Myth's and Legends

 "Jack....You've been quite again.  What's up?"
"Composing and planning." 
"Which project this time?" 
"..."
"Is that?"
"Yeah."
"I thought you'd forgotten about that."
"Na, just getting the timeline right." 


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


- Vietnam 1968 -
Crisp uniform, shiny boots, the Lieutenant blustered over to the Clerks’ desk. “Boy! I need a jeep and a driver.” The Clerk looked up from the newspaper he was reading with a bored look. “Pronto.” The Lieutenant added, punctuating with a heavy finger pulling the paper down to the desk.”
“Number 10’s available, sign here.” The clerk said, sliding a clipboard across the desk and flipping the paper back up.
“And my driver?”
Out of the back office stepped the Motor Pool Sergeant. “I’ll take this one Corporal.” the Sargent said, taking a helmet from its place hanging on the wall and shrugging into a flak jacket. 
“That’s not uniform standards, Sargent.  When we get back I expect you to remedy that situation.   Am I understood?”  The sergeant slung a rifle over his shoulder and gave a half hearted salute.
“Whatever you say there boss man.” The Sargent said heading out the door and down the line of jeeps.  He hopped into the seat, checked the play on the wheel and peddles then fired it up.  The Lieutenant crawled into the backseat as the engine came to life. “Where are we headed?” The Sargent asked, securing the rifle so it wouldn’t bounce around.
“Saigon, Quick as you can.”
“Sir, Saigon is a hot zone. I ain’t drivin’ in there without an official order and a full platoon at my back.”   The Sargent’s hand froze half way to the ignition switch as the cold steel of the Lieutenant's side arm pressed against the back of his head.”
“That IS an order.” The Lieutenant said, punctuating the statement with the cock of his hammer. “Now drive boy.”


-2 hours later-
The Sargent blinked trying to focus his vision, his hand came away from his head sticky with blood. 
“Damn Fab driving there bloke.  But what mad reason did you have driving into this city like you were on a drive in the country?”  Hands attached to the voice were pulling him across the ground under his arms.  The Sargent was vaguely aware of the smell of damp earth, and even though they moved into the shade it still felt like a swamp.
“Cracker ass mother fucker.”  The Sargent said, his eyes starting to focus and adjust to the relative darkness.
“You mean that mess of guts that was in your backseat.  You yanks are bloody insane.”
“Not my choice.”  The Sargent said. 
“Looks like we’re buddies here until things settle down.  Care for some tea?”


-1 Week later-
Reporters crowded the tent, surrounding the Young Doctor as he looked over the Sargent’s chart. “Dr. Wayne.  Why aren’t you back in the states?”
“My country called, I answered.” 
“And a man of your status is fine with treating Negros?” Another reporter asked.
“I treat patients.  The color of their skin doesn’t matter while they’re under my care.”
“Would you treat Charlie?” Yet another reporter asked.
“The Hippocratic oath applies to anyone that comes through those doors.”
Yet another reporter interjected. “Any substance to the rumors that British Intelligence is in the Area.
The soldier in the next bed rolled over onto their side.
“Can’t say I know much about that.” The young Doctor replied.



-Gotham 1986-
“Your tea Mum.” 
“Oh, Alfie.  It seems the Good Doctor and I are going out for dinner this evening and I wouldn’t want to ruin the young Master's appetite with a snack so soon after Lunch.” The socialite said, tossing her tightly curled locks over her shoulder and giving a small wink to the Butler.  “Do be a dear and swing by the stables to make sure Royce is ready to go around 5ish.
“As you say Mum.”   The butler made a smart turn in his tail coat and made his way across the estate and out to the stables.  Classic cruisers to the latest sports cars lined the garage.  Under the hood of one towards the end of a mechanic was performing an inspection. The Butler moved up on quiet feet “Sargent Fox.”
The mechanic's head hit the hood of the car.  “Jeezus, you’re like a ghost.”
The barest hint of a smile crossed the Butlers’ face as he watched the Mechanic straighten up and wipe sweat from his brow. “Dorthy says the royce should be ready to go by 5.”
The Mechanic's eyes widened in surprise then narrowed conspiratorially as he wiped grease from his hands. “I see Ms. Gale sent tea?”
“Indeed Sargent.”


-Gotham 1991-
The Butler kicked in the door to the lounge.  The Doctor and his Wife looked startled by the usually austere man moved towards the pool table, disheveled and smeared with blood. 
“What’s the meaning of this?” The Doctor asked as the Butler gently laid the person clad in black combat gear, a golden bat emblazoned across the tattered chest plate.  The Doctor moved over to get a closer look. “This man is a criminal!  And you bring him here!?!?”
The Butler pulled the mask off of the man’s face, the Doctor’s wife gasped. “Oh no…”
“He’s alive.” the Butler said, looking up at the doctor, tears welling at the corners of his eyes. “I can’t lose him.”
“Martha, get my bag.”  the Doctor said rolling up his sleeves.


-Gotham 1993 -
The detective looked at the young boy wrapped in the oversized blanket looking so small before turning back to the Butler.  “Paper Work says you and a Mr. Fox are his legal guardians in the event of a tragedy, is that right?”
“Yes sir.” Butler said, sad eyes watching the social worker try to coax the fragile child into speech.
“And the report says you were parked around the front of the theater?”
“Yes sir.  Can I see B…Young Master Bruce now?”
“Just a couple more questions.” The Detective said, studying the man’s face.
“Where was Mr. Fox this evening?”
“At his office.”
“At Wayne Enterprises?  What does he do there?”
“Research and Development he’s a very talented engineer.”
The Detectives eyebrow raised at the way Butler's tone lightened at the, almost absently, added detail. “And how long have you worked for Mr. Wayne?”
“20 years now.” 
The side door of the interrogation room opened and a well dressed middle aged man entered.  The Detective watched as the boy ran into his arms and clung to him, he turned his attention back to the Butler and caught a single tear running down his cheek.
“Let's finish this paperwork so you can take him home.


-England 1995-
“Why can’t I stay?  I can help!” The young man said from the back seat.
“You need your education, Young Master.” the butler said, eyeing him through the review mirror. “Do you not want to go to the school where Alfred and your Father met?” Mr. Fox said from his seat next to the boy.
“Yes…” The boy started
“Good.” Mr. Fox said interrupting.   “We’ll keep the house together while you’re at school.” 
“I know it’s because you’re the B…” The boy was cut off as the car lurched and the pair in the back was forced to catch himself against the back of the seat in front of him.
“They need to keep better track of their cat’s here.” the Butler said, turning in his seat and looking levelly at the young man.
The young man looked back and forth between the two men he had come to think of as his fathers. “Is this one of those ‘Don’t let the crackers see you cry’ things?”
The Butler's head snapped back forward trying to hide a smile. “The hell did you hear that?” Mr. Fox said, arching an eyebrow at the back of the Butlers’ head.
“Alfred said it when you guys were dancing the other night.”
“Let’s hope the school curbs your penchant for sneaking about while you’re here.” Mr. Fox said