He should have known that Carmine hadn't ever been truthful about his parents' deaths—yet it's too late to turn back from who he's become, from being the very best score of the city.
Of course a mobster like Carmine would see corrupting Michael as his ultimate life's work, to pervert him from being who his parents wanted him to be. And at the same time, Michael still loves his godfather, even as he says with a shaking voice, You've never seen me as anything other than an extension of my mother's pearls.
He hates him as he touches his cheek, as he tries to reassure him. He hates that he has memories of Carmine taking him home and caring for him, memories of Carmine telling him what his parents did and didn't want, memories of Carmine teaching him how to fend for himself. All knowing that he'd ordered for their murder, knowing that he wanted him dead too right up until he'd realized what boon had fallen into his lap.
It makes it harder for him to get his fingers around his neck and to kill him, then and there, in his own stolen kingdom.
But Michael possesses an iron will.
And above all things, he loves his parents more than he has ever loved Carmine Falcone.
No matter what existed between them, he is not his son and Carmine Falcone is not his father.
Of course a mobster like Carmine would see corrupting Michael as his ultimate life's work, to pervert him from being who his parents wanted him to be. And at the same time, Michael still loves his godfather, even as he says with a shaking voice, You've never seen me as anything other than an extension of my mother's pearls.
He hates him as he touches his cheek, as he tries to reassure him. He hates that he has memories of Carmine taking him home and caring for him, memories of Carmine telling him what his parents did and didn't want, memories of Carmine teaching him how to fend for himself. All knowing that he'd ordered for their murder, knowing that he wanted him dead too right up until he'd realized what boon had fallen into his lap.
It makes it harder for him to get his fingers around his neck and to kill him, then and there, in his own stolen kingdom.
But Michael possesses an iron will.
And above all things, he loves his parents more than he has ever loved Carmine Falcone.
No matter what existed between them, he is not his son and Carmine Falcone is not his father.
There can be no power vacuum in Gotham City. Michael knows that as he takes a moment to put himself together, to walk himself through what he's done.
Carmine had enemies and friends in almost equal number—and much like Carmine himself, they all showed a deference to Michael that Carmine never got. Many of them had sons around his age who have gone off to war, who need more in their ranks or at least a guiding light through all of this. If they knew what he'd done, they'd have more tolerance for him.
Especially if he told the truth of it all.
Michael allows himself to look at his reflection, at the crumpling of his clothes where Carmine had tried to claw up, at the exhaustion and anger on his own face. He doesn't see the boy here who'd looked in this same mirror and made a choice to stand up the only real friend, the only boy who ever knew him, the only person he could truly say he loved in a real sense, years ago. He'd been more of a mess then, shaking and angry with himself. Wanting to be selfish and denying it.
In the mirror, he can see whatever boyhood he ever had left is well and truly gone and all that's left is a road forward.
Carmine had enemies and friends in almost equal number—and much like Carmine himself, they all showed a deference to Michael that Carmine never got. Many of them had sons around his age who have gone off to war, who need more in their ranks or at least a guiding light through all of this. If they knew what he'd done, they'd have more tolerance for him.
Especially if he told the truth of it all.
Michael allows himself to look at his reflection, at the crumpling of his clothes where Carmine had tried to claw up, at the exhaustion and anger on his own face. He doesn't see the boy here who'd looked in this same mirror and made a choice to stand up the only real friend, the only boy who ever knew him, the only person he could truly say he loved in a real sense, years ago. He'd been more of a mess then, shaking and angry with himself. Wanting to be selfish and denying it.
In the mirror, he can see whatever boyhood he ever had left is well and truly gone and all that's left is a road forward.
Carmine's funeral is large, with procession after procession. Politicians arrives, mobsters arrive, socialites and debutantes mingle in.
Comparitively, there's only a fourth of that at the funeral for Joseph Warren the Third, in the summer of 1944. By that time, Carmine has been dead long enough that Michael has been forgetting his features, his voice. With Joseph, as he watches from yards away, there's none of that. As the priest talks and his parents sob, Michael still remembers what it was like when they were teenagers, how Joe's voice would carry in their family gardens, how Joe's shoulders would knock against his, how Joe always liked to have his coffee when they finally got the hang of it.
He can't share that with his family. It would give things away about himself that Joe never returned, and right now Joseph is a decorated war hero who died admirably in combat. Michael is the man who used to be the Prince of Gotham, who crowned himself King when he killed Carmine and united all of the families.
Joseph can't be associated with that.
When everyone departs, Michael still comes with Ace at his side, a dark nimble shadow. Ace watches as Michael places roses there, at Joseph's grave and he's the only one allowed to see him cry about it on the way home.
He's the only one who gets to see Michael visit him on his birthay every year, saying, I can't stand you up now, now can I?
Comparitively, there's only a fourth of that at the funeral for Joseph Warren the Third, in the summer of 1944. By that time, Carmine has been dead long enough that Michael has been forgetting his features, his voice. With Joseph, as he watches from yards away, there's none of that. As the priest talks and his parents sob, Michael still remembers what it was like when they were teenagers, how Joe's voice would carry in their family gardens, how Joe's shoulders would knock against his, how Joe always liked to have his coffee when they finally got the hang of it.
He can't share that with his family. It would give things away about himself that Joe never returned, and right now Joseph is a decorated war hero who died admirably in combat. Michael is the man who used to be the Prince of Gotham, who crowned himself King when he killed Carmine and united all of the families.
Joseph can't be associated with that.
When everyone departs, Michael still comes with Ace at his side, a dark nimble shadow. Ace watches as Michael places roses there, at Joseph's grave and he's the only one allowed to see him cry about it on the way home.
He's the only one who gets to see Michael visit him on his birthay every year, saying, I can't stand you up now, now can I?
The closest person who understands him is Candy Southern. Even though she'd been rightfully furious at him for years, he finds that after Joe passes, the anger falls away. Why, he's not quite entirely sure of when they run into each other a time or two. Sometimes she seems as if she's on the verge of saying something while other times all they can do is fill the space with inane talk that goes nowhere.
She's the only one who comes to visit him who isn't a civilian when Dorrance breaks his back. She sits with him, talking about Joe, about her husband, her kids at least once a week the entire time he's there. When he's dispatched, he makes sure that her children and husband are taken care of, even when he finally gets Dorrance back.
That he heals is something of a miracle; he knows that it's some of the training he undertook on his own, away from Carmine. Some of that training still keeps him steady, and eventually, when he re-enters the arena, there really are no more masks. Everyone knows who Michael Wayne truly is, who he means to be.
They fall in line in this kingdom, and he rules over it as well as he can.
The cops are bought and paid only selectively that he owns, as he slowly cleans out the departments. Getting rid of the last of Carmine's old guard, replacing them with better cops along the way where he can. And where he can't, he keeps an eye on.
Arkham he shifts away from the hellhole that it is into a place that could've nursed his mother back to sanity if not made her comfortable.
Blackgate he up ends, uses as well as he can to keep his eye on the enormous dollhouse that Gotham is for him now.
Along the way, there is an engagement never to be, and a wedding that never happens.
He keeps on going, wounded as he is. In the dark or the light, he's there.
She's the only one who comes to visit him who isn't a civilian when Dorrance breaks his back. She sits with him, talking about Joe, about her husband, her kids at least once a week the entire time he's there. When he's dispatched, he makes sure that her children and husband are taken care of, even when he finally gets Dorrance back.
That he heals is something of a miracle; he knows that it's some of the training he undertook on his own, away from Carmine. Some of that training still keeps him steady, and eventually, when he re-enters the arena, there really are no more masks. Everyone knows who Michael Wayne truly is, who he means to be.
They fall in line in this kingdom, and he rules over it as well as he can.
The cops are bought and paid only selectively that he owns, as he slowly cleans out the departments. Getting rid of the last of Carmine's old guard, replacing them with better cops along the way where he can. And where he can't, he keeps an eye on.
Arkham he shifts away from the hellhole that it is into a place that could've nursed his mother back to sanity if not made her comfortable.
Blackgate he up ends, uses as well as he can to keep his eye on the enormous dollhouse that Gotham is for him now.
Along the way, there is an engagement never to be, and a wedding that never happens.
He keeps on going, wounded as he is. In the dark or the light, he's there.
Sometimes he travels to Metropolis, alone with Ace. They sneak off together in the middle of the night, and they wind around hills, soak in the sunlight. Sometimes he pretends as if Joseph is right beside him or his father is there or his mother. Sometimes he likes to pretend in another place that he can look at them, and tell them what he's made himself into isn't who they want, but it's who he is now.
Only one person knows of it, eventually: Connor, who's hard as nails and doesn't seem to be interested in anything other than making sure his brother comes home to him eventually.
Michael can sense someone who's as dedicated as he is, and it's nice to have Connor there, to learn Korean from him, to watch him grow.
Only one person knows of it, eventually: Connor, who's hard as nails and doesn't seem to be interested in anything other than making sure his brother comes home to him eventually.
Michael can sense someone who's as dedicated as he is, and it's nice to have Connor there, to learn Korean from him, to watch him grow.
It's supposed to be a Mayday Party. A place to celebrate workers, but really it's about the coffers. At least in part—even if his associates are clapping and greedy, Michael knows how to tip the scale for some of them if he wanted to.
It's just supposed to be hosted in the evening, allow everyone to have their fun and be gone no later than midnight so that Michael could think about the information he's collected, so that he could breathe a little bit.
He's not expecting mid conversation with the Maronis for Connor to say, You've got a visitor outside. One who doesn't wanna sign or anything. Just said he wanted you.
Michael had thought it was something about one of the men here who didn't know much. Or an emergency from another city finally coming to catch up.
He hadn't expected to see a bike. He hadn't expected to see Joseph, with his eyes boring into his at the bottom of the hill at Wayne Manor.
Mostly because: Joseph is dead. He's supposed to be dead.
Not staring up at him, waiting.
It's just supposed to be hosted in the evening, allow everyone to have their fun and be gone no later than midnight so that Michael could think about the information he's collected, so that he could breathe a little bit.
He's not expecting mid conversation with the Maronis for Connor to say, You've got a visitor outside. One who doesn't wanna sign or anything. Just said he wanted you.
Michael had thought it was something about one of the men here who didn't know much. Or an emergency from another city finally coming to catch up.
He hadn't expected to see a bike. He hadn't expected to see Joseph, with his eyes boring into his at the bottom of the hill at Wayne Manor.
Mostly because: Joseph is dead. He's supposed to be dead.
Not staring up at him, waiting.