Willow

Killer Croc Escapes!

...Waylon Jones, better known as Killer Croc, has escaped Arkham Asylum. Citizens are advised not to engage and to alert the authorities at once if spotted...

Verity slept through the car ride from the airport back to Wayne Manor. She teased him about having a private jet and no private airfield to go with it during their descent but he just smiled and rolled his eyes. It was late when they arrived and later still when they finally deboarded and settled in the back of the black SUV with Alfred at the wheel. As soon as the engine thrummed to life, Verity was stifling a yawn and snuggling into Bruce's side.

He couldn't blame her. They made ample use of the two hour long flight. He cleaned her up as best he could afterwards, promising a nice hot bath once they were finally home. Along with breakfast in bed and however much pampering she desired.

Now that they were on speaking terms again, Silver pestered him to hand over his credit card so she could take Verity for a spa day and shopping trip. He would. But only after he had Verity to himself for a few more days first. He had two months of stupidity to make up for and she wasn't one for lavish gifts, wanting only his time and attention. Maybe it would be easier if she could be placated with jewels and finery. But then she wouldn't be his Verity. And he rather liked her as she was.

"I trust you had a pleasant trip, sir?" Alfred asked, regarding the cozy couple through the rearview.

"I did. Martha says hello. Sent us with a few jars of preserves, too." He smiled softly and leaned over to kiss the top of Verity's head, "I'm glad to be home, though."

"Very good, sir." Alfred turned his attention back to the winding driveway that led up Alan's Hill to Wayne Manor. "There is a matter that require the Batman's attention if you're not too worn out from your travels."

Bruce sighed and looked down at Verity, still asleep nestled against his side. There was always something. There would always be something.

"Can it wait an hour?" He asked.

"More than likely." Alfred replied, "Mister Jones has escaped from Arkham but doing no harm."

"Hn."

Waylon, dubbed Killer Croc by the public thanks to his unique metahuman abilities and physique and his penchant for violence, was not quite the brilliant criminal mastermind some of the other rogues were. His typical methods were to fight first and ask questions later. But for all of his faults, everything he stole was with the intent of providing for his mother. Renetta Jones had worked as a nurse at Gotham General until her health forced her to retire.

If he broke out of Arkham and couldn't be found, it most likely had something to do with his mother.

"Unpacking can wait until morning," Bruce said, carefully lifting Verity out of the backseat once they'd parked, "No reason to wake the staff at this hour."

"Very good, sir. Shall I wait for you downstairs?"

Bruce nodded, silently praying tonight would be easy. He just needed to tuck Verity in. Find Waylon. Talk him down from whatever he might be planning, if anything.

But, like most things, it was easier said than done.

Verity stirred just long enough to hug his neck and murmur something about being careful.

"We'll have a bath when I get back, alright?" He promised, drawing the blankets up to her shoulders. She let out a sleepy hum in response and made herself comfortable, asleep again before he even left the room.

-&-

Verity woke just before dawn eased its way over the bay. Sitting up to stretch, she frowned when she noticed Bruce's untouched side of the bed. A longer night than he anticipated then.