"How was your boy?" James asked. Uncle Jimmy slipped between identities like a Method actor, and the rough outdoors man had transitioned overnight into an urbane gentleman. His fearsome mane shorn, his whiskers trimmed; Italian suit, silk tie and handmade shoes. Kent recognised Alfred's hand in this, yet there was no hiding that Chicago's version of uncle Jimmy was a predator, albeit one adapted for the concrete jungle. Logan carried himself like a made-man. Yesterday they both had been wearing pauper's rags dirtied by their cross border dash, today they moved as American Princes; guests in the latter day castle that was Wayne Towers, an elevator ride from the world leading medical facilities of the buildings Memorial Hospital where the gravely injured Bruce Murdoch-Wayne was being treated.
The King of this particular edifice was Thomas Wayne. His suit and shirt were fresh; starched and pressed, but his face was creased and worn with worry. "We have Bruce in a medically induced Coma, while we attempt to determine the full extent of injuries." The worried father told Logan.
"How bad are they?" James asked sipping the single malt breakfast Alfred had provided, the generous measure golden brown cut glass tumbler. Behind them the floor to ceiling glass panorama windows overlooked the cityscape and Lake Michigan.
Kent sat but in no way relaxed in one of the penthouse's plush leather armchairs. Unlike his uncle James, Kent had not slipped easily into this jet set lifestyle.
He could smell Martha Wayne's perfume. She appeared at first glance to very different to his mom, but beneath the designer clothes, her personality and manners reminded him of May Kent, and this made him feel her absence all the more deeply. Martha Wayne was with her injured son. Kent didn't know where his mom had gone. He hoped the man; Agent Parker had kept his promise to keep her safe.
Dr Wayne continued to explain his son's condition. "Remarkably the tissue damage is largely superficial, first and second degree burns in the main. Scarring thankfully will be slight, limited to the delicate skin around Bruce's eyes, which is in no small part due to the artificial dermis we developed from one of your tissue cultures James."
Logan reached out and grabbed Thomas' shoulder. "I'm sorry my blood's full healing properties are so difficult to decipher… I wish… there was a treatment to make Bruce whole."
Dr Wayne sighed. "As do I, but our new Jerusalem won't be built in a day,…"
"It's been five years." Logan said interrupting before draining his glass.
Wayne nodded. "...or even a lifetime, but I will get to the bottom of your unique genetic heritage James, together we will revolutionise medicine."
"Glad to help, even if all I did was bleed a little." Logan passed the cut glass tumbler to Alfred, who hovered, a constant presence at the other man's right hand. "I've seen many men lose their sight, heck I've scrabbled around in the dark enough times myself..."
"But you always come back, or should I say grow back." Wayne mouthed an acknowledgement to Alfred who provided another strong black coffee for his employer.
"I won't sugar coat this Thomas." Logan said. "I've seen a lot of things, sometimes men don't, can't change, adjust to their new circumstances. Children however are plastic, they bounce back in ways that can surprise and inspire."
"Thanks old man, Martha at least will be pleased to hear that it ." Wayne said shaking his head, "but the thing is my Bruce wasn't your average child to start with, the Wayne Curse is strong in him."
"Curse?" Kent asked, speaking for the first time that morning beyond the necessary yes, no, and thank you, Breakfast had demanded. Despite having only met Bruce Matthew Murdoch-Wayne for a matter of moments in that time of crisis, he felt invested in the boy's future. He was troubled by a nagging feeling of guilt, Kent couldn't help thinking that if he had only been quicker and stronger, perhaps even faster than that lone speeding bullet, he might have saved Bruce's sight.
Martha wouldn't be weeping by his bedside. Thomas would have been able to sleep peacefully.
"Nothing literal, rather biological," Thomas Wayne answered, "it's a curse that affects all Wayne's in some way, and some more than others, it makes some socially inept and others eccentric recluses, as only the rich can afford to be. For the lucky ones Savant Syndrome made us smart and very single minded, if occasionally socially inept."
"Genius and madness" Logan growled, he flipped a coin, it flew spinning from his thumb and back into his palm.
"Something like that" Thomas said. "It what got me interested in genetics, little did I know that I was Moses looking out across the Promised Land."
Kent frowned uncertain what the billionaire medical researcher meant.
"I mean, I have had the privilege to see the next step in human evolution but unlike your uncle James I am not part of that kingdom. Like Moses I am forever on the outside looking in."
"This isn't my world either." Kent said still not really sure what the Doctor meant, he looked at the cityscape, so different from his homeland, the countryside, the Kent farm.
"In more ways than one," Dr Wayne observed, adding "that is if your blood work is anything to go by."
Logan scowled. "I didn't expect you to analyse the sample, not yet I mean, not under the circumstances."
"Master Thomas is given to bouts of insomnia." Alfred noted. "Working through the night is all too common; I think he forgets some of us enjoy our beds."
Dr Wayne sighed. "There was nothing I could do for Bruce except wait, and given the circumstances I couldn't sleep, it was a welcome distraction, a way to thank you both, for your timely intervention - saving us from certain death.
"I extracted a sample from the material you provided, and ran some preliminary tests. Forgive me Logan I was sceptical of your story." Wayne downed his coffee, "but I am no longer."
"Pretty wild isn't it?" James suggested. "I mean the kid's blood isn't green, but he's not local, despite his homely looks."
"Oh, the appearance of his being human, is more than skin deep, simple microscopy isn't going to raise any red flags, in fact standard tests indicate young Mr Kent is a type 'O' universal donor."
"You're kidding me." Logan laughed.
"Not I." Wayne countered.
"You know I'm still here." Kent reminded them.
"Sure, who could miss your winning smile?" His uncle James replied. His sarcasm rammed home, Kent realised he was wallowing in self-pity. He could almost hear his Pa saying, "laugh and the world laughs with you, cry, and you cry alone." He had been concentrating on himself, his personal loss, the things he couldn't do, like stopping every bullet, but it didn't matter - the world kept spinning; good and a whole lot of evil things kept on happening. Kent resolved to do his best to stop as many evils, bullets, and bad guys as he could, and if that meant wearing a disguise, a persona, like his uncle James wore a change of shirt, to save people like the Wayne's, then he would.
Meanwhile Dr Thomas Wayne continued to reveal his initial findings. Kent's hidden secrets, what made him different.
"It was only when I put the sample under the electron microscope that I began to see fundamental differences in structure, if I thought your biology was complex, a life's work, then this young man's is another order of complexity above and beyond that."
"Sorry about that bub, but it was either you, or Lionel Luthor, because no one else has the resources and the expertise, well maybe Howard Stark, if I wanted to blow the kid up, that is."
Kent smiled. If Logan noticed, he didn't let on, saying. "By the way Thomas, You're not the only one who hasn't been sleeping" He gestured back in Kent's direction. "This one has pretty much given up, and when he does his dreams are always troubled. That's why we dropped in, personally, rather than just posting that bloody rag into your mailbox."
"Lack of sleep doesn't seem to have slowed the boy down any." Wayne noted as he ran his fingers through his dark hair, referring Kent guessed to his superhuman speed, putting himself between automatic fire and the Wayne family. "For all we know this maybe a natural development for him."
"Perhaps." His uncle agreed. "But the nightmares?"
Wayne shrugged, tired and defeated. "Truth be told Logan, I'm more of a sawbones, blood and guts man, I know my way around the meat of a man's brain, but the thoughts, but that's more like bottling lightning."
"I hear you bub," James lit a cigar, "but I thought you might have, you know, a special kind of head-shrinker on your payroll."
"Plenty, but no one special enough, at least not here, not now,.. but I do know somebody who can help."
Wayne shuffled, he appeared uncomfortable.
"Great. Why do I smell this is one of those good news, bad news kind of things?" Logan asked, pulling a face even as he relished the expensive Cigar Alfred had provided.
"Well he is based out on the East Coast, he's even known to your hairy friends, and he's extremely skilled in what he does."
"And the bad news?"
"He's Lionel Luthor's son."