Bruce felt his chest ache in guilt as he listened to Kris sobbing on the other side of the door. He looked over at Alfred, feeling helpless. They'd been knocking on the door for about five minutes, but the young girl wasn't responding to them anymore. He dug into his pocket for the key ring that went to most of the bedrooms, but a hand on his arm stopped him. He looked up at Alfred, who shook his head sadly.
"I think you need to give her some time, Master Bruce." His father-figure told him softly, and the playboy sighed, but nodded. Pushing her too hard might mean pushing her away.
He hadn't meant to get so angry at her. But when he saw her falling, heading for the floor from such a great height, a sudden series of images flashed in his mind of what could happen. Break her leg, her arm, her neck. And he wasn't going to deny, even to himself, that it had scared him. He could've given less of a damn about the sculpture, (the thing was kind of ugly anyway) but he had been so furious that she'd nearly hurt herself that he hadn't kept his temper in check. Guilt gnawed at his chest as her sobs faded behind him, walking back towards his study. He wanted to unlock the door and try and reassure her he meant no harm and that he wouldn't send her back to that horrid place, but that wouldn't do anything but make it worse.
Besides, he still had some research to finish.
After getting back into his study, he closed the door and almost locked it, but then decided against it. Just in case Kris wanted to come talk to him, he wanted her to be able to get in. Back at his computer, he brought the page back up he'd been looking at before the fiasco in the library.
He'd been searching for Kristina's family. He'd managed to find the hospital she was born at, (Gotham General) but her birth certificate was, well, missing.
That had thrown him, he wasn't going to lie. Birth certificates weren't exactly easy to get your hands on, but they still existed, and when he'd submitted his adoption paperwork, they had sent him a sort-of copy that was missing the names of her parents. Drumming his fingers against his desk, the vigilante switched tactics. Instead of looking for a birth on Kristina's birth date, he looked for a death.
And he found exactly what he was hoping he wouldn't find.
Less than five minutes after Kristina's birth, a twenty-year-old woman who had given birth to a baby girl matching all of Kristina's measurements died of massive blood loss following the delivery. The record stated that she had been having complications during the pregnancy and had been encouraged multiple times through out her check-ups and appointments to terminate it. For whatever reason, she hadn't. But Bruce still couldn't find a name.
He scanned through multiple hospital reports, but something was odd; they'd been altered. No reports would list the name of the patient directly in the summary and list of symptoms and vitals, but all reports had to be labeled with name, birthdate, and social security number. But all of Kristina's mother's reports had been tinkered with, and the spaces next to the required fields were blank. No hospital would give care without knowing the direct name and history of their patient, and that meant one thing.
Someone had gone in and taken everything out.
Bruce knew what that meant; whoever Kristina's father or other family was, they had connections, most likely criminal. He was guessing they'd paid someone off at the hospital with access to the records.
Just to cover all his bases, he scanned through several more reports. What interested him was, on the date of Kristina's birth, someone had apparently been there with her mother. He scanned the report again and realized with a start what it was saying.
Patient's twin brother was given chance to obtain custody; family member declined. Requested infant be placed within foster system in the city.
Oddly specific that the family member wanted Kris to stay in Gotham; was it because they were still in the city as well?
As he continued scanning through earlier reports of Kris's mother's appointments, something caught his eye. A video, labeled Understanding and Acceptance of Risks Following Full-Term, High Risk Pregnancy. The name underneath the video had been removed again, but he still clicked on it.
A black screen met him, and he narrowed his eyes. Bringing it up in a separate window, he started decoding the video. It was covered well, but not well enough; they clearly thought no one would attempt to look too hard. Of course, they'd only been worried about CPS and the government. The process took almost an hour, but soon, a clear picture of an older, sickly-looking version of Kristina popped up. Bruce was almost startled at how much the manor's new resident looked like her mother as he pressed play. The video began, filming the woman sitting on the patient's table, clad in a light blue patient's gown.
"Please state your name." A soft male voice instructed somewhere off camera, and the woman nodded.
"My name is Elizabeth Lynn Crane."
Crane… that name sounded familiar…
The voice off camera continued to speak, telling the woman the long list of risks that would follow with continuing to carry the pregnancy to term. She nodded along with his words, her pale and sunken face determined. It was as she spoke her understanding that he realized the difference between mother and daughter. Elizabeth had shockingly blue eyes, contrasting with Kristina's own light hazel. Genetic trait of her father, maybe?
As the video wound down, a different voice off camera spoke up. "Beth, this is crazy, why are you doing this?"
Whoever had been holding the camera shifted it, and the bar at the bottom of the screen showed that it was about to end in a few seconds. But right before it did, Bruce's eyes caught something he had not expected to see.
He paused the video, rewinding frame by frame, until he saw the scene with more clarity. Though the frame was tilted, it showed a dark-haired man standing next to Elizabeth, reaching for her hand. His glasses were flashing in the light of the room, but Bruce knew who he was looking at almost immediately.
Jonathan Crane was in the room with Kristina's mother.
Heart rate speeding up, Bruce went back to the hospital report of Elizabeth's death. Twin brother…
Kristina did have a surviving family member, and he was very close by.
Jonathan Crane was Kristina's uncle.
Picking up the phone, he dialed almost frantically, praying Rachel was still in her office. After a few rings, her familiar voice greeted him.
"Hello?"
Bruce paused, not knowing how she would react to him calling. "Rachel?"
There was a beat of silence on the other end of the line before she responded. "Bruce?"
"Yeah, it's me. Listen, I'm sorry about calling in unannounced, but I kind of need your help with something."
"Um, ok. What is it?"
"Well," he took a deep breath, unsure how to spill the news, but decided to just bite the bullet. "I don't know if you know, but I recently started the adoption process for a child."
He could practically feel Rachel's shock, and he knew for a fact that her mouth had fallen open and her eyes had widened in that cute expression she always got when something surprised her. She stuttered several times before she managed to get a sentence out.
"Wh- wow, Bruce, that's- why- why did you do that?"
Bruce honestly didn't know how to answer that. Why had he done it? He wasn't sure if he knew the truthful answer himself yet, but he knew that somewhere in him, he had a good reason.
Even if he couldn't voice why, even to himself.
"Uh, well, I guess you could say I know how it feels." He told her softly, and there was silence on the other end of the line again.
"Oh. Well, if you're calling for help with the paperwork, I don't normally handle that stuff; but I can give you the names of some really good custody lawyers-"
"No, no, that's not the reason I'm calling. I did some digging, and I found out she actually has a living relative in the city; it sounds like he knows she's here, but he gave up all rights to custody and therefore I never had to get in contact with him about the process."
"Ok? Is there a question in there, or…?"
"Well, yeah, I thought you might know him. Jonathan Crane?"
He heard a sharp intake of breath on Rachel's end, and a sound that resembled someone dropping something on the floor. "Wait, Jonathan Crane?"
"Yeah, it looks like he's her maternal uncle. Did you know he had a twin sister?"
"No, no I didn't." Rachel swore softly on the other end of the line, then sighed. "Bruce, Crane's bad news. As in, we think he might be connected to Falcone."
Bruce stopped dead, wondering if he'd heard his friend correctly. You've got to be kidding…
"Connected how?"
"Every time we manage to catch one of Falcone's thugs, Crane is always there to testify in favor of putting them in Arkham; he's the lead psychiatrist there. He's a pretty creepy guy, Bruce. Do you think he'll try and regain custody?"
"It doesn't look like it, but I still don't want him knowing about this if he's actually connected with the mob." Speaking of which, his eyes caught the time on the clock, and the setting sun outside. It was time for his other job. "Look, I have to go, can I talk to you about this later? And maybe you can send me everything you have on Crane?"
"You got it. And, hey, Bruce?"
He stopped, having been about to hand up, and brought the phone back to his ear. Rachel was quiet for a few seconds, then spoke again, her voice softer and more sincere.
"It's a good decision, adopting her. What's her name?"
"Kristina." Bruce supplied, "But she's already told me she prefers Kris. She's about twelve."
"Maybe I could meet her? You know, just, whenever you guys have time."
The billionaire felt a smile start to creep at the corners of his mouth, and he nodded, even though Rachel couldn't see him. "Yeah, I think that would a great idea."
After exchanging some rather awkward goodbye's, he hung up, and started for his piano. Not only did he need to talk to Gordon about Flass, but maybe the sergeant would know more about Kristina's uncle.
As he started to go down to the cave, he paused, looking back at the door. Kris hadn't come to see him; was she ok? The girl obviously had a habit of getting into trouble, what if she'd gotten hurt again?
A feeling he couldn't identify started to rise in his chest, and he started for her bedroom, intent on just knocking on the door to check in. But when he did, there was nothing. He knocked again, softly calling her name, but was still met with silence. Feeling a little more than concerned, he brought out the keys, unlocking the door and peering into the room.
Kristina was curled up on the floor, her face streaked with dried tears. Her closed eyes and soft, even breathing told him she was fast asleep, and he pressed his lips together as he pocketed the keys. So, she was safe. He could get back to work.
Well, the floor doesn't look very comfortable, she'll hurt her neck.
Stepping into the room, he bent down, supporting her back with one arm and another under knees as he gently lifted her up. She shifted, and he froze, but she relaxed again, settling against his chest with a soft sigh. He carried her gently to her bed, not that it took much effort. She weighed next to nothing.
As he lowered her onto the bed, she suddenly whimpered, clutching at his shirt. She started mumbling incoherently, but he could've sworn he heard her say, "No, please don't leave, please don't leave me alone…"
Reaching up, he attempted to remove her grip, but nearly cursed when her hands refused to budge. How could someone so tiny be so strong? Several more tries yielded the same results, and finally, he gave up.
An idea popped into his head, and he turned, settling himself on the bed with the young girl still curled up like a cat in his arms. He began to sing softly.
Hey Jude, don't make it bad
Take a sad song and make it better
Remember to let her into your heart
Then you can start to make it better
His singing voice was horrible, but he still remembered how his mother used to sing it to him. The Beatles had been a favorite band of his parents; there were still some records in the manor that they used to play all the time when he was young.
As he sang, the child's face relaxed, and she seemed to fall deeper into her sleep. He was able to shift her onto the bed, but kept singing. He wasn't sure why, but he felt the need to finish the song. It was a long one, and he had work to do, but the sight of her peaceful, innocent face seemed to push him along. Once he had finished, he pulled off her sneakers and grabbed the white afghan that was folded up at the foot of the bed, draping it across her form.
Not noticing Alfred standing in the doorway, smiling tearfully at the scene in front of him. The butler slipped off right as Bruce turned around with an impressive amount of stealth.
A soft groan fell past Kris's lips as she came to, and the girl shifted, feeling her hands brush across soft fabric. She opened her eyes, groggy and confused, and was met with soft, dark blue fabric and a dark room.
What? Where…?
The events from earlier suddenly started trickling back into her mind, and she sat up, rubbing sleep from her eyes. A slow, bitter dread started to solidify in her chest. Bruce had probably already called Ms. Oscar and asked for a car to take her back to the group home.
Wait, why was she in bed? Hadn't she fallen asleep on the floor? Maybe she was sleep walking again. It hadn't happened since she was eight, but the doctors said it could be possible.
She looked over at the clock, and saw that it was about 11:36. It was dark outside, too; how long had she been asleep?
As quietly as she could, she slipped out of bed, (when had her shoes been taken off?) and padded over to the door, wincing as it creaked when she opened it.
The hallway was completely empty, so Bruce was probably asleep. She was about to turn around and head back to her bed, maybe to do some puzzles before she fell asleep again. But her stomach growled loudly, and she grabbed it. Oh, that's right, she hadn't eaten dinner after her melt down.
She bit her lip as she remembered the tears and the screaming. If the girl was being honest, she felt a little ashamed, and just plain sad. She'd tried so hard, she hadn't cursed, hadn't yelled, hadn't talked back, none of it. And then, right when Bruce and Alfred were starting to like her, she'd gone and ruined it, like she always did. Tears welled up in her eyes again, and she turned around to crawl back into her bed when she spotted her backpack, sitting right next to her nightstand. She frowned, feeling determined.
If Bruce is just gonna send me back, I might as well go try and find Jonathan; at least I know he wants me.
With that in mind, she grabbed her backpack, stuffing it full. She couldn't fit all her clothes and books in there together, so she decided to sacrifice half of her shirts. They were wearing out, anyway.
Slinging the straps over her shoulders, she tiptoed out of her room and down the hall, heading for the front door.
Just one problem.
She couldn't remember how to reach the front door.
All the windows were locked, and she couldn't get them to budge, either. Groaning in frustration, she continued to search, hoping she came across an exit before Alfred or Bruce woke up. After trying several different doors, she found herself in the garage.
The preteen paused her escape mission and stared; she couldn't believe just one man owned all these cars. He couldn't even drive them all at the same time, so it seemed kind of stupid. She began to slink between the cars, searching for a side door. The button to open the garage was right there, but she knew it would alert one of the adults in the house.
As she felt like she was nearing the exit, the door to the house opened, and she dropped to the ground in a crouch, eyes widening. She heard a familiar voice on the phone. Alfred? Whoever he was talking to, he sounded really upset, and actually kind of scared. His footsteps were getting closer, and she looked around, panicking. Her eyes fell on the car door next to her head, and she grabbed at the handle, breathing a sigh of relief when it popped open quietly. She slipped inside, shutting the door silently behind her just as Alfred came walking up right next to her hiding spot. She laid down on the floor of the backseat of the car, holding her breath.
Ok, I'll just wait here until he leaves…
Before she could even finish her thought, the drivers door to the car she was hiding in popped open, and Alfred got in, frantically starting the car and beginning to drive away.
You've got to be shitting me.
Unable to move without alerting the old man she was there, she stayed silent, wide-eyed, laying on the floor of the car as it drove through the night. Sheets of rain pounded on the metal and glass, and she listened to him speaking on the phone.
"Just hold on, Master Bruce- Master Bruce? Master Bruce, please answer!"
Why was he calling Bruce? Wasn't he at home sleeping? She wondered, feeling confused. She continued to watch through the sun-roof as the streetlights passed over them, and she realized that they were on a bridge. Not just any bridge, the bridge going into the Narrows.
What was Bruce doing in the Narrows?
Unable to hold in her curiosity anymore, she sat up, grabbing the seats, "Hey, Alfred-"
The butler gave a startled cry and the car swerved, nearly hitting another car coming straight towards it. Kris was thrown harshly onto the backseat, and she sat up as Alfred righted them. He turned back to her, his weathered face un-characteristically startled and almost angry.
"Miss Kristina! What on earth-?"
"Well, sorry, I didn't mean to scare you!" She protested, holding up her hands. "Is everything ok? What's wrong with Bruce?"
The butler looked at her in the rearview mirror, not slowing down as they got further and further into Gotham's worst neighborhood. "I'm not sure I know what you mean, Miss Kristina."
She cocked an eyebrow at him, folding her arms across her chest. "Really? Cause I heard you talkin' to him."
Alfred met her gaze in the rearview mirror, raising his own eyebrow in return. "And just what are you doing spying in the backseat of a car at this time of night, young lady?"
She bit her lip, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. "Um, nothing…" she trailed off, and Alfred's eyes fell on the bag at her feet. His face softened just a tad.
"I can't take you home right now, Miss Kristina, we have to go and get Master Bruce, I'm afraid he's hurt. If you get up here and buckle your seatbelt, I won't mention this little outing of yours to him."
She wanted to protest that he was probably going to send her back anyway, but decided not to push her luck. If he was willing to let her tag along, she wanted to. Maybe if she helped, Bruce would see that she actually wanted to stay, if he would let her.
The roads got worse, and she looked around sadly. She knew how hungry the homeless men on the street felt, how angry and scared the children out this late at night were. She even noticed a few kids that looked just shy of her age stealing a few pieces of fruit from a cart.
Alfred finally parked the car behind a building, and he turned to her, face stern.
"Now, I need to go get Master Bruce. You will stay here, keep the doors locked, and not open them for anyone that is not myself, am I clear, Miss Kristina?"
Now, Kris wasn't intimidated by a lot of people, but something about Alfred's tone told her she wouldn't want to deal with consequences of disobeying him, so she nodded quickly. Satisfied with her answer, he got out and locked the doors, hurrying off into the night.
The rain continued to pound on the car, and she looked around anxiously. Why was Bruce here? She was going to go out on a limb that someone would've noticed Gotham's Prince in the poorest part of town; was he partying here? She doubted it.
As her eyes roamed over, moving figures caught her eye. Sitting forward, she squinted, trying to see through the rain. It was a tall, lanky figure, getting into a car. The rain was thick, but whoever it was looked really familiar. They had a weird, ratty brown hood on their head, and she could only see the back of them as they jumped into a car, speeding off the opposite way.
Who was-?
Her thoughts were cut off by a sharp knocking the window, and she jumped, screaming.
Alfred was standing outside the car, in the rain, supporting the freaking Batman on his shoulder.
The car was speeding down the wet streets, and Kris was almost a little afraid that they might crash. Alfred was clutching wheel tightly, his eyes watering, mouth set in a fearful and upset expression. The young girl was supposed to be looking straight ahead, but she was turned around, holding onto the back of the passenger seat, staring at Batman- Bruce- in fear.
"Alfred, what's wrong with him?"
"I don't know, Miss Kristina, but he's injured. We need to get him back to the manor."
Kris turned her gaze back to the new authority figure in her life, watching in fear and concern as he twitched, mumbling incoherently. He was awake, but his eyes were glazed over, and it seemed like he wasn't even looking at her or Alfred.
"Poison…it's poison…the rabbits…" he wasn't making any sense, and it was really starting to freak the twelve-year-old out. Right as she was about to speak to Alfred again, Bruce's eyes seemed to become more focused, and they zeroed in on her.
"It's him…dangerous…stay away…keep…safe…keep Kris safe…" he whispered frantically, and then he was gone again. Kris stared at him in shock. Safe? Why, was she in danger? Who was 'him'? Who was dangerous?
When they finally managed to get him inside and back into his room, Alfred sent her out so he could undress Bruce, and told her she needed to call Lucius Fox immediately, his number was on the fridge by the phone in the kitchen. Her fingers shook in fear and confusion as she dialed, feeling freaked out by how she'd seen her new authority figure. Bruce always seemed so put-together, never showing too much emotion, and seeing him like that made her just feel scared.
"This is Lucius Fox." The voice on the other end was male, and tired; she probably woke him up.
"Hello? You work with Bruce, right?"
"Um, yes…who is this?"
"My name is Kristina, Bruce is my," she stopped, unsure what to call him. "He's my foster dad, Alfred said I needed to call you. He's hurt, and he needs help."
"Hurt?" Lucius's voice sounded more awake, and she heard shuffling in the background. "Hurt how?"
Kris hesitated at this; did Lucius know Bruce was Batman? Should she really tell him? What if that wasn't a good thing? Finally, she decided Bruce's safety was more important.
"Well, I don't know if you know, but he's, well, he's Batman, and he's really hurt. Alfred said he's hallucinating or something; he says it looks like Bruce was drugged. His costume is smoking, too. It kind of looks like it was on fire."
"Did he say what Bruce was drugged with?" She could hear footsteps and keys jingling in the background, and then a door opening and shutting. "I'm coming over right now, is Alfred there? Can I talk to him?"
As if on que, the butler practically materialized next to her, holding out his hand. She handed him the receiver, and started for Bruce's room again, but Alfred's voice stopped her.
"Miss Kristina, Bruce needs his rest, and so do you. It's best you go up to bed now."
Kris opened her mouth to protest, but Alfred was already on the phone with Lucius, talking in a low and serious voice. Sighing, she started up to bed, but didn't feel tired. If anything, she felt even more hyper than she had before. Probably from all the excitement and the random nap she'd taken. As she shuffled past Bruce's room, she heard him turning and whimpering, and she paused. Slowly creaking the door open, she stared, wide-eyed, at Gotham's hero, tossing and turning in his bed. He was sweating, and looked like he was in a lot of pain. Not only that, he looked really scared.
And that scared her.
Her mind flew back to their fight; all the things she'd said. Guilt started to build up in her chest. What if that was the last thing Bruce ever heard from her? What if he died?
Why do you care? He doesn't want you, silly little girl. You're going right back to that group home as soon as he wakes up.
Kris shook her head, trying to ignore the mean voice in the back of her head, but it didn't do much. She felt selfish for worrying about going back to the group home when Bruce was like this, but she was still scared.
"Miss Kristina."
She jumped, turning around. Alfred was standing there, holding a tray that was holding what appeared to be lots of medical supplies. She shuffled to the side, letting him pass into the room, but followed him in. Alfred either didn't notice her or didn't care that she was in there with him as he started hooking up a weird tube to Bruce's arm and opened up multiple bottles of stuff that looked like medicine.
"Is Bruce gonna be ok?" She asked softly. Alfred paused in his movements, and turned back to her. A sad smile came across his face, and he sat, holding out an arm. Hesitantly, she stepped forward, allowing the older man to bring her into a side-hug. It was hard not to feel comforted when Alfred was there.
"He'll be fine, Miss Kristina. I believe I told you to go off to bed now, didn't I?"
"Yeah," she mumbled, tucking some hair behind her ear, "but I just got worried for Bruce." She paused, biting her lip. "I'm sorry I was trying to run away, Alfred, I just didn't want to go back to the group home…"
"Why would you be going back there?" Alfred asked, looking confused. She turned to him, eyes wide.
"I- I thought you and Bruce were gonna send me back…"
Alfred scoffed lightly and pulled her closer, hugging her tightly. She melted into the embrace, sniffling a little, before he pulled back, holding her arms.
"Listen to me, young lady. If anybody can understand losing one's temper, it's Master Bruce. Believe me, he won't send you back just because you had an argument; he had his own fair share of fights with just about everyone after his own parents passed."
"Well, I also broke the ladder; and the table, and that sculpture, and the window."
Alfred actually laughed at that, shaking his head. "All very easy things to fix, Miss Kristina. You should've seen the damage your adoptive father has done to this manor over the years; a little hellion, he was."
Kris laughed at Alfred's exasperated tone and they both looked over to Bruce, who had stopped mumbling and was now simply twitching. Her face fell again and she turned back to Alfred.
"Why does he do it, Alfred?"
Alfred was quiet for several seconds before he answered. "The Wayne's have not only been a very affluent family in this city's history, Miss Kristina, but they've always used their position to help those less fortunate in the city. Bruce's own father, Thomas Wayne, nearly went bankrupt attempting to save this city during the depression. Master Bruce, however, struggled for a long time. He was angry, I think; angry at the city his parents tried to hard to help, angry at himself, at the world. He was away from home for a long time learning how to control his anger."
That was the first time Kris felt like she knew how Bruce was feeling. At times, she was also just so mad. At Gotham, at her parents for leaving her, at the rest of her family that obviously didn't want her, whoever they were. At herself, at the Oscar's, at the group home, all of it.
But if Bruce was angry, and still doing good stuff, maybe she could, too.
Alfred sighed and stood, placing a hand behind her shoulder blades. "You shouldn't be here for this, Miss Kristina. Let's get you to bed, now."
After she was in her pajama's and teeth brushed, Alfred softly bid her goodnight and shut the door behind him, turning off the light. For several minutes, Kris lay awake, staring at the ceiling above her. She was actually kind of tired now, coming down from the high of all of the excitement, but she still couldn't sleep.
Finally, she couldn't stand it. Getting out of bed, she gathered up her blankets and dragged them behind her, padding determinedly down the hall to Bruce's room. Alfred wasn't there, so she quietly slipped through the door. There was a chair next to Bruce's bed, and on the other side, a small couch. She slipped onto it and pulled her blankets over her, sitting next to her new adoptive parent.
Bruce didn't look worse, but he also didn't look good. He was still sweating, twitching, and would occasionally mumble something she didn't understand. Kris bit her lip, unsure how to help him feel better. No one had ever really comforted her beside John, and all he did was sit with her; his presence had been enough. Bruce obviously didn't know she was there, so how was that supposed to work?
As she sat thinking, she began to hum. Nothing special, just a little tune that had been circling in her head for a few hours. If she was being completely honest, she wasn't even sure what song it was; but it sounded nice. Her singing voice was awful and her humming wasn't much better, but the soft sound of the wordless melody seemed to help fill the empty silence.
It was probably her own imagination, but Bruce started to look a little more relaxed. Her own eyelids started to droop, her humming becoming quieter and quieter until finally, she was laying down on the couch, blankets pulled over her, song tapering off into silence as she fell into a deep, warm sleep.