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“Sir, I’m sorry, I don’t know what to tell you. We don’t have an arrival time for anyone named Bruce Wayne.”
Alfred Pennyworth was a patient man. As the longtime head of household for the wealthiest family in Gotham he had handled difficulties for his employer ranging from the inconvenient to the strenuous to the tragic. He had long-ago mastered the art of maintaining the stiff upper lip regardless of the circumstances, no matter how exasperating or absurd. Besides which, loosing his temper upon a customer service employee was an impropriety unfit for his station. But his patience did have its limits, and the “Help” Desk Associate was grievously testing those limits.
“Forgive me if I’m missing something, but wouldn’t it be easier to just post the arrival times and terminal gates online instead of adding another layer of abstraction by having to waiting in line and provide yet another document that can be misplaced or, in this case, misprinted?”
“The Family Finder Program™ provides the most up-to-the-minute changes in arrival times and locations for customer convenience.”
“Well, it is failing miserably in that regard.” Alfred sighed and collected himself, “I am trying not to discourteous... Lenny,” he said, squinting at the name tag on the associate’s little blue vest, “but I am having trouble reconciling your position with reality. Therefore, let us re-examine the facts of the matter as they currently stand.”
“Okay.”
“Two weeks ago, I received an e-mail from my employer with this ‘Family Finder ticket’ from your company’s website included as an attachment.”
“If you say so.”
“I do. And the name printed on it quite clearly says ‘Bruce Wayne,’ does it not?”
“It does.”
“Right. And I can see on your monitor there is an entry with a matching name and ticket number to the one I have here, correct?”
“That says ‘Bryce Wayne,’ sir.”
“… I understand that.” Alfred tersely explained to the apparent half-wit, “However, if you will join me in an academic exercise we may be able to find the root cause of the confusion. Please look at the keyboard in front of you.”
Lenny looked down at the board behind his desk, “Okay”
“Do you see the ‘U’ key located toward the center top of the letter keys?”
“I do.”
“Good, then please tell me the key which sits to the immediate left of the ‘U’ key.”
“It’s the ‘Y’ key, sir.”
“Exactly! So is it not within the realms of possibility that somebody somewhere simply struck the ‘Y’ key by accident instead of the ‘U’ key when entering the name ‘Bruce Wayne’ into the system?”
“I suppose it is.”
“Then would it not be best practice to assume that the discrepancy in given names is nothing more than a mistake on the part of one of your co-workers and, in the interest of expedience and customer satisfaction, simply select the entry that matches this ticket number and tell me which terminal gate I need to go to?”
“I can’t sir, the names have to match for security reasons.”
“Young man, I am trying to be reasonable, but I expect reason in return!” Alfred exclaimed in response, “Now I don’t know who you think you are, but I am certain you know the name Bruce Wayne! He has been in the news since birth! You may recognize his family from the dozen or so buildings, streets and facilities in Gotham named after them! You may also recognize him from the GNN report broadcast as recently as last month detailing how he left Gotham City seven years ago and has been completely missing for the past five! The man I raised from a child has finally contacted me and is finally returning home and I will not let you prevent me from seeing him! I am not asking for Bryce Wayne! I do not know any Bryce Wayne! To the best of my knowledge there is no Bryce Wayne. I am looking for, and intend to collect and return home a man! Named! Bruce! Wayne!”
“No, you’re not.”
Alfred turned to face the source of the intrusion and saw a tall woman with long dark hair walking up beside him. She wore an open brown trench coat pulled over a fashionable gray skirt suit and pulled a suitcase along behind her. For a moment, Alfred stared in confusion at the woman, wondering why she had interrupted what was clearly a private matter. Why she smiled so warmly at him. Why she looked… so… familiar…
...oh
...oh, God, it’s him her.
“… Bruce?”
“It is Bryce, now. But, yeah. It’s me Alfred.”
He could scarcely believe the woman who stood before him. But it was her. Reborn. Made new. Having finally found salvation from the tragedy that had scarred her for so many years. Her face was nearly unrecognizable, but her deep brown eyes still held the truth. Still that same sharpness, still that same determination, but without the rage and haunted look that had lurked there since she was eight years old.
There was also a fragment of worry there, the barest concern that the man who had stood as her father since her parent’s murder would reject her. As if anything of the sort could ever be possible! Alfred determined to kill that horrendous doubt at once. Straightening himself, he addressed the Mistress of Wayne Manor. “All apologies, Ms. Bryce. I had not been informed of your new identity. It is a joy to see you again.”
“Thank you, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you when I wrote. I just… I needed to tell you in person. It was… too important for an e-mail.”
“Think nothing of it, Ma’am. How was your trip?”
Bryce laughed “Life changing. It took me a long time to admit to myself what I needed to do. But I have, now.”
“Do you plan to stay in Gotham long?”
“I do. I’m here to stay. I have plans, Alfred. Plans to help the City, to help the people who live here. I’ve been running for so long, but I’ve finally found what I needed. I don’t want to run anymore. I’ve saved myself, and now I need to save the rest of Gotham.”
He tried to retain his composure, as he had done for so many years. But at that last remark, Alfred Pennyworth finally broke. He embraced Bryce tightly and sobbed into her shoulder. “Thank you! God, thank you for returning to me! I’ve missed you so much, child! I’m so glad you’re finally home!”
“It’s okay, Alfred. I’m home, and I’m not leaving again.” He could hear her voice crack, and when he stood back to look at her he could see tears of joy in her eyes. He wiped his eyes, and composed himself as best as he could, “Shall I take your luggage, Ma’am?”
“No, it’s alright. It’s just the one bag.” She put her hand on his arm and smiled “Take me home, Alfred. I have work to do, but that can begin tomorrow. For today I just need to rest.”
“At once, Ma’am. The car is parked out front, I shall be out in just a moment. I just need to finish here.”
She gave his shoulder a little squeeze, and walked out toward the main exit. Alfred turned back to the Customer Service agent “Ah, -ahem-, I beg your pardon, Sir. It would seem I owe you an apology. I was lacking context that would have clarified the situation.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew a bundle of cash, which he handed to Lenny. “I’m not certain if it is customary to tip someone in your position, but please accept this as recompense for my atrocious behavior.”
“Sir, I’m not allowed to acce- what the f- Sir, this is like $5,000. I can’t take-”
“Perish the thought. Again, you know my employer and her resources. The amount is trivial. Please accept this with my sincerest apologies. Good day, Mr. Lenny” And with that, Alfred turned to the door and left the airport.
Lenny was very used to customers yelling at him for things they were actually wrong about. He was not used to receiving any form of apology. Let alone one that paid off all his student loans at once. He decided that if he ever saw the stuffy little British man looking pissed off about something again, he would be sure to offer his services immediately. Maybe if he got yelled at enough he would be able to pay off his car loan next.
-~-~-~-~-~-~-
Two weeks passed, and the celebrity rumor mill buzzed with news that the Prince of Gotham City was now its Princess. This was confirmed with the publication of an interview in the Gotham Gazette with Bryce Wayne, an interview which served as her official coming out to the people of Gotham. She explained that in her travels she had found herself, and realized that so much of her pain had been tied to living in the past. The death of her parents, her life as a man, years of anger and isolation. She said that it was time to look to the future, for herself and for Gotham City. With that, she announced the creation of the Thomas and Martha Wayne Foundation, intended to provide housing, food, clothing and medical care for Gotham’s most under-served communities. And it’s first mission; partnering with the City to replace the ancient and dangerous Arkham Asylum with a new, state of the art facility. The Martha Wayne Memorial Psychiatric Care Hospital.
Publicly, the news was met with hesitant optimism. Many of Gotham’s wealthy had made promises to help provide care to the City’s most in-need. These promises were largely unfulfilled, or used as excuses to launder ill-gotten money. But, Bryce Wayne was not like all the other billionaires. (For several reasons) And when ground was broken for the new psychiatric hospital, it looked like maybe there was some reason for the people of Gotham to hold on to hope after all.
Privately, there were many of so-called elites who had serious misgivings about Bryce. Even before her parents died, those who knew her always said she was a weird kid. So stand-offish, so serious. Her new life did little to change this impression, as unfair as it is to say. And of course came the usual gadflies with the same unwanted comments. Biased reporters, internet commentators and clown comics made the standard baseless accusations and crude remarks regarding the newly minted First Daughter of Gotham City. But what of it? She was the last Wayne of Gotham. The entire family fortune was hers to control. She could buy and sell all of them at once, likely making a tidy return on her investment in the process.
-~-~-~-~-~-~-
A year after Bryce Wayne returned home, more rumors began. Rumors which became fact with the downfall of the Falcone and Maroni crime families, paired with reports of a faceless figure cloaked in black haunting the streets of Gotham. Tales of a hulking beast laying waste to the City’s underworld, from petty thugs to the wealthiest white-collar criminals. A phantom watchman. A Dark Knight. Gotham City’s vengeance made flesh.
They called this creature The Bat-Man.
In the newly-built underground bunker, deep in the caves beneath Wayne Manor, Bryce Wayne laughed at the fantastic descriptions circulating throughout Blackgate Prison. A demon made of living shadows. Burning eyes of fire. Eight, no, ten feet tall. Bulging muscles. Definitely not a woman.
If those hunting the Bat wish to search for a man, then let them. They won’t find one here.
Alfred stood by his surrogate daughter as she began her crusade against the evil that took her parent’s lives. When she had revealed her plan to him, he expressed his deep worries for her. Fear for her safety, the risk of discovery, the obvious concern for her mental health chief among them. But as time went on, and her mission took shape, he could not help but admit that this ludicrous idea was working. Somehow.
It did not mean that her actions made his life any easier, a fact he would comment on with his own personal level of sarcasm. Which he did tonight, as Bryce climbed out of the sleek, tank-like vehicle she had custom built and dubbed, of all things, “The Batmobile.”
“Ms. Bryce, if you insist on arriving home three hours late this regularly then perhaps it would be wise to invest in a heat lamp to keep your dinner warm for you. Then again, you do so rarely eat it when you return.”
“Sorry, Alfred. It won’t happen again,” she lied as easily as she breathed. Bryce stepped out of the bulky power armor that disguised her height and figure. Underneath, she wore a bullet and fire resistant suit which added an extra layer of protection should her primary armor fail. The skintight, technologically advanced material was a dark gray, with the only color being a yellow and black Bat symbol emblazoned on her chest.
“Apologies, Ma’am, could you repeat that? I couldn’t understand you, that ridiculous voice modulator makes you sound like you’ve eaten nothing but deep-fried gravel for the past year. Or is that why you never seem to finish the dinners I spend hours preparing for you?”
“It’s all part of the disguise,” she said, sitting down and removing the shiny black helmet that covered her face, “If my enemies think they’re looking for either a behemoth of a man or a literal monster then they’re less likely to suspect a rich, dainty trans woman.”
“If you insist. Although as far as your public persona goes, perhaps we can avoid adding emaciated to that list of qualifiers. Please promise me you won’t forget to eat something before you go to bed tonight.”
Bryce turned her seat toward him with a smirk. “I promise, ” she insisted, sincerely this time.
“Very good, Ms. Bryce. If there is nothing else, I shall take my leave for the evening.”
“Yes, that will be all. Thank you, Alfred.” He walked to the elevator that lead back into the manor house “And Alfred? I mean it, really. Thank you. For everything.”
He looked at her with pride, a small smile playing at his eyes. “My pleasure, Ma’am. Good night, Bryce, and sleep well.”
-~-~-~-~-~-~-
Returning to the dining room, Alfred began clearing away the night’s dinner. As he wrapped the leftovers, he looked across the length of the long dining room table. There, above the mantle, stood the massive portrait of Thomas and Martha Wayne. He paused his work, and made his way to toward the painting, standing there in quiet reverence.
“She’s better now. She really is. I can see it in her eyes. The anger’s gone. The misery, the pain. There’s joy in her life now. She’s finally happy, finally at peace. Her mind is healthier now than it ever has been. It’s like she’s alive again. Whole for the first time.”
“I don’t understand what makes her this way. I don’t understand why she chose this identity. Either identity, for that matter. I don’t think I can understand it. But, I suppose I don’t need to. It’s not something for me to make sense of. All I know is that it saved her, and as mad as it sounds I think it can save Gotham. No, I know it will.”
“Thank you.” He said, his voice wavering “Thank you for this amazing woman. Thank you for trusting me with your most precious gift. I am honored by the faith you have placed in me, and I only hope that I have honored your memory in turn. I know in my heart that she already has.”
Alfred Pennyworth bowed his head, and wiped the tears from his eyes. He finished his work, and retired for the night.
And as he went to bed for the night, like so many others in this City, he slept in safety and peace thanks to the Bat of Gotham.