XXXV
The Fall of the House of Wayne
If even the unverified news of Dick's death had come as a physical blow to Barbara, she knew it must have absolutely destroyed Bruce. No calls from him for an entire day after the sudden news of the atomic explosion only deepened her concern. She was putting pieces together in her mind that she prayed weren't true... And with each thought the knot in her stomach tightened.
Numerous calls and messages to her boss the next morning remained unanswered. Even Alfred didn't answer her calls. She hated to intrude upon their privacy… or grief, but her genuine fears for their well-being overrode any sense of impropriety. Waiting was simply not her style.
If Dick were truly dead… If he was… She held that thought and left instructions with her managers while she departed. She had to know.
The gray of the autumn sky cast a dark foreboding over her drive to Wayne Manor. If it were true… if it were… she wasn't sure this was something they could recover from.
Having checked in with security at the mansion, Barbara rang the bell and waited. She had confirmed with the guards that Bruce and Alfred were indeed at home. She waited a moment more in silence… no answer. Finally, she accessed Oracle to bypass the lock on the front door.
As she entered Wayne Manor, she felt as Poe entering the House of Usher. There was a palpable melancholy that filled its large, lonely hallways. The gloom was almost tactile. It was as though the spirit of the house itself had died. That alone confirmed her worst fears. After surreal moments of wondering disregarded corridors, Barbara finally found Alfred alone in the kitchen. The old servant was trying to hold himself up… He looked haggard.
"Mr. Pennyworth?... Are you alright?"
"Miss Gordon… I'm sorry… I wasn't expecting you… I'm so sorry…So many memories…" Alfred stumbled on legs that could barely support him as he stepped towards her.
Barbara could bear it no longer. She took Alfred into her arms and held the old gentleman in a tight embrace, cradling his head into her shoulder while he released the tears he had fought to withhold. She held him in gentle arms that were stronger than any he had known, with a spirit of nobility that lent its hand to the old servant's soul, to lead him gently away from the abyss, back to her… to the living.
Tender moments later, she carefully guided him to a chair and poured him a glass of water. With the voice of a stubborn daughter, she told him to drink and began to prepare a small plate of bread and cheese from the fridge.
"Where is Bruce?... Mrs. Wayne?" she inquired of the faithful servant as he gratefully acquiesced to her simple meal. It was the first thing he had tasted sine Courvoisier the day before.
"I'm afraid Master Bruce has secluded himself in the caves below the mansion. And Mrs. Wayne had suffered some great emotional trauma and is under the care of her mother. Both of them have remained in the bedroom since yesterday. I've been of very little use to anyone, Miss Gordon… I begged him not to leave."
"We'll work on Bruce after I've made some soup. Now, where do you keep the vegetables? And let's turn on some lights, shall we?"
"Miss Gordon, please, allow me…"
"Alfred, if you so much as try to get up off that seat, I will belt you." So it was true, Dick was gone. She would cry tears in private… but first she had to be strong for Alfred and Bruce.
As he watched Barbara prepare the meal, Alfred was amazed by her fluidity and grace. If not for the tragedy-born scars upon Bruce Wayne's psyche, the old servant had no doubt who would have been the red-haired mistress of this grand estate. Despite Bruce's seeming disinterest in romantic affairs, Barbara was not a woman you could overlook for long...if indeed at all.
A tear welled in his eye when he remembered the secret hopes he had harbored for Richard and Barbara after Bruce's sudden marriage to Mrs. Wayne.
Raven Wayne was a lovely night-blooming flower who preferred the shadows. She possessed tremendous powers that she hid from the world beneath mysterious cloaks, held tightly in the clutch of fear. He had no doubt she loved Bruce, but there was always the question of whether he was simply her ally… or she his wife.
In Barbara Gordon, there was strength, love and determination. The only question he had of Barbara was how Bruce Wayne had managed not to get into a relationship with this amazing woman before he had ever met his wife. There were dark parts to Bruce Wayne's soul that had regrettably overshadowed the brightest parts of what the world held for him. Watching this lovely young woman weave her way around the Wayne kitchen, Alfred sighed.
"…I have no idea how he's managed to resist you all these years, Miss Gordon," he remarked suddenly.
"That makes two of us, Mr. Pennyworth," she replied while adding sliced vegetables to the broth boiling on the stove. The rustic aroma cast aside the tendrils of despair that had filled the house since yesterday. Hope had returned to the kitchen.
"Trust me… it hasn't been easy," replied a deep, ragged voice from outside the doorway. "Smells great, Barbara. I can't even remember when I ate last."
Both Alfred and Barbara turned their heads, exclaiming in unison… "Bruce!"
Before them stood a disheveled Bruce Wayne, squinting against the kitchen lights, a face full of stubble and carrying the reek of bat dung… but impressive none the less.
"Sorry," he sheepishly offered to his two friends, "I had some things to take care of. You two go on, please. I'm going to go have a shower, shave, and then check on Raven. Then I'm going to come back down and have some of that fantastic soup. Unfortunately, we do have a funeral to plan. Barbara, I would truly love it if you could stay and help us through all of this."
Barbara felt the flush of her cheeks as they betrayed her once again.
"Of course, Bruce. Anything I can do to help."