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magnet-girl · 9 months

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This is amazing

chapter 2 | the weight of exsisting

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pairings: platonic!mikey berzatto x fem!reader | carmen berzatto x fem!reader (future)

summary: you and carmy try to get to the bottom of your issues, only for carmy to sow further division between you two, leading you to share some unwelcome thoughts regarding life with mikey.

wc: 4.5k

You had been at the Berzatto family home for an hour now, and everything was in absolute chaos. You thanked your lucky stars for growing up around this family. If this had been your first time spending a holiday with them, you were sure your fight or flight alarms would be blaring right now. You had been in the kitchen with Donna ever since your and Carmy’s stifled meeting earlier in the evening.

You loved Donna, really you did, and you appreciated everything she did for you when your mom couldn’t. But if you knew anything by being an honorary member of the Berzatto family, you knew that being in the kitchen with Donna during the holidays wasn’t the most pleasant of places to be. And you saw your perfect escape when Carmy entered the kitchen, removing Donna’s attention from you and the conversation about how the world of journalism was treating you since you last came home in November.

Your eyes caught Carmy’s as he was swept into his mom’s explanations about what needed to go in the oven and when. You flashed a smile nodding as a sign of encouragement, you were rewarded with a small twitch of his lips before you disappeared into the hallway intending to take a lap around the house and greet the other guests scattered around the house.

The body leaning against the kitchen wall, seemingly trying to become one with the wallpaper caught your attention. Upon further inspection, you realized it was Natalie, a face you were more than happy to see after being in the same house together for over an hour. You gently brushed your hand across her shoulder doing your best not to startle her, her head shot up worry inked in her blue eyes, a deep breath leaving her as she took in whose presence was invading her space.

“Hey Baby,” The slight uptick of her lips showed you just how exhausted she already was, her eyes searching yours for any answers regarding the constant worries shooting through her mind. “How’ve you been, are you alright, I know mom can be a bit much during the holidays.” You let out a small chuckle pulling the older girl into a much-needed hug for the both of you.

“Do you ever take a moment to stop worrying about everyone else and focus on yourself?” You asked her pulling back slightly to further take in her appearance. You loved Nat dearly, she was pretty much the sister you never had, but you hated how she would run herself dry trying to fix everything for everybody else.

You squeezed her hand that was still clutched in yours letting her know that she wasn’t alone and could rely on you if need be. You pushed a stray piece of hair out of her face watching as she leaned her head back against the wall taking a moment for herself. “You worry about everyone Nat, but who worries about you love?” You questioned, and she knew this was no rhetorical question, you expected a genuine answer.

Allowing Nat to take in your words you walked around to the other side of her to lean against the wall next to her, she turned her head watching you take up a similar position as she. “Are you reciting lines from a self-help book?” Your eyes met hers watching as the edges crinkled signifying the smile she now wore, you huffed letting out a chuckle and knocking your shoulder into hers.

“You’re laughing Nat, but I’m serious. And even if I did steal that line from some book, I think it applies scarily well to you Sugar.” The last words spilled from your lips in a sarcastic tone, your eyebrows raising as she rolled her eyes at the sound of her nickname bestowed upon her by her Berzatto counterparts.

“I made a mistake Baby, you chose your nickname.” Nat deadpanned

You laughed, the sound drowned out by whatever conversation everyone else in the house was having. “You tell me what teenage girl didn’t have a crush on Johnny Castle, I will forever cherish your mom for letting me watch Dirty Dancing on my 14th birthday.” You sighed dreamily watching as Natalie shook her head at your antics.

“Baby, that is such a lame excuse,” Nat laughed, turning to face you. “You literally wouldn’t answer to anything else but Baby for a whole week after your birthday. Need I remind you, you took your obsession further and dressed up for Halloween as Baby.” She laughed, her voice filled with what you realized was a reminiscent tone, “I can’t believe you suckered Mikey into dressing up as Johnny though.”

You smiled remembering back to the exact Halloween she was talking about, “Carmy’s head was too far up his ass to dress up with me.” You huffed recalling how Carmy swore up and down that he was too old to dress up anymore. “Plus I think Mikey just did it to make me feel better, that was around the time my mom was having all her health issues.” You shrugged not thinking too much about Mikey’s motivations.

You finally turned to face Natalie, your positioning mirroring hers, “What do you say we find your mom’s old photo albums and hang out with Tiff for a few.” You suggested holding your hand up as Nat was about to give you some excuse to not take a beat for herself. “Shut up Nat your moms will be fine she’s got Ratatouille in the kitchen with her and about a hundred fucking bums in the living room.” Your dig at Carmy brings a slight smile to her face.

The sound of dishes clattering in the kitchen caught your attention a mumbled “Fuck.” Meeting your ears followed by a more coherent “I don’t fucking come home to be compared to a fucking French rat.”

You shared a knowing smile with Natalie, the two of you giggling like school girls in the hallway outside of the kitchen, “I’ll grab the photo albums,” You heard Nat mumble as she walked in the direction you presumed Donna kept the family keepsakes. The minute Nat was out of your sight you let out a deep sigh, you couldn’t help the impending feeling that things were going to get a lot more hectic in the coming hours, and taking a minute to relax with Nat and catch up with Tiff was an out you were definitely looking to take advantage of. Resting your head back against the wall eyes closing as the minutes ticked by while you waited for Nat to collect you, you knew deep down that break wouldn’t be coming but holding on to the idea of a little calmness in a situation helped you fool yourself into believing everything would be alright.

“You good?” Your eyes shot open as the all too familiar voice of Carmen Berzatto filled your ears, though what should’ve alerted you to his presence was the scent of his cologne, a scent you hadn’t smelled in a very long time, yet somehow your body instinctively remembered. You looked to see him standing idly in the doorway of the kitchen, a fresh cigarette hanging from his lips. “Uh, I’m gonna get a quick smoke in, did you - I know you don’t smoke - but you look - and.” You cut his pathetic ramblings off, not quite in the mood to play finish the lyric with him.

“Yeah Carm, I’ll join you outside.” You nodded passing him by to head towards the door, being in the same vicinity as him after so long made you physically ache. And now that you had seen him and deduced that he was in good health, you couldn’t help but feel a little pissed off at the lack of contact between the two of you. No, it wasn’t even a lack of contact. Carmy dropped you like a bad habit and never looked back. As you made your way to the front porch you tried to reason with yourself that Carmy didn’t owe you anything, he didn’t owe you his friendship, or his time, no matter how long you two had known each other. If Carmen woke up one day and decided you were no longer an essential part of his life, he was well within his rights to do so, he was a grown man for crying out loud. But what you wouldn’t stand for, what your brain couldn’t allow you to accept was being cut off with no explanation, you were sure this whole situation between the two of you would’ve hurt less if he had just explained to you why you were no longer good for him.

And maybe you were lying to yourself, and the explanation would have actually made things worse, but you couldn’t change what already was. And as Carmy slowly made his way to follow you out of the house you decided today was the day you were getting answers, call it Carmy’s last-minute Christmas gift to you.

The two of you stood next to each other. A good distance between you two, Carmy respecting you enough to not smoke directly next to you. Carmy tried his hardest to not steal glimpses of you in his peripheral vision, but it was hard not to when you were standing there beside him. If times were different he might’ve reached out to touch you, to assure himself you were physically here with him. To remind himself of what once was between the two of you. What could no longer be?

“Uh-um how have you bee-”

“Why?” You interrupted him, not particularly in the mood for his avoidance tactics.

“Wha-what?” He turned to face you and you wanted to laugh, you weren’t sure if he was genuinely confused or acting incompetent so you’d be the one to apologize. You copied his stance, eyes tracing across every inch of his face, you gave in with a sigh. Carmy was never one to weaponize any incompetence he may have had, you weren’t even sure if he knew how.

“Why are you asking Carmen, do you actually care, or are you just trying to make small talk?” You watched as he removed the cigarette from between his lips, holding it in the hand furthest from you and turning his face in the opposite direction to release the nicotine-scented air from his lungs.

He ran his free hand through his hair, something that used to drive you crazy, but now standing in this moment with him you couldn’t be bothered to feed into the childhood crush your weak heart still harbored for him. “I-I care, I didn - it was never my intention to cut you off.” He said searching your eyes for any signs that you were listening to understand, and not just listening to rebuttal.

“We grew up together Carmen, if you didn’t want me in your life anymore you could’ve just told me.” You felt the telltale signs of tears welling up in your eyes, your eyes stinging as you fought hard to keep them from spilling.

“It wasn’t like that.” He scoffed his irritation becoming ever present, it wasn’t you he was irritated with, it was the fact that he knew exactly what he needed to tell you, wanted to tell you but he wouldn’t allow himself to. Carmy didn’t know how to express what was running through his mind right now without becoming a stuttering mess as his mind raced too fast for his mouth to keep up with.

You let out a sardonic laugh “That’s exactly what it felt like Carmen. I’m not gonna pretend to act like I know what your life is like right now, but the least you could do is shoot me a text letting me know you’re okay. Hell, it doesn’t even have to be consistent Carm, I jus-I care about you so much that it hurts.” You choked the words out not knowing how you could get him to understand how much his actions affected you.

“I mean, I know we went our separate ways, and I promise I’m not desperately trying to hang off you or some shit Carm, but yo-you just left me, and I was in a whole new place alone, and I felt like such a fucking fraud. And I needed you Carmen, I fucking needed you and…and the crazy part is you got every single one of my calls and texts, I fucking know you did.” You were ranting now and maybe it wasn’t fair to Carmy to drop this on him all at once, but what else were you supposed to do when you knew things would just resort to the way they’ve been once the holiday season was over and you were both back on your respective sides of the country.

“Listen, Baby, I’m sorry I kno-,”

“You promised Carmen,” The words slipped through your lips in a whisper so quiet it was almost lost to the wind. “You promised you would call me Carmen, and I know that may not have meant much to you, but it meant everything to me, you meant everything to me Carmen.” The wind had taken your voice and ran with it, Mother Nature doing her best to soothe the two broken souls before her.

Carmen closed his eyes tilting his head back to the sky, it was selfish, he knew it was the moment the thought crossed his mind, but those were the last words he wanted to ever hear from you. He took a second to try and collect the dozens of thoughts racing through his mind. Hoping to land on what he thought you wanted to hear, anything to soothe the indigestion starting to burn through his chest.

He came back to reality, eyes no longer looking in your direction, posture closed off signifying he was done with this conversation whether you agreed or not. He dropped the cigarette he had been holding the time wasted burning it down to the bud before taking a fresh one out of his pocket, cigarette lazily held between his lips as he brought his lighter up to the stick.

"He been treating you right?” He questioned head turning in your direction, but eyes never quite landing on your figure, as if he couldn’t stand to look at you.

And there it was exactly what you didn’t want to happen: Carmen's incessant need to avoid the tough conversations that he couldn’t help but make everyone else’s problem. You hastily patted your eyes to ensure any remaining tears didn’t make an appearance. “The fuck are you on about Carmen?” You snapped, having lost all desire to keep your emotions under control. No longer holding yourself back to appease whatever good nature was still between the two of you.

He gestured with his free hand back towards the house while sucking in a deep breath of tobacco and nicotine. “You and Mikey, I mea-it's just you two seemed pretty close earlier is all.” He chanced a glance in your direction, his soft blue eyes catching your stare before promptly turning away.

It took you a minute to digest what he was insinuating, a little offended that he deduced you to being Mikey’s bed warmer, all from whatever he thought he had been seeing this evening. If you were a violent person, you might’ve slapped him. You weren’t fucking Mikey and even if you were that was no longer Carmy’s business, he couldn’t just pick and choose the moments he wanted to make an appearance and provide input in your life.

You chuckled although the sound came out dry, no traces of humor to be found. You turned to Carmy and closed the distance between the two of you, snatching the cigarette from between his lips. You dropped it to the ground before stomping it out under the toe of your boot, “These things kill asshole.” You said before sauntering back towards the house, stopping a moment and turning to face him again, “And if I wanted to fuck your brother I don’t think I’d need your permission, Carmen.” With that, you entered the house leaving Carmy to stew with his thoughts and hopefully come to the conclusion that he made a bad situation even worse.

Carmy stayed outside a little while longer, he knew it was immature of him to avoid the conversation you wanted to have. He felt like a jackass for staring you in your face as he made the decision to disregard your feelings so easily. He kept telling himself he wasn’t a bad guy, a loop with those words playing in his brain as he did his best to convince himself. But what sort of fucking masochist breaks their own heart to escape the realities of a life he’ll never have. You were right, Carmen was an asshole but he knew he couldn’t continue to allow himself to want something as marvelous as love with you, he just wasn’t deserving. Not that he thought Mikey was any better of an option, but if it kept you in his life so be it.

You made your way through the house, looking for any space that you could compose yourself in, not wanting to ruin anyone else’s Christmas with your unpleasant mood. You did your best to quickly walk past the room containing the Fak Brothers and Steven. Any other time you would have sat comfortably next to Stevie as raptly intrigued as he was with the Fak family shenanigans. But in those potential instances, you also wouldn’t have been overthinking every decision you made regarding your friendship with Carmen and wondering why you were no longer good enough.

Continuing your journey through the house narrowly avoiding guests as you went, you quickly backtracked as you noticed a familiar back blankly facing the pantry. You felt bad for even letting the thought cross your mind, but you weren’t sure if Mikey was the right person to seek comfort in, especially after the accusation Carmy had just laid at your feet.

It was ridiculous actually to let something Carmy said have such an impact on you within such a short amount of type. It was even more ridiculous to allow his immaturity to overshadow the bond that had been carefully curated between you and Mikey prior to his youngest brother’s absence and now.

You let out a defeated sigh stepping slightly forward to wrap you arms around Mikey’s torso, cheek settling into the space between his shoulder blades, “Your little brother is a fucking idiot.” You murmured, voice slightly muffled by Mikey’s back.

A rough laugh escaped through Mikey’s lips as he patted your hand resting on his stomach, “Sure is when it comes to you ain’t he?” He questioned removing himself from your hold to lean his back against the pantry doorway. You followed suit standing opposite of him, the two of you now face to face.

You took in Mikey’s features, brows pinching together at the far away look in his eyes. It always amazed you that no matter if Mikey was physically in front of you, there was always a chance he was mentally somewhere else. That was the one similarity you could pick out between the two Berzatto boys, while Mikey’s charisma did a good job of hiding it, Carmen’s awkwardness put it on full display.

You reached out tugging at the sleeve of his shirt, “How are you doing Mikey?” You were genuinely curious, it's not like you were oblivious to Mikey’s many faults, the difference was you didn’t think he was a lost cause like everyone else. And as hard as it was to admit it to yourself you would never address the fact that you romanticized who Mikey was as a person. The Mikey you knew as a little girl was still the same Mikey you saw standing before you, and maybe he had a few more demons in his closet than you had been aware of back then, but it felt egregiously wrong to align your Mikey with the boogeyman everyone else made him out to be.

Mikey laughed swatting your hand away, “It's the most wonderful time of the fucking year Baby, how do you think I’m doing?” Mikey’s adversity in answering your question wasn’t lost upon you, but you knew Mikey wasn’t one to openly talk about how he was feeling. If avoidance was what you were gonna get, you knew there was no chance of this conversation going anywhere. You were 0 for 2 with the Berzatto brothers this evening it seemed.

You sighed, knocking your head against the wall you were leaning on, eyes shifting downwards as you prepared yourself for the topic you were about to bring up, “Can I ask you a question, Mikey? And can you be serious with me for one minute?” You pleaded needing someone to validate the way you had been feeling since your less-than-enlightening conversation with Carmy.

Mikey nodded eyebrows pinching together, a lick of concern tickling down his spine. Mikey knew you just as well as he knew his actual siblings. Albeit the age difference Mikey grew up right there with you, watching you grow into the person you were now, learning your mannerisms, understanding you as a person. You hadn’t asked for it but Mikey made it his mission to know you just as well as the younger Berzatto’s, if you were gonna be tossed into his eccentric family due to circumstance, he would do his best to treat you like a bonus little sister.

The slight nod of his head queuing you to reveal your query, “Do you ever feel, I don’t know, like inadequate?” You questioned scratching your nails against the material of your skirt, too consumed by the idea that Mikey would write your odd inquiry off. “Like sometimes it’s just exhausting to even fucking exist and-and there’s no rule book for this shit, but sometimes even your absolute best will never be good enough ya know? Like no matter how hard you try it doesn’t fucking matter because you’re just gonna die someday anyway?”

You chanced a glance at Mikey hoping he wouldn’t take your very real insecurities as a joke. The blank stare in his eyes greeted you by telling you a different story. Mikey was a hard person to read, and though you believed you had cracked the code to his complex soul, it was in moments like these that you knew you couldn’t be more wrong.

The sudden movement of Mikey’s hands reaching up to cup your face and jerk your head closer to him almost causes you to lose balance. “Why the fuck would you say that?” The tone in Mikey’s voice caused you to try and shrink into yourself. “This got anything to do with my shithead little brother?”

Your eyes cast downwards not prepared for the intensity in Mikey’s eyes, your lips parting to respond before abruptly being cut off by Mikey, “Fucking look at me when I’m talking to you, Baby. What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?” His hands redirected your gaze to his with a more gentle approach.

You shrugged your shoulders, feeling stupid for even talking like this in front of Mikey, “I’m not sure, to be honest. I talked to Carmy, and it went as well as you would guess. And I just, I don’t know, I guess I just got lost in my head. And work has been so stressful lately, I’m even considering moving back here.” You shook your head from his grip, “It's just nonsense, don’t worry about me. I think seeing Carmy after so long just made me spiral.” You offered him a small smile hoping it was as reassuring as you thought it was.

Mikey pulled you into a hug chin resting atop your head. The scene was oddly reminiscent of the hug you shared hours ago on the porch. Mikey’s hugs were like magic, a bear hug so comforting and warm, his arms made you feel safe, and protected. You felt a little selfish for constantly dumping your problems on Mikey, but he had become your closest confidant, you wish the same could be said about you from Mikey’s point of view, but you were already lucky enough that he shared what little nuggets of the inner working of his life that he did with you.

Mikey pulled back hands settling on your shoulders to get a good look at you, “Don’t let me hear you say shit like that again alright Baby?” You nodded the corner of your lips curving slightly as Mikey played the role of big brother and began scolding you. “You’re a great fucking girl alright, and don’t even worry about Carmy, you’ve got a heart of fucking gold. You’re like that motherfucker with the gold touch alright, and I need you Baby okay? I need you and that means something right, you’re fucking adequate these fuckers in this house wish they were you.”

You laughed the melodic sound filling the space between the two of you, “King Midas.”

Mikey’s hands dropped from their position on your shoulders frowning at you, “Who the fuck is that?”

“The motherfucker with the gold touch,” You joked.

“Alright, you fucking smart ass.” Mikey reached up to flick your nose, a small gesture carried on from childhood.

The two of you stood in the other’s presence for what felt like forever, no words needing to be passed between you. You and Mikey enjoy being in each other's company, using the pantry as a place of solace before returning to reality. The sound of Donna’s voice yelling about saltines and Carmy’s responding yell breaks the peaceful moment between you both. You glanced in the pantry spotting the saltines Carmy would be coming to acquire a small sigh leaving your lips. If Carmy was going to avoid a much-needed conversation, you would just avoid him. Sure it was petty but you wanted him to somehow get a taste of the suffering his lack of effort caused you.

“Well, this has been fun, but I should make myself scarce before Carmen accuses me of fucking you in the pantry of your family home.” You shot Mikey a sarcastic smile preparing to find some other hole to hide in before family dinner commenced.

“My little brother is a fucking idiot,” Mikey mumbled moving out of the way to allow you to pass by. You laughed glad that someone agreed with astute observation skills. Deciding to check on Tiff you made your way to the stairs before stopping at the landing.

“Hey.” You turned back to Mikey catching his attention for a brief moment, if the raise of his eyebrows was any conformation. “I love you brother bear.” You shot him a wink then proceeded to continue your previously decided journey.

Mikey watched your figure disappear up the stairs, a solemn smile resting on his lips. The idea that you had at one point harbored such unnerving thoughts scared him. But what scared him, even more, was he knew exactly what you were talking about

a/n: so i’m a liar : )

i fully intended for this to be the last chapter of the christmas episode but my creative juices said no. alas here is chapter 2, but mark my words the next chapter will be the end of the christmas arc because baby i’m exhausted. please shower me with feedback (constructive criticism), it really helps feed my creativity. and while i would love likes/comments/reblogs please interact with my work however you feel comfortable, my ask box is always open 💜

also also this might be a little self-indulgent idk, i have the “existing is exhausting” convo like every weak : (

i just tagged whoever commented on chapter 1, so if you didn’t want to be on the tag list sorry! but if you would like to be tagged in the next update please let me know!!

strikethrough means i was unable to tag you : (

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magnet-girl · 10 months

Text

pairing: pattinson!batman x reader

summary: When her thread on r/GothamUnsolved (claiming that Bruce Wayne is the Batman) goes viral, an amateur sleuth finds herself at odds with both the man - and the Dark Knight.

wc: 10k+

genre: a romantic comedy between two deeply strange weirdos

warnings: canon-typical violence, bruce wayne is bad at google

“After the events of the Gotham Flood, the Batman has become something of a folk hero around the streets of our “fair” city. But what if I told you that the Batman isn’t all he seems? What if I told you that the caped crusader, the man who solved the Riddler and the masked menace of Gotham’s evil-doers isn’t just some guy? What if I told you…he’s Bruce Wayne?” -Excerpt from “Bruce Wayne is The Batman (NOT CLICKBAIT),” a forty-six part reddit thread by TheRealGothamGirl

Three years ago, after devouring a True Crime podcast about the Wayne murders, a nobody barista found her way to the r/GothamUnsolved subreddit. It wasn't much of a hobby, just a forum dedicated to amateur sleuths attempting to piece together the perpetrators of crimes the Gotham PD was unable – or unwilling – to solve themselves. Ever since, in the hours between the dead-end job she worked to one day (hopefully) put herself through law school, she poured over the subreddit and its various threads, picking apart evidence and seeking it out herself

It wasn't much of a hobby, just a forum dedicated to amateur sleuths attempting to piece together the perpetrators of crimes the Gotham PD was unable – or unwilling – to solve themselves. Ever since, in the hours between the dead-end job she worked to one day (hopefully) put herself through law school, she poured over the subreddit and its various threads, picking apart evidence and seeking it out herself

Six of her own investigations had led to arrests, she was proud to say. Not that anyone knew who she was. The forum was entirely anonymous, and she wanted to keep it that way. The last thing she needed was some of Gotham’s criminal element coming after her for exposing their identities or that of their accomplices – if they did, she figured they’d definitely kill her, and considering that the Gotham PD solved fewer homicides than her favorite subreddit, her killer would likely never be found.

But every amateur sleuth like her had a white whale – that one unsolved mystery that would haunt them for the rest of her days. In her case, however, the while whale was more of a dark knight. A Kevlar bat.

She wasn’t the first to drive themselves basically crazy over the identity of The Batman. Many on the forum had tried, only to run into dead ends or talk themselves in circles or point the finger at plainly ridiculous candidates. ( Harvey Dent? Really? ) However, she was - she believed, anyway - the first person to get it right.

So, after months of meticulous research, a few illegal dumpster dives outside of Wayne Enterprises, a few less-than-accidental run-ins with muggers so she could lure the Batman for closer inspection, and some incredible luck, she published her findings: a forty-six part reddit thread detailing most of her evidence, enough evidence that a jury of Bruce Wayne’s peers would have no choice to convict him, enough evidence to prove that the crown prince of Gotham was really its caped crusader, enough evidence to prove to anyone with half a brain that Bruce Wayne was unbelievably, irrevocably, incontrovertibly –

“Not the Batman. No. Definitely not.”

All day, behind the counter of the shitty print shop where she scanned other people’s theses and endlessly shuffled corporate reports into bracketed binders, she’d had to listen and smile and push highlights while customer after customer snickered at the ridiculous theory that had gone viral last night – the “insane” “conspiracy theory” that Bruce Wayne was The Batman. Each of them totally unaware that they were talking to the woman who’d spent months of her life crafting it.

All of that, she could have taken. But when the crackling television on the wall played a newscast with brooding Bruce Wayne snickering at the idea – staring into the camera as he said it, as if he were taunting her, specifically…that was the last straw.

“I don’t know, Mr. Wayne, this online poster seems to have really gotten people talking. Are you sure you’re not The Batman?”

“Miss Vale, how crazy would I have to be to run around Gotham City dressed as a bat?”

Vicki Vale, GCN's resident Bruce Wayne stalker, accepted this with a giggle, allowing Bruce Wayne to disappear into his city offices so she might sum up her ambush interview for the folks at home. But the woman behind the desk at the print shop bit the inside of her cheek.

What Bruce Wayne had just said? It wasn’t a denial. And she did think he was crazy enough to run around the city as a bat.

In fact, she knew he was.

Pinned Comment from Mod_GothamUnsolved: “Hey, Front Page! Due to an increase in inflammatory comments and threats against OP for this post, we are locking down our comments - approved users only for now. Sorry! Don’t be dicks next time! Keep an eye on our subreddit for more Bats-related content, though. OP claims to have more information forthcoming.”

That night when her shift was over, she tucked her keys between her knuckles, carried her umbrella in her free hand, and returned by the better-lit streets – basic operating procedure for anyone who wanted to live to see another day in Gotham – to the crappy loft in the crappier side of town where she lived. Every step was agitated agony. She knew it wasn’t literally true, but it felt as if everyone who laughed, everyone who smiled, everyone who glanced down at their phone, was making fun of her theory.

But it wasn’t a theory. Bruce Wayne was Batman. He was. She just had to prove it–

When she slammed the door of apartment 1319B open, her blood ran cold.

Oh, she was going to prove it alright.

Because there, rifling through one of her cabinets as if it were his own home, was the short, gruff, stocky, suited man she’d seen in more than a dozen photographs of Bruce Wayne and his associates.

“Oh. Mr. Pennyworth. Fancy seeing you here…” She closed the door behind her, rolling her eyes around the room to highlight just how supremely fucked up it was for him to be here. “...in my apartment.”

For his part, Mr. Pennyworth did not seem fazed by the strangeness of his presence there.

“Hello there,” he hummed, perfectly pleasant as he finally closed a cupboard and crossed to face her in the corner of the room that served as what could generously be called kitchenette. “I’m afraid we haven’t been formally introduced.”

“No,” she said, “but I bet you already know who I am. Don’t you?”

No denial. Instead, he slid a file across the grotty, coffee-stained countertop that served as her cook surface, her mail table, her desk, and her dining room. With one hesitant hand, she flicked it open to find exactly what she’d expected: pages and pages of print outs. Not just of her online post history, but of everything else. She couldn’t help but smile. No, beam . This was confirmation. She had found The Batman. And The Batman had sent his little minion to take her off of their trail. Only a truly threatened man would uncover the identity behind her online handle, break into her home, and present her with what looked like a blackmail folder. It basically screamed, “I’m guilty. I'm the Batman.”

“You’ve caused a bit of trouble for my boss,” Mr. Pennyworth informed her.

“And he’s caused a lot of trouble for the city.”

The man sniffed. “Unless you call causing a shortage of black clothing and Radiohead records trouble , we’ll have to agree to disagree on that point, Miss.”

Her lip twitched. The butler had jokes. That delighted her in a way she hadn’t expected. Still, she played dumb. “I can’t imagine what Bruce Wayne’s personal fixer would want with little old me.”

“This is all very embarrassing for Mr. Wayne, as I’m sure you can understand. Being associated with some kook–”

“Isn’t it more embarrassing to actually be that kook?” She mused. “Maybe if he didn’t want to be associated, he would, you know, stop being Batman?”

The slightest flash of annoyance crossed Mr. Pennyworth’s face. “–But he understands that you have a keen investigative mind and admires your tenacity. Even if it’s turned up the wrong result. He thinks he can help with that.”

And here it was. The only logical conclusion of Bruce Wayne discovering her identity. He was going to bribe her. Well, he could have her killed, but that would be so sloppy. These rich guys. Always the same. “Oh, yeah?”

“The Wayne Foundation would like to make a donation to your education,” Mr. Pennyworth said, passing another envelope across the desk, this time, sealed and check-sized. “A fully funded scholarship to Gotham University’s law program. You could train your mind. Put that tenacity to good use. Make the world a better place.”

“And stop pursuing this Bruce Wayne as Batman thing all together, I guess?”

“Well, I imagine you won’t have time,” he said, the implication clear. Her silence in exchange for this money, for her future. “What with all of that coursework you’ll be doing.”

She picked up the check, toying with its weight in her hand. How strange that something so small could have such power to change her life. A deep breath, then: “I appreciate this. I hope you tell Mr. Wayne that.”

“I will–”

With three easy gestures, she ripped the check into pieces and resigned them to the nearby trash can. “And you can also tell him that the next time he wants to intimidate me, he should put on his little costume and do it himself.”

UPDATED TO ADD: Today, I had a visit from Alfred Pennyworth, Mr. Bruce Wayne’s personal fixer (mentioned in sections 1, 2, 4, 7-45 of my investigation). He very politely invited me to cease my investigation into Bruce Wayne. And told me that if I did, the Wayne Foundation would happily pay for me to finally go to law school, something I’ve wanted to do but never have been able to afford. For anyone who still doubts my theory, I think Mr. Pennyworth pretty much proved it. Why would Bruce Wayne need to buy me off if what I said wasn’t true? Don’t believe me? See the security camera stills below - taken inside of my apartment. That’s Alfred Pennyworth, going through my cabinets. Thanks for stopping by, Mr. Pennyworth, but I’m here for the truth. Bruce Wayne’s money may be able to buy a lot of things in this town, but it’s not going to buy my silence."- Excerpt from “Bruce Wayne is The Batman (NOT CLICKBAIT),” a forty-seven part reddit thread by TheRealGothamGirl

Every Tuesday, on her only day off, she had a little ritual. First, she went to the Gotham Public Library to sort through the public records and pick up a new smutty romance book to read before bedtime over the next week. Then, she went to the courthouse and police station to pull any reports she might have needed for her research. And finally, she would go to the deli behind the police station, order the cheapest sandwich on the menu (usually given at a discount, as she requested day-old bread instead of fresh), and sit on her favorite park bench to enjoy her paperwork, her sandwich, and - on rare days like these - the sunshine.

However, on her walk to the bench today, a long, black coat wearing a tall, imposing man knocked her off of her path when their bodies accidentally collided. As she stumbled back from the force of him, her papers flying everywhere and her sandwich bag tumbling into the nearby grass, a brittle, soft voice reached her ears:

“Excuse me, miss–”

Familiar. She’d heard that voice before.

Crouched down to grab her papers, she looked up to see that the voice belonged to just the man she’d suspected – or feared.

It was Bruce Wayne. In the flesh. Without his armor or his mask. And when their eyes met, he smiled at her. Not a big smile, not anything he might have flashed in the papers, but something softer. Almost genuine. Almost good enough to awaken a whole sea of butterflies in the pit of her stomach.

“Oh,” he said, wincing his greeting. A little shy. A little awkward. “Hello. I'm sorry about that. Here. Can I...?”

He crouched down to help her. For a moment, she lost her breath and every word she’d ever learned. There was nothing but him. She’d been close to him before – once. But other than that fleeting exchange, one she was sure he didn’t remember, she only knew him from photographs and archival footage. In those videos, he’d always seemed…

Well, not to be rude, but a little bit like if the sickly orphan boy in a Charles Dickens novel had been cast in a 90’s grunge band’s music video.

In person, though, so close, he was something completely different. Sure, the basics of him were still the same, but there was an intoxicating indirectness about him – as though he didn’t understand the basics of human interaction…but something about her made him want to try.

She shook off the feeling almost as soon as it occurred to her.

There wasn’t anything special about her. This wasn’t a chance meeting in the park. It was another attempt to con her into dropping her Batman posts.

“That’s cute,” she muttered, attempting to pile her papers back into some semblance of order.

Bruce Wayne offered up stray pages as though he weren’t a billionaire crouched down in the middle of a public park. “What is?”

“This isn’t some chance meeting, Bruce Wayne . You’re pretending to run into me just a few days after your bruiser broke into my apartment.”

She glanced up to check out his reaction. A muscle in his jaw tightened and he looked anywhere but her.

“I didn’t ask him to do that. And–”

He stopped himself short, as though he’d caught himself almost saying something he shouldn’t have. When he handed her the last of her papers, she prodded:

“And?”

“And he didn’t break in,” Bruce mumbled. “He said the door wasn’t locked.”

“I notice you’re not denying the fake run-in.”

“This isn’t fake," he protested, at last. "I don’t even know you–”

Lie. How was a man with a whole-ass double life so bad at lying?

Maybe that was why he barely made it out of Wayne Manor or his offices. Maybe he was such a bad liar that if he showed his face in public too much, the whole world would see through him. She fought to fit her folders back into her bag, her sandwich quite forgotten nearby.

“Bruce. I discovered your super-secret identity. You’re not fooling me with this whole innocent guy act.”

Dropping the pretense of this meeting being an accident – thank God, she was glad he didn’t see fit to insult her intelligence any longer – he leaned forward, lowering his voice as though they were sharing a confidence. “I don’t have a secret identity.”

He’d gotten closer to her than he’d probably meant, but she could tell he wasn’t going to back down until he had his answer. So, for a moment, they shared the same air, huffing out cold puffs of powdered breath onto the frigid afternoon wind. His lips – so easily identifiable by anyone with eyes as the Batman’s lips – were pink from the cold. She dragged her gaze from them, then met his.

“Okay, then,” she said, squaring up to him. “Prove it.”

“Prove what, that I’m not Batman?”

“Yes. And you can do that by taking me to dinner.”

404. Batman error.

The man blinked, apparently not expecting her to ask him that question – or, more bafflingly to her, shocked that any woman would want to go on a date with him.

“I…” A muscle twitched between his eyes. Confusion. “I’m sorry?”

She practically sang her answer, quite pleased with herself. How wonderful to play with him this way, to tease him with a challenge she knew he would never meet…to taunt herself with a date she knew she would never get. But it was fun to pretend, just for a second. “The Batman goes out every night between eleven forty-seven and and eleven fifty-two. He doesn’t disappear until sunrise. Take me to dinner. If he’s out tonight and you’re with me, that will prove that you’re not The Batman.”

It would have been so easy for Bruce Wayne to turn on his heel and abandon her. To call a full-court press assault on her character, to degrade her as a crazy conspiracy theorist and resign her silly little theory to the pages of one of those tabloids that had gotten rich off of smearing his dead parents with horrible theories of their own.

But he didn’t. And she wondered…

She wondered if maybe he wanted to have dinner with her.

“Eleven forty-seven is a late dinner, don’t you think?” He asked, a cooly conspiratorial glint in his eye.

“We’ll go to a diner.” She shrugged. “I like waffles.”

“Dinner,” he repeated, confirming. His lips tipping up again in that nearly-smile of his. “I’ll pick you up at 11:45.”

Going for her forgotten sandwich, she rolled her eyes. It was a fun game while it lasted. But she wouldn’t be falling prey to his promises. She wasn’t a fool. “Sure you will, Batman.”

“I’m not–”

But before he could finish that protest, she disappeared around a nearby tree, biting her bottom lip to keep from laughing.

COMMENT FROM @ BALLCHUGGER 69: Batman is the greatest hero. I don’t care who he is. Leave him alone, whore.

That night, she didn’t even bother to get dressed for a date. Didn’t even pretend it was a possibility. No, if anyone had come to pick her up from her shitbox apartment on the wrong side of the city, they would have found her sprawled on her couch in a pair of sweats and a sports bra, stealing internet from her next door neighbor so she could scroll reddit’s latest Bruce Wayne as Batman megathread and listen closely to a livestream of the Gotham PD scanner.

Sure enough, about ten minutes after Bruce was supposed to meet her for dinner, crackle-voice cops informed their comrades that the Bat had just strung up three low-level mob figures up by the ankles from a lamppost.

Ten minutes after that, a knock on the door drew her to it. But when she opened, there was only a small, weighty eggshell envelope waiting for her, taped just beneath the peep hole. When she opened it, a handwritten letter under Wayne Enterprises letterhead informed her that Bruce regretted his absence, but had been called away on an urgent matter.

She smirked as she tossed the letter carelessly into the trash. She’d always known he wasn’t going to show up. The Batman was never going to ignore the city when it was in danger – even if it meant protecting his identity.

She had to admit: she admired him for that.

REPLY TO @ BALLCHUGGER69: I never said he wasn’t a hero. I think he is. In fact, I know he is. So we agree there. But as to the whore comment…if Batman is so heroic, I don’t think he would like you talking to ladies like that.

Sometime around midnight, she decided - for no particular reason - to go for a little walk down to Bowery. The Batman’s main territory. She’d seen him here more than once - and she wanted to see for herself that Bruce Wayne wasn’t at some high society dinner or in his Wayne Enterprises high-rise, but out there, on the streets. Doing what he did best - hunting.

She stuck to the shadows, one hand on the pepper spray in her pocket and the other on the heavy handle of the umbrella she always carried for protection. But soon enough, she found him. Guiding a frightened woman to the safety of a police car, while her three assailants scrambled away.

When Batman turned, his glazed eyes caught hers in the shadow. She smirked. He could run after the bad guys, or he could confront her.

Again, he chose the noble thing. He ran after the criminals.

Admirable. And fortuitous, as the mud from last night's rain left perfect copies of his boot prints behind. Boot prints that she meticulously photographed for later examination.

@ CKent_DailyPlanetNews: After independently verifying recent revelations regarding Wayne Enterprise Employee Alfred Pennyworth and the reddit user who asserts that Bruce Wayne is Batman, I have agreed to cover this story for The Daily Planet. More developments to follow.

For the next few days, after Clark Kent reached out to her anonymous account on Reddit and they set up a time to discuss her Batman finds, she went about her normal routine and tried not to think about Bruce Wayne or his dark knight counterpart. She did her job, raced home, and dove into the other outstanding amateur sleuthing cases that had been piling up during the whole Batman thing.

But she should have known that once the Clark Kent news broke and the internet exploded over it, Bruce Wayne would not be far behind.

One afternoon, in the print shop, she was five paragraphs into a really good sex scene in her book when a hand appeared on the desk in front of her, opening and closing into a loose fist - uncomfortable, not threatening. She glanced up to find Bruce Wayne standing there. As unbearably awkward in real life as he was confident and dangerous as Batman.

She waited for him to speak first. When he finally did, it just came out:

“...Hi.”

“Hi,” she said in her best customer service voice. Trying to ignore how his unbroken stare made her want to melt into his stupid, sexy arms and act out one of those romance novel scenes she’d just been reading. The only thing that stopped her from doing so was the knowledge that she’d gotten him right where she wanted him. He was panicked. And panicked men always made mistakes. Mistakes that could lead to him outright confirming his real identity. “Can I help you?”

“Could I…” He swallowed, trying to strengthen his weak voice. “Can we talk?”

“As opposed to what we’re doing right now?”

“Alone, I mean.”

With a flourish, she rose from behind the printing desk and breezed past him to straighten the already-straightened display of staplers and graphic calculators.

“If you’re here to ask me out, I’m sorry, but my schedule is all full. I don’t go on second dates with guys who stand me up, Mr. Batman.”

“ Don’t call me that .”

It was a growl, the closest she’d yet seen to The Batman flashing past his Bruce Wayne exterior. A thrill shot up and down her spine. Keep him talking . She didn’t want to let him go. She loved this dance that they were doing, this go away closer they played. “You saw Clark Kent’s tweet, didn’t you?”

“I don’t know why you’re doing this–”

“Of course you don’t,” she mumbled. “You never even asked.”

“--But please. Stop. The city needs Batman–”

Clearly, he thought speaking faster and clearer and something approaching a big businessman voice was going to spook her. But she would not be deterred. She’d thought this through a million times. “And they need Bruce Wayne, too. I agree. I just wonder why they can’t have both at the same time.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Nothing.” He still hadn’t asked her why she was doing this. And every time their eyes met, she waited for some flash of recognition that she now knew would never come. Even if she told him now what she meant by that little comment, he wouldn’t listen. Why waste her breath? “Nothing you’d be interested in hearing, anyway.”

Rounding one of the shelves she stocked, he came face-to-face with her. The rack was the only barrier between them.

“I am asking you to stop this,” he pleaded, low and gentle.

“Or what? You’ll make me stop?”

“What do you want? What can I give you?”

Her lips tugged. Smug. “I told you, Mister Wayne. I want to go to dinner.”

“That’s not possible.”

“Well, then. I think we’re done here. As it happens, I have a meeting with Clark Kent later this week to talk about my findings.”

“You’ll be making a mistake.”

“Why?”

“Because one day, if you do this, maybe you’ll need Batman, and I won’t be there.”

That felt like a threat. It felt like a slap. He instantly recoiled, as if ashamed that he’d said it. But when he opened his mouth to no doubt apologize, she beat him to it.

She’d caught him. The harder he tried to deny the truth, the more he kept showing his hand. “... You won’t be there? Sounds like an admission to me.”

Bruce adjusted his coat, drawing the collar up around his neck. He ignored her question and took to convincing her – which sounded more and more like he was convincing himself. “This conversation is over. I’m not your Batman. Your ridiculous post is only going to get people hurt. No one will believe you. And you don’t have any proof, just conjecture and speculation and probably some very flimsy ‘evidence.’ Nothing can link me to The Batman. Nothing .”

She could have laughed. She almost did. But she managed to stop it. Laughing would have given away her whole play. Adopting a fake serious tone, she nodded solemnly. “Of course. Yeah. Silly of me. You . Batman. It’s ridiculous. I’ll just go ahead and cancel my meeting with Clark Kent.”

Something flashed in his expression. Relief? Gratitude? A tint of regret? “I…Thank you.”

With that, he went for the door, but only made it two steps before she called him back.

No proof, he’d said. Please. As if she would accuse the most powerful man in Gotham of being The Batman without any actual evidence.

“Just one more thing, Bruce.”

“Yes?”

When he turned back around, he found himself face-to-face with her phone screen, which flashed a perfect picture of Batman’s boot print, which she’d snapped during their last encounter.

The blood rushed from Bruce’s face. She smirked.

“What size shoe do you wear?”

COMMENT BY DENT4PREZ: Yo, GothamGirl, any more Batman updates?

REPLY BY TheRealGothamGirl: I’m working on another case right now. The world does not revolve around Batman!

She wasn’t sure what made her hold back the boot print picture. Considering Bruce Wayne’s shoe size was a matter of public record thanks to some particularly freaky BW TikTok stans, it would have been a significant piece of evidence to add to the pile currently being combed over by dozens of amateur sleuths like herself.

Maybe it was the slight panic she’d caught in his expression when she showed it to him. Perhaps it was the fact that if he did fully prove him without a shadow of a doubt…he’d have no reason to find her again, ending their brief flirtations.

Maybe she didn’t want to lose him, something she knew would happen if she pushed the truth any further.

It was selfish, she knew. To want to keep him. He belonged to the people, and so did the truth.

But another day or two couldn’t hurt. Especially now that he seemed to hate her.

One day, maybe you’ll need Batman and he won’t be there .

It was those words ringing in her ears when her latest cold case investigation took her to The Narrows, one of Gotham’s worst neighborhoods. The evidence had led her here, to an abandoned warehouse where she believed someone had stashed the trophies of the murders they’d committed, so a bit of light breaking and entering was on the menu tonight. But she wasn’t worried. She’d done this a dozen times. Narrows or no, it was an abandoned warehouse. What were the odds that anyone would –

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing in there?”

She was halfway out of the window when a man staring up at her from the street caught her. Damn. She was nearly homefree.

Adrenaline kicking into action, she threw herself out of the window, careful not to jostle the bag slung across her body – the one containing the killer’s treasures. The man was on her in a second, lunging with everything he had. All of her self-defense training flooded back to her. She dodged him at first, then knocked him back with her umbrella. The next time he approached, though, he caught her on the back foot, and before she knew it, he had her pinned against the wall.

Something sharp pierced her side.

She screamed.

The edges of her world went fuzzy.

Fuck . Had he stabbed her?

The blood loss was swift. His rancid breath on her cheek turned her stomach. But with one last flurry of energy, she emptied her pepper spray into his eyes, and he scrambled out into the darkness. Probably convinced that she wasn’t a threat to him anymore anyway. After all, he’d stabbed her .

When he abandoned their little drama, she crumbled down the wall, pinning her hands to her wound. She had to get out of there. Had to fix herself up. But she was…so tired. Down to her bones. The kind of exhaustion that made sleeping on the ground of a dark alleyway in The Narrows with a bag full of a serial killer’s treasures seem appealing.

Shock, she realized vaguely. This was shock. She was in shock. That’s why the wound didn’t hurt. That’s why she wanted to sleep. That’s why she didn’t notice – not at first – when a cloaked figure stalked into her line of sight.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” she groaned, lolling onto her side at the sight of him.

The Batman. Of all the dark alleyways in all the world, he had to walk into hers.

“Were you following me?” He growled, eyes darting up to the warehouse, where he instantly spotted the window she’d broken to force entry not twenty minutes ago.

“No,” she spit, tasting blood on her teeth now.

“Then why were you–”

“I was on another case.” She followed his line of sight as it traveled from the window down to her bag, which had sprawled open during the scuffle. With those weird shades in his mask, his expression proved unreadable, but she spotted the slightest tensing of his jaw. Ah, so she hadn’t followed him and he hadn’t followed her. They’d just both been hunting the same criminal and gotten here at the same time. “It just happened to be yours, I guess.”

It was only then that he looked at her – really looked at her, not in panic, not in rage – and noticed the red blooming behind the hands clenched at her stomach. His jaw parted this time, but he made no move to approach.

“Leave me alone. I can–I can–You already said what you would do if you found me in trouble. And I assume you’re a man with, like, a code or whatever. It’s what I deserve. Besides,” she wheezed, indicating the police sirens that had just gone off somewhere in the vicinity. “You have bad guys to catch.”

God , she was going to die here. She was going to die here and Batman was going to leave her to do it because he had more heroic things to do and also because she’d been threatening to expose him and also he was angry with her and–

Suddenly, he was all she could see. Kneeling at her side, arms at the ready to collect her.

“Can I touch you?”

“I bet you say that to all the criminals,” she snarked, the blood loss finally getting to her head.

He remained still. Stoic. He would not be touching her unless she gave her consent. Slowly, very slowly, she nodded. “Yeah. Fine. Go ahead.”

No sooner were the words out than he scooped her into his arms, cradling her against his chest, and walking her out of the alley.

She tried not to think about the firm warmth of his chest or how right it felt to curl up in his arms. Tried not to think about the easy way he picked her up – as if she was nothing, rather than the generously curved woman she’d always been.

When he lodged her in the back seat of what appeared to be what she’d pejoratively termed in her reddit post, “the Batmobile,” they were silent. He worked quickly, positioning her so he could withdraw a first aid kit and set to stitching up the wound gushing onto his smooth leather seats. She watched him with hazy vision – cataloging the precision with which he sank a needle into her ribcage and filled her with morphine, the way he cooed quietly when she hissed as he began stitching her up, the delicate care he took with picking the fabric of her clothes out of the gash in her side.

“I could blow up your life tomorrow,” she muttered. Though whether she was speaking to the bat or the man behind the mask, she didn’t know.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “You could.”

“But you’re still doing this. Why?”

“You have your reasons for doing what you’re doing.” His hands were gentle. So gentle for a vigilante. She was struck by the urge to rip those gloves off and see if those hands were as gentle as Bruce Wayne’s had been when he’d first touched her. “I have mine.”

“I hope I get to hear them someday,” she mumbled, teasing. “Maybe at dinner.”

“Batman doesn’t do dinner,” he said, apparently still trying to engage in his little game of pretend. As if he hadn’t just as good as admitted who he was. As if this night didn’t change anything.

The last thing she remembered, before she passed out from the drugs he’d given her, was the chuckle he rewarded her with when she replied, “Maybe not. But Bruce Wayne might.”

SIGNAL MESSAGE FROM CLARK KENT: Are we still on for our meeting tomorrow? I’m flying down tomorrow morning.

SIGNAL MESSAGE FROM ANONYMOUS: Flying? It’s like an hour drive. Aren’t you supposed to be some kind of environmentalist fighting Lex Luthor, Mr. Daily Planet?

SIGNAL MESSAGE FROM CLARK KENT: Typo. Damn autocorrect. Are we on?

SIGNAL MESSAGE FROM ANONYMOUS: Yeah.

SIGNAL MESSAGE FROM CLARK KENT: Make sure to bring the documents you mentioned in your posts.

The next morning, she woke up in her apartment. The wounds were the only proof that the night before had even happened. The Batman had saved her life. And according to the police blotter, he hadn’t stopped there. He’d taken her evidence and caught that killer – and on his way out of The Narrows after that, he’d apparently had enough time to stop two muggings.

As someone without health insurance who lived in the most dangerous city in the country, she was pretty used to attending Youtube medical school. Because of that, she had no trouble cleaning out Batman’s tidy stitches and keeping the bandages clean and dry. What she did have trouble with? Not thinking about him every time she moved. When the pain made her twitch, when the scabs begged to be scratched, with every bandage change, she couldn’t help but think about those warm, gentle hands against her skin. The easy, uncomplicated way he’d saved her. Those quiet words they’d shared in the dark.

It made her interview with Clark Kent, conducted in a small coffee shop off the beaten path, one where neither of them would be recognized, a little awkward. Every time she breathed too deeply, she was reminded of Batman – and the potential consequences of being here with a powerful journalist, her arms full of proof that would link him to Bruce Wayne.

“Miss–”

She shook her head as Clark fumbled with the recording app on his phone. “I think it’s better if I don’t use my name. You know it. You’ve confirmed my identity. That should be enough. Anonymous sources are still a thing, aren’t they?”

He flashed a grin. Friendly. Wholesome. Thoroughly un-Bruce-like. “Certainly. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Anonymous.”

The Muzak in the coffee shop stretched between them as he flipped through his pages of notes. For her part, she stared blankly into the distance past the nearby window. Her hand drifted to her ribcage, pressing past her coat and her shirt and the bandage straight to her slow-healing wound.

“What do you think will happen?” She asked, vaguely.

Clark adjusted his glasses. “What’s that?”

“When the people know, for sure, I mean, not just my speculation or whatever, that Bruce Wayne is Batman? What do you think will happen?”

“I can't see the future or anything, but I guess he'll be arrested. He’ll have to be, if there’s ever going to be any faith in Gotham’s institutions again. If my article has anything to say about it, that’s where he’ll end up. Isn’t that what you want? For the Batman to stop terrorizing the streets?”

No. No, it wasn’t what she’d wanted at all. She’d never wanted that. Clark Kent seemed like a decent enough guy, but… no .

Leaping to her feet, she grabbed at the briefcase of Wayne-related documents.

“You know – I forgot – I have a work thing.”

Nearly choking, Clark gawked at her. “But I came all the way from Metropolis.”

“I’m sorry, I just –”

“Leave the documents, at least.”

He bolted up from his chair, grabbing for her.

Too fast. Inhumanly fast.

She tried to wrench out of his grasp. “No–”

“Wait–”

With a twist, she stumbled back. Clark remained unmovable, but his head tipped suddenly, knocking his glasses clean off of his face. Giving her a perfect look at him.

It was just a split second, but a split second was all it took for an idea to plant in the mossy soil of her mind and take immovable root. Then, when his eyes focused on her bag, it already began to sprout.

“Sorry. You’re right,” he said, straightening, as if he’d already gotten everything he needed from her in that single look.

Which, she suspected, he had.

@ CKent_DailyPlanetNews: Confidential sources have withdrawn from the Bruce Wayne story. However, with the help of newly uncovered documents, I will diligently follow the truth wherever it takes me.

After Clark tweeted about her withdrawing from the story, she went home and deleted all of her threads on the Gotham Unsolved subreddit. She’d kept the evidence in a sealed locker in her house, and the digital footprint would surely live on forever, but at least she’d done something . Once she’d closed the book on Batman, she turned her attention to other matters, other cases that needed solving, other unsolved mysteries she hoped she wouldn’t screw up as royally as she had this one.

The Batman case was the first time she’d ever regretted solving one. She needed another win, anything to remind her that she was on the good side of this city, that she was contributing to its salvation rather than its decline.

Which is how, on a particularly snowy Tuesday afternoon, she found herself hunched over a cup of coffee (bought in place of her usual sandwich, because it was too cold to sit out here without coffee and she couldn’t afford both) and her records on her park bench when a shadow passed over her.

Not just any shadow. Bruce Wayne’s shadow.

“Oh. Mr. Wayne. I didn’t - I didn’t think I would -” the stammering continued a minute more before she finally slammed the folder in her lap closed and tried again: “How are you?”

“This is your spot, isn’t it?” He asked, not answering her question.

No wonder. He looked like shit. The bags under his eyes had gotten darker and more bruised. His coat engulfed him. She tried to tease some life back into him – anything to stop staring at the snowflakes currently settling on his eyelashes and melting into his lips.

“Spying on me again?”

He shrugged, but it worked. He smiled – just barely. Like most of his smiles. “My office is just up there." He pointed to the Wayne Enterprises building towering over the northern stretch of the park. "I see you down here sometimes. Just like I saw that the Batman threads have all been taken down. And that Clark Kent lost his source. And that someone solved the Kyminsky murder.”

This time, it was her turn to shrug.

“I just figured it out. Batman brought the guy in. I don’t deserve any credit.”

“Maybe not,” he said. “But you might deserve dinner.”

Against her better judgment, her heart fluttered. A traitorous hummingbird trying to get free and fly straight for him. “Really?”

“Really. But at eight. Not eleven-fifty. I have a lot to show you and I can’t do it in an all-night diner.”

Intriguing. She probably should have said no. It was undoubtedly better to keep her distance from Bruce Wayne, especially after all that had transpired between them. But he had to know she couldn’t resist a good mystery. “Where, then?”

“Wayne Manor.”

APARTMENT 1319B RECENT SEARCH HISTORY:

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Wayne Manor was everything she’d expected. A gothic mansion set out past the edges of the city, it filled in the picture of what she believed about Bruce Wayne. It was sort of a reflection of him. Locked up, crumbling, defiantly enduring, and impossibly beautiful.

The place was so grand that the second she stepped up on the grand marble steps, she felt underdressed. A feeling that only intensified when Mr. Pennyworth opened the door and snarked at her.

“Welcome to Wayne Manor, Miss. I see you’ve dressed for the occasion.”

Behind Alfred’s tuxedo-ed back, she could hear the tinkling of fine music and the pop of a champagne bottle. They’d been originally supposed to go to a diner . How was she supposed to know that Bruce wanted her to dress formally ? She flushed. “He didn’t tell me what to wear, and wouldn't you know it? All of my gowns are at the cleaner’s.”

Alfred scoffed. “You’re–”

But the arrival of his master cut him off. Bruce Wayne stepped into view, looking like an evening star wrapped up in a ten-thousand dollar suit. He still hadn’t gotten the hang of styling his hair like a normal human being, she noticed, and there were several bruises beginning to surface just beneath his collar and at the skin near his shirt cuffs, but even so –

He was so handsome. Especially when he assessed her like he did now.

“You’re perfect,” he said simply, finishing Alfred's sentence.

Having handed her coat to Alfred when he waved for it, she gestured down to her jeans and flannel combination. He was in a goddamn tux and she was in jeans . “I don’t feel very perfect.”

“You are exactly who I’ve been looking for.”

That sounds like something a murderer or Batman or a guy in love would say – dear God, please be the second one.

“I hope you’re hungry,” Alfred said. “Master Wayne doesn’t eat much, but–”

The tops of Bruce’s cheeks flushed. “– Alfred –”

“But he insisted on only the best. I’ll just be in the kitchen, preparing.”

Without another word, the man was gone. She’d done so much research into Alfred and Bruce, but none of her documents ever could have taught her this: they cared about each other. Almost like father and son. It was cute, the way Bruce ducked his head, embarrassed, and apologized for Alfred. Domestic in a way she hadn’t expected.

There was a lot she hadn’t expected, it turned out. The living room of Wayne Manor was well-appointed, but clearly weathered from lack of use. The floorboards creaked beneath her feet and despite the obvious attempts to spruce the place up, she couldn’t help but notice that the entire room, while it glittered from golden candle light and smelled like the fresh, home-cooking wafting from the nearby kitchen, carried with it the oppressive weight of grief.

Suddenly, so much of Bruce made sense. He was not some playboy who masqueraded as Batman to make meaning out of his useless life. He was not doing it for the attention. He was not a man with a death wish.

He was just…so, so sad. And so very lonely. And trying to right a wrong for the universe that had never been righted for him. Saving other people so they’d never have to know what he’d been through.

As she leaned against a nearby window and watched him pour champagne for them both, she blinked away tears at that revelation. She’d always been on Bruce’s side. But now? Now she actually understood him. And that broke her heart a little.

“I really am sorry about my clothes,” she said, trying to keep the emotion out of her voice. “I thought this would be, like, a casual thing, not a–”

“A date?”

A date. Even after the tuxedos and champagne, it hadn’t even occurred to her that this was a date.

She’d thought….

Well…

She’d thought…it was, like, a detente. A cessation of hostilities. A friendly armistice.

But a date…?

Once more, she swept the room. Champagne. Music. Lights. A home-cooked meal. Bruce doing that almost-smile thing he did whenever she was around. Color and life back in his face, something that had been sorely missing the last time she’d seen him.

Yeah. A date. That checked out. Heat flooded her cheeks. She stared down at her shoes.

“Yeah.”

“I understand,” he said, handing her a champagne flute.

“You do?”

“Yeah.” He clinked their glasses together. Sardonic and self-deprecating. “I wouldn’t want to go out with the Batman either.”

Her eyes widened. This was not a mistake. This was not a slip-up. It was purposeful. He’d invited her on a date, invited her to dinner, and was telling her the one secret he’d been trying so hard to keep. Retiring her glass to a nearby table, she repeated the word, “...Batman.”

He nodded once. At last, a confirmation. “ Batman .”

Before she could think better of it, she charged towards him, to ask him more questions, to probe him for answers – only for the aggressive action to tug at her stitches, causing her to painfully twist and stumble…

“ Shit –”

“Careful there–”

…right into his arms.

Suddenly, the pain in her side was the furthest thing from her mind.

Even if he hadn’t just confessed the truth to her, she would have known it was him just from this embrace. It was the same one she’d experienced in the alley that night – the one where he saved her life. It was an awkward hold. Soft in some places and stiff in others. Close but not close enough for her liking. Unpracticed. As if he hadn’t known the non-violent touch of someone in too, too long.

It washed her in peace from the flushed crown of her head all the way down to her untied shoelaces.

For a breathless moment, neither of them moved. But the music from the old stereo played something soft and lovely…and before they knew that they were even doing it, as if twisted in some magical spell cast by the speakers, they were swaying.

“Do you like to dance?” Bruce asked, his breath tickling her neck.

“No.”

“Me either,” he agreed.

And yet…there they were. Dancing. Each of them equally unwilling to let the other one go.

She didn’t know what that meant. Only that it felt right, being there in his touch.

What a miracle – that her life would bring her to this place, this time, this man. All because she nearly died one night six months ago - not that he knew about that yet.

“Why did you do it?” He asked, melting into her touch.

“Do what?”

“Try to expose me. And then stop.”

She tilted her head until their eyes met, giving him full, silent permission to survey her. When nothing sparked in him, she asked: “You really don’t remember me, do you?”

No answer. She tucked herself back into the crook of her body, enjoying his touch while she still could.

“I had my suspicions about you before the flood. But it seemed so impossible. Bruce Wayne, the Batman? Of course not. But then…I was in that stadium. And those things you put in your eyes when you wear that mask, the things that keep people from seeing your eyes? They shorted in the water. After all that research I’d done about you…when you pulled me out of that water, I recognized them. You have very distinctive eyes, Mr. Wayne.”

Did he notice that he’d tightened his grip around her waist? As though he were now the one drowning and she was the only thing holding him above the swells?

“I know you think I wanted this city to destroy you. But I don’t. I think you’re a hero.” She was digging her fingers into the soft fabric of his suit jacket now. Hopefully, he thought she was just holding onto him for support because of her injury – not for the reason that being this close to him made her knees weak and her heartbeat at a rate she considered medically unsafe. “And for awhile, I believed that if the world knew that Bruce Wayne and Batman were the same guy…you could be even more of an inspiration. Someone with everything trying to do something for those who have nothing . The man everyone knows, fighting for the forgotten. The Crown Prince of Gotham saving us peasants down below.”

She teased him with that last bit. But he was as serious as he had been the moment before.

“And now?” He prompted, pulling away so she could no longer hide in the crook of his neck. Under his stare, she knew she couldn’t falter.

“Now, I just want you to keep fighting - even if you have to do it in the shadows.”

Their breath intermingled. It felt like the start of something. His attention flickered down to her lips –

“Master Wayne.”

The sound of Alfred’s voice made her twitch. She moved to step away, but Bruce held her fast, even as Alfred raised a judgmental eyebrow at their romantic clinch.

“Dinner is served,” he said, lingering in the doorway.

Through it all, she realized that Bruce had never looked away from her. And he didn’t when he spoke again.

“I’m sorry, Alfred. I think we have something else to do first.”

BRUCE WAYNE RECENT SEARCH HISTORY, SCRUBBED at 7:58 PM:

Ethics of hiring woman you’re attracted to

Can you kiss someone at a first date/job interview?

How to confirm a secret identity?

How to hide bruises from a fistfight you got into the night before a date?

Romantic Covers of Nirvana Songs

How to reveal secret location without seeming like a kid showing a girl your treehouse?

There wasn’t much Bruce Wayne cared to examine in himself. He knew, in vague strokes, that he was obsessive and driven by pain, and desperate for justice in any form it could take. He knew he didn’t want to be the monster that stalked the shadows anymore, but a hero who actually helped people.

And he knew that from the moment he met this strange woman in the park, something within him shifted. She was a threat to him, an existential one he should have done everything in his power to destroy. He was a billionaire, after all. It should have been easy to tie her up in legal battles for the rest of her life, to pay for bots to drown out her posts, to keep upping the ante of Alfred’s bribery until she had no choice but to accept.

Still. He didn’t. She was brilliant and infuriating and matched him turn-for-turn. Every time he thought he had her figured out, she dodged in the exact opposite direction. Whether she was relentlessly taunting him about his secret identity or flirting or asking him to dinner or sneaking pictures of his boot prints or crumbling under his hands as he healed her or giving up the story with Clark Kent or doing that scrunching thing with her nose she did when she was thinking too hard or fiddling with the handle of her umbrella she uselessly kept nearby for protection or flashing those intelligent, sharp eyes of hers…

He was fascinated. He couldn’t remember the last time something other than the underworld of Gotham had fascinated him. Maybe it was this new change in him, the one that had been brewing ever since The Flood. Maybe, as he returned slowly from Vengeance back to his humanity, maybe his heart was slowly awakening, too. Maybe all of those feelings he’d chained away for so long were resurfacing.

In any case…something shot straight through his heart when she stepped down the stairs into The Cave and her lips parted in a wondrous smile. Only, for the first time in his life, a sudden bolt to his chest didn’t hurt. It blossomed into something warm and unfamiliar.

“What is this?” She breathed, eyes wide and uncertain. “Why have you brought me here?”

“It’s my headquarters,” he said, leading her down the rickety steps until he reached the floor of the spotlight-illuminated tunnel. He suddenly found it impossible to look at her. As if he were afraid she would suddenly pass judgment and he would be found wanting. He steeled himself for what was to come. From the start, she’d known the truth. He knew she knew the truth. And she knew that he knew the truth. But this was a final confirmation. An admission of guilt, undeniable, that could not be retracted once made. “And I’m showing you because… Because I’m Batman.”

Miracle of miracles, she didn’t run out of the door. She didn’t scream and throw things at him. She didn’t even feign surprise. Instead, she chuckled. Bruce felt his own lips twitch. When was the last time anyone had laughed in this house? “Yeah, no shit. I already knew that. I mean why are you showing this to me?”

That was the question Alfred had asked about a half-dozen times since Bruce had decided to bring her here – a decision he’d made the moment he found out she’d scuttled Clark Kent’s Batman story. And the answer he’d given Alfred was the same answer he’d give her now.

But it wasn’t the whole answer, not really. The whole truth would have been you’re a damn good detective and I want an excuse to get close to you – to stay close to you . Instead, he edited the truth, tailoring it for this moment:

“Because you’re a damn good detective. And I don’t think I can do this alone anymore.” He paused. “Or maybe I don’t want to.”

Her skepticism was immediate and apparent. “You want me to help you?”

A wash of insecurity snuck up on him all at once. “It would be a good job. I’d pay for law school. You’d have a generous salary. Benefits. The hours aren’t great, but–”

She spun around, and suddenly they were very close. He had her pinned between his desk and his body, but she didn’t seem to notice–not in the way he did, anyway. Her eyes shone. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I’ll take the job.”

“You will?”

“But first –” A hint of exasperation and delight mingled in her tone. “I need you to tell me why the hell you thought it was a good idea to put your paramilitary headquarters under your own damn house , Bruce.”

Oh, she was so smug. She’d finally won, hadn’t she? She’d confirmed that Bruce Wayne was, indeed, Batman, and now she got to lord it over his head.

Bruce didn’t mind. Not if she kept smiling like that.

“I see. So, you’re not going to stop bullying me now that we’re working together?”

“Stop? Oh, no. It’s going to get worse. So much worse.”

He liked the sound of that.

“Are you ready to start, then?”

“I am,” she said, as confident and sure as she had been from the moment he met her. Despite the blistering lights he set up all around the cave, the work lights that broke through the oppressive darkness here, she outshone them all. “And I know exactly where I want to start.”

“And where is that?” he asked.

She smirked mischievously, and he knew in that moment that this was the beginning of something new. Something exciting. Something like a sunrise over his long, lonely, dark night.

“...I think I know Superman’s secret identity.”

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