The Wendigo and The Lionheart (A Gotham TV: Bruce/Selina fan fiction)

Homecoming Part 1

Ignoring his equipment, the boy was turning back toward the Manor when he paused mid-step. From this angle, Alfred could only see the back of his dark head, but imagined equally dark eyes were surveying the tree line.

When Bruce turned back, he had expected the young man to be worried or at the very least concerned, but his curled lip and smiling eyes seemed to be only mildly curious. Eyes back on the tree line, he watched as she slithered down.

He could see it for what it was now, a cat watching a caged canary.

It would be two more weeks before she turned up again. He was careful this time his tread whisper soft as he walked the perimeter of the property. If the girl was anything, she was clever, but her youth gave her arrogance and he knew her eyes would be trained forward, completely unaware of the man following behind her.

Her dark grey hood was pulled over her unruly hair as she kept her head bent down as she approached the tall brick wall that fenced the property. He watched silently as she cracked her knuckles before her slim fingers reached out and caught unseen grooves in between the bricks. It was impressive, the speed and grace in which she pulled herself to the top of the wall. Her hips and legs were still resting on his side, when he made his presence known.

"What do you want?" he barked, halting her progress.

Ignoring his abrupt voice, she quickly swung a single leg over, straddling the brick wall and letting a foot dangle on either side of the fence.

"Was just in the neighborhood?" she answered her body language as arrogant as ever.

"Was just in the neighborhood," he mumbled, doubtfully. "Right? And what bout last week," he asked, bluntly. "Or the week before that,"

"Strollin'," she said, shrugging one of her delicate shoulders.

"Strolling," he repeated, his eyes conveying his doubt.

"Yeah, it's good exercise," she said, pulling up her opposite foot and propping an elbow on her knee. "Maybe you should try it sometime."

"That's enough cheek for now Miss Kyle," he said, already tired of this conversation. "What are you really doing here?"

She merely smirked, her head tilting away from him as she gazed at the trees and the road behind him.

"Are you working for someone? 'Casing the joint' as they say," he asked, his tone thick with accusation.

At his question, her head fell back against her shoulders, her even white teeth exposed as she chuckled. "Nobody says that," she said, mockingly. "And no, I'm not working for anyone."

"Then what're you doing here?"

"Like I told you," she drawled, quickly swinging her leg over so both of her feet rested on his side. "I was just strolling through the neighborhood."

"Then you can stroll yourself along, Missy," he ordered, stepping back to offer her room to climb down.

Snorting, she looked away before she planted her hands by her hips. Effortlessly she pushed herself off the garden wall landing gracefully on the dry road in front of him. She shook her head, her hood falling back as she stared up at him, her green eyes tilted up curiously.

Wordlessly, she turned on her heel giving him her back as she started down the long road from Wayne Manor.

"See ya round ole' man," she called, dismissively throwing up a hand.

"Not if I can help it," he called after her.

Exhaling, he focused back on the monitors ahead of him. Their pale grey screens bathing himself and the dark room in a sickly light. Unfortunately the electricity, a main grid he assumed, had failed hours ago, plunging the manor and he could only assume the city, into blackness, but unlike the city the manor switched over to its alternative energy sources.

The gentle hum of the generators was easily drowned out by the howl of the Northeaster. The wind cut through the trees, the eerie call carrying all the way inside the manor. Cut off from society, alone in this big house with nothing but his surly young ward, a whimsical man could easily see himself as the character of a Gothic horror novel, but Alfred Pennyworth was far from fanciful.

Stifling a yawn, he gazed at the screens, his eyes widening on the small red dot glowing in the corner of one of the monitors the motion sensors having detected movement coming up the lawn. Sitting up, he set his cup of tea on the nearest surface.

The cold had a way of disorienting all the senses, ice masked scents and snow covered well worn paths. All night deer had been wandering aimlessly onto the grounds before the floodlights and their internal compasses had them scurrying back onto their original paths.

But this this was no deer. The way it moved so slowly, its small body hunched and dragging, like every step through the steadily growing snow was a monumental accomplishment.

Despite the storm and the crippled gait, there was something vaguely familiar about the faceless shadow. But he didn't have time to reflect as he watched it stumble and change directions, the dark trail it left behind disappearing in the white down pour.

Standing, he grabbed his gun off the desk, quickly checking the clip. He might not recognize this faceless person, but he had a fair idea of where they were headed.

The fireplace hadn't been extinguished giving the room a warm glow and lengthening the already dark places around the master's study. Carefully sticking to the shadows, he kept his back to the wall as he stepped toward the double doors. It still stood on the opposite side, a silhouette against a moving backdrop.

He shifted his feet, instinctively planting them in the weaver stance. Despite his nerves, he kept his gun lowered, as he heard the jingle of the door knob as the intruder tried it.

Discovering it was locked he expected the stranger to walk away, to try another door another point of intrusion. It drifted away and he was beginning to exhale when it suddenly came charging back. A dark blur broke through the double doors in a whirlwind of black clothes and dirty snow.

Unconsciously he lifted his weapon.

"Stay where you are!" he barked, his voice hoarse from the early hour.

The figure froze, the smell of cold and blood wafting from it.

"Hands up!" he ordered, his fingers relaxing against the trigger at the individual's obedience.

Surprisingly it continued to comply, but he could see its arms shaking from the effort. It was much smaller than had appeared on the monitors, but there was something in the way it held itself, something that kept him from completely lowering his weapon.

"Now step forward," he ordered, eager to put a face to this fairy creature. "Into the light."

He thought he heard it snort, but it stepped forward, or as close to step as the half-frozen creature could manage. The golden light from the fireplace did nothing to soften the image it illuminated. There was nothing recognizable about the creature in front of him, just that whatever it was, it had walked through Hell's gauntlet.

"Nice tasee you too, Ole' Man," a reedy voice croaked out.

For once in his life Alfred Pennyworth was stunned, and could only stare as Miss Kyle crumbled to the floor.