**Thank you everyone for the reviews; I wrote this story a while go and reading it now I am not totally in love with it (though I used to be super proud of it). Please know this story contains major character deaths and some violence. I got a lot of reactions from this story before so I hope it's okay. Please let me know if there is anything I can do to be better or any suggestions you wish to make. P.S. I am sorry if the story feels very rushed.**
"Don't go gentle into that good night
Rage on against the dying light."
-"Somebody to Die For" by Hurts
Freezing, Selina was shivering violently from the cold outside the manor walls. Though, she was smiling too with her lips turning an icy blue colour as she pushed open the double doors to the living room, having to ruffle her hands through the heavy curtains that hung in her way. For a moment she thought nothing of it-it wasn't a big deal. Yet something inside her head told her something was amiss. Bruce rarely had the curtains drawn.
She ignored the tiny feeling, however. Letting it run around like a cockroach on her skull. Smiling fading at the absence of warmth around her, therefore the absence of a fire Bruce had failed to light. Making the room feel just as cold as the outside, if not more. She hastily stomped off the snow from her boots so she wouldn't track it everywhere.
As the snow fell from her soles, melting deep into the carpet from the friction of her shoes she looked around and realized the hollowness before her. Strangeness, considering Bruce spent all his time in the living room. Brooding over all his books and papers, police report and crime photos, the thoughts inside his ever growing mind well until past the hour of five in the morning. The entire reason she came through the house by the porch anyway. Often times peeking in the brightening hours to see him sacked out on the couch, drooling with a blanket draped around his body. But today, even with everything laid out so seemingly perfect, Bruce was nowhere to be seen.
Something seemed very, very wrong.
She called for him."Bruce?" The entire house remaining in a dead silence. Not even the spirits of the home or his annoying Butler, Alfred called back to her. Not even a sound came to her ears. "Kid?!"
Not even the T.V was on blaring the news reports that she knew Bruce would watch for hours on end. An eerie still and quiet. Darkness and grey surrounding her view of everything being blacked into shadows. Lights absence casing a depressing atmosphere hanging in the air and seeming to swallow Selina whole. She confirmed with herself.
Something's definitely not right.
She was positively sure of it.
Slowly she crept from the living room, wandering around the empty hallways that seemed to harbour ghosts. Careful not to make a sound that could somehow disturb the emptiness that might scare her to death. It was so silent that she could hear the blood from her heart rushing all the way to her ears. No conversation through the hallways to break the rush, no clattering of pot and pans, heavy-metal sounds, the scuffing of a person's shoes, or even the slight presence of another in the house besides her own.
She passed by a window. The curtains were again drawn the same as the living room. She touched them, the heavy fabric rough against her skin. Her fingers reached for the end and pulled back slightly, seeing that the sky outside so grey and dark. Looming over the manor as if someone had died. Selina glanced down to the main road where she saw the front of the house; barren just like the rest.
Abandoning the scene to continue her search for Bruce she was almost afraid to call his name. Nerves building inside her she breathed deep walking on cats paws. Feeling a heightened sense of survival need. Trying her best to make her fears go away she could not shake them. Her heart thumping heavily in her chest.
He's probably not home. She thought to herself.
She stuffed her hands into her pockets and prepared to leave. He's probably just… Then she heard a sound. A small sound; tiny, like the bottom of a glass being set on a table. Sounding so acute that it was possibly too far away but not so much that she couldn't hear. Her heart fluttered, excitement building she couldn't help it when a laugh escaped her lips and she went running toward the sound.
"Hey, I've been looking for you everywhere," her fingers glided along the wooden doorway as she rounded the corner into the dining area-voice both calm and peaceful. "You wouldn't believe the weather out the-" when her eyes finally came around the corner she realized it hadn't been Bruce she heard, but Alfred instead.
He was sitting at the dining table in almost complete darkness. Only the chandelier hanging above him provided minimal light while giving off a shadowy overcast. Though her sight was better than most it seemed as though she could only make out his slumped over figure, a short glass on the table near his hand, and the halfway empty drink inside. He reached for it, took a sip and returned it back to the table where it made the same clanging sound.
"Oh, hey," she gave him a small smile, trying to be polite despite his outward appearance admittedly scaring her. "I didn't think anyone was home, I-uh… I thought you were Bruce," she admitted. "Do you know where he is?"
He didn't look at her or respond. He only turned his head down more toward the table where his face was more concealed.
"I thought maybe the place had been overrun by ghosts or something," she chuckled, but when he finally turned to look at her and she saw the look in his eyes through the dim chandelier… it was clear there was nothing funny.
His face was grim, and his eyes dark, sad, and so empty. Looking like a man who had somehow aged a lifetime in the past few days and now no longer had any kind of life left to give. He looked sick, and like he'd been crying-face all puffy and lethargic seeming. His body wearing wrinkled clothing for who knows how many days. His hair dishevelled and eyes telling her he hadn't slept in days. He just stared at her,
Her expression changed and she gradually began approaching him, trying to seem unnoticeable to not startle him. Finishing with a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Hey, are you okay?" Her face turned up in honest concern while her eyes searched his for any kind of answers.
He finally shifted in the chair he was occupying, and she could feel the muscles tighten in his shoulder. He didn't speak to her straight away. Only mumbled something under his breath like he was trying to tell her the honest truth. He exhaled the air stuck in his lungs and tightened his eyes as though he was trying to cease himself from crying. Selina was about to ask him again when she felt him beginning to stand, so she took her hand away from his shoulder and took a step back to give him some space.
He knelt down before her causing her to take another step back as he placed both his hands on her shoulders. His voice came out broken, even as he tried to compose himself.
"I'm… I'm very sorry," he whispered, gentle sobs making their way into his accent. "I'm so sorry." She noticed a tear roll, then another and Selina became extremely confused.
"Sorry?" she wondered. "Sorry about what? Where's Bruce?" She glanced around the dark room searching for him, almost expecting him to sneak up behind the two of them and ask what they were talking about. But he didn't, and it was just her and Alfred followed by a sharp pain slowly entering her abdomen to prove that they weren't alone. She didn't like the feeling because often times it was telling her something was wrong.
He gave her shoulders a gentle shake. "Selina…," pulling her attention back to him, seeming more composed and seriously he was talking to Bruce. His fingers tightening around the leather of her jacket. "Master Bruce...he's…" he paused to keep himself together and confess what had been chewing at him for days. "Master Bruce," he began again, "he… he's gone," Alfred choked.
"Gone?" Selina didn't understand. "What do you mean gone?" His words hit her straight into her chest where she could feel panic rising within her. She almost knew what he meant. The look of himself mixed with the overcast of the house made it blatantly obvious, but her mind wouldn't allow her to possess the thought. And while she repeatedly turned his words over in her head, her brain kept cancelling out the word "gone," providing her with the inability of any real understanding of the possibility.
"He's gone," he repeated much more firmly, but when he started to explain the tragic event that had occurred to Bruce just a couple days before, he lost all control, "h-he was hit-t-t-t… b-by a car a-a few… days ago. It was an accident," he clarified from seeing the look on her face. "From the ice… he… he wasn't paying attention a-and this car, it slid on the ice. I was on the phone with Gordon at the time," he spoke fast recalling his call to the Detective via the payphone while his back was turned. "They tried to do everything they could to save him, but… but by the time they reached the hospital… he was gone. It was just too late. It was too late," he repeated while tears ran free from his eyes.
While he could recall the tragic event, Selina kept deleting his words from her mind before she had a chance to process them. It wasn't possible. She wouldn't accept it, and she didn't want to listen any further.
He's… She tried to say it in her head. No.
No.
No.
No.
No.
No.
For a moment she just stood there staring at him like she still didn't understand. She couldn't understand because there wasn't any possible way. No way. She didn't believe him. Even when he started crying more openly in front of her, whispering how sorry he was the notion never grew further inside Selina's head; even when the raging voice screamed at her lies.
Suddenly, she became angry and pushed Alfred's hands away, screaming how wrong he was, that he was lying.
She couldn't believe it.
She refused to.
Selina retreated and ran all the way to the front of the house and up the long stairs with a panic attack building in her throat. He feet slammed against the floor with such force that it was enough to wake Thomas and Martha Wayne from their graves.
She yelled Bruce's name, calling for him as she ran down the hallways, opening every single door until she came to the right one. His bedroom.
No.
No.
No.
No.
No.
She searched the room frantically shouting his name because she thought maybe he was hiding from her. Playing some sort of sick prank. In such a frantic state she went straight to his bed and yanked the drawer to his bedside table completely from its place. Pens, papers, pictures, and other odds and ends spilled on top of her boots in a frenzy-the drawer dangling from between Selina's fingers at its knob. She stood staring down at the heap in a paralyzed state. Scared by her actions and scared by the noise…
She noticed hiding in the outer corner of the pile, a photograph. Black and white corner she dropped the wooden drawer with a clang to pluck the newspaper image with nimble fingers. Bruce and herself from the Gala a month or so back. Cut almost perfect with a pair of scissors and folded by four perfect creases. She held the paper up to the window in an attempt to catch some light.
Someone took a picture of us?
Bruce had made her smile.
Her arms came down slowly as she tried to remember the night… how she wore a fancy, hundred dollar dress fancied in gold and black lace. Her hair in curling iron curls and feet squished into uncomfortable heels that Barbara forced her to wear. How people stared at them the entire time they did the waltz… but Selina's mind was in a fog and she couldn't remember a single thing.
Looking again at the pile of junk Selina noticed something shiny and bent down to pick it up, slowly lifting it in front of her. It was her locket, with the picture of her mother inside.
"I'll put it in a safe place," He told her when she'd given it to him for safekeeping.
Sniffling, she slowly started picking up the mess she made, turning the drawer so it was open and carefully placing everything back inside. She tried her best to organize it all and make everything as neat as she imagined it had been before she stormed in, but she just couldn't make it as neat.
Her feet felt like lead as she left. Not even bothering to close the door completely because the act of doing it felt to be much more effort than it was worth. She felt sick, like she was going to throw up. And her ribcage that had been holding her heart and keeping her alive seemed to give way and just collapse beneath the skin. She placed a hand to her chest and felt the beat, feeling weaker and weaker with every pulse her breath slowed down and she was soon breathing in copious amounts of air into her lungs.
Creeping slow down the staircase Selina made her way back into the living room where she found Alfred setting up a cup of tea joined with a pot for the two of them. She could easily tell he was a mess. The way he poured the tea, unsteeped with shaking hands into porcelain cups. No heat escaping from the spout told her he hadn't heated any water. With his hands trembling as they were he accidentally spilled half the water over the table.
"I-I'm sorry," he muttered setting the teapot down as quickly as he could while scrambling to clean the mess with a towel he had draped across his shoulder.
"It's okay," she whispered to him watching him become frantic over the spill.
She leisurely made her way over and picked up one the cups, holding it in her hand. She tried to be polite as she brought the cup to her lips and swallowed, now clutching the little cup as she tightened it around her hand. Feeling angry, her fingers gave a pulsing squeeze and this time she let the china fly straight to the fireplace. It exploded into various bits of glass before falling to the floor.
Alfred jumped.
Selina stared at him irritably. Then she grabbed his cup from the tea tray and smashed it against the fireplace as well.
No.
She started breathing heavy, feeling a sudden destructive urge she felt slipping from her control. Like she couldn't stop herself from the destruction she knew she was about to admit, repeating the never-ending word inside her head.
No.
In a fast moment her hands were reaching vigorously as she started throwing everything off the coffee table; the silver antique tea set, the books, the decor. Everything went flying in different directions as she hurled it all away from her sight. When the table was clear she gripped its edge tightly before flipping it with anger to its side-Alfred just watching her in horror and shock, frozen standing unable to stop her. Losing control she yanked the pillows from both couches and sent them flying toward the mandle where the tea cups had been smashed. The soft fabric breaking the fragile things that lay on top. She started kicking over the other pieces of furniture around the room, throwing lamps down as well. Hearing the cracking sounds of their bulbs breaking under force.
Pictures and paintings within her reach she tore down, like an animal yet subconsciously feeling like they no longer mattered. Even the Knight and Shining Armor standing poised by the doorway was not enough to save her outrage-meeting its fate from the sole of her boot and a growl from her throat.
Selina sucked in a breath of air and held her tears inside while she pressed her hands against the back of her head. Making her way to the desk she threw everything in sight-things that she had seen Bruce use and touch so many times before. Even the picture of his late, beautiful mother was not enough to give her pause, now a cracked frame beneath her feet as she crushed the glass into the picture when she stepped.
Still, Alfred, who was now seated in one of the vacant chairs with his hands stiffly in his lap, didn't stop her. Instead, he watched her eyes gravitate to the bulletin board carefully placed and hiding away from company. He felt a nervous flutter go through his chest and he realized he was afraid she'd destroy that too. Breathing a slow sigh of relief as she let it be and started pulling all the books from the shelves. Thomas Wayne's famous collection.
No.
She angrily ripped every novel off the shelf by the spine and threw them onto the floor. And when she could no longer reach the ones at her height she started climbing the shelves until she could. Not stopping until the entire room was a mess. She collapsed into the pile of books.
Alfred wanted to scream at her. Not for causing the mess (even if he would be the only one to clean it,) but he hated to see her in so much pain. He opened mouth but said nothing. Watching her breathing heavily in a pile of paper made him realise that screaming wasn't going to do a damn thing.
Same as he, she was silent, and let the board live for another day.
Selina ran and didn't stop running. She knew if she did she'd easily succumb to the crippling feeling hanging over her. Her legs would fall apart on her and leave her weak just as her ribcage had. Still hearing Alfred's words every time her heart beat. She wouldn't allow herself to think about it. She wouldn't even say the words, not even in her head. There was simply no possible way.
Even when every bit of her flesh and bones screamed for her to stop and her breath became hot, pain throbbing in her lungs feeling like they were going to burst with every quick breath. Though she could feel it through the body she refused to stop. Shoving past everyone in her way while weaving through the fast moving cars that threatened to hit her—blaring their obnoxious horns right in her face. But she didn't care, they could hit her if they wanted.
With her lungs burning hotter she sent cats scurrying in every direction once she reached the place she was fortunate enough to call home. She shoved the double doors open, running in with her hands balled into fists around her curls. She collapsed into her bed, screaming into the pillow while feeling tears finally pour through her eyes. She cried into the pillow until she came but for air, her cheeks stained a burning red.
She looked around the room, noting the table close to her bed. All cluttered with little useless things she had stolen. She stared that them empty and started to feel like they really didn't matter anymore; so she leapt from her sheets quick while her hands grabbed for the stolen goods, choking them in the centre of her fists before violently throwing them toward the wall making small indentations in the plaster.
Her hands jumped on the pile of ceiling fragments below her, hurling the rock at the window creating big holes and a decorative floor of broken glass. She tried to find other things to throw around and break with the new anger festering up through her bones. Seething like a wild animal she couldn't stop thinking about it.
No.
No.
No. She repeated.
This is all your fault.
The anger swelled even more and suddenly the only thing she wanted to hurt was herself. So she stormed straight up to the door frame and slammed her head firmly against the wood.
No.
No.
No.
You should have been protecting him.
She punched her fist into the wall with rage.
No.
No.
No.
Where were you?
Over and over again.
No.
Why weren't you there with him?
Harder and harder.
No.
No.
"No...no…" She felt snot beginning to build up in her nose, dribbling down like a spigot to her chin. Her knuckles wiped her cheeks where she had felt the hot tears run. Streaks of blood painting her cheeks from the split flesh of her knuckles.
"No, no, no…" she cried to herself.
She went to her bed again, and this time grabbed onto the moth-eaten sheets covering the moldy mattress. She pulled, tearing the covers from their place and throwing them onto the floor.
Little useless things.
The pillow had slipped away from the sheets still laying on the mattress. She grabbed for it, and hurled it behind her out of the room.
Beneath it, sat the little angel-winged box she'd stolen from Bruce one night. She had kept it, and tucked it safely under her pillow where no one would look. She picked it up, and rubbed the wings, thinking of him as fresh tears popped into her eyes and she let them fall. He deserved her tears.
The box gave her comfort, but she didn't know why. It was small, but not useless. It was his, or maybe his mother's. His father's perhaps? It looked like maybe a fancy cigarette box of some kind, but she had never looked in it to see what was inside. She never felt the need to, until now.
She turned it over in her fingers. her nails scratching against some fancy engraving. She read it:
To my Martha
With love,
Thomas.
Bruce's mom smoked? She couldn't picture it. But then again, perhaps she could. Then it occurred to Selina, it was possibly something Martha had on her during the night she was murdered, which actually made her really sad. Thinking back and thinking maybe that's why Bruce had it kept so close to his research. Maybe it would have given him a clue, and she had robbed him of it.
She grew angry again, thinking about how Gordon broke his promise, and Bruce was… and everything he had worked so hard for, everything he cared about, was now all for nothing. She hurled the box at the wall where it hit the plaster with a breaking sound. Breaking open, more than a dozen single white pearls spilled out onto the floor before the box could even make it to the ground. They rolled across her filthy floor, some even bounced, and all stopped short at her mattress and shoes. And for a moment, all she could do was stand there.
Her rage stopped, and her breathing slowed as she took the moment in in its entirety. Like the drawer, the moment made her still. Like everything in the world was over was over, and this was all she was ever gonna get out of it. A crappy space, a cluttered floor, starving stomach and bloody knuckles. Lastly, no Bruce. Even when the back of her mind told her he could have followed, could have found her. Found Alfred and spoke to him, told him it was all just a big misunderstand and come to her to tell her as well. But she waited… eyes shut, fists clenched. Alone.
"No, no, no," she muttered to no one.
I've got to clean this up. She thought. Then she scurried to pick up every last goddamn pearl in her shaking fingers.
"No, no no," she cried. Tears dripped down her face and onto Martha's jewellery, causing it slip through her fingers.
Every last one.
She stopped picking them up, seeming like a fool for not being able to hold one for not even a second, not even halfway through the lot. She did however, have one in the trembling of her hand, and she braced it tightly. Just one single pearl, trapped in the tight palm of her hand. Shaking, she cried on her knees and leaned over the mess. Loud and messy, afraid someone would hear.
However, someone did hear, and she felt strong arms wrap tightly around her causing her lungs to take in a holding breath. Not even having realized she was holding it in the first place. Her breath shook and her arms wrapped around the arm of a stranger. Her eyes closed, she buried her snot nose into the cotton smelling sleeve.
Bruce was her first thought, his clothes always smelled like cotton. But then she realized the figure almost towered over her, almost tucking her into himself, as though to protect her from some unseen threat. Bruce couldn't ever do that, even though he was slightly taller than she.
He would never do that. She corrected.
"It's okay, everything's going to be okay now," it was a British voice. Alfred, he had followed her.
He whispered to her, trying to keep it all together himself as she shed tears onto his sleeve. He wanted to join her, crying his eyes out, curled into an almost stranger on a dirty old floor. But he didn't because the entire situation made him think of Bruce, and how he had to be strong for him. He had to be strong so Bruce could be weak. No, not weak, that isn't right. Bruce was never weak, he was a strong boy, a very, very strong boy.
And now he was gone.
Sometimes, during the long nights when Selina could never toss and turn her way to bed on empty streets, she found herself wandering around in the ever moving world outside. She would take long walks down the streets carrying a sick feeling inside of her stomach that she couldn't quite place. Feeling nauseous and sad, starving and alone. Feeling like she didn't really have anyone to go to.
Tonight, there was a blizzard. The first of many, coming down hard and sending the workers, the rich, and even the homeless seeking Asylum anywhere it was granted. Not a soul was seen by Selina through the snowfall as she trudged calf deep through the snow. Even the mad people and criminals had given crime a rest for the night.
She shivered, her lips turning blue and fingers becoming numb, shaking icicles in the pockets of her jacket. It was zipped up tight almost up to her chin, a scarf covering her mouth and cheeks, her hood and goggles pulled over her head to keep her hair from getting wet. And while her black attire kept her concealed in the darkest of shadows, it was the pure white snow piling on top of her that gave her away.
There were scrapes on her knees from falling down so many times on the ice, and the bruises and cuts on her knuckles had never been given a chance to heal-red stained on skin. Her eyes bloodshot over dark circles.
She flinched when a couple of bright car headlights whizzed past her, spraying up dirt and snow that hit her in the side.
Eventually, she gave up walking and collapsed into a large snow pile.
Selina couldn't find it in herself to move an inch. So tired and so exhausted she just laid there in the sub-zero cold of the snow. Tucking herself inside like she was ready to give up. Ready for a long sleep. There was a second, and then two. Three more passed by fast, then five. Selina tried to move-to flex some part of her body but she was stiff. Stone like and cold, unable to move even an inch. Then she felt like she couldn't breathe, oxygen becoming trapped in her lungs to the point she almost panicked. Yet, then she found air and was soon breathing both deeply and heavily. The snow making her feel colder the more time passed.
She looked out at the snowy streets, watching another single car breeze by. It frightened her, so much so that she felt tears welling in her eyes, thinking that blaring car lights were probably the last thing Bruce saw. Her mind becoming flooded with the thought.
Seeing Bruce, standing so innocently near the street… focused on something else. Maybe another person. Maybe a street kid. She sees the car coming toward him, skidding from the ice soaked streets… sliding… she tried to scream. Her voice is drowned out by the driver who slams his hand into the horn and loses control but Bruce doesn't react quick enough. Much like Selina… his breath is knocked out of him.
She starts choking as she sees him hit the solid ice, Alfred rearing his head in slow motion too late to watch the front tire manage to roll over him and crush his abdomen into the pavement. Alfred rushes to him with a tender hand on his chest just in time to feel blood coughing up from inside. Begging Bruce to speak and pleading for him to stay still while the blood dribbles down his lips and his chin. Down the crease in his neck until it was soaking his sweater. Blood, she imagined, may not come out so easily.
In another instance, she saw Bruce being crushed between two cars. A tragic double collision ending in one fatality. Blood oozing from his mouth and down his bottom lip. His arms outstretched over the front hood like he tried to stop the impact himself.
Yet another, he was just hit. A single hit with enough impact that caused too much internal bleeding, causing Bruce to die right before anyone to get to him in time to save his life. She sees Alfred towering over him, screaming his name and trying to do absolutely everything he can to save Bruce's before it's too late. And she sees Bruce… coughing and moaning in agony over the accident, withering on the sidewalk ice like a broken child. She sees him take his last breath before the visual vanishes along with him.
She wonders if he felt any pain. She wonders if he felt anything at all… and questions how long it took for him to pass. Where he was, and if he was truly alone…
Will I ever see him again?
Not in this life.
That, she decided as snow coated her lashes, was the most difficult part. Her life would continue on without him, even if she found the idea unbearable. It was because he had touched her life in a way so deeply that she could now never return to what it was before she met him. There was just no possible way. How could she imagine living a life without her best friend? She was unable to understand why but let without no other choice. The world was going to continue on without Bruce Wayne inside it, leaving Selina coughing in the dust.
Suddenly, the cold of the snow began to feel so warm…
She wasn't sure how much time had passed. How little cars had driven by. Or exactly how cold it was, but she still hadn't moved.
Even when a pair of stranger's hands reached for her and carried her away.
It had taken Alfred some time to clean the manor of Selina's destructive mess. Quite a long time, enough so he lost count.
It wasn't really the mess itself, for he had taken care of a similar tornado during the time Bruce was still alive. However, that was the real trouble. Not only could he venture into the room without thinking of Bruce, but he also couldn't stop picturing the mess he'd made searching for evidence. The night they discovered the cave under the house.
He had swept up the broken glass first because he imagined that if Bruce was still alive, he could potentially cut himself and get hurt. He also thought about Selina, if she ever found herself trespassing again, he wanted her to be safe.
When he moved to the stack of shelves, every book felt abnormally heavy in his hands, then he would throw them as Selina had because the weight was too much to bare. Then he would try again, and this time actually put one or two on the shelves before having to tear them all down again because they weren't in the right order. Then he would break for tea because he was too tired, abandoning the cup right after preparation, forgetting to return until it was cold.
Sometimes, he would prepare a meal, forgetting Bruce was gone. And once he realized it he would sit down at the empty dining table that he hadn't really sat at since the Waynes died. He would take a bite of whatever he prepared before he tasted nothing, and the platter would be swept away by the force of his hand to join the rest.
Tonight he was driving through a blizzard after having been from the store to buy some groceries, which he can't understand for the damn life of him why he decided to go buy groceries right before a blizzard. Perhaps because he hadn't turned on the T.V in days. Too risky, he figured. So here he was, driving out in the middle of a snowstorm with white flakes caking on the windshield and a backseat full of food he knew he was never going to eat.
Since the drive was so menacingly slow he kept constantly peering around at the world before him, watching the snow piling up and picturing what it would look like once it was all done. With his fingers curling around tighter against the steering wheel he caught sight of someone laying in the ice cold snow.
For a moment he thought it was Bruce, and yelled to him before realizing that wasn't possible. His mind most likely playing tricks on him as a result of many sleepless nights. And when he blinked, Bruce was gone and he saw someone else curled in the snowfall. Almost… concealed by it. He yelled to them before he realized they probably couldn't hear him from inside the car, so he stopped dead in the middle of the road muttering English profanity under his breath before exiting the vehicle to assist if necessary.
Immediately the snow began to cover him, as though it was trying to bury him too. He walked steadily, nearly slipping on the snow beneath his feet, but made it to the curb and realized Selina was the figure lying in the snow. He almost didn't recognize her.
"What the bloody hell you doing out here?" he asked her in a regular tone of voice. She just stared at him, a blank expression that wasn't even looking at him, but into nothingness. She did nothing as he approached her, didn't even flinch like she didn't realize he was standing over her. "Are you alright?"
He looked into her eyes that were like two lifeless slits, and he feared for just a moment that she might already be dead.
"Let's get you up then, alright?" He didn't even wait for an answer.
Alfred was strong, he knew that after spending so many years in the Air Force; so picking a very young and very thin Selina Kyle from out of the cold was nothing compared to what he normally used to lift. She was light, and it could only remind him of one thing…
He carried her back to the car quickly, setting her down gently in the backseat and throwing an old blanket overtop of her. Her skin had started turning blue.
When she finally came together the first thing Selina could realize was that the air around her was warm, the lighting low. She groaned and touched a cold hand to her forehead, noticing someone had placed a warm towel against her skin, and wrapped gauze around her knuckles. She realized she was lying down flat on a leather couch, sitting up she understood it belonged to Bruce. There was an afghan draped around her body. Once again, she was in the manor.
There were candles occupying the coffee table beside her, their bright flames flickering wildly from side to side. Everything that had once been placed on the table, sat piled instead in the corner of the other couch across from her. When she glanced around it seemed almost everything had been put back in its proper place, and what wasn't had been placed in the designated area; like the stacks of things sitting atop Bruce's desk and the paintings that sat in a long row along the wall. If she squinted her eyes hard enough she could see holes in the wall where the nails had torn through.
Her attention snapped toward Alfred, whom she heard just as he strided in carrying what seemed to be a tray of hot soup and a cup of tea.
"Oh good, you're finally awake." He set the tray down on the table in front of her. "I'll admit, I wasn't sure how long you'd be gone for." She shook her head slightly from side to side, not understanding him but he ignored it and said nothing as he sat beside her.
She tried to swing her legs over the couch but found it difficult, the towel on her forehead slipped down and Alfred grabbed for it, beginning to dab it over her face. She pushed his hand away.
"I'm only trying to help you," he told her and reached out to touch her again, but the glare she gave him told him to do otherwise so he sighed gently and let his hands fall into his lap.
She glanced around the room again. "Man, he really did it this time didn't he?"
Alfred said nothing and gave her a blank look instead, placing the towel to the side of him and putting his hands together, rubbing them because he didn't know what to say. He looked at her food. "You should eat now," he motioned toward the untouched soup. "Exactly how long has it been since you've eaten?"
She couldn't guess the answer while she kept glancing around the room, looking for something. Then she decided to take him up on his offer. Cupping the warm bowl of soup with her hands she ignored the silver spoon laid out for her. Beginning to drink, slowly at first until hunger took over and she was spilling the soup down her throat until every last drop was gone. When she was done she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and set the bowl back down on the tray.
She looked directly up to Alfred and asked: "So where's Bruce?"
Given the state of shock he had found her in, he was not surprised by her question in the least. And while it was still very difficult and painful to tell the tale again, he did so calmly, and this time trying to grab her hands and prevent her impulsive rage. Like the first time, anything within reach became a projectile.
She was up again, this time Alfred watched her go straight to Bruce's murder board. She yanked it from its hiding place with her hand latching onto a single piece of thin paper he could see from afar.
"Stop!" he yelled before she could tear it down and rip it to shreds. "It was the only thing he cared about!"
For a moment she just stood there with the paper still crushed tightly in her hand. "It wasn't the only thing," she whispered releasing her grip on the paper. It remained crumpled in its place. She stared at him and sighed. "Whatever, I'm leaving."
"You're not bloody going anywhere," he nearly shouted at her.
She scoffed, clearly she wasn't used to anyone parenting her as he did. "What did you say to me?"
"Do you have any idea how I found you, hm?" He motioned his hands out in front of her like he expected answers. "You were in a state of complete and total shock, you would have died out there." He gave her a moment to consider it. "Now, you're still not well. You need rest and food, so why don't you just lie down?"
"Why don't you bite me?!" She snapped.
He ignored her rudeness. "Just sit back down, and I'll fetch you some more hot tea-" He gathered her first cup that wasn't even cold.
"Damn it, Alfred, stop with the tea!" She shouted. "It won't fix it! It won't bring him back! Look," she tried to reason, "I'd just rather go home."
"Or go back out there and get yourself killed," he wagered. "Is that what you want? I mean is that what you're trying to do, kill yourself and join him, eh?'
She stared at him with a disgusted look curling at her lips. "No."
"Well it certainly seems so."
"What do you care?!" she yelled. "It's not even like you like me anyway! So why do you give a damn whether I die or not?"
He wanted to run and grab her by the shoulders, shake her so hard with all the anger he felt building up inside of him and tell her how wrong she was. "I care," he said sternly. "Despite whatever you believe, I care."
He wanted to say more. He wanted to tell her how much she impacted Bruce's life, and whether she knew it or not, that meant everything to him. He wanted to tell her that when he looked at her, all he saw was Bruce in her eyes. He wanted to tell her that he was actually quite fond of her in a slight way, that she was like a breath of fresh air. He was afraid to tell her he didn't want to be alone.
"Well you can stay," he suggested. "There's plenty to eat and a warm fire. Certainly, it's better than being out there," he motioned toward the snowy window.
She considered it, a smile almost on her lips before it was gone again and she declined. "No thanks."
He stopped her again and startled her by doing so.
"You don't think I miss him too!" His voice cracked. "Everywhere I bloody look, he's all I see! I can't look into your eyes, and not see the eyes of that little boy!" He could tell she was surprised by his outburst. "Now, sit down because you're not going anywhere."
She just stared at him, blinking in shock and confusion because she didn't know what to say.
"I'm-" He felt dizzy, bracing himself against the arm of the couch before falling down to his knees. "I'm sorry." He started crying.
This time it was Selina's job to comfort, towering over him with protective arms. She closed her eyes and rested her head on his back, feeling his movement as he sobbed and feeling her own tears yet again.
"I'm so sorry…"
He found himself remember his words to Bruce during the time of his parent's deaths:
"Don't look, head up, eyes forward. Don't let them see you cry."
Why did he ever say that? Why didn't he just pick him up and carry him in his arms like he wanted to? He should have just picked him up like the small fragile boy he was.
He wished he could take it all back.
A week later, the memorial for Bruce was finally held. It took some time on Alfred's part, as before he felt it was much too soon. But he finally came to understand that waiting around wasn't going to change things in the least.
"If now's not a good time, when is?" Detective Gordon's had asked him one morning. Somehow, he found himself too preoccupied with the world around him and didn't make it to the service that morning.
It was private, where only a few souls were invited and very few showed up to see the casket of Bruce Wayne descend into the ground and then buried over snow and soil. Now standing impeccably straight, Alfred no longer stood in front of Bruce Wayne as he used to, but now the grave marker that occupied his place instead.
Bruce Wayne
Beloved son and friend
2004-2016
Beloved son and friend.
He mulled the words over in his head as if a few simple four words conjured out of a combination of nineteen letters could sum up what he was, the dash between his years; his whole entire life. Right beside his mother and father.
It didn't rain that day, which was strange. The sky was so clear and sunny it made him think that somehow all of this was just a dream, and that he wasn't really here. He wasn't really doing these things… that the tragedy seated out in front of him has never really happened. However, he knew sunny skies meant only one thing.
"I'm sorry Alfred," Tom placed a firm hand on his backside before leaving him alone.
He waited for the ground beneath his feet to swallow him whole, and when it didn't, he slowly began to realize something.
Selina had never made it to the service.
It wasn't until the day following, that Alfred found out why.
Cats mewed themselves at his feet from starvation, pawed at his ankles, and sniffed at the ground begging for anything that resembled food.
"Alright, alright. You buggers." He set the three sets of brown paper grocery bags at his feet and fetched a big bag of cat food from one. He tore it open, nearly spilling the food all over the place, however managing to haul the bag over to the wall where he dumped a generous amount along the baseboard. They all rushed to it like salvages, a little kitten getting caught in the mix. Alfred sighed and plucked a handful of food from the bag, setting it down in a delicate pile in front of the little kitten.
Gathering up the remaining bags he knocked gently on Selina's door with his knuckles. He could hear conversation on the other end.
"Miss Kyle… It's me, Alfred Pennyworth. Could you open up?" He stood there listening, hearing the silence snap the conversation shut, followed by the shuffling of feet. "Miss Kyle…"
The door opened up only slightly, and he saw a pale face concealed by a mass of tangled red hair. When the little girl realized who it was she opened up the door more revealing her tattered clothing and scuffed shoes. She seemed so small to him standing there in the doorway.
He peered inside for a moment, seeing the kid him and Detective Bullock had interrogated as they were looking for Bruce; Mackey, he's sure he remembers his name. He looked back down at Ivy.
"You're Miss Ivy, aren't you?" He asked.
"Y-yes." Her voice sounded hoarse. "Can I help you?"
"Well I'm looking for Miss Selina, is she around?"
"Cat?" She seemed confused.
He knelt down beside her, setting the bags at her feet. "Yes, Cat," he clarified. "Do you know where I might find her?"
"Cat's dead," she said at once. "She died two days ago."
He was taken aback, so much so he couldn't get the words out. Struck with newfound pain and terror in his heart. "I'm sorry Miss, what did you say?"
"They aren't sure how," Mackey interjected. Ivy and Alfred turned to look at him. "The cops," he clarified. "Ivy and I came looking for her one day, to check up on her, I heard that Wayne kid died, Bruce," he said trying not to sound disrespectful. "I'm sorry about that by the way."
His words stung.
"So anyway, we came looking for her, but when we got here the cops were already dragging her body out on a stretcher. I guess one of the other kids around here must have called or something. I don't really know. We didn't get a chance to see her, all we saw was her being covered up by a white sheet."
He tried to picture it, almost being able to imagine cops carrying out a non-feral Selina Kyle, it was almost too comical for him. The only thing he couldn't however, was seeing what she would look like under that white sheet.
"I think the cops still have her," he said trying to sound hopeful in such a hopeless time. "Hard to place someone in a place they don't belong…"
"Right…" He swallowed the lump in his throat. "I-I see…" He pulled at the cuffs on his shirt. "Well, I guess these are for you then." He pushed the bags of groceries toward them both, Mackey, who had been sitting on Selina's bed the entire time got up to collect them.
"Mew."
"Yo, Red the cat!" Mackey pointed past Alfred with the bags in hand.
"Oh! Bruce!"
Wha-
She scurried past Alfred and scooped up the tiny black kitten in her arms that Alfred had seen earlier.
"Bruce?" he questioned turning back toward Mackey, who sat the bags on a nearby table. When Alfred glanced around he saw the room hadn't been cleaned since the last time he was here.
"Yeah, Cat named him."
"She found him," Ivy said entering back in the home. "In some kind of alley. She said the poor guy was getting harassed by some thugs who were going to cut him to shreds." She set the kitten down where it scurried directly to Alfred, placing its head into the palm of his hand.
He picked the kitten up in his arms as he stood, clutching the thing close to his chest. He listened to its soft purring while feeling his soft fur between his fingers.
Bruce.
He went to the police station immediately after. Where Gordon presented him with such a small box. A small box that held the entirety of Selina Kyle; her clothing, and any other things she had on her during her silent departure.
"This is all we have," he said poking a hand through the box, shifting around the contents of clothing. "It's not much."
Alfred stuck a hand through her things, finding the colour of her leather jacket that he rubbed between his fingers. "Did she…." He couldn't ask. He didn't want to know. But he had to.
"No, nothing like that," he assured, predicting what Alfred was going to ask. "But we just… we just don't know. We did a full autopsy and found nothing. It's almost like she just died."
"Just died," Alfred copied with a hint of question in his voice.
"Yeah," Jim nodded. "She did have something on her when we found her though," he stuck a hand through her clothing again and rifled through to the bottom, "this…" he produced a silver smoking box and Alfred recognized it instantly.
"That's Martha Wayne's." He took it from Gordon's hands.
"She must have stolen it. It was clutched in her hand when we found her."
"No no," Alfred whispered. "She-she didn't steal this," he said more loudly so Gordon could hear him.
"Well… if there isn't anything else you need, I've got a case I've gotta get back to." He turned to leave the old man alone before he was stopped.
"Wait!"
"What?" He spun around.
"Her body-what will become of it?" He wondered.
"Well um…" He struggled to find an answer and walked back over to Alfred to buy himself some time. "We're not really sure yet, I've tried seeing if Selina had any family, but she doesn't. And much of the foster families she'd ever lived with didn't want her either so we've got no one to claim the body."
"I'll do it," Alfred said at once, he was holding the little box close to his abdomen, rubbing the metal for comfort. "I-I'll take care of the funeral, and I want her to be buried next to him."
"I'll right, then it's settled," he pushed the box of clothing further toward him. "The body is yours."
He started walking away again.
"Wait!" Alfred called a second time. Again, Gordon turned in his direction. "You can do that. Pour yourself into your job, but I know you're hurting… and no matter what you do, how many cases you solve, or how many people you put away. You can never change what happened to him. You should also be ashamed of yourself, for not coming by to see him. Downright ashamed."
Without another word, Gordon left.
Alfred wandered down to the autopsy room where it was cold. He found Leslie there dressed in a white coat with black slacks. Her short hair was tucked behind her ear, so it wasn't in her face as she read the lab report in front of her.
She was just as pretty as when they met. But that wasn't the point.
He straightened out his vest before stepping inside, and she recognized him the moment he walked in.
"Alfred." Her voice was still as sweet. "Are you here for-" she motioned toward one of the body chambers.
"Uh yes," he wasn't sure if they were on the same page or not. Stupid, considering who else in the world would he be there for.
"Jim mentioned her and Bruce were close," she said as she opened one of the compartments sliding Selina's body out; her head appeared first.
He took the quiet moment between Leslie and himself to look at her. Her skin was bare, and almost as pale as the snow still accumulating outside. Her eyes, dead open were staring up at him though now there was no one left inside. Her lips had turned a purple colour and there was stitching peeking out from beneath the cloth that covered her, right between her breasts where she had been cut open. Was it really necessary to cut her open? Leslie started speaking again, but Alfred wasn't listening.
"We um…when they found her body, we thought that maybe it was a suicide," her voice cracked when she said the words. "But there isn't any indication of suicide. No marks at the wrist, no gunshot wound, no pills in her system to indicate an overdose. It's like she just… died."
Again, that same idea. Could a person just… die? Alfred wondered for some strange reason if lying on her back as such, was the position they had found her in.
"What-how did you find her?"
"On her side," she answered directly. "She was curled up into a ball like she'd been that way for a while… and she was clutching something in her hand, a little silver box."
When she mentioned the box he gave it a gentle squeeze from the inside of his pocket.
"Would you like a moment alone?" Leslie inquired.
Alfred gave a gentle nod and looked up at her. "Please, Miss."
She disappeared from the room leaving him alone.
He directed his attention back down to Selina when Leslie was gone. Her face looked to be lost, like she was thinking about something. or sad because she was dead. Though, he had read somewhere that sometimes people don't know when they've passed on from the living. He wondered if it was the same for Selina, though he hoped otherwise. Looking deep into her eyes he found nothing. A deep, endless sea.
Alfred gave her a gentle smile.
"What," he asked as if she was actually looking at him by choice. "No snide comments now?" He chuckled at his own joke before breaking down into full tears. First, he lost one child, and now another.
Quickly he straightened himself and dried his face with the handkerchief he had tucked away in his back pocket. He fetched the silver box from his other pocket before giving himself another moment's peace.
"Better hold on tight to this now," he told her. He reached across her corpse to grasp the thin sheet that covered her, gently pulling it back, he stopped when he saw her arm and tucked the sheet carefully in between her arm and side. Her fingers were curled close together from holding the box with her life, and they had been pulled open as the cops pried it from her hand. "Because you don't want to lose it again." He tucked the box firmly back in her hand before closing her fingers around it, and he held her hand for a second, and then two, and then three before returning the sheet to where it was before. She felt as cold as she looked.
"Can I ask you something?" He turned to see that Leslie had returned and was now hovering close to the door.
"Why yes," he answered in a low tone of voice.
"They were really close, weren't they, Selina and Bruce?"
"Yes." They were best friends.
"Did they love each other?"
Love? What did that word really mean? Love…
He became flustered, completely caught off guard by her question."Well, I don't-"
"Because I don't think she just died," Leslie confessed to him. "I think… if what Jim told me was true, that her body possibly just shut down."
He considered it for a moment.
Was it possible, for such a body, such a life, to just completely give up on its person? To have so little reason left to continue that it would die without warning?
"I'm sorry Doctor, but I'm a bit confused. What are you saying?"
Leslie approached him slowly then, one by one her heels clicked against the floor creating the only sound echoing along the walls. Her body swayed itself side to side while she walked, stopping just at Selina's head. Her fingers rested on the cool metal to which Selina laid in an eternal rest, she was careful not to touch her.
She spoke to him in almost a whisper. "Do you believe someone could die of a broken heart?"
To answer his earlier question, the answer was "yes."
Nobody showed up to the day of Selena's funeral. It was a pity, but she would have expected it.
However, Gordon did make a slight appearance by the time her casket was being lowered into a hole in the ground. He was parked outside the cemetery gates because he couldn't find it in himself to go inside.
He was surprised when he didn't see Alfred present, which prompted him to drive all the way to the manor to check up on him.
An hour later, he discovered why Alfred had not made it. It was because he just didn't make it. He came to understand, as the paramedics were hauling his body away from home on a stretcher, that Alfred had died only one hour prior to when he was discovered. It was the gardener who discovered him.
And much like Selina, he just died.
No one hurt worse than another after Bruce's death. Everyone took it personally.
Jim Gordon quit the force the day after discovering Alfred's body. While a part of him screamed at himself every morning to continue on and fight harder because it was the right thing to do and what Bruce would have wanted, another piece of him had already quit the moment Bruce died. He just wasn't ready to take the final step until now. Everything he'd worked for seemed so useless after Bruce's death, and he'd lost all hope the moment it happened.
It wasn't until two long years later, in which he found himself ready to return.
It had happened when he was strolling by the cemetery and felt a strange pull directing him inside. Oddly enough, he found himself at five separate graves without even meaning to.
Thomas Wayne
Martha Wayne
Bruce Wayne
Selina Kyle
Alfred Pennyworth
To him. it was a sign and all he needed.
The following day after he was reinstated, he revisited the graves again and placed his badge on the surface of Bruce's headstone. He pressed it into the stone gently with his hand laying overtop as he whispered new promises. Ones he hoped to keep and hoped that Bruce could hear them.
When he felt a chill of wind past his neck, he smiled, and somehow knew he'd been forgiven.
Then he got a call, another murder. To him, it almost sounded exact to Bruce's situation more than two years ago, but it wasn't.
What had happened to Bruce was his own personal tragedy, not someone's else's. Not even his own despite the fact that it was his first ever case and it fueled his life.
He nodded to Bruce and left.
A man on a mission, his life seemed to begin all over again. When he exited the cemetery gates a vision flashed through his mind.
He saw Bruce and Selina playing tag along the cemetery grounds, Bruce's parents and Alfred sipping tea nearby as they were watching the children play.
But when he turned around, no one was there.
"Almost
Not quite.
I wish you a long and happy life."
-The Lovely Bones