Gardens of Wayne Manor: Three Wooden Boxes (35/42)
Title: Chapter Thirty-Five: Three Wooden Boxes
Pairing/Characters: Clark/Bruce, Lois Lane, Bruno Mannheim, Alfred Pennyworth, Martha Kent
Rating: G
Warnings: None necessary
Continuity: The Gardens of Wayne Manor is an AU series in which Clark Kent and Bruce Wayne's lives intertwine at an early age. Click here for the complete series and series notes.
Word Count: 2800Summary: Clark feels nostalgic while dumpster diving, and Bruce has a gift for Martha Kent.
From: Bruce Wayne
To: Clark Kent
Subject: So...
...It seems I'm home? I'm still pretty jet-lagged, and was thus kind of surprised to find myself in my old bed back at the Manor. There were some bright lights at the airport, but I thought they were my imagination, not flash bulbs. I had no idea my return would make the news, and I'm sorry you found out about it that way. Things have been pretty crazy, and I didn't have Internet access until I got back in the States. I ended up going to some amazing places, and--well, let's just say I have a big project in mind. Extremely big. Cosmic big. The kind of big that sounds kind of crazy on paper. Or in email. And it's still very much in the planning stages. I know you're just getting started at your new job, but do you think you might have time to meet up with me soon? It's been too long.
"Good morning, Gotham!"
Clark closed the email window hurriedly as Lois Lane strode up to his desk, cup of coffee in hand.
"Morning, Ms Lane."
She eyed him narrowly. "Or should I call you Bristol? Since that's where you're actually from."
Clark froze. "I'm sorry?"
Lois huffed an annoyed sigh. "I'm an investigative reporter, Kent. I wanted to find out more about the newbie I'd gotten saddled with. It didn't take a lot of digging to find out where you grew up." She perched on the corner of his desk, grinned smugly, and took a sip of coffee. "So. Stately Wayne Manor, huh?"
"Um..."
"If Perry were to find out, I bet he'd move you straight to the society pages and assign you to the Bruce Wayne beat."
Even though Perry surely already knew, Clark nearly broke out in a cold sweat at the idea of Lois getting him sent to follow Bruce around with the other paparazzi, hounding him as he got out of limos...
Lois chortled at the look on his face. "Just thought I'd let you know," she said. "But if you don't get in the way too much, maybe I won't tell him."
Clark watched her stroll back to her desk, humming under her breath, and felt his exasperation mingle with admiration. She was good.
: : :
"Are you sure we should be here, Ms Lane?"
"Please don't waste my time with stupid questions, Kent." Lois opened the dumpster behind Mannheim's offices--a sleek, modern building that was a notable upgrade from the one he'd been in four years ago. "Sometimes people leave valuable information in the trash. We just need to dig in and see what we can find."
Clark eyed Lois's shining Jimmy Choo pumps. "We?"
She slapped him on the back. "Okay, I meant you. I'll keep a lookout."
Clark didn't bother to try and suppress his sigh as he clambered into the dumpster. As he rooted around, he contemplated the fact that once again he was knee-deep in trash because of Bruno Mannheim.
Deja vu indeed.
Most of the paper in the dumpster had been run through a shredder, but he spotted a scrap of paper covered with moldy coffee grounds and tea leaves and extracted it, grimacing. After squinting at it, he slipped it into a pocket. He could feel the silky texture of alien cloth under his clothes: he'd taken to wearing the costume under his work clothes, just in case.
"Clark?" Lois's voice was pitched ever so slightly too high. "Any luck?"
"Haven't found a thing, Ms Lane," he said, sticking his head back out of the dumpster. He wasn't the least surprised to find a very large man, his well-tailored suit contradicting his broken nose and cauliflower ears, standing behind her. Luckily it wasn't either of the men who'd chased him through the streets of Gotham years ago--but then, bodyguard to Bruno Mannheim was probably a job with a lot of turnover. "Oh dear," said Clark, looking at Lois's frightened face as he climbed out. "Are we in trouble?"
"You bet you are," said the thug. "Come with me."
Lois let out a breathy little shriek and clutched at Clark's arm. "Please don't hurt us!" she cried.
All in all, considering she had almost certainly set them up to be captured, Clark thought she was overplaying it just a bit.
"Just taking you to the boss so he can decide what to do with you," said the thug, and Lois's eyes gleamed triumph before going back to cowed.
Clark sighed. Another brilliant, fragile human too in love with justice for their own safety.
: : :
Bruno Mannheim was bigger than he had been four years ago, both figuratively and literally. He loomed over Lois, a vast lumpy caterpillar to her fierce little ant. "Well, well," he rumbled. "Ms Lane, you are proving to be a thorn in my side."
Lois had cast off her fear the moment she entered the room. "Just keeping you honest, Bruno."
His eyes moved to Clark. "I see you have a partner to look out for you on your little escapades now."
"Kent?" Lois scoffed. "He's just tagging along while I show him the tricks of the trade."
Mannheim reached out and plucked a wilted chive off of Clark's shoulder. "Like digging through trash?"
"Whatever it takes to get the dirt on you, Bruno."
Mannheim's eyes flickered; apparently he didn't like being called by his first name. He took her chin in his hand and lifted it. "I think, Ms Lane, that you should be more cautious about the dirt you dig in, or you may find yourself digging a hole from which you will not emerge. And you," he sneered at Clark, "I suggest you grow a pair and not do whatever some pushy broad tells you to." He released her chin. "Now, I'm not going to call the cops this time, because I'm a reasonable man. But remember that even reasonable men have limits. Please escort Ms Lane and her apprentice safely out," he said to his bodyguard. He spent a long time studying Clark's face. "Mr. Kent," he said as if memorizing it. "Stay safe," he advised them as the guard took their arms.
"Did you see the look in his eyes?" crowed Lois once they were well out of range of watchful eyes. "I've got him rattled now."
Clark wasn't so sure about Mannheim, but she had certainly managed to rattle him. "Are you always so, uh..."
"Brave?"
"--reckless, when chasing a story?"
Lois pivoted and put both hands on his shoulders. "Clark," she said, her voice very serious. "Mannheim is a dangerous man and he intends to control Metropolis by any means necessary. I'll do anything to protect this city and expose the truth about him. Anything."
Clark met her eyes for a moment. Then he fumbled in his pocket. "I got something out of the dumpster that looked interesting."
"What? You said you didn't find anything!"
"Well, I had a hunch from the sound of your voice that someone was there, so I decided it might be better not to say anything."
Her eyebrows tilted upward as she grabbed the piece of soggy paper from his hand. "This is an order for titanium-vanadium alloy." She whistled. "A lot of it."
"Enough to build a couple of airplanes, it looks like."
"So why is Mannheim buying incredibly strong, light metal in quantity?" Lois asked the air. She slipped the fax into her handbag and punched Clark lightly on the shoulder. "There's hope for you yet, rookie," she announced, then turned to stride down the street toward the Daily Planet once more.
: : :
From: Clark Kent
To: Bruce Wayne
Subject: Re: So...
"Wayne at Wayne dot com?" Keeping it simple, I see.
I'm glad to hear you're back safely. I'm sure Alfred and Ma are thrilled to see you. It's funny you mention big plans; I've got something I need to talk about too. It's something I probably should have told you about sooner, and you'll probably be unhappy I didn't, and with some reason, and...well, it's complicated, and like you I'd rather talk about it face to face. We'll have to arm wrestle to see who gets to go first.
Right now I'm working on a story with Lois Lane--maybe you've heard of her? We're investigating someone you may also remember, a Metropolis businessman named Bruno Mannheim. You'll understand if I can't share any details of that over email as well, although that's not the news I really need to talk to you about. I'm hoping to get back to Gotham and see you soon, but I can't risk missing anything on this assignment, so forgive me if it takes me a few days. I'm looking forward to seeing you again. A lot.
"Lois Lane? Oh my." Alfred made a tsking noise as he measured Bruce's shoulders. "She's a formidable reporter, quite pugnacious, extremely driven."
"Sounds like Clark's type," Bruce said.
Alfred expressed some very complicated concept with one eyebrow, but he held his tongue.
"And investigating Mannheim. That could be dangerous." Bruce fidgeted and Alfred made an impatient sound in response, snapping the measuring tape. "I don't think I like it."
"I believe that both you and Master Clark are familiar with amazing technological device called a 'telephone.' As befits its name, this advanced device allows you to speak across great distances in what today's youth call 'real time," sir."
Bruce snorted. "Thank you, Alfred. But I'd rather talk to him in person." In person, where he could check Clark's body language for signs that he had wandered into "too crazy" territory and carefully back off if it looked like Clark thought he'd lost his mind. Which he probably would.
And anyway, phones were too much of a security risk.
"You've certainly filled out in the last four years," Alfred said, patting Bruce's shoulders. "I'll get the tailor your measurements this afternoon and you can go in for alterations next week."
"I guess a rented tux will have to do until then," Bruce said. "And maybe an off-the-rack suit. But I'll need to assemble a full wardrobe."
Alfred turned and whisked at a spotless china figurine on the bookcase with his handkerchief, removing non-existent dust. "Then I take it that means you have no plans to leave Gotham in the near future?"
"I've no intention of leaving Gotham again," Bruce said, and watched Alfred's shoulders twitch, just once. "But that doesn't mean I'm going to settle down, I'm afraid."
Alfred nodded. "I assumed not, sir." He put away his handkerchief. "But you are home, and that is a great comfort to all of us who care about you. I shall make you some lunch and then deliver these measurements." He gestured toward the little golden handbell on the table. "As always, sir, you are to ring if you need me."
Bruce chuckled. "You know I hate that."
"Indeed, sir." Alfred faded quietly from the room and left Bruce alone with his thoughts.
: : :
Martha Kent was finishing up the evening dishes when she heard a light tap on her door. Frowning (Alfred always knocked three times with a precise, metronomic rhythm; Clark never knocked at all), she dried her hands and went to answer it.
A tall young man stood on the doorstep, ducking his head almost shyly. "Hello, Mrs. Kent," Bruce Wayne said. "I wanted to come by and--"
His sentence ended in a muffled mumble as she threw her arms around him. "When did you get so tall?" she exclaimed, laughing with wet eyes. "Come in, please--have some tea."
He placed a bundle wrapped in some kind of brocade on the table as she poured him a cup, peering around the little bungalow with an avid, almost greedy look in his eyes. "Is that--"
She picked up the framed photo and put it on the table. "I took that last month, the day he graduated from college," she said. "He looked so stiff and formal in his official photo, it didn't look anything like him."
Bruce picked the photo up in both hands, holding it like a relic. Clark's face in the picture was sun-dappled, his eyes crinkled shut and his head thrown back in laughter. "This looks like him," he said, his voice low, and Martha turned away to busy herself with finishing the dishes.
When she returned to the table he had his expression schooled to normality again. "I brought you something," he said, unwrapping the brocade cloth to reveal a small rosewood box covered with delicate carvings: roses, lilies, and vines twining in endless loops, flowing from one to the other.
"Why Bruce, how beautiful," she exclaimed, taking it from him. "Did you get this in Nepal?" She held it to the light, running her fingers along the graceful carvings. She could hardly bear to tear her eyes from it, but when he didn't answer she looked over and saw that he was looking down at the table, his color a little high.
"The monks told me it would help to focus my thoughts to do something with my hands," he muttered.
She blinked at him, then put the box down on the table. "Did you make this, Bruce?"
He nodded once, glancing at her and away.
"It's exquisite," she said, touching one of the sinuous flowers. "You can see it was made with love."
He reddened a little more and took a long sip of his tea. "Open it," he said after a while. Martha found the little metal clasp and swung it open, and a piece of paper fell out. She unfolded it and frowned at the writing for a while until it sank in.
"This is...the deed to our old house in Smallville," she said.
He nodded, still looking intently at his tea. "I wanted to wait until Clark was here too, but..." His voice trailed off and he shrugged.
"Does this mean I'm fired, Mr. Wayne?" she said sharply.
Bruce jumped up in horror, sloshing his tea everywhere. "No, no, Mrs. Kent, never! This is your job for as long as you want it. It's just--you were always here for me, and it meant a lot, and...I wanted you to have your home back." He busied himself mopping up tea, not meeting her eyes.
Martha held the deed in her hands, remembering. The threshold Jonathan had carried her over, her veil catching on the splintered door and making them laugh. The sunny southern bedroom they woke up in together for years. The bathroom with the claw-footed bathtub her beautiful new boy had splashed and chortled in.
"Thank you," she said. "It seems that I have two homes now."
Bruce ducked his head and muttered something inaudible when Martha kissed him on the cheek, then hugged her quickly and bolted from the bungalow, leaving her smiling.
: : :
Back in his bedroom that evening, Bruce opened his suitcase and took out two more boxes: a small one of pale golden beech wood, and a larger one of dark ebony. Bruce brushed his hand over the ebony box's carvings, remembering the weeks he had spent working on the wood, feeling it take form under his hands: curving mandalas that circled inward on themselves like dark wings, then out again, searching.
He undid the clasp and opened the box, reaching in to touch the midnight-blue silk, the finest weave he had ever seen. It came from the box with a whispering sussuration, like a shadow's voice at the very edge of hearing. He draped it over his shoulders, letting it drape down around his form. He looked at himself in the mirror, framed by flowing night.
Bruce Wayne burst out laughing.
Shaking his head, he folded the silk back up, feeling it warm and beguiling against his palms. Whatever foolish vision had come to him while meditating in Nanda Parbat, it was clearly nonsense in the cold light of a Gotham reality. He put the silk back in the box and closed the lid.
How Clark would laugh if he saw him acting out some ludicrous childhood fantasy.
He shook his head again and closed the latch with a quiet click.
(Chapter 36)
Pairing/Characters: Clark/Bruce, Lois Lane, Bruno Mannheim, Alfred Pennyworth, Martha Kent
Rating: G
Warnings: None necessary
Continuity: The Gardens of Wayne Manor is an AU series in which Clark Kent and Bruce Wayne's lives intertwine at an early age. Click here for the complete series and series notes.
Word Count: 2800Summary: Clark feels nostalgic while dumpster diving, and Bruce has a gift for Martha Kent.
From: Bruce Wayne
To: Clark Kent
Subject: So...
...It seems I'm home? I'm still pretty jet-lagged, and was thus kind of surprised to find myself in my old bed back at the Manor. There were some bright lights at the airport, but I thought they were my imagination, not flash bulbs. I had no idea my return would make the news, and I'm sorry you found out about it that way. Things have been pretty crazy, and I didn't have Internet access until I got back in the States. I ended up going to some amazing places, and--well, let's just say I have a big project in mind. Extremely big. Cosmic big. The kind of big that sounds kind of crazy on paper. Or in email. And it's still very much in the planning stages. I know you're just getting started at your new job, but do you think you might have time to meet up with me soon? It's been too long.
"Good morning, Gotham!"
Clark closed the email window hurriedly as Lois Lane strode up to his desk, cup of coffee in hand.
"Morning, Ms Lane."
She eyed him narrowly. "Or should I call you Bristol? Since that's where you're actually from."
Clark froze. "I'm sorry?"
Lois huffed an annoyed sigh. "I'm an investigative reporter, Kent. I wanted to find out more about the newbie I'd gotten saddled with. It didn't take a lot of digging to find out where you grew up." She perched on the corner of his desk, grinned smugly, and took a sip of coffee. "So. Stately Wayne Manor, huh?"
"Um..."
"If Perry were to find out, I bet he'd move you straight to the society pages and assign you to the Bruce Wayne beat."
Even though Perry surely already knew, Clark nearly broke out in a cold sweat at the idea of Lois getting him sent to follow Bruce around with the other paparazzi, hounding him as he got out of limos...
Lois chortled at the look on his face. "Just thought I'd let you know," she said. "But if you don't get in the way too much, maybe I won't tell him."
Clark watched her stroll back to her desk, humming under her breath, and felt his exasperation mingle with admiration. She was good.
: : :
"Are you sure we should be here, Ms Lane?"
"Please don't waste my time with stupid questions, Kent." Lois opened the dumpster behind Mannheim's offices--a sleek, modern building that was a notable upgrade from the one he'd been in four years ago. "Sometimes people leave valuable information in the trash. We just need to dig in and see what we can find."
Clark eyed Lois's shining Jimmy Choo pumps. "We?"
She slapped him on the back. "Okay, I meant you. I'll keep a lookout."
Clark didn't bother to try and suppress his sigh as he clambered into the dumpster. As he rooted around, he contemplated the fact that once again he was knee-deep in trash because of Bruno Mannheim.
Deja vu indeed.
Most of the paper in the dumpster had been run through a shredder, but he spotted a scrap of paper covered with moldy coffee grounds and tea leaves and extracted it, grimacing. After squinting at it, he slipped it into a pocket. He could feel the silky texture of alien cloth under his clothes: he'd taken to wearing the costume under his work clothes, just in case.
"Clark?" Lois's voice was pitched ever so slightly too high. "Any luck?"
"Haven't found a thing, Ms Lane," he said, sticking his head back out of the dumpster. He wasn't the least surprised to find a very large man, his well-tailored suit contradicting his broken nose and cauliflower ears, standing behind her. Luckily it wasn't either of the men who'd chased him through the streets of Gotham years ago--but then, bodyguard to Bruno Mannheim was probably a job with a lot of turnover. "Oh dear," said Clark, looking at Lois's frightened face as he climbed out. "Are we in trouble?"
"You bet you are," said the thug. "Come with me."
Lois let out a breathy little shriek and clutched at Clark's arm. "Please don't hurt us!" she cried.
All in all, considering she had almost certainly set them up to be captured, Clark thought she was overplaying it just a bit.
"Just taking you to the boss so he can decide what to do with you," said the thug, and Lois's eyes gleamed triumph before going back to cowed.
Clark sighed. Another brilliant, fragile human too in love with justice for their own safety.
: : :
Bruno Mannheim was bigger than he had been four years ago, both figuratively and literally. He loomed over Lois, a vast lumpy caterpillar to her fierce little ant. "Well, well," he rumbled. "Ms Lane, you are proving to be a thorn in my side."
Lois had cast off her fear the moment she entered the room. "Just keeping you honest, Bruno."
His eyes moved to Clark. "I see you have a partner to look out for you on your little escapades now."
"Kent?" Lois scoffed. "He's just tagging along while I show him the tricks of the trade."
Mannheim reached out and plucked a wilted chive off of Clark's shoulder. "Like digging through trash?"
"Whatever it takes to get the dirt on you, Bruno."
Mannheim's eyes flickered; apparently he didn't like being called by his first name. He took her chin in his hand and lifted it. "I think, Ms Lane, that you should be more cautious about the dirt you dig in, or you may find yourself digging a hole from which you will not emerge. And you," he sneered at Clark, "I suggest you grow a pair and not do whatever some pushy broad tells you to." He released her chin. "Now, I'm not going to call the cops this time, because I'm a reasonable man. But remember that even reasonable men have limits. Please escort Ms Lane and her apprentice safely out," he said to his bodyguard. He spent a long time studying Clark's face. "Mr. Kent," he said as if memorizing it. "Stay safe," he advised them as the guard took their arms.
"Did you see the look in his eyes?" crowed Lois once they were well out of range of watchful eyes. "I've got him rattled now."
Clark wasn't so sure about Mannheim, but she had certainly managed to rattle him. "Are you always so, uh..."
"Brave?"
"--reckless, when chasing a story?"
Lois pivoted and put both hands on his shoulders. "Clark," she said, her voice very serious. "Mannheim is a dangerous man and he intends to control Metropolis by any means necessary. I'll do anything to protect this city and expose the truth about him. Anything."
Clark met her eyes for a moment. Then he fumbled in his pocket. "I got something out of the dumpster that looked interesting."
"What? You said you didn't find anything!"
"Well, I had a hunch from the sound of your voice that someone was there, so I decided it might be better not to say anything."
Her eyebrows tilted upward as she grabbed the piece of soggy paper from his hand. "This is an order for titanium-vanadium alloy." She whistled. "A lot of it."
"Enough to build a couple of airplanes, it looks like."
"So why is Mannheim buying incredibly strong, light metal in quantity?" Lois asked the air. She slipped the fax into her handbag and punched Clark lightly on the shoulder. "There's hope for you yet, rookie," she announced, then turned to stride down the street toward the Daily Planet once more.
: : :
From: Clark Kent
To: Bruce Wayne
Subject: Re: So...
"Wayne at Wayne dot com?" Keeping it simple, I see.
I'm glad to hear you're back safely. I'm sure Alfred and Ma are thrilled to see you. It's funny you mention big plans; I've got something I need to talk about too. It's something I probably should have told you about sooner, and you'll probably be unhappy I didn't, and with some reason, and...well, it's complicated, and like you I'd rather talk about it face to face. We'll have to arm wrestle to see who gets to go first.
Right now I'm working on a story with Lois Lane--maybe you've heard of her? We're investigating someone you may also remember, a Metropolis businessman named Bruno Mannheim. You'll understand if I can't share any details of that over email as well, although that's not the news I really need to talk to you about. I'm hoping to get back to Gotham and see you soon, but I can't risk missing anything on this assignment, so forgive me if it takes me a few days. I'm looking forward to seeing you again. A lot.
"Lois Lane? Oh my." Alfred made a tsking noise as he measured Bruce's shoulders. "She's a formidable reporter, quite pugnacious, extremely driven."
"Sounds like Clark's type," Bruce said.
Alfred expressed some very complicated concept with one eyebrow, but he held his tongue.
"And investigating Mannheim. That could be dangerous." Bruce fidgeted and Alfred made an impatient sound in response, snapping the measuring tape. "I don't think I like it."
"I believe that both you and Master Clark are familiar with amazing technological device called a 'telephone.' As befits its name, this advanced device allows you to speak across great distances in what today's youth call 'real time," sir."
Bruce snorted. "Thank you, Alfred. But I'd rather talk to him in person." In person, where he could check Clark's body language for signs that he had wandered into "too crazy" territory and carefully back off if it looked like Clark thought he'd lost his mind. Which he probably would.
And anyway, phones were too much of a security risk.
"You've certainly filled out in the last four years," Alfred said, patting Bruce's shoulders. "I'll get the tailor your measurements this afternoon and you can go in for alterations next week."
"I guess a rented tux will have to do until then," Bruce said. "And maybe an off-the-rack suit. But I'll need to assemble a full wardrobe."
Alfred turned and whisked at a spotless china figurine on the bookcase with his handkerchief, removing non-existent dust. "Then I take it that means you have no plans to leave Gotham in the near future?"
"I've no intention of leaving Gotham again," Bruce said, and watched Alfred's shoulders twitch, just once. "But that doesn't mean I'm going to settle down, I'm afraid."
Alfred nodded. "I assumed not, sir." He put away his handkerchief. "But you are home, and that is a great comfort to all of us who care about you. I shall make you some lunch and then deliver these measurements." He gestured toward the little golden handbell on the table. "As always, sir, you are to ring if you need me."
Bruce chuckled. "You know I hate that."
"Indeed, sir." Alfred faded quietly from the room and left Bruce alone with his thoughts.
: : :
Martha Kent was finishing up the evening dishes when she heard a light tap on her door. Frowning (Alfred always knocked three times with a precise, metronomic rhythm; Clark never knocked at all), she dried her hands and went to answer it.
A tall young man stood on the doorstep, ducking his head almost shyly. "Hello, Mrs. Kent," Bruce Wayne said. "I wanted to come by and--"
His sentence ended in a muffled mumble as she threw her arms around him. "When did you get so tall?" she exclaimed, laughing with wet eyes. "Come in, please--have some tea."
He placed a bundle wrapped in some kind of brocade on the table as she poured him a cup, peering around the little bungalow with an avid, almost greedy look in his eyes. "Is that--"
She picked up the framed photo and put it on the table. "I took that last month, the day he graduated from college," she said. "He looked so stiff and formal in his official photo, it didn't look anything like him."
Bruce picked the photo up in both hands, holding it like a relic. Clark's face in the picture was sun-dappled, his eyes crinkled shut and his head thrown back in laughter. "This looks like him," he said, his voice low, and Martha turned away to busy herself with finishing the dishes.
When she returned to the table he had his expression schooled to normality again. "I brought you something," he said, unwrapping the brocade cloth to reveal a small rosewood box covered with delicate carvings: roses, lilies, and vines twining in endless loops, flowing from one to the other.
"Why Bruce, how beautiful," she exclaimed, taking it from him. "Did you get this in Nepal?" She held it to the light, running her fingers along the graceful carvings. She could hardly bear to tear her eyes from it, but when he didn't answer she looked over and saw that he was looking down at the table, his color a little high.
"The monks told me it would help to focus my thoughts to do something with my hands," he muttered.
She blinked at him, then put the box down on the table. "Did you make this, Bruce?"
He nodded once, glancing at her and away.
"It's exquisite," she said, touching one of the sinuous flowers. "You can see it was made with love."
He reddened a little more and took a long sip of his tea. "Open it," he said after a while. Martha found the little metal clasp and swung it open, and a piece of paper fell out. She unfolded it and frowned at the writing for a while until it sank in.
"This is...the deed to our old house in Smallville," she said.
He nodded, still looking intently at his tea. "I wanted to wait until Clark was here too, but..." His voice trailed off and he shrugged.
"Does this mean I'm fired, Mr. Wayne?" she said sharply.
Bruce jumped up in horror, sloshing his tea everywhere. "No, no, Mrs. Kent, never! This is your job for as long as you want it. It's just--you were always here for me, and it meant a lot, and...I wanted you to have your home back." He busied himself mopping up tea, not meeting her eyes.
Martha held the deed in her hands, remembering. The threshold Jonathan had carried her over, her veil catching on the splintered door and making them laugh. The sunny southern bedroom they woke up in together for years. The bathroom with the claw-footed bathtub her beautiful new boy had splashed and chortled in.
"Thank you," she said. "It seems that I have two homes now."
Bruce ducked his head and muttered something inaudible when Martha kissed him on the cheek, then hugged her quickly and bolted from the bungalow, leaving her smiling.
: : :
Back in his bedroom that evening, Bruce opened his suitcase and took out two more boxes: a small one of pale golden beech wood, and a larger one of dark ebony. Bruce brushed his hand over the ebony box's carvings, remembering the weeks he had spent working on the wood, feeling it take form under his hands: curving mandalas that circled inward on themselves like dark wings, then out again, searching.
He undid the clasp and opened the box, reaching in to touch the midnight-blue silk, the finest weave he had ever seen. It came from the box with a whispering sussuration, like a shadow's voice at the very edge of hearing. He draped it over his shoulders, letting it drape down around his form. He looked at himself in the mirror, framed by flowing night.
Bruce Wayne burst out laughing.
Shaking his head, he folded the silk back up, feeling it warm and beguiling against his palms. Whatever foolish vision had come to him while meditating in Nanda Parbat, it was clearly nonsense in the cold light of a Gotham reality. He put the silk back in the box and closed the lid.
How Clark would laugh if he saw him acting out some ludicrous childhood fantasy.
He shook his head again and closed the latch with a quiet click.
(Chapter 36)