Child of the Dark Knite

Chapter 9 Life

About a week later, Bruce led Lissa from the Manor to the stable. The reporters at the gates were following them along the fence, an excited frenzy erupted when they saw the two enter the barn. Bruce could almost see the headlines now. 'Old Geezer and young lover, roll around in Hay'. He had to put a stop to it, but right now, all he wanted was to spend time with Lissa. He'd worry about public opinion later. Let them have their fun. "Keep your eyes closed," Bruce said, and he put the girl in front of one of the box stalls. "Ok, open."

She opened her eyes and saw a beautiful steel gray horse staring back at her, with a black halter over his head. "Oh god," she whispered.

"Now I know he won't take the place of your Colby, nor the sentimentality behind him. But I though maybe you could ride around for me. Sort of a private Dressage show if you will. I've never seen you ride."

She threw her arms around Bruce's neck, hearing a little pop of old bones as she did so. "Sorry, thank you, thank you. You didn't have to do this?"

"Well I did. Now he's not purchased as yet, I wanted to see how the two of you got along first," he smiled at her as she let him go. "Well, go on, his tack is in the chest. I had your tack sent over night from LA."

Skillfully, Lissa unpacked the tack box, led out and clipped the horse between the crossties, and started grooming him. Bruce sat on some hay bales watching. She knew horses all right. She spoke to this new beast quietly and calmly, carefully cleaned out his feet, gently brushed his coat, mane, and tail.

She introduced the new saddle to him, and tacked him up. She adjusted the bridle to fit him, and made sure the girth was snug to hold the saddle in place till they got to the arena. Bruce led the way.

At the back of the barn was a passageway to a covered arena. Inside, Bruce had a judge's stand put together in the middle of the ring, which was where he went. Lissa put on her riding boots, and hat, tightened the girth, and mounted up. At first the horse was leery of her. A new rider, and he wasn't sure of her skill. But that was what this session was all about. Each would learn of what the other could do. Trust would develop over time.

Bruce watched as she rode around the ring, easing her mount out of his anxiety and into a faster gait. After a time, she was riding around performing lead changes, going over the small jumps that were also set up in the ring, and her favorite move, making the horse rearcommcommand. It took a little doing at first, but she managed it finally. The horse rising off his front legs, supporting all his weight, and hers, on his hind legs. Excited over such a skilled rider, the horse neighed loudly and lashed out with his front feet. Lissa was great; she'd sat back in the saddle, and drew close to the horse's neck as he rose, her eyes alive with joy as the he went up. He came down softly and pranced over to the judge's stand. Bruce clapped his hands together and stoked the animal's forelock.

"Very nice," he said, "Though you could keep your heals down a little better when you jump, you won't have the problem of your foot sliding forward in the stirrup."

"I thought I still had that problem," she said, and together they walked the horse cool around the ring.

Terry was waiting for them when they got back to the house, he didn't seem too upset. But he was serious. "Terry, what is it?"

"I got to the gates, and found a courier trying to wade through the madness out there. I signed for this." The boy handed Bruce an envelope with fancy gold print on it. "We gotta do something about those guys."

"We will," Bruce opened the envelope, "It's an invitation to the Statesman's dinner party, says I can bring a total of two additional guests."

"Shway!"

"Who's the Statesman?"

"No one really, it's just a reason to get together with all sorts of politicians and charge the tax payers a lot of extra money for the meal."

"Are you going to go?" asked Terry.

Bruce thought on this, "There's going to be a lot of press, Lissa, are you up to it?"

"Why not? I think it would be fun."

"Good. Terry, get fitted for a tux, you'll go as well."

"Ultra Sway!!"

"I don't have anything to ware."

"Yes you will."

Three nights later, Bruce, Terry and Lissa, arrived at the Gotham Plaza Hotel in full formal ware. Bruce and Terry in obvious black tuxedos, but Lissa wore a shimmering gold silk gown that clung close to her shapely form, and low shoes. She couldn't stand pumps. Her hair was curled and tied back a bit from her face, her make up was modest, her lipstick; light red. Together the tree entered the hotel through a barrage of flashbulbs and questions, none of which they answered.

Through out the dinner, there were conversations about the political situations that dominated the media, aside from Bruce Wayne's obvious young sweetheart, as well as businessmen making deals with politicians for the next election and such. All in all, quite boring. Bruce spent much of the time on the dance floor with Lissa, teaching her the box step and waltz, of which she knew nothing. Again flash cameras were going off around them, and a few of the reporters that would get within earshot, would ask Bruce who she was and why he was dating her.

After the meal, Lissa went to the bar and ordered some wine to be sent to Bruce's table, the same wine that he and her mother had on the roof of the Gotham Inn, so long ago. She thought they could raise a glass to her memory; she was just as sentimental as her mother was. Before she returned to her table, young Paxton Powers, one of the board members (former head of the board of directors) of Wayne Enterprises, stepped up to her. "Good evening," he said, taking her hand and kissing the back of it. "I'm Paxton Powers. Mind if I have a moment of your time?"

"A moment is all you'll get," she answered, remembering what Bruce had told her about him.

"I was just wondering, what you see in that old fossil? He's old enough to be your father for God's sake. Why not dump him and come join me at my table. I can show you the world in just one night."

She gave a slight shudder as she pulled her hand back. "Did you just feel a draft? I could have sworn that HELL just froze over." Young Powers stepped back. "I've been told about you Mr. Powers. And I've already seen the world, through my own eyes. And I will keep company with whom I SEE FIT!" As she waked away Terry strode by, sarcastically clapping his hands. Paxton scowled, and returned to his table.

The night continued until finally the main host stepped up to the microphone and called attention to the podium. "As you all know, tonight is when the Gotham elite get together and discuss common interests with your fellow electoral members. Well. To bring the evening to an entertaining close, the suggestion box at the door was crammed full of the nominees for Truth or Dare. So tonight's entertainment shall come from you all, not hired entertainers. We shall begin to my right and proceed around the room. To make it easy on you, we shall only pick one person from the table. But that person shall have the option of passing the choice on to someone else at the same table. But the last person can't. You sir, please rise and tell us your name."

It went on like this for a while as businessmen, and politicians were asked embarrassing questions, answers were reluctantly given, or strange deeds performed. The strangest was that the person be made to give the spokesman a kiss. Of which the person quickly changed his choice to truth.

Finally the spokesman arrived at Bruce's table, Terry had taken the wise option of ducking out to the men's room, and remained in the shadows as the man got to the table. This was were things were either going to get ugly, or embarrassing. He didn't want to miss it either way. "Tell us Mr. Wayne," asked the spokesman after he'd introduced himself, "Shall it be truth or dare? Keep in mind, Dare is still to come up and kiss me. Uck."

Bruce looked to Lissa, she nodded. He stood again and took a number of newspaper clippings from his pocket, all of them pertaining to his so-called love affair with Lissa. "As appealing as the dare sounds, perhaps to the ladies, Mr. Trask, I'm going to choose truth, and put a stop to these roomers once and for all." He waved his hand over the clippings, "It is true that I love Lissa, but not the way that these articles are suggesting. Ladies and Gentlemen, I would like to introduce to you, Lissa Wayne...my Daughter."

The room fell silent, the spokesman's mouth hung open, Lissa rose and nodded to many of the faces in the room.

"Your........your.........your daughter?" he asked.

"Yes," answered Lissa. "Not to worry, Bruce didn't know about me until I came to him, some time ago, at my mother's request."

"And your hospitalization? What was that all about?"

Bruce nodded, if she wanted to answer, it was up to her. "I had a serious ailment, and I needed information from both my parents in order for the doctors to help me." She took her glass of wine, the kind that Bruce and her mother had that night on the roof. "Ladies and Gentlemen, I'd like to propose a toast. To my late mother, Jennifer Westler. She raised me well, taught me values, and that a promise is something to keep, not just a word. She knew Bruce wasn't ready for me, but she never spoke ill of him. And to the day she died, she still loved him. To my mother. 1973 to 2028. I will miss her." The room filled with light tinkling of glasses coming together, then all fell quiet as thekesmkesman continued the rounds.

They got home late that night and went straight to bed, all but Bruce and Terry, who had work to do below. Lissa never questioned, nor did she ask to see the famous Bat Cave. She was happy just having her father. Terry was just someone else that was there.

The next morning Bruce sat in the dinning area reading the paper, smiling over the headlines. "Bruce Wayne Father at 70+?", and a beautiful picture of him and Lissa plastered across the front page. Terry arrived, and found his way to the dinning room. Grabbing a slice of toast, and some orange juice, he planted himself in the chair to Bruce's left. The space across from Terry still had a second set of dishes, the first in a long time, other than Terry. Crumbs from toast scattered across the plate's surface, and left over coffee still sat in the cup. "You sleep ok after last night?" he asked Bruce.

"What do you mean sleep."

"Oh I forgot, you're a night owl."

"Keep it up and I'll kick your but in training, just like the last time."

"Ok, ok. Oh, speaking of kicking, better tell Lissa to get to the barn. That new horse of yours is kicking the hell out of his stall door. I could hear it all the way to the car out front."

"Lissa should already be there. She left here an hour ago." A sudden wave of dread washed over both of them, and Terry beat Bruce to the patio doors only by seconds.

The distance across the 200 yards to the barn was the longest either of them had ever traveled. Terry got to the door first and pulled it open. "Oh no." He turned and saw Bruce about to come up behind him. "Bruce. No!"

"Get out of the way."

"No Bruce!! Go back to the house!! Call for help...Bruce!!!"

Bruce pulled thor oor open. His heart sank heavy in his chest. The horse had kicked the stall door so hard, that the bolts were coming out of the latch that held it shut. "Get the horse out of here," he said quietly. Quickly, Terry clipped a lead rope the halter and led the panicked animal away. Bruce knelt in the straw outside the stall, and looked over Lissa.

She was lying on the floor, no blood, no signs of struggle, nothing. Her face was pale, her lips blue. If it weren't for that, she could have been asleep. He vaguely remembered hearing Terry on his cell phone calling for help. Paramedics arrived, and tried their best to revive her; only all their attempts had failed.

The coroner arrived and took Lissa to the morgue at the hospital. Bruce didn't remember how he got there, but he found himself standing in front of the coroner awaiting news of what killed is only child.

The doctor who assisted in Lissa's operation, had taken the file from the man, and took Bruce aside. He felt that someone who understood what had happened to her should tell him this. Bruce sat in the chair of the waiting area, the doctor reading over the report. Finally he put it aside and turned to Bruce.

"I'm really sorry Mr. Wayne," he began. "Please know that she didn't suffer."

"What happened?" he asked quietly.

"She suffered a ruptured aneurysm. She died instantly. She probably never knew she had it."

"Are you sure she didn't suffer?"

"Quite. The bleed out was sudden and massive. She would have felt no pain."

"She was fine this morning. We had breakfast. She took her pills."

"I know, but even they aren't 100%."

"Could there have been something we could have done?"

"No. Please, forgive my callousness but she was dead before she hit the floor. There would have been nothing you could have done, even if you had been there when it happened."

"Thank you doctor. I'll make arrangements for her."

"The press was still out side the manor gates," said Terry, "do you want to make a statement for them?"

"Take care of it Terry. I'm not in the mood."

Over the next three days, the papers showed pictures of Lissa, and the announcement that she'd passed away. The press kept a respectful distance as Bruce buried her in the Gotham City Cemetery, near his parents' grave.

Alfred was laid to rest to the left of his parents' Stone, young Tim Drake was buried next to Alfred, and a place for Dick Grayson was reserved next to him, though Bruce doubted that he'd ever allow himself to be buried there. Bruce hadn't spoken to him in years. Barbara stood back from Bruce, near Terry and his mother, watching the old man as he stared at the now covered grave. Lissa was laid to rest this day, and still Bruce had not shed a tear. Perhaps he wouldn't, maybe he would, but never in front of anyone.

"Bruce?" Barbara began. "I'm really sorry. I know I didn't know her, but still."

"Thank you." Bruce still had that cold tone, the one she knew so well. It screamed, leave me alone. Slowly she stepped back, patting Terry on the shoulder, and walking away with his mother. Bruce stood there a while longer. It seemed like an hour before he turned to Terry and called his name. The young man stepped up. Not saying a word. "I want you to make me a promise, Terry," he said, stepping up next to Lissa's headstone and laying a dark red rose on top of it. Terry nodded. What could he say? That he'd never die on him? He couldn't promise that. "Right here, Terry," Bruce stabbed his cane into the ground between his feet.

Terry understood. "I promise." This was where Bruce Wayne wanted to be buried, the space between his parents and his daughter. But now, with no family, and Dick Grayson no longer on speaking terms with the former Dark Knight, nor Barbara really on friendly terms with him either, it was up to Terry to keep his last request. The boy walked away, he'd keep his promise, it was the least he could do for Bruce.

The old man stood alone on that spot once more. The first time as a child, watching others bury his parents, the second as an adoptive father burying his son, then as an older man, saying good bye to a dear friend. Now, as a father, laying to rest his only child.

'When will it end?'