The Way Back #12

Bruce took a half-step toward her before his smile fell away. "Selina," he said quietly.

Selina turned to the other two women. "Go on ahead. I'll catch up." She turned back to Bruce. "We were just going to grab something to eat at Lanning's," she said, with a vague gesture down the hallway. "Beats spending another forty-five minutes or so in rush hour traffic trying to get downtown."

Bruce nodded. "Don't let me keep you, then."

She flinched. "Alright," she said slowly. "Fine." She took a deep breath. "I'd like to come by later, though. I'll bring Helena. You haven't seen her since before the fire."

He almost nodded again, but he caught himself in time. "Do you honestly think that's a good idea?" He'd been trying to keep his tone neutral, even somewhat regretful at the necessity, but the words came forth more roughly than he'd intended.

Selina tensed, unconsciously shifting to a fighting stance. "Excuse me?"

Bruce lifted his eyebrows. "You left because you had concerns for her safety," he said tersely. "They weren't unfounded."

"Well, there has to be a solution," she insisted.

"There is. Your initial one." He turned away. "Keep her safe, Selina. Keep her away." He took two quick angry strides back toward the velvet rope barrier that blocked off the arrivals gate.

Selina started to follow, then thought better of it. There were more people around now-and the last thing Bruce probably wanted was to have any attention drawn to himself in the middle of a crowded terminal. "Alright," she said, finally. "We'll talk about this later."

Bruce turned around. "I'd really rather we didn't, Selina," he said flatly. "Good day."

"Sorry," Eddie said. "I didn't realize anyone was in here." He'd been sure that Robin had told him that this room was his. Then he realized that there was a second bed, set up at a right angle to the upper bunk.

The blond boy seated on the top bed glanced down at him for a moment, then looked away. "It's okay." Softly, the boy added, "I'm Dodge, by the way."

"Eddie. Or Kid Devil. At least, I was." He frowned. "Is 'Dodge' your real name or your code name?"

"Both." He turned back to face the older boy. "So, like, does every cape in Gotham live in some kind of cave?"

Eddie hefted his valise, walked hesitantly into the room and stood, leaning against one of the rough stone walls. "I don't know. I haven't met every cape yet."

Dodge thought about that for a moment. Then he shrugged and went back to kicking the air. There was an awkward silence.

Finally, Eddie set the valise down at the foot of the lower bunk. "Guess I'll see you later," he mumbled, and beat a hasty retreat.

Dodge almost called after him.

Jim trudged resolutely down the stairs into the cave. "They're gone," he remarked. "You can come out now."

Bruce grunted—whether in acknowledgement or from exertion, Gordon didn't know—and raised himself for another chin-up. "I'm not," he gasped as he relaxed his arms, "unh!" He pulled himself up once more, "...hiding. I'm... unh! ...staying... out... of... unh! ...their way." He released the bar and dropped to the mat with a slight stagger, turned and braced his hands against the cave wall to stretch.

"Ah," Jim said. "You're not running away from the cleaning staff."

"They have a job to do," Bruce said tersely. "I don't imagine they'll work comfortably if they have to deal with Batman watching their every move. Or haven't you notice how they react when I walk into the room?"

"To tell you the truth, I hadn't," Jim replied. "You sure you aren't imagining things?"

Bruce made a face and positioned himself on the back extension machine. "Like the way they jump a foot in the air, practically slam the knickknacks down and squeak that they were just moving them in order to dust?" He grimaced as he leaned back and started a set of reps. "I'm sure."

Jim waited, watching to make sure that Bruce was sticking to the regimen that Dick had laid out for him. Not that there was much he could do—short of telling Dick—if Bruce wasn't. Thus far, however, all seemed well.

After he'd finished three sets, Bruce pulled on a pair of boxing gloves and stalked over to the speed bag. "The truth is," he said, as he jabbed first with his left hand, then with his right, "I couldn't care less if they did make off with a few things. Everything I'm... attached to is in a secure location. As for the rest, if they want it that badly..." he intensified the rhythm of his blows, "they can have it. If I haven't needed it for two years, I don't need it at all."

"Mmm." Jim waited until he'd finished throwing punches and moved on to batarangs. "That's..." he caught himself. "Well, maybe I shouldn't find it as surprising as I do, to hear that coming from you. I guess, at the end of the day, you're a pragmatist."

"Not really." He tossed the batarang across the chamber. It sailed about thirty feet, then arced back toward its starting point. Bruce caught it in a gloved hand. "But it's foolish to rely on something that can be taken away from you."

"Ah." All at once, Jim's eyebrows drew together. "Something..." he repeated softly, "or someone?"

"Excuse me?" He hurled the batarang out once more.

"You heard me." He watched as Bruce reached out again to snag the missile on its return path.

"I'm right, aren't I?" he demanded. "That's why, every time things get tough for you, right when you actually need—not just want, but need—backup, that's when you get scared and chase everyone away."

This time, the batarang flew wide and skittered into the cave wall. "I get enough of this with Alex," Bruce muttered. "I wasn't expecting it from you."

"Pardon?"

Was Jim being deliberately obtuse? "Stop trying to analyze me!" he snapped.

"Why? Am I getting close?"

For answer, Bruce flung the batarang to the floor in disgust and stalked back toward the weight machines. Jim followed. Bruce did nothing, either to encourage him or to warn him off. He just sat down at the pectoral fly, set the weight level, and positioned his arms on the pads.

"It's why your favourite toy is modeled on a boomerang," Jim needled. "So it'll come back."

Bruce sighed. "There's a practical reason for that," he muttered. "I have to craft each one of them myself. It's time-consuming. The longer it takes for me to go through them, the less often I need to make more. They even have transmitters built in to them for easy location."

"Still and all, they're something you rely on that you've made it very hard to take from you. And in light of what you just said..."

Bruce grunted noncommittally. Then, almost in a whisper, he said, "early on, there was one night when Two-Face... beat Dick... nearly to death. I decided that having him for a partner was a mistake. I nearly called social services to find a different placement for him altogether, but Alfred intervened." And Dick ran away in a fit of rage, and the prospect of losing him brought home to me exactly how much I'd come to care for him already in just a few short months. I thought if I taught him enough, that he would be safe. That illusion lasted years. And then Joker shot him and I realized that a stray bullet could still take him away from me if I didn't... if I didn't send him away first. And after Jason...

"Suppose you're right," he said finally, as he started a second set of reps. "I can give you a list of the people and... and objects I've relied on in the past. And lost in the end. Are you going to try to tell me that my concerns are baseless?"

"Are you going to try to tell me that your life would have been better without having those people in it?"

Bruce drew a choking breath as he forced himself to complete the reps. It wasn't until he'd finished the third set that he said, "I've tried to tell me. Every time I've lost someone else. Or come close."

"And?"

"It doesn't work. I know it doesn't work. I promise myself each time I'm reminded that it doesn't work, that going forward, I won't fall back into the same pattern. And each time..." He shook his head. "You realize that it would serve me right if you all just stayed away."

"You don't want that."

"No," Bruce admitted. "But since when has that had anything to do with it?"

He finished the rest of his weights routine in silence, save for occasional grunts, then strode off to shower. When he returned, Jim was still in the cave, waiting for him.

"It's just about lunchtime," the former commissioner said, his tone deliberately casual. "You've probably worked up an appetite. Ready to head upstairs?"

"Alright," Bruce matched him for nonchalance.

"You okay?"

Bruce nodded. "I'm just... thinking about what you said."

"Ah." Jim couldn't miss Bruce's palpable relief at his failure to question him further.

"I think... I'm glad you brought it up now. As opposed to Alex bringing it up in session." He continued quickly, "It is something that should be taken up with him, I know, but I'd prefer to be more at ease with the topic before that happens."

"I understand. Well," Jim rumbled, "any time you want to go over the subject in greater detail, it's not like I have anything else interfering with my availability. I...eh?"

"That's the main gate," Bruce blinked. A few quick steps brought him to the security camera arrays. He frowned. "I told her not to come," he muttered. "I told her not to bring her. What is she doing here?"

Jim considered for a moment. Then, he looked down at the neatly-labeled buttons and deliberately pressed the one that would open the main gate, ignoring Bruce's angry look. "Only one way to find out." He gestured toward the elevator. "After you."