Watching Over You

Rating: PG
Warnings: none
Date: December 2005
Wordcount: 1,100 words
Category: Infinite Possibilities drabble: 092. Christmas
Disclaimer: Alas, I don't own these characters.

A few days late for Christmas but the thought counts, yes? My thanks to Temve for her beta. All remaining mistakes are mine.



Christmas was a time for family. Bruce had never felt more keenly his lack of one. One year ago he believed he had found a new family. Some months ago he had destroyed any bonds he might have had with them. Although he felt that his decision had been the right one he still grieved for that loss as deeply as he grieved for his parents.

Bruce Wayne obsessively channeled his pain into charity projects so that at least the children in the Narrows and other unfortunates might have a merry Christmas. Batman prowled the nights in an especially grumpy mood and among the criminals of Gotham it was soon known that it was a good idea to cease activities and just enjoy the holidays.

Christmas Eve's party saw playboy Bruce Wayne in rare form and skillfully, charmingly prodding his guests to donate a record sum to charity. But neither this success nor an uneventful patrol over Gotham's roofs as Batman lessened the loneliness he felt.



The entrance hall of the hotel was only dimly lit by the festive lights of the big Christmas tree when Bruce silently entered through the backdoor. He was tired beyond exhaustion. All he had in mind was his bed. Alfred would have retired soon after Bruce had left for the cave. Even the hardiest partygoers had found their way home or had at least retired into a private suite. The staff of the hotel Bruce had bought on a whim had proven to be exceptionally competent. They had also cleaned up most of the aftermath of the party before leaving too. Bruce didn't doubt that the last traces of the festivities would vanish before he or another party guest roused in the morning.

He was surprised to meet one of the costumed staff, dressed as Santa Claus. It was probably the night receptionist. With a short nod to him, Bruce moved towards the stairs. He didn't care what the man thought of his late return. Another reason that spoke for this hotel was the superb discretion.

The man met him at the stairs. "I don't need anything. Thank you." Bruce's words were slurred from exhaustion.

"Very well. Happy Christmas then, Bruce!" Bruce almost lost his footing while turning. That voice! He recognized the familiar blue eyes before strong arms pinned him and a prick at his throat send coldness and then numbness through his body. His knees gave way.



When Bruce woke it was still dark. Only the Christmas decoration outside shone through the windows und created weird shadows. He was lying in his bed, comfortable and warm. For several seconds he revelled in that sensation before he remembered the encounter of before. A certain shadow next to him took shape and Bruce threw himself off the bed, that is, he tried to roll away. He just twitched a bit. His muscles were warm and leaden, his limbs felt boneless. Panic welled up.

The shadow leaned forward and the glittering eyes were a giveaway even before he spoke. "Relax, Bruce," said Ducard. "You need the rest." He tucked the blanket back under Bruce's chin.

Sheer disbelief gave way to a curious kind of relief. One that loosened a tightness inside him that he hadn't been aware of until this moment. In the next moment relief was chased away by dread as he considered the circumstances he had last met this man under. He was helpless, the strange lethargy had robbed him of any strength. As he took stock of his condition he realized that he wore pyjamas under the bed covers. Bruce flushed hotly when it dawned on him that Ducard must have tucked him into his bed like a child.

"What are you doing here?" His tongue moved sluggishly too but he could make himself heard. His fear gave venom to his whispering. "Have you come to finish..."

Ducard reached out and fitted one hand around Bruce's throat. A slight, gentle squeeze and Bruce fell silent. He felt his pulse beating against that hand. He knew how vulnerable he was in this position. It was a well-remembered feeling from his training days. Ducard had liked to hold him by the throat this way when he wanted Bruce's full attention. He always got it, then and now.

"Peace! It's Christmas time, Bruce. And I feel the need to look after the well-being of my children, even that of the prodigal son." Bruce felt caught in Ducard's intense stare. "I am dismayed by what you are doing. I taught you better than that, Bruce."

"Why?" Bruce challenged him. "Because I am not giving up Gotham, because I am trying to make it a better place rather than wanting to destroy it outright?"

Ducard's calm didn't waver. "I still think it a foolish crusade, one whose futility you will realize. Sooner rather than later, I hope. But no, I wasn't referring to that. I meant your lack of care for yourself." The hand moved from his throat to his side and pushed. Bruce winced at the pain radiating from his bruised ribs. Ducard continued. "I don't think your Alfred knows of this, does he? You've hardly had time to sleep these last weeks either. You are on the road to self-destruction again, Bruce! You were easy prey a short while ago."

Bruce cringed under the disappointment in Ducard's words. Strange, how strongly that man's opinion could still affect him.

His former mentor leaned closer and the hand returned to Bruce's throat. "I don't like the idea that you are wasting my training, Bruce. Take better care or I will." A hard squeeze gave emphasis to his warning.

Bruce swallowed and nodded. Ducard removed the hand, apparently satisfied. Bruce waited. But Ducard neither spoke nor left. His exhaustion demanded its tribute and he dozed off, only to forcibly jerk himself awake the next moment. After the third time Ducard reached over and closed Bruce's eyes with gentle pressure.

"Enough, Bruce. Sleep now."

"And what are you doing?"

"Watching over you," was the answer. "Sleep."

And that, Bruce did.



When Bruce awoke it must have been close to noon already. He felt more rested and content than he had in weeks. As he stretched his hand touched a card on the pillows next to him. It showed familiar snow covered mountains and two simple, handwritten words: Merry Christmas! Bruce stared and then smiled.

It had not been a dream, then.