One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight| Nine | Ten | Eleven | Twelve | Thirteen | Fourteen | Fifteen | Sixteen | Seventeen| Eighteen | Nineteen
Reconciled Moments
Chapter Ten
written by destinyawakened
Babs packed only the things that she knew she would want the most: books, clothes, and photo albums. She told her uncle to send the the rest to the Salvations Army for donation. Since she couldn't sell the house until she was eighteen, she asked that they rent it out to someone. Uncle Jim said that was fine and that he would put the house into an agency's hands to get that taken care of for them. The truth was, Babs wanted nothing to do with any of the other things her parents owned; the memories weren't awful ones, but most just weren't worth holding on to. She wanted, as many kept telling her was fine to do, to move on. She had Uncle Jim and Bruce.
Bruce and her uncle practically lived together and saw each other more throughout the day than most married couples. She knew this was because Bruce didn't do a whole lot during the day aside from attending meetings at Wayne Enterprises, so he had a lot of time to do as he wished – including letting Babs learn to drive his Lamborghini, even though they had to keep that part from her uncle. Bruce said Uncle Jim would blow a gasket if he found out Bruce was allowing Babs to drive at all.
Babs buried her face deeper into her pillow as she tried to keep on pretending she was asleep. She had begged for her own room at the hotel just outside of Chicago, but Uncle Jim had said no (Bruce had said yes). She could hear them in the alcove next to the bathroom arguing over what stops needed to be made on the trip back to Gotham. She had told them that if they drove all day they would get there in no time, but Uncle Jim insisted they stop at all the same places Babs' parents had. Babs almost wished her uncle hadn't been able to get hold of her father's bank card statement; then they could just head back to Gotham. Lingering along the way with two very much in love, always flirting with each other men was not her idea of a good time.
Finally the two stopped bickering. Babs heard the beeps of Bruce's GPS tracker; most likely they had finally agreed on a sensible route to take and he was programing it in. Then it got a little too silent. She covered her head with her pillow, aware that any moment she could hear the heavy panting of her uncle and Bruce having one of their heated make-out sessions; they were worse than the kids at her old school during the lunch period. If she didn't know any better, she would have thought Uncle Jim and Bruce were sixteen and she was the one pushing fifty.
A few minutes passed and they finally stopped, turning the light out. She peeked out from under her pillow to see them both crawl into the empty bed next to her own. At least they were nice enough to leave the sexual stuff in Gotham – she didn't need to be traumatized.
------
Gordon was up early, despite having gone to bed so late, and was making the hotel room package of coffee in the tiny little coffee maker on the bathroom counter. There wasn't going to be enough for both Bruce and himself, but they could always stop somewhere on the way out of town. He heard the shower turn on in the bathroom; Babs had gotten up around the same time he had and he had told her to take her shower first. She had made some snarky comment about him waiting for Bruce so they could shower together. Which wasn't true, and he honestly didn't know where she got the notion that they would even do that with her totally aware of it in the next room.
Bruce stirred from the bed on the further side of the room, head still covered by a pillow since Gordon had opened the blinds to try and wake up the billionaire. He should have known better; Bruce was an ace by now at avoiding the early morning light of dawn. Gordon walked over to the bed and pulled the pillow away from the younger man's face. Bruce glared up at him, eyes squinting and an awful grumpy look on his face.
“Jiiiiiim...” Bruce whined, trying to reach up for the pillow, but Gordon held fast to it and tossed it across the room. Bruce rolled over so that he was laying flat on his back now, staring up at the ceiling. “Fine. Coffee?”
“Very little. You'll have to survive until we stop for breakfast somewhere,” Gordon said, giving Bruce's naked torso a once over, which didn't go unnoticed by Bruce. The billionaire grinned slyly at him and motioned to the bathroom.
“When she's done...”
“No.” Gordon said. “She already assumes it's all we think about.”
“Isn't it?” Bruce teased as he sat up in bed, legs hanging over the side. He took Gordon's hands and pulled the commissioner towards him. Bruce rested his chin against the older man's stomach, looking up at him with big hazel eyes, arms wrapped around Gordon's hips tightly. Gordon ran a hand through Bruce's already tousled hair. He found he was quite happy to have Bruce here with him, to give him some companionship; hearing the ideas of a sixteen-year-old girl only went so far.
“Seriously, can I please have my own room tonight?” Babs asked as she walked back into the room, already dressed and hair tied up in a towel.
Bruce nuzzled Gordon's stomach and then pushed him away slightly so he could stand. “I'm going to take a shower while you handle this,” he told the older man. He walked by Babs who was actually staring at him in some sort of surprise with a bit of worry etched onto her forehead. Bruce slid into the bathroom and Babs walked over to Gordon.
“Uncle Jim?”
“Yes?”
She looked down at her feet. “Is Bruce okay?”
Gordon raised an eyebrow at her, lifting her chin with his finger so she would look at him. “Why would you ask that?”
“Well, all those bruises and scars on his back and arms...” she began, and Gordon shook his head with a wispy smile.
“Polo,” he said without even a beat. Babs stared at him, but didn't question it. Gordon hoped she bought it like everyone else did, though knowing his niece she wasn't just going to believe it that easily. He'd have to talk to Bruce – have him consider a better cover-up, and ask him to wear a damn shirt at all times around Babs.
Babs took the towel off her head and began to dry her hair with it. Gordon sighed, that was close.
-----
“The polo bit is getting old,” Gordon said to Bruce, and the billionaire looked at him with some surprise.
“I'm sorry?” he asked as he took a sip of his coffee. Babs had gone to the bathroom; she had asked to go five times in the last two hours on the road, but Gordon had told her to hold it, because they were not going to stop every time she had to go. The girl guzzled water like there was no tomorrow.
Gordon sighed. “Babs was questioning your scars and bruising. She wasn't really buying the polo thing. I mean, do you even play polo?”
“No. Are you kidding me? Polo?” Bruce scoffed. “I'll see about having Alfred come up with something better. This was all his idea, anyway.”
Gordon rolled his eyes. “Of course. Why not rugby? Or cricket?”
Bruce glared at him.
“Or not.”
Babs returned and slid into the seat next to Gordon, opening her menu. Bruce had decided on scrambled eggs, and Gordon was going the French toast route. Babs seemed to know what she wanted and folded her menu back, staring across the table at Bruce, who had zoned out and was looking out the window.
“What were you two talking about?” Babs asked suspiciously. Gordon sighed; it was going to be a long trip back if his niece kept poking her nose where it didn't belong.
------
Babs was forced to sit between her uncle and Bruce in the front of the moving truck. She had a book she could read, but Bruce kept looking over her shoulder every few minutes to see what she was reading, and it was getting old quick. Uncle Jim was driving; he told Bruce he didn't want to break the law while in another county, let alone another state. Bruce didn't seem to mind too much.
They stopped at every gas station listed on her father's bank statement, every possible diner or café, even one of those stupid tourist attractions that basically sucked money from your pockets and left you feeling unfulfilled. After hours of this she had had quite enough. Bruce had fallen asleep next to her, so she leaned her head against his shoulder and did the same.
They arrived at a semi-decent hotel in Columbus, Ohio sometime later that afternoon. “Can I please have my own room?” she begged.
Uncle Jim started to protest when Bruce pitched in with his opinion. “It's not a bad idea, Jim. We can get one of those adjoining rooms so if you feel the need to check in on her it wont be that hard to do.” Thank God for Bruce Wayne, Babs thought. He really was quite convincing, and her uncle looked about ready to fall asleep as it was.
“Fine,” he said. “I'm really too tired to argue.”
Babs smiled thoughtfully at Bruce, and Bruce gave her one of those “it was nothing” looks that made him altogether adorable. Babs found it hard to look at Bruce as being anything other than an extremely wealthy, good-looking man that her uncle dated and women seemed to fawn over; she had seen this first-hand the past week she had been in Gotham. Women just fell head-over-heels to get his attention, and some even shot Babs the meanest glares when they saw him with her. He told her it was all just a game to draw the attention away from him and Uncle Jim. Though, she couldn't help but think there was more to it than that – just as there was more to it than Bruce playing polo and receiving such horrendous scars and bruises. There was something he wasn't telling her, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it.
Bruce checked them into the hotel and gave Babs her room key. “Do not touch the mini-bar,” he said sternly, but there was a twinkle in his eyes that suggested he was teasing.
She snatched the key and went into her own room. “I'll see you two in the morning,” she said and closed the door behind her. She really just wanted to check her e-mail and browse the Internet for a bit before going to bed.
A little past two in the morning, she heard muffled cursing outside the room next to hers – Uncle Jim and Bruce's room. She heard the door open and a louder curse from her uncle. She went to the door that joined the two rooms and pressed her ear to it to see if she could hear what was going on.
“What were you thinking?” Uncle Jim's voice was muffled but clear through the thin wood door.
“Does that really matter right now?” she heard Bruce ask, but his voice was strained, breathless. “Just get the medical kit from the truck, please?” Medical kit? She wanted to knock on the door, to go in and see what was wrong, see if they needed any help, but she got the feeling her being nosy right now would not be appreciated.
The door to the other room opened and closed. She kept her ear to the door but couldn't hear much more than a bit of moving around. She went to the door leading out to the hallway and peeked her head out, seeing her uncle returning from the truck with a first aid kit tucked under his arm. He walked by her room and almost missed her, but he backtracked a bit and stared at her.
“Babs? What's wrong?” He seemed a little rushed, but concerned at the same time, maybe a bit worried too.
“Nothing. I heard some noises and was just wondering if everything was okay?” She didn't want it to sound like she had heard them talking, but just that she was genuinely curious.
He smiled at her. “Everything's fine. Go back to sleep.” He leaned in and kissed her cheek. He turned around and went back into the other room. Babs shut the door and returned to the joining door and pressed her ear to it.
“Now, how did this happen?” Uncle Jim asked Bruce. Bruce made a grunting noise, and then cursed.
“Not sure. I was checking out a few things around town. I had a feeling, just as you mentioned the other day, about your brother's accident not being just an accident. I got to thinking you were right. Went to check around the local places, listen into some conversations. I got too close to something. Someone.” Bruce's voice was steady now, as if he had come to grips with whatever pain he was obviously having.
“So someone shot you? I'd say you were more than a little close. I'd say you were sitting on top of something they didn't want you to know.”
Babs pushed away from the door. She didn't want to hear anymore of that; she was perfectly content believing her parents had died in an accident, nothing else. She went and laid back in bed and tried to fall back to sleep. Maybe it was all a dream anyway... maybe it wasn't real at all.
-----
“It wasn't just someone, Jim. It was someone that knew me,” Bruce said as he laid back on the bed, careful not to stretch the new stitches in his side that Jim as just put there. Jim was leaning over him and putting some kind of salve on the wound that Alfred had packed. He looked down at Bruce and furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.
“But that would mean there is a connection between you and my brother.”
Bruce placed his palms over his eyes. “Or you, me, and your brother. I didn't get a good look at the guy, Jim. But I know him. His voice was so familiar...”
“Bruce...” Jim breathed as he dressed the wound with a bandage.
“I know. I don't want to believe it. I don't want to think that he's out to get you, too, now.” Bruce pulled his hands away from his eyes and looked up into the worried eyes of Jim. “We need to get out of here. If he finds out about Babs...”
“Most likely he already knows,” grumbled Jim; he started to put the medical supplies back into the kit. “I don't think we stumbled across him, I think he's been following us. There is no way he's just been waiting around this Podunk little town waiting on us to show up – if we showed up.”
Bruce was sitting up now, pulling off the rest of the batman armor and placing it back in its suitcase. He had asked Alfred to fly it in the day after they had arrived in Chicago; he had had a feeling he might need it. Of course, he had conveniently forgotten to mention it to Jim, who now that he knew was not too happy with him. But neither had the time to worry about that.
“Go wake Babs up and tell her pack quickly. I'm driving.”
One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight| Nine | Ten | Eleven | Twelve | Thirteen | Fourteen | Fifteen | Sixteen | Seventeen| Eighteen | Nineteen