The sun was out. Clouds floated aimlessly, carelessly across the sky. A breeze tenderly fondled the leaves on the oak and ash trees that circled the property, the soft rush of movement breaking the silence that had, thus far, been broken only by sporadic birdsong and the noise from the distant freeway. It was a day like so many others that Bruce could remember… countless summer days, days with breezes just like this one carrying on them the chatter of birds and breath of the leaves on the trees- and the laughter of a little boy and a little girl.
There was no laughter today, just the leaves and the birds and the cars and the silence. It was surprising just how silent groups of people could be, reflected Bruce, as he surveyed the assembly around him in Gotham's cemetery. The grief that covered them all like a blanket seemed to muffle any noise they might make. The service was over now. There was nothing left for anyone to do but to leave, and to let the undertakers finish their work. The mourners began to filter away one by one, breaking off in whispering groups of two and three, hugging, grasping hands. Bruce didn't follow the throng. Instead, breaking away from Alfred, he began to move towards where the undertakers were readying the mechanical lift that would lower the casket to its final resting place. The workers saw him coming and respectfully moved aside, despite a quiet grumble or two- they didn't have all day.
Had he been able to speak, he'd have assured them that he wouldn't be long. He began to gingerly rummage in his pockets for something. For a moment he thought he'd lost it, but then his fingers found it and brought it out into the light. The familiar arrowhead rested in the center of his palm. He gazed at it, feeling the memories wash over him. No tears came though- Bruce Wayne, playboy, didn't cry. He simply moved to stand at the foot of the casket. Wordlessly, he placed the ancient stone on the wood of the casket lid. He would have liked to have been able to place it inside, with her, but it had been a closed casket funeral. He'd been at the scene, seen the body- her body- and wasn't surprised. The casket lid would do. He wished that he could find words, even though he knew that words didn't matter. She couldn't hear him anyway.
He thought that the funeral would have brought him closure, would have somehow eased the pain of everything. It hadn't. As he stared at the casket, trying to say good-bye, he knew he was bidding farewell to his future and the life that might have been theirs, together- the what-if's of a life he'd never, ever have.
He was lost in this reverie when he felt rather than heard a presence at his elbow. He turned, expecting Alfred. Instead, his eyes met the dark green eyes of a woman. Her eyes, like his own, were dry, her face unreadable.
"You're Bruce Wayne." The pitch of her voice was low for a woman's. He thought he detected an accent, but he couldn't tell what. He gave a nod, studying her face. She was attractive, but unremarkably so, her dark hair pulled back into a chic, business-like ponytail at the base of her neck. Her clothing was professional, but with a scholarly bent- a young professor perhaps? She looked little older than Rachel. Before he could formulate a question, she spoke again.
"I'm surprised to see you here- Rachel spoke of you often, and you didn't seem like the "public mourning" kind."
That comment stung, but Bruce knew that it was true enough of his public face. He shrugged.
"We were kids together. She was a good friend." He reached out to lay a hand tenderly over the arrowhead and turned back to the woman before him. Bruce forced a cold, shallow smile, willing his gaze and his thoughts past the casket and the grave before him. His hand slipped casually back into his pocket. "I'm sorry- I can't seem to place you…"
The woman's stiff smile reflected Bruce's own. "No need to apologize- we've never met." She offered a hand, well manicured and smooth. "I'm Dr. Isla Poissy, assistant professor of biology at the local college. Rachel and I were old roommates from her days in law school." She began to step away from the graveside. Bruce reluctantly followed her- he had nothing left to say to Rachel, save a million apologies that would simply have to rest unsaid in the pile of regrets that was fast becoming the story of Bruce's life.
"Biology professor? How does someone become a biology professor in law school?"
"She doesn't." Isla let out a small, pleasant laugh. "I changed directions several times before finding my way. But they say that half of the fun of getting somewhere is the journey, so I suppose it was for the best." Her face settled into a pleasant non-expression. "Rachel and I had made coffee plans for this weekend. She was excited about starting her wedding plans… even amidst the chaos. I was looking forward to sharing my new research with her." The pleasantness of her expression began to fade some. Bruce, attuned to such things, recognized this for what it was- the barest slippage of a mask. A mask, he guessed, not unlike the one he wore.
They walked in silence for a minute or two, weaving between graves and trees and pockets of stray mourners to the parking lot, where Bruce could make out Alfred standing patiently beside the Rolls.
Nearing the lot, Bruce stopped and turned to his new acquaintance. "Just because Rachel's gone doesn't mean you have to cancel those coffee plans. She wouldn't have wanted that."
Isla stopped, contemplating. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt to share stories. Might as well make a new friend- we've both lost a good one." She ventured a smile. Bruce smiled too, one closer to genuine than most he offered under the guise of Bruce Wayne.
"My number is on the college's website. I've got to be going- I teach a class on Thursday afternoons. But I'll hear from you?" They had begun walking again, and reached a pale green station wagon Volvo, which Isla unlocked and opened.
"You'll hear from me."
Isla climbed behind wheel and started the engine. Closing the door, she rolled down the window.
"It was good to meet you, Bruce Wayne." With that, she pulled away, leaving Bruce in a mostly empty parking lot.
Deep in thought, he made his way towards Alfred and the waiting Rolls.
"Master Wayne?"
Bruce looked up. Alfred was not-so-covertly giving him the once over.
"You're looking peaked." Alfred opened the rear passenger door, and Bruce carefully climbed inside, not bothering to hide the wince as he bent to sit. Today was the longest he'd been up and about since he'd been hurt. He was healing well and quickly, as per usual, but the exertion of the day- physical and emotional- had left him feeling drained, and the wounds ached and burned. He buckled the seat belt as Alfred, with one more critical glance, firmly closed the door.
He reappeared in the drivers seat, buckled his own belt, and turned the ignition. As he pulled out of the lot, he caught Bruce's eyes in the rearview.
"Who's your new friend?"
The question was innocent enough, reminiscent of those Bruce remembered being asked after Alfred picked him up from the school yard in fifth and sixth grade.
"Isla Poissy. A friend of Rachel's, I guess. Bruce gazed somewhat listlessly at the passing buildings, his hand idly pressing at the bandages he could feel through his shirt.
"You guess?"
Bruce couldn't tell if Alfred was making small talk or prying. He decided he didn't care.
"Rachel never mentioned her," he continued, "at least not that I can remember. Said she was an old roommate." Bruce shrugged. "I guess we never talked much about her college days." Inwardly, he wondered just how many more things he'd never thought to ask Rachel. His eyes found Alfred's again.
"Perhaps this Ms. Poissy will be a link to that past. Sharing stories is a good way to grieve."
Bruce frowned, wincing a bit as his fingers pressed on a particularly tender spot.
"It's not like I've never grieved before Alfred. I know how this works."
Alfred gently shook his head. "You know all too well, Master Bruce. But grieving- it's not like learning martial arts. It doesn't get easier with repetition."
Bruce only stared out the window, his mind empty but for the encroaching tiredness and aches that encompassed him. In truth, he welcomed it, especially the pain. The pain was the last bit of the Batman- and when it was gone, so, it seemed, was he.
A/N: Been sitting on this one for awhile… a LONG while- just got some time and inspiration to complete a chapter! No promises on when the next one's going to appear… but hopefully soon!
