Adult-FanFiction.org : Comics

The Birthday Present	By : Kip Category: DC Verse Comics > Batman Views: 8478 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Batman series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 6
- 7
- 8
"Bruce, are you sure about this?" Sandy glanced around uneasily.
Bruce reread the number beside the door. "Positive." He nodded. "Don’t worry."
"I can't help it." Came back the jittery reply.
"Anything seem at all familiar?" He asked, to distract the blond.
"Not so far." Sandy ventured. "You're sure this is where I lived?"
"That's what all the evidence points to," Bruce told him, looking around the small suburban street with some surprise. England in November was wet and cool, pretty much the way Bruce had supposed that it would be. In a way, it was all something of an anticlimax. Considering the efforts that certain, as yet still unknown factions, had been making to abduct the blond, Bruce had expected Sandy to be of noble blood at the very least. Finding out that Sandy had spent most of his life living with elderly relatives in a somewhat run-down street in North London didn’t seem to fit the bill, but after hours of meticulous research, this was what Bruce's best efforts had turned up.
"The lady recognised you from the photo I sent, and she sent me back those snapshots of you as a child." He said. "They were genuine, and as far as I could tell, she was too."
"Then we'd better not keep her waiting, I suppose?" Sandy sighed and climbed out of the car.
"I shall wait here, sir." Alfred gave Bruce an inscrutable look. "Otherwise very likely we shall return to find the wheels missing…"
"Alfred." Bruce didn’t know whether to laugh or approve.
"I am not overly fond of dogs, sir." Alfred reminded him. "Nor they of me… And I have no wish to insult anyone by upsetting the beloved family pet."
"Ah." Bruce nodded. "Okay then, you wait here. I'll call if …" If I need anything? Oh really, Bruce you're the Batman and you can't handle a little old lady without help?
"If we're going to be more than a couple of hours." He finished.
"Very good, Sir."
Of course that could have meant anything, but somehow it felt like 'nice save…'

Composing himself, Bruce followed Sandy in through the wooden gate. The front garden wall was a monstrous concoction of white stone of some sort, with bare earth visible along the top and a few desperate weeds clinging to life in the crevices. The path was mainly formed from irregular flat stone slabs, concreted together and leading the few feet from the pavement to a glass and wood front door.
One good solid kick and that whole door would collapse... Bruce thought, automatically assessing the defensive capabilities of the structure and finding them hopelessly inadequate, but then he didn’t have to live here.
Sandy lived here… He reminded himself of that, and vowed not to be so scathing about the place. According to the information provided, the owner of this house was an elderly widow, but despite that the paint on the door was fresh, and the windows were clean.
Someone's made an effort to have the place looking neat.
"I rang the bell." Sandy told him, as they stood there.
Through the rippled glass, they could both see a wavering shape approaching slowly. "Who's that?" A female voice asked.
"Uh, Mrs Cotteringham, it's Bruce Wayne. We spoke on the phone? About the photographs?"
"Oh, yes!" The door was opened. Several sets of dogs almost made it through the gap, but the old lady was wise to that. "Get in." She said sharply.
It was uncanny, but Bruce felt himself automatically stepping forward: that was almost exactly the same inflection that Alfred used on occasion. He noticed that Sandy had done the same thing. They exchanged sheepish grins. Thankfully the dogs had apparently also gotten the message.
"Don’t mind them." Mrs Cotteringham said pleasantly. "They won't hurt you, they just get a bit excited. Actually, I'm a bit excited too… I don’t often get visitors from America. Never before, in fact." She peered up at them. "You're too tall."
"I'm sorry." Bruce was bemused.
"You'll have to come in and sit down. It's these bifocals…" The old lady told him. "I can't see a damn thing above head height. You boys!"
Every male in the area jumped guiltily, human and canine alike.
"Badger, Bruno, if you're going to play those sorts of games, then take yourselves straight out into the back garden! Go along! Shoo! Shoo! You'll have our guests thinking that we've no manners at all…"
Following their hostess into the house, and leaving Sandy to shut the door, Bruce glanced around. So this was home? The ceilings were lower than he was used to, but the place was clean and well looked after. There was a definite miasma of dog, but he supposed that was inevitable, since the animals were apparently not only company, but security too; which logically meant that they would be given the run of the place.
"Come right in! I've got the kettle on." The old lady gestured for them to go into the small front room. "I thought we'd have tea in there." She explained. "Otherwise the dogs will take advantage of you and nick things from your plate. You have to watch the little blighters," Their hostess added, "They're damn quick."
"Do they do that to you?" Sandy asked. It was the first sound he had made since entering the house.
"Me? As if!" The old lady waved a dismissive hand. "I'm not so old that they would dare. They can't open tins for themselves, you know?" Leaving her two guests to attempt to work out exactly what that might mean, she trundled off into the kitchen.

"Tins?" Bruce looked to Sandy.
"I think she means dog food." Sandy answered. “It comes in tins over here too.” He looked distracted.
Tins? Oh ... cans!
"Are you okay?" Bruce was a little concerned.
"Fine… Funny, the ceiling seems so low…"
"Yes, well the ceilings back home are a bit higher…" Bruce agreed tactfully. Come to that, the ceiling in the hotel elevator looked higher than these. He got up to assist their hostess, who was returning with a tray of tea things.
"You don’t need to do that, dear." She assured him. "I can manage … Oh."
"Mrs Cotteringham?" Bruce asked. Their hostess seemed frozen to the spot. He had heard about little old ladies dropping dead suddenly of shock. She wasn’t going to do that now, was she? Then again, she didn’t quite seem the sort. No, she looks more likely to haul out a frying pan and hit someone with it, if provoked, despite that harmless 'twin set and pearls' appearance.
"Call me Ivy." The old lady said absently.
Just for a second, Bruce felt a shiver run through him; but the hair was grey and the lady was too old to be his lissom nemesis.
"Do know why your friend brought you here, dear?" Mrs Cotteringham addressed the comment directly to Sandy.
Holding his breath, Bruce waited, as anxious as he could ever remember being.
"Do you know me?" She continued.
"Do I?" Sandy regarded her closely for a moment longer, "Sorry, but I really don’t think so."
"Don’t try and force it." Bruce reminded him, slightly disappointed, but determined not to show it. "If this is going to work, then nothing's going to be gained by rushing." He noticed the old lady nod at him in approval.
"Tea, Mr Wayne?"
"Please." Bruce wasn’t about to refuse.
"Sugar?"
"No, thank you, Mrs Cotteringham."
"Oh really, dear, call me Ivy, or Aunty Ivy if you prefer? Everyone does. Mrs Cotteringham is such a mouthful."
"Aunty Ivy." Bruce agreed, feeling ever so slightly foolish. "And you must call me Bruce. This," He remembered his manners. "Is Sandy."
"Sandy, is it?" The old lady passed a cup of tea across to the blond. "I've been hoping very much that you might turn out to be my nephew, Tommy." She said quite calmly. "Thomas Worral."
"I know." Sandy nodded. "Bruce told me, before we came here. Do you still think I might be him?"
"It's been such a long time since I last saw Tommy, a person can change a lot over that number of years, I'm not sure I'd know him if I did see him." The old lady shook her head wistfully. "What do you think? Does anything here seem familiar?"
Sandy looked around. "I don’t think so," He answered quietly, "Not so far."
"Well, never mind." There was a hint of disappointment, quickly concealed, in the old lady's face, and then it was gone. "Cake?"

They spent nearly an hour sitting in the front room, eating homemade cake and drinking tea.
"Well, I suppose we ought to go." Bruce checked his watch. "We've got tickets for a show later tonight," Which was true, but also a convenient way of politely leaving without hurting Ivy’s feelings…
"Something nice?" The old lady asked, but before either of them could answer the door burst open and they were surrounded by a milling, panting sea of dogs.
"Oh, boys!" Mrs Cotteringham threw up her hands. "Look at the state of you! Muddy paws!"
"Is his name Solomon?" Sandy asked suddenly. "He looks like a Solomon."
Bruce couldn’t imagine how any dog might possibly look like a Solomon, but he smiled indulgently at his blond friend.
"No dear, that's Toby." The old lady told them. "Toby, leave our guests alone, and let them finish their tea in peace!"
Ignoring her totally, Toby surged forward, sniffing loudly and wagging his tail.
"He's a bit deaf." Aunty Ivy apologised.
Sandy didn’t seem to notice. His hand stretched out, and he patted the dog. Quite abruptly he drew his hand back.
"Sandy?" Bruce noticed the sudden change. "Sandy?"
"I'm fine. I was just … dizzy." Sandy said quickly, "I'm okay. Uh, is there anywhere I could wash my hands, please?"
"Use the kitchen sink, it's straight through to the back." The old lady offered. "They do get a bit slobbery. Not nice when you’re eating." She agreed, and turning to Bruce, added wryly. "Not everyone's taste, dogs."
Bruce was tempted to mention that some people found dogs very tasty, particularly stir-fried, but he certainly wasn’t ill mannered enough to suggest it at that precise moment: Aunty Ivy might have a frying pan handy…
It’s exactly the sort of thing that Alfred would do, and they look to be about the same generation…
Sandy wandered back into the room. "What happened to the pond?" He asked.
"Pond?" Bruce looked at his friend. "What pond?"
"The one that used to be in the middle of the garden," Sandy explained airily, "The one that Kath fell in."

"Oh, it dried up and we got rid of it. That was the year before Fred passed away," Ivy tilted her head, "Funny you should mention that, it was Tommy's favourite spot. He had a particular affection for that pond."
"Sandy, how did you know about the pond?" Bruce asked, careful not to get too excited: it could just be coincidence, lots of houses must have had ponds in the back gardens at some time. If so, and there were still visible traces out there, Sandy could have seen something through the window while he was washing his hands.
But do they all have a 'Kath'? Suddenly Bruce remembered what else Sandy had said.
Then he is … was … Ivy's nephew Tommy! We were right! But who was the mysterious Kath? A girlfriend? A wife? What else might Sandy have left behind from his previous life?
Jealous much, Bruce?
"You remember Kath?" Ivy asked: evidently Bruce wasn’t the only one to have noticed that little detail.
"Of course," Sandy looked around the room again. "Where's the photo, Aunty Ivy? The one of the two of us at the fair?"
"It's in the sideboard." The old lady told him. She gestured at Bruce. "Could I get you to do the honours, Bruce, dear? Third drawer down; should be right at the front."
Turning, Bruce found a cabinet with a set of drawers just behind him. He had been so pre-occupied with everything else that he had scarcely noticed the furniture.
Sloppy! If this was a case, we could have both been killed! Bruce scolded himself, thankful it wasn’t. Reaching into the unit, he quickly located a framed snapshot. As he pulled it out, he looked at the two faces. Mid-teens, a girl with straight dark hair, not in the least familiar, but the boy …
"It's you!" The pose and the expression were so familiar. Hurriedly, he handed it over to Sandy. "I mean that it's uncannily like you," He amended.
"Of course it looks like me," Sandy smiled at him tolerantly, "It IS me, and that's Kath! We won the archery contest, and got our pictures in the paper! Uncle Fred begged a copy of the print from the photographer and had it framed."
"Fred kept it on top of the telly, and even after you disappeared he wouldn’t have it moved. After he passed over, and you were still gone, I just couldn’t bear to see it so I put it away," Ivy sighed.
"You remember?" Now that the moment had actually come, Bruce wasn’t sure of how he felt about it. Sandy had been his, totally his, and now he would have to share him with others … Ivy, and whoever this Kath was…
Now that Sandy has a Past and a Life, he might not want me in it…

"Not remember exactly, not the way I can remember the things that have happened since I got out of the hospital, but that just arrived in my head," Sandy was struggling to put it all into words. "Like watching a movie?"
"You were in hospital?" Ivy was concerned. "Were you ill, dear?"
Maybe I ought to have said something to Ivy first? Then again, Sandy might not have turned out to be the missing nephew; which was precisely why Bruce hadn’t wanted to pass on any personal information beforehand.
No, I think I did the right thing by not mentioning it... Let Sandy decide what he wants her to know...
"The doctors at the hospital thought I must have been in some sort of traffic accident." Sandy was saying. "I was found in an alley by a patrol car. That's what we call police cars over there." He explained. "I think everyone rather expected that I would die, but I didn’t. They didn’t know who I was, and when I woke up, neither did I."
“Goodness!” The old lady was horrified. "You poor love! No wonder we never heard anything from you."
"It's all in the past now, Aunty Ivy." Sandy gave her a reassuring smile. "I'm fine."
"Well, you have a good friend." Ivy smiled back. "For Bruce to go to all this trouble to help you, the two of you must be close."
That was beginning to feel like the moment Bruce had been dreading. The moment when they had to explain, in terms that would not offend Sandy's very elderly relative, that they were slightly more than 'friends'.
"We're … very close …" He said carefully.
"Yes." Sandy agreed readily, "Very."
"I'm so glad, dear. I can see that you need taking care of, even as big as you are now. Kath was always worrying about what would become of you." Ivy smiled. "Well, maybe you can go and tell her yourself? She only lives a few doors down?"
"Kath lives near here?" Sandy's face lit up. "Bruce, have we got time? Can we see her?" Without waiting for a reply, he turned back to Ivy. "Will she be at home now?"
"Kath'll be at home now," The old lady exchanged a fond smile with Bruce. "She's on maternity leave."
"Kath's having a baby?" Sandy looked delighted. "She always wanted a baby! There were times when I could have strangled her, she went on about it so much."
Bruce sensed his already fragile emotional core preparing to splinter into tiny fragments.
"Now she's going to have two children. Or I should say, that she and John are going to have two? Little Philip is nearly three now."
"John?" Sandy waited patiently.
"Oh yes, I didn’t say, did I? Must be my age …" Ivy smiled. "Kath married John Taylor, about two years after you were gone."
Didn’t exactly pine for him, did she? Bruce ran his eyes over the golden haired man and wondered at that. How could anyone just give him up for dead? And so fast?
"You both knew John from school." Aunty Ivy was saying. "Tall lad, light brown hair, and brown eyes? His dad was a plumber?"
Apparently that rang bells too. Sandy was incredulous. "Not Mucky John?"
Bruce frowned at the odd way Sandy stretched the vowel sounds in that one word.
"The very same!" Ivy smiled. "Of all the things you could remember you had to remember that! He's changed a bit, you know." She looked at Bruce "The poor lad came from Huddersfield, and so of course he talked with a northern accent. The kids here used to take the mickey out of him something chronic, 'Mucky' being one of the nicer things they called him!" She laughed softly.
"Mind you, once John got over six foot they were a bit more polite, and by the time he stopped growing there weren’t many people who would take liberties. Kath's the only one who gets away with anything these days. Though I daresay if the new baby's a girl she'll have her dad wrapped round her little finger too, when she grows up."
"How tall is he?" Sandy asked. "John, I mean?"
Ivy glanced at Bruce.
"About your man's height." She said, and then blushed. "Oh, I'm sorry, I shouldn’t assume…"
Bruce looked at her. "Assume?"
"When someone from round here says 'your man', it means they think you're a couple." Sandy grinned. "Well, Aunty Ivy, you always were a sharp one."
"Get away with you!" Ivy laughed aloud and hauled herself to her feet. "Well, I mustn’t be keeping you any longer! The dogs have to take me for a walk, and if you're going to catch Kath, then you'll have to do it quick, before she goes to get Philip from the child minder. They're at number fourteen."

Bruce and Sandy followed her into the small hall. The dogs were there first, falling over each other in their haste. Ivy was already hauling herself into her coat.
"The dogs take you for a walk? Shouldn’t that be the other way around?" Bruce had to ask.
"Oh, it should be, but there's no doubt about who's walking who…" Ivy grinned. "I have a secret weapon though…" She gave a conspiratorial wink.
"Yes?" Secret weapons? Being who he was, how could Bruce resist?
"Chocolate buttons." The old lady whispered, pulling a brightly coloured wrapper out of a coat pocket and waving it at him. "When I call, they come."
Grabbing hold of him, she hugged him quickly and let him go. "Look after the boy." She told him firmly. "And don’t be strangers, either of you." She glanced at Sandy. "Do you hug now?" She asked.
"If you want to?" The blond looked bemused.
"If I want to? Oh you daft bugger!" Seizing Sandy in the kind of grip that only old ladies can manage, or are allowed to apply in public, Ivy squeezed him tightly.
"I've not seen you in years and you don’t know if I would want to hug my only nephew! You take after your father in more ways than the obvious!" Chuckling at his expression, she sailed out of the door, towed along by the straining dogs. "Don’t take so long to write this time, young man. I'm sure young Bruce will remember where I live, even if you don’t. I've got my keys, so just pull the door shut as you go, boys."
"Number fourteen." Sandy pointed to a red door just a short walk away.
"You're sure we won't be imposing?" Bruce was just a little concerned about dropping in totally unannounced on complete strangers.
"Oh, Kath won't mind." His companion stated blithely.
"Kath won't mind what?" A deep voice asked from behind them.
- 6
- 7
- 8
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

The Birthday Present