At the end of the lesson, Ivy hurriedly collected her books. She was supposed to be at Penguin's manor at a quarter to four, and already she was late. One of the books slipped out of her hands and tumbled noisily to the ground. She moved quickly to pick it up, but she found a hand there before hers, holding up the book to her. She looked up at a dashing smile that belonged to Derrick Carter - a rather tall fella, soft brown hair, green eyes, good build. She'd seen him before in class, he always had a girl on his hand. "Hey there, beautiful," he said as she took her book from him.
"Hi," she nervously laughed. Since she'd aged several years, men weren't exactly in short supply - but they were either always boring, or repulsive to her. She'd use them if she needed to. The pheromone perfume that she'd concocted did the trick of keeping them bent to her will. It certainly helped her get into college in the first place. But Derrick Carter, he'd been a conundrum. The only one that seemed to be immune to her looks, the only one who'd regularly ignore her along the hallways. Ironically, he was the only one she didn't want to cheat with her perfume. She didn't exactly know why. There was just something about him that truly fascinated her - and now he was speaking directly to her.
"You seem rather knowledgeable in botanics," he noted. She supposed he had noticed when she'd raised her hand a dozen times each lesson to ask additional questions, much to the chagrin of the lecturers. "Beauty and brains, a deadly combination."
"Naw..." she chuckled sheepishly. "I'm just curious, that's all."
He shifted closer, and her heart began to beat twice as fast. "Say... I was wondering if you could help me study? You understand all this while it's all still jibberish to me. Can I sponge off some of your intellect?"
"Really?" she said out loud, and suddenly felt embarrassed afterward. He nodded nonetheless. The guy had never showed a hint of interest, and suddenly here he was - the beautiful male specimen of Derrick Carter, asking her to teach him about botanics. How could she refuse? "Sure! I'd be most happy to."
She felt then her day would not get any better.
Alfred wasn't sleeping, he wasn't eating. He must've paced a hole into the floor, just waiting for Gordon to call - with something. With anything. By that point, he figured he'd be glad if the cops found Bruce dead somewhere. At least he'd know what happened to his boy, at least he'd be able to put him to rest.
He knew he had to get out, the wait was simply driving him insane and he might soon be pulling all his hair out if he waited any longer. He popped into the Rolls, and headed out of the property with a bunch of roses he'd picked from the garden. Racing through a forested road in the wealthier part of the city, the autumn trees whipping by in shades of green and gold. None of that managed to take his mind off all that burdened him.
Finally, he made a turn towards the Gotham Cemetery and crossed under the bronze arches that heralded his destination. Stumbling out of the car like a drunken fool, he ascended the short knoll where the Waynes had been put to rest.
He was sobbing when he knelt down before the graves of his slain employers - the promise he had made to them had been broken. He didn't know where their son was. The only living member of the Wayne family. His only charge. "Can you ever forgive me?" he cried to the slab of marble that sat before him. Engraved upon the stone were the names of Thomas and Martha Wayne, two of the finest people he had ever known. "I tried my best, I really did. But I failed. I could not keep that promise to you. To the both of you."
The slab of marble gazed down at him, cold and judgmental. They knew what he'd done. They knew how he'd neglected the signs. They knew how he'd let Bruce get kidnapped. "Don't do this to me," he continued to mutter. "Please... I need resolution. If I have to suffer for it, so let it be."
A cool gust of wind blew through the field, tossing about leaves of shades of ochre. For sometime, he watched the leaves getting tossed about, wondering if the Waynes were speaking to him from beyond the grave.
Then his phone rang.
He'd been waiting for that phone to ring for days. Snatching it out of his pocket clumsily, the phone almost slipped between his fingers from sheer enthusiasm. "Gordon!" he yelled into the phone without even checking caller ID.
"No..." came the spotty response, vague through a veil of static. "This is Samwell Peters, calling from Tibet. I have someone here who's been wanting to speak to you."
Tibet? Alfred wondered. He couldn't recall anyone he knew from that small Asian nation. That Samwell person didn't sound like someone he'd know either.
"Al... Alfred?" came a voice on the line he would know anywhere. But could it really be? He pinched himself.
"Master Bruce?" he whispered, almost afraid to allow himself to hope.
A gasp of joy was heard on the line. "It's me, Alfred. It's me!"
Alfred felt his body go weak, he put a hand on the earth beneath to support him from falling over. "Master Bruce? You're... you're... " he stammered. "Where in God's name have you been?"
"It's a long story, but I'd like to come home."
Scampering up to his feet, Alfred held his phone against his ear with two hands. Wouldn't want to go dropping it then. "Just tell me where, I'll come right away to fetch you, alright?"
"Well, I'm in a little village along the banks of the Ganga River. Sam has the coordinates. But if it's too difficult to find, I'll try to get to an embassy, and maybe they can send me to an airport."
"Master Bruce, I'm not going to bloody spare any expense to getting you back here. Don't you be silly and run off to an airport."
"Alfred... just one more thing," he said in quieter tones.
"What is it, sir?"
Gordon had been searching through the Narrows for signs of tampering, perhaps a recently built contraption somewhere in the area, or any individuals spotted in the area who might not belong. Just anything, basically. He knew it'd be a long shot. He figured Lucius probably had a better chance of tracking something down.
It was about midday when he caught a glimpse of a small crowd gathered at the base of a block of apartments. They seemed rather engaged, talking among themselves. He crossed the street, flashing his badge to the pedestrians. "Detective Gordon. What's going on here?"
They shifted uncomfortably at his approach. It was likely that they weren't exactly friendly with cops - not surprising either. Cops weren't always keen on people from the Narrows. "We're just paying a visit to the Doc."
"The Doc?" he hadn't heard that term thrown around the Narrows. He wondered if a new power player had moved to town.
They nodded. "It's all backed up in there too. Blame it on someone like the Riddler to make himself priority," said one of the younger females.
Instinctively, Gordon pricked up at the name of the Riddler, moving to the gun that was strapped to his chest. He drew a probable conclusion that Ed might be part of the Court's schemes. "What? Is he in there?"
"Nah," said the girl. "He's gone. Brought in some unconscious broad. She's still in there though."
Alarm bells spiked in Jim's head, Ed Nygma was commonly a signal of bad news. He didn't like the sound of Ed bringing in an unconscious woman, or leaving her in there. He pulled the gun completely out of its holster. The crowd gasped and slowly moved aside. "Clear it, clear it!" He held the gun right ahead of him as he made his way through the crowded office.
The patients moved away from him in fear. The assistant stood up from behind her desk. "Mister, I need you to put away the gun!" she yelled boldly.
He held out a hand to calm her. "GCPD," he assured the young lady.
The door to the doctor's office opened. Lee stood there, as surprised to see him as he was of her.
He lowered his gun. "Lee... I thought you left."
"First the Riddler, now you," she grumbled. "Come on, get in here." And to her patients. "I'll just be a while, sorry to make all of you wait."
And the crowd groaned in response.
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