OOM: Ghosts of Christmas

[master_bruce]

Bruce has next to no use for Christmas. The only difference it really makes to him is that he has to go to more pointless parties in Gotham. Though on the flipside, the crime rate usually does drop a bit.

Anyway, Milliways tends to give him a place to escape to, with the added bonus of more time spent with X. Not that she's here tonight, but he'll see her tomorrow. He was looking forward to catching up on some rest tonight - so he's actually kind of annoyed when he wakes up to find someone else in his room.

His hand is on a batarang before he's anywhere near sitting up.

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[christmas_present]

The Ghost morphs, and this time the smile is a bit flirtatious.

"My. So eager."

But she offers her arm.

"But, of course."

"There really is no time like the Present."

[master_bruce]

'Or maybe I just want to get it over with?'

Stating the obvious, really, and none too cheerfully at that. Still, he's polite enough when he takes her arm, though there's not a hint of the flirting being reciprocated.

[christmas_present]

The look evolves into something a bit maternal and reproving.

"Goodness, honey, did you ever get up on the wrong side of the bed."

Still, she pats his hand comfortingly as they draw out of the room (or perhaps the room draws away from them) and leaves them in a new scene.

[master_bruce]

'I'd still be in bed if it weren't for this,' he says, through gritted teeth.

But he's here, and so is she, and that seems to be that.

And here...is Gotham. That bar again, the one where Falcone holds court, and thinks himself untouchable. Bruce stares around, noting the judges, the cops, the odd politician. All of them look at ease, and are drinking, and have girls around them. Boys, in one case.

'Great,' he says, mostly to himself. But he doesn't sound too pissed off. This isn't something personal. This is business, and Bruce Wayne knows all about that.

'I haven't seen this place in more than seven years,' he says to the ghost. Like it matters.

[christmas_present]

The Ghost looks around with well-bred interest.

"And are we here to see anyone in particular, Mr. Wayne?"

They are, most likely. Who that is usually makes him or herself apparent pretty readily.

[master_bruce]

'I expect s-'

...yep, there it is. Falcone's laugh, unmistakable from the corner of the room. He's sitting at the exact same table as the last time Bruce was here, though he's sharing it with people he probably likes a lot better, this time.

'Falcone,' he says, to answer the question. But makes no move toward him just yet. The view isn't great from here, but the voice carries easily enough.

[christmas_present]

She'll allow him to lead while they're here.

One way or another, they'll see all that they need to see.

The Ghost nods and waits for the scene to unfold.

[master_bruce]

It takes a while for Bruce to understand it himself. Though, really, that's not true. The man's just sitting there, having a good time, not talking about anything of consequence. And maybe that's the point.

'He's a crime boss,' Bruce says, eventually, not taking his eyes off him. Though the ghost probably already knows.

He walks a little closer. Someone asks Falcone a question that makes him laugh, and a judge at the next table looks over.

'...yeah, you were there that night, huh? He sat right there, and told me he wasn't afraid of me. Please. Like he knows anything about anything? Prick.'

The judge smirks. 'You know they were about to declare him dead? There some members of the board choking over him turning up alive. Would've been interesting, you know? What might have been.'

Falcone looks at him. Bruce reads a touch of confusion on his face, mostly drowned out by anger that someone knows something he doesn't.

'What are you talking about? So the kid's alive. He's a,' he mimes scissors with his fingers; a jerky, uneven gesture, 'goddamn cardboard cutout. What's he going to do?'

'That's what they're asking, Carmine.' The judge spreads his hands, like don't shoot the messenger. 'No one's seen him, no one knows where he's been. They're worried he's going to rock the boat.'

Falcone chews on the end of his cigar. Bruce turns to the ghost immediately.

'You sure this is all real? In the present? This is happening, or just did, or is just about to?'

[christmas_present]

The Ghost nods.

"This isn't exactly my first rodeo," she says.

"This is a picture of your Christmas present. People tend to see the things that have meaning to them."

"Or will have meaning to them. But that tense is more my sister's department."

[master_bruce]

He can see the use in this far more than being shown the past. The board had seemed happy enough to have him back, though obviously unsettled. If they hadn't got rid of Lucius, he might never have suspected something was wrong - though he likes to think he would have found out eventually. It's not like he really planned to leave the family business in the hands of strangers.

Interesting that he's being shown Falcone, though. This isn't just about business. He steps closer to see the guy's face, annoyed but sharp. He's a smart man, if with an obvious tendency to underestimate people.

'Eh.' The guy makes a dismissive gesture, though his eyes don't lose their edge. 'It doesn't matter what he does up there in the boardroom. He's a suit.'

The judge raises his eyebrows, lowers them. Maybe, maybe not. 'His father wasn't-'

'He's not his father. And so what? So he came down here once, acting the big guy. You think that makes him a threat to me? I told him the truth, and he ran away, and no one heard from him in seven goddamn years. Don't come in here, and tell me I need to be afraid of a kid like that.'

Falcone's eyes are wide. Bruce watches impassively as the judge holds up his hands, and says, 'whoa, whoa, Carmine. I was just talking. I don't think you need to be afraid.'

Bruce smirks sardonically, and glances at the ghost.

'He doesn't fear anyone. Any person, at least.'

But Batman, though. Suddenly, Bruce really wants to see how Falcone fares against Batman.

[christmas_present]

Honestly, the Ghost looks less than impressed, too. But he really isn't supposed to offer judgment on others.

And it's up to his next sibling to discuss what may come.

"Did you want to remain longer?" the Ghost asks.

[master_bruce]

His response is cut off by Falcone talking again. Loudly this time, and angrily.

'...and I tell you something, your Honour. I don't care if you were pals with his daddy, or Thomas goddamn Wayne thought the sun shone out of your butt, because he obviously didn't know you very well, did he? That kid comes in here again, threatening me, he ain't walking out. I don't care who hears me say it.'

The bar's gone quiet. Bruce looks around - there are a few shocked faces nearby, a few pretending not to have heard. But it seems like the guy was right, seven years ago. he can do what he likes in here, say what he likes, and no one's going to call him on it. It really is a kind of power. Just not the kind he's willing to let rule Gotham.

Falcone straightens his jacket, and calms himself. The judge looks pensive, but holds his tongue. Gradually, the murmur of voices starts up again and covers the moment.

Bruce turns to the ghost, his tone both decisive, and softly amused.

'We can go.'

[christmas_present]

The Ghost gives Falcone a rather disapproving Well, really! once over before she holds out her hand to Bruce.

"He's going to try to be trouble for you, I think," she says as they depart.

[master_bruce]

'He's trouble for everyone. He's a disease.'

Gotham's sick because of people like him. But not for much longer, if he has his way.

'And it's OK. I plan to be trouble for him.'

[christmas_present]

The Ghost looks at him sidelong and nods.

"I'm afraid I can't tell you how that will go," he says.

Though he does wish for the best.

All he can really do is lead Bruce on in the present. Wherever that might take them next.

[master_bruce]

'It's OK. I don't need anyone to tell me.'

It'll either work, or it won't. There's a finality to either option.

He's quite glad to see Milliways again, though. There's something unsettling about being magically spirited away. Nothing his training really prepared him for, though it occurs to him it wouldn't hurt to get some practice at things like this. Just in case.

In the meantime, though, he just nods at the ghost.

'This was helpful. Thanks.'

[christmas_present]

The Ghost smiles and gives his hand one last pat before she departs.

"You take care, honey," she says.

This is not an easy path he plans to choose.

"And a Merry Christmas to you," she adds, before fading away and leaving him on his own again.

At least for a little while.

[master_bruce]

He pours another glass of water, and sits down without bothering to put a light on.

Frankly, he'd rather sit and think about what he's seen for a while, but he puts it on the backburner. He's pretty sure he won't have long to wait before he'll be off again.

So be it.

[christmas_future]

A section of darkness grows even closer to pitch black, and from the center of those shadows steps a figure, robed and cowled.

She holds out one hand, close enough to brush Bruce's sleeve, and waits for him to stand.

Some have always been brave enough to walk open-eyed into what lies ahead. Or curious enough, as the case may be.

[master_bruce]

He doesn't hesitate, even though this thing definitely falls into the 'creepy' category. He just stands up, and looks at it.
Then takes the offered hand.

It doesn't speak, so he doesn't speak. Fine with him.

[christmas_future]

She walks, the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come, grip firm on his hand to bid him follow, and the shadows flow around them.

When they part again, they have left Milliways far behind.

[master_bruce]

They go further than he's expecting. He realises, as he looks around a place he doesn't recognise at all, that he assumed his future would be in Gotham. How could it not be? Even when he was away for seven years, he was always intending to go back. Even if it was a lifetime later.

But this - he turns on the spot, taking it in. Somewhere with green fields, and trees. Remote. It's evening, and the dusk blurs things in the near-distance to the degree that it's hard to make out a defining feature. This could be anywhere. The Mid West, Canada, England, France. They're outside, on a country lane. It's not cold, not hot. It's just a place.

There is a house, though. It's about twenty feet away, up a gravel drive. The whole place would fit in half of the East Wing of Wayne Manor, but though it's small, it doesn't look unpleasant. It's nicely tended, with a lawn, and flowers. Anyone could live here - obviously, it's not going to be a random person. But if he wasn't expecting to see himself, there'd be nothing about this place he could equate to how he lives now.

He starts up the drive without looking at the ghost. He's not concerned with being rude, and is pretty sure this one won't care either way. Not concerned with how he pulls back as soon as he looks in through the window, either.

It's definitely him. And not even a very old him. But the surprise of it is enough to prompt a question, even though he figures it won't get answered.

'How far in the future do you show me?'

He'd assumed it would be when he was old. Not about - well, what? The guy he's looking at can't be fifty yet. At least, if you only look at his face.

[christmas_future]

Yet to Come extends her hand, palm up, gesturing toward the the older Bruce and his country house.

Thus far, she seems to say, and no farther.

At least not yet.

[master_bruce]

He takes a hesitant step forward, and looks back inside. It's weird. He doesn't look much different from the neck up - a few more lines, a touch of grey at the temples. But he's walking to a table, and Bruce can't help but think he's moving like an old man. There's a pronounced stoop, like he can't straighten his back. His limp is so obvious, it's like one leg's shorter than the other. And though his shoulders are still broad and strong, he looks much thinner. His brain tells him it makes sense - if he's injured, and can't work out, he'd obviously lose muscle. But it's a shock to see.

He swallows hard, and heads for the door. He tells himself it's fine - if he's here, maybe Gotham's fixed. Maybe he chose this because the place didn't need him any more. It's easier to consider than the idea of injury, and incapability.

There's a walking stick inside the door, obviously for outdoor use. In the living room, another one; he assumes that's for inside, given how close by it's kept. His older self sits with a sandwich on the table, reading a book. He's wearing glasses. There's no TV. No radio, nothing that looks technological. It might all be hidden away, of course - it would fit his M.O. But he has an uneasy feeling that this really is it.

He turns to the ghost, and opens his mouth to ask a question. And then shuts it, because what's the point? He turns back to watch himself pull a bottle of pills from a pocket, and swallow three.

So. Middle-aged, alone, away from Gotham. And fast headed towards a wheelchair, by the look of things. This is what being Batman gets him?



After a long silence, he asks the question anyway.

'This is written in stone? Or can I change it?'

[christmas_future]

She remains silent as the grave, and just as still.

But only for a moment.

The hand she lifts to rest on Bruce's shoulder trembles faintly, even though her grip is strong.

Perhaps that may be answer enough.