Bruce stood in the mild rain, holding his umbrella up over himself and his unicorn daughter. They stared together at the monument they had come to see. Stepping forward carefully, Rarity put her hoof to the inscription.
Here lies Thomas and Martha Wayne
Loving Parents, Devoted Friends, Community Leaders
Taken Before Their Time
Rarity blinked back moisture in her eyes as she stared at the grave, stepping back carefully. Bruce kneeled down beside her, resting his hand on her back before turning to address the grave.
"Mother, Father," he said softly. "I'm sorry it's been so long since I last visited. You know how painful it is for me to come here, and...I've lost myself in my work ever since...since." His eyes glanced briefly towards another gravestone nearby, smaller and more recently constructed than this monument. "But someone wanted to meet you both.
"This is Rarity...my daughter."
Rarity swallowed, glancing up at the imposing grave. "...Grandmother...Grandfather..." She steeled herself. "I...I'm pretty sure I'm not what you would have ever expected as a grandchild. I'm not entirely sure I'm what you would want, either. But...I hope you can bring yourselves to love me as much as Father does."
Bruce carefully stroked her neck under her mane, pleased and proud of the maturity that speech showed.
Rarity glanced closer at the dates carved into the stone. Her eyes showed she was making rapid calculations, and she suddenly gasped. "Father...you couldn't have been more than ten!"
"...I was eight..." Rarity whimpered and shivered in response to his statement. Bruce was easily able to see the connection her mind was making; only three years older than she was now. Given his own health issues, it was all too easy for her to imagine losing him soon. Leaning forward, he stroked her cheek. "Don't worry. I'm not feeling any signs of incipient mortality."
Rarity managed a small smile, and her shivers slowed. "How did you handle it? Who...who took care of you?"
Smiling softly, Bruce stood up and led her to the smaller grave he had glanced at before. She read the inscription there.
Alfred Pennyworth
Loyal Servant
Loving Caretaker
Trusted Confidant
Devoted Friend
"Hello, Alfred," Bruce said to the grave. "I'm sorry I haven't been to visit since the funeral." He chuckled. "I can still hear you scolding me for my inconsideration there...and for not bringing Rarity here for you to meet sooner, and for not waiting longer before letting her meet you." He kneeled down beside Rarity. "Rarity, this is Alfred Pennyworth. He worked as a butler and majordomo to my parents before their death, and then he became my caretaker and guardian as I grew up before taking on the same roles he served for my parents to me. He was a good friend, and saw me through many dark parts of my life."
Rarity looked up at the grave. The newer stone seemed warmer somehow than that of the other grave. Where the Wayne's tombstone seemed etched with sadness, grief, and pain...this one seemed suffused with contentment, passion, and gentle regret. Looking up at it, she could have sworn she felt warm arms around her, helping her to her hooves as a gentle voice lightly chided her for her recklessness. Blinking, she realized that, somehow, she was picking up some lingering energy of Bruce's interactions with the well loved friend who rested here. She smiled softly as her gaze traced down the stone, over the image of an elderly British gentleman - still brimming with vim and vigor - etched into the stone over the inscription.
Under the inscription, however, something caught her eye. "What does this mean?" she asked, putting her hoof to the etchings.
Bruce smiled, both surprised and proud. Most people who saw the coded inscription there would assume it was merely decoration, never realizing the message it contained. It took a very keen eye to spot the pattern in the carvings that was more than decorative. "It's a special dedication I left him," he replied. "It means, 'The Hero Gotham needed'."
Rarity blinked in confusion. "What does that mean, Father?"
He smiled softly. "It's a long story." As Rarity playfully measured the length of her ears, he chuckled. "Alright, I'll tell you...but not here. Some I'll need to tell you somewhere else, and some will have to wait until we get home."
"Alright," Rarity agreed. "Shall we go?"
Nodding, Bruce led the way out of the graveyard.
Their first stop was a small alley behind a theater in downtown Gotham. Despite how much the city had changed over the past nearly four decades, this place remained unchanged...almost as though the city itself refused to allow this place to alter from how it been that fateful day, almost 57 years before to the day. The day the fate of the very city had changed.
"What is this place?" Rarity asked, glancing around. "It's so dark and dreary...and dirty!" She let off a disgusted snort as she shook dirt off her hoof.
"Colloquially, this place is called Crime Alley," Bruce explained. "57 years ago, my parents and I were watching a performance in this very theater when I became frightened of some of the performance, and begged to leave. Stepping out into this alley on our way back to our car, we were confronted by a mugger with a gun. My father tried to protect us.
"It was here I watched that man shoot my parents dead."
Rarity fell completely silent, all thoughts of the filth of the place banished by the realization of its significance. "...Father?" she asked worriedly.
Bruce nodded. "You asked why I was filled with such rage and pain, needing the martial arts to forge it into a weapon I could wield, instead of being wielded by it? This is the reason."
Rarity stared out at the alley, feeling the weight of history and pain. "What did you do?" she asked softly.
He gently scooped her up. "For that part of the story," he said softly, "we'll talk in the comfort of home."
Back at the manor, Bruce handed Rarity a cup of cocoa to warm her up after the rain. She took it in her telekinesis as she balanced it between her forehooves, laying back against Ace's barrel. As Bruce sat down, the faithful hound from a line of faithful hounds laid his head in his master's lap.
Bruce took a sip of his hot tea. "Comfortable?" he asked Rarity.
She nodded. "And ready to hear the rest of the story."
Bruce smiled. "Actually, I'm curious if you can figure out the rest of the story from what you already know of me and the city." He leaned back. "Show me how clever you can be."
Rarity gave a frowning pout, but she recognized the look on his face. Ever since he began training her in the martial arts - amongst other things - every so often they'd come to part of the lesson he wouldn't explain. Instead, he would instruct her to extrapolate, and figure it out on her own. As long as she made the attempt, right or wrong, she was rewarded. If she gave up, however, she didn't get dessert after dinner that night. No amount of wheedling, cajoling, or whining would move him on this...and, in fact, often lost her dessert anyway.
Sighing, she snuggled into Ace's side as she thought. "Well..." she began. "Having just witnessed your parents' murder...I imagine the rage inside you was directed at the one who'd killed them, and failing having him available for retribution, towards all criminals." Glancing towards his face, she saw the gentle, encouraging nod to go on. "However, you were a child, so you couldn't act on that right away. The martial arts taught you self control, and Alfred must have taught you responsibility."
"He did, that," Bruce agreed, giving her that confirmation.
Rarity smiled, certain she was on the right track now. "If by the time you reached adulthood you still needed the weapon you had forged your emotional turmoil into, then your parents' murderer wouldn't have been caught yet...which meant crime was a major problem in the city if the police hadn't solved the murder of a pair of wealthy industrial philanthropists after more than a decade. And that sense of responsibility would have led you to try and save Gotham - the community your parents had been working on saving - from the crime that had claimed your parents!"
Bruce resisted choking on a sip of tea through force of willpower alone. "How did you come to the conclusion that they were philanthropists, and that they were trying to save the city?"
Rarity smiled. "Account records of Wayne Enterprises dating back nearly 80 years showed honorable business practice dedicated to 'the best for all' rather than 'the best for us', and the inscription on their grave said 'Community Leaders'. They could only have been good people, dedicated to the people of Gotham."
Bruce's smile widened at this. "Very well reasoned. Go on."
She frowned thoughtfully. "But you couldn't do it as Bruce Wayne. That would leave you vulnerable to the same crime that claimed your parents, and would leave everyone you cared about as a weakness criminals could exploit." She gasped. "That's what the suits in the dark place are for, aren't they?" she burst out. "You wore them to fight crime!"
Setting his tea down, he slowly applauded Rarity's deductions. "Very well done, Rarity. Very well done. You have it all right. You'll make an excellent detective when you're older." As Rarity blushed at the praise, he picked up the tea. "That's right. Donning those suits, I fought crime. To put fear into the hearts of the criminal element...I became Batman...the hero Gotham deserved."
Rarity gasped out again. "Alfred knew!" she said accusingly. "He helped you be Batman, covering for you and keeping you in good condition! That's what that inscription on his grave meant!"
Smiling, Bruce shook his head. "While you're right about his role, that's not the meaning of the inscription." He took a sip of his tea. "After my parents died, and many other times throughout my life, Alfred saved me from myself. Saved me from being consumed by my rage, from being consumed by my need to save Gotham...from losing myself entirely to Batman, until I would become little more than the face that wore the mask. He saved me...so I could save Gotham."
Smiling softly, Rarity set down her empty cup and snuggled up to Bruce's leg. "Quite the legacy our family has," she said softly.
Nodding, Bruce gently stroked her mane. "Indeed."