"I hope you'll come and see us again sometime," Zatanna told Bruce as she gave him a hug goodbye. "I can't thank you enough."

"I was glad to help," Bruce replied, returning the hug. "You'll always be family to me."

"I much appreciate your assistance," Giovanni told him, offering Bruce a firm handshake. "If you ever require something yourself, let us know."

"I will," Bruce replied. Despite not knowing when he'd ever have the need to call in a favor from the powerful magician, it was nice to know he had the option if needed.

"Take care of yourself," Sindella added to the family's farewells.

"You too," Bruce returned. "I'll try and drop you a letter from time to time, letting you know how things are going."

"That will be nice," Zatanna accepted.

"Goodbye," Bruce bid to them, and with a wave of his hand, he departed from the room to join Alfred in the hall.

It was a different apartment building than the one Bruce had used to plan the rescue. The reason for Bruce renting a separate space, when Zatanna and Sindella already had accommodations, centered on Bruce's suspicions the room of the magicians might've been under surveillance. Until the culprits had been brought to justice, Bruce had refused to set foot in their apartment. With Giovanni rescued, and those responsible dealt with, Bruce relaxed enough to join them for a brief celebration before making a quick exit. He and Alfred headed down the passage, taking the elevator to the underground parking garage where the van waited.

                                                                                              ***

"Miss Zatanna seemed to want you to stay awhile longer, Master Bruce," Alfred commented as he drove back to their rented apartment.

"I know," Bruce admitted. "She and Sindella put together quite the welcome home party for Giovanni, but I needed to get going."

"Do you have a pressing appointment I don't know about?" Alfred questioned.

"It isn't that," Bruce denied. "If I stayed too long, I might've been tempted not to leave."

"Would it have been so bad?" Alfred asked.

"Since my parents died, I've been working almost nonstop to develop my defensive skills," Bruce said. His eyes were directed out the side window, watching the buildings passing by. "In Japan, I realized I could do more than simply protect myself. The idea's been further reinforced by the operation to rescue Giovanni. I can't get so absorbed in my own interests that I forget about my purpose. I need to go back to Gotham and start making a difference. My parents worked hard to improve the city; to honor their memory, I need to do the same."

"I see," Alfred replied softly as he accepted the explanation.

                                                                                            ***

After returning to their apartment, Alfred and Bruce quickly packed. It didn't take them long as they hadn't removed much from their bags since they'd arrived from Japan. The planning of their rescue mission had occupied them, leaving little time remaining to unpack. Gathering their luggage, they departed from the hotel, leaving the keycard for their room at the front desk when they checked out.

Rather than heading to the airport to charter a flight, Bruce suggested driving the van they'd been using since the rescue of Giovanni. It was still fully loaded with computer equipment, and Bruce didn't want to needlessly waste the expensive gear. He also didn't want a flight plan announcing his return to Gotham as reporters would be crawling all over the airport before the plane touched down. He desired his return to Gotham to be as quiet as possible, especially since he had a personal matter to attend to first.

The drive from Keystone to Gotham was long and quiet. Bruce stared vacantly out the window, his thoughts going over the rescue mission and how he could've done better, the careless and preventable mistakes. His skills had proven up to the task of rescuing Giovanni, but if not for the magician's timely intervention, Bruce would've died. The sobering thought gave him renewed motivation to improve his abilities and refine his tactics. Although he doubted he'd face off against another magic user in the near future, Bruce needed to have contingencies ready to go, just in case.

Alfred kept silent so as to not intrude on Bruce's contemplations. The butler had things of his own to think about. He'd seen Bruce change over the last few years from a frightened boy who wouldn't come out of his room to a martial artist who had a habit of throwing himself into harm's way. Alfred was pleased with Bruce's selfless and helpful attitude, but he couldn't deny the dangers of such a life choice.

Bruce was thinking about a career in law enforcement, going out every day to face armed and dangerous criminals threatening the lives of Gotham's citizens. It was not the recipe for a long life, or even a safe one. Alfred didn't want to try and dissuade Bruce from his chosen career path since Bruce seemed to have found a purpose beyond himself in the wake of his family's untimely passing. All Alfred could do was his best to keep Bruce alive and well while Bruce tried to do the same for Gotham and its citizens.

                                                                                                 ***

It was night when Alfred and Bruce arrived in Gotham. The silvery moonlight cast the old city in stark outlines, the sharp lines of its towering buildings being granted razor edges. The architecture was cold and brooding. The tops of buildings resembled old style cathedrals and castles with pointed spires and sharply angled roofs. Arched supports, similar in appearance to flying buttresses, stretched between buildings, and covered walkways allowed people to cross from one structure to the next, dozens of floors above the streets.

Gotham had been growing larger ever since its founding, but the available room on the massive island where the city resided had remained constant, forcing buildings to be crammed close together with narrow streets and even narrower alleyways. Some of the houses and businesses were in such proximity, it was impossible to tell where one ended and the next began. Industrial production sites such as chemical plants and steel works were built among the residential areas as there simply wasn't room for them anywhere else, their tall smokestacks reaching into the sky beside the gargoyles jutting out from the other structures.

A recent rain had put a glossy shine upon the streets, reflecting the neon lights from the businesses along the road. Uncollected trash and windblown papers clogged the entrances to alleys, and the ragged members of Gotham's homeless found shelter from the elements in the rat infested side streets.

Gotham was a dark and depressing place, even in the daylight. Fear of the criminals prowling the streets compelled most citizens to keep off the roadways after dark, making the city feel abandoned and empty. Only the destitute and the desperate still lingered on the dark roads, people either too poor to be of value to muggers or those with lives too miserable to care about the dangers.

Alfred stopped the van at a nondescript corner and turned to Bruce in the passenger seat. "Are you sure you want to stop here now, Master Bruce?"

"Wait for me," Bruce instructed. "I won't be long."

Bruce unbuckled from his seat and got out of the van, buttoning his long coat against a chill wind. Before he closed the door, Bruce took a pair of roses he'd purchased earlier off the dashboard and placed them gently in his coat pocket.

Walking down the cracked sidewalk, Bruce kept a wary eye on his surroundings, his senses alert for any threats. The street of Park Row had been given another name by Gotham's residents over the years, Crime Alley. The number of victims created in this part of Gotham was staggering, hence its nickname, but Bruce was focused on the three victims he knew, his father, mother, and himself. Despite his surviving that terrible night, it didn't make him any less of a victim. The scars of his parents' murder weren't physical, but they lingered all the same.

Taking the roses from his pocket, he knelt down, ignoring the icy feeling spreading from his knee as his pants absorbed the cold rainwater from the pavement. Reaching out to place the flowers on the street, his memories recreated the scene, letting him hear the scream of his mother and the gunshots responsible for making him an orphan. The sudden remembrance caused Bruce to drop the roses, and they landed softly on the cold asphalt.

Bruce swallowed hard, fighting to control his emotions. This was the first time since the murder he'd set foot in the alley, and the experience left him profoundly shaken. He did find an emotion to smother his fear and sadness, rage.

It wasn't right what had happened to his family. It wasn't right that he'd been orphaned. Nothing had been done in the passing years. Crime still plagued Gotham, and his family's killer remained at large. The boiling fury inside of him refused to allow this to continue.

"Gotham will change," Bruce promised in a low growl. "And, criminals will be brought to justice. As long as I breathe, I will never give up working to that end. Never!"