****************
The Corvette died about fifty miles outside Wichita, a few hours before dawn. He�d pushed the aging car hard over the flat Kansas landscape, showing the clutch no mercy. Bruce wasn�t sure if it was the engine or the fuel line that went first, but the car came to a sputtering halt on a long, dark stretch of road and defied further mechanical explanation.
�You sure you can�t fix it?� Dick asked again. Bruce shook his head, slamming the hood down.
�I don�t have the parts.�
�I�ve seen you make a spark plug out of a twist-tie,� Dick reminded him, grinning in the darkness. Bruce shrugged.
�Well, we better start walking,� Dick suggested. �It�s a long way to Smallville from here.�
�You go on ahead,� Bruce suggested. �I know a shortcut to the farm.�
�Want to go it alone, huh?� Dick asked him.
�I think it�s better that way.�
�Yeah, I know how you feel about team efforts,� Dick said simply, removing his jacket from the car. �Just�don�t screw it up with her, okay? Say what you need to say, cut her a check if that�s what she wants, and try not to-�
�What?� Bruce asked, looking Dick in the eye.
�Just try not to be yourself, okay?�
Bruce frowned. �You�ll make it before sunup if you hurry.�
Dick saluted, turned, and began to follow the telephone poles off down the highway. Bruce headed in the opposite direction, leaving the Corvette sitting on the side of the highway to be baked in the hot sun of the flatlands. He hoped someone else would find it and treat it better than he had.
Bruce started to walk.
He�d been to Kansas a few times before, usually with Clark along to point out the highlights (which were few) and the intricacies of the crops in the fields (which Bruce found dull). Clark could discuss plant rotation and pest control and annual rainfall until Bruce was forced to cut him off. He�d always secretly envied Clark's passion for the land, however. Bruce had never felt that for a place, not even Gotham. The closest feeling he had for the city which had cost him so much would be guarded hope, he supposed. He could identify with Clark�s passion for the springtime renewal of the Kansas farmlands, although Gotham�s spring had been long in coming.
Bruce had known for a long time now that spring never would arrive.
He kept walking, his feet sinking into the roadside dust. Bruce slung his suit jacket over his arm and removed his tie, rolling it into a ball and stuffing it in the pocket of his pants, liking the feel of the fresh, cool air on his arms. The long, flat horizon stretched before him, pink with the first promise of dawn. He wasn�t tired, although he couldn�t quite remember the last time he�d slept or eaten. A week, maybe? With Alfred gone, it was hard to keep track of those niggling details. In fact, the last four months seemed to have taken place in a vacuum. He kept hoping they had happened to someone else.
He�d lost it. Bruce forced himself to admit it with the brutal honesty he always expected from himself. Every decision he�d made in the last year had been disastrous. His deduction methods had been sloppy, he�d utterly failed in regards to Huntress, Jessica Bradshaw, the Prophet...and Selina.
There were so many things he would never forgive himself for. Jason. His parents. But what he�d done to Selina, that look in her eye when she�d discovered what he�d done to Lucy... Even now, nearly a half year later, surrounded by the peaceful tranquility of Kansas corn fields, it still felt like a dream. There were so many compromises he�d made to become what he was. The people he loved were all too often sacrificed to his chosen life, along with his own self-respect. Bruce had never believed he was a good man, but he had never felt that truth so sharply until that last dinner with Selina. Heroes didn�t hurt people the way he�d hurt her, the way he�d hurt Lucy. The way he�d been hurting Dick and the rest of the family for years.
Bruce came to a stop on the shoulder of the road, knowing he was stalling. Trying to find his way back into that dark hole of depression he�d crawled into four months ago. He wouldn�t allow himself the easy way out. This had to be done.
Another ten miles of empty farmland, and finally he found the little dirt lane. Bruce was surprised, as he always was, to find it waiting for him, eternal and unchanged. All of Kansas had that quality, that sense of home which felt so alien to an orphaned boy. Bruce scanned the surrounding fields slowly with the eye of a predator. This was not his country.
The lane wandered along a split-rail fence shaded by old-growth oaks. He hopped the fence, heading for the back forty of the property. An enormous elm tree rose before him, an old tire swaying from a thick cord tied high in the elm. Bruce paused, testing his own resolve. All he had to do was hop back over the fence, find the highway and make it back to Smallville. He and Dick could catch the next Greyhound back to Gotham. He could be home by dark and out on patrol.
And he wouldn�t have to look into her eyes.
Bruce sighed, forcing himself onward through the fields. He didn�t have the courage to run.
He entered the cornfield, the tall, green plants pressing in around him, sealing him off from the world. He could only see faint, dark sky above, the fading stars found only at the end of summer twinkling softly. A dog was barking wildly, and there was a sudden rustle in the corn around him. Something big was coming, something fast. The land knew it.
Bruce waited, growing impatient after a few moments. �I know you�re there,� he said into the green depths of the cornfield. �Don�t play games with me, Clark. You�ll lose.�
Still nothing. Bruce shrugged and continued on. He emerged from the field, casting a hesitant glance around the farmyard. Nothing. The Kent household was probably still asleep, given the hour. He looked at the house, toying with the idea of waking the occupants, but the thought of startling a pair of middle-aged farmers didn�t appeal to him at the moment. He stepped up onto the big wrap-around porch, circling to the back of the house.
Two dogs approached him. A boarder collie with black-and-white markings barked once in friendly greeting, sniffing Bruce�s hand and licking his fingers. The other, a mutt of mixed heritage, growled softly. They remembered him.
Bruce took a seat on the long, heavy swing-bench set into the porch. The collie climbed up beside him, settling her head in his lap. The mutt watched in disapproval, sharp, intelligent eyes locked onto his mate in censure as Bruce stroked the dog�s head. Both of the dogs� ears perked up and they jumped off the porch, taking off at a mad pace into the cornfield in response to some high-pitched whistle Bruce couldn�t hear. He waited, absorbing the strangeness of the quiet farm.
�You should have told me she was here,� Bruce said softly.
A moment later, Clark Kent settled onto the bench next to Bruce, his weight setting the swing into motion. �It wasn�t my choice,� Clark replied, staring out into the same middle distance as Bruce. �She likes it here. Says it�s a good place to heal.�
Bruce didn�t reply. He listened to the distant call of a bird, cataloging the ways in which the quiet of pre-dawn Kansas was so different from Gotham at the same hour. �Did she tell you anything?�
Clark shook his head. �Not a word. But I�ve known you long enough to guess what happened. It was about the little girl, right?�
Bruce sighed, lowering his head. Clark stood, coming to stand before him. He folded his arms, leaning against the railing.
�Did I ever tell you what Diana asked me about you, the first time we all worked together?�
Bruce shook his head.
Clark frowned, turning his eyes west towards Metropolis. Bruce wondered if he was detecting some disaster brewing in the city protected by the world�s most powerful man.
�She asked me why I allowed you to continue to operate. She despised your methods and said you were no better than the criminals you had spent your life pursuing.�
�Diana always was rather perceptive,� Bruce muttered. �And what did you tell her?�
�That you didn�t have our powers. All you had was your training and intellect. And conviction, of course. I told Diana that I wasn�t sure I would be so willing to risk myself if I were only an ordinary man.�
�So that�s why you never tried to bring me down? An inferiority complex? I�m disappointed, Kent.�
Clark shrugged off Bruce�s harsh words. �I just wanted to remind you why you�re a hero, Bruce. It�s why I trust you to do the right thing. Talk to her, Bruce. Whatever�s happened between you two, just be the hero I know you can be.�
The two men on the porch fell silent, listening to the living things in the darkness around them.
When Bruce spoke, he did so in a tone of voice Clark had never heard before. He�d seen Bruce injured in battle so badly that the man�s body had convulsed uncontrollably in pain. And in such a state of bleak despair that Clark doubted anything could pull him out of it. But Bruce had never sounded vulnerable before. And as day began on this warm spring morning deep in the heart of Kansas, he did.
�Will she forgive me?�
Clark furrowed his brow, shrugging helplessly. �I�I don�t know, Bruce. She�s a cat.�
*******************
�Mornin�, Ma,� Clark greeted the older woman making coffee in the kitchen. Martha Kent was a slight, dark-eyed woman whose black hair was streaked with strands of silver which glistened in the low, dim light of the pre-dawn kitchen. She turned and grinned at her son, love for him erasing the last vestiges of sleep from her face.
�You�re up early,� she pointed out, bussing him on the cheek.
Clark shrugged. �So are you.�
Martha smiled, turning her attention back to the ancient coffee maker on the counter. �Your father has to go into town early this morning. I got up to see him off and-� her explanation faded as she finally noticed Bruce, lingering in the doorway to her kitchen. Martha raised an eyebrow but said nothing, pouring some coffee for the two men.
�Morning, Mr. Wayne,� she said, her tone still friendly but lacking the special warmth she�d reserved for her son. �Still take it black, no sugar?�
�Thank you,� Bruce told her, accepting a mug emblazoned with Clark�s baby handprint and �World�s Best Dad�. Bruce tried not to think Martha had consciously chosen that particular cup for his coffee.
Clark settled in behind the scarred kitchen table, pushing out a chair for Bruce with his foot. Martha bustled around the kitchen in her housecoat, preparing more coffee and cracking a few eggs into a frying pan. Soon the kitchen was filled with the homey smells of breakfast, a scent-memory Bruce had all but forgotten. His mother had made him breakfast every morning before school, rising early to beat Alfred to the task, asking him questions about school or homework as she prepared eggs and toast. It was strange: he only remembered that particular part of his childhood here, at the Kent farm.
Bruce watched Martha and Clark closely as they chatted pleasantly. Martha was careful to make no mention of Clark�s activities as Superman. She behaved as she always did around Bruce, warm, attentive but a little wary. He frightened her, this woman who had raised the greatest hero of all time.
Jonathan Kent came down the stairs, a tall, lean man with the patient face of a born farmer. He was tucking in his shirt and whistling, but the tune faltered a little when he caught sight of Bruce seated at the kitchen table.
�Clark!� Jonathan smiled, shaking his son�s hand. He snatched a piece of toast when Martha�s back was turned, winking broadly at Clark and Bruce. �You fly in just now?�
�I�ve been here a while,� Clark told his father, leaning back in his chair and folding arms powerful enough to bend titanium steel across his chest. �You remember Bruce?�
Jonathan stuffed the rest of the toast into his mouth, gulping down some of his coffee before shaking Bruce�s hand. �Mr. Wayne,� he said, his grip firm. �Staying long?�
Bruce shook his head. �Just long enough to-� He glanced at Clark. �Long enough to say goodbye.�
The Kents exchanged a significant glance with one another, sharing one of those silent moments of communication that managed to say more than any verbal conversation Bruce had ever had with any of his adopted children.
The clothes dryer in the little laundry room off the front porch buzzed, and Martha excused herself. Jonathan leaned up against the counter, swirling the black liquid in his mug awkwardly.
�Mr. Wayne, it may not be my place to say, but-�
Bruce offered no encouragement but Jonathan continued, making it clear where Clark got his courage from.
�But where I come from, a man gets a girl in trouble, he takes responsibility for the situation.�
�Dad-� Clark warned, but Bruce waved him off. His own father would probably be telling him the same thing.
�I intend to offer her anything she wants,� Bruce told them both. �She certainly won�t have to hide from me any longer.�
Jonathan nodded. He gulped down the rest of his coffee, setting the mug in the sink. �Well, I�m glad to hear you say that, Mr. Wayne.�
Bruce nodded, rising as Martha reentered the kitchen. She handed Jonathan a flannel shirt still warm from the dryer. Bruce watched the quiet display of domestic intimacy for a moment, averting his eyes when he realized he was staring. Dreams, he told himself.
�I want to thank you both,� he told them quietly. �For taking care of Selina and Lucy.�
�You�re welcome, Mr. Wayne,� Martha said quickly. Jonathan nodded, turning to leave for town.
�Mr. Kent, if you run into a young man named Dick, would you mind giving him a ride?� Bruce requested. �We had some car trouble on the interstate.�
�Jag giving you grief?� Clark asked. Bruce shook his head.
�I don�t drive the Jag anymore,� he replied softly, rising. �Mrs. Kent, would you mind if I used the bathroom before I-�
He fell silent at the sound of water gurgling through the pipes in one of the upstairs bathrooms. Everyone tensed in the small kitchen, listening to the footsteps above. A few moments later, Selina Kyle appeared on the landing.
He�d been steeling himself against the possible consequences of seeing Selina again. Anger, grief, fear and betrayal...it all fell away at the sight of her as she moved fluidly down the stairs, dressed casually in jeans and a green sweater set, impossibly sophisticated and sensual at four a.m. in middle America. And she was exquisite, he noted in that instant before she registered his presence and her eyes darkened. She was growing her hair longer; it brushed her shoulders now, and soon it might again cascade down her back in a mass of thick black curls, soft and warm in the way it wrapped itself around his fingers.
He�d touched it once like that, on one of their rooftop encounters years ago. Selina - Catwoman - had gotten close, fusing her body against his, rubbing against him as her tongue explored his mouth. She had been trying to distract him long enough to escape the security net on the rooftop of the Gotham Diamond Exchange and he�d pulled her head back roughly by the hair, growling at her in warning. He couldn�t bear the feel of her then, so warm and raw, so sexual. He�d redesigned his gloves after that, making them less sensitive to both head and tactile pressure. It hadn�t helped.
His eyes drifted to her midsection now, as he searched for verification of Bradley�s story. She wasn�t showing, at least not yet. Bruce returned his gaze to her face. Selina was staring at him, her eyes green and watchful.
The smell of frying eggs had woken her and she�d made it to the bathroom just in time. It had become a bit of a ritual: up with the sun, dry-heaving over the toilet�it took her back to the bad old days of wild parties and too much cheap beer. The only difference now was, instead of an East End tough or a client waiting for her back in bed, a five-year-old telepath was curled into a corner of the box spring in Clark�s old room, slumbering in uneasy sleep. It was still early. Lucy wouldn�t be up for at least another few hours, and Selina had planned to use the time to get her stomach under control. She made it halfway down the stairs before that sixth sense kicked in, the one that made the hair on the back of her neck stand up, the one that had carried her through so many botched jobs and death-defying escapes. It could mean only one thing. The Bat was close.
Seeing him for the first time in four months wasn�t easy. She hadn�t expected it to be, of course, but she found that she was unprepared for the rush of anger, shame, adrenaline and relief that washed over her at the sight of him. Her still-queasy stomach did a somersault at the sight of the tall, handsome, impossibly arrogant man standing in Martha Kent�s kitchen. He�d found her.
They stared at each other for a long time like the strangers they had never been. Bruce remained rooted on the spot, afraid that if he moved she might vanish from his life again. It was Clark who finally broke the spell.
�What some eggs?� he offered Selina.
She turned green and ran for the bathroom.
****************
Fifteen minutes later, having regained some of her former composure and recovered somewhat from the shock of Bruce�s reappearance in her life, Selina sat at the kitchen table, sipping a warm cup of peppermint tea and avoiding his gaze.
�So�� she tried awkwardly, wondering why sarcasm always deserts you when you need it most.
�Kansas,� he said softly. She looked up, smiling a little in relief.
�Kansas,� she agreed, shaking her head a little. �Lucy loves it here, of course. I tried explaining that we�re a hundred miles from Neman Marcus and the nearest diamond wholesaler, but a new litter of kittens in the barn seems to have negated those points. And the visions don�t trouble her here, at least not as much. Even the nightmares are better. She�s gained at least ten pounds on Martha�s cooking and�and I�m babbling, aren�t I?�
He nodded. Selina bit her lip, lowering her chin. �What do you want me to say, Bruce?�
I love you, he thought desperately. Or I hate you. At this point, he was willing to accept either. Anything but the exhausted resignation in her eyes.
�Tell me about the baby,� he suggested softly.
Selina brought her head up sharply, staring at him, her eyes narrowed. �Did Clark tell you? Or Alfred?�
�I haven�t seen Alfred since that night,� he told her, sudden understanding making him frown. So Alfred had known. �Slam told me.�
She set her teacup down. �Why did he tell you? Was it voluntary, or-�
Bruce winced a little at the accusation but accepted it as his due. She had no reason to think better of him. �He came to me, Selina.�
�And why did you come here?�
�Let�s take a walk,� he suggested, trying to buy time. This wasn�t going well. He couldn�t even seem to apologize to her properly. Her eyes darted away from his face as she decided. Finally Selina rose, leading him out through the screen door and onto the porch. They headed down the long, curved driveway, walking for a few moments in silence, breathing deeply in the chilly air.
�Why did you come here?� she asked him again. Bruce stopped and looked at her, noting in the pale gray light of dawn how she had blossomed in this place, healed both by the peace of the land and the security of Clark�s protection. He wondered if the fact that she carried his child had anything to do with his sudden, devastating hunger for her, the pressing need to hold her again.
He gritted his teeth, telling himself that he could bear this, bear the thought of losing her. He had to.
Bruce reached into the pocket of his jacket, retrieving a small, carefully-wrapped package.
�I wanted to give you this,� he told her. �And if you�ll indulge me, I won�t�� he broke off, forcing the words. �I won�t look for you again. You can leave this place, stop running. You�ll never have to see me again. I�ll arrange for money. A house. Anything you need.�
She accepted the parcel gingerly, watching him, unsure what to think. Selina unwrapped the little package gingerly, tearing the brown paper gently to reveal an old black-and-white photograph set in a delicate silver frame. She recognized the picture at once. It had been taken on a hot August afternoon, in front of the building she had grown up in. Selina and Magdalena Kyle smiled for the camera in their white bridal dresses of Confirmation. Immediately after her mother had taken the picture, Selina had slid down the banister and torn a hole in her dress. Her mother had laughed, the sound warm and sweet in the afternoon sun. After the church service, they�d all gone for ice cream. Maggie had fallen asleep in the car on the way home. It had been a good day.
She choked back tears, her eyes welling with moisture. Bruce watched her and she inhaled deeply. �Sorry, ever since�� she waved at her belly, �I can�t seem to get a handle on my emotions. Thanks,� she told him sincerely, looking again at the picture. �I thought it was destroyed when the Huntress attacked me.�
She felt something else in the wrapping and turned the paper upside down, allowing a strand of brown rosary beads to slide into her palm. She examined the beads in the bright light, glancing at him in question.
�It was Jessica Bradshaw�s,� Bruce explained. �I have no use for it.�
Selina looked at the rosaries again, her mind drifting back to mass on Saturday nights, huddled in the pew beside her mother, trying to make Maggie giggle. Taking communion and feeling the wafer dissolve, wondering how the body of Christ could be so tasteless and insubstantial.
�I haven�t believed in that stuff in years, Bruce,� she told him. �Not since my mother killed herself.� She tried to hand the rosary back to him but Bruce wouldn�t accept it.
�It meant something to you once, didn�t it?� he asked her.
�It meant more to Maggie.�
�Give it to her then,� Bruce suggested. �I�m sure someday she�ll remember how to pray.�
Selina looked at him, narrowing her eyes. �What�s going to happen, Bruce?�
He squinted in the bright light. Bruce kept his expression shuttered, afraid that if he looked at her, if he allowed himself to remember, he�d never be able be able to leave this place.
�I�m going to Europe,� he told her.
�And Gotham?�
Bruce shook his head. �I made a mess of things while you were gone. I pushed too hard,� he told her, putting it mildly. �The city needs time to recover.�
�I see,� she said simply.
He raised his head, looking at her. �Goodbye, Selina.� They were the only words he could allow. And the final truth. �You�ll never know how sorry I am.�
�Bruce,� she said, and at the soft, sensual sound of his name on her lips, he felt his vision glaze with the tears he was determined to control. He swore he would not let her see him cry. He felt her touch on his arm and jerked away, the knowledge that he couldn�t bear her touch making his tone cut deep.
�Don�t,� he ordered sharply. Immediately her hand fell away. He turned to leave, content to let her last memory of him be one of hostility and anger. It was all he had ever offered her.
He had nearly made it out of the little dirt lane before her voice stopped him.
�And if our child has your eyes,� she asked softly, �should I bring him to you when he�s four or five and explain why his father didn�t want him?�
�Doesn�t want him?� Bruce repeated unbelieving, her words slicing through him. �God, Selina, how can you say that?�
She closed the distance between them. �Because you�re walking away from us both. What should I tell your child?�
�That his father forfeited any right to know him because he didn�t know how to love,� Bruce replied. �And that he�s better off not knowing me.�
�You really believe that, don�t you?� Selina asked him. �And you think Clarkhas an inferiority complex?�
�Isn�t that what you believed about Lucy? That I was a danger to her?�
�I panicked,� she said softly. �I panicked and I ran. That�s what I do. I should teach a class on how to leave people.�
He was quiet, and she sighed. �I wanted to�to appologize for the way I left Gotham that night. I know how hard that must have been for you.�
Bruce shook his head. �I brought it on myself. I should know not to play brinkmanship with you. You�re better at it than I am.�
�Now that,� she said, �is a very scary thought. I just didn�t want to believe that you�d use a child like that. Or that you would use me to-�
�I didn�t use you,� he denied. �I was using Lucy.�
She fell quiet.
Bruce sighed, ashamed of himself. �I thought you�d stay for her,� he told Selina.
�Stay for Lucy?� she repeated softly. �I just- It wasn�t about her abilities or your quest for a new Batkid?�
He shook his head.
�Christ, Bruce, I�I don�t know what to say to that.�
�You accused me of child abuse four months ago. I think that�s a fitting way to put it.�
She blinked, looking up at the gradually-lightening sky and the fading stars. She�d watched them with Lucy at night sometimes, explaining about constellations and planets and the wide universe. And she�d wondered if he was watching the same stars, wondering about her.
�I wasn�t wrong,� she whispered. �But we�ve all done things we aren�t proud of.� Selina let out a shaky breath, touching her belly. �Maybe we can find redemption only by moving on.�
He was quiet, digesting her words, afraid to breath.
�Bruce,� she said softly, �please don�t go.�
He turned slowly, needing to see if what was in her face matched what had been in her voice, and found her watching him, her eyes wide and dark. He closed his eyes, unable to believe that he was again being offered the paradise he�d lost. He moved closer to her, ignoring the faint trembling that ran through his body.
�I�are you sure?�
She touched his face. �We have a lot to forgive each other for,� she whispered, holding his eyes with her own. �But I think sometimes we�re meant for each other. No one else would put up with us.�
Bruce swallowed hard. She waited, and for the first time, Bruce knew exactly what to say to her.
�I love you, Selina,� he said softly, the first time he�d told her that. And he couldn�t remember saying it to another soul in his life, save perhaps his parents. He watched the emotions move through green eyes framed by thick tangles of black hair. She blinked away tears.
�I love you too,� Selina said. �I always have. It just took me a long time to accept it.�
He kissed her then, with all the sad, desperate longing of their separation and his own deep loneliness. She responded in kind.
After only a moment he stepped back, his rough, skillful hands molding around the slight protrusion of her belly. He watched his own fingers smooth over the small mound that held his child and finally Bruce raised his gaze to hers. She smiled into his eyes, the rims of cobalt blue dilated in wonder.
Selina reached up to touch the side of his face and he saw that she was crying again.
�What is it?� he whispered. She shook her head.
�I just�I don�t believe in happy endings,� she told him. �If that�s what this is.�
Bruce frowned, the sides of his mouth pulled down in concentration. �I think it�s more of a beginning,� he told her.
And the sun rose over Kansas, chasing the night away.
*****************
