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In the year following the flood, Martinez sees more of Bruce Wayne than he ever did in the two previous years since the man’s return to Gotham. That’s already noticeable enough, but what really makes each encounter memorable is that he’s no longer alone.
Martinez is doing security for Mayor Reál’s office at the February food drive, and Bruce Wayne rolls up with a child in tow. He watches as the man parks his car and then opens the passenger side door for a boy, who looks around and hops out of the car. They have a short, inaudible conversation before walking over. They’re an odd duo; Bruce dressed in a dark suit and a darker coat, and his ward in bright sunshine yellow. Like a black cat and a duckling.
“Hey there! Right this way, Mr. Wayne,” Martinez calls, waving through the clamoring crowd at Bruce, who nods minutely at him before averting his eyes. The boy at his side has dark curls and an open, curious face; his hands clutch at the straps of his backpack like he’s half-afraid it’ll get snatched from him. Even as he glances all around, he sticks close to Bruce, who approaches Mayor Reál’s table slowly. Somewhat like a deer whose fight or flight response is about to be triggered.
“Mom brought me here last year,” the kid tells Martinez. He seems much more open to human interaction than his guardian. “She always said that people who can help should help.”
“Yeah? What’s her name?”
“Elaine Thomas. I’m Duke.” He sticks out his little hand for a handshake, and Martinez receives it gently. The name sticks in his mind for a minute until he realizes: she’s one of the victims of that fucking Joker fiasco from December. Shit. The husband was too, if he’s remembering correctly. He’d known that Bruce Wayne had taken in a child recently, but he’d been too busy to pay enough attention to the news to remember why.
“I’m really sorry about what happened to your parents, Duke,” Martinez says, crouching down to meet his eyes. Beside them, Bruce inches closer. His hands are buried in his coat pockets, and he extends one arm to spread his coat behind Duke, almost like a shield of sorts.
Duke’s expression wavers momentarily, but he steels it with remarkable alacrity. “Mr. Wayne said we were going to figure out how to help them. Together. I already made some plans. We’re gonna show the mayor after her speech.” He shakes his backpack with pride.
“I sent her an email,” Bruce explains without really explaining at all, and Martinez flashes him a smile before standing back up. He pats Duke on the shoulder.
“That’s real proactive of you. Glad to hear it. But, uh, Mr. Wayne, when you two go anywhere in the future, you might wanna have Duke sit in the backseat. It’s recommended for kids under 13.”
Bruce stares at him for a long moment, then back at his car, before grimacing.
“Did your parents have you sit in the back?” he asks Duke quietly. There’s a general sense of bemusement hanging over him. Martinez wonders whether he had any idea what he was getting into when he took the kid in.
“Usually, yeah.”
“Do you…need a car seat? I can make you one.”
Martinez tries not to let his surprise show on his face. What kind of person custom builds a car seat? Must be rich person eccentricity.
“Nah, I’m definitely too big for that,” Duke says patiently, shaking his head. He seems accustomed to answering these kinds of questions. “I’ll just use the seatbelt.”
“What about your bed? Or your desk? Are they too small?”
“Nope, they’re all good. It’s not like you gave me a crib or anything. Actually, I bet I could fit four of me in my bed.”
“I could have Alfred help us find a different one-”
“No, Mr. Wayne, like I told you before, it’s fine!” Duke makes eye contact with Martinez and purses his lips. “He’s rich rich, and it makes him confused about the real world,” he tells Martinez crisply, like it’s a fact he already learned several times over.
Bruce grunts in acknowledgment, and turns back to Martinez to relay, “He’ll use a seatbelt in the back seat.” His gaze catches on Martinez briefly, but he glances just as quickly away, back toward his ward. Martinez doesn’t know if he’s ever seen the guy ever hold eye contact for more than three seconds. He must really hate being out in public.
“Sounds like a plan, sir. Why don’t the two of you go on ahead; I think the mayor will be giving her speech soon,” Martinez says, offering an out.
With a nod, Bruce takes a step forward. There’s a moment of visible hesitation, before he lays his hand carefully on Duke’s arm, lightly guiding him forward.
“You two take care now! Good luck with your plans!”
“Thanks!” Duke calls back, before letting go of one backpack strap to latch his hand in the pocket of Bruce’s coat. They walk onward together, disappearing into the crowd as they join the volunteer line.
It’s not the strangest interaction that Martinez has had today. He’s pretty certain Bruce Wayne has next to no idea how to be a parent, but it sure looks like he’s gonna give it his best attempt. Hopefully the money’s enough to make up for the lack of experience.
--
Two months after the incident at Haly’s Circus, Gordon sees the Grayson boy again, this time officially in the custody of Gotham’s local billionaire.
He’d been somewhat surprised to see a notorious recluse like Bruce Wayne at the circus of all places, and then instantly sobered to find him stiffly holding a wailing Dick Grayson close as officers cleared the scene around the two bodies on the circus floor. Bruce’s ward had stood sentinel next to them, angrily shouting off any police who tried to approach to ask Dick questions while he was still crying.
Today the trio looks much happier, playing here at the park on what seems to be a picnic. Gordon himself is here waiting for Barbara and the kids to come back from visiting her mother, and with a lack of anything better to do, he leans on the fence and observes as the two boys run literal circles around Bruce, who is startlingly under-dressed in a humongous gray hoodie and picking very slowly at what seems to be a container of loose cheerios.
“Tuck your head in, Duke, or you’re gonna lose some teeth,” Dick is instructing as he does another somersault in the grass. Looks like you can’t take the circus out of the boy, Gordon thinks mildly as he watches Duke try to follow Dick’s lead.
Gordon had seen the anger roiling under Dick’s skin in the weeks leading up to Zucco’s arrest. Every time the cameras caught a glimpse of him, the boy had been very obviously haunted by the specter of his parents’ murderer still loose on the streets of Gotham. Once Batman had dumped Zucco and his evidence on Gordon’s doorstep, the change in Dick’s demeanor was like night and day. Every paparazzi photo splashed across the magazines since then has shown a much brighter, freer boy. It makes the contrast between him and his guardian all the more obvious.
Bruce rotates in place sedately like a shadowy rotisserie chicken, turning in tiny, mincing steps to keep an eye on his wards as they run and flip and dive in large hoops around him.
“Show me the backflip again,” Duke says, stretching down to touch his toes. “I think I can do it this time.”
“You’ll snap your neck,” Dick laughs, right before executing a flawless series of back handsprings across the grass.
“Now you’re just showing off!”
“Am not. Bruce can do it too. C’mon, B, do a backflip.”
“Yeah, Bruce, do it.”
Bruce seems to seriously consider allowing his children to bully him into acrobatics for a few seconds, before shaking his head. “I can’t do a backflip here.”
Gordon raises his eyebrows as he takes a long sip of coffee. Is he implying he could do a backflip somewhere else? The thought of Bruce Wayne doing even jumping jacks seems so bizarrely impossible he almost coughs up his mouthful of coffee. The man honestly looks like he could get blown over by a stiff wind at any time.
“Can you do one in the manor?”
“Off the stairs!”
Bruce eats another single cheerio. “No one is doing tricks on the stairs. Alfred will get angry. Don’t hang from the chandelier, either.”
“Aw, what’s the point of having a chandelier then? It’s not like you ever need that much light.”
Duke nods solemnly. “It would blind you. You don’t even like when there’s sunlight coming in from more than one window.”
“I’m actually surprised you’re not on fire yet.” Dick points directly at the sun, and for some reason Bruce makes the mistake of looking up at it.
Wincing away, he reaches up and pulls his hood up over his head and then fishes a pair of sunglasses out of his oversized pocket. In this getup, he looks more or less like the Unabomber, minus the little tupperware of cereal. Gordon hopes for his sake there aren’t any wandering paparazzi roaming the park today.
“That’s better,” Duke says. He holds his hand out, and Bruce stares a moment before shaking a little pile of cheerios into his palm. Duke glances down and shovels the cereal into his mouth before saying, “Not the cereal, Bruce. C’mon, show us a cartwheel!” He holds out his hand again until Bruce passes him the whole tupperware.
Gordon finds himself holding his breath involuntarily as the boys move out of the way. Bruce studies his hands for a few seconds before raising his hands above his head and taking a step forward.
He looks patently ridiculous drowning in his hoodie as he plants his hands on the ground, but his cartwheel is quite technically sound. His legs go up and around and before Gordon knows it he’s standing again, and the boys are clapping with delight.
Huh. Not half bad.
“Now do a handstand!” Dick yells.
Gordon doesn’t get to see how that turns out because he finally sees Barbara’s car pulling up to the curb. His own kids wave to him from the back and he feels himself smiling as a reflex as he walks over. If they asked him to do a cartwheel, he might very well give it a go too.
--
Bruce Wayne’s third child is a girl. She’s also a complete mystery.
The first two children were involved in high-profile cases before being fostered, so their names and faces have been all over the news. Bella’s seen the two boys firsthand at a few events around the city — Duke especially, since he came to talk to her about setting up a rehabilitory facility for victims of the Joker’s crimes — but the foster daughter is a surprise until she sees them taking seats at the Gotham contemporary dance festival.
Dick is literally hanging upside-down by his knees from Bruce’s shoulders, flopping over his back and held in place by Bruce’s hands gripping his ankles. Duke is walking behind them, talking to his brother about something, and on Bruce’s right, her hand hooked around the crook of his arm, is a small, dark-haired girl who looks around in undisguised interest.
Bella makes her way across the grass over to them, figuring she should say hello and thank him for helping her overhaul and fund the Renewal program. It’s still a work in progress, but Bruce has been surprisingly agreeable in his own taciturn, awkward way.
“Cassandra, you wanna sit outside?” Duke is asking as Bella approaches. He points to the aisle seat, and then the next three adjacent seats. “Or inside?”
There’s a moment of hesitation as Cassandra glances between Duke and the chairs, but she eventually decides on the outermost chair and tugs on Duke’s wrist until he sits down next to her.
Bella reaches the family right as Dick rolls off his guardian’s shoulders and lands neatly on the ground.
“Tada! Oh! Hi, there,” he says, smiling before darting off to sit with his siblings. They begin chittering away like birds, or at least the boys do. Cassandra seems content with watching them talk about video games and skydiving.
“Mayor Reál,” Bruce greets, dipping his head in a tiny nod.
“Mr. Wayne. I didn’t expect to see you and your family here today. Interested in performing arts?”
“My research said that cultural enrichment was important to childhood development.” He looks over at his children before woodenly extending a hand, gesturing for her to enter the aisle first. She accepts the tacit invitation and sits down, leaving a seat between Dick and herself for Bruce to sit.
They make quiet small talk about the progress of the Renewal fund, and Bella learns that Bruce took in Cassandra after finding out she had been abandoned by her family in an unfamiliar city. He’s still as reserved as always, but she can see the warmth on his face when he speaks about the children.
Their conversation tapers to a natural close as the first dance troupe begins their routine. Bella was never a dancer herself, having preferred soccer and choir, but one of her favorite parts of this job is being able to attend events like this, that show off the bright, beautiful side of their city that outsiders don’t know.
From the strands of conversation she picks up in between acts, the kids seem to be enjoying themselves too. Bruce, meanwhile, watches each group with single-minded focus, his eyes fixated on the stage. Seems like the cultural enrichment isn’t just for his children’s sake.
During the intermission between the fourth and fifth performance, Duke suddenly whispers, “Bruce, hey. We’re switching.”
“Bruce!” Dick hisses, and Bella watches as he shoves lightly at Bruce’s arm until the man stands in confusion. Then, quick as a whip, Dick scoots into the now unoccupied seat, leaving Duke to take over his seat in turn. Cassandra observes this carefully and then pulls the same maneuver, sliding gracefully into Duke’s seat. Bella finds herself chuckling in surprise at this random hustle.
“C, you didn’t have to- well, it’s fine,” Dick says. “Now you take her seat! She wants to tell you something.”
Bruce is left standing there, looking baffled, until Cassandra pats the empty chair next to her. He sits down gingerly, watching as Cassandra points first at the stage, and then at herself. They stare wordlessly at one another, some type of silent communique passing between them.
“Dance lessons?” Bruce asks after a moment of consideration.
A nod.
“But you could learn to do that in a day,” Bruce says, tilting his head toward the dance troupe entering the stage. Bella hides a smile behind her hand; looks like somebody is already full of parental pride.
But Cassandra shakes her head. “Want to.” She flattens her hand and reaches up to press her fingertips against Bruce’s throat, before shaking her head again. Withdrawing her arm, she places one small hand on Bruce’s own, and points with the other at the stage once more.
“Alright,” Bruce finally agrees. “Dance lessons.”
As Bella watches this all unfold, she feels like she’s learned a bit more about this man who spent their entire press conference together staring either at his shoes or at the flag fluttering overhead.
“Pretty cool, isn’t it?” Dick asks when he notices her looking. “B and C have, like, a telepathic link or something.”
Duke rolls his eyes. “They’re not psychic, they’re just…the same kind.”
“Birds of a feather,” Bella offers, and both boys nod eagerly.
“Yeah! Exactly.”
“Two…falcons.”
“If I was a bird,” Dick says, before bursting into giggles for some reason. Duke begins laughing too as Dick tries to regroup. “If I could be any bird, I’d be a-”
“Flamingo.”
“No!”
“Toucan,” Bella suggests, and they crack up even further.
“Boys,” Bruce says, reaching over to tap the back of Duke’s chair. “They’re about to start.”
“Oop.” Dick mimes zipping his mouth closed and they both settle down again.
Bella redirects her attention toward the dancers, but from the corner of her eye, she can see that Bruce is still holding Cassandra’s hand. Father and daughter are both intently watching the stage, their fingers still intertwined.
Birds of a feather indeed.
--
Today is the annual Gotham Family Fun Run, and Gordon is tasked with helping to oversee the finish line just in case someone decides to blow up a building or unleash fear gas or freeze the whole block. Just normal Gotham crimes.
Luckily, the charity run is going quite well, with smiles and cheers all around, and though Gordon continues to stay alert, he hopes that this is a sign that the day will end without trouble.
The more serious runners passed through earlier, but many families are only now finishing the race, most having walked. Plenty are dressed in costumes, and Gordon finds himself scouring the crowd just in case, even though masked costumes were disallowed.
There’s an influx of noise as the latest family crosses the finish line, and when Gordon turns to direct them toward the water tables, he comes face to face with Bruce Wayne dressed as a banana.
“I- uh, right this way,” Gordon says, trying not to stumble over his words as Bruce nods at him and shoos his children toward the water station.
All of them are in wildly different costumes. Cassandra appears to be an apple, Duke is a samurai, Dick is dressed like that flying alien from Metropolis, and the newest child is a vampire.
Bruce himself seems to have been forced to coordinate with all of them, Gordon realizes, when he sees the tiny red cape on the back of Bruce’s peel and the little plastic sword tied haphazardly around his waist. He watches as Bruce creases his ward’s paper cup into a V so he can pour water into his mouth without popping out his fake vampire teeth, before doing the same for himself.
Gordon returns his attention toward the finish line, directing other families forward to the water tables and the photograph area. After several minutes, he turns back around and almost jumps at the sight of Banana Wayne standing practically on top of him. Gordon would say someone should put a bell on the man, except he’s wearing too many accessories as it is.
“Are the activities being held here?” Bruce asks in barely more than a whisper. The words come out slightly mushed due to his fake fangs. Gordon feels a weird sense of deja vu, even though he can’t remember ever exchanging more than a handful of words with the man.
“Ah, no, all the post-race events are at the atrium over on Summer Street. You know how to get there from here?”
Bruce’s eyebrows crease together. “By the Unitarian church?”
“No, the other direction.” He puts a hand on Bruce’s shoulder to turn him about forty-five degrees clockwise, and points forward. “Walk down Adams a block that way, then turn right onto Summer-”
“Hey, back off, man,” a boy’s voice says. The newest kid pushes through to stand between Gordon and his guardian. “Hands off. Bruce doesn’t like strangers touching him.” He scowls at Gordon almost hard enough to crack his plastic vampire teeth.
“It’s alright, Jason,” Bruce says, hooking a finger into the collar of Jason’s cape and tugging him gently backward when he tries to square up against Gordon. “I was asking a question.”
“But he’s a cop,” Jason grumbles under his breath. He continues to glare as Bruce tries unsuccessfully to smooth down a cowlick on the back of his head. Gordon remembers the news frenzy when the media found out that Bruce had taken in yet another child, this one from the heart of Gotham. With his father in prison and his mother a victim of the drops epidemic, Jason became the unintentional poster boy for Gotham’s talking points. Wayne Enterprises starting a multimillion dollar substance abuse outreach program finally took some of the spotlight off the poor kid.
“He’s a good man,” Bruce tells his foster son. Gordon resists the urge to raise his eyebrows; he hadn’t realized Bruce Wayne had an opinion of him. He’s surprised Bruce even knows who he is. It’s weirdly flattering.
“Sure,” Jason scoffs. “C’mon, are we gonna go do the scavenger hunt? Dickie said they were giving out cool prizes. Me and Duke wanna see if they’ve got hoverboards.”
“No hoverboards, but they’ve got some gift cards,” Gordon tells them, putting his hands up in a gesture of peace when Jason levels another glare at him. “To local stores. Gotham Books is a popular one. My daughter loves going there,” Gordon explains, watching as a wary kind of interest lights on Jason’s face.
“Yeah?”
“Yep. Babs — Barbara — loves books. She’s a few years older than you, but she still hangs around reading the comics in the children’s section there.”
“Huh. Okay, well, let’s try to win that then,” Jason says, turning his attention back on Bruce. “If I win I’m gonna get Cassie that cool picture dictionary we saw the other day.”
Bruce gives Gordon a nod goodbye, before telling Jason, “Where did you see it? I can buy you both as many books as you like.”
“That’s not the point, Bruce,” Jason sighs as they walk back to the rest of the group. The other kids mob him, already throwing around plans for their scavenger hunt victory.
“It’s better if we split up, right?” Dick asks. Cassandra nods, pointing between him and herself.
“Me and you.”
“Okay, and Jay and me will be the other,” Duke says.
“Hell yeah, Narrows and Park Row,” Jason replies, and they exchange a fist bump.
“And B can be his own team.”
“You don’t want me on your team?” Bruce asks as they wander toward the atrium.
“Be both.”
“She’s right, you can be on both!”
Gordon watches the blinding yellow peel for another few seconds before it gets swallowed up by the colorful mass of people headed in the same direction. He can’t shake the feeling that there was something familiar about the way Bruce’s eyes looked as he held Gordon’s gaze, but it’s probably just his imagination. He’s likely just thinking of the last time he saw Bruce on the news.
--
The Gotham Public Library holds all sorts of events, for both youths and adults, so when Bella first enters the children’s wing and sees a small gathering of kids on the chairs, she assumes there’s some kind of storytelling hour or educational program going on.
Then she notices Bruce Wayne sitting nearby, reading a picture book about dinosaurs and periodically peeking over, and realizes her mistake. Four out of the five kids are Wayne children, and the last is a chipper looking blonde whose arm is linked with Cassandra’s. Another one already?
Bella isn’t actually here as the mayor today, but as a patron, so she’s prepared to just wave politely and leave them to their own devices when Bruce looks up and spots her. She sees a now familiar emotion flash through his eyes, the “oh shit, I have to engage in social interaction” face that looks basically identical to his usual face but perhaps with slightly wider eyes. There are two stickers on his face (a watermelon slice and a smiling shark) and someone apparently decided to use him as a model for makeup practice based on his shaky eyeliner and sparkling purple nails.
Bella wants to do him the favor of not putting him on the spot, so she just smiles at him and turns to walk toward the chapter book shelves. However, Dick intercepts before she can walk past, and he begins waving wildly in her direction. He has a whole traffic light’s worth of colors on his fingernails.
“Hi! Ms. Reál!” he calls, and it draws the attention of the other kids.
“Hi there, Dick.”
“Oh my god, is that Bruce’s girlfriend?” the blonde girl asks with a gasp. Her nails match Bruce’s; she’s the only one. Jason and Cass have plain black, and Duke is wearing sunshine yellow. “She’s so pretty.”
“Thank you,” Bella says, trying not to laugh at this jump in logic.
“She is not my girlfriend, Stephanie,” Bruce says, aggrieved, but none of the kids are listening to him.
“She’s the mayor, Steph, come on,” Jason says, rolling his eyes. He already has a small pile of chapter books in his lap. “Besides, Bruce has never had a girlfriend.”
Bruce sighs, and Bella feels for him at this moment, she really does.
“He could,” Stephanie insists, and Dick nods along.
“Yeah! B’s just really busy with his…job, but he could totally have a girlfriend. Or two. And a boyfriend.”
Five kids and three partners is a lot to juggle, Bella really wants to say, but she’s a professional, dammit.
Duke notices that she hasn’t run away yet, and his face lights up. “Hey, Mayor Reál, do you wanna go on a date with Bruce? He knows a lot about cars and animals and stuff. He can even do a pushup with one hand.”
“He’s good at Scrabble,” Steph chimes in. “And the magazines say his eyes are ‘dreamy,’ which kinda sounds like he hypnotizes people or something but maybe it’s a good thing?”
His eyes actually look exhausted more than anything, Bella thinks, but she supposes it doesn’t make him particularly less handsome.
“And he has like ten kajillion dollars,” Jason adds, apparently now on board. “You wouldn’t have to work anymore if you married Bruce.”
“That’s- I appreciate the thought, but I do enjoy my job,” Bella assures them.
“...mom,” Cassandra suggests, and a murmur of agreement passes through the group at the same time that Bruce’s expression grows more and more dire.
Bella decides to rescue him. “Okay, while I’m very honored to be considered for the position, this is really something for your father to decide himself. But I think I speak for both of us when I say that while we work well together, we do not want to date.”
Bruce nods rapidly, and the kids all pout in disappointment.
“Are you sure?” Dick asks, turning puppy eyes on her. Good thing she’s grown immune from her own nieces and nephews.
“I’m sure. Here’s a tip, guys. You shouldn’t just wander up to any random woman and ask her to be your mom.”
“You’re not random,” Duke points out. “You’re the mayor.”
“The point still stands.”
Stephanie raises her hand, but then charges on to ask, “What if they ask for another dad?”
“Don’t do that either,” Bella laughs. “If Mr. Wayne decides to go on a date, he’ll be sure to arrange it himself.”
“Hm,” Duke says, looking skeptical. “I dunno. Sometimes he forgets to do important things, like eat dinner or wash his face. We should probably help him. Like Alfred does.”
“Hey, what about Babs’ dad? He’s nice,” Dick chirps. “He got you coffee that time!”
Bruce puts his head in his hands. “Barbara’s father is married. To her mother.”
“Oh, right.”
“His loss,” Jason says loyally. Cassandra nods in agreement.
“What about the nice-”
“Barbara is back,” Bruce interrupts, peering through the gaps between his fingers. “Go see what she brought you.”
A bespectacled preteen girl is striding over, her arms full of books and her long braids swinging behind her. “Okay, I got this week’s new manga arrivals, so make space and I’ll pass them around.” Her announcement instantly pulls all the attention away from Bruce.
“Aw, yes, you’re the best, Babs,” Dick cheers.
“Babs! Babs! Babs!” the kids begin chanting, even quiet little Cassandra.
“Guys, stop yelling, it’s a library. And sit down,” Barbara says, looking exasperated as she places her pile neatly on one chair. She puts one hand on her hip and begins assigning seats. “Steph, take your brain teaser book and sit here. Jason, over there. Duke and Dick, there, and Cass, you’re here with me.”
Bella walks back over to Bruce while the kids divvy up their book stash under Barbara’s supervision. “Mr. Wayne, your ranks have grown.”
“I haven’t adopted those two,” Bruce says quickly, and then cringes, following up with, “Well, none of the children have been adopted yet. But there are…plans. If they accept— Barbara is Lieutenant Gordon’s daughter,” he says, interrupting himself. “Stephanie is Cassandra’s friend.”
“Of course,” Bella says, before he can foam himself into further distress. “It’s great that you’re making use of the library.”
“We can never come back here again,” he tells her, looking dead serious, the corner of his watermelon sticker peeling off, and she can’t help her burst of laughter.
“Don’t worry, worse things have happened in this library. I think your kids are just worried about you being lonely. I imagine it isn’t easy being a single father.”
“No, it’s…been an experience. But I’m the farthest thing from lonely,” Bruce says, and for the first time in their acquaintance she’s gifted the sight of his smile, faint as it is.
She smiles in return, and for once, he doesn’t look away. “I’m happy to hear that,” she replies, and she really, genuinely means it.
--
A baseball almost smacks Martinez right in the face when he arrives on scene at the courtyard outside Wayne Enterprises. It’s just past six, and they’ve been called in for a noise disturbance by concerned passersby, who heard a whole lot of screaming outside a building not normally known for it.
He heads over with Miller to check it out and almost takes a ball to the noggin, only to be sneered at by the boy standing on the granite bench holding his baseball bat like a sword. He’s Bruce Wayne’s latest child, if Martinez is remembering correctly. One who’s biologically related to him, if all the gossip is to be believed. Martinez can kinda see it in the shape of the boy’s nose and jawline, even if his current expression is deeply unfamiliar.
“Sorry!” Dick says, scrambling over to grab the ball out of the foliage it went flying into. “We didn’t realize you were there.”
“Holy shit, Damian, you almost took his head right off,” Jason crows. He’s standing a few feet away from Martinez, forming a loose arc with Duke and Cassandra. They must be the infielders, Martinez realizes.
“He shouldn’t have walked by if he didn’t want to get hit!” Damian snaps back. “Anyway, that’s another point for me.”
“No, you have to run the bases. That’s how you get a run, remember?” Stephanie calls. Martinez finally sees Bruce himself, crouched in front of her and dabbing at a scrape on her knee with a wad of tissues.
“Why?!” The confusion on Damian’s face is made more comical by the absolute disgust in the kid’s voice.
“Because it’s baseball,” Duke hollers back. This kickstarts a whole kerfuffle about the rules and why they’re even playing, with all the kids screaming over each other at once, and Martinez sends out a silent thank you to the people of the world who have to deal with more than zero children on a daily basis. He has no idea how his sister’s been a teacher in Gotham for six years already without pulling all her hair out.
“Well, now we know why they called in the complaint. Is this allowed?” Miller asks Martinez, jerking a thumb at the scene. Three of the kids look like they’re about to start beating the stuffing out of each other over whether they need a shortstop. “I mean, it’s private property but the guy owns the company…”
“I’ll go talk to him. Why don’t you ask the kids to explain what they’re up to; try to get ‘em to stop brawling.” Miller sighs, but heads over, hands ready to catch a baseball bat.
“Getting some batting practice in, Mr. Wayne?” Martinez asks, and a sigh passes through Bruce’s whole body.
“I apologize,” he says. He’s slowly peeling open a bandaid with little spaceships on it. “This didn’t go as intended.”
“Urban baseball rarely does, sir. I’d’ve thought the park by the Tower would be a better place to play.”
“Look, lemme show you how to bunt,” Jason is saying as he wrenches the bat out of Damian’s hands.
“Uh oh,” Stephanie mutters. Her legs begin kicking restlessly beneath the bench. “Bruce, it’s okay, it doesn’t even hurt-”
“Bandaid,” Bruce insists.
“Todd, this is ridiculous- what’s the strategic advantage of such a weak tap-”
“Just try it!”
“Dude, that’s the opposite of a bunt!” Duke cries in dismay. “You got it stuck in the tree!”
Bruce carefully sticks the bandaid on Stephanie’s leg and she immediately runs off to join the crowd of kids (and Miller) now staring up at the tree at the edge of the courtyard. Dick takes the initiative to shimmy up the trunk while the others give helpful tips.
“So, baseball, huh?” Martinez says lightly, and Bruce’s eyes shimmer at him in despair.
“We were supposed to go to the Gotham Knights game-”
“Doesn’t that start in an hour?”
“Yes, but Damian has never seen a baseball game before, and the children thought a practical demonstration would be a more useful primer.” Bruce shrugs in the general direction of his kids, two of whom have vanished into the branches above. “They were wrong.”
Ah, and Wayne Enterprises is closer to the stadium than the Tower is, so he probably thought this would be an acceptable place to try. “Well, maybe this is one of those times where the hands-on part of the lesson comes second.”
“Hopefully,” Bruce says. They watch as Damian breaks away from the group to come stomping over, Cassandra trailing after him silently. “Damian,” Bruce greets, reaching out to pluck a fallen leaf from the boy’s hair. He does the same for Cassandra, but she swipes the leaf back from him to fiddle with it.
“Father, I don’t see why we have to do something so inane as watching baseball,” Damian complains.
“Your siblings wanted to do something with you.”
“If they spent more time training than fooling around they’d be stronger by now.”
“Martial arts,” Bruce mumbles to Martinez, before telling Damian, “Alfred says you can’t spend every day fighting.”
“You can’t possibly agree with that!”
Bruce hums, and glances over at his other children, who are hefting Dick up in triumph, the baseball in his hands. “There are other important aspects to life. They want you to understand that.”
“And I want them to understand that that’s why they’re weak,” Damian grumbles. “This is why none of them except Cain are fit to-”
Cassandra reaches out and flicks him in the forehead. With a yelp, he goes to smack her hand away, and they exchange a series of lightning fast blows that end in her putting him in a headlock. Martinez watches the whole thing in amazement, but Bruce just looks slightly resigned to his children randomly sparring with each other.
“Cassie…” he murmurs, and she loosens her hold slightly.
“We protect them,” Cassandra says firmly. “And teach.” She pokes Damian’s face again until he relents with a “Fine! Fine.”
“I’m not wrong though,” he tells her when she releases him. “You and Father need to help me whip them into shape. Or they’ll never survive.”
“Baseball first.”
“Baseball first,” Bruce agrees as he rubs away a smudge of dirt on Damian’s cheek.
Damian scowls but allows Cassandra to nudge him back toward the others.
“Gunning for the black belt?” Martinez asks Bruce as they walk back toward the children.
“…yes.”
Dick has finally been lowered back to the ground when they regroup. “B, I got the ball back!” he announces.
“And messed up your face while doing it,” Jason tsks.
“Shove off, Jay.”
“Make me, Dickiebird.”
“Guys, stop screwing around before Steph ties your shoes together again,” Duke warns. He holds out the baseball to his father while the other two commence a mild slapfight behind him.
Meanwhile, Damian shakes Cassandra, exclaiming, “See! Grayson can’t even defeat a tree!”
Bruce takes the baseball from Duke’s hand, and then frowns as he examines the thin red scratch on Dick’s cheek. Both his hands disappear into the pockets of his coat, before re-emerging sans baseball but with another spaceship bandaid.
“Bandaid, chum.”
Dick stops pinching Jason’s arm long enough to dodge a retaliatory kick to the butt, and skips over to Bruce, who plasters the bandaid to his face and then turns to address the whole group.
“The game starts soon. Time to go.”
Martinez is expecting some amount of pushback, but instead all the children pair up in two neat lines, like something out of Madeline.
“That’s a neat trick,” he tells Bruce, who quickly scans his children to be sure he has them all.
“The buddy system is for public transportation. It’s faster than driving to the stadium,” he says, and Martinez lets out a low whistle. Keeping track of half a dozen kids on the Gotham subway sounds like a nightmare, but Bruce must know what he’s signed on for if he keeps acquiring more and more of them.
“Good luck with the evening rush,” Miller says.
“Have fun at the game, folks. And maybe hold off on ball practice ‘til you get back to the Tower next time.”
Bruce inclines his head at them both, and walks off toward the street, his ducklings following behind him in their two little lines, waving goodbye as they go.
“Only the Waynes, right?” Miller says, chuckling under his breath as they walk back toward their cruiser.
“They keep things interesting, that’s for sure,” Martinez agrees fondly. As far as rich weirdos go, they’re pretty innocuous. Gotham could do much worse, that’s for sure. At least their billionaire never tries to take over the city.
--
Ice Cream Day is an annual fundraiser for the city’s cancer research institutes, and while Bella would love it more if she weren’t lactose intolerant, it’s still one of her favorite events of the year. The sheer joy on everyone’s faces as they try old favorites and fun new flavors never gets old. She’s taking a short water break now, but she spent most of the last two hours walking around the plaza, talking to citizens and doing some light schmoozing with big name donors.
Speaking of which, she spots Gotham’s most famous family now, milling around by the plaza fountain. As she sips from her bottle, she notices that Bruce’s flock seems to have grown yet again— there’s a new dark-haired boy with a clipboard in hand, sitting between Cassandra and Jason.
“What d’you think?” Duke is asking Bruce, who makes a face after tasting the ice cream in his hand.
“Too much chocolate.”
“I call dibs on this one,” Jason says, and Bruce hands him the cone. “Take it off the list, Timbo.”
The boy apparently named Tim crosses something off on his clipboard. There’s something kind of familiar about him, but Bella can’t put her finger on it.
“So Bruce doesn’t like chocolate ice cream or ice cream with chocolate pieces in it. Fudge is probably out too,” Tim says as he scans his list.
“No fudge,” Bruce agrees. He reaches over to nudge Tim with a bottle of water until the boy looks up from his clipboard and grabs it.
“Oh, thanks, I was getting thirsty.”
“There’s gotta be some flavor that isn’t too sweet for you,” Duke says, leaning his head against Bruce’s shoulder to look at the remaining cup in his hand. “You’re probably going to hate this one too. Does lemon ice cream exist?”
“That sounds foul,” Damian says. He and Stephanie are seated on the ground, each juggling five different paper cups full of pink ice cream. “Which one first, Brown?”
“Let’s go with Clover Dairy,” Stephanie says. “They look like they have real strawberry bits in theirs.”
Bella watches as the two of them start in on one of their five cups, comparing as they go. Cassandra comes to sit with them partway through, her hands kept busy with braiding Stephanie’s hair.
“Pin it up higher,” Damian commands, as Cassandra begins winding Steph’s braid into a crown. “It’s ridiculous that she lets it flap around like this. It’s a mistake waiting to happen.”
“Don’t tell Cass what to do,” Steph snipes back as they both move onto their fourth cup. “You’re just jealous that we have beautiful flowing locks like your dad. Dick too. Even Tim has better hair than you.”
“I suppose Drake has to have one other thing going for him besides his brain,” Damian grumbles. “He can’t execute a scissor kick to save his life.”
“Huh?” Tim says, glancing up from his conversation with Duke. “Did someone say my name?”
“Ignore it,” Cassandra cants her head back to tell him. “Green tea?” she asks, pointing to Bruce.
“Green tea? No, I don’t think he’s tried it yet. I’ll go get some.”
“I’ll come with,” Jason says.
“Me too. Wouldn’t want you to end up in some weirdo’s van again,” Duke says as he closes ranks with Jason around Tim.
That’s why Tim looks familiar, Bella realizes. He’s the Drake boy who almost ended up getting abducted a few months ago while he was trying to follow the Batman around town. She’d wondered afterwards how one of the city’s richest scions could walk around the streets of downtown Gotham without his parents knowing, and the answer had apparently been that his parents weren’t even in the damn country.
She doesn’t know how exactly he wound up getting involved with the Wayne family, but it seems like they’re trying their best to absorb him.
“That only happened once, guys,” Tim mutters. “Be right back, Bruce.”
“Stay together,” he warns them, and Duke salutes back before the trio runs off into the crowd together.
Bella doesn’t realize that Dick is missing until he comes bounding up with several cups of ice cream.
“Dami, toss me an extra spoon,” Dick says, and Damian flicks one over to him without looking away from the cups that he’s ranking with Stephanie. “Where’d the others go?” he asks while passing out his ice cream.
“They went to get more ice cream for Bruce,” Steph tells him as he hands her a cup. “Hey, what’d you think of Fairview Farms?”
Damian scoffs. “Mediocre.”
Dick, now sitting next to Bruce on the edge of the fountain, shakes his head. “I thought their vanilla bean was pretty good.”
“You’re too lenient.”
“And you’re always cranky,” Dick says fondly.
Bella has to return to her mayoral duties, so she doesn’t hear how that conversation ends, but a few hours later when the event is winding down, the family walks by her as she bids citizens goodbye.
“You could write a program to do it. I’ll set up another computer in the Tower for you,” Bruce is telling Tim.
“Really? Are you sure?”
“I’ll put it next to mine.”
Cassandra waves to Bella as they approach, and Bruce in turn gives her one of the awkward grimace-smiles she’s grown accustomed to.
"I see you have a new addition to the family," Bella says, smiling at the group pushing their father along toward the plaza stairs.
"Yeah, we stole him from his backyard," Jason tells her brightly.
“But he wanted to come with us,” Steph assures her. “We didn’t kidnap him. Not really!”
“Ehhh.”
“Timmy, this is Mayor Reál,” Dick says. “She’s the one who keeps making B do press conferences,” he jokes, and she laughs.
“I hope he doesn’t resent me too much for it. Hello there.”
“Tim Drake, ma’am. It’s really nice to meet you,” Tim says politely, shaking her hand.
“It’s lovely to meet you too.”
She’s pretty sure she met him once before, trailing behind his parents when the Drakes attended her post-flood inauguration gala, and he looked much more withdrawn then. She would love to ask them if they’re aware that their son has been adopted by another family, but she imagines they’re too many miles away for her to do so.
“Tim is…boarding…at Wayne Tower while his parents are abroad.”
Bella decides it’s best not to inquire about the legality of this situation, especially when Tim tells her, “It sure beats the dorms. Or staying in my house by myself.”
“The security at his house is atrocious,” Damian informs her, which really doesn’t make her more sure about this arrangement.
“Well. I’m sure the Tower is plenty safe,” she settles on saying, and Damian nods smugly.
“Ours now,” Cassandra says. She places a hand on Tim’s shoulder, prompting Duke to do the same on his other side.
“One of us.”
“It’s nice, being with them. Not being alone,” Tim says, and Bella decides that that’s all she really needs to know.
“You look like you fit right in.”
“He does,” Bruce says softly, and from Tim’s answering smile, that’s exactly what he needs to hear.
They say their goodbyes to Bella, who watches them for another moment as they walk away. The kids have naturally paired off to follow behind their guardian, except for Jason, who’s somehow clambered onto his father’s back. Bruce hoists him into a proper piggyback, and off the eight of them go: Gotham’s famous father hen and his brood.
--
In other news, the Batman seems to have acquired an apprentice.
Martinez can’t keep the kid’s name straight. He thought it was Lark, but he’s heard on the grapevine it’s Robin, or even Shrike or Crow or Magpie — it’s enough to make his head spin. Too many birds.
He tries not to interact too much with Batman on the whole, even though the guy’s proven to be a good ally. He just gives Martinez the heebie-jeebies, the way he randomly appears next to Lieutenant Gordon and skulks around crime scenes poking at things like a giant armored raccoon. The addition of the kid makes things…worse, somehow.
Now criminals are whining all the time about getting their asses handed to them by a grade-schooler. They complain about being haunted by the high-pitched cackle of a child every time they step out into the night. A child who backflips off buildings and glows in the dark and brandishes a sword, apparently. The little bird can be in ten places at once, they say.
The little bird knows your movements better than you do. The little bird has already figured out what crime you’re going to commit even before you pull it off. The little bird takes a hit and gets up swinging harder.
The little bird has too much heart, and not enough fear.
It is a bit freaky, Martinez admits. Not that he’ll ever tell Batman. Wouldn’t want to be on the wrong end of the bat-glare.
Tonight, Batman is here to examine the remains of some poor sod who pissed off the wrong people. Next to him, the little bird is peering curiously at the scratch marks on the floor while Gordon talks in hushed tones with the Bat about means and motive.
They’re all taken aback when something rattles outside on the fire escape, and Batman and company tear off after it. Martinez rushes to the window to see them ascending, heading toward the roof.
By the time he gets up there himself with Miller, he sees Batman and his bird doing battle with a flying robot.
Robots. Honestly, Gotham problems get more bonkers every day.
Batman punches the damn thing straight into the path of the little bird’s kick. The kid gets it right in the control panel, and it goes whizzing into the roof tiles, but not before losing a bit of shrapnel on the way down.
A piece of metal nicks the kid’s face, leaving a streak of blood behind beneath the domino mask.
“Ah!” the little bird cries, and Batman whisks over in a dark swirl of cape, gloved hands up to check his protege’s face. “I’m okay. Get the robot first.” Batman lingers a moment longer, but they do quickly move over to join Gordon over the fallen robot.
“I think it’s down,” Gordon tells him as they examine the battered metal remains. “This looks like the one we saw at the old sawmill last week.”
“Different model,” Batman says. “This one has a camera built in.”
“We’d better see if we can get a look at what’s on it. Miller, bring the tech guys up here.”
“On it, sir,” Miller says and he heads down the stairs.
With the robot dealt with, Batman returns his attention to his kid. When he reaches into his utility belt, Martinez is expecting him to pull out something like bat-gauze, but instead what emerges is a totally ordinary bandage.
“Bandaid,” Batman says, tugging a glove off with his teeth so he can peel off the wrapping. Martinez has the strange sense that he’s witnessed this scene before, as incongruously bizarre as it is.
The kid sticks out a hand. “I can do it.”
“Hn. No need.”
Batman presses the bandaid to the little bird’s face, and when he moves away, Martinez sees that it’s got a star pattern.
Why was he expecting to see spaceships?
His eyes meet Lieutenant Gordon’s across the roof, but when he opens his mouth to formulate his disjointed thoughts into words, Gordon just shakes his head.
“Let it go, Martinez.”
A scream rings out from several blocks away, and Batman whirls toward the noise. Behind them comes the sound of Miller returning with the techs, and he glances between Gordon and the street.
“Go on ahead,” Gordon says. “I’ll catch you up on the robot and the autopsy results later.”
Batman nods briskly.
Gordon and Martinez watch Batman scoop up his duckling with one arm and ready the grappling gun with the other. With a clang, they’re off and away, sailing over to the next building.
“Whatever you think you saw-” Gordon begins saying, before Martinez holds up a hand.
“Don’t worry, sir. Pretty sure it was just my imagination. C’mon, let’s get this robot into evidence.”
Cave or alleyway or glittering tower in the city skyline, it’s all the same to him.
Nobody needs to know where Gotham’s bats and birds choose to make their roost.