The Way Back #19

Bruce inspected the nursery for the fifteenth time. Every edge and corner of the traditional wood furniture had been covered with foam cushioned padding. Safety straps held the book-cases and toy shelves fast to the walls. Three days ago, he'd painstakingly inventoried and Googled each plaything, verifying that it was suitable for children under the age of three. Everything that hadn't met that criteria had gone up to the attic. Looking around now, Bruce had to admit that the room looked rather bare—like a furniture store showroom display. There were a few stuffed animals, some dog-eared picture books, and an antique rocking horse. Most of his own toys had been given away once he'd outgrown them. True, Helena would be bringing some of her own toys with her, but Bruce suspected that a visit to Ferris Wheelers, Bristol's answer to the legendary FAO Schwartz store, might be warranted.

When Jim came up after breakfast, he'd be sure to suggest it.

He smiled wistfully. He still wasn't entirely sure Jim's moving back to the guest cottage was a good thing, but Bruce had to admit that spending the last few evenings alone hadn't been anywhere near as difficult as his first night back at the manor had been.

Last night, he'd gone for a walk in the garden. By the time they'd restored it to some semblance of order, it had been far too late in the season to plant anything, but the mint and rhubarb planted in years past had survived, along with the bramble bushes and random pockets of pumpkins and onions. It had taken them all summer, but after spending most of the last two years indoors and virtually sedentary, it had been exactly what he'd needed.

On his way back, he'd seen a light on in the cottage and paused, unsure whether to continue on his way or look in on Jim. Eventually, Jim had come to the door and invited him in, but he'd been in a robe and slippers, and it had been obvious that he'd been planning to turn in.

Bruce shook his head. He'd been through this enough to recognize the signs. Every so often, he pushed himself too hard, too far, and for too long, and had to deal with the consequences. A broken spirit, a broken back, a city left to rot... each time, he'd needed to go somewhere to lick his wounds and take stock. At first, there would be exhaustion, self-loathing, perhaps even self-pity. The next stage would be a desire to simply... let it all go, decide that maybe the latest crisis should serve as a wake-up call, and that he should try to find something else to do with his life—while he still had one. Now, though, his inactivity was starting to chafe. He was bored, he was restless, he felt incomplete. And at the back of his mind, the Bat was waking up.

Only this time, it wasn't going to just be a matter of getting back up to peak physical performance. Thanks to Dick, he was nearly there already. Mentally, emotionally, it was a different story. He wanted to be Batman, but it was as though part of him had forgotten how. He'd often thought of Batman as his true persona and Bruce Wayne the mask. Somehow, it felt to him as if, over the last two and a half years, the two aspects had changed places—and he had no idea how to change them back.

--

"No disguise?" Jim asked, as Bruce took a set of car keys down from the hook.

Bruce shook his head. "We're just headed into Bristol town center, not Gotham. I don't think it's necessary. Besides," he added, thinking about what Krait had said two weeks earlier, "maybe it's time I started re-establishing some old acquaintances."

Jim tensed. "Oh?"

Bruce frowned. "Is there something you're not telling me?"

"You understand," Jim said slowly, "I try not to confuse gossip with gospel. And when I do my grocery shopping, I usually drive into the city, where the prices aren't tantamount to legalized highway robbery. But sometimes, if I just need an item or two, I'll go here. And on occasion, I do overhear a certain amount of talk."

Bruce shrugged. "A level of cattiness is only to be expected in these circles. Most people around here have too much leisure time, so they spend it inventing ways to make themselves feel superior."

"I'm sorry," Jim retorted. "You must have me confused with someone who spent the last twenty years living under a rock. I know idle chatter when I hear it. I also have an ear for when people are just running their mouths for the pleasure of hearing themselves talk, and when there's more under the surface."

"And?"

Jim sighed. "You've been out for nearly six months, and in all that time, nobody has called to see how you are, to welcome you back, or even to try to sell you a box of Girl Scout cookies. You do the math."

"I have been," Bruce admitted. "Be that as it may, I don't plan to spend the rest of my days holed up here, afraid to show my face in public. Sooner or later, I'm going to have to deal. It may as well be today."

--

The toddler section at Ferris Wheeler's was blessedly quiet. Bruce took his time. He'd been planning to purchase a few stuffed animals, educational toys, and perhaps a playhouse, but with eight aisles dedicated to the 12-to-24 month range alone, Bruce was finding it a daunting task. Was seven hundred dollars for a four-foot-tall Steiff bear money well spent on a quality product? Or was most of that price tag simply mark-up for a designer name? He remembered that, at her birthday party, Helena had been just as entertained by the boxes and wrapping paper as she had been by the gifts themselves. Possibly even more so. Five hundred for the "story book cottage" play house, two hundred fifty for the "country cottage" model; he frowned, trying to determine what—apart from color scheme—set the two apart. Maybe he could just buy out the store—or better yet, buy the store and bring Helena here to play.

"It is him, I tell you!"

"Shh! Don't let him hear!"

The voices quickly dropped lower, but Bruce still caught the words 'Arkham' and 'dangerous'. He looked around quickly, but the only two people within earshot were suddenly very preoccupied with a double slide and climber.

"I think Madison would adore this," the woman said loudly.

"I think I saw another one two aisles back," the man replied, speaking at the same volume, in exaggeratedly slow, clear tones. "Why don't we go look at it together?"

They moved off quickly. Bruce frowned and went back to the play sets, but from that moment on, he began to hear footsteps approaching and then retreating. He glanced at Jim.

"I did try to warn you," he replied.

Bruce shrugged. "I went through something similar after I was cleared of murder. It will pass. Do you think Helena would like this?" He indicated a stuffed giraffe activity center.

Gordon smiled. "I can't think why she wouldn't. She might not get much mileage out of the teethers, as such..."

"...But she still likes to put things in her mouth."

"That's true."

"Bruce?" A new voice exclaimed. "Is that you?"

Bruce spun about, a smile already forming on his lips. "Don? Good to see you. My G-d, how long has it been?" He and Donavan Andrews went back a long time. They'd attended the same boarding school, been invited to the same parties, and often found themselves seated at the same table. He absolutely should have called Don months earlier.

Andrews took a deep breath. "Not long enough," he said with uncharacteristic seriousness. "I... maybe I shouldn't have assumed, but I'd always been under the impression that we were friends."

"We were—are friends," Bruce said quickly. "Why would you think otherwise?"

"Oh, I don't know," Andrews said. The tips of his ears were turning bright pink. "Maybe I resent your using me as bait to catch a killer."

"What?"

"Three years ago," Andrews said, with a deep frown, "there was a murderer targeting the top execs at Powers Technology. Do you recall that? Or do they all blur into each other after awhile?"

"I re—"

"Doesn't matter," Andrews cut him off. "What matters is that you set me up. You, Bruce. You talked me into making a very public appearance where, surprise, surprise, a lone gunman nearly took me out."

"But I saved—"

"Yeah, Bruce. Batman saved me." His ears were crimson and the flush was spreading to his cheeks even as Bruce watched. "But I guess you'll pardon my not falling over in gratitude, seeing as how he—you—practically painted a bulls-eye on my back and invited the guy over to take a pot-shot."

"It wasn't like that!"

"No?" He took a step closer. "Did you, or did you not, ask me to make that appearance hoping to flush the killer out?"

"I," Bruce looked down. He'd been on the alert from the start. Don had never been in any real danger. Unless the killer hadn't acted according to plan. Or unless some floozy had waylaid Bruce while he was slipping off to change into costume and he'd been a few seconds slower on the scene. Or unless the crowd had panicked and he hadn't been able to get through them to reach Donovan. "You're right," he admitted. "But I had my eye on you."

"I would've felt better if you'd had a police bodyguard around me." He turned around. "I'd say I'll see you around, but I don't plan to. Congratulations on your release." He strode off.

"Don..." Bruce called softly.

If the other man heard him, he kept right on walking.

Bruce covered his eyes with his hand. Then, abruptly, he grabbed one of the playhouses. He trotted to the next aisle and grabbed two stuffed animals off the shelf at random. He turned to Jim. "I'm done. Let's just pay and get out of here."

--

Alex listened closely, a pen poised between thumb and index finger, but he made no move to write anything down. When Bruce finished speaking, he set down the pen and steepled his fingers, tips facing across the desk. "I think a slap across the face would have been kinder," he said finally.

Bruce blinked. Then, slowly, he nodded and felt a wave of relief wash over him. He'd expected Alex to either ask him how the incident had made him feel, or to tell him what he 'must' have felt, as if everyone in the world would have the same reaction to the circumstances. "Perhaps," he allowed. "I'm not entirely sure he was wrong."

"Well, in his mind, he wasn't," Alex replied. He picked up the pen. "It's amazing how easy it is to fall back into old habits," he said. "We've been working on your drive for control, on your readiness to take responsibility for virtually everything that can possibly go awry, and no sooner do you start to make real progress than something comes along that pushes you back a step."

Bruce jerked his head up. "Are you saying that you think I was right to put a civilian in harm's way?"

"Did you?" Alex countered. "Or was he already a target?"

"I don't know for certain," Bruce said. "If he wasn't, then I ensured that he became one." He shook his head. "Look. I appreciate what you're trying to do, but from my perspective, allowing myself the luxury of excuses could lead me to a point where I would start to see collateral losses as... acceptable." He took a deep breath. "My choice to operate outside the law led me to adopt more... stringencies, not less. At times, the temptation to cross the line, to become that which I fought against, became almost overwhelming."

"You hone your reflexes, but you don't give them free reign."

"Yes. Exactly."

Alex smiled sadly. "While I can definitely understand your rationale, I hope that you, in turn, can understand that holding yourself personally accountable for the fate of every casualty on your... watch is just as flawed a belief as one which posits that nobody becomes a victim without doing something to deserve their fate."

Bruce half-rose from his chair, his mouth open to deliver a blistering retort.

"To my thinking," Alex continued, "the truth usually lies between two extremes."

Bruce sank back down, his jaw still working furiously. Finally, he relaxed. "Let's accept for the moment that you could be right," he rapped out. "How am I supposed to know when I'm being too... hard on myself, and when I'm letting myself off too easily?"

"With your permission," Alex said hesitantly, "if you'd like to explore that, I can start by presenting a few scenarios that we can look at together. Eventually, you may feel comfortable bringing up some personal examples for exploration, or you might choose to take the tools we're going to be working with in session and apply them on your own."

Bruce frowned. "What are you implying, Doctor?" His jaw clenched. "If you think that I'm planning to violate the terms of my release by—"

Alex shook his head. "No, Bruce, I trust you. You know yourself better than anyone. If you feel you have done something or are doing something that could potentially put your freedom and our relationship in jeopardy, then I trust you to talk it over with me first so I can help. If I find out on my own after the fact, legally and ethically my hands will be tied."

Bruce nodded, but inwardly he was seething. He was trying to play by the rules set forth by the court. As much as he loathed adhering to other people's rules, he was trying. And now, to get a lecture like this from Alex...! As much as he considered the psychiatrist to be a friend, every so often it became clear that he wasn't.

"Bruce?" Alex asked, drawing his eyebrows together in a worried frown.

Bruce blinked. "Nothing."

Alex was looking sceptical, damn him. Well, what the hell was he supposed to say, now? I thought we were friends? Pathetic. If he didn't come up with something fast, Alex was probably going to suspect that Bruce was already putting his freedom 'at risk'. His mind worked quickly. Well, there was something he'd wanted to know for some time now, but he'd been hesitant to ask. In point of fact, he wasn't sure whether he'd accept an answer other than the one he wanted to hear. If he wasn't prepared for a real answer, he probably shouldn't even broach the subject, but he was curious as to how Alex would react. More to the point, this particular question appeared to display just enough vulnerability to justify his seeming reticence. He took a deep breath. "Suppose," he said slowly, "that you... that we... succeed. We eliminate my issues with control, vanquish my inner demons, and determine that these sessions are... no longer warranted. What then? Will I still... will I want to be Batman?"

"Will you?" Alex countered. "I can't answer that."

Except that he just had, hadn't he? Bruce fought to suppress the smile he felt forming on his lips, in case he'd misunderstood. "Then it is possible for me to be, for want of a better word, 'cured', and still be..."

Alex chuckled. "Are you asking me whether a person has to be, if you'll pardon me, in need of therapy to wear a costume? Forgive me, Bruce, but don't you think that your firsthand experience might make you a better judge than I on that one?" His lips twitched. "Or are you saying that the rest of the JLA should be engaging my services?"

Bruce let the smile break free. "Touché," he acknowledged. "Touché."

"By the way," Alex continued, "you know I'm supposed to check up on your home situation, as well. I understand that Bryan Krait is visiting you this week. Would you prefer that I tag along, or would you rather that we set up a different time?"

Bruce considered. He wasn't thrilled about having to deal with both Alex and Krait at once—though, on the whole, if he had to deal with either, he would have preferred Alex. On the other hand, he knew that both of them were going to be putting his home situation under a microscope, even if they might try to pretend otherwise. Best to get both visits over at once. "You're welcome to come, if you like," Bruce feigned nonchalance. It was getting easier. "I don't mind."

--

"Okay," Dick said, looking at Bruce and Cass. "Tonight, we're going to start looking at explosives; how to handle them, when to use them, and—if we get that far this session, how to defuse them. If it's stuff you already know, take it as a refresher. If it's new, pay attention." He stopped, disbelief bringing a frown to his features. Was somebody... humming? "Cass?"

She looked up, startled. "Sorry."

Dick nodded. "Okay. Bruce," he caught himself. He was sounding too much like a drill sergeant, and it felt disrespectful, even if Bruce was taking it. "I know that a few years back, you started adding C-4 to your utility belt arsenal. Since it's something Cass is probably going to have to carry on her one of these days, how about a quick rundown of why you chose that substance over, say, nitroglycerine or TNT?"

Bruce smiled. "First and foremost, C-4 is stable. I could drop it from a rooftop, fall on it, or carry it past a microwave motion detector. It cannot be detonated by fire or gunshot—in fact, I could use it as a heating fuel in an emergency—although not in close quarters; the fumes are toxic."

Dick nodded. "Okay. Anything else?"

Bruce nodded. "It's malleable. It can be pressed into gaps and crevices, or used to fill a designated blasting case. Furthermore—"

Dick held up his hand. "Hang on a second, Bruce. Cass, you're not paying attention."

She blinked. "Am too." She looked away. "Sorry. Tune in my head. Won't stop."

He thought he recognized it too. It was old. Something about it made him think of a rainy day at the manor. Bruce had been busy, he'd been bored, and Alfred... Alfred had played some records—cast albums of shows in which he'd performed, in his younger days. He cocked his head. "When did you hear 'Show Me'?"

Cass beamed. "Sunday. They showed the movie at Saint Swithins." Her grin grew wider. "Best song. Trying to remember words." Her face fell as she remembered the reason why she was here. "Sorry."

Bruce, however, nodded. "I believe that there should be a recording of the soundtrack in the attic, packed away with the rest of Alfred's belongings."

Cass' eyes grew wide. "You have it? So... after this, we can look?"

"Um, Cass," Dick cut in. "I don't know if that's such a good—"

"It's alright," Bruce interrupted. "We'll need to sort through it eventually." To Cass, he said, "Not tonight, but soon."

She eyed him for a moment. Then, "Bruce, if you want to keep... I-I can buy another. It's okay."

Bruce took a deep breath. "Actually, Cassandra, I think that if Alfred was here today, and if he'd overheard this conversation, you would have found the recording waiting for you when you came upstairs. I'm not likely to listen to it. I think he would have been pleased at your interest."

Dick exhaled. "Okay. Getting back to business, Cass. What can you tell me about C-4, either from your own experience or from what Bruce was just saying?"

The lesson lasted nearly an hour and a half. Then Cass left to patrol and Bruce moved to the trapeze ladder. Dick followed.

--

"Listo?" he called.

Bruce nodded.

"Hep!"

Bruce leaped from the platform and swung forward. As he sailed, he brought his legs up, hooked them over the bar, and released his grip so that he hung upside down.

Dick reached for his arms, bracing himself for the extra weight. "Gotcha!" he exclaimed, as they swung across. On the return, Dick swung him forward and let go. Bruce twisted in mid-air and caught the fly-bar. They'd been doing this for a few weeks now. "Ready for something new?"

Bruce flipped onto the board. "I thought you'd never ask."

"Okay. We're going to try a heels-off." It was a fairly straightforward move. "What I want you to do when your feet leave the board is, at the end of the first swing, bring your knees up between your arms. At the same time, rest your heels on the bar, keep your hips up and your body compact. You should be facing your board. Look for me. And when I call the hep, I want you to cut loose with everything you've got. Basically explode out to the catch. Got it?"

Bruce nodded.

The first time, he left the bar too soon. The second, he waited an instant longer than he should have. The third time, he felt Dick's hands lock onto his forearms and they flew forward once more.

"Gotcha!"

Bruce almost laughed at the sheer exhilaration. He wasn't sure whether he wanted to keep doing this until he knew he had the move down, or if it was simply that he was having fun. He just knew that he didn't want to stop.

After a half hour, though, Dick called a halt. "You need to get some rest, and so do I."

Bruce was about to protest. Then he remembered. He was picking up Helena in the morning, and Krait was coming in the afternoon. He sighed.

"I'll try to stop by before patrol, tomorrow night."

Bruce nodded.

Dick hesitated. "Um... you remember when you decided to tell Selina who you were, and I suggested you shave first, and you ignored me?"

"I know," Bruce said, fighting a wave of irritation. He didn't need anyone telling him what to do—not even Dick.

"I know you know. Just... listen, if Krait is going to show up tomorrow looking for a reason to fail you, I don't want him to find one."

Bruce rolled his eyes. "I'll shave immediately after lunch. Will that satisfy you?"

Dick grinned. As Bruce turned to go upstairs, though, his smile faded. He wasn't the one Bruce had to satisfy.

--

"I could have brought her to the manor," Selina protested when Bruce arrived at her apartment early the next morning.

"I know," Bruce said lightly, "but I wanted to give the cleaning staff a chance to get things organized."

"Oh? Did you throw a party last night and forget to invite me?"

A few years ago, asking that question in that tone might have earned her a social smile and a too-hearty laugh. Now, the smile was more wistful, and the laughter non-existent, but there was a glimmer in his blue eyes that had never been present with the foppish persona. Bruce shook his head. "Never that. I'm... expecting company later."

Selina frowned. "Look, if I'm asking you to take her at a bad time, all you have to do is say so. I can make other arrange—"

"No," Bruce said shortly. "It's fine." And they should be back at the manor well before Jim came over at nine.

"Okay," Selina said dubiously. "If you're sure. If you have any problems, any questions, Barbara will know how to reach me. The pediatrician's phone number is in the front pocket of the diaper bag. Um..." She tried to think if there was something she was leaving out.

"Daddy!" Helena darted past her mother and wrapped her arms around Bruce's shins.

Selina laughed. "Looks like somebody warmed up to you in a hurry!"

Bruce smiled down at his daughter. "Well, hello there," he said softly. For a moment, his face looked almost boyish. When he looked up at Selina, his expression didn't dim. "I think we'll be fine," he said firmly.

"Oh, I know you will be. But try to stay in touch." She leaned forward and kissed him. "I'm going to be thinking about both of you."

--

"Looks like you could have saved yourself some shopping," Jim rumbled, as he watched Helena bouncing gleefully up and down on the old wooden rocking horse. "Usually, the old standbys are best."

Bruce shrugged, not really caring. "If she gets bored with it, at least there are alternatives," he remarked, as he pried the lid off of the drum of alphabet blocks.

Helena slid off the horse and toddled over to investigate. Obviously, she knew about blocks. With a glad cry, she pushed the drum over, pouring a good part of the contents onto the floor with a muted crash. She picked up a block in each hand and clapped them together, smiling at the sound.

Bruce lowered himself to the ground. "Here," he said with a smile. "Let me show you what you can do with these." Carefully he began stacking them, one on top of the other. When he had a column five high, Helena reached out and knocked it over with a laugh. Bruce smiled. "Well, yes," he said. "A narrow column is easy to topple. But if you start with a base," he arranged four cubes on the floor in a square and set a fifth one atop them in the center, "and then build it up in a pyramid," he widened the base and second layer, "then it becomes more..." As he began a third layer, Helena, giggling, sent the new structure flying.

Bruce cocked his head to one side. "Have you ever wanted to operate a wrecking crane?" he asked.

Helena giggled again. Then she started pushing the blocks back toward Bruce. Once she'd finished, she sat back and waited, jiggling a bit in place.

"What's this?" Bruce asked. "You want me to build you another tower?"

She nodded.

"Are you going to let it stand or knock it over?"

She nodded again.

Bruce smiled wearily. "We shall see."

This time, she waited until he was halfway through the third layer before she toppled it. Again, she sat back and waited for him to start building.

After the pattern had repeated itself a few more times, Jim cleared his throat. "I really hate to spoil your fun, but you asked me to let you know when it was time for lunch."

Helena looked up sharply. "Lunch?"

Bruce nodded. "Are you hungry? Then let's put these away, and we can go eat." He started packing the blocks back into the drum. After a moment, Helena decided that she liked the new game and began to fling them in willy-nilly. Bruce smiled tolerantly. He could always arrange them more neatly later.

--

"I never knew you had an artistic side," Jim remarked, as he looked over Bruce's shoulder.

"I'm not sure I did either," Bruce replied as he carefully arranged the cooked spinach at the top edge of the plate. Two small spoonfuls of black beans were arranged below it with a carrot stick between them. A chickpea smile completed the food face.

The timer sounded and Jim moved over toward the stove. "I'll drain the macaroni and make the cheese sauce. Wait for it to cool off before you let her have any."

Bruce nodded and carried the plate over to the high chair. Helena took one look at the plate and broke into a broad smile. Then, a swipe of her hand sent the beans and chickpeas rolling. She grabbed a chickpea, and gleefully popped it into her mouth. Then she reached for the carrot.

Bruce's lips twitched. It appeared that the child development website had known what it was talking about when it had suggested this.

--

After lunch, Bruce settled Helena in the nursery crib for a nap. He remembered to turn on the baby monitor before he left the room and closed the door behind him. Then he returned to the kitchen to have a meal that wouldn't be interrupted by dropped cutlery and impromptu finger-painting with vanilla pudding. ("No wonder she appreciated your 'plate art'," had been Jim's amused comment. "Takes an artist to recognize one.")

Bruce wasn't sure about that. He was realizing, however, that looking after a toddler was a full-time job. He hadn't had a moment to himself from the time that he'd picked her up from Selina until now. He sank down into the kitchen chair with a sigh.

Jim smiled. "You really don't have a lot of experience with toddlers, do you?" he asked.

Bruce spooned some macaroni onto his plate. It was stone-cold, but he didn't care. "I suppose you do?" he asked wearily.

Jim shook his head. "Not much, I'll admit. Then again, I'm not the one who needs it." He reached out and squeezed Bruce's arm. Bruce looked up, startled. Jim smiled again. "Believe it or not, you're doing fine.

Bruce took a forkful of pasta, chewed and swallowed. "If she were a little more articulate..."

"...Had a longer attention span, didn't need diapers, could play quietly without supervision... But then," Jim continued, "she wouldn't be a toddler. And you'd be missing out on a lot."

"I know," Bruce admitted. "Had Selina introduced her to me a decade from now, I'd be sorry at not having been there for these milestones. Still. This isn't exactly something I've gone through with the others." He sighed. "I'm not complaining."

"You could have fooled me."

Bruce shook his head. "No. I'm really not complaining. I'm just..."

"Scared out of your mind that you're going to mess up?"

To his credit, Bruce managed to avoid choking on his milk. "I'd hoped it wasn't that obvious."

"It wasn't," Jim assured him. "I'm just damned if I can think of any decent father who hasn't had the same concern. I didn't really think you'd be an exception."

Bruce smiled ruefully. "It would have been nice," he sighed. "And please, don't tell me it just proves I'm human."

"It doesn't. I'd lay odds that, on this particular issue, metas are in the same boat. And," he reiterated, "you're doing fine."

"Thanks." He finished the macaroni. "I'd better shave. Then, I think I'm going to lie down for an hour or so until Alex and Krait get here."

Jim nodded. "The nursery monitor is..."

"...on the counter. I'll remember to take it with me and set it up in my room."

--

He didn't realize he'd fallen asleep until a loud crash jolted him awake. Startled, he leaped from the bed. It took him a moment to realize that the sound had come from the baby monitor on the night table. "Helena?" He said. There was no response. "Helena!" She'd been fine when he'd put her into the crib. Heart pounding, he nearly flung open his bedroom door.

Jim met him at the top of the stairs. "What in the...?"

Bruce didn't slow. "Nursery!" he called behind him. It took Jim a moment to unlatch the child safety gate and follow.

As Bruce rounded the corner of the hallway, he could see that the door was opened wider than he'd left it. "Hel..." Bruce's voice trailed away. The nursery looked like Red Tornado had paid a visit. The alphabet blocks were strewn across the carpet, along with every single picture book. There wasn't a toy left on the shelves. A child-sized stool lay on its side. The crib was empty. Helena was gone.

"You left the door open?" Jim said softly behind him.

Bruce froze. "Only a crack," he admitted. "I can't believe she got out of the crib on her own."

"Oh, really?" Jim asked. "Her mother's a cat burglar, her father rappels down skyscrapers for fun, and you're shocked she managed to scale an obstacle less than three feet high?"

"According to the child-development website, she shouldn't have been able to climb out for another three months!"

"And I don't suppose you were reading on a first-grade level until you got to first grade?" Seeing the look on Bruce's face, he relented. "If you just heard her a minute ago, she can't have gone far. We know she's on this floor because the safety gate was still latched—and don't worry, I closed it behind me. How many rooms are on this floor?"

Bruce thought for a moment. "Sixteen that would be accessible. I keep the doors to the east and west wings locked."

"That helps. Alright. This hallway runs the full perimeter of the bedrooms. You go left, I'll go right, and we'll meet in the middle."

Bruce took a deep breath. Then he went off in the direction Jim had indicated. As he strode away, he was mentally cataloguing potential hazards. Most of the rooms on this floor were spare bedrooms. She could catch her fingers in dresser drawers. Cedar closets might be airtight. Or she could pull down the old clothing hanging in them and be buried beneath them... His heart lurched. Camphor! Those old clothes were preserved in mothballs. If she were to bite into...

He stopped, noticing a slight bulge behind one of the heavy window drapes. "Helena?"

There was a muffled giggle.

Relief washed over him like a cool wave. He strode over to the window and pushed away the drapery.

Two wide blue eyes peered up at him. "Daddy!" Helena exclaimed flinging her arms around his shin.

Bruce exhaled. "I have her," he called to Jim as the doorbell rang. And not a moment too soon, he added mentally, as he scooped up his daughter and headed downstairs to admit his visitors.

--

"Let's start with the bedrooms and work our way down," Krait remarked, once the meaningless pleasantries were out of the way. He sent a friendly wave in Helena's direction. Helena beamed.

Traitor, Bruce thought, with some amusement. Actually, it probably wouldn't hurt matters any if Helena did manage to charm the other man.

"Where does this lead?" Krait asked, stopping before the forbidding oak door.

"East wing," Bruce replied shortly. "It's not currently in use."

Krait nodded and walked on. Bruce was about to follow suit when Alex stopped him. "Would it be alright if I had a look?" He asked. Bruce shrugged and turned the brass key in the lock. The door opened with a faint creak. Once past, Alex ran a finger absently along a bit of moulding that ran the length of the hallway. It came away clean. After a cursory inspection, he turned back the way they'd come, Bruce close behind.

As they entered the nursery, Bruce's face fell. Jim was still straightening up, but the room wasn't anywhere near as tidy as it had been that morning.

Helena struggled to get down, her arms extended toward the rocking horse. "Want!" she declared imperiously. "Want!"

"You can put her down," Krait smiled, as he ran his hand approvingly along a foam-padded table edge. "Let her play if she wants to."

"She was before," Bruce said cautiously, lowering her to the ground. "That's why some of the toys are..."

"The window is clean, the carpet was recently vacuumed, and the room has been aired not very long ago," Krait interrupted. "Children play. Toys get used. Messes happen. What's in the next room?"

Bruce felt himself relax. "Just a spare bedroom. I'll show you."

"Oh, if you're not using it, there's no need," Krait said. "But if you could show me your bedroom, and," he coughed, "I'll need to use your bathroom, as well."

And inspect it too, no doubt, Bruce thought acidly. It was a good thing he'd been using an electric shaver for years—he didn't know what Krait would infer if he found a razor blade. "Of course," he said mildly. "Coming, Doctor?"

Alex waved him off. "You go on," he said. "I'd like to have a few words with Mr. Gordon, first."

--

"Is there a reason why the nursery is so far from your bedroom?" Krait asked Bruce led him down the hallway.

Bruce frowned. "It's always been like that," he said slowly. "If I had to venture a guess, children don't always play quietly. One of my forbears may have enjoyed sleeping late."

"Mmmm. So, you've just kept the nursery where it's always been."

Bruce shrugged. "Until now, it's never been an issue. My sons were scarcely babies when I adopted them." Of course, had the nursery been closer to his bedroom, he might have got there before Helena had started exploring.

Krait nodded and jotted something down in his notebook. Bruce clenched his jaw, wishing he knew what it was.

The social worker made no further comment until they opened the door to Bruce's bedroom. "I'd thought that the master bedroom would be down at the end of the hall," he said then, with some surprise.

Bruce raised an eyebrow. "I'm the master of the house, and this is my bedroom," he stated with forced innocence. Seeing Krait's expression, he sighed. "I've slept in this room since I was a child. What you would consider the master bedroom belonged to my parents."

Krait nodded and made another notation. "Are there any other rooms you spend a lot of time in on this level?"

"Not enough time to be worth mentioning," Bruce replied.

"I see. Well, then," he said brightly, "I believe we're done upstairs. If you don't mind, I'd like to see your living room, next."

And if I do? Bruce bit back the question and ushered Krait downstairs.

--

"Well," Krait said nearly an hour later, "in most areas, I'd have to say I'm pleasantly surprised." He took a sip of coffee and moved one of the biscuits from the central plate onto his own.

Bruce smiled and raised his own cup. Alex did the same.

"I do have one concern, though," Krait continued.

"Oh?"

Krait's expression grew serious. "You realize that my visits here are meant to determine that you're able to live and function adequately on your own. Delegating your household chores to a cleaning staff would seem to defeat the purpose."

Bruce frowned. "I would have thought," he looked at Alex, "that the two of you might have compared notes enough to realize that it was a reluctance to delegate and a tendency to take too much onto my own shoulders that contributed to the circumstances leading to my initial commitment."

"And when we arrived today, it was Mr. Gordon who was straightening up."

Bruce took a deep breath and willed himself to remain calm. "Immediately prior to your arrival, I discovered the state of the nursery. When the doorbell rang, I went to let you in. He opted to tidy the room."

"Nevertheless, I think you might be letting things go to the other extreme. If your staff quit en masse tomorrow, would you be able to maintain this place?"

"It depends on what you mean by 'maintain'," Bruce shot back. "I can't keep one hundred and forty-seven rooms immaculate on a daily basis. I..." I doubt even Alfred managed that. Not that I would have noticed if he hadn't, as long as my work area in the cave was kept clean, and my meals were ready when I wanted them.

Krait nodded at that. "By all means, allow the staff to deal with the rooms you aren't using frequently. However, as far as your sleeping quarters, the kitchen, the living room, the nursery, and whichever bathrooms you're currently using, you need to demonstrate to my satisfaction that you can maintain your principal living space." He met Bruce's glower impassively. "Prove that you can do this, and, once I've completed my report, you can go back to the way things are now."

Bruce clenched his jaw to still an angry retort. "Would there be anything else?" he asked with forced calm. He was acutely aware of Helena observing from her high chair. Even if she couldn't understand what was going on, he knew that she would be able to pick up on the tone and volume of his voice.

"Not from me," Krait said. "Alex?"

"Well," Alex said slowly, "while the two of you were down here, I looked around briefly upstairs. I'm concerned that you seem to be maintaining two... shrines in the bedrooms closest to your own..."

--

"I'm guessing that my telling you that he didn't have much choice won't help," Jim said after Alex and Krait had gone.

Bruce looked up stonily for an instant, before he lowered his gaze once more. He was seething. The fact that Jim was right had no bearing on his emotional state. All this time, all these months, he'd considered Krait to be the bigger thorn in his side, but he'd been wrong! Krait, at least, had been upfront about where he'd be nosing around. Oh, he'd known that Alex was entitled to inspect the premises, but he'd thought that it was to make sure that he wasn't stockpiling old newspapers or drowning his troubles in 150-year-old scotch! He'd never dreamed that Alex would take issue with those bedrooms! If he had...

You'd have what? Told him to ship you back to Arkham? Agreed to be monitored for the rest of your natural life?

He was letting his thoughts run away from him. Doubtless, the consequences of non-compliance wouldn't be anywhere near that drastic.

"...Failure to comply with any of the directives of your therapist or failure to comply with the orders of the court, you will be returned to inpatient care immediately."

Any of the directives. He groaned inwardly. This wasn't going to stop. If he was going to get through this without cutting and running, he had to put up with this. He looked up again. Jim was watching him carefully. His expression was concerned, but it held none of the fear or pity that Bruce had been dreading.

"He caught you off-guard, didn't he?" Jim said.

"I should have anticipated something like this," Bruce replied softly. "He didn't come to pay a social call."

"But you've been so used to those rooms being left intact that it never even occurred to you that anyone would take issue with them."

Bruce nodded. "Did you?"

"Not for Alfred's room," Jim replied. "I don't think you ever really had a chance to work through your grief on that one, what with everything else that was happening at the time. Your parents' room, on the other hand... well, I didn't think it was my place to say anything." He leaned forward. "Not to you, and not to Dr. Morgenstern—I want you to be clear on that. But it did bother me."

Bruce nodded again. "At first," he said haltingly, "when I was still trying to come to terms with the shooting, I used to go in there because with so much of... them... remaining there, it was easier for me to imagine that they were just away on an extended trip. Later on, when my memories of them began to fade, going into the room helped me recall their faces." He looked away. "It's not that I've set foot in there more than a handful of times since I came back. It's just—reassuring—to know that the room is there if I need it to be."

"I understand." He smiled sadly. "There are boxes of memories from my first marriage sitting under the stairs in my house in Tricorner. I haven't looked at them in years, but can't stand to throw them away."

"Yes, but you haven't been ordered to clear them out."

"True."

Bruce got up from the table, released Helena from the high chair and walked toward the back door, carrying her. "I'll be back shortly."

Jim nodded, hoping that Bruce would be back before he had to go looking for him. It had been only two weeks ago that Alex had agreed that Bruce could go one hour between checks. Jim just wasn't sure if that would be long enough today.

They returned nearly forty-five minutes later. Helena was holding a scarlet oak leaf in both hands, examining it with interest. Bruce was still holding her, but he seemed more relaxed. "I've been thinking," he said.

"Oh?" Then, more seriously, "don't let her put that in her mouth."

"I'm watching," Bruce said. He took a deep breath. "If Helena is going to be visiting more often, it makes sense for the nursery to be closer to my room. Particularly in light of what happened earlier. With different furniture and carpets... and perhaps, some new wallpaper, Alfred's room will be hardly recognizable."

Jim looked at him searchingly for a moment. Then, without a word, he got up and placed his hand on Bruce's shoulder.

Bruce closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, feeling some of his tension drain away as he did.

--

"She's mobile now, isn't she?" Barbara asked, the following morning. "My place isn't exactly childproof."

"I was reading that a playpen can be used until a child is two. Helena is only nineteen months."

Barbara sighed. "Do you even have a playpen? I mean one of the modern ones—not the one you had when you were a kid. Child safety's come a long way since then." She shook her head. "That's not really the issue, though. Bruce, it's one thing to leave a small child in a playpen if you're in the room, watching; or even if you're coming in periodically to check on her. But it's not fair to keep her in one for hours at a stretch. My workspace right now isn't as extensive as it used to be at the Clocktower. I'm trying to think of where there might be room to put one of those, and the fact is, a lot of my machinery is pretty delicate. If she starts throwing toys and one of them connects—"

"From what I was reading," Bruce said, "she shouldn't start throwing overhand for another few months."

"Yeah, but from what you've told me before, physically, she's ahead of the curve. Remember a few weeks ago when she climbed onto that bench by herself? That's something she's not supposed to be able to do until twenty-one months. Those guidelines are... guidelines. Not laws set in stone." She sighed. "Once they can get out of a crib, a playpen is no big deal, and from the sound of it, she might be ready to do that any day."

Bruce shifted guiltily in his seat.

"She did already?" Barbara demanded. "Forget the playpen."

She sighed again. "As much as I wish I could take myself offline this morning and help you out," she continued, "the Birds just landed in Tasmania a couple of hours ago—they're going to be checking in and needing me to run intel very soon. The League has been," she hesitated, "requesting my services a lot more often since you and Superman have been absent. And when they do need me, it's usually pretty urgent." She shook her head. "Bruce, your daughter is adorable, and I love her, but if you need me to babysit, I need someone else here—either to keep an eye on my systems and alert me if things start to head south, or to keep an eye on her while I'm working—which would kind of defeat the purpose." She smiled brightly. "How about Thursday night, if the team isn't back by then? It's Dick's night off, and as far as I know, we haven't made any plans, yet. If he's okay with it...?"

Bruce sighed. "I really wanted to get out today. I'll need to try to make other arrangements. Thanks, Barbara." He frowned. "Barbara? Why hasn't Superman rejoined the League?"

She blinked. "You mean you don't know? I guess, when it happened, it was during your first year in Arkham. And afterwards, we were all used to it, so it didn't feel like news." She winced. "Sorry for babbling. It's a good thing that you're already sitting down..."

--

"Was that fair?" Jim asked as got into the passenger seat.

Bruce's eyebrows shot up. "Tim said to call if there was anything he could do to help. I called."

"And you think he meant babysitting?"

"He meant help. I asked him to help." He turned guileless blue eyes toward Jim. "It's actually getting easier to do that each time. I think I'm making real progress."

"If you weren't smirking right now, I'd almost believe you," Jim retorted.

Bruce smiled at that. Then the smile dimmed. "Did you know about Superman?" he asked quietly.

Jim shook his head. "Not as such, no. I mean," he shrugged, "I don't really keep track of 'cape' sightings outside of Gotham. When someone like Superman saves the world, our local papers report it. If he gets a cat out of a tree, not so much. His not making headlines could mean anything from 'off in space' to 'not doing anything newsworthy' to 'vanished', but I don't spend my time trying to figure out which one."

Bruce nodded. "I haven't had contact with the rest of the League since this all started," he said, as he started the car. "Understandable, really; in times past, I'd made it clear that they were to stay out of Gotham. It's not surprising that most would continue to respect that."

"But not him?" Jim guessed.

Bruce took a deep breath. "The last time Superman and I spoke, we said," he broke off. "I said," he amended, "some things that I later regretted. Things that I thought might have been sufficient cause for him to choose to avoid me from that point onward. And maybe my words did have that effect, but maybe..."

Jim waited for Bruce to finish. When no further elaboration was forthcoming, he continued, "Maybe he had enough things going on in his own life that whatever argument the two of you had didn't remotely factor into anything."

Bruce sighed. "I think we can agree that I don't like to leave myself vulnerable. When he didn't contact me, I concluded that either he was still... hurt, by what transpired shortly before my arrest, or that he was uncomfortable with talking to me because of my arrest—or more to the point, where I ended up subsequently."

"Like those whispering idiots in Ferris Wheeler's the other day."

Bruce glanced at him sharply, and then back to the road. "With one difference," he said. "Those were idiots. Yes, they were irritating, but I wasn't expecting anything better of them, to be honest. With Superman..."

"Part of you wanted to make the first move, part of you thought he should, and part of you was getting annoyed that he wasn't?" Jim smiled. "Doesn't that just make you nostalgic for No Man's Land?"

Bruce actually laughed at that. "Point taken. I'll give him a call this week. But first, let's deal with the remodelling. If memory serves, there's a hardware big-box at one end of the Midtown Mall?"

Jim nodded. "Great selection, but they seemed a bit understaffed the last time I was inside. You may need to hunt down an employee."

"I think I'm up for that," Bruce said lightly as he made the turn onto the Aparo Expressway.

--

"How about balloons?" Jim turned to the next swatch in the book of wallpaper samples.

Bruce nodded. "It has possibilities. I just don't want something she'll think is too babyish in a few years."

Jim sighed. "Bruce, you could wallpaper the room with movie stars and sport heroes, and I can just about guarantee you that when she's seven or eight, she'll think that they're too juvenile. It's not that balloons are babyish; it's that she'll have had balloons on her wall since she was a baby." He turned the page. "How about zoo animals?"

Bruce shook his head. "Selina would kill both of us."

"Oh, right. Wildlife conservation. I forgot she was into that, too." His lips twitched. "Juggling tigers?"

Bruce opened a second book of samples. "Perfect," he smiled. "Swan Lake."

"Introducing culture at a young age, are we?" Jim chuckled.

"Well," Bruce admitted, "it can't hurt." He paused for a beat. "It's not like I'm going to be piping Mozart into the nursery twenty-four seven, or having her fluent in four languages before her third birthday. But if it's a choice between letting her possibly learn a little bit about a classic ballet through osmosis, or giving her juggling tigers, I'd rather it be ballet."

"Totally understandable." He smiled, but the smile quickly turned to a grimace. "I think we may be in for some rain," he muttered. "My leg just started acting up." He waved off Bruce's gestures of assistance. "I'll be fine—I just need to rest for a couple of minutes." He took a few short steps to the nearest wall and leaned against it. "You go look for a salesperson... sales associate... whatever the term is, these days. I'll wait here and make sure nobody walks off with the sample book."

Bruce nodded and trotted off. Jim settled back to wait.

A few moments later, he realized that three men were walking purposefully toward him. The one in the middle was easily six-foot-six, if not taller, large-boned, and heavy-set. The man on his left was a head shorter, with a wiry build and an aura about him that warned people not to mess with him. The third man was an inch or two shorter than Jim, wearing a loose overcoat over a beefy frame.

"Excuse me," the man in the middle said pleasantly. "Aren't you James Gordon?"

Jim tensed. "That's right," he said quietly. "Can I help you gentlemen?"

"Actually, yeah," the man replied. "Our boss is a big admirer of yours. He'd really like for you to pay him a visit. Matter of fact, we'd be happy to escort you to him right now."

Jim's eyes flicked quickly left and right. There was no sign of Bruce. In fact, there was nobody else in sight. Jim licked his dry lips. He didn't like the look of this. "Actually," he said calmly, "I'm meeting someone here in a minute. Maybe some other time."

That was when he felt something small and hard poking him just below his ribcage. He didn't have to look to realize that the wiry man had to be carrying a revolver under his jacket—and was currently menacing him with it.

"Oh, we insist," the largest man said, draping what looked like a friendly arm around Jim's shoulders and steering him toward the exit. Simultaneously, the third man came up on Jim's other side, sandwiching the former commissioner between them.

"Now don't try anything stupid," the wiry man said, as he followed a half-pace behind.

To be continued!

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