Out of the Shadows

November 15th

The city's drowning. More than a week since the Riddler breached the seawall, and even with martial law in effect, Gotham's criminal element has taken advantage of the disaster. Looting, murder, drugs…it feels like nothing has changed, but also like everything has. The light still hits the sky every night. It's becoming a symbol of hope. And a reminder that criminals still have to fear the shadows. Even when the authorities can't get to them, I can.

Bruce rummaged through the top drawer, growing impatient. He'd had a long night. His leg was aching from a lucky hit from a crowbar that one of the Jokerz had landed outside the 5th Street subway station. He'd dispersed the gang, and saved two shop owners, but he was feeling the aftermath of the fight that morning. The reminder of which made his current problem all the more ridiculous in comparison.

He couldn't find his socks.

He'd looked in every drawer and closet, found every tie, shoe, belt, and shirt that he owned, even a pair of waterproof, insulated socks that he wore with his Batsuit—and what were they doing in the house? He'd built a laundry downstairs specifically to keep his nocturnal accoutrements out of sight—but his socks eluded him.

"Damn it," he growled, slamming the drawer shut.

"May I be of service, Mr. Wayne?"

Bruce turned, finding Alfred standing in the doorway to his bedroom, leaning heavily on a crutch and balancing a tray stacked with neatly folded and clean socks. Bruce's eyes shifted from the tray to Alfred's bruised and haggard face. He glowered.

"You're supposed to be resting."

"As are you, sir," Alfred replied quietly, hobbling toward the bed and placing the tray on an end table before handing over a pair of warm—freshly pressed, no less—socks. "And, yet, you appear to have a full schedule today. Even a meeting with the new mayor."

"Mayor-elect." Bruce correctly gently, momentarily giving up on questioning his faithful butler's health and setting about finding his shoes.

"Of course, sir," Alfred replied dutifully, but a wry smile tugged at his mouth.

"You're really supposed to be in bed. Dorie can take care of the house."

What was left of it, anyway, after the Riddler's mail bomb.

"And who will take care of you, Bruce?"

Bruce sighed softly. Alfred could be as stubborn as him, sometimes. He abandoned the argument and focused on tying his tie. His thoughts shifted to how he was going to handle the mayor. She was persistent, taking time from coordinating the city's recovery efforts to harangue him about Wayne Enterprise's role in said efforts.

Fortunately, he had some good news for her.

He finished fidgeting with his suit, and glanced over his appearance in the full length mirror. He paused, realizing that he wasn't quite sure how to proceed. Bruce Wayne, the reclusive billionaire, had barely been seen in public in years. Decades. Only the Batman left those walls every night. Everything was changing, and quickly, and Bruce found himself at a loss.

"May I offer some advice?" Alfred said, breaking into his reverie.

Bruce couldn't stop the smirk that bent his lips. "I wasn't aware that you'd stopped."

Alfred appeared serious. "It will take time, finding the real you out there in the world. Don't worry if it doesn't happen right off."

Frowning at the other man's reflection, he shook his head slowly. "The real me is already out there, Alfred. I need to find Bruce Wayne."

BM BM BM BM BM

"I'm so sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Wayne," Mayor-elect Reál said as she entered the glassed-in office at her campaign headquarters.

"It's all right," Bruce murmured, not moving from where he stood near the front of her desk. He'd been silently observing everyone who moved around the small office suite since he'd arrived. There seemed to be no reason to be on his guard, but he found it difficult to shed the habit. He added a respectful nod. "Madam Mayor."

She smiled. "Thank you. Oh, and congratulations to you, as well."

As she moved toward her cluttered desk, she placed a copy of the morning edition of the Gotham Globe in front of him. It was the first newspaper to return to circulation following the flood. The large headline read: HEIR TO WAYNE FORTUNE RETURNS TO FAMILY BUSINESS.

Bruce frowned slightly. He hadn't realized that the press had gotten wind of his activities already. He'd hoped to stay out of the public eye a little longer. Reál seemed to read his reaction. "I know, they're always one step ahead aren't they?"

"I, um…I've been talking to the lawyers about maybe getting control of the Renewal fund. Maybe if we can get it out of their hands…." He didn't have to say whom he was referring to, since the Riddler's revelations about Falcone's activities had been playing on the nightly news for weeks, right alongside images of Gotham's citizens being rescued and the ongoing salvage operations.

"I'm very happy to hear that, Mr. Wayne," Reál smiled. "By the way, I didn't get a chance to say after the funeral, but…the way you saved Mayor Mitchell's son—"

Bruce shrugged that off. He didn't want to think about the funeral, and all the conflicting emotions it had dredged up inside him. The only person who would understand how he felt wasn't in that room.

"Speak of the devil," Reál mused, glancing toward the doorway. "Excuse me."

Bruce followed her gaze, finding the deceased former mayor's wife and her son approaching. He remained where he was while Reál rose to speak to them. He only partially monitored the conversation, which seemed mostly about when Reál would be moving into the mayor's residence. Bruce instead mentally reviewed the rest of his schedule. He needed to meet with the Board again, to finalize his resuming control over Wayne Enterprises. That would take most of the afternoon—

A presence at his side interrupted his thoughts. He glanced down, finding the mayor's boy standing next to him, looking up with wide eyes. "You're him."

Bruce frowned for a moment. He'd never been comfortable around children. He extended his hand, with almost ridiculous formality in hindsight. It faintly reminded him of that night at the Garden, when he'd lifted the same boy from the flooded stage. "Hi. I'm Bruce."

The boy took his hand, but that only added a note of confirmation in his bright eyes. He whispered almost reverentially. "No. You're him."

Alarmed, Bruce glanced back at Reál and the boy's mother, who were still conversing, oblivious to the meeting taking place by the desk. He turned back to the small boy, who appeared star struck. Bruce raised one finger to his lips, indicating that they shouldn't speak about that. The boy nodded, symbolically pressing his lips together in eager secrecy.

It was mildly disconcerting, to have such a young person seeing so completely through his disguise, indeed, thinking back, Bruce had seen it before, when he and the boy had made eye contact at the funeral. It made his decision to re-enter public life as Bruce Wayne even more nerve racking. If people could see—

The mayor's widow summoned the boy over, and Reál wrapped up their conversation before returning to the desk. "Now, where were we?"

BM BM BM BM BM

The Batman watched as the Twins, the bouncers from the Iceberg Lounge, argued with some of Boss Grissom's men. As expected, Falcone's death had opened up a power grab between the remaining mob families in Gotham. It appeared that the Penguin was wasting no time moving in on his rivals in the drops business.

The pouring rain obscured some of the action, and he considered moving closer when a yawn suddenly broke his concentration.

He blinked at that. He never got tired on a patrol—although he often crashed the following morning for hours back at the penthouse. He wasn't used to having a day job. He'd spent a full day arranging Bruce Wayne's future, after a long night on 5th Street. He was going to have to learn how to balance his two lives.

He decided not to engage, even knowing that he could take down the Twins with relative ease. There were no civilians in the area, and letting thugs beat up other thugs would be no loss. It might be profitable to simply observe for a few days, let them lead him to something more concrete that he could take to Gordon and hopefully dethrone Cobblepot before he got more powerful.

His reticence to attack surprised him. Perhaps Alfred's injury and Selina's departure had affected him more than he realized. Or maybe it was the look on the mayor's son's face. Or the mountain of work the lawyers at Wayne Enterprises had laid before him in order to secure his return to the family business.

He dismissed the distracting thoughts. The Batman didn't navel gaze. Delaying his attack was strategy, nothing more. Still….

Following the Twins for another hour, he finally acknowledged the fatigue from his long day and returned to his bike. Securing his cowl and cape, he headed home.

END

Notes: The part about Bruce not being able to find his socks, and having a pair of Batman's socks at home are references to 1989's Batman movie, where Bruce tells Vicki Vale that he couldn't find his socks without Alfred, and Robert Pattison's story of how he kept taking socks home from the set.

Similarly, "Boss Grissom" references the mob boss in the 1989 movie, played by Jack Palance, as does the newspaper the Gotham Globe.

The Jokerz street gang is a reference to the 90s animated Batman Beyond. It seems the street gang in The Batman were also inspired by their appearance.