry, kid, no one will bother us here…"
Thomas knew what the man was talking about; it was Sunday, and no one was working at that place. The area was quite extensive and isolated, and away from the eyes of anyone that would pass outside. To make it even worst, Thomas realized he was now dragged to a bathroom in that area, a room with nothing more than a dozen boxes piled against the wall, pieces of broken glass all over the floor, and, strangely, an old mirror still on the wall.
"Beautiful, hm? You can call it my 'love nest'." He closed the door behind him, and Thomas was horrified to see the man had a key to lock that door. "We'll have lots of fun…"
He finally let go of the boy's arms, and Thomas immediately ran from the man, going to the other side of the bathroom.
"You are a fighter, then? Okay, I like that… I like to fight for it… But I tell you, this will hurt more in you…" The knife was obvious now, its thin blade pointing to Thomas as the man spoke. The boy knew he could run around, maybe kick and struggle… but that was a big man. Solid, with big hands and arms, even though not very tall. He couldn't fight that man physically.
"Wait!" Thomas was not sure if this was a good idea, but he had to try something.
To his surprise, the man did stop.
"What…? You have something to say?" A maniac smile made his features look even more cruelly insane. "Oh, how lovely… I knew you were special as soon as I put my eyes on you!"
"I… I…" His hesitance seemed to encourage the man, and he stepped forward. Thomas said the first thing that came into mind: "Do you know who I am?"
A laugh was the man's response, but he stopped a few feet before reaching Thomas.
"My… my father is an important person…!" Thomas realized he felt awful for saying this, but, since it seemed to have effect over that man, he proceeded. "He has money… and… and… he knows people!"
The man was not laughing anymore. His eyes looked inject with anger.
"Oh… so daddy is a big shot, isn't he? Daddy has lots of money…? Daddy can make everything okay, right?" He covered the distance between him and the boy in a second, one hand immediately grabbing the kid's hair, and pulling him close.
Thomas gasped from the pain, the awful smell of sweat invading his lungs, and felt the sharp metal of the knife behind his ear, then lowering to his face, neck, chest… He felt the blade going under his shirt, and, with a sudden and brutal move, that blade cut through the fabric of the shirt, sueter, and even the jacket the boy was wearing, exposing his thorax.
"Oh, look at that… all his clothes are ruined… I guess you'll have to take it all off…"
"No! My father…" Thomas was interrupted by a solid fist that hit his head, making his world a place of darkness for a few seconds. He felt what could only be blood dripping from his nose profusely.
"Your father…! Shut up about that! Your father will find pieces of you in the bottom of the river, that's what he…"
The door behind the man opened with a loud noise, a bumping sound that was followed by the door knocking on the wall and then falling on the floor.
"What the hell…?" The man said, confusion and surprise could be heard in his voice. Thomas felt this as a moment of doubt for his aggressor, and took this chance to free himself from the painful hands. He pulled himself from that grasp, ignoring the pain on his scalp. "You little rat…!" The man grunted. The boy tried to crawl away from his furious kidnapper, moving as fast as he could. He felt fingers around his ankle, but he kicked with all his strength. The man did let go of his leg, but, instead, attacked with his knife.
Thomas saw the blade coming to his direction, a blow from above, and no way out of it; closed his eyes, waiting for the cold knife…
A yell and the words "son of a bitch!", followed by the sound of metal against a solid surface… Thomas opened his eyes to see that the knife was lying abandoned on the floor, and his attacker cried and screamed while staring in shock at his own hand. There was a piece of glass deeply buried in the flesh of that hand, the one that had held the knife.
Next thing Thomas saw was this tall, huge figure – was it human? – approaching, and easily lifting the now desperate and panicked man in front of him. Ignoring anything the man was saying, this other person just threw him against the mirror on the wall, and said in a cold, husky tone:
"And now is when you regret that this place is so isolated and out of sight."
The man was on his knees, begging:
"No, no, no… no, please, the boy is fine…"
"No, he is not." Again he grabbed the man, pulling him up until his feet were not touching the floor. "But I will feel a little better after I'm finished with you."
"No…!"
Thomas felt a gentle hand touching his shoulder.
"Mom…!"
She was crying, still crying, but not from sadness, Thomas knew. "Mom, I'm sorry…!"
"It's okay, baby!" She pulled him close to her, giving him the strongest hug she had ever given, kissing his forehead and his face. "Thomas… my baby…"
The boy could hear the noises behind his back; screams, cries that were coming from that man as he begged and asked… But now Thomas hid his face against his mother's body, her warm and protective body.
"Let's get out of here, baby. Don't look, okay?" She embraced him while they walked, her hand over his eyes.
"But…" Thomas didn't want to look, not really, but he had to know. "What will happen to…"
His mother didn't let him finish the question:
"Shh… Don't worry…" They left the bathroom, and now Thomas could only hear fists repeatedly beating, covering the distant sound of a weep, a weep caused by pain and fear. "Don't worry… Daddy will take care of everything…"
That night he slept on his parent's bed, between his mother and father; his dad's protective arm over him, his mom's hand caressing his sore face until he fell asleep.
No nightmares.
No fears.
And he dreamed about a bat.