SquidgeWorld Archive

After All Is Said And Done
by nancy

At least eighty percent of going to Italy was for Alfred. Bruce knew that if he didn't let the other man know he was alive it would, unnecessarily, haunt them both. All the anger and antimony from finding out about Alfred burning the letter had long since disappeared. Truthfully, it had vanished the next day but by then, Alfred had left.

After Gotham was safe and he'd used the submersible to get back to shore, he found Selina, passed out for about two weeks, and then they flew to Italy. It only took her three hours to track Alfred down and Bruce spent the rest of the day sleeping off the pain medication so he would be at his limited best when Alfred saw him.

It went off without a hitch. Bruce felt mostly human when he woke up that morning, though his broken ribs still hurt like hell. Most of his injuries were hidden by the clothes that scratched against the bandages that covered the stitches and sutures still holding him together. It was worth it, though, to see Alfred, to see how very much it meant to the older man that Bruce was alive and no longer in Gotham.

"Well there you are, sugar."

Bruce looked up at Selina's greeting and smiled. He'd been sitting in the sun reading all morning, so it wasn't as though he'd been hard to find. She was wearing new diamond drop earrings and he smiled. "Go shopping, did we?"

"Since you're being a stick in the mud, yes," she said, dropping down to sit on his lap.

He chuckled and set aside the book. "Getting bored?"

She wrapped her arms around his neck. "Why don't you see if you can entertain me?"

They spent the next month in Italy, though he didn't see Alfred again. Bruce knew that he had to heal. He needed to give his body time to recover from the nearly-fatal beatings that Bane had delivered. He slept until noon, ate a large brunch, occasionally fooled around with Selina if the mood took them, and then read or walked around the large estate's grounds until dinner.

Alfred's repeated tutelage of `Don't put all your eggs in one basket, Master Bruce," had resulted in several accounts not tied to his official name and a few large estates around the world. The accounts all had enough money in them to fund not only himself, but Blake's fledgling endeavors back in Gotham, and Selina's expensive wardrobe tastes when she swiped his credit cards for fun.

He woke up one morning to find her gone. All her clothes had been taken and, more importantly, the jewelry was also gone. Bruce shook his head fondly when he found a sticky note on his smartphone that said, "I hear Paris is nice in the fall. XXOO."

Bruce left Italy for London's warm, damp summer. He rented a small cottage on the seashore and spent his days sitting on the beach reading and healing. Unable to stay still, Bruce tried to jog along the beach and made it about an eighth of a mile before the pain in his knees became agony. He made an appointment with a cutting-edge specialist in London about the lack of cartilage left in his joints. Even though he had no intention of returning to Gotham as Batman, Bruce refused to live his life as less than his best. He'd been a wreck before and had no wish to be so again.

"Mr. Pennyworth?"

Bruce looked up from the magazine and smiled. "That's me."

The nurse smiled back and said, "If you'll come with me?"

Bruce followed her back to a patient room and went through the standard BP, temperature, and, "How are you feeling today, Mr. Pennyworth?"

"Fine, thank you," Bruce replied.

"We're all set here, so I'll let the doctor know. He'll be in directly."

"Thank you."

She left and Bruce looked around the small room, reading the health posters on the walls until the doctor entered the room.

Dr. Franklin was a sturdy looking man with broad shoulders, blue eyes, blond hair and a ready smile. "Afternoon, Mr. Pennyworth. How are you today?"

Bruce stood and shook his hand. "Good, thank you. And yourself?"

Dr. Franklin motioned for him to sit again and sat on the rolling stool. "I'm just wonderful. A little concerned about your medical records, though."

Bruce made an appropriately contrite noise and said, "I'm not surprised. I'm sure it looks shocking out of context. I'm afraid I have a pretty high competitive streak, so I'm a big sports player. Basketball, skiing, football, soccer, you name it and I've been on a league, though not professionally of course."

Dr. Franklin made a note in the file. "I see. Well, that does explain quite a bit, but "

"My entire body is shot to hell, I know," Bruce interrupted bluntly. At Dr. Franklin's raised eyebrows, he continued, "On top of the sports, I've had a few car accidents and once my parachute didn't open until I was much, much to close to the ground. That one was pretty recent and actually broke my back; I was extremely lucky not to have been paralyzed. You'd think I would've learned my lesson, but I just can't stop myself from a challenge."

"I see. So multiple traumas, but none life-threatening then?"

Bruce gave him an innocent look and said, "Not recently."

Dr. Franklin cleared his throat. "I see. Well. I think it's safe to say that you're one of the most  active patients I've ever had."

Bruce chuckled and said, "I'm sure."

Seeming to shake off the astonishment, Dr. Franklin said, "I do want to schedule you an MRI since these results are apparently from before your parachute accident as there's no sign of a broken back amidst all the others."

"Of course. Oh, and you'll notice I'm recovering from broken ribs at the moment."

"And how did that happen?"

Bruce bit back another grin at the resigned tone and said, "My own fault, this time. I actually fell down some very hard, stone stairs while sightseeing in Italy almost two months ago now."

Dr. Franklin looked like he wanted to say that he had no idea how Bruce was still alive, but only stood and said, "It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Pennyworth. I'll have Jenny schedule you an MRI and see you on Friday to go over your results, if that works for you?"

"Works just fine," Bruce confirmed, shaking his hand again.

He followed Dr. Franklin out of the room and then walked over to the receptionist. His smiled at her and said, "I guess I've got a lot of forms to fill out?"

* * * *

It turned out that Dr. Franklin wanted to try his cutting-edge cartilage treatment on all of Bruce's injuries. "Since you've had so many traumas, I believe I can strengthen the breaks. It won't make it as though they never happened, your body is simply too traumatized, but I believe it will reinforce
the bones so that future injuries will be more difficult to inflict. Unless, of course, you're planning to retire from your active lifestyle and lead a saner one?"

The last was said with a faint grin and Bruce grinned outright in return. "Well, I am taking it a lot easier these days, but I won't turn down the extra insurance. This isn't experimental, is it?"

Because he'd seen the accidental results of far too many medical "experiments" up close and personal.

Dr. Franklin shook his head and said quickly, "No, we've been thoroughly vetted and approved. Most of our test subjects were from the military and sports arenas. I can send you a list of references, if you wish?"

"I would, thank you," Bruce said. "But I'm definitely considering it."

Out of the almost three hundred names on the list of references for the treatment, fourteen had died from unrelated causes but the rest were leading perfectly normal lives. Bruce triple checked those fourteen and double checked everyone else, but it appeared that Dr. Franklin's treatment was perfectly legitimate. He scheduled the procedure for the following week.

Selina occupied one of the comfortable hospital chairs when he woke up after the procedure. She looked good, dressed in relatively conservative clothes and the pearls still around her neck. She smirked a little and said, "You didn't think I'd let you wake up all alone now, did you, Brucey?"

Bruce rolled his eyes and coughed to clear his throat. "How did you even find out?"

"I make a point to keep an eye on you," she purred, strolling from the chair to the bed. "Someone has to."

Bruce grinned faintly and said, "Thanks. I missed you too."

The anesthesia wore off completely after a couple of hours and Dr. Franklin stopped by shortly thereafter. He blinked at Selina stretched out on the bed with Bruce and then said, "Ah, hello?"

Bruce nudged Selina off him and she rolled easily off the bed with a pout. "I'll let you boys talk about all things medical. Take care of my boy here, okay, Doc?"

Dr. Franklin shifted his attention back to Bruce and said, "Everything went perfectly. I'm going to keep you here overnight on the off-chance you have a bad reaction, but you can go home tomorrow morning. You need to stay off your feet for at least a week to give the treatment a chance to really sink in. Truly off your feet, Mr. Pennyworth. No running, basketball, parachuting, nothing. Understood?"

Bruce chuckled and held his fingers up in a Scout's gesture. "Promise. I will do nothing for the next week except play computer games and read."

"I'm afraid no to the games or any computer work," Dr. Franklin said. "Your hands also need to rest so that the cartilage there can also regenerate. Reading is quite acceptable. As is sleeping."

Bruce grimaced, but got the point. "Understood, Doctor."

"Good. I shall see you next week for your follow-up."

The next week was, simply put, hell. Selina did her best to distract him, but they didn't really have the kind of relationship that allowed them to happily spend hours in one another's company doing nothing but talk. He watched a lot of movies and slept. It was strange to sleep so much and still be tired at the end of the day. He didn't have any problems dropping off around ten each night and then getting another full nine hours. Then again, being so broken for so long took a toll.

The follow-up actually took place at the hospital where he had another MRI. Dr. Franklin saw him directly after, at his hospital office, to go over the results. And they were rather outstanding, which Bruce already knew because he felt the difference in his body. The bone-deep aches over his entire body had stopped somewhere around day two of his recovery and his knees had stopped clicking on day four.

"I must say, Mr. Pennyworth, it's rather astonishing," Dr. Franklin said, shaking his head. "It's as though your body took the basic treatment and doubled it. I know that you've got a rather remarkable gift for healing, but this is unprecedented."

Bruce frowned. He'd always been a fast healer, but thoughts of turning into some overgrown hulk ran through his mind. "Is that bad? Will something else happen? An unexpected side effect?"

Dr. Franklin smiled broadly at him and said, "No, of course not. I'm simply stating that your body has recovered to an unprecedented degree in such a short time. Honestly, if I were looking at this MRI without knowing your history or seeing its predecessors, I would pronounce you healthy with a very bad childhood."

Bruce let out a faint sigh of relief.

"That doesn't mean you should continue such a reckless lifestyle, Mr. Pennyworth. One of these days, your luck will run out," Dr. Franklin said.

Which Bruce already knew. He smiled and said, "Already taken under advisement, thank you, Dr. Franklin."

Bruce returned to his cottage on the seaside and spent another month there through August. He started jogging two weeks after the treatment and the lack of pain nearly made him weep for joy. He jogged along the water every morning and every night, stretching and slowly rebuilding his strength with yoga and swimming.

When fall came around, Bruce booked a ticket to Paris and met up with Selina. Instead of the pearls, she wore a diamond necklace that looked much too familiar not to be stolen. He shook his head fondly and gave her a soft, lingering kiss. "You look beautiful."

"Mmm. You're looking pretty good yourself these days," she murmured.

They spent a week together before the Paris Police came looking for her. Bruce stalled them at the door, playing the `obnoxious American tourist' to the hilt and very glad of the thoroughness of his current fake identity. They didn't find any sign of her once they made it passed Bruce, but then, he didn't expect any less of her.

Bruce ambled through Paris for almost a month, until the temperature dropped for real and frost glittered on the windows. His thoughts returned, often, to Gotham, Jim Gordon, and John Blake, but he resisted the siren call to check on them. Bruce found himself thinking about the few, brief interactions he'd had with Blake and their instant connection. The younger man had honestly been  the only person to get through Bruce's well-constructed shell in years. Not even Alfred had been able to make Bruce feel so small while he'd retreated into the manor and his oldest friend had certainly tried everything to get him back into the world. An angry, five-minute conversation with Blake and Bruce had been ashamed of who he'd become.

Every time Bruce saw those brown eyes in his mind and heard the angry, passionate words, he had to deliberately turn his thoughts to something else. He just couldn't let himself dwell on those he'd left behind. He hadn't even looked into how things had recovered after the occupation. He knew that he needed a clean break or, like an addict, he would break down completely and return to the city that had nearly killed him so many times. The only concession he made to the information blackout was to check the sub-dermal trackers he'd placed inside Jim and John twice a month.

Alfred showed up on his Paris doorstep one cold October morning. He looked good; as put together as ever and wearing a smart hat and scarf against the cold. Bruce gaped at him for a long moment in shock and then threw his arms around the older man.

Alfred hugged him back, patting him gently and saying, "It's so good to see you again."

Bruce continued to hold him for a few minutes and then, reluctantly, pulled back. He kept a hand on Alfred's shoulder, though, and said, "Come in, come in!"

Alfred came into the townhouse and Bruce shut the door. He took the other man's coat and hung it up, motioning him forward. He settled Alfred on the sofa and then asked, "Do you want some coffee? I've got some going."

Alfred smiled and said, "It wouldn't go amiss on this chilly morning."

Bruce hurried to the kitchen and poured Alfred a mug, sweetening it as the other man liked. Tea was more his thing, but Bruce didn't have any stocked. He brought the mug back to the living room and handed it over. Sitting on the chair opposite, he asked, "How on earth did you find me?"

Alfred chuckled and said, "You forget who it was that arranged for the cleaning services while you weren't in residence. There were only a few places you might be, really, and it wasn't difficult to imagine that you'd come here for the winter."

Bruce laughed a little ruefully. "I guess we're all creatures of habit. How are you?"

"I'm well," Alfred replied, still smiling. "And I must say that you look  much better than I've seen you in years, frankly."

Bruce grinned and said, "Broke down and saw a specialist a few months ago. He helped with my cartilage problems and a few more besides. And I've really just been taking it easy since, well. The most excitement I've had recently is Selina nearly getting nabbed from my townhouse by the local cops for a jewel heist."

"So you're still seeing one another?" Alfred asked, eyes alight with curiosity.

Bruce chuckled and said, "I don't think I'll ever make an honest woman out of her, if that's what you're asking, but yes. She drops by now and again. She keeps me on my toes."

Alfred took a sip of his coffee and said, "I'm just  so pleased to see you looking so well, Master Bruce."

"Thank you," Bruce said sincerely. "And retirement seems to agree with you as well. Tell me what you've been doing."

They spent the morning catching one another up. Lunch came and Bruce insisted on bringing him out to eat. They spent a couple of hours at a nice little caf  down the street and then walked along the Seine together, still talking. Bruce hadn't realized just how lonely he'd become without someone who shared his history. He wasn't like Selina, or even Alfred; he didn't just make friends at the drop of a hat. He didn't think that he could. He was too cautious and reserved and people sensed that, smiling back politely and then moving on. The only person who'd come close was John and Bruce tried not to think about that.

They stopped at another caf  around four that afternoon so Alfred could get some proper tea and Bruce indulged in a hot chocolate. The sun was already on its way to dying, streetlamps popping on and the after-work crowd slowly leaving their offices.

"And what are your plans now?" Bruce asked.

Alfred sipped at his tea and stared thoughtfully out the window at the foot traffic. "I would like to ask for my old job back."

Bruce choked on his hot chocolate. Alfred looked appropriately concerned when Bruce finished sputtering, but he saw the twinkle in the pale blue eyes staring back at him.

"Retirement was nice  for approximately three months. Once I saw you, caught up on my reading and visited the few friends I have left, it turned out to be extremely boring. And it's highly unlikely that anyone will hire me at this age, despite my vast experience."

Bruce leaned back in his chair with a fond smile. "Only you, Alfred, could be bored so quickly. I thought you wanted to travel and see the world."

"Did that in the army. I don't expect the world's changed all that much since then."

"And all those projects you had in mind to work on?"

"It turns out I'm not all that crafty, Master Bruce. It was rather a shock."

Bruce laughed outright at the dry delivery. "Of course, Alfred. I would love to have you with me again, aside from the fact that I don't exist."

"Well, as to that "

Bruce's eyebrows lifted, intrigued when Alfred's words trailed off. "Yes?"

Alfred winked and said, "Perhaps we should return to your townhouse and discuss the particulars?"

It wasn't a real surprise that Alfred had a plan to return Bruce Wayne to the world, despite the reading of his will and the dispensation of all his worldly belongings.

"Of course, when I made this plan, I hadn't expected Wayne Enterprises to be gutted," Alfred said with a sigh.

Bruce briefly squeezed Alfred's hand. "You can't plan for everything."

Alfred gave him a reproachful look and said, "Please don't be insulting, Master Bruce."

Bruce bit back a grin and held up his hands. "Sorry."

Wayne Manor had been converted to the home for orphans and at-risk children, as planned in the will, but there were a number of other estates that could be purchased and Alfred had all their listings.

Bruce just smiled and shook his head. "I think we can manage with a nice penthouse, don't you?"

"Certainly. It will definitely be easier on my knees, not walking up and down all those stairs."

The story was this  After the loss of his fortune, Bruce had gone to Europe to lick his wounds in private just before the occupation. He'd stayed with Alfred, who owned a nice little home in England about an hour outside of London. He didn't know that he'd been declared dead because there'd been no reason to think anyone would assume such a thing. It wasn't until he'd invested in a company
approximately six months ago and begun the paperwork that his legal status came into question.

"And what kind of company did I pick?"
 
Alfred's eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled. "I do believe you've invested in recycling, Master Bruce. A kind of  phoenix rising from the refuse, if you will."

Dry, Bruce commented, "I didn't realize I was so poetic."

"Indeed, sir."

Apparently, once he discovered that he'd been declared dead, he'd hired an attorney to sort things out, but by then all his worldly goods had been dispersed to settle Wayne Enterprise's debts. Being the responsible corporate citizen, he naturally used the money from his new investments to settle all the remaining debts that had been sold off. That no one had figured out it was Bruce, well, it wasn't as though he wanted to advertise his re-immersion in business so he'd simply done everything very quietly. It hadn't even been a year since he'd lost Wayne Enterprises, after all, and he didn't want to jinx anything.

Bruce's eyebrows lifted. "Poetic and superstitious. I'm finding out all kinds of things about myself."

Alfred rapped him lightly on the leg and said, "That will be quite enough out of you, sir."

"Sorry. Go on."

"That's it, really. Once I knew you were alive, I used the funds from one of your accounts to make the investment so we could build the appropriate timeline. All that remains is for you to sign all the documents that Mr. James has waiting for you and everything is retroactively put into effect."

"And this Mr. James is someone you trust to do something illegal like this?"

"Without question. I served with him in the War. He is excellent at what he does, Master Bruce."

"Then that's good enough for me."

They booked a flight to London and left the following morning. Mr. Blair James was tall, slender, and extremely well kept, just like Alfred. His suits were expensive and hand-tailored. The cane he used had an ivory handle and looked to be at least fifty years old. Given the limp he walked with, that was entirely possible if it was an injury he'd received in WWII.

The meeting didn't last long. Bruce seconded Alfred's trust upon meeting Mr. James and shaking his hand. He looked into brown eyes and found a man of honor gazing back at him. He suspected that Alfred had told the other man the entire story, but trusted the attorney wouldn't release any details of his alter ego; he was bringing Bruce back from the dead, after all.

"Will you return to Gotham?" Mr. James asked.

Bruce shook out his hand, which was cramping from signing so many documents. "Not right away, I don't think. We'll let word leak out that I'm alive while we're here in London. Once you've given the okay, of course. I expect that'll set off a flurry of inquiries and demands, so I want everything settled first."

Mr. James nodded. "Naturally. The paperwork will be taken care of within forty-eight hours, but I would prefer a solid week before you start popping about town as yourself."

Bruce started signing the documents again.

They stayed at the seaside cottage for the next week. It was even more relaxing this time around, with Alfred there to share it. He still jogged along the beach, but no longer lingered with the temperature dipping below zero Celsius. He continued with the yoga, doing his best to ignore Alfred's pleased smile even though it filled him with pride for no good reason.

Late one night, with the fire going and each sitting in their respective chairs, Bruce asked, "I thought you never wanted me to go back to Gotham ever again."

Alfred smiled, but it was brief and didn't reach his pale blue eyes. "I don't, not if you're going to become *him* again. But I know Gotham is in your blood, it's in your family's blood. As much as I want you to live, Master Bruce, I also want you to be happy. I can't tell you what to do when we return, of course, I won't go down that path again. But  please don't remain alone. Remember that I only want the best for you and sharing your life with someone  there are still good and true people in the world, Master Bruce. Not everyone will turn out like Miranda and Rachel."

Bruce didn't feel even a flare of anger at the names of his failures, which surprised him a little. One thing this last year had given him was perspective. He gave Alfred a faint smile and said, "I do know that, Alfred, but I don't think I'll be seeing anyone new in the future."

Alfred returned his gaze for a few long moments. "Well then. I shall simply have to hope for a happy accident with Ms. Kyle."

The unexpected comment startled a laugh out of Bruce.

-------------------------

Bruce Wayne checked into the hotel in the heart of London almost exactly a year to the day from  the demise of Wayne Enterprises. Alfred made the reservation for a full suite, though not the most expensive one as they didn't want to overdo things. Not to mention that the profits to his new investments weren't nearly on the same scale as his previous fortune, so they needed to stay in keeping with his new business profile.

There was no fanfare when he checked in. Mostly, he assumed, because no one had put two and two together yet. He smiled at the young woman at the reception desk and signed in, handing over his black American Express card with a wink.

She blushed prettily and said, "It's a pleasure to have you here, Mr. Wayne. Here is your room card and please, let me know if you need anything else."

"I certainly will," Bruce promised.

Alfred didn't quite roll his eyes, but Bruce knew that he wanted to.

He spent the next few days going to business meetings with the people who ran Phoenix. They were all very sharp and excellent at what they did; running a company that converted trash into a goldmine. There were three main lines of business: green technology, standard recycling with public contracts, and ocean salvage. It had apparently been Bruce's anonymous – at the time – infusion of cash that had launched the green tech division, something Simon LeBarre had wanted to do since starting the company ten years ago.

Simon LeBarre was a slight man with white-blond hair and pale blue eyes. He was around Bruce's height and age and had plenty of his own calluses when they shook hands. Bruce liked him immediately.

"I can't believe it's you who invested in us, Mr. Wayne, it's such an honor," Simon exclaimed, continuing to pump his hand up and down.

Bruce smiled and said, "After the mess with Wayne Enterprises, I'm surprised you're not asking me to take my money and go."

Simon finally released his hand and said, "Of course not! Mr. Wayne, everyone knows that wasn't your fault."

It was news to Bruce. He pursed his lips and then said, "Perhaps we should talk about the future instead of the past."

Simon just about beamed at him.

Later at the suite, Bruce gave into his ultimate temptation and brought up Gotham's recent history online. He went into research mode and read about everything that had happened during the occupation, things he'd seen from the television behind its grate in the Pit, things that he'd refused to go into depth about since then. It had been enough to know that Jim Gordon and John Blake had survived with Gotham. Now, though, he read everything there was about the occupation and recovery of his city.

The population was about two-thirds what it had been before Bane, which sent a pang through Bruce even though most of those people had simply left once the occupation had ended. There'd been hundreds of deaths, most of them police and emergency forces, but even such a high death-toll didn't impact the population in general. Seven months after the occupation, the city looked back to normal as Bruce scrolled through pictures from various websites and blogs. The rubble had been cleared and the buildings rebuilt.

Jim Gordon's face stared back at him from the official Gotham PD website, still Police Commissioner. That made Bruce smile in relief. He hadn't been sure if the truth about Harvey Dent would end Jim's career or not.

Of Detective John Blake, there was no official sign. He'd resigned from the police and dropped off the grid. Activity at the cave, however, showed that John had been there for months. Online gossip also showed rumblings of a new vigilante roaming the streets – criminals weren't quite tied up with a bow for the cops, but someone was definitely lending a hand. Bruce didn't know how to feel about that. He'd left John the equipment to pick up the mantle and yet now wished that he hadn't. John would never have a normal life and the young man deserved it more than most.

Bruce turned to researching himself rather than dwelling on his successor. That way showered far too many temptations and not all of them to do with Batman. There were newspaper articles galore about him; his death, the successful scheme to defraud Wayne Enterprises by Daggett, his last charitable act of the children's home – and the hundreds of anonymous ones that had since been discovered – and myriad other things that he could hardly take in. It seemed that the city of Gotham considered him a one of the good guys, probably for the first time, really, since he'd always been such a dick in public before. Bruce sank back in the desk chair, stunned by all the goodwill being virtually sent his way.

A yawn took him by surprise and Bruce rubbed his eyes before looking at the laptop clock to find it nearly one in the morning. He stood, cracking his spine a couple of times, and then went to bed.

It was three more days before someone figured them out. Bruce climbed out of the taxi when a camera went off in his face and someone exclaimed, "Mr. Wayne! Can you tell the world where you've been for the last year?"

Bruce rubbed at his eyes and said, "Not now that you've blinded me. Excuse me," before pushing passed the man and striding into the hotel.

The floodgates opened after his picture appeared in the Examiner with the caption: Bruce Wayne Back from the Dead?

"We knew this would happen, sir."

Bruce rolled his eyes and said, "I know that, Alfred. That still doesn't make it possible for me to leave the hotel right now."

Alfred smiled a bit and suggested, "News conference?"

Bruce grimaced, but knew it was probably the only way to get through it. Or maybe just an exclusive. He contacted Mr. James, who assured him he knew exactly which reporter to do the article. It was set for the following day.

Sandra Cohen was a sleek, thirty-something woman with refined features, blond hair and blue eyes, and a very laid-back sense of style that wouldn't go amiss in a hippie commune. Bruce wouldn't have pegged her as a reporter, even as they shook hands in his suite sitting room area.

Alfred took her coat and asked, "May I get you something to drink, Ms. Cohen?"

Sandra smiled and said, "A water would be lovely, thank you."

Bruce motioned to the sofa, where she sat, and took the comfortable seat opposite. She took out a small voice recorder and held it up with a questioning glance. He nodded acceptance of it and she pressed a button.

"You look really good for a dead man, Mr. Wayne," Sandra observed, smiling broadly. "Honestly, you look better now than you did when you were last seen alive."

Bruce grinned a little and said, "Yoga does wonders. As does finally obtaining appropriate medical treatment for past injuries."

"Oh?"

Alfred returned with the water. "Will there be anything else, Master Bruce?"

"No, Alfred, thank you." Once the other man had left them, Bruce said, "For a long time, I didn't take care of myself. I'm not talking about eating right and exercising. I'm talking about not seeking medical attention for serious injuries."

Sandra leaned back against the sofa cushions. "When were you injured?"

**Bane's brutally tight hands gouge into his body, holding him aloft... Bane drops him across an impossibly hard thight... phantom agony stabs through his back.**

Bruce blinked away the violent memory and forced a smile. "I won't go into details, but there was… a bad car accident."

"The cane. And your seclusion."

Bruce nodded. "And at the time, my self-esteem wasn't, well, I had issues. It took losing everything to make me realize my true worth. So I went to Alfred, who was here in England, and stayed with him. I needed time to recover, physically, emotionally, and mentally, and he gave it to me. And then he nagged until I saw a doctor."

"I do not nag," Alfred called from the other room. "I suggest things. Repeatedly."

Bruce chuckled and said, "Who could say no to that?"

Sandra laughed softly. "Probably no one."

Bruce told their carefully crafted story with as much honesty as he could muster. About ninety percent of it was true anyhow, it had just been Alfred to set everything in motion while he'd been pulling himself together. He tried to keep the story on his personal rebuilding, leaving the details to the business side of things out of it unless she asked. The interview lasted for two hours and they were only interrupted when Alfred brought them refreshments.

"And now you're ready to return home to Gotham?"

Bruce hesitated and then said, "I'm honestly not sure. I'll be in London for the foreseeable future, tending to Wayne Unlimited."

"I'm afraid I've only been able to dig up Phoenix, the recycling company in which you've invested," Sandra said.

Nodding, he said, "Phoenix is a big part of Wayne Unlimited's future, but my new venture is a company that will be a mix of humanitarian projects, green technology, and financial investment strategies. Obviously, I won't be running that third part myself."

She laughed, as he'd intended, and said, "Well. That was… very illuminating. I hope you don't mind if I take a few days to pull this together before publishing."

Bruce quirked an eyebrow at her. "Really? I thought you'd want to get it out there to beat everyone else."

Sandra winked at him as she stood. "I've got your exclusive, so I don't need to rush and honestly? This is a story that needs to be told well, more than one that needs to be told quickly. Good luck with the hordes."

Bruce chuckled and shook her hand, walking her to the door. "Thank you for coming."

So it didn't help with the paparazzi, but Bruce still wanted to see what she came up with for the article.

He decided to brave the paparazzi that night and took Alfred and Mr. James out to dinner that night as a trial run. They didn't discuss business, instead keeping to shallow topics, and suffered through all the stares and stammered hellos from various other diners and the wait staff. Photographers followed them from the hotel to the restaurant and then back again, but their new driver was very good at his job and got them there and back safely.

It was a week before the article came out and slowly, during that time, the world grew used to seeing Bruce Wayne again. Photographers still followed him around and shouted questions at him, but it returned to a sane level once they realized that he really wasn't going to give them any quotes or do anything but smile and wave at them. The quick-tempered playboy of before had vanished and the photographers realized that in a relatively short amount of time.

**A tale of redemption and a journey into self-awareness, Bruce Wayne is a light to us all. I spoke with Mr. Wayne in-depth and found a man greatly changed from the playboy with whom the world was all-too-familiar. The man who regularly dined with supermodels and crashed his exorbitantly expensive cars died a year ago, when a criminal stole his company and left him with nothing, not even his reputation for several months until the truth was discovered by Lois Lane. In his place stands a new Bruce Wayne, a man of compassion, experience, and modesty.**

It took Bruce almost ten minutes to read the entire article, which started on the front page and then shifted to Sandra Cohen's regular column in the Living section.

Alfred walked over to the dining table with a tray of food. "She did an excellent job."

Bruce nodded and set down the paper. "I like how she included you."

Alfred waved that off and said, "As long as it accomplishes the goal, that's all I care about."

And it did, to a certain extent. Mr. James still fielded a constant stream of requests for interviews, but the stares and stammering slowly petered out. Christmas and New Year's came and went in London with a brief trip to Paris to meet up with Selina and a very athletic weekend that left them both grinning and ready to stay for another week. Since the office was closed, Bruce decided to stick around.

He checked in on Jim and John once a week, both online and with their trackers, but nothing seemed to change. Bruce didn't know whether or not to be relieved that neither had contacted him once news of him being alive broke. He took it as a positive sign and tried not to think about just how angry they might be with his deception.

Bruce returned to building his new company with a group of people he was slowly learning to trust, at least when it came to business. It was a busy but productive time that let him ease into the world again. He found himself enjoying needing to be somewhere on a schedule for pretty much the first time ever.

His cell rang insistently, waking him up from a sound sleep. Bruce groaned and let it go to voicemail only for it to start ringing again. It went to voicemail again and then started ringing again. He finally grabbed it off the bedside table and answered roughly, "Who is this?"

"Bruce, it's Gordon."

The other man's familiar voice cut through the sleep fog and Bruce sat up. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"It's the kid. He's missing."

Bruce hopped out of bed, heart immediately thudding against his chest at the terse words. He rubbed at his eyes on the short trip to his laptop on the desk against the wall. They'd moved into a very comfortable, three bedroom apartment while Bruce had been in Paris since Bruce honestly hadn't been sure how long they'd be in London. "Details."

"He was going to meet me three days ago for lunch, but he didn't show. I called his cell and got no response. I had it tracked and it's either destroyed or off. Checked out his usual haunts and found zero sign of him. Father Reilly hadn't seen him since the day before, so it could be four days that he's been missing."

Bruce brought up the tracking program while Gordon spoke and found that John's had gone dark. His breath caught and he had to forcibly remind himself that there could be a number of reasons why; damaged in a fight or an internal error were the two most likely. He calculated the risk that Blake had brought Gordon in on his new career. "So you've checked the *entire* Wayne Estate, not just the new kids' home?"

"First place I went. I checked his fancy new computer, even had Lucius take a look, but there's no sign of him."

"Damn it," Bruce cursed softly. "I'm on the next flight."

The relief in Gordon's voice was obvious when he said, "Thank you, Bruce. Text me your details and I'll meet you at the airport."

"I will."

"Bruce, wait."

Bruce paused, thumb hovering over the `end call.'

"I'm really glad you're alive."

Bruce swallowed at the emotional words and could only whisper, "Thanks," in return before disconnecting. He took a few seconds to lock down all the feelings, relief and worry chief among them, and then shouted, "Alfred!"

It looked like his return to Gotham would be sooner than anticipated.

end