Lineage (chapter 7)

[paulasj]

Lineage
by DC Lady

Rated:  PG-13

Thank you, Djinn, for the beta!

Characters:  Alfred, Barbara, Bruce, Clark, Dick, Dinah

Author's Notes:  Just remember, I'm tweaking canon a tad...



( Chapter 1 )









“Hey, Alfred,” Dick said as he walked into the kitchen from the veranda, then noticed Tim eating breakfast at the table.

Tim. He’d forgotten Tim would be home today. He suddenly didn’t know what to say so opted for something safe. “Tim.”

Tim just nodded, still half asleep from the looks of him. Dick smirked. Not many morning people in this family.

Alfred handed Dick a cup of coffee, guiding him to the foyer. “Was Master Clark of help?” Alfred asked in a low voice.

Dick looked back at Tim from the opened door. He sat quietly, staring at his cereal. “Yeah. He helped a lot, actually.”

“I’m glad.” Alfred turn away, and Dick thought he was about to go back into the kitchen, but he didn’t move, just stood there.

Dick frowned at what looked like uncertainty. From Alfred. He’d never known Alfred to be uncertain about anything before.

“What is it, Alfred?”

“Master Bruce did have your best interests at heart, Master Dick. As did I. But perhaps we should have told you much sooner.”

Dick sighed. “I don’t think I would have been ready if you told me any sooner.” Dick’s life had been an emotional roller coaster for longer than he cared to admit. Only recently had he felt like he was hitting his stride and settling into the life he was meant to live. A life he’d feared would be forever lived in Bruce’s shadow, until he’d realized that he wasn’t Bruce and that he no longer had to run away from him to prove it.

He looked Alfred in the eye. “And I think you know that.”

Alfred smiled. “It doesn’t make past decisions any easier to live with.”

“You did the right thing, Alfred. You and Bruce did the right thing.”

“Thank you, young sir. Thank you.”

Alfred turned away, but not before Dick noticed a single tear fall to his cheek.

Alfred took a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed his face. “The daffodils are in bloom, and their dreadful pollen wreaks havoc with one’s sinuses.” He turned back to Dick with a grin. “Now, go on. Find your father and leave an old man to finish his work.”

Dick smiled. “Yes, sir.”

***

Dick’s stomach clenched as he stepped into the cave, finding Bruce sitting in the middle of the practice mat, eyes closed, in full meditation mode.

Dick took a breath, walked to the edge of the mat, and kicked off his shoes.  He sat down, facing Bruce. “Tell me everything.”

Bruce looked at him and sighed. “It isn’t pretty.”

“I figured that much out already. Tell me.” If they were to ever move forward as father and son, something Dick could now admit he wanted thanks to Clark, he needed to know everything.

“I wasn’t good enough for Mary. She deserved better. She deserved John Grayson.”

Dick shook his head, knowing how difficult it must be for Bruce to talk about something so personal, or to talk about anything at all, but Dick needed to know what had happened between Bruce and his mother. He needed to know for certain that Bruce had cared for her; to squelch the rising fear that he was the product of a mistake--of regret.

“Tell me”

Bruce didn’t move, just stared straight ahead, beyond Dick, and began to tell him what he wanted to know. Dick only hoped the truth wouldn’t end up tearing them apart for good.

Haunted Past

“Bruce. Are you in here?”

Mary stood at the entrance to Bruce’s bedroom, a few feet from where Bruce sat on the floor, hiding in the shadows in a corner of the room. But her voice seemed to come from a far place, echoing dimly in his mind, eventually drowned out by the screams that filled his head. Then he felt a warm body pressed next to his on the floor. A soft touch and gentle squeeze to his hand, and the screams seemed to lessen. But the adrenaline that coursed through his veins in anticipation of this day made it nearly impossible to focus his thoughts for more than a few minutes at a time.

Time. It seemed to stand still, and when he chanced a glance at her, he wondered how much time had passed since she’d sat down next to him in the now darkened room. Wasn’t it daylight when she’d first arrived?

“You should leave.” His voice was barely a whisper.

He knew Alfred had told her. Told her about his birthday--what had happened the night before--and why he no longer celebrated it. And when she met his gaze, he was surprised at what he saw--or what he didn’t see: pity. But that couldn’t be right. There was no other reason for her being here. Was there? He shook his head. He couldn’t allow himself to think that way--to hope for something he didn’t deserve.

“I don’t want to leave.”

He’d let Mary get too close to him and now she’d pay the price for it. He wasn’t who she thought he was and when she found out, she’d want to leave him. Alone. He deserved to be alone. So he decided to tell her.

“I’m responsible.”

“For what?”

“I’m the reason they died.”

She brushed a tear from his face and looked up at him with those blue eyes that always seemed to bore into his soul. It made his heart ache to look in them. “The man who pulled the trigger is responsible. Not you.”

He looked away, shaking his head. “He wouldn’t have pulled the trigger if it weren’t for me.” He paused, took a breath, and suddenly felt calm, even as the images of that night filled his mind and began spilling from his mouth like he was reading it from a book, not reliving every detail like he’d done since that night.

“If I’d done what the man told us to do, they’d be alive. But when he reached for my mom’s pearls, I stepped in front of her, told him to leave her alone. She loved those pearls. I didn’t want him taking them from her. I just never thought he’d…” That he’d take them away, he couldn’t say.

Bruce took a shuddered breath and Mary squeezed his hand a little tighter. “You see? It was my fault he killed them.”

Mary grabbed him, held him tight in her arms. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“If I hadn’t--”

“You were only eight. Do you actually think he thought you were a threat?”

Bruce pulled away, confused. Why didn’t she understand?

“It wasn’t your fault.” She moved closer, kissed him lightly on the lips.

She felt warm and soft, and he found himself wanting to kiss her back. But he didn’t. “Don’t.”

“Why?” She touched his face and he flinched.

Please, don’t.”  He knew he didn’t sound very convincing, but he had to harden his heart against her. Only, he wasn’t sure why anymore, just that he was afraid. Afraid to love her--afraid that she’d leave him if he did.

Just like they’d left him.

She pressed her lips against his ear and whispered, “I love you, Bruce.”

And suddenly his mind calmed and his heart knew only one thing--he loved Mary, too.

He kissed her, tried to hold back a moan, but he didn’t think he could hold back anything from her anymore. She loved him. She knew his secret and she still loved him. And he loved her.

“I love you, too, Mary.”

She laughed, and he looked at her with what must have been a confused expression because her hand flew to her mouth and she frowned. “I’m not laughing at you. It’s just…I dreamed of hearing you say those words to me. I was beginning to think you never would.” She laughed again. “I’m so glad you did.”

And then he did something he hadn’t felt like doing in a very long time--he smiled.

Reaching out, he touched her lips--afraid that if he didn’t touch her, he’d wake up and realize this had all been a dream. She took his hand, and he couldn’t seem to help but flinch at the touch. But she didn’t seem deterred because she kissed his fingers and smiled, leaning forward, her face just inches from his. Instinct took over and Bruce found himself pulling her even closer, kissing her more deeply than he’d ever kissed anyone. He wondered briefly if he should tell her that she was the first person he’d ever kissed. But his train of thought was interrupted by the feel of her hand on his face, her thumb caressing his cheek, their lips moving effortlessly against each other, their tongues exploring places never explored before.

Suddenly, Bruce wanted to touch and be touched, something he hadn’t allowed for such a long time, something he so desperately needed. So he touched Mary, and his heart leapt when she didn’t turn away or even flinch--she just touched him back. And before he realized it, their hands were roaming, exploring, doing things that they probably shouldn’t be doing, but were unable to stop. He felt alive again, and happy, although he barely remembered what that felt like; it’d been too long since he’d felt anything but guilt, despair, longing. But now he felt Mary, her bare skin against his, and everything seemed right with the world again.

Then they were still, her damp hair pressed against his chest. And Bruce finally knew what it was like to love again.