Chapter 15 – Third-life Crisis

A summer rainstorm showered down on Gotham the next day, providing the perfect atmosphere for contemplating colossal life decisions. Bruce tried valiantly to ignore this, evading deep thoughts by cloistering himself in the home gym for several hours. Yet he should have known he couldn't escape them there either. Every weight he lifted, each motion he performed in front of the mirrors testified to his vocation as Batman – and that vocation was long overdue for reassessment.

He lingered in the shower longer than usual, closing his eyes as the water formed hundreds of tiny rivers over a rolling landscape of muscles. Those muscles had served Gotham well these past ten years. The thought of not utilizing them anymore, to let them lie dormant… it felt like sacrilege.

Besides, what would his backup plan even be? Devoting his full attention to Wayne Enterprises? He played the role of dedicated businessman well, but it wasn't something he could ever embrace as a sole identity. His moral convictions were too passionate to stay chained to a desk.

Selina didn't understand. How could she? Her decisions were based on desperation, not altruism. Expecting him to turn in his career was absurd, unreasonable, unconscionable.

But so what if it was? The thought pierced his skull like an arrow. For one hypothetical moment, what if he set his indignation aside and looked at the big picture? The long-term forecast, so to speak.

Why did I ask Selina to consider retiring as Catwoman? It wasn't for propriety's sake. He needn't fear a scandal or tarnished reputation from being seen with her. The public would continue being blissfully unaware of the face behind Catwoman's mask, just as they would with Batman's.

And truthfully, it wasn't because he felt ethical unease about her activities. That was just an easy excuse to place in her lap. No, he could live with her Robin Hood-like moral grayness, if he really wanted to.

He stared through himself in the bathroom mirror. His true motives lay hidden there, in the space between his furrowed brow and its reflection. The real reason he wanted Selina to cease being Catwoman was…

He jumped at the sudden pounding on the bathroom door.

"Dad?" came Dick's voice from the other side.

"Y-yes?"

"Can Wesley from school come over tomorrow afternoon?"

Tomorrow… afternoon… Bruce had to pinch his eyes shut just to remember what day it was tomorrow. Monday.

"Uh, I guess so," he replied hoarsely.

"Great, thanks!" the sound of jubilant footsteps went running down the hall.

Shaking his head, Bruce finished dressing and headed downstairs. There was too much static inside his head to ponder anything beyond lunch.

While Dick inhaled his food and Bruce methodically consumed his, Alfred observed the two of them with unusual interest. If his aim was to be discreet, he failed, because Bruce noticed his curious stares long before Dick excused himself from the table.

Bruce invited him to take the boy's seat. "You've got something on your mind."

"Am I that obvious?"

"Out with it," Bruce commanded, taking a mouthful of fruit.

"Very well. I've noticed something over the past few months," Alfred began thoughtfully.

"What's that?"

"Ever since Miss Kyle's surprise visit back in April, you've been very careful not to have her and Dick cross paths."

Bruce looked sideways, still chewing. What was Alfred talking about? Selina had seen Dick plenty of times.

Or… had she?

Great. The mental static was distorting his memory now, dropping the floor out from beneath him.

"It started me wondering," Alfred pressed. "What are your intentions with Miss Kyle?"

Bruce swallowed hard. "My intentions?"

"I realize I must sound like her father," chuckled the butler. "But it's been almost a year since you two started seeing each other. We both know it's a fair question at this point."

"This last year hasn't been –"

"I know, I know, it hasn't been continuous," Alfred conceded. "But forget that worn excuse. You two had a ten-year head start, of sorts. Don't tell me you don't know where this is all headed!"

"You certainly seem to," replied Bruce sardonically. "Or think you do."

"How long will you draw this out, Master Bruce? Another year? Perhaps two? And what then?"

"I don't know… and that's really none of your business…"

"Oh, come now! I've been very patient. I've stepped back and let you handle things to this point, but it's high time you had a performance review."

"This ought to be good," Bruce grumbled to himself.

"I'm done beating around the bush," Alfred announced. "Are you, or are you not courting Miss Kyle with the intent to marry her?"

The air hummed with the electricity of those last two words: Marry. Her. As if Alfred had shot Bruce with a taser right across the dining table. It paralyzed him, and all he could do was stare at the crumb patterns left on his plate.

"You've at least thought about it, haven't you?" Alfred's tone softened.

A pained expression gripped Bruce's face. "I… I'm not sure."

Alfred suppressed an incredulous laugh. "How in the world can you be unsure whether you want marriage or not?"

"Alfred. Think about it."

"That is precisely what I am endeavoring to do!"

Damn it. Alfred was actually going to force him to speak the words he couldn't even bring himself to think. The repercussions were… unimaginable. It terrified him, and he hadn't felt terror in over two decades.

Still, if there was even the smallest chance this could clear the static plaguing his brain…

"Marriage is… incompatible for me." Defeat dragged down his voice.

"You sound so certain."

Bruce looked up in disbelief. "How can I not be?! Alfred, where have you been the last ten years? What makes you think a wife would fit in anywhere?"

Unfazed, Alfred held his gaze. "Dick seems to fit into your life just fine."

"That's different! He's–"

"What, a protégé? Please. I see how much time you spend with him outside of training. He's not just a project to you anymore," Alfred inferred. "He's truly become a son."

Bruce flinched from the unwelcome intrusion into his soul. Alfred's perceptive skills were on par with his housekeeping ones.

"If you've found a place for a son, finding space for a mother for him may not be impossible either," Alfred concluded, knowing it was time to busy himself elsewhere. He patted Bruce's hand before quietly exiting the kitchen.