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

Homecomin Part 2

Bruce

Even before his parents death Bruce had never slept much. His mother had teased him about how as young as three she would often find him wandering the halls in the predawn hours. The first time, convinced he had been abducted, she'd nearly screamed the house down searching for him, only to find him sleeping under the desk in his father's study. It wasn't unusual to find him in the green house or the wine cellar, or wherever he could wander off to.

And he liked to wander. A lot.

His house was old, one of the oldest buildings in the incorporated city limits. It hadn't always been, but cities needed to grow and change and saving a few old buildings wasn't high on the city councils priority list, so they were demolished and their property redistributed to dummy corporations for "warehouses" and "factories."

Researching his family home hadn't brought up much. The blueprints to the main house had been destroyed long ago, probably in one of Gotham's many natural or unnatural disasters, and the few historians he'd contacted couldn't give him any more information than what he had already known. Anything he wanted to find out, he was going to have to dig it up himself. Which wasn't really a problem, curiosity came naturally to him.

It was that tendency toward inquisitiveness that impelled him to explore his cavernous house, finding nooks and crannies and servants passages forgotten by people and time. Behind the walls of his family home was a labyrinth of channels and secrets and he was perfectly content with discovering them on his own. One of the many sentiments, Alfred did not share with him.

It wasn't that Alfred didn't support him per say, it's just that their ideas on testing one's limits differed... Greatly.

Sighing, Bruce paused in the stairwell, his gaze landing on the snow covered pool below. Between the predawn light and the heavy snow, his gardens were a mix of lavender and grey an ethereal world that was unfamiliar to him. Perfectly pruned hedges, massive sculptures, even the brick wall that encompassed the property was unrecognizable, just a solid blanket of white.

He knew he should tell Alfred what he had planned, but he knew it would only lead to a fight. Alfred tolerated his training to a point. Only a point.

How was he supposed to conquer his fears when in the back of his mind he knew Alfred would always find him, always find a way to save him.

His exploits into self-discipline had only grown in intensity over the last two years boxing, fencing, linguistics. No, two skills were alike and if Alfred couldn't teach him it didn't take long to find some instructor willing to take Wayne money. Diverse stimulation was important, and he didn't want any part of his training found wanting.

He was still hesitant when it came to firearms. Researching the different types, how they worked, how they didn't, still made his throat tight so he wasn't sure if he would ever be able to hold one, much less fire it.

He went elsewhere when it came to more unconventional skills though that conduit took a little more than cash. Selina Kyle had her own unique skill set and unfortunately she had never been impressed by his name or his wealth, but she liked to wager and she liked to play games. All kinds of games.

He clamped his jaw at the thought of her, his eyes roving over to the banister, before they moved back to the window. He didn't have time for any stray thoughts, the wind was beginning to pick up, the ice and snow making harsh sounds against the glass. If he waited any longer he might talk himself out of it, or more than likely he would let Alfred talk him out of it.

The idea had come to him in the middle of the night; there in that in-between his mind had been drifting, hazy images and half-remembered conversations floating past his inner-eye. At some point his mind had conjured the idea of cold and ice and the places it could push the human body.