12

NEVER ENOUGH

Alfred drove the pristine black Bentley up to the the ticket machine in front of the entrance to the underground parking garage for the office building. He lowered the window, pressed the green button and took the ticket the machine printed out. The security gate rose and he slowly drove through as he rolled his window back up. Visitors had to park on the bottom two levels of the garage, and at eleven dollars an hour visitors did not stay longer than they had to and promptly left when their business in the building was concluded. Alfred found a parking space on the bottom level and expertly backed in so the car could pull quickly out of the space in an emergency.

He got out, went to the back of the car and opened the rear driver's side door. Bruce Wayne stepped out and started walking toward the elevator banks. Alfred shut the door to the car and caught up to Bruce. Both men silently noted the make, model, color, condition, and the first three digits of the license plates of the cars in their row. It was pure habit, and nothing unusual stood out. They would automatically do the same on their way back and might notice any changes. The duo arrived at the elevator and Bruce pushed the up button and stepped back.

"Pull watch in the lobby," Bruce instructed Alfred.

"Anything in particular I should be watching for? It would help to know why we're here."

"Just get a feel for the place. Comings and goings, standard watch exercise. I'll tell you later."

Alfred simply nodded as the elevator door opened and they stepped inside. The elevator was only for the lobby and Bruce pressed the top button as the doors closed. Four seconds later the door opened and they walked out onto the marble floor of the building. Again both men assessed the space they were in, noting the exits, number of people, how they were dressed, and what security and cameras were present. It was mid afternoon and several people in various levels of business attire were walking to and from the main elevator banks, their shoes echoing off the polished marble floor.

Bruce saw a security desk manned by two guards about thirty feet to his right. He turned and made his way towards them while Alfred took a seat in a section of the lobby that gave him the best angle to watch from. Bruce approached the security desk and smiled at the guards, one of whom obviously recognized him.

"Afternoon, gents," Bruce said as lightly as he could. "I have a friend I'm here to see, but it's kind of a surprise. Any way I can sneak up without being on a list?"

"I think we can manage that," the guard who recognized him said as he began typing on his computer. He printed out a visitor's pass on a small sticker and handed it to Bruce. "Just wave the barcode in the elevator and press your floor. Use elevator number two and toss the sticker when you leave."

"Thanks, appreciate it," Bruce said as he walked off.

"Why didn't you ID him?" the other guard asked as soon as Bruce was out of earshot.

"Didn't need to. That's Bruce Wayne. My wife is going to flip out when I tell her."

"Thought he looked familiar. Probably get lost in the elevator." Both guards chuckled.

Bruce rode the elevator to his floor and stepped out into the lobby of an enormous top floor office. He surveyed the empty room, noting that there were state of the art security cameras on opposite sides of the wall, giving a complete view of the room. He walked over to one of the couches and sat down to wait.

Three minutes later the door from the lobby to the rest of the office opened. Bruce stood as Barbara Gordon wheeled herself in. There was an awkward silence for a few seconds before Barbara spoke.

"Hey, Bruce."

"Hi, Barbara."

"How did you get up here? All my visitors have to have a badge or visitor's pass personally approved by me.

"Told the security guard I was surprising a friend. He let me up."

"Sometimes the best way into a restricted area is to simply ask," Barbara said, repeating the words Bruce had said repeatedly to her during training. The Team had used the tactic many times during recces to get into places they weren't supposed to be.

Bruce couldn't tell if Barbara meant the phrase as a jab or not. He opened his mouth to say something, and closed it again.

"I'm glad you're here," Barbara said, smiling slightly at Bruce's uncomfortableness.

"Are you? I wasn't sure I should."

"I knew you'd figure it out. The plan was to talk after the mission. And then... How are you?" she asked. It wasn't a light question, and Bruce knew she didn't mean it that way. "You've lost a lot of weight.

"I'm recovering," he answered. "I'll be back." She knew he meant as The Batman.

"Good," she said with approval. Another awkward silence. She decided to clear the air. "Bruce... what I did... what I said. It was wrong. I see that now. I'm sorry." As hard as it was for her to say, she knew that it was harder for Bruce to hear. She imagined he carried a fair amount of guilt for what happened with the Joker. As many talents as Bruce had, conversations like this was not one of them. He obviously didn't know how to respond.

"Barbara, I..."

She took his hand in hers and squeezed. She knew it made him uncomfortable, but it still conveyed what she wanted. "You don't have to say anything. We're good Bruce. I promise. It's why I helped." She released his hand.

"Thank you for that," he whispered. She knew he meant for what she said and for her help. And probably for letting go of his hand, too. Nothing more needed to be said between them on the subject.

"Have you talked to Dick?" she asked, not knowing what she wanted the answer to be.

"No. Have you?"

"No. None of the Titans have heard from him, not even Wally. I would look for him but I don't think he wants to be found."

"Give him time." There was more silence, this time broken by Bruce. "So..." he said. "You went with 'Oracle'?" Bruce had that frown-smirk expression on his face when he found something amusing.

"Yes, I did." She shrugged. "You told me I wasn't an oracle so I decided to become one."

"Well that's one hell of a 'fuck you'."

Barbara gave a short laugh. Bruce didn't often joke, and he had the driest humor she'd ever known. "Yeah, I guess it was."

"How about a tour? Let's see how well Ted did."

Of course he knows Ted built this, she thought. She was glad to see Bruce's injuries hadn't affected his mind. "Even you're going to be impressed," she said. "Come on." She started to wheel away before Bruce stopped her.

"Hold on," he said. He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and pressed a button. "Alfred. Come on up. There's someone here you'll want to see."

Two hours later Alfred and Bruce exited the garage elevator and made their way to the Bentley. They noted that most of the cars were now different from when they had gone up to see Barbara. Alfred had been pleasantly surprised to see her, and she gave both of them a grand tour of her office, empty apartment, and the Oracle headquarters in the top of the clocktower. Bruce admitted that he was impressed with what Ted had done, and Barbara agreed to let him review her security protocols while she and Alfred caught up on each other's lives. Bruce had been equally impressed with how much Barbara had learned in the six months since he had seen her. She never ceased to amaze him.

"Where to now, sir?" Alfred asked as he opened the rear driver's side door.

"That parking garage on sixth street," Bruce answered as he climbed in. He unzipped a gym bag lying next to him and pulled out a change of shabby street clothes. While Alfred drove Bruce quickly changed out of his Brooks Brothers suit and put on the dirty Dickie's, gray t-shirt, and oversized blue hoodie. He removed his wig and put on a black knit watch cap. Bruce completed the change with a pair of horn rimmed fake glasses.

Ten minutes later Alfred pulled into the parking garage Bruce had been referring to. It was one of the few in Gotham that didn't have security cameras and the Team had taken advantage of that many times over the years. Alfred drove to the third level and parked. Both men waited for a few minutes to see if they were alone.

"Take tonight off. Spend time with Leslie," Bruce told him as he got out. He walked away before Alfred could respond.

Bruce took the elevator to the street and made his way to the nearest subway station. He took a train down to the edge of the East End and got out, preferring to walk the rest of the way to his destination. It had been weeks since he had suited up as Batman, and he was concerned that Gotham would notice soon that no one had any recent sightings.

Even in the mid afternoon, or maybe because it's mid afternoon, he thought, he could still pick out the dealers, the addicts, the prostitutes, the pimps, the johns. As skilled as Batman was, there was only so much street crime he could stop. Most of his efforts had been towards the crime lords and super villains, dismantling their plans one mission at a time. The Team had still done sporadic patrols throughout the city, but three crime fighters in a city of over eight million people left a lot to be desired. Fear of the Batman actually stopped more street crime than Batman himself.

So much more I should be doing, he thought to himself as he passed a kid of no more than nine hanging out on a street corner. Bruce looked to the stoop of the building the kid was in front of and as expected saw a man in his early twenties standing there. He knew the kid was a corner boy who held the drugs, and the man was the bank. When a drug deal was made, the purchaser would hand the money to the kid, who would give the drugs and then take the money to the man. The man himself never touched the product, giving him a layer of legal protection in case of arrest. The boy would be the sacrifice to the judicial system until he was old enough to be the bank himself. It was a heartbreaking cycle. Bruce knew there was also probably a man with a gun inside the building in case anyone tried to rob the bank, which happened occasionally from a desperate addict.

The boy, the bank, and the unseen muscle were all gang members and reported to higher ups. Corners were considered territories and sometimes other gangs would attempt to make a move, but it was more rare than people thought. Shootouts scared customers, which was bad for business. And business took precedence above all else.

"Whatchu lookin' fo'?" the kid asked as Bruce walked by.

"I'm good," Bruce said hoarsely as he kept on walking.

"Double E, bitch," the boy responded as he held up three fingers sideways on each hand. The "Double E" and hand signal both stood for the Eastside Enders, the East End's oldest and largest gang. The kid was letting him know not to try and rob him.

Am I going to be fighting you in ten years? Bruce morosely wondered as he continued past. Never enough. No matter what I do it's never enough.

He walked for three more blocks, having the same type of interaction twice with another corner boy and unusually, a corner girl. Bruce got to his destination, went up the steps and walked into the old building. He immediately heard the sounds of fighting and was hit with a pungent odor of sweat. A flood of memories immediately washed over him.

Bruce was standing in the boxing gym he had trained in for years after his parents died. Ted Grant, who had operated as the vigilante WildCat, owned the place and had given Bruce extensive training for four years. Grant had been a Marine boxing champ, but had also learned Krav Maga, Muay Thai, hopkido, and Capoeira during his time in the Corps. Usually he only taught boxing to his students, but every once in awhile he made an exception. Bruce had been one of those exceptions.

He did his usual survey of the area. A couple of people glanced his way when he walked in, but quickly dismissed him and went back to training. Bruce was surprised to see a few women training alongside the men. That was new.

"Kane!"

Bruce turned to see an elderly man walking towards him. He was wearing old sweatpants and an even older sweatshirt with the sleeves cut off. Even with his age his muscled bulged. Ted Grant walked up and took his hand, shaking it vigorously. Grant had used the name Bruce used when training with him, though he knew who he really was. It was obvious that Bruce didn't want to be recognized by anyone there.

"Hey, Ted. Good to see you. Can we talk?"

"Sure, sure. Let's head up to the office."

Five minutes later they were sitting in Ted's office. Ted was sat behind his desk while Bruce sat across from him in a cheap folding plastic chair. Bruce's specially modified iPhone sat on the desk, it's anti-eavesdropping app running.

"Love what you've done with the place," Bruce said dryly. The office was nearly exactly like he remembered it from when he first started. Old and dirty.

"Smartass," Ted retorted as he opened a minifridge next to his desk and pulled out a bottle of Bud Light. "People come here to box, not for decorating ideas. Beer?" Bruce shook his head. "Figured I'd try." He opened the beer for himself and took a long pull.

"I noticed some women out there," Bruce said.

"Yeah, yeah," he said with a wave of his hand. "Dinah's been riding my ass for years to be more 'inclusive'. I finally gave it a shot."

"And?"

Ted shrugged his shoulders and took another drink. "And I've been pleasantly surprised. Women fighters weren't really much of a concept back in my day. Looks like I've been missing out."

"Welcome to the twenty first century," Bruce said with a smirk.

"Whatever. Now I know you didn't come here because you've joined the PC police. What can I do for you?"

"Jason Todd."

"I know the kid. What about him? He in some kind of trouble?"

"Not exactly," Bruce answered. "I'm just trying to learn a little bit more about him. Rumor is he's spent a little time here."

Ted snorted. "More than a little. He's been coming here about three years now, and he stays as long as I let him. Kid won't stop training unless I make him."

"How does he afford to?"

"I'm sure you know some of his story. I pretty much just let him. He cleans up around here a lot to give back."

"No gang ties, anything like that?"

"Wouldn't be here if he was. You know that," Ted answered. Known gang members were not allowed to train at Grant's gym.

"Did you give him any of the... special training?"

Grant sighed before he answered. "Yeah, I did. He was hungry for it and pestered me for three months before I started him on Krav. Kid was relentless. I never had to train him to get back up. Hell, I had to teach him when to stay down if the fight was over. He's had a fucked up life. A lot of anger. He channels it here, kinda like you did. He's actually a pretty advanced fighter now. You gonna tell me what this is about?"

"He stole my car."

"He did? Damn. He was boosting cars when he first started here, I made him quit. Shame he fell back into that."

"He stole my favorite car."

Ted raised his eyebrows. "That car? That's impressive. Be worth a lot."

"It's been recovered. I just want to know more about him."

"Guess he'll go back to fighting for money."

"Money?"

"Yep," Ted grinned. "You're gonna love this..."