The Way Back #2

[arcalian]

The Way Back #2: Giving In
Story by Ellen Fleischer
Edited by Jay McIntyre

I get advice from all my friends
How to get back on my feet again
And it will happen, I know when
Someday, someday
But not today
Today is for missing the way you laughed
Sitting with a stack of old photographs
While the black and white movie plays
I'm giving in
It's a little self-indulgent
But right now that's okay…
-Gary Burr, Steve HoMon, "Not Today"

[arcalian]

Barbara opened her eyes and immediately closed them again. The sun was bright, she realized. She must have overslept. She became aware of the light pressure of an arm draped across her torso. If the sun was that high in the sky, then…

"Hey." She nudged Dick gently. "Hey, wake up. You overslept."

Dick stirred. "Wha?" He rolled over. "'Nother few minutes, Babs. Tired."

"I know," she said, elbowing him a little harder. "But you just started in a new department last week, and even though it is in risk management, if you could manage to not jeopardize it…"

A groan emanated from under the blankets. "I'm the only one around here who's supposed to be able to toss off quips like that." He pushed back the quilt. "What time is it, anyw—agh! Babs!"

She pressed a hand to her eyes, trying to block the light that stabbed at them. "That bad?" She asked worriedly.

"Terrible," Dick groaned again. "It's 4:40."

"What?" Barbara sat bolt upright. "We actually slept the whole day away?"

"Four-forty A.M., Babs. We didn't even finish sleeping the night away." His expression hardened. With one swift motion, he reached for the cord and pulled up the window blind. He sighed. "Just as well you woke me." He pointed to the bat-symbol illuminating the night sky. It couldn't be more than twenty minutes to dawn, from the look of things. "I'll suit up. Again."

Barbara carefully maneuvered herself toward the edge of the mattress closest to the wheelchair. "I'll get coffee on."

"No time," Dick said. He was already opening the hidden door at the back of the walk-in closet. "Gotta run."

"Who said I'm making it for you?" Barbara retorted. "If that floodlight goes up, it means I have to, also." She shook her head. "Grab something for the office, too, in case you can't get back here before work. Your lunch is on the top shelf of the 'fridge, and there's a box of muffins on the bottom. The banana chocolate chip one is mine."

Dick grinned. "As long as I have another choice besides carrot oat-bran." He zipped the Nightwing suit into a garment bag and grabbed a navy-blue double-breasted, still in the drycleaner's plastic. "No time to stop at the cave—I'll get changed in the car." He blew Barbara a kiss, and raced out of the room.

[arcalian]

"Sorry to bother you this late," Detective Captain Renee Montoya said as she switched off the signal. "I needed to check something with you." She blinked. "Old costume?"

Nightwing sighed. "You know what the judge said at the hearing. Bruce has enough to deal with now without having a black-and-white driving up to his door every time there's a Batman sighting, just to make sure it's not him in the suit."

The police captain shook her head. "I'd like to assure you that we have more important things to worry about," she said, "but you're right. I can't explicitly order my people not to look into something like that. And if there's a patrol car in his neighborhood…" She let out a breath. "Tell him that if things get out of hand, he can threaten a harassment suit. That'll give me grounds to call them off without making it look like we're turning a blind eye."

"Thought you cops hate that kind of thing."

Montoya rolled her eyes. "Most of the time, they slow us down. In a case like this?" A small smile came and went. "We both know it won't be him under the cowl. That means that every time a couple of my people go to confirm that, they're taking time away from solving a real crime. Which slows us down more."

Nightwing grinned. "Nice mental gymnastics. And here I thought I was the acrobat." The smile broadened. "Sounds believable enough to me." He sobered then. "So, what's the emergency?"

Renee hesitated. All at once, she looked unsure. "Actually… there isn't one. I was hoping you could clear something up to my satisfaction."

Under the mask, Nightwing felt his eyebrows rise. "Hit me."

After a minute dragged by with no further conversation, he ventured, "Captain?"

Montoya took a deep breath. "Were you patrolling alone tonight?"

He blinked. "Yeah. Why?"

"You haven't taken on any new recruits?"

A headshake. "No," Nightwing said quietly. "It's mainly me and Batgirl, with sporadic assistance from Catwoman, Huntress, and a few other friends of mine, mostly from my days on the Titans. What's this about?"

"Well," Montoya said, relaxing, "in one way, I guess that's what I wanted to hear from you. Because frankly? I don't want to have to bring you in on a child endangerment charge." At Nightwing's confused expression, she continued.

"A member of the Hellcats gang was taken to Wayne Memorial in Park Row about three hours ago. Someone found him bleeding in an alley and called 911. When he came to, he said that he was assaulted by a child, who identified himself as, I quote, 'Batman's newest partner'."

Nightwing absorbed that, knowing that Montoya was watching him carefully, gauging his reaction. "At the moment, Captain," he said quietly, "There is no Batman. And my 'newest' partner is Catwoman. We've been working together, off and on, for almost a year, now." He turned around. "Thanks for the tip. I'll look into it.

"Kid said he wasn't positive if it was a boy or a girl. And he didn't see his attacker's face."

Nightwing stopped. "Got it. Thanks."

"Good night."

He turned around with a half-smile and waved a hand in the direction of the rising sun. "It was. Get some rest, Captain. Someone should."

Then he was gone.

[arcalian]

Barbara was smiling as she hung up the telephone. "That was Dick. He's meeting us at the manor, after all," she said. "So we'll head out around two?"

Bruce helped himself to more salad. "I know I've been postponing this," he said, "but he doesn't need to leave work early. I can manage."

"He's not." She buttered a slice of rye bread. "The signal went up again, a little before five. After Dick went to check it out, he continued to the office. He has to give them eight hours a day, but they're pretty flexible on which eight." She smiled. "There've been a few times when he's gone into the office directly from patrol, then come home around one or two in the afternoon to sleep."

"Ah." He finished his plate in silence.

"Too bad Tim had to go back to San Francisco."

"The Titans need him," Bruce said. "It happens."

Particularly when Deathstroke comes to town, Barbara thought darkly. "I'll get that for you," she said, reaching for the plate as Bruce pushed his chair away.

Bruce shook his head. "There's been enough of that over the last two years. I need to get back to managing on my own." So saying, he deposited his plate in the sink.

Barbara shook her head. "It doesn't clean itself, you know," she said with some amusement as he turned around.

Bruce glowered. Then he turned back to the sink and ran the hot water. He knew that.

[arcalian]

Dick wasn't the only one waiting as they drove up the gravel path to the front door of the manor. Cass was standing next to him. And so was…

"I was in the neighborhood," Gordon smiled as Bruce opened the car door. "Hope you don't mind."

Bruce shook his head. "I still don't know where you found a place in Bristol," he admitted. "I mean…" He stopped. It was none of his business whether Gordon had won the lottery, or gotten a mortgage. Somehow or other, the former police commissioner had found a place to live in one of Gotham's swankiest suburbs.

"The rent was too good to pass up," Jim said. "Besides, you stuck a crime lab in my basement. I didn't need one, and it turned out to be cheaper to move than renovate." He shrugged. "And this way, it's still there if your people need it."

That made sense. Although Bruce had his doubts as to whether living in Bristol could really be cheaper. The thought that Jim might have put himself in debt to live here bothered him. If Jim had, Bruce knew that it was only out of concern for his own well being. He'd have to see whether there might be a discreet way to help Jim financially—if need be.

Caught up in his thoughts, he barely noticed Dick typing the security code on the touch-pad.

"Ready?" Dick asked, as he pulled open the door.

Bruce took a deep breath, squared his shoulders and crossed the threshold.

[arcalian]

He didn't know what he'd been expecting. Ghosts, perhaps. Not ghosts in the sense of chain-rattling, moaning phantoms. He'd known since he was eight that there were different kinds of haunting. He supposed that he'd expected to walk through the door and be nearly physically bowled over by memories.

Instead… instead, it was like walking through any other vestibule. He recognized the carpets and the paneling. As he stepped into the front hall, he knew instantly where each room was situated, but where was the tide of nostalgia that he'd thought would overwhelm him? This was a homecoming, yes, but his return felt ordinary. As though he'd been away for hours, instead of years.

There was something else, too. He couldn't quite put his finger on it. The manor was as spotless as it had ever been. The woodwork gleamed, and the air even had a faint trace of the lemon polish that Alfred had always used. But despite the sights and the smells, the place was empty and sterile in a way that it had never been. Not even those times when Alfred had left for awhile.

He wasn't coming back. Bruce had understood this for two years. But until now, a part of him had somehow refused to accept it. Alfred was gone.

"Managing?" Dick asked.

Bruce nodded, forcing a smile. "Of course."

[arcalian]

It wasn't as bad as Bruce had been anticipating. Nobody offered to give him a tour of the manor or offered to "be there for him" if he wanted to go down to the cave or up to Alfred's room. They didn't have to. He knew. But, at the moment, he wasn't interested in either area. And if he had been, the last thing he would have wanted was an audience.

So, Bruce ushered them into the den, and they sat and talked. Well, Dick kept up more than his share of the conversation. And if he and Barbara monopolized it, that wasn't surprising. Cass and Jim generally didn't speak when they had nothing to say, and Bruce wasn't in the mood for small talk.

Around 4:30, Jim suggested firing up the grill and having barbecue for supper. Everyone was amenable, although for Bruce, it was the first reminder that the others would be leaving soon enough.

"You stay," Bruce overheard Cass telling Dick after dinner. "I can look after Gotham, okay? Instead of tomorrow, you take tonight off."

As appealing as the idea was, Bruce wasn't in the mood for handholding. He was going to have to make the adjustment to living alone, and he'd rather start tonight. Before Dick had a chance to reply, Bruce had taken a few steps closer to the two, making it obvious that he'd been listening. "That really won't be necessary, Cassandra," he said, trying to sound sincere.

Cass met his eyes directly. "You're sure? I could stay."

Bruce shook his head. "If you're seen, at best, the papers will be wondering why a woman young enough to be my daughter was seen leaving the manor late at night. At worst, they'll start to speculate as to which costumed vigilante you might be."

She shrugged. "Then, they won't see. I'm careful."

The look he gave her might have come from behind the cowl. "No. I'll be fine."

The others exchanged looks. "Well," Dick said slowly, "if you're sure, then I need to get ready for patrol."

Bruce nodded. "Go on. Who's off tonight?"

"Selina."

"Ah." Bruce wondered why she hadn't come with them. He turned to Cass. "You're with him, then." At her reluctant nod, his expression hardened even further. "Go."

She went.

"I guess," Barbara said, "I need to head back to Delphi." She grinned at his puzzled expression. "I had to call my new HQ something. Dick pinned that name on it, and it stuck."

That figured.

"Want me to drop you off on the way, Daddy?"

Jim demurred. "There's still enough light for me to get where I'm going. See you tomorrow?" He bent down to kiss her.

Barbara hugged him back. "Around noon."

Then they trooped off, leaving Bruce alone.

And, for the first time in two years, he was alone. There wasn't another soul in the manor. There were no guards within earshot. There would be nobody peering into his room every quarter hour to check up on him. If he chose to, he could, quite literally, sit here in this armchair for hours, perhaps for days, and nobody would notice. He frowned. Considering that of all the hardships he'd undergone in Arkham, it had been the loss of his privacy that he'd felt most keenly, he ought to be pleased to finally be free from observation.

Well, if Selina was off tonight, perhaps the two of them could get together. He was halfway to the garage before he remembered: his driver's license had expired while he'd been away. Normally, he wouldn't have cared about that. Retaking the test was nothing more than an annoying formality. But, so soon after his release, he wasn't deluding himself. For every Renee Montoya on the force, there was probably a Romy Chandler—someone who had been only too happy to see him shut away, and would leap at an opportunity to send him back. Flouting the law—any law—at this stage would be sheer stupidity. Especially when he could just telephone her.

There was no answer at Selina's apartment. For a moment, Bruce debated asking Oracle to check up on her, but he dismissed the notion. She could be asleep. She could have spotted a crime in progress and opted to handle the matter herself. She could be trying to get Helena to settle down. She could have unplugged the phone. The number might have changed—there'd been no voice mail. Bruce sighed. Then he went upstairs to take a shower.

[arcalian]

…At least, he'd been planning on a shower. He'd generally preferred them to baths. However, when he actually got to the bathroom, faced with a choice for the first time in far too long, he ran the tub. He'd rarely allowed himself the luxury of a long hot soak. Before Arkham, if he'd had the time for such an indulgence, he'd usually spent it working out or extending his patrol. And at Arkham, even long showers could not be taken for granted, unless one preferred them ice-cold with minimal water pressure. It had taken him nearly three months to determine the optimal time of day to take his and avoid such problems.

Nearly an hour later, he emerged, feeling a bit more human. This wasn't so bad. It was going to be difficult making the transition back to normal life, but if he'd adjusted to living in a monastery in Nepal and later, in a rundown apartment in Sao Paulo, he could do this.

The best place to start, he surmised, was to catch up on current events. While Dick hadn't yet restored the Crays in the cave, there was still the computer in the study. He spent nearly two hours reading various newspapers online before he realized that he needed to get ready for bed before they turned the lights out.

It wasn't until he was at the top of the stairs that he remembered that there was no "they". Of all the crazy, stupid… he punched the wall hard enough to knock the portrait of his parents askew. Horrified, he straightened it. This had been the last picture they'd taken together, nearly a month before that night. And, Bruce remembered with a pang, it would have been a picture of the three of them, had he not stubbornly refused to sit for it. His father had tried persuasion, then compulsion, but he'd had none of it. Dragged in front of the backdrop, eight-year-old Bruce had sulked, fidgeted, and made faces, until finally, and with some persuasion from his mother, Thomas Wayne had relented. "There'll be other photos," Martha had said. Except that there hadn't been.

Miserably, Bruce pushed open the door to his bedroom. It was exactly the way he remembered it, down to the folded quilt at the foot of the bed and the robe draped over the wooden desk chair. It didn't take him long to get ready for bed, and, despite it only being a little bit after nine, he was tired.

Sleep refused to come, though. Try as he might, he couldn't get comfortable. The mattress was too firm, the pillows too soft, the manor too quiet. This from a man who once slept on a concrete ledge, sixty stories up, he thought with disgust. He closed his eyes and tried a relaxation technique. He tried it again. He tried a different technique. Finally, he gave up and padded downstairs to the study. If he couldn't sleep upstairs…

He hadn't intended to go down to the Cave tonight, but the truth was he'd slept more nights there than he had in the master bedroom. In some ways, the world beneath the manor had been more of a home to him.

He was glad to discover that Dick hadn't changed the combination code on the clock. The door opened as it always had, and a whoosh of cool dank air surged forward to envelop him. He headed down the stairs. The Batmobile bays were empty. Dick must have moved the cars to the satellite Caves. Bruce sighed. Then he summoned the elevator and took it down to the command center.

Not that there was anything down there to command, of course. He hadn't realized how vast the area was without the Crays taking up space. Now, their empty bays gaped at him. He'd need to see if Dick could move the machines from one of the satellite caves over here. For what purpose? He isn't using this base of operations. Do you really need to divert them here? He shook his head. Batman needed the Crays. Bruce's computer needs could be more than met with the PC in the study.

He glanced over to his right, where the medical bay was located, and froze. Someone had gone to the trouble to make up a cot here, too.

Don't jump to conclusions, he told himself. It could have been like this when you left. He doubted it, though. When he moved closer to the cot, he made out a note propped against the pillow:

Thought you might be more comfortable, down here. Power's been restored, if you want coffee in the morning.

Bruce smiled faintly. He didn't deserve his family. He lay down on the cot. Much better. Except that he wasn't at all sleepy, now. It figured. The relaxation techniques hadn't helped before. Perhaps, reading might. That would mean another trip upstairs, to the library, this time. Bruce thought about that. After a moment, he got up and headed, once more, for the elevator.

He'd forgotten how many books he had in that room. Had he read them all? His eyes panned the shelves carefully, moving up and down along one bookcase, then past the casement window to the next section, then… then they snapped back. Bruce stared in disbelief.

There was a light on in one of the outbuildings.

[arcalian]

"Sorry, Bruce," Oracle's voice replied. "I've checked it out. I'm not detecting any intruder on the premises."

Bruce's eyes narrowed. "Are you positive? You know that the security devices I have here are—"

"Good, but not good enough to keep me out." The computerized mask fell away. Barbara grinned. "Dick gave me the codes to tap into your systems after Akins outed you. It was the easiest way to make sure the manor would still be standing when you got back. Nice robe, by the way. Italian?"

"Never mind that," Bruce said with a frown. "What about the light in the groundskeeper's cottage?"

Barbara shrugged. "You know that Dick got in a bunch of friends to help tidy the house and grounds, after the hearing. Maybe somebody went in there for something and forgot to close up."

"Or someone might be shielded from your scanners."

"I guess." Her voice was dubious. "I could contact the police… see if Montoya can send someone to check it out for you."

Yes. And when it turns out to be a false alarm, we can all have ourselves a laugh or two at my expense. "That won't be necessary, Barbara," he said abruptly. "I'll look into it on my own."

Barbara leaned closer. "Are you sure, Bruce? I mean, if you're right and it's really something, then…"

"Then we'll discover whether I still remember my hand-to-hand combat skills. Bruce out."

Barbara switched off the interface and hit the first number on her speed-dial. "He'll probably be there in a minute. No, all he saw was the light. Good luck."

[arcalian]

It had taken years before Cassandra Cain had finally realized that being Batgirl was more than atoning for a crime committed when she had been too young to fully appreciate what she was doing. It was more than making a difference. It was even more than making sure that justice was served. No, what she had never dared to tell another living soul, was that being Batgirl was fun.

Tonight, she had interrupted the Ghost Dragons, as they were unloading a shipment from a docked cargo ship. It had come in under cover of darkness and, according to Oracle, cloaked from the Coast Guard's radar systems. Whatever it was carrying had to be valuable… and illegal.

She wasn't thinking about that now. Instead, she was dancing. Gracefully, she leaped high into the air her feet moving apart in a split-kick, which left two of her attackers staggering. Without a break in momentum, she dropped down and rolled forward, evading another young Dragon's swipe. She swept his legs out from under him, surged up and administered a nerve strike to the next assailant.

She loved this. Every move, every counter was precisely timed and planned. And yet, there was a certain unpredictability to the ballet which intrigued her. True, she could read her opponents' body language to determine how best to counter their attacks. There was still the instant of anticipation, as she waited to see what move they would try next. Sometimes, she even tried to guess, and nearly laughed if her prediction was accurate.

One of the Ghost Dragons was charging her from behind. She waited until he was too committed to change course before she leaped to one side. Then, she seized his arm, half-turned and neatly flipped him over her shoulder and into the side of one of the containers. It must not have been properly sealed, because it opened, spilling its contents to the dock. Cass blinked. Ice chips? They'd been carrying ice chips?

"Mung caa caa!" One young woman shouted angrily in Cantonese. Although Cass didn't understand the language, the snarling tone spoke volumes.

Most of the gang dropped to their knees and began pawing at the chips. Now why, Cass wondered, would they do that? She could think about that in a moment. There were still two of them left standing, but they were moving like seasoned fighters—less anger, more purpose. One suddenly whipped a small sphere at her.

She evaded it, of course. But suddenly, there was a loud bang and a flash of light. Startled, Cass cried out. Blind and deaf. She'd gotten careless. Suppressing a groan of disgust, she held herself very still, probing. Going by the vibrations she was picking up from the pier, her targets should be…

She ruthlessly suppressed a wave of dizziness. Quickly, smoothly, she hurled two batarangs. She didn't hear them connect, but she felt the intensity of the vibrations change. She flung two more and was gratified when the quivering of the planks told her that her targets were moving away. In fact, from what she could tell, the rest of the gang was clearing out too.

A sudden instinct made her duck. Something was whistling toward her. All at once, she sensed another presence standing barely a foot away. But she had felt no footsteps! How was that possible?

"…DOWN!" Someone said, loud enough for even her recovering ears to pick up. There was a CRA-A-ACK, and the whistling object went flying in the opposite direction. Even in her current state, she could hear a loud hissing as a cloud of steam began to rise.

Through the spots in front of her eyes, she saw a mass of bright orange and she smelled smoke. Whoever this person was, he obviously hadn't planned this well. "You…" She struggled to keep her anger under control. Nobody was screaming. That meant that the incendiary probably hadn't hit anyone on its way into the ice chips.

"No nee… than' me… 't-girl." Her hearing was coming back. "Par'ners gotta loo' ou' for each other."

What? Her partner? She'd never met this person before in her life! She was about to open her mouth to say so when the slight figure near her side giggled. "Later!" he sang out. And then, quite suddenly, she was alone. The Ghost Dragons had fled, and her unknown 'partner' had vanished as well. She hadn't even heard him leave.

Cass waited for more of her vision to return before she moved forward to inspect the open container. Her dizziness was fading as her hearing came back. She bent down for a closer look. That was strange. In the puddles of melted ice, there were some chips which seemed to be completely unaffected. She stooped to pick up a few. As she examined them, she inhaled sharply.

"Oracle. You there?" She waited for the acknowledgement. "Reporting. Ghost dragons are gone. The shipment was… diamonds. Hidden in ice."

There was a moment's pause. Then, "I'll notify the authorities. Good work, Batgirl." It took another moment for Oracle to realize that the channel was still open. "Batgirl? Is there anything else?"

"Yes. I had… help."

[arcalian]

With a sense of satisfaction, Dick turned a subdued Jervis Tetch over to a pair of grim-faced GCPD officers. Earlier today, The Mad Hatter had stolen onto the grounds of a local elementary school and abducted seven-year-old Alicia Dodgson. Finding Hatter had been the easy part. Getting him to reveal where he'd hidden the girl had taken Nightwing nearly three hours. Mostly spent staying out of sight until Tetch was convinced that the vigilante was no longer tailing him.

"We'll get her back to her parents," Officer Sook said. "They're probably frantic."

Nightwing nodded. He looked down at the blonde girl. "You're going to be alright?" he asked with a smile.

She nodded gravely and put the tip of one of her braids into her mouth.

"Don't do that," he said absently.

She pulled it out with a guilty start.

The vigilante grinned. "Well, I guess I'm off then. Stay safe."

He was only a few blocks away from Selina's apartment. Normally, he wouldn't have bothered her on her night off, but he'd been expecting her at the manor today. He hoped that everything was alright with her.

He wasn't that surprised to find her windows dark. It was nearly three o'clock in the morning, a time when even a costumed vigilante might turn in, if the night was slow. But taped to the outside window sill, there was a small purple envelope. Curious, Nightwing swung over and picked it up. His name was inscribed on it in black ink. He tore it open carefully and extracted a piece of matching notepaper.

Nightwing, he read slowly, I'm putting you on the spot by sending this to you instead of to Bruce. I don't know how to do this without hurting him, and the last thing I want to do is that, especially now. There are some things going on with me that I have to work through, and I don't know how long it'll take me. If you try to find me, you probably will eventually. Please don't. Give me the time I need.

I know that leaves you shorthanded. If you haven't already heard this from him, Tim will be back later this week, at least until the new term starts at SFU.

Tell Bruce (here, she had written and scribbled out several words) I still love him and I wish I'd been there today. It's not fair of me to ask him to wait when I can't tell him how long he might have to, so I won't. I guess that's everything. She'd crossed out the next bit, but not so thoroughly as to obliterate it: I do love him, Dick. I just wish I knew that was enough.

Dick closed his eyes. Bruce did not need this now.

[arcalian]

Bruce hurriedly pulled on his shoes. It occurred to him after he'd started walking the quarter-mile to the cottage that he might have gotten dressed first. He debated turning back, but decided against it. In all likelihood, Barbara was right, and someone had just forgotten to switch off a light. And if there was actually somebody out there, Bruce mused, the odds of it being a hostile were low. If it was an old foe out to settle a score, chances were they'd either have been clever enough not to announce their presence or daring enough to have tried breaking into the manor proper. Even more likely, they would have been in the house already this afternoon, waiting for him to arrive.

If it wasn't a hostile, though, Bruce wondered who it could be. Bristol wasn't the sort of neighborhood where transients passed often. And the odds of one of them homing in on his property and breaking into one of the outbuildings… Something didn't add up.

At least, not until he saw a familiar Volvo parked next to the cottage. He couldn't believe it. Steady. Assume nothing. He may have been intercepted leaving the grounds. It could be a hostage situation. As he cautiously approached the cottage door, however, it swung open and a familiar figure stepped out.

"Jim?" A mix of incredulity, relief, and irritation rose within him. "What are you…?"

The former police commissioner chuckled. "I was wondering when you'd come this way." He held up a legal-sized white envelope. "Here. This will explain. You may as well come inside where you can read it."

Bruce accepted the envelope and stepped, bemused, into the cottage.

"I'll be in the back," Jim gestured toward one of the doors at the far wall of the main room. "Take your time."

Bruce looked around. This wasn't the furniture he'd moved in here when he'd rebuilt after the No Man's Land. It did, however, look suspiciously like the sofa and chairs that had graced Jim's former apartment.

The envelope was unsealed and contained a thin sheaf of pages, stapled together. Bruce's eyebrows shot up. This was a lease agreement. Now he knew where Jim had managed to find an affordable place in Bristol. How much was Dick charging him? He skimmed down. Well, five hundred was beyond reasonable for this area, but… He frowned and reread the line. No. He'd missed a decimal point. Dick wasn't charging five hundred dollars. He was charging five. Bruce shook his head.

He got up and went through the door that Jim had exited moments ago.

"Finished already?"

Bruce took a deep breath. "It's not that I don't appreciate the thought," he said quietly, "but I can't let you do this."

"You're not letting me do anything," Jim pointed out. "This was my idea." He held up a hand. "Barbara worries about me more than she should. You know what that's like. I'm not quite ready for some seniors' residence." He smiled placatingly. "Look. I can meddle in their lives or I can meddle in yours. I thought you'd demonstrate your customary nobility and make the sacrifice."

"Jim…"

The older man shook his head. "I've been stubborn a lot longer than you've been," he reminded Bruce. "Listen. If this doesn't work out, then we don't have to renew the lease. Meanwhile, I've paid for a year, up front, and I mean to get my money's worth. You want your privacy? I'll respect it. You want to pretend I'm not around? Shouldn't be too hard. I'm willing to bet that you didn't even remember this cottage was here until you saw my light. But if—no, don't turn around, Bruce. Look at me. Listen to what I'm saying. I have been through something similar to what you're going through now. Maybe I can help you with it. Maybe that's the worst idea in the world, and the last thing you want to do is rehash things with me. That's your call; I won't push. But if I can help, I will. And if I can't," he smiled wearily, "I still think Barbara won't mother-hen me as much if she knows you're around in case of emergency."

This had to be Jim's revenge for all the times that Batman had left him hanging in mid-sentence, unable to get the last word in. Bruce tried to think of some argument against the whole idea, but his mind was blank. It occurred to him that, really, he didn't have a good reason to refuse, only a series of excuses. Weak ones. And there was one point that Jim hadn't brought up: a lease was a binding contract, and one that Bruce would likely need a lawyer's help to break. Bruce looked at the agreement again. Rachel Green's work. His own attorney had gone behind his back to…

Jim watched the interplay of emotions. "Bruce?"

Bruce exhaled. "Mind if I just… sit in the other room for a minute?"

"Take your time. You want anything?"

"No."

Bruce shut the door behind him but the walls were thin. Jim heard the sofa creak as Bruce sat down. A few minutes later, when it creaked again, Jim was ready.

"You don't have to," Bruce said when it was obvious that Jim was going to walk with him.

"I know. I could just use some fresh air."

The two men walked the quarter mile in silence. Bruce pressed down on the door handle. "Thanks," he said finally. "I can manage from here."

Jim nodded. "I meant it. I won't come by uninvited. But you have my cell phone number. Use it. I don't care how late it is—if I don't want to take calls, I'll turn it off. Got it?"

Bruce ducked his head once. "Good night, Jim."

"And to you."

Bruce waited until he was inside and Jim was out of earshot before he allowed himself to smile. "It is, now," he admitted. He yawned, stretched, and without thinking, headed upstairs for the bedroom. He was asleep almost the instant his head hit the pillow.

[arcalian]

"Ladies and gentlemen, please fasten your seatbelts. We will be landing at Augusta Airport in approximately fifteen minutes."

Selina looked at the sleeping bundle in the car seat next to her. "Almost there, baby," she whispered. "And then, it's just about another half hour to Wiscasset."


To be continued....

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