Story Synopsis: Takes place the Christmas after the “Catcher” finale. Leslie comes for an intimate Christmas dinner at Wayne Manor and is met by Wayne Stockholders.
“Lights”
The multi-colored lights were
uncommon but welcome as they twirled up the light posts leading to Wayne Manor.
Brilliant, bright, and true, they contrasted the dark
Her hope dwindled, however, at the cars that began to line the stone driveway on both sides. An intimate dinner, Alfred had said. Masters Bruce and Richard wouldn’t be content unless she joined them. “Intimate” in her vocabulary didn’t mean every single member of Wayne Enterprises’ Board of Directors and their families. She contemplated doing a K-turn at the next gap between cars when she saw it—the manor ablaze. Lights lined every single window. Icicle lights hung from every pillar of the roof—Bruce must have hired landscapers for the job—while candy canes, candles, and light-trees decorated the little lawn before the house. Even the fountain in the middle of the round driveway was decked out to look like a snowflake waterfall. And the Santa figure complete with Rudolph upon the roof blew her mind.
Bruce Wayne, billionaire and CEO, decorated the house like a tacky middle-class family man.
God bless him.
Just that fact alone urged her to hand her keys to the valet and enter the house, where an older man in a tuxedo with a red bow-tie greeted her.
“Dr. Thompkins, always a pleasure.”
“Mr. Pennyworth, likewise,” she beamed as he helped her with her jacket. “I must say, I am surprised.”
“Ah, the house.” He gestured to the holly, the mistletoe, the garland, and the massive Christmas tree almost reaching the ceiling of the living room. “The master was very insistent that this year the manor not be filled with the shadows of the past but instead be aflame with life.”
“Life, yes. That I understand.” Leslie accepted the eggnog goblet and allowed Alfred to navigate her through the black suits and yes, even runaway children filled with the joy of the season. “But this? I thought he wanted to spend the holiday with Dick, just the ‘family.’ I didn’t realize the ‘family’ included everyone in Bruce’s company and their uncles.”
“This was at Master Richard’s insistences, Dr. Thompkins,” Alfred declared, taking a sip of his own glass. “I’m sure you’ve heard the unfortunate news about Master Bruce’s company.”
Who hadn’t? Wayne Enterprises’ stock had been on a steady decline since Dick’s disappearance and Bruce’s subsequent disappearance almost three years earlier. Now, on the verge of an economic collapse that not even Lucius Fox could prevent, Bruce took back the reigns of Wayne Enterprises, hoping to spur confidence in the company once more.
This dinner must have been part of the plan.
Leslie heaved a heavy sigh. “So, Dick thought a dinner would help Bruce’s predicament? He must know it is futile.”
“Master Bruce has promised his stockholders he will resign and sell his majority holding if the stock falls below twenty, Dr. Thompkins. It was not…easy.”
Leslie furled an eyebrow. She knew the situation was not favorable, but for Alfred to stutter…
“Bruce would really sell his family’s legacy, Mister Pennyworth? That’s unthinkable. All of his father’s hard work, his grandfather’s sweat equity…How could he have let the situation go this far? How could he not make the business a priority?”
A warm smile curved Alfred’s lips. “Three years ago, he thought a different segment of the legacy was more important.”
Leslie
dismissed the thought with a wave of her hand. “If he truly thought that, he
wouldn’t have held this party, Alfred. He would have done what he promised when
that boy came back to us. He would have made Dick a priority and spent the
night with him instead of the business.” She avoided making contact with a
rather snide-looking woman with long fingernails and obvious adjustments to her
body. Leslie instead finished her drink. “Just where is Bruce anyway?
Hobnobbing with the
“Perhaps you should not be so hasty to judge, Dr. Thompkins,” Alfred remonstrated as he took her hand and led her through the foyer and into the kitchen.
The dark memory surged before her eyes as she saw last Christmas. She and Alfred sat at the table and ate a sensible dinner, the darkness of reality eating at both their hearts. They had wondered together how much longer each could endure, and their strength was once more tested when they discovered the truth about Dick’s disappearance.
Two dress jackets and loose bow-ties hung over chairs by the table, and distant echoes of childish laughter wafted into the room through the cracked door. The sound warmed her heart as it and the thumping of a ball grew louder. A deeper voice baited the younger, followed by a shout of protest. They drew her to the door. There, in a small square cleared off the snowy driveway, Dick hunched over in a triple-threat position, a ball on his hip, a mischievous smirk brightening his flushed face. His dress shirt sleeves were unclipped and allowed the swift movements of the ball. Bruce, on the other hand, had rolled up his sleeves as he took a low center to combat the boy. Clouds of breath puffed before their mouths.
Batman and Robin were playing basketball like a normal father and son.
Dick jerked his foot to the left and to the right, and when he finally determined he couldn’t psyche out the Dark Knight, attempted to storm past Bruce. Dick managed to use Bruce’s bent knee as a vault and flew toward the basket attached to the manor’s garage. As Dick flipped twice, Bruce jumped up behind the boy and slapped the ball away.
Or, Leslie amended her thoughts, as close to normal as possible.
“No fair!” Dick complained as he landed gracefully and pointed a finger at Bruce. “You can’t go all Batman on me during a basketball game.”
“But you can do a double flip?” Bruce argued, bending down and picking up the ball.
Dick caught it and took it back a few feet. “Hey, I could do that before I became Robin. Could you jump ten feet before you were Batman? I think not.”
“Maybe not, but I could do—”
As Dick charged forward and attempted to flip over Bruce’s head again, the older man wrapped his arms about Dick’s waist and pulled the boy against his body, the force of his attack jarring the ball from Dick’s hands.
“—this!”
“Foul!” Dick laughed as he playfully struggled in Bruce’s hold. “Foul!”
“No blood, no foul,” Bruce recited, an obvious Dick comment, and before Dick could breath, Bruce now had the boy in a headlock.
In the brief, playful tussle, Dick’s open shirt collar pulled down his chest, and though the boy wore a white tanktop under his shirt, the scars made themselves known.
Though the most painful scars could not be seen.
Yet, as the laughter grew, Dick’s face refused to contain the boy’s smile.
Not all the scars would ever heal, especially the invisible ones, Leslie knew, but as she saw herself over the past year, the haunted and lost look disappeared from Dick’s eyes.
The boy who left eventually came home.
“Perhaps,” Leslie began as she turned to Alfred, “Bruce has his priorities straighter than I gave him credit for. When will dinner be ready, Mister Pennyworth?”
“It has been ready for over an hour,” the valet replied with a wink. “I thought the ladies and gentlemen could survive a little while before resorting to other methods of nourishment.”
“How long do you believe they can survive before they revolt?” she mused.
Alfred put out his arm. “At least another half an hour, I suppose. I would be honored if you would join me for a cup of Earl Grey during that time.”
Leslie curled her arm about the valet’s. “I would be delighted.”
They sat and talked and drank their tea to the entertainment, content with and marveled by the legacy that they left and the light that had finally broken through the darkness.
The End