Perry

If anyone had asked, Bucky Barnes would have told them that he was certain he didn't have a living soulmate. Man out of time, what were the chances his soulmate was still out there? Steve had found his soulmate in the present day, and that was one-in-a-million enough to disqualify Bucky from any chance at all.

(According to Steve, it actually just reinforced that he was meant to end up here, so Bucky would clearly find his soulmate, too. Bucky thought that was too much bullshit optimism for him to even dignify with a response.)

If anyone had told the Bucky Barnes of his youth that he would meet his soulmate in New Jersey, he would have scoffed and said they were out of their minds.

If anyone had told the Bucky Barnes of now that he would meet his soulmate in Gotham, well... he'd still be convinced he didn't have a soulmate, but if he was going to find them, Gotham seemed like the right kind of place for that.

But no one had told Bucky he would be meeting his soulmate today, so he was stuck tagging along with Steve and his boyfriend to a carnival on the outskirts of Gotham, quickly getting lost in the crowd and not too put out about it. Bucky loved Steve, and he even liked the man's soulmate well enough, for all that their double sunshine-and-goodness could get exhausting in large doses. But getting lost in a crowd meant he didn't have to constantly be monitoring his expressions and micro-expressions, figuring out how he was supposed to respond to everything that happened, all the time.

He ended up in line for the Ferris wheel, head craned up to look toward the top with a small smile ghosting across his lips. He had good memories of wheels like this, of dates with lovely dames and of stolen kisses when they got stuck at the top, pretending that because no one could see them, no one knew what they were up to. It was the good kind of nostalgia, the kind that made him feel a little warm rather than aching.

When he got to the front of the line, a bored attendant waved him into a seat, and then waved the person after him forward as well.

She shook her head.

The attendant sighed, more put-upon than he gesture really merited, in Bucky's opinion. Sure, it was probably annoying to be working a low-paying job while everyone else was having fun and trying to break the rules, but that wasn't this lady's fault. "At least two to every car," they rattled off. "And you're both singles, yeah?"

Bucky didn't quite understand what his being single had to do with anything, and the woman glanced at him, grinned a little, and then turned back to the attendant. "Okay," she agreed, passing him her ticket for the ride and climbing gracefully in across from Bucky.

He steeled himself to make awkward-but-polite conversation, but she only gave him one more quick smile before turning her gaze to the side, watching as the wheel lurched and they began rising, slow and steady, up and away from the ground. Bucky watched her for only a moment longer, before he turned his gaze outward and watched the carnival grow more distant below them.

The ride intermittently lurched to a stop, paused for a bit, and then lurched to a start once more. Bucky began to relax in the peace of being so far away from all of the noise, in the ease of quiet company without the expectation of conversation.

When the ride stopped for them to climb out, Bucky got his feet back to solid ground, and then turned to offer the woman a hand out as well.

She accepted his hand, stepping out, not stumbling even a bit despite the way it felt like a lightning bolt struck Bucky the moment their hands touched. Instead, she kept hold of his hand, tugging him along behind her as they exited the platform before guiding him deeper into the carnival.

Tucked between some food carts, she came to a halt and turned to face Bucky again, his hand still held in hers.

His metal hand, he realized, and she must be able to feel that? But she didn't seem bothered by it; she didn't seem to think much of it at all. "I'm Cass," she offered, smiling sweetly yet again. She really did have a lovely smile.

Bucky wasn't sure how, or why, he had a soulmate here, now, in this time and place. But he wasn't going to turn away what could be the best thing to happen to him since he was young and something like carefree, something like happy.

"Bucky," he offered in return.

She squeezed his hand, stepped a little closer, and tilted her head up just a bit more to meet his gaze. "Come walk with me?"

"Yeah," he agreed, and cleared his throat when his voice caught a bit. "Yeah, I'd love to."

The new young master--Alfred refrains from referring to him as such near Bruce, stubborn and grief-blind as he currently is--kicks his feet back and forth, tongue poking out just a bit as he scribbles intently at his homework. Alfred does not regret insisting that the boy come spend his after school hours at the manor when his parents are away, even if it drove Bruce into hiding in the Batcave for even more hours than before. While Alfred's son is grieving, he has rejected attempts at comfort, and he is a grown man. Tim may not be Alfred's child or even his ward in any proper sense, but Alfred has never been the kind of man who would stand by and abet the degree of the Drakes' neglect for their son to go uncontested.

"If I might inquire, Master Tim, what are you working on?"

The boy looks up, his legs stilling and his expression all at once shifting from open focus to guarded politeness. "My homework."

Alfred nods. "So I see. I have little knowledge of what a current curriculum for your grade might cover, though, and I would be interested in hearing about your studies if you would like to share."

It aches to see how cautious the boy clearly is, expecting a trap in any indication of attention or interest. Alfred merely waits, attempting to project only calm curiosity.

"Oh," Tim finally says. "Well, I'm working on this algebra problem right now..." he trails off, still appearing painfully unsure.

"I always enjoyed maths," Alfred offers. "Although I never progressed much beyond the basic classes I took in my youth. Are you enjoying it?"

Tim brightens, and then seems to catch himself, dimming his enthusiasm somewhat before he replies. "Yeah. It's interesting. It's kind of like a puzzle, you know? Except there's so many different ways to get to the right answer, and sometimes if I'm bored I'll try and figure out how many different ways I can find. You know?"

A great detective in the making, Alfred thinks, not without a little bit of sadness. He understands Tim's reasons for wanting to take up the Robin mantle; Alfred cannot truthfully say he disagrees with them. But he disagrees with allowing more children into this life, no matter how trapped Bruce may feel by Tim's ultimatum. "I'll admit, I was always more keen on finding one way to solve as many problems as I could," Alfred admits. "Would you show me what you're working on there? I'd like to see how you're addressing it."

"Yeah!" Tim agrees, pushing his notes over a little so that Alfred can come stand beside him, peering over his shoulder. His work is laid out neatly, and Alfred finds it easy to follow for all that it sometimes veers off toward the edges of the page, turning to cram all of the equations into some semblance of the same space.

They discuss the maths until it is nearly time for patrol. Alfred fights the urge to keep Tim here, safe in the warm glow of the kitchen lights, for the rest of the night. But perhaps... "Would you like some hot chocolate before you go out?"

Tim nods, hesitation eased away by their lengthy discussion. "Yes please! Thank you, Alfred."

As he prepares the hot chocolate for Tim and some tea for himself, Alfred finds that he is grateful for Tim's presence, both in this kitchen and in his life, no matter what brought him here. The past is done, but he will do his best to prevent them all from making the same mistakes. For Tim's sake, he hopes he succeeds.