Twists of Fate - 5 - New Friends
Title: Love & Malice - 5 - New Friends
Author: charlie_bz
Pairing/Characters: Bruce Wayne/Selina Kyle, Alfred Pennyworth, Jim Gordon, John Blake
Rating: For mature readers - Later chapters will turn quite dark.
Warnings: see above
Spoilers: Dark Knight Rises
Disclaimer: Dark Knight Rises does not belong to me.
Description: With Selina Kyle by his side, Bruce Wayne returns to Gotham to fulfill his family's legacy. After a brutal crime, he learns that Selina's ghosts can no longer be ignored and he must investigate her mysterious past.
A/N: Hello there! I need to point out that Selina is not going to wake up any time soon. Hope this isn’t too disappointing but you will see her, however, in flashback scenes. There should be a flashback scene per chapter unless I get confused about something which is entirely possible. Hopefully that won’t happen.
As always, thank you for reading!
Previous Chapter
______________________________
Chapter 5 - New Friends
Three Years Ago
The late January night was bitter cold and the heater in their apartment did not heat as it should. Under mounds of covers, Bruce and Selina lay together, on their sides, dressed warmly. Bruce slept deeply, his arm over Selina, holding her close. Selina lay awake, one hand absently stroking his arm, the other rested on her belly feeling the baby move within her. Her thoughts, however, focused not on the baby or the man sleeping next to her, but on home and her old life. Never would she have thought she would miss Gotham but sometimes on nights like this when it was cold and sleep eluded her, being thousands of miles from home made her lonesome.
With Selina’s due date rapidly approaching, Bruce had found a well regarded birthing clinic in a small city on the Black Sea. The town was a noted summer vacation destination with beaches, an amusement park and a boardwalk lined with garish tourist traps but, in the winter, the town was devoid of tourists except for Bruce and Selina who sometimes wondered why they ended up in this place of all places.
They found a cozy apartment in a building where they were the youngest residents by at least thirty years. The other tenants regarded the young American couple with distant curiosity until they realized Selina was pregnant then the gaggle of widows enthusiastically welcomed them, eager for a chance to hold a newborn. The women fed the American couple regularly, offering Selina Russian comfort food that they promised was good for the baby. Being fussed over in such a manner was entirely foreign to Selina but her irritation at being the center of matronly attention didn’t last long. Mostly because Bruce liked her receiving so much attention, especially with the home cooked meals.
Bruce did not wake as she slowly scooted away from him to get up, his unconscious mind accustomed to her restlessness and need to get up often in the night. After raiding the tiny kitchenette for the closest thing to peanut butter she could find, she shrugged on Bruce’s heavy coat, slid on gloves and a hat, grabbed her phone and stepped out into the hall of the apartment house. As expected, it was quiet and cold but she welcomed her solitude in the communal space that would remain empty until daybreak.
With some difficulty, she eased down, sitting on the top step in the stairwell. She called home, checking in with friends to see how they were doing and get the latest gossip but mostly just to hear their voices.
“What is this talking?!” A gruff voice boomed at her from the first floor.
Selina did not have to look to see who the angry speaker was. When she and Bruce moved in, an ancient former Soviet soldier who lived in the apartment directly below them, eyed the young American couple with suspicion and dislike, barking at them to keep their American dancing to daylight hours as he liked to go to bed early. In the few weeks since they arrived, he had not wavered in his ire and always sent them a grumpy glare before disappearing into his apartment.
“I’m on the phone!” She yelled at him, affecting her most intimidating lower Gotham accent.
“I hear that!” He shook his cane at her. “It’s the middle of the night, American girl!”
“Not in Gotham,” she murmured but ended the call with a whispered, “I’ll call you later.”
The elderly man remained outside his door, watching her as she awkwardly stood up. When she was on her feet, he loudly cleared his throat and beckoned her to his apartment. She gave him an apprehensive look, not at all eager to receive a lecture from the stern man.
“Yes! You! Come!” He bellowed, banging his cane on the floor.
Selina slowly descended the stairs, feeling like she was being called into the principal’s office. He did not wait but went inside, leaving the door open for her. Selina stepped across the threshold and almost sighed in pleasure. The old man’s apartment was deliciously warm.
“So here’s where all the heat’s going,” she commented as she looked around the surprisingly comfortable room. She had imagined the man lived a Spartan life with a cot, a single metal chair, and whatever else military types favored to decorate their homes. She was unprepared for the dozens and dozens of pictures that lined the walls; military pictures, simple paintings, but mostly family photographs.
“Sorry I woke you,” Selina said with an apologetic look, finally seeing the lonely man behind the gruff exterior. Since she was feeling a little lonesome herself, she recognized a kindred spirit.
“You didn’t wake me,” he replied as he walked slowly to his kitchen that was as small as Bruce and Selina’s but felt bigger somehow. Homier. “I sleep not so good myself.”
Selina followed him to the kitchen, watching as he filled a pot with water, and then set it on the stove.
“Then why do you get so mad?” she asked.
“I’m Soviet officer,” he said as if that explained everything. “Americans make me suspicious.”
“Afraid we’ll get all your Soviet secrets out of you?” She asked, liking the man.
He smiled. “You are not nearly as loud as I feared.”
“I’m not exactly in dancing shape.”
Selina studied the old man as he studied her, each dropping their earlier opinions of each other.
“You are lovely,” he said with an amiable look.
The unexpected compliment surprised her. Maybe because she was feeling decidedly unlovely, despite Bruce’s assurances to the contrary, but the old man’s kind words touched her, making her feel uncharacteristically shy. “Thank you.”
“Your husband is wondering where you are now?” He asked as he handed her a cup of hot tea.
Selina shook her head. “He’s a surprisingly heavy sleeper,” she said, deciding not to correct him about her marital status.
“Surprising?” He asked, his curiosity piqued. “Why? He is soldier? He has soldier look about him, yes?”
“He does, doesn’t he? But, no, he’s not a soldier,” she said, thinking that Bruce was, in many respects, soldier-like, leading a pretty regimented life. Now that his knee and back were healed and even though they’d spent the last few months travelling almost continuously, he managed to keep a vigorous exercise routine that made Selina tired thinking about it. Though she never minded watching his daily push up routine.
“Why are you here?” The man asked, settling into an easy chair. He beckoned her to sit in the comfortable chair that matched his.
“You invited me,” Selina replied with a mischievous grin, knowing what he meant.
“None of that,” he chided. “Answer question, American.”
“It’s a long story.”
He gazed at her expectantly, waiting patiently for her to speak.
Where to start? Selina wondered. How could she describe her odd but intense relationship with a billionaire whom she met while robbing him. How she was eight and half months pregnant by a man who used to suit up and fight criminals. Of which she used to be one.
“Well…we…uh…” she began, trying to think of a way to explain Bruce and her and their relationship without really explaining anything.
“I thought it was a simple question,” he commented with a smile in his faded blue eyes.
“You thought wrong.”
“How about an easier question?”
“Yes, please,” she replied, taking a sip of her tea.
“What did you do in America?”
So much for easy questions. “Um…I was…self employed.”
“What is that?”
“It means that I had my own business.”
“Ah…You are a capitalist.”
“Yes,” Selina agreed, nodding, liking how the word applied to her. “Exactly. A capitalist.”
“And what did Miss Capitalist do?”
“Acquisitions.”
He shook his head, not understanding the word.
“I acquired things,” she explained but he continued looking at her uncomprehendingly. “I persuaded people to part with things they didn’t want to part with.”
He smiled. “I imagine you were very good at that.”
She grinned back at him. “I was.”
“But now…?”
Her grin softened into sincere smile. “Now I’m waiting to have a baby.”
“Have you been married long time?”
Wow, Selina thought, this guy sure had a knack for asking the wrong questions.
“Were you a KGB interrogator?” She asked.
“No. And I thought that last question very easy.”
Selina started to offer some random number of years then stopped. Lies didn’t spring quite so easily to her lips anymore. Half-truths and outright withholding of information were more her style now but stories designed specifically to deceive? She had no interest in telling this lonely and grouchy old man fabrications. Despite herself, she liked him. “We’re not married.”
He looked pointedly at her belly.
“Yeah, well, this caught us by surprise.”
“Good surprise, yes?”
She reclined back on the chair, her hand stroking her belly. “I’m starting to think so.”
“And him?”
“He’s more excited than he lets on.” That was an understatement. After a few months and as she started to show, their constant state of shock had made way to wary anticipation. Only in the last weeks did Selina think about the baby with excitement. With Bruce, he had given over to excitement long before her, reading everything on the subject of pregnancy and childbirth.
“That is true for most men. When my wife have baby…” He trailed off, his eyes misting before going to one of the photographs on the wall. “I don’t wish to talk of my wife,” he said quietly.
Selina looked up at the photo of a beautiful woman, smiling happily, her dark hair prettily styled in the fashion of fifty years ago. She imagined the old man in front of her as a young man taking the photo, the object of the woman’s love-filled gaze.
“Do you play?” He asked, gesturing at the chess set, wanting a change of subject.
“Sorry, no. But I’m sure Bruce does,” Selina added at his disappointed look.
“Who?”
She pointed upstairs and, speak of the devil, her phone buzzed indicating a text message.
“That’s him,” Selina said, knowing exactly who it was without having to look.
“He worries you are giving birth now.”
“He’s just wondering where I am in the middle of the night.”
“Trust me, American girl, he thinks the baby will give birth in a dark alley surrounded by wolves.”
“Yeah, probably.” She said as she texted Bruce that she was fine and would be back in bed soon. “But I have no intention of doing that. I want a comfortable room with access to painkillers. I should go…”
She pushed herself up, walked to the door, already missing the heat. She paused at the door, turning back to the man who remained in his easy chair. “I’m Selina, by the way.”
“Vladmir Dmitrovich Balashov.”
As she opened the door, he called out, “Bring him for chess tomorrow.”
It was not an invitation but an order.
She nodded, thanked him for the tea and stepped out into the hall that was at least forty degrees colder.
At the landing between floors, she saw Bruce at their door, intending to look for her. He looked relieved when he saw her.
“You don’t have to come out here to make a call,” he said, as she walked up the steps.
“I didn’t want to wake you,” she replied and that was partly true. She hadn’t wanted to wake him but the real reason, and Bruce knew it, was there were still parts of herself that she wasn’t ready to share with him. Not yet, anyway. Sometimes Selina felt like she was being consumed by him, by their baby, her life careening out of control. Preserving that bit of her life that was all hers was of great importance to her. Bruce seemed to understand that, not pushing or prodding, maybe sensing that some skeletons should stay in the closet.
“You’re warm,” he said, as he led her into their room, closing the door behind her.
“You’ll never guess where I was,” she said, unbuttoning his coat.
He looked at her inquisitively as he helped her out of the overlarge black coat.
“Colonel Cranky’s place.”
“Really?” He asked, surprised. He tossed the coat on a chair near the door. “Did he yell at you for something?”
“Not really. He’s actually very nice.”
“If you say so,” Bruce replied, sounding doubtful.
“I told him you would play chess with him.”
“You didn’t.”
“I did.”
“Why in the world would you say that?”
“Because I feel bad for him. And, he’s lonely for his wife. And,” she added just in case the lonely old man scenario didn’t persuade him. “I’m hugely pregnant.”
His hand touched her belly and he smiled that smile that made her forget her homesickness. “You can only use that excuse for a few more weeks.”
“I know,” she gazed back at him, unable to keep the happy smile from her lips. “I’ve got to use it while I can.”
“I guess I can’t complain since you’re using your power for good,” Bruce said before kissing her.
By the end of the week, Balashov was their new best friend.
The first chess match between Balashov and Bruce was particularly interesting. Bruce had severely underestimated the ninety-three year old’s chess ability.
“The American thinks he can beat Russian at chess?” Balashov asked, chuckling at Bruce’s confounded expression when he announced checkmate.
Bruce quickly set up another game, eager to meet the challenge.
Bruce and Selina fell into the habit of spending their evenings in Balashov’s warm apartment with Bruce and Balashov playing chess while Selina read. After a few days, the old man felt began talking about his beloved wife of seventy years who had passed away the year before.
“She was the most beautiful woman in Russia. And she loved me.” He smiled at them.
Selina liked listening to him and even though Bruce appeared engrossed in the game, she knew he listened and was as interested as her. Maybe it was that they were alone together in a strange city waiting for a stranger to take over their lives, but Selina sensed that Bruce, like her, craved stories of people with truly happy lives.
Selina’s due date came and went. Balashov encouraged her to have a shot of vodka to help chase the little one out. Selina was almost tempted but Bruce’s horrified expression convinced her otherwise. She thought it best not to tell him that since her mother dropped acid while she was pregnant with her, she didn’t think a little shot of vodka could be too bad. And she was so very ready for this baby to be born.
She sat on Mrs. Balashov’s chair with her feet propped on a little stool, reading a horrible book that was the only novel in English she could find in the city. Bruce plotted his next move against Balashov as the old man recounted the story of how he met his wife. Selina listened as she read, the book was not good enough to warrant her full attention. As she read a wholly unrealistic description of a safe-cracking plot, she felt the first contraction.
“What time is it?” She asked, her body going still.
Bruce checked his watch as he prepared to move his bishop. “9:08,” he said absently, typically offering a precise answer which
Selina had been expecting.
Selina took a deep, quiet breath, relaxed and waited, listening to Balashov while gazing at the pictures that told the story of Balashov’s life. She felt oddly peaceful, quite unlike what she had imagined would be her mental state at this time. The next contraction hit, confirming to her that her labor had begun.
“What time is it now?” She asked after the contraction eased and her voice would sound normal. She had little interest in causing a stir.
“What, you have date?” Balashov asked, scanning the chessboard trying to figure out Bruce’s plan.
She stood up and moved the clock on the mantle so she wouldn’t have to ask and sat back down.
The minutes ticked by and Balashov stopped talking as he watched her watch the clock, then nudged Bruce to look at her. The game forgotten, the two men watched her. Just as she was about to tell them to stop she felt another contraction.
“Ok, yeah, this is it,” she said and Bruce rushed to her looking both excited and worried.
“This is very exciting!” Balashov announced as Bruce helped her to the door.
“Is it bad?” Bruce asked, looking over her anxiously.
“It’s not too bad. Better than I thought,” she assured him feeling like a super woman but ten hours later she was singing a different tune. Demanding, in sharp language she wasn’t sure the Russian midwife could understand, something to ease the never-ending pain.
Another two hours, almost a year to the day since the bomb went off, their daughter was born.
______________________________
Gotham - The Present
Each morning, Alfred woke before the sun rose, set a pot of tea to boil in the electric teapot on the sideboard in his private sitting room. While the water heated, he went out to fetch the Gotham Herald that was delivered to the penthouse by six a.m. then enjoyed his English Breakfast in the comfort of his favorite chair as he perused the day’s news. It was a cherished ritual. This morning, however, he found a yellow post-it note affixed to the chrome kettle. ‘Helena is with me. Will call when you get up. Be nice to David.’
David? Alfred didn’t like the sound of that. As soon as he emerged from his room, he met a thirtyish man with a military style haircut in a dark blue suit.
“Good morning, Mr. Pennyworth,” he greeted with a friendly smile. “I’m David.”
“Good for you,” Alfred replied, irritably. He hated early morning mysteries. “And what are you doing here?”
Instead of responding, David handed Alfred a cell phone.
“Alfred,” Bruce said, sounding deliberately upbeat. “Meet your new best friend.”
Alfred frowned; that particular tone meant Bruce would soon be delivering troubling news.
“What’s this about?” he asked as he eyed the tall man who gazed at him emotionlessly.
“I’ll explain when you get to the storage container. David will drive you.”
“He will, will he?”
“Alfred. Please.”
Bruce’s serious tone gave him pause. Alfred looked at the man standing before him more closely, seeing the muscular physique as well as the slight protruding of something under the man’s suit coat: a shoulder holster. Alfred’s eyebrows lifted in consternation. Something serious must have happened for Master Wayne to allow an armed stranger into their house.
“I’ll be there in half an hour,” Alfred said.
“Thank you. Bring some milk for Helena, please. And cash,” Bruce said before ending the call.
“Bloody hell,” Alfred murmured as he handed the phone to his new best friend.
Fifteen minutes later, Alfred and David took the private elevator to the parking garage. When he stepped out, Alfred noticed a deliberately nondescript van parked near the entrance. David nodded to someone sitting in the van before opening the back door to the Rolls Royce and waited for Alfred to get in. Alfred’s eyes narrowed, not liking being driven around. He was the driver, after all.
“I have my orders, Mr. Pennyworth,” David said in a slightly less friendly tone than earlier.
As they drove out of the garage, another vehicle, a black sedan, pulled up behind them. David did not seem alarmed and the vehicle soon fell back a safe distance ensuring that no one followed Alfred. They took a confusing route to the storage container, taking an extra half hour to get there. Alfred recognized the tactic of losing any possible tails and his worry grew.
They finally reached the storage container that Alfred hoped he would never revisit. David parked the car just outside the gate, got out and unlocked the gate, holding it open for Alfred.
“Mr. Wayne instructed me to wait here,” he explained as he closed the gate behind him.
Alfred made his way through the throng of containers until he reached the familiar red one. Closing the door behind him, he rode the lift downward, not liking the feeling that he had stepped back in time.
His sense of familiarity increased when he saw Bruce perched at the console, all screens active. The familiarity ended, however, when Alfred saw that, at his feet, Helena lay under the console. Resting atop folded blankets, she was busy eating what looked like a Pop Tart and watching a laptop propped in front of her on the floor.
“I could have brought her something better than that,” Alfred called out as he walked toward Bruce. He squatted down beside the console, unscrewing the cap to the thermos then pouring out the cold milk into the cup. Helena smiled and thanked him as she took the milk then returned to watching her favorite show about a blue octopus.
“You’ve been busy,” Alfred remarked, gesturing at the new hardware plugged into the computers. He decided to wait to ask about the bandage on Bruce’s forearm that was just barely revealed under the long sleeved pullover Bruce had donned, probably to hide the injury from Helena.
“I had to update the systems,” Bruce replied.
“In the middle of the night?”
Bruce stood and beckoned Alfred to follow him so they could talk without Helena hearing.
“Someone tried to kill Selina last night,” Bruce said, quietly as if he worried the words would carry to Helena from even this distance.
“Is that what that is?” Alfred pointed at the bandage on Bruce’s arm. “Do I need to have a look at it?”
Bruce shook his head. “I finally learned that if you’re going to get slashed with a knife, a hospital is a great place to do that.”
“That’s not funny.” Alfred looked at him without amusement. “What happened? Is Ms. Kyle alright?”
“She’s exactly the same, Alfred,” Bruce said woodenly before turning to face him. “It was a professional, Alfred. A good one but she wasn’t expecting me.”
“No. I suspect not,” Alfred replied. “How good was this person?”
“Good enough to do this and get away.” Bruce gestured at his wounded arm and then Alfred saw a flash of that angry look he’d seen all too many times on that much loved face.
“I’m sure Ms. Kyle will wake soon then answer all our questions,” Alfred offered, trying to stave off the inevitable.
“Alfred, that hit woman and I fought. Fought hard and loudly, knocking things over. Enough of a racket that the nurse heard the ruckus fifty feet away but Selina didn’t hear a thing. Didn’t move a muscle. Nothing.” Bruce looked away, his anxiety about Selina’s welfare clear. “I don’t think she’s going to wake anytime soon and there’s no way I’m going to sit back and wait for them to make another move on her.”
“The good ones are expensive,” Alfred observed, his mind shifting gears into investigative mode.
Bruce nodded in agreement.
“Yet,” Alfred said with a sigh. “We’re left with the same questions as before.”
“But now we know that there’s someone with money behind this. Someone with the resources to hire a professional killer.” Bruce looked over at Helena, watching her munch on her pop tart, blissfully oblivious to the drama unfolding around her. “Someone who wants Selina dead and will pay good money to see that happen.”
He walked to Helena. “I’m going to talk to Pop Pop okay?” He said before pulling her, laughingly, along with her pallet across the floor to rest outside of earshot. He kissed her head then went back to the console. Alfred set her milk and the laptop in front of her.
With a quick look at Helena to ensure she was engrossed in her show, Bruce turned on the monitors.
“I think whatever Selina was doing,” Bruce said. “She was protecting her identity. She knew who she was up against. That’s why she went to great lengths to keep her identity protected. The day she was…injured, she parked the SUV at 8:50 a.m. in a mall parking garage that gets lots of traffic.” He pointed to the screen with the image of Selina leaving the Range Rover in the parking structure. She was dressed as Alfred had seen her that dreadful morning, in casual workout clothes. ‘Mom clothes’ she sometimes called them.
“Then,” Bruce continued. “She left her car, the vehicle that could be traced to us. I searched the security feed but can’t find how she leaves the mall. She found a blind spot somewhere, then disappeared and can’t be picked up on any other mall camera.”
“Then she takes another vehicle. One not traceable to us.” Alfred nodded, understanding. “So she was successful at keeping her secret up until…”
“Until I showed up at the warehouse,” Bruce said, grimly.
“And now they know who she is.”
“And who is important to her.”
Alfred smiled. “I’m flattered you included me in the ‘important to her’ category, sir.”
“I’m not taking any chances, Alfred. I don’t know what’s going on here or who we’re up against. I’m not going to assume some local thugs are angry about a drug deal gone bad. Our visitor from last night says otherwise.”
“What are you going to do?”
“What I should have done the moment I found her.”
Alfred didn’t miss his quick glance to where the suit once rested under the floor.
“Don’t blame yourself, Master Wayne. You did the right thing,” Alfred said. “That part of your life is over. Batman is dead.”
“And he stays dead. This is now about me. They know who we are, who our daughter is. If they can’t get to Selina, they may find a way to use Helena as leverage against her.” Bruce’s voice turned hard and cold. “That is not going to happen.”
“You can’t go around town beating up people as Bruce Wayne!” Alfred exclaimed, always concerned about Bruce and the obsessions that sometimes overtook him.
“Worried about lawsuits?” Bruce asked.
Alfred sighed, knowing he would never persuade Bruce to abandon something once he set his mind to it. He didn’t blame Bruce, though. With the little one threatened, even indirectly, her father simply could not sit by and rely on hired security to keep her safe. He wanted, and deserved, answers.
Bruce turned back to the computer, bringing up the image of the man found at the crime scene. “I think whatever she was doing involves him,” he said quietly, a tinge of jealousy in his voice.
Alfred studied the photograph of the body found at the crime scene. The photo was cropped so that the damage to the head was not visible.
“That’s a prison tattoo,” he said, pointing at one of the tattoos on the man’s hand.
“Yes,” Bruce said. “But he’s not in the system.”
“That’s impossible. If he’s been in prison, he has a record.”
“Not if you have a program that erases you from every database.”
“Is there such a thing?”
“There was,” Bruce said, looking steadily at the image of the dead man. “I gave it to Selina and she used it to eradicate her past.”
“I wondered about that.” Alfred had been perplexed at the lack of data regarding Ms. Kyle when he specifically remembered her having a detailed and long record.
“I think she used the Clean Slate on this guy. It’s the only explanation why his prints came up with nothing.”
Someone from her past, Alfred thought, but who? And, what was he to her? He thought of Rachel and the pull of people from the past.
“Blake mentioned that the John Doe looked like a heavy drug user,” Alfred pointed out as much to assure himself as well as Bruce that he did not think Selina would pine for an addict.
“The police should have a toxicology report soon but…,” he said, as he glanced at Helena. “I just can’t see Selina involved in a drug deal. That doesn’t feel right.”
“Well, that Clean Slate makes it difficult to find anything about our John Doe, sir.”
“It does.”
Alfred studied Bruce, taking note of the tiredness and tension in his bearing. “Blake can help,” he said.
“That’s not necessary.”
“Why not?”
“For one, I heard he gets into trouble with Gordon.”
“He got in trouble because he got shot,” Alfred explained.
“He shouldn’t be getting shot!” Bruce exclaimed, shaking his head. “I shouldn’t have…”
“No, you did just the right thing. I admit he’s not as flashy as you were but he does help. And nothing would give him greater honor than helping Batman. He’s very useful, you know. Useful for more than moving cars.”
“If you say so.”
“I do say so. You need him. He can go places, talk to people that Bruce Wayne can’t.” Alfred gazed at him intently, willing him to understand. “Unless you’re planning on inventing a new persona...”
“I’m not.”
“Good,” Alfred said. “I’d hate to have to think up another costume. No telling what animal you would choose.”
“Helena is partial to koalas,” Bruce said, grinning at him.
“Only you could make those scary.”
“Don’t worry, Alfred. I can be very low key. Even without a mask.”
“I know that, sir,” Alfred said with a quick glance at Bruce’s bandaged arm. “Just take Blake with you if you’re going anywhere…iffy.”
“Alright, Alfred,” Bruce agreed.
“Very good, sir,” Alfred said with a grin, feeling as if he’d won a major battle.
Bruce nodded, knowing he’d pleased Alfred enormously. “Oh, can you call Miriam Wackford-Squeers and get a guest list for that Christmas party?”
“Why? Are you adding a soiree to our already busy schedule?”
“The party’s where this all started. Selina was different after that night. Something must have happened.”
“A victim?”
“I don’t know but this…” he gestured to the screen that still showed the photograph of the John Doe. “Seems excessive for someone who got robbed.”
“Maybe she did more than burgle houses,” Alfred said quietly.
“Maybe.” Bruce replied before he called out to Helena to gather her things and shut down the laptop.
“Who’s with Ms. Kyle now?” Alfred asked.
“A security detail,” Bruce said as he powered down the computer systems. “Her room will be watched ‘round the clock. They’ll keep out anyone not on my approved list of visitors. Until I figure out what is happening, David up there is your shadow.”
“And Miss Helena? Is she staying down here the whole time?”
Bruce looked over at her, smiling as she looked up at him. “I thought about it,” he said with a wry grin. “But no, nothing changes for her. I don’t want her to sense anything is different. She’s already worried about her mother. She doesn’t need to be afraid of something we don’t understand.”
“What do you want me to do?” Alfred asked.
“You can take her to Prospect Park. Or, if you’re feeling daring, there’s a God awful pizza place with a ball pit.”
“We’ll stick with the park.” Alfred had heard of those places and had no interest in setting foot in one.
“Good. I’ve already alerted the security detail and they are setting up a perimeter.”
“Sounds fun.”
“She won’t know they’re there,” Bruce said. “Also, David is our new chauffeur in case anyone asks.”
“A butler with a chauffeur? I’ll be the envy of house servants everywhere.”
After Bruce shrugged on his coat, Alfred handed him a thick stack of cash, all hundred-dollar bills. “I didn’t know how much you’d need.”
“You don’t want me beating up anyone, so I’ll have to get answers with cash,” he said, as he tucked the money into his pocket.
“Much less painful that way, sir.”
Bruce turned to his daughter. “Helena! Turn that off! Now!”
Helena looked alarmed, unused to her father raising his voice at her. Bruce went over to her, hugged her in apology, and talked quietly to her until she beamed at him. Then, smiling and teasing, he helped her get her things together. She took his hand and they walked back to Alfred.
“I need to pick up Isha and take her to the…H-O-S-P-I-T-A-L,” Bruce said. “Then I’m going to check out a few things but I’ll be home for dinner.”
“What sort of things?” Alfred asked, taking Helena’s other hand.
“I’m going to the…” he looked down at Helena who was more interested in trying to get them to swing her as they walked. “…C-R-I-M-E scene.”
“In broad daylight?”
“I own the building, Alfred,” Bruce said with a grin as the three headed to the lift. “Why not?”
Author: charlie_bz
Pairing/Characters: Bruce Wayne/Selina Kyle, Alfred Pennyworth, Jim Gordon, John Blake
Rating: For mature readers - Later chapters will turn quite dark.
Warnings: see above
Spoilers: Dark Knight Rises
Disclaimer: Dark Knight Rises does not belong to me.
Description: With Selina Kyle by his side, Bruce Wayne returns to Gotham to fulfill his family's legacy. After a brutal crime, he learns that Selina's ghosts can no longer be ignored and he must investigate her mysterious past.
A/N: Hello there! I need to point out that Selina is not going to wake up any time soon. Hope this isn’t too disappointing but you will see her, however, in flashback scenes. There should be a flashback scene per chapter unless I get confused about something which is entirely possible. Hopefully that won’t happen.
As always, thank you for reading!
Previous Chapter
______________________________
Chapter 5 - New Friends
Three Years Ago
The late January night was bitter cold and the heater in their apartment did not heat as it should. Under mounds of covers, Bruce and Selina lay together, on their sides, dressed warmly. Bruce slept deeply, his arm over Selina, holding her close. Selina lay awake, one hand absently stroking his arm, the other rested on her belly feeling the baby move within her. Her thoughts, however, focused not on the baby or the man sleeping next to her, but on home and her old life. Never would she have thought she would miss Gotham but sometimes on nights like this when it was cold and sleep eluded her, being thousands of miles from home made her lonesome.
With Selina’s due date rapidly approaching, Bruce had found a well regarded birthing clinic in a small city on the Black Sea. The town was a noted summer vacation destination with beaches, an amusement park and a boardwalk lined with garish tourist traps but, in the winter, the town was devoid of tourists except for Bruce and Selina who sometimes wondered why they ended up in this place of all places.
They found a cozy apartment in a building where they were the youngest residents by at least thirty years. The other tenants regarded the young American couple with distant curiosity until they realized Selina was pregnant then the gaggle of widows enthusiastically welcomed them, eager for a chance to hold a newborn. The women fed the American couple regularly, offering Selina Russian comfort food that they promised was good for the baby. Being fussed over in such a manner was entirely foreign to Selina but her irritation at being the center of matronly attention didn’t last long. Mostly because Bruce liked her receiving so much attention, especially with the home cooked meals.
Bruce did not wake as she slowly scooted away from him to get up, his unconscious mind accustomed to her restlessness and need to get up often in the night. After raiding the tiny kitchenette for the closest thing to peanut butter she could find, she shrugged on Bruce’s heavy coat, slid on gloves and a hat, grabbed her phone and stepped out into the hall of the apartment house. As expected, it was quiet and cold but she welcomed her solitude in the communal space that would remain empty until daybreak.
With some difficulty, she eased down, sitting on the top step in the stairwell. She called home, checking in with friends to see how they were doing and get the latest gossip but mostly just to hear their voices.
“What is this talking?!” A gruff voice boomed at her from the first floor.
Selina did not have to look to see who the angry speaker was. When she and Bruce moved in, an ancient former Soviet soldier who lived in the apartment directly below them, eyed the young American couple with suspicion and dislike, barking at them to keep their American dancing to daylight hours as he liked to go to bed early. In the few weeks since they arrived, he had not wavered in his ire and always sent them a grumpy glare before disappearing into his apartment.
“I’m on the phone!” She yelled at him, affecting her most intimidating lower Gotham accent.
“I hear that!” He shook his cane at her. “It’s the middle of the night, American girl!”
“Not in Gotham,” she murmured but ended the call with a whispered, “I’ll call you later.”
The elderly man remained outside his door, watching her as she awkwardly stood up. When she was on her feet, he loudly cleared his throat and beckoned her to his apartment. She gave him an apprehensive look, not at all eager to receive a lecture from the stern man.
“Yes! You! Come!” He bellowed, banging his cane on the floor.
Selina slowly descended the stairs, feeling like she was being called into the principal’s office. He did not wait but went inside, leaving the door open for her. Selina stepped across the threshold and almost sighed in pleasure. The old man’s apartment was deliciously warm.
“So here’s where all the heat’s going,” she commented as she looked around the surprisingly comfortable room. She had imagined the man lived a Spartan life with a cot, a single metal chair, and whatever else military types favored to decorate their homes. She was unprepared for the dozens and dozens of pictures that lined the walls; military pictures, simple paintings, but mostly family photographs.
“Sorry I woke you,” Selina said with an apologetic look, finally seeing the lonely man behind the gruff exterior. Since she was feeling a little lonesome herself, she recognized a kindred spirit.
“You didn’t wake me,” he replied as he walked slowly to his kitchen that was as small as Bruce and Selina’s but felt bigger somehow. Homier. “I sleep not so good myself.”
Selina followed him to the kitchen, watching as he filled a pot with water, and then set it on the stove.
“Then why do you get so mad?” she asked.
“I’m Soviet officer,” he said as if that explained everything. “Americans make me suspicious.”
“Afraid we’ll get all your Soviet secrets out of you?” She asked, liking the man.
He smiled. “You are not nearly as loud as I feared.”
“I’m not exactly in dancing shape.”
Selina studied the old man as he studied her, each dropping their earlier opinions of each other.
“You are lovely,” he said with an amiable look.
The unexpected compliment surprised her. Maybe because she was feeling decidedly unlovely, despite Bruce’s assurances to the contrary, but the old man’s kind words touched her, making her feel uncharacteristically shy. “Thank you.”
“Your husband is wondering where you are now?” He asked as he handed her a cup of hot tea.
Selina shook her head. “He’s a surprisingly heavy sleeper,” she said, deciding not to correct him about her marital status.
“Surprising?” He asked, his curiosity piqued. “Why? He is soldier? He has soldier look about him, yes?”
“He does, doesn’t he? But, no, he’s not a soldier,” she said, thinking that Bruce was, in many respects, soldier-like, leading a pretty regimented life. Now that his knee and back were healed and even though they’d spent the last few months travelling almost continuously, he managed to keep a vigorous exercise routine that made Selina tired thinking about it. Though she never minded watching his daily push up routine.
“Why are you here?” The man asked, settling into an easy chair. He beckoned her to sit in the comfortable chair that matched his.
“You invited me,” Selina replied with a mischievous grin, knowing what he meant.
“None of that,” he chided. “Answer question, American.”
“It’s a long story.”
He gazed at her expectantly, waiting patiently for her to speak.
Where to start? Selina wondered. How could she describe her odd but intense relationship with a billionaire whom she met while robbing him. How she was eight and half months pregnant by a man who used to suit up and fight criminals. Of which she used to be one.
“Well…we…uh…” she began, trying to think of a way to explain Bruce and her and their relationship without really explaining anything.
“I thought it was a simple question,” he commented with a smile in his faded blue eyes.
“You thought wrong.”
“How about an easier question?”
“Yes, please,” she replied, taking a sip of her tea.
“What did you do in America?”
So much for easy questions. “Um…I was…self employed.”
“What is that?”
“It means that I had my own business.”
“Ah…You are a capitalist.”
“Yes,” Selina agreed, nodding, liking how the word applied to her. “Exactly. A capitalist.”
“And what did Miss Capitalist do?”
“Acquisitions.”
He shook his head, not understanding the word.
“I acquired things,” she explained but he continued looking at her uncomprehendingly. “I persuaded people to part with things they didn’t want to part with.”
He smiled. “I imagine you were very good at that.”
She grinned back at him. “I was.”
“But now…?”
Her grin softened into sincere smile. “Now I’m waiting to have a baby.”
“Have you been married long time?”
Wow, Selina thought, this guy sure had a knack for asking the wrong questions.
“Were you a KGB interrogator?” She asked.
“No. And I thought that last question very easy.”
Selina started to offer some random number of years then stopped. Lies didn’t spring quite so easily to her lips anymore. Half-truths and outright withholding of information were more her style now but stories designed specifically to deceive? She had no interest in telling this lonely and grouchy old man fabrications. Despite herself, she liked him. “We’re not married.”
He looked pointedly at her belly.
“Yeah, well, this caught us by surprise.”
“Good surprise, yes?”
She reclined back on the chair, her hand stroking her belly. “I’m starting to think so.”
“And him?”
“He’s more excited than he lets on.” That was an understatement. After a few months and as she started to show, their constant state of shock had made way to wary anticipation. Only in the last weeks did Selina think about the baby with excitement. With Bruce, he had given over to excitement long before her, reading everything on the subject of pregnancy and childbirth.
“That is true for most men. When my wife have baby…” He trailed off, his eyes misting before going to one of the photographs on the wall. “I don’t wish to talk of my wife,” he said quietly.
Selina looked up at the photo of a beautiful woman, smiling happily, her dark hair prettily styled in the fashion of fifty years ago. She imagined the old man in front of her as a young man taking the photo, the object of the woman’s love-filled gaze.
“Do you play?” He asked, gesturing at the chess set, wanting a change of subject.
“Sorry, no. But I’m sure Bruce does,” Selina added at his disappointed look.
“Who?”
She pointed upstairs and, speak of the devil, her phone buzzed indicating a text message.
“That’s him,” Selina said, knowing exactly who it was without having to look.
“He worries you are giving birth now.”
“He’s just wondering where I am in the middle of the night.”
“Trust me, American girl, he thinks the baby will give birth in a dark alley surrounded by wolves.”
“Yeah, probably.” She said as she texted Bruce that she was fine and would be back in bed soon. “But I have no intention of doing that. I want a comfortable room with access to painkillers. I should go…”
She pushed herself up, walked to the door, already missing the heat. She paused at the door, turning back to the man who remained in his easy chair. “I’m Selina, by the way.”
“Vladmir Dmitrovich Balashov.”
As she opened the door, he called out, “Bring him for chess tomorrow.”
It was not an invitation but an order.
She nodded, thanked him for the tea and stepped out into the hall that was at least forty degrees colder.
At the landing between floors, she saw Bruce at their door, intending to look for her. He looked relieved when he saw her.
“You don’t have to come out here to make a call,” he said, as she walked up the steps.
“I didn’t want to wake you,” she replied and that was partly true. She hadn’t wanted to wake him but the real reason, and Bruce knew it, was there were still parts of herself that she wasn’t ready to share with him. Not yet, anyway. Sometimes Selina felt like she was being consumed by him, by their baby, her life careening out of control. Preserving that bit of her life that was all hers was of great importance to her. Bruce seemed to understand that, not pushing or prodding, maybe sensing that some skeletons should stay in the closet.
“You’re warm,” he said, as he led her into their room, closing the door behind her.
“You’ll never guess where I was,” she said, unbuttoning his coat.
He looked at her inquisitively as he helped her out of the overlarge black coat.
“Colonel Cranky’s place.”
“Really?” He asked, surprised. He tossed the coat on a chair near the door. “Did he yell at you for something?”
“Not really. He’s actually very nice.”
“If you say so,” Bruce replied, sounding doubtful.
“I told him you would play chess with him.”
“You didn’t.”
“I did.”
“Why in the world would you say that?”
“Because I feel bad for him. And, he’s lonely for his wife. And,” she added just in case the lonely old man scenario didn’t persuade him. “I’m hugely pregnant.”
His hand touched her belly and he smiled that smile that made her forget her homesickness. “You can only use that excuse for a few more weeks.”
“I know,” she gazed back at him, unable to keep the happy smile from her lips. “I’ve got to use it while I can.”
“I guess I can’t complain since you’re using your power for good,” Bruce said before kissing her.
By the end of the week, Balashov was their new best friend.
The first chess match between Balashov and Bruce was particularly interesting. Bruce had severely underestimated the ninety-three year old’s chess ability.
“The American thinks he can beat Russian at chess?” Balashov asked, chuckling at Bruce’s confounded expression when he announced checkmate.
Bruce quickly set up another game, eager to meet the challenge.
Bruce and Selina fell into the habit of spending their evenings in Balashov’s warm apartment with Bruce and Balashov playing chess while Selina read. After a few days, the old man felt began talking about his beloved wife of seventy years who had passed away the year before.
“She was the most beautiful woman in Russia. And she loved me.” He smiled at them.
Selina liked listening to him and even though Bruce appeared engrossed in the game, she knew he listened and was as interested as her. Maybe it was that they were alone together in a strange city waiting for a stranger to take over their lives, but Selina sensed that Bruce, like her, craved stories of people with truly happy lives.
Selina’s due date came and went. Balashov encouraged her to have a shot of vodka to help chase the little one out. Selina was almost tempted but Bruce’s horrified expression convinced her otherwise. She thought it best not to tell him that since her mother dropped acid while she was pregnant with her, she didn’t think a little shot of vodka could be too bad. And she was so very ready for this baby to be born.
She sat on Mrs. Balashov’s chair with her feet propped on a little stool, reading a horrible book that was the only novel in English she could find in the city. Bruce plotted his next move against Balashov as the old man recounted the story of how he met his wife. Selina listened as she read, the book was not good enough to warrant her full attention. As she read a wholly unrealistic description of a safe-cracking plot, she felt the first contraction.
“What time is it?” She asked, her body going still.
Bruce checked his watch as he prepared to move his bishop. “9:08,” he said absently, typically offering a precise answer which
Selina had been expecting.
Selina took a deep, quiet breath, relaxed and waited, listening to Balashov while gazing at the pictures that told the story of Balashov’s life. She felt oddly peaceful, quite unlike what she had imagined would be her mental state at this time. The next contraction hit, confirming to her that her labor had begun.
“What time is it now?” She asked after the contraction eased and her voice would sound normal. She had little interest in causing a stir.
“What, you have date?” Balashov asked, scanning the chessboard trying to figure out Bruce’s plan.
She stood up and moved the clock on the mantle so she wouldn’t have to ask and sat back down.
The minutes ticked by and Balashov stopped talking as he watched her watch the clock, then nudged Bruce to look at her. The game forgotten, the two men watched her. Just as she was about to tell them to stop she felt another contraction.
“Ok, yeah, this is it,” she said and Bruce rushed to her looking both excited and worried.
“This is very exciting!” Balashov announced as Bruce helped her to the door.
“Is it bad?” Bruce asked, looking over her anxiously.
“It’s not too bad. Better than I thought,” she assured him feeling like a super woman but ten hours later she was singing a different tune. Demanding, in sharp language she wasn’t sure the Russian midwife could understand, something to ease the never-ending pain.
Another two hours, almost a year to the day since the bomb went off, their daughter was born.
______________________________
Gotham - The Present
Each morning, Alfred woke before the sun rose, set a pot of tea to boil in the electric teapot on the sideboard in his private sitting room. While the water heated, he went out to fetch the Gotham Herald that was delivered to the penthouse by six a.m. then enjoyed his English Breakfast in the comfort of his favorite chair as he perused the day’s news. It was a cherished ritual. This morning, however, he found a yellow post-it note affixed to the chrome kettle. ‘Helena is with me. Will call when you get up. Be nice to David.’
David? Alfred didn’t like the sound of that. As soon as he emerged from his room, he met a thirtyish man with a military style haircut in a dark blue suit.
“Good morning, Mr. Pennyworth,” he greeted with a friendly smile. “I’m David.”
“Good for you,” Alfred replied, irritably. He hated early morning mysteries. “And what are you doing here?”
Instead of responding, David handed Alfred a cell phone.
“Alfred,” Bruce said, sounding deliberately upbeat. “Meet your new best friend.”
Alfred frowned; that particular tone meant Bruce would soon be delivering troubling news.
“What’s this about?” he asked as he eyed the tall man who gazed at him emotionlessly.
“I’ll explain when you get to the storage container. David will drive you.”
“He will, will he?”
“Alfred. Please.”
Bruce’s serious tone gave him pause. Alfred looked at the man standing before him more closely, seeing the muscular physique as well as the slight protruding of something under the man’s suit coat: a shoulder holster. Alfred’s eyebrows lifted in consternation. Something serious must have happened for Master Wayne to allow an armed stranger into their house.
“I’ll be there in half an hour,” Alfred said.
“Thank you. Bring some milk for Helena, please. And cash,” Bruce said before ending the call.
“Bloody hell,” Alfred murmured as he handed the phone to his new best friend.
Fifteen minutes later, Alfred and David took the private elevator to the parking garage. When he stepped out, Alfred noticed a deliberately nondescript van parked near the entrance. David nodded to someone sitting in the van before opening the back door to the Rolls Royce and waited for Alfred to get in. Alfred’s eyes narrowed, not liking being driven around. He was the driver, after all.
“I have my orders, Mr. Pennyworth,” David said in a slightly less friendly tone than earlier.
As they drove out of the garage, another vehicle, a black sedan, pulled up behind them. David did not seem alarmed and the vehicle soon fell back a safe distance ensuring that no one followed Alfred. They took a confusing route to the storage container, taking an extra half hour to get there. Alfred recognized the tactic of losing any possible tails and his worry grew.
They finally reached the storage container that Alfred hoped he would never revisit. David parked the car just outside the gate, got out and unlocked the gate, holding it open for Alfred.
“Mr. Wayne instructed me to wait here,” he explained as he closed the gate behind him.
Alfred made his way through the throng of containers until he reached the familiar red one. Closing the door behind him, he rode the lift downward, not liking the feeling that he had stepped back in time.
His sense of familiarity increased when he saw Bruce perched at the console, all screens active. The familiarity ended, however, when Alfred saw that, at his feet, Helena lay under the console. Resting atop folded blankets, she was busy eating what looked like a Pop Tart and watching a laptop propped in front of her on the floor.
“I could have brought her something better than that,” Alfred called out as he walked toward Bruce. He squatted down beside the console, unscrewing the cap to the thermos then pouring out the cold milk into the cup. Helena smiled and thanked him as she took the milk then returned to watching her favorite show about a blue octopus.
“You’ve been busy,” Alfred remarked, gesturing at the new hardware plugged into the computers. He decided to wait to ask about the bandage on Bruce’s forearm that was just barely revealed under the long sleeved pullover Bruce had donned, probably to hide the injury from Helena.
“I had to update the systems,” Bruce replied.
“In the middle of the night?”
Bruce stood and beckoned Alfred to follow him so they could talk without Helena hearing.
“Someone tried to kill Selina last night,” Bruce said, quietly as if he worried the words would carry to Helena from even this distance.
“Is that what that is?” Alfred pointed at the bandage on Bruce’s arm. “Do I need to have a look at it?”
Bruce shook his head. “I finally learned that if you’re going to get slashed with a knife, a hospital is a great place to do that.”
“That’s not funny.” Alfred looked at him without amusement. “What happened? Is Ms. Kyle alright?”
“She’s exactly the same, Alfred,” Bruce said woodenly before turning to face him. “It was a professional, Alfred. A good one but she wasn’t expecting me.”
“No. I suspect not,” Alfred replied. “How good was this person?”
“Good enough to do this and get away.” Bruce gestured at his wounded arm and then Alfred saw a flash of that angry look he’d seen all too many times on that much loved face.
“I’m sure Ms. Kyle will wake soon then answer all our questions,” Alfred offered, trying to stave off the inevitable.
“Alfred, that hit woman and I fought. Fought hard and loudly, knocking things over. Enough of a racket that the nurse heard the ruckus fifty feet away but Selina didn’t hear a thing. Didn’t move a muscle. Nothing.” Bruce looked away, his anxiety about Selina’s welfare clear. “I don’t think she’s going to wake anytime soon and there’s no way I’m going to sit back and wait for them to make another move on her.”
“The good ones are expensive,” Alfred observed, his mind shifting gears into investigative mode.
Bruce nodded in agreement.
“Yet,” Alfred said with a sigh. “We’re left with the same questions as before.”
“But now we know that there’s someone with money behind this. Someone with the resources to hire a professional killer.” Bruce looked over at Helena, watching her munch on her pop tart, blissfully oblivious to the drama unfolding around her. “Someone who wants Selina dead and will pay good money to see that happen.”
He walked to Helena. “I’m going to talk to Pop Pop okay?” He said before pulling her, laughingly, along with her pallet across the floor to rest outside of earshot. He kissed her head then went back to the console. Alfred set her milk and the laptop in front of her.
With a quick look at Helena to ensure she was engrossed in her show, Bruce turned on the monitors.
“I think whatever Selina was doing,” Bruce said. “She was protecting her identity. She knew who she was up against. That’s why she went to great lengths to keep her identity protected. The day she was…injured, she parked the SUV at 8:50 a.m. in a mall parking garage that gets lots of traffic.” He pointed to the screen with the image of Selina leaving the Range Rover in the parking structure. She was dressed as Alfred had seen her that dreadful morning, in casual workout clothes. ‘Mom clothes’ she sometimes called them.
“Then,” Bruce continued. “She left her car, the vehicle that could be traced to us. I searched the security feed but can’t find how she leaves the mall. She found a blind spot somewhere, then disappeared and can’t be picked up on any other mall camera.”
“Then she takes another vehicle. One not traceable to us.” Alfred nodded, understanding. “So she was successful at keeping her secret up until…”
“Until I showed up at the warehouse,” Bruce said, grimly.
“And now they know who she is.”
“And who is important to her.”
Alfred smiled. “I’m flattered you included me in the ‘important to her’ category, sir.”
“I’m not taking any chances, Alfred. I don’t know what’s going on here or who we’re up against. I’m not going to assume some local thugs are angry about a drug deal gone bad. Our visitor from last night says otherwise.”
“What are you going to do?”
“What I should have done the moment I found her.”
Alfred didn’t miss his quick glance to where the suit once rested under the floor.
“Don’t blame yourself, Master Wayne. You did the right thing,” Alfred said. “That part of your life is over. Batman is dead.”
“And he stays dead. This is now about me. They know who we are, who our daughter is. If they can’t get to Selina, they may find a way to use Helena as leverage against her.” Bruce’s voice turned hard and cold. “That is not going to happen.”
“You can’t go around town beating up people as Bruce Wayne!” Alfred exclaimed, always concerned about Bruce and the obsessions that sometimes overtook him.
“Worried about lawsuits?” Bruce asked.
Alfred sighed, knowing he would never persuade Bruce to abandon something once he set his mind to it. He didn’t blame Bruce, though. With the little one threatened, even indirectly, her father simply could not sit by and rely on hired security to keep her safe. He wanted, and deserved, answers.
Bruce turned back to the computer, bringing up the image of the man found at the crime scene. “I think whatever she was doing involves him,” he said quietly, a tinge of jealousy in his voice.
Alfred studied the photograph of the body found at the crime scene. The photo was cropped so that the damage to the head was not visible.
“That’s a prison tattoo,” he said, pointing at one of the tattoos on the man’s hand.
“Yes,” Bruce said. “But he’s not in the system.”
“That’s impossible. If he’s been in prison, he has a record.”
“Not if you have a program that erases you from every database.”
“Is there such a thing?”
“There was,” Bruce said, looking steadily at the image of the dead man. “I gave it to Selina and she used it to eradicate her past.”
“I wondered about that.” Alfred had been perplexed at the lack of data regarding Ms. Kyle when he specifically remembered her having a detailed and long record.
“I think she used the Clean Slate on this guy. It’s the only explanation why his prints came up with nothing.”
Someone from her past, Alfred thought, but who? And, what was he to her? He thought of Rachel and the pull of people from the past.
“Blake mentioned that the John Doe looked like a heavy drug user,” Alfred pointed out as much to assure himself as well as Bruce that he did not think Selina would pine for an addict.
“The police should have a toxicology report soon but…,” he said, as he glanced at Helena. “I just can’t see Selina involved in a drug deal. That doesn’t feel right.”
“Well, that Clean Slate makes it difficult to find anything about our John Doe, sir.”
“It does.”
Alfred studied Bruce, taking note of the tiredness and tension in his bearing. “Blake can help,” he said.
“That’s not necessary.”
“Why not?”
“For one, I heard he gets into trouble with Gordon.”
“He got in trouble because he got shot,” Alfred explained.
“He shouldn’t be getting shot!” Bruce exclaimed, shaking his head. “I shouldn’t have…”
“No, you did just the right thing. I admit he’s not as flashy as you were but he does help. And nothing would give him greater honor than helping Batman. He’s very useful, you know. Useful for more than moving cars.”
“If you say so.”
“I do say so. You need him. He can go places, talk to people that Bruce Wayne can’t.” Alfred gazed at him intently, willing him to understand. “Unless you’re planning on inventing a new persona...”
“I’m not.”
“Good,” Alfred said. “I’d hate to have to think up another costume. No telling what animal you would choose.”
“Helena is partial to koalas,” Bruce said, grinning at him.
“Only you could make those scary.”
“Don’t worry, Alfred. I can be very low key. Even without a mask.”
“I know that, sir,” Alfred said with a quick glance at Bruce’s bandaged arm. “Just take Blake with you if you’re going anywhere…iffy.”
“Alright, Alfred,” Bruce agreed.
“Very good, sir,” Alfred said with a grin, feeling as if he’d won a major battle.
Bruce nodded, knowing he’d pleased Alfred enormously. “Oh, can you call Miriam Wackford-Squeers and get a guest list for that Christmas party?”
“Why? Are you adding a soiree to our already busy schedule?”
“The party’s where this all started. Selina was different after that night. Something must have happened.”
“A victim?”
“I don’t know but this…” he gestured to the screen that still showed the photograph of the John Doe. “Seems excessive for someone who got robbed.”
“Maybe she did more than burgle houses,” Alfred said quietly.
“Maybe.” Bruce replied before he called out to Helena to gather her things and shut down the laptop.
“Who’s with Ms. Kyle now?” Alfred asked.
“A security detail,” Bruce said as he powered down the computer systems. “Her room will be watched ‘round the clock. They’ll keep out anyone not on my approved list of visitors. Until I figure out what is happening, David up there is your shadow.”
“And Miss Helena? Is she staying down here the whole time?”
Bruce looked over at her, smiling as she looked up at him. “I thought about it,” he said with a wry grin. “But no, nothing changes for her. I don’t want her to sense anything is different. She’s already worried about her mother. She doesn’t need to be afraid of something we don’t understand.”
“What do you want me to do?” Alfred asked.
“You can take her to Prospect Park. Or, if you’re feeling daring, there’s a God awful pizza place with a ball pit.”
“We’ll stick with the park.” Alfred had heard of those places and had no interest in setting foot in one.
“Good. I’ve already alerted the security detail and they are setting up a perimeter.”
“Sounds fun.”
“She won’t know they’re there,” Bruce said. “Also, David is our new chauffeur in case anyone asks.”
“A butler with a chauffeur? I’ll be the envy of house servants everywhere.”
After Bruce shrugged on his coat, Alfred handed him a thick stack of cash, all hundred-dollar bills. “I didn’t know how much you’d need.”
“You don’t want me beating up anyone, so I’ll have to get answers with cash,” he said, as he tucked the money into his pocket.
“Much less painful that way, sir.”
Bruce turned to his daughter. “Helena! Turn that off! Now!”
Helena looked alarmed, unused to her father raising his voice at her. Bruce went over to her, hugged her in apology, and talked quietly to her until she beamed at him. Then, smiling and teasing, he helped her get her things together. She took his hand and they walked back to Alfred.
“I need to pick up Isha and take her to the…H-O-S-P-I-T-A-L,” Bruce said. “Then I’m going to check out a few things but I’ll be home for dinner.”
“What sort of things?” Alfred asked, taking Helena’s other hand.
“I’m going to the…” he looked down at Helena who was more interested in trying to get them to swing her as they walked. “…C-R-I-M-E scene.”
“In broad daylight?”
“I own the building, Alfred,” Bruce said with a grin as the three headed to the lift. “Why not?”