The Way Back #17

The flamethrower felt like lead in his hands. "Kill her?" he asked in disbelief, as two other Ghost Dragons dragged M'Gann out of the van and flung her to the ground. "Shouldn't we find out what she knows first?"

He hadn't stammered. He was proud of that.

The thug standing next to him gestured dismissively. "Orders are you kill her, Armor Boy." He smirked. "After all, word is, you've already wasted one teen hero to get that suit you're wearing. Do her, and maybe we let you keep her cape."

Fat chance of that, Eddie thought. The Ghost Dragons had no way of knowing that M'Gann's clothing was actually a part of her, created by her shape-shifting abilities. Her shape-shifting... Under the full face-mask, he broke into a smile. ((I hope you know how to make this look good)) he thought, praying that she was reading his mind.

((Harrier didn't think you'd figure it out,)) came the delighted response. ((I'm ready. And they've just given me an idea)). Had she been communicating with him verbally, Eddie guessed that she'd be speaking in a conspiratorial whisper now. ((After you pull that trigger and I convince them that you've killed me, you will see my cape on the floor. Pick it up. Tell them it must be fireproof, or something. And wear it. I think that will work better than simply turning myself invisible, especially in close quarters.))

"What's the matter, Armor Boy?" his companion sneered. "Going soft on us?"

Eddie tried to suppress his fury, then decided the hell with it. "It's Devilbane!" He shouted. In one swift motion, he pointed the flamethrower at the green-skinned girl and activated it.

Ms Martian choked out a scream that was muffled by the gag. For a moment, Eddie and the others saw her twisting, bathed in flames. In a few seconds, all that remained was a blue cape, seemingly unaffected by the fire, and a faint greyish smear on the floor.

Eddie bent down to retrieve the fabric. "I accept your offer," he said coldly as he draped it over his shoulders. "This is mine."

He stalked away and nobody tried to stop him. ((You okay?)) he thought.

((Fine.)) There was a pause. ((But you might want to see about some sort of padding for the exterior of your suit.))

((Huh?))

((I don't want to complain, but my trip here was kind of bumpy. Lying over your armour now isn't helping matters.))

((Oh. I'll see what I can do.))

"I've been thinking about those exercises you've told me to try," Bruce began, as Alex turned to a fresh page on his notepad.

Alex set the pen down. "Just thinking?" he asked with a hint of good humour.

"No, I've been trying them. Well, trying to incorporate some of the lessons they're meant to impart."

Alex nodded. "I'm guessing that you're bringing it up for a reason," he said mildly.

"Are we back to this again?" Bruce snapped. "One of the things I most respected about your methods was that you didn't try to... to..."

"Use 'shrink-speak'?" Alex smiled. "It's a habit I'm trying to overcome. Some days are better than others. So, you've been doing the exercises on gratitude."

"I've been reading them," Bruce corrected. "They just feel so... Look. I know I have a lot to be grateful for. Do you think that a day goes by when I don't realize just what my family has..." He broke off. "But then, I wouldn't take them for granted as much as I do, and I wouldn't constantly feel the need to apologize to them or... or push them away." He slumped. "I've tried your suggestion about finding five things daily to be grateful for. But when it comes to the next stage—to telling someone why I appreciate them," he shook his head. "I spent ten minutes just now in the coffee shop across the street trying to tell Dick I appreciated his leaving work early to meet me there. And the best I could do was to thank him for coming."

"That's a start," Alex pointed out.

"It's also not a challenge. It's something you say to board members who come in for an emergency meeting at eight in the morning or take time off from their golf games. It's..." He took a deep breath. "Alright. Why is it difficult for me to tell him? Or tell anyone? It's easier for me to apologize for my actions than to admit to appreciating someone else's."

Alex had been scribbling something down on the notepad but he looked up sharply at Bruce's last statement. "Now that's interesting," he remarked. "I would have guessed the opposite."

Bruce waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. "You aren't helping."

"You're right. I'm sorry." Alex leaned forward. "We can certainly look to explore some possible answers. Have you got any theories of your own? I know you said you'd been giving the matter some thought."

"I normally prefer," Bruce said slowly, "not to present a hypothesis without having more objective data to back it up."

"That's fair," Alex began.

"In this case, however," Bruce continued, not giving Alex a chance to finish, "I don't think that's going to be possible. I'm... too involved in the situation to view it objectively."

"It's easier to find your way out of a maze when you're overlooking it, than it is when you're inside it."

Bruce looked up. "Exactly."

"Alright." Alex leaned back. "Do you feel comfortable discussing your thoughts on this?"

Bruce made a face. "Not particularly. Which," his lips twitched, "almost always indicates that I should try, regardless." He took a deep breath, then let it out.

Alex waited. The silence seemed to stretch for an eternity, though it was actually less than a minute before Bruce spoke again. "I think it keeps coming back to what we've been working on since Arkham." He didn't hesitate to speak the name of the place this time. His lips twitched again. "My uncontrollable need for control." He registered Alex's slight frown, but continued. "When I apologize, it means that, by definition, I am admitting that something that I said or did caused an undesirable result. In effect, my actions caused or... or controlled the environment in which such a result could transpire. It's not so much that I'm comfortable admitting when I'm wrong. I'm not. But it's still easier than admitting to gratitude."

"I think I'm following you, so far," Alex nodded. "It sounds like you'd prefer to err... than to owe."

Bruce winced. "Thanks. For phrasing it that way. As opposed to saying that I would prefer hurting people over being beholden to them." He exhaled. "I think this would be why I've resisted therapy in the past. There are some... corners I'd rather not expose to bright light."

"It may shock you to know that you aren't the only one," Alex replied. "Are you saying you'd prefer to terminate these sessions?"

Bruce frowned. "You know I can't."

"I do. But if you could, would you?"

Bruce shook his head. "I've trained physically until my muscles screamed in protest. Then, too, part of me wanted to forget about the goal, book the first ticket back to Gotham and stay... safe in the life that was familiar to me. What we're doing is... unpleasant. But that doesn't make it unnecessary."

Alex nodded, smiling. "On that note, I'd like to give you another couple of exercises on appreciation."

"I suppose I left myself open for that one," Bruce replied. "All right. I'm listening."

Upstairs in his room, Jim frowned in the darkness. As much as he wanted to be there for Bruce, he suspected that things might be getting a bit out of hand. He was going to have to give the matter more serious thought, but maybe his living here in the manor wasn't such a good idea, after all.

Krait looked up as Bruce took his seat. "Is everything still 'fine'?" he asked.

Bruce glanced briefly at the man, noting that the green-grey tie really didn't fit with his tweed sports jacket and royal blue shirt. "Absolutely," he said flatly.

"That's good," Krait said. "A lot of the people I deal with tell me that their social lives tend to suffer in their situation."

Bruce frowned. "I'm not exactly in a position to have a serious relationship right now," he said. "Even I know that." He and Selina were not currently in a 'relationship', he told himself fiercely. It had been one kiss that had left them both somewhat breathless, but he hadn't repeated it. If it weren't for Helena, he certainly wouldn't be seeing as much of her as he was, but it wasn't a 'relationship'. They were simply old friends, good friends, who knew each other inside and out, and had had a child together. So... there was something serious between them, but it wasn't a relationship, per se. It couldn't be, not if he had any hope of returning to the cowl, and not if there was any chance that she was going to resume stealing. If he thought for one moment that there was more to what was between them than deep mutual understanding, he... he'd have to end things. He didn't have so many friends in his life right now that he was ready to lose any of them. No, he and Selina were friends.

Krait, however, was still talking. "I didn't mean romantic attachments," he said. "What about society affairs? Have you attended any charity balls lately?"

"It's not the season for them," Bruce said quickly. Funny how he hadn't noticed the absence of those invitations. It briefly occurred to him that Jim might be screening his mail—but if that were the case, he wouldn't have expected to see the grocery store flyers, credit card applications, or gym memberships in the stack. Not to mention that the envelopes were always sitting on his desk unopened. If he was getting his junk mail, and if Jim wasn't reading his correspondence, then he was getting everything else too. Which meant that there hadn't been any invitations in a good long while.

"There've been a couple," Krait remarked. "I've seen the write-ups in the society pages. It might actually be a good thing if you did accept some of the invitations—I'm just saying."

Bruce nodded. "Thanks, I'll keep that in mind."

It didn't matter that he wasn't getting asked. He'd found the overwhelming majority of those affairs tiresome. Most nights, he'd been ready to cheer when the signal went up and he could cut the evening short. And yet, it surprised him that he was feeling a bit hurt at the realization that he wasn't being invited.

You didn't miss it until right now when Krait made his point.

'Missing' was too strong a word for it.

To 'miss' is to perceive a lack. You've just spotted one.

He'd been through this before, this... shunning, he supposed it was. It had taken almost an entire year after he'd been cleared of Vesper's murder before high society had welcomed him back. But they'd still invited him, if only to whisper behind his back. Apparently, things had changed.

And again, why do you care? You should be happy you aren't being bothered by that coterie.

He was, he was. He didn't care. He was simply perturbed by the sudden shift in behavioral patterns.

Did you ever notice that your vocabulary always improves when you're trying to pretend you haven't been dealt a non-physical blow?

Shut up.

"Mr. Wayne?" Krait looked concerned. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine."

Liar.

"Well," Selina remarked as she settled down on the sofa in the den, "this is cozy." Then more sharply, "Helena, come here."

She got up and scooped up the toddler before Helena could reach the hearth. "No. Hot."

"I should have realized," Bruce murmured. "There's an artificial one in one of the ballrooms. We could..."

"One?" Selina's eyes danced. "Just how many ballrooms do you have?"

"Three," Bruce admitted. "Though they actually adjoin each other, and the walls are retractable."

"So depending on how you look at it, you have one or three," Selina smiled.

"Exactly."

"Let's not get up," Selina said, as she settled her daughter on her lap, leaned back, and rested her head against Bruce's shoulder. "I like this. Quiet evening, roaring fire... I don't suppose there's any mulled cider?"

Bruce shook his head. "I believe I have the spice mix somewhere—at least, Alfred usually had some on-hand for winter entertaining. But as far as cider goes, there's only apple juice at the moment," he glanced down at Helena, whose ears seemed to perk up.

"Juice?" she asked.

"Yes," Bruce said softly. "Juice. You want some juice, Helena?"

She smiled. "You want some juice, Helena."

"I," Bruce corrected, smiling back. "I want juice."

She laughed.

"I," Bruce repeated.

Helena touched her eyelid. "Eye!"

Selina giggled.

"She needs to speak properly," Bruce stated.

"And she will. But Bruce, she's barely nineteen months old. For her age, this is advanced. She's just not sophisticated enough to realize the difference between 'you' and 'I'." She grinned. "The pronouns, I mean. I'd like to think there are some rather significant differences," she leaned in closer, "between you," she kissed him lightly on the cheek, "and I."

"Profound differences," Bruce agreed, working his arm free and draping it over her shoulder."

"Want juice, Helena!" Helena piped up.

Bruce sighed. "I'll be right back. As far as cider... I guess putting the juice in the microwave isn't a good idea?"

Selina made a face.

"Bad idea," Bruce nodded. "Understood."

"Oh, yeah."