Teen Titans Fan Fiction ❯ Reconciliations With Darkness ❯ Act I: Consecutive Miracles ( Chapter 1 )

Please, for the love of all that is good in fanfiction, write a review. Even better, make it thoughtful and specific as to why you think as you do. Reviews are the ambrosia with which writer’s sate the muses. I swear on pain of eating Star Fire’s pudding that I will personally respond to every review. Note that I reserve the right to base the thoughtfulness of my response on that of the review.
Stick with me now…I’ve got a big back story to set-up. Robin's getting the next chapter all to himself and he and the rest of the Titans will be here to stay from then on out.

Although born as a City of the day, Gotham had long since become Child of Twilight. All through the afternoon, its barren concrete and dreary industry lay quiet as the teeming masses go about their lives. Lines distinct and clear divide the have’s and the have-not’s. Tall sky scrapers of glass and steel gleaming stand mere steps away from patches of corruption and decay, the rotting corpses of apartments and skeletons of warehouses. Walking side by side together on repetitious grids are the wealthy aristocrats and sons of whores, princes and paupers existing together, but never acknowledging one another.
Such was Gotham by day. An eclectic mix to be sure, yet hardly unique. However, as the sun’s golden red rays gradually receded from its streets, something uncanny happened. Darkness crept in through the east, covering what had once been blandly defined with black oblivion. For a few moments, what had been solid and real simply ceased to exist. Then, one by one, the lights came on, following the retreating following darkness, blending with it, never dispelling it completely.
Fluorescent, LED, Halogen, Neon, all were there, swirling in endless variance. And as they come alive, so does the city. Gotham is no longer simply a construction of steel and stone, it is a living thing, pulsing with unsteady life, its sentience marked by twisting shadows, its bones with the weirdly gothic structures, its blood in those strange souls who trust themselves to wander its paths. Yes, Gotham is alive in a way that no other city has been and probably ever will be, yet for a long time, it was alive only in its corruption, like a man slowly dying of plague with no friends brave enough to put him out of his misery. There were many poor souls who had lived and died in Gotham, seemingly trapped in the warped streets its twilight and corruption grew. For them, there was nothing other than the endless despair of trying to get through the next day, the next night, with their lives intact. Sometimes they didn’t even get that.
That was, until HE came. Over a decade ago, when crime had reached its zenith, Gotham was named the murder capital of the world and the city finally began to succumb to its own disease. Just as it seemed as if the City had finally tumbled too far, there were suddenly whispers in the shadows, whispers of hope, wonder, and a little bit of fear where before there had only been despair.
For over a decade, the Dark Knight had waged an unceasing war against the City and for the City, striving to keep it from killing itself and dragging its people down with it to Hell. For a decade, Bruce Wayne, happy child turned pathologically obsessed avenger, held the City suspended over a yawning chasm by the strength of his own will. However, the obsession which gave him the strength to hold the City also made him incapable of holding onto anything else. As he held City, the weight only got heavier and its corruption slowly made its way into his own heart and mind.
Others tried to help. The ever present Alfred, Bruce’s young ward, Richard (Dick) Grayson, Jim and Barbara Gordon, the Justice League, and Leslie Tompkins among many others. But Bruce could never let them truly take over, never really let himself rest, not even with Alfred, not even with his own son. After a long decade he had driven away everyone who might have saved him and if he could not drive them away, then he had locked them out, guarding his vulnerability under the armor of the Bat. And in locking himself away, he slowly killed himself.
Ten years after he grabbed onto the City with a vice grip he seemed damned to die before he was dead. The Bat was the only true thing about him. Bruce Wayne had disappeared long ago. Only Alfred could claim to speak intimately with him anymore and chances were he would be hesitant to say that he really did know him. His heart had been broken by the few loves he had risked early in his life and his heart was so scabbed over that he could never give anyone else a chance, much as he might want or need too. Ten years later and his son had been sent to another city far away, with no opportunity to recall the hateful words that had passed between the two of them. Alfred and Leslie found themselves shut out when they got too deep and no else could see beyond the mask. Surely, it must have been thought that he doomed to live life only alone and anguished, if he lived at all. So it was thought.
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Peace. Thankfulness. Love. To Alfred Pennyworth it seemed as if he were suddenly bathed in them. Those were the closest things he could compare to what he felt when he walked near the open door of an oven which, coincidently, was what he had just done when he pulled the apricot and honey glazed ham out. Alfred loved that feeling as the warmth and light and smell suddenly rolled out in waves. It felt like Heaven, which was good, because Heaven’s blessing was especially wanted tonight.
With practiced deliberation, he easily placed the ham and still bubbling sauces on a bed of stuffing. Yes, everything had to be perfect. Sweeping his hand under the heavy load, he balanced the groaning silver tray expertly on the palm of his hand and walked the marbled path towards the master dinning room. It would have been a surprisingly long walk for someone who was unfamiliar with the Wayne Manor, but to aged butler, it was no time at all before he was suddenly in a cavernous room full of chandelier light, flying arches, and a table that seemed to stretch forever.
“Your dinner, Master Bruce, Mrs. Ariel.” It may have been impossible, but the monstrous table actually seemed to sag under the immense weight of Alfred’s creations. The ham was only main course, with sides of rich french-onion soup, crisp beans and tomatoes, topped off with a bottle of fragrant raspberry liquor that had cost a small fortune. Never mind desert…
“Alfred….” An annoyed voice grated.
“Hmm…” The keeper of Wayne Manor glanced down at the cocked eyebrow of his charge. “Something wrong Master Bruce?” Of course, he already knew. Batman may have been famed for his seeming omniscience, but when it came down to certain things (namely, knowing himself) the World’s Greatest Detective had nothing on Alfred Pennyworth.
Bruce simply gestured out to the lavish spread overflowing the edges of the table in front of him. “Isn’t this a bit…much.” Indeed, there was enough food to feed a family of five three square meals and still have leftovers, but then, Alfred never believed in being niggardly, especially not tonight. No, tonight, everything had to be absolutely perfect.
For a long moment, he and his son in all, but name held one another’s gaze. Alfred had never backed down from looking Bruce in the eye. He was one of five who could claim that distinct honor and Thomas and Martha Wayne were long dead. Still, it sometimes hurt to stand up so to Master Bruce, even if he would never allow himself to show it.
“Bruce, stop badgering Alfred and dig in. These green beans are delicious.” Bruce’s attention was immediately shifted away from him to the woman comfortably sitting at his right.
“You haven’t eaten them yet.” No, she had not, but Ariel Wayne wasn’t about to let this little fact get in her way. Being another one of those privileged five (now three) who could look both Bruce Wayne and Batman in the eye, she calmly held up a finger before explaining, “One: I read the grocery bills and if they taste half as good as they cost, they must be wonderful. Two: they look and smell delicious. Three: Alfred made it.”
A nod graciously given, graciously received. “Thank you, Master. Ariel.” Although Alfred often received compliments on his cooking, it wasn’t everyday that your culinary genius was declared to be natural law.
“You’re welcome Alfred,” came her purposefully over emphasized politeness, “and drop the ‘Mrs.’ ”
With a tacit nod, the venerable servant uncomfortably sat down at Bruce’s left. It wasn’t natural: butlers sitting down at their master’s table, especially not when that butler was Alfred Pennyworth. Unfortunately, as she had just demonstrated, Mrs. Wayne had no compunction against rewriting natural law. One of her first edicts as the newly appointed mistress of the Wayne house was that Alfred would sit down and eat with them. It was a fight every meal, but she had begun to win with increasing regularity. Alfred had not fought her this time either. Nay, he had eagerly given in; anything to give her an extra edge tonight. She would need it.
The couple had almost finished their main meals. Alfred watched as Bruce and Ariel seemingly communicated through the tiniest gesture. A tip of the head here, a request for the pepper, a muttered, “thank you.” Alfred, as had been the sad case for the past five years before Ariel, was reduced to being little more than a helpless observer. Although he had never stopped being proud of what his “son” was doing, he had grown increasingly worried as he seemingly became more and more like the criminals that he fought. Oh, Batman would never reduce himself to killing, to crime himself. That be anathema; wrong on an almost spiritual level. This didn’t stop Bruce from becoming increasingly cold and distant, locking away his humanity in the dual fear that he would be hurt or his humanity would cause him to falter in the critical moment. The death knell came when he sent away Master Dick, leaving both sides furious and hurt. He had been dying by slow degrees ever since. That was, until a year ago, when several miracles occurred almost simultaneously.
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The first was Batman had discovered, completely by accident, a combined kiddy porn and prostitute ring that had been lurking underground for years, using the abandoned minors of Gotham and its neighbors to satiate the sick pleasures of others. To say that Batman was furious was an understatement. His feelings towards those involved were not improved by his shame and guilt over allowing something so heinous to escape his detection for so long. If they hadn’t already been so, their fates were fully sealed when the date of their discovery happened to be the week of January 15th, that fateful day when something inside of Bruce’s soul died to make room for the demon behind the Bat. Superman himself would have blanched to see the look on Batman’s face as he exited the Cave with Vengeance on his mind. Thirty-six hours later and Commissioner Gordon’s men were still following the trail of broken bodies.
Eventually the bodies and Batman stopped with the culminating arrest of the ring leaders and the discovery of their primary “holding area” in the southern docks. A high school teacher, a computer specialist from Powers Industries, and a minor businessman all needed a new room at Stonegate Prison and dozens of minors, ages nine to sixteen (three seven-year olds, the thought made Alfred sick), needed new homes and some serious consoling.
Enter Miss Yolanda Holloway: former foster parent, unofficial head of Gotham’s child care services, and part-time Sunday school teacher at Jubilee Church. It was almost five in the morning when Yolanda was nearly knocked out off her bed by a stern sounding man claiming to be Bruce Wayne. Yolanda was duly informed that she had two hours to get to the GPD’s head quarters, get briefed, and then head to her office and start work on several dozen cases. She and her department would be compensated.
To invoke the title of “Wayne” in Gotham was one step below invoking God and one step above the President, so despite her deep ire at being awakened at nearly five in the morning, Miss. Holloway managed temporarily shelve her disbelief and board the subway. Holloway arrived at her office as quickly as she could. Gotham’s streets were not a safe place to travel in the best of circumstances and she was a (she liked to think) relatively young, single woman traveling through them before first light.
She arrived at the Police Headquarters to find it had been turned into a disaster area. The media, who had long ago become accustomed to keeping tabs on anything related to Batman, had been doing their best to follow the Dark Knight’s latest “homicidal spree” (or “crackdown on crime” depending on the station and current mood). The condition and sheer number of bloodied perps that the Bat had left in so short a time frame already had the reporters sniffing around. When the trail finally ended with the arrest of three pillars in their community and dozens of badly abused children, they had a field day. Even as Yolanda walked through the front doors under a police escort, Summer Gleason’s exclusive first look, “Lost and Found: A Hidden Tragedy” was hitting the airwaves and the Daily Planet’s expert explanation of how the underground industry functioned was only a few hours from being released out of the cutting room.
Eventually Yolinda and her frazzled young escorts arrived in a garishly lit room containing one Commissioner Gordon, an extremely fat and unkempt officer in a grey trench coat, one billionaire playboy, and enough emptied Styrofoam coffee cups to send Poison Ivy into conniptions.
The fat one approached her and casually shook her hand before explaining the situation to her: Bat’s had been going crazy all over the city before finally calling in the GPD to “save the day” and secure the kids at the docks. The kids were in the back of the station, being spoiled by several anxious police officers. They were happy to have her, thanks for showing up, “The Commish” was on the left and Wayne on the right. Questions?
Chuckling because of his subordinate’s behavior and his own fatigue, Commissioner James Gordon filled her in on the particulars that Detective Harvey Bullock had failed to mention, namely that there were exactly thirty-four minors newly returned from the dead who desperately needed temporary housing for the next few days and then some stable, loving homes where they could heal and grow up properly. Yolanda would be in charge of this. Knowing that she was being handed a task that was impossible under normal circumstances, he introduced Miss Holloway to her new muscle, Mr. Wayne. Wayne was well known in Gotham by that time for his support of child services and Gordon had immediately called Gotham’s Prince when he realized the magnitude of what he was dealing with.
“What do you need?” Introductions with Wayne were left out in the urgency of the moment. Yolanda was happy to play along. It was the equivalent of being handed the proverbial “Easy” button and being told to smash it as hard and as often as needed. She happily informed him that she would find temporary housing for the “chillun’s”, but money would be needed to pay for their living expenses. Following that, she would need several accredited service employees to transfer from federal to help with processing and, “if you could cut through all the red tape, that would be a huge help.” Yolanda had been in the department forever, so if Wayne could give the horsepower, her Rolodex could provide the rest.
“Oh, and dinner at Olive Garden and a bottle of Royal Chambord Raspberry Liquor wouldn’t be out of place either.”
“Done.”
Exactly four weeks later, several national precedents were made when the last of thirty-four children had either been returned to their parents or placed in foster homes personally approved of by the newly minted Director Holloway. Four weeks and one day later, Miss Holloway found herself waiting on her order of Tour of Italy with Bruce Wayne, Alfred, and one bottle of Royal Chambord Raspberry Liquor for her company.
Not at all flustered to be drinking alcohol at an Italian chain restaurant with Gotham’s first son, Yolanda managed her next miracle by managing to get Bruce Wayne to admit without saying it that he wasn’t going about helping people in the best way.
“After all, you have more money than I bet even you know what to do with and a small army of little drones who would gladly throw themselves at your feet. Why go through all the trouble, especially handling everything personally. While it’s good and necessary to do things yourself at times, you’re obligated to do the best that you can do.”
She received a pleasant smile and the standard smooth answer about feeling obligated to help give back to society personally. Yolanda returned his reply with an equally pleasant smile before pointing out that that tripe wasn’t a good enough reason for the head of the world’s most powerful company to become personally involved in a case. If anything, Mr. Wayne had been so personally involved that he had occasionally been more of a hindrance than a help.
“Besides,” she pointed out, “you looked like you ready to hang those fools by their own intestines.” For someone who had barely received her diploma in fashion from a Boston community college, Alfred had to note that Miss Holloway could be uncomfortably…discerning at times.
Alfred also began to note slight warning in Wayne’s tone as he replied, “Miss Holloway, I’m really not sure…” Yolanda either missed it or choose to ignore it. Alfred was willing to bet his favorite collection of bowties that she had ignored it.
“Look Mr. Wayne, I’ve been in Gotham all my life. I’ve been mugged four times going to work, dealt with some really evil folks, and I’ve even seen the Batman…wasn’t talking to him, but I saw him up close after he stopped Roland Daggett from leveling Crime Alley. Yea, I’ve seen a lot in my life, but I’ve never been so convinced that somebody wanted to kill someone as when I first saw you at the police station...” she had the grace to let the conversation die off for brief moment, but her shame didn’t last too long. “Is this about your parents Bruce? Because if it is, you’re going about this the wrong way. There are better ways to fighting those scum than waging a personal crusade.”
Alfred could have sworn that Mr. Freeze was outside because the temperature seemed to drop at least fifteen degrees. Bruce sat rooted to his seat, giving her what Master Dick had long ago termed as “The Look.” For a moment, it was Batman who sat there with the middle-age black woman, not Bruce Wayne, and Batman was very angry. In the end, he simply swept out of the restaurant without so much as a backwards glance.
“I am terribly sorry Miss Holloway…” There was an awkward silence as Alfred did his best to mend the situation. To his surprise, Yolanda looked horribly sad. She looked like Alfred often did when he despaired of ever seeing his ward happy.
“Miss, are you alright?” Although he thought her blunt questioning into his master’s private affairs rude, he was also smart enough to know that Bruce needed something to knock him off his current path before he self-destructed completely. He didn’t believe that Yolanda Holloway of childcare services would be the one to do it, but she had done something that few people very rarely did. She had seen beyond the masks.
Holloway’s lips curled into some pained approximation of a smile before she said, “He’s one of those that we failed…we may save some or even most of those kids, but we never got to Bruce Wayne in time.” She gave a long sigh before allowing herself to recline back in her chair and enjoy her by then arrived Tour of Italy. Alfred quietly excused himself, privately expecting never to see her again.
A week later, an inordinately heavy manifesto arrived at our doorstep along with the morning paper. Ponderously entitled An Open Sieve: An Essay In How Children Are Slipping Through the Legal Cracks In the Federal And State Systems And What Needs to Change, the volume was an absolute beast of statistics, jargon, and microscopically detailed arguments. Alfred watched as the heavy tome was casually tossed into the garbage bin. Before he walked off to dust the marbled bust of the abolitionist Matthew Brodderik Wayne, he risked one more glance at the offending document. That’s when he noticed the author

Yolanda Ariel Holloway

Later, Alfred would calmly fish Miss Holloway’s stray treatise out of the garbage and casually place it on Master Bruce’s main work desk, where it was ignored for two months. By April, Alfred had forgotten about it until he noticed Master Bruce enjoying a rare moment of quiet by the fire place. The thick bundle of papers in his hands looked vaguely familiar.
“It’s better to fight smarter, not harder,” was master’s only response to Alfred’s inquisitive glance.
“Very good sir.”
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That April had been a year ago. Several weeks later, Bruce would quietly ask him what sort of difference he had made in the long run. Although Alfred had praised Bruce highly (and rightly so), Bruce had walked away looking more uncertain than ever. Over the next several months, Alfred noticed that there were less and less nightly patrols and more visits to orphanages and drives to better equip the police. There were more appearances at city council to attract better teachers to Gotham’s poor districts and a general reinvestment of Wayne Enterprise’s capital in the bedrock economy of Gotham. Like the surf on a beach, Gotham’s foundations were restructured and things became worse, the public crying out against the changes as confusion reigned and errors were discovered. Then, slow and sure, the fortunes of the City and its people crept forward, only this time they were not fragile hopes that could easily be knocked back by some crime lord’s scheme. Gotham was improving and it could not be stopped.
But Alfred didn’t care. Throughout his whole life, people had praised him for being a true servant, fully committed to the welfare of others. Yet, he had this selfishness: he didn’t care about the City; not really. He cared about his eldest son and he was overjoyed as Bruce Wayne slowly came back to life. Ten months after Batman delivered thirty-four terrified children into the arms of Gotham’s Police, Alfred received the biggest surprise of his life. He was bringing in the groceries when he noticed the entrance to the Cave was open. Walking down, he saw Bruce and Ariel standing hand-in-hand over the massive abyss that took up so much of the Cave. Two weeks later, the world of celebrity was turned on its ear when the couple publicly married.
Although Alfred had initially been alarmed by the secretive and nature of the courtship and the fact that Master Bruce was marrying someone whose name sounded like a cover from one of Master Dick’s horrid CD’s (Alfred and Bruce refused to call her Yolanda, which she hated anyway), he quickly warmed to it as he grew to understand the nature of what was growing. Bruce’s old loves had been with women who were just as eccentric and passionate as he was. Although this allowed for an understanding that no “ordinary” person could ever possess, it also meant that they were inevitably too alike. Selina, God help her, was a perfect example of this. Ariel, however, was a firm anchor and Alfred had a strong suspicion that Bruce had at last realized that it was either grab onto something or lose himself completely. At times Alfred felt a hint of jealousy that it hadn’t been him that Bruce had finally reached for, but he didn’t begrudge them that. Perhaps he had simply been too familiar. Ariel carried her scars as well, apparently, and it was well noted in the papers that when she was younger she had attempted suicide twice. There was no great passion and there might never be (the two were both in their mid-forties), but in saving one another they saved themselves.
Alfred couldn’t help but rejoice as Wayne Manor gained a life that it hadn’t seen since a certain young acrobat had first stepped through its stately doors. “Speaking of a certain young acrobat...”
Ariel was the first to breach the subject, “How’s Dick doing Bruce?” Dick…Master Richard Grayson, the boy hero Robin, had once been considered inseparable from his adoptive guardian. For years, he had worshipped Bruce. He had wanted to join the Dark Knight so much in his war on crime that he had persevered through years of brutal, non-stop training and Batman’s efforts to discourage him from such a dangerous path in life. He had succeeded and as much as it had terrified Bruce, he was also secretly proud of his young ward for following him in his footsteps. He had once privately told Alfred that he expected to honor Dick by passing on the mantel before he was forcibly retired. For a three happy years, everything had been perfect and the title of “Dynamic Duo” was earned.
No good thing seemed to be able to last with Batman though. Inevitably, there were close calls: a jammed grappling line, a rolled ankle at an inopportune moment, a lucky punch---a disagreement over how a raid should go, never allowing yourself to get close to others, praises unspoken. Bruce slowly grew to question his decision to involve the child prodigy in his war. It seemed inevitable when Batman slowly started to push Robin away through his coldness, demands for perfection, and utter inflexibility. Robin would push back, slowly becoming less and less content with being perennially in the shadow of the Bat. Arguments began to erupt, though Alfred still held faith that things would smooth over. But then, this was Batman.
Since Fate seemed so determined to run Batman’s life into the ground, it was only appropriate that the Joker would be the one to finally drive Batman over the edge. When he nearly killed Dick with a bullet wound, Bruce was so distraught that he forbade Dick from ever again going out on patrols. Unfortunately, Bruce had been too thorough as teacher and role model. Robin had become almost as much a part of Richard Grayson as Batman was of Bruce Wayne.
An enormous fight had erupted between the two and for a few hellish weeks, it looked as if the two would cut ties completely. This had worried Alfred terribly, not only because he hated to see either of his young charges so miserable, but because it would inevitably leave fledgling superhero without the material support and mentorship of the Batman. When Alfred had found a poorly made Robin suit sporting numerous cuts and punctures hidden away in Dick’s room, he had marched straight into the Master bedroom and thrust the rags into Bruce’s unsuspecting hands. He didn’t turn around as he walked out and left Bruce to draw his own conclusions with only a word of advice.
“Sometimes, Master Bruce, we have to let go if we’re to hold on.”
Bruce had disappeared into the Cave that night and he didn’t come out until almost evening the next day. Alfred was dusting the marble bust of Virgil while Dick slumbered on one of the many overstuffed chairs by the fire place. He claimed to have been out late studying. Alfred had just finished Virgil’s nose when the massive grandfather clock swung forward and revealed a dark-eyed Bruce, still dressed in last night’s cloths. Dick was startled awake when a large, stainless steel case was unceremoniously dropped on his lap. Startled, he looked up to find his adoptive father glaring down at him.
“What’s this?”
“…”
Choosing to simply play along for the moment instead of renewing the fight with his mentor, Dick opened the case and came as close as he ever did to gasping when there on the top was a newly made Robin suit of the highest quality, albeit with a different design.
“But I thought…”
“You won’t be working me and you won’t be in Gotham.”
“But,”
“You won’t be working alone and I expect biweekly reports and immediate updates should anything happen..”
“Ah, so close,” Alfred mused. Dick had been startled by Bruce’s unexpected turn. He had thought Batman utterly unchangeable. Bruce had had a golden opportunity there to heal the rift with his son, but he never followed through completely. After releasing Robin to fly on his own, Batman soon followed with constant checks and inspections, always questioning Dick’s planning, who once again felt like Bruce’s slave despite being given official free reign in the creation of what would become the Titans.”
The final nail was placed on the coffin by the arrival of Raven at the Watchtower. Bruce hammered it in himself when he directed the rejected fourteen year old to his apprentice after her plea for help was formally rejected by the Justice League. After that, the team that would become the Titans swiftly coalesced. Robin had a new Mission to throw himself into, people who respected Robin for being Robin, their leader.
With his new found confidence, Bruce’s protective interference became even more hated and the situation once again exploded. The other Titan’s never knew, but they had come within a hair’s width of loosing the Tower only a year after they were officially recognized by Jump’s government. When Robin repeatedly stood up Bruce in his demands for detailed reports of every battle, Bruce had threatened to cut funding completely. Only a very strained compromise and Bruce’s (private) recognition of the Titan’s necessity staved off total disaster.
As the years had slid by and Dick had become more and more ensconced with the Titans, Alfred had given up hope. Alfred’s hope now rested almost entirely in the hands of the newly minted Mrs. Wayne, who had eagerly joined with him in his quest to reunite the two estranged heroes. Ariel, however, seemed inclined to press her luck and see if she couldn’t get in one more miracle before her streak ended.
“I wonder how things will play out.”
Red Notes
1) Some quick factoid checks… As you may have noticed, I’m not really following any one continuity, though I do try to keep it grounded in Batman: The Animated Series and Teen Titans the cartoon. I also try to be accurate when possible, but telling a good story is my main concern. I’m not sure about the Jan 15th date or about the exact number of years that Robin stays with Batman. Thankfully, I’m using the animated Teen Titan’s Robin, so I can afford to fudge a little. Just a quick clarification: ROBIN IN THE TEEN TITAN’S IS NOT ANY ONE OF THE ROBIN’S FROM THE COMICS! It has been stated by the creators of the show that he is an amalgam of the three, though he appears to take after Dick Grayson more than anyone else, hence why I use that name. Finally, Stonegate is the substitute name used by the Animated series for Blackgate. I use it because I think it sounds a little less cheesy.
2) “OMGWTF?!” Yes, I actually married Bruce “The Dark Knight” Wayne off to someone whose proper name is Yolanda. Now, I’ll be the first to admit that I often have a bias towards more unconventional pairings. I’m also going to admit that I intentionally made Yolanda the way she is specifically because I am sometimes unknowingly prejudiced against black and African (they are separate) culture. I occasionally use writing as a way to examine my own thoughts and weaknesses. I do the same thing with regards to homosexuality (yes, it is wrong) when I use Lucius from Fire Emblem. If nothing else, it was an original take on Batman’s romantic life.
3) I’m rather disappointed in the ending of this chapter. I never intended to go into detail over their courtship, but the quality feels somehow less…I think I might par down on some of the flowery descriptions too. What do you think? Get into the Titan’s ASAP and use a generic wife or add and refine even more with the current Mrs. Wayne?
4) Does it ever feel like I’m rambling on too much? I often fail at elegance and instead try to force atmosphere and feeling by vivid description. Reading through this first chapter I kinda wonder if that hasn’t happened here. Still, I'm very concerned that Bruce's change of heart be realistic and I feel that only something really big could get him to turn around enough to truly reconcile with Dick.