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Among the vast field of tombstones, there is only one mourner left at a freshly dug grave.
Standing eerily still, the average observer might think the man was a contemplative reaper watching over a lost soul.
Marco's calloused hands worry the brim of his frayed fedora as his black overcoat flutters in the wind. He'd worn the suit only twice before, once at his sister's wedding and the other at the court hearing where he become the legal guardian of the young man whose body was buried only hours earlier.
Bernardo was only four, then. A scrappy little thing with unruly curls and blotchy. Marco knew he wasn't cut out to be a parent, but he did fine enough. Days of ice cream dinners and Batman bandaids, of temper tantrums and slamming doors.
But damn, he was proud of the man Bernardo had become. His boy grew into a model student, excelling in math and science. Teachers praised him at every conference, gave him little awards and a T-shirt. The baseball coach called him the best pitcher Gotham North had ever seen. Marco remembers the manic smile on Bernardo's face during the last game before summer break, laughing as his teammates hoisted him on their shoulders.
"That's my boy!" Marco cheered obnoxiously from the stands as the other parents raised their eyebrows at him. He didn't care because that was his boy! Bernardo looked at him and waved, smiling wider than the Joker on April Fools Day. It was his natural state, surrounded by adoration.
The baseball team and the coach and a few teachers had come to Bernardo's funeral. Offered teary condolences in hushed voices as Marco stood before his boy, surrounded now by dirt and flowers.
Members of the gang also showed up. Juno gently kissed his wet cheek while Alsie talked aimlessly about catching Bernardo on a stakeout. Nathan and Matt, Ollie and Neena, and a couple others only made their presence known through awkward handshakes and white roses at the base of the tombstone.
Boss came too. He looked just as tired as Marco did, leaning against the small oak tree shading the gravestone in a leather jacket and dark sunglasses. It was a rare occurance to see the Red Hood without his armor and guns. Well, less guns. There was a holster strapped to his thigh and twitchy fingers watching the crowd swell and recede. He only approached Marco once the people thinned and they were mostly alone.
Marco really didn't notice him. He felt like he was floating amid the mourners, detached from their grief and sadness. It has never been in his character to openly cry, but it is so, so tempting.
They don't speak, because years of working together lets one know exactly what the other is thinking.
Boss is feeling guilty, angry at himself for failing.
Marco is forgiving him because Boss is just a kid himself, born from gunpowder and vengeance. Much like Marco a million lifetimes ago. He cannot control the evil in the world no more than Marco can control life and death.
"It's gonna rain soon, Marc." Is all Boss said, patting his shoulder and walking away, hands shoved in his pockets.
Now, Marco can smell the rain in the air.
It is almost nostalgic. He can see himself and a younger Bernardo sitting by an open window. Outside, the sky is gray and rumbling like a monster stirring after a long slumber. Bernardo's eyes are wide as lightning strikes. Immediately, the boy started counting and squealed in nervous excitement when thunder rattles the building. Marco smiled at him, softly.
Marco cannot hear the thunder yet, just shoes crunching the grass. Someone comes to stand beside him and Marco's skin crawls with a familiar presence.
"I'm sorry for your loss," a deep voice rumbles.
"Haven't seen you in forever, Malone." Marco chuckles weakly, turning to look at his old friend.
Matches Malone has aged behind the tacky aviator glasses. While his hair is infuriatingly untouched by gray, there are prominent frown lines around his mouth, clamped around an unlit cigarette. His fashion sense hasn't gotten any better with age. Malone apparently always wears the same ugly mustard shirt, russet jacket, and black tie.
Malone grunts, "Figured it was good a time as ever. Heard about the kid on the news last week."
Oh, right. Marco forgot he was working with Matches about the time he first brought Bernardo to live with him.
"Yeah." Marco replies weakly because the fatigue starts catching up with him. The pair stand awkwardly a second before Marco clears his throat. "You got a light?"
They move to a small gazebo a little ways from the gravesite. Marco sits on the creaky wooden bench and takes long drags on his cigarette, watching the smoke scramble up to join the thunderheads rolling across the sky. Matches elects to stand, large body hunched over the railing.
Marco first met him, maybe nine years back, when he'd been hired as extra muscle for a small smuggling ring. The entire operation was a joke but a good paying one. He needed the money after suddenly acquiring a child who needed clothes and a good education.
Matches Malone was a name that'd been circulating the criminal world for a while. Most people said he was a shady business man that appeared out of nowhere, a devilish figure with a Bat-shaped shadow looming over his shoulder. All the man had to do was look at a gang the wrong way and then they were completely erased from the map, gone, strung up from fire escapes and street lamps.
Marco wasn't a smart man, and didn't claim to be, but he had enough common sense to recognize the man. He'd been on watch with a few other guys one night when the man approached them, snapping the top of his lighter open and closed.
The stranger fished around for information about the group's leader. One of Marco's comrades, the second-in-command at the time, laughed at him and barely raised his first before he was on the ground with most of his teeth knocked out.
The others ran after that. Marco stayed put because he knew running only made things worse. He told the guy what he wanted to know since he needed to stay in one piece for Bernardo, and his loyalty to his employers was not worth the trouble. Surprisingly, Matches thanked him before disappearing back into the shadows he spawned from. A few days later, the whole network was demolished and Marco was left without a job. Luckily, his snitching didn't blemish his nonexistent resume and Marco went on the hunt for a job once again.
And who would've thought it would be Matches Malone that offered him one. An informant, he said, because he believed Marco was good at talking with people, earning their trust. Not in any position to turn down work, Marco agreed and for a brief time the two worked side-by-side. They met sporadically at seedy bars or Marco's apartment exchanging information, and in return Marco got enough money for tuition and summer camp and baseball uniforms.
But that was ages ago. Malone abruptly went underground and nobody had any idea where he was. Marco did get a letter attached to his last payment telling him to take care. Then it was odd jobs and manual labor until the Red Hood entered the scene.
Truthfully, Marco thinks the guy's always been kind of weird. Bernardo always got excited whenever Matches would visit.
"He thought you were a secret agent," Marco remembers out loud.
Malone tenses, then skillfully relaxes again. "Why's that?"
"Dunno. Said you just had that look about you. Always slipping in and out of our window, speaking the way you do. Thought that lighter was some sort of gadget."
"That why he tried swipin' it?"
Marco smiled, "To be fair, he challenged you to a game of Go Fish for it. Never did learn how to play poker. That...that stupid kid."
Thunder booms over Gotham and Marco doesn't realize he's crying until he sees the little droplets splatter onto the ground. The weight of the world bends his body foreword and he cradles his head, drawing in a shuddering breath. "That stupid kid," he whispers, "I was so stupid to let him go. I should've made him stay home."
The bench groans when Malone sits down next to him. He keeps his body rigid, Marco can see his hands clamped on his knees. "It wasn't your fault, he says softly, losing the exaggerated accent and sounding like a different person entirely. He continues after a moment, "Life is not Fate, but Fate is Life. Bernardo didn't deserve what happened to him. Nothing could've stopped it, no amount of 'what-ifs' can ever change it. It is a nice sentiment to torture yourself with, but ultimately it destroys you."
"Never took Matches Malone for a philosopher."
"My son died, years ago." Marco raises his head and Malone is staring out at the heavy rain, hands folded in his lap. "He was two years older than Bernardo and just as headstrong. I had the chance to save him but I was too late. Seventeen years I grappled with that, and used the guilt to justify ruining my own life. I wanted to suffer because he suffered. My family pulled me back from that edge, reminded me that I was still alive and had still had things to do, other people to protect. Such is life."
Marco blinks, then nods. "Sorry about your son. Know it's not worth much, but I am."
Malone's mouth twitches in what may be considered a smile. "Thank you," he says.
For a few minutes, they simply sit and watch the summer storm. Lightning and thunder chase each other across the sky while the grass rejoices the rain. Fog pools eerily around the tombstones.
Marco crushes his cigarette under his boot and Matches clears his throat, "How is working for Red Hood?"
"Nuh-uh."
"I'm sorry?"
I'm not giving you anything on him." Marco shakes his head, "Break my arm if you want, but the guy is off limits."
"I ain't asking for information," Malone assures him, "I've just been keeping tabs on his operation since he entered the scene. Seems to making a good name for himself."
"Boss is just a kid, a stubborn and dangerous kid that can kick ass like we used to. Y'know, back when we were young and spry."
"Don't know about you, Maverick, but I am completely capable of kickin' ass. Yours, at least."
Marco snorts, "Sure thing, Matches. But seriously, he's a good guy. Got a smart head on his shoulders and a big heart, too. Not that he'd ever admit it."
"Sounds about right," mutters Malone with a tone Marco cannot decipher. "Keep an eye on him, will ya? He needs someone to keep him in check."
"Hah! If I can get the Red Hood to take care of himself, mice can do rocket science."
Malone grins to himself and nods, "Just give it your best shot, then."
Marco laughs for the first time since Boss gave him the news.
The two men sit and watch the storm pass as silent strangers, as fellow fathers.
There is no need to talk anymore. Sunlight breaks the clouds, bathing the cemetery in a golden light.
The darkest chapter is over, and the world is made new.