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elena-mayfair · 2 years ago

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Dreams - part 2

Paring: Bruce Wayne x f!reader, Batman x f!reader Genre: Thriller, mystery, with elements of slow-burn romance Warnings: rating T+/M, strong language, unsettling images, themes of depression, depictions of mental illness Summary: You made a decision to enjoy the moment you were spending in Wonderland even if it was only a fleeting one. You made a decision to experience and feel every minute of the coming day as if it would never happen again. To create new beautiful memories that perhaps could at least slightly mask the bad ones you kept deep in your mind. If it was to be just a moment you decided to cherish it. Word count: 11k Note: Gifs are not mine, credit to the authors.

Series masterlist

***

Bruce was used to sleepless nights. To nights of stillness, without words, without needless conversations, by himself alone with his thoughts, in suspension listening to his surroundings. Gotham spoke to him every night, sometimes with gratitude, but more often with a warning. It whispered quietly in trepidation, telling him what he needed to know, directing him, giving him purpose. He knew the hum of its blood, the beat of its heart, every sigh, every quiet murmur, so familiar and so distant. Lying on the couch with his eyes wide open staring at the ceiling, he could not help but listen. How foreign every quiet breath was, how forlorn every soft sigh was, how startling each rustle of the bedsheets was every time she shifted. For years the only one he listened to, the only one in whom he found understanding was Gotham, now on a restless autumn night Bruce discovered how much he had forgotten what it was like to have someone so close.

She was so near. Within his sight, at his arm's reach, so close and yet so far away. And so was he. Every day he saw her, even when she didn't see him, he saw her sincerity, her truthfulness, her courage, her strength. He saw the passion in her eyes, the joy in her smile, the strength in her demeanor and the secret in her eyes. A secret hidden deep, hidden beneath the precariously crafted version of herself that she presented to the world, that she presented to him. He could discover it. He had the ability and the tools to do so, he could have learned all he wanted about her and yet, he consciously chose not to. He was attracted to her, he had to admit it even if only to himself, she drew him with a magnetic force of genuine humanity he hadn't seen in a long time. Her smile seemed contagious, her attitude made him smile more often than ever, and in her eyes he saw a reflection of himself. Not a version of himself, but the real him as he was, every version of him and all of them at once. For no matter in what circumstances he met her, no matter if in a restaurant or on the edge of a bridge, in the glare of flashes or in the darkness of sewers, whether in a cavlar suit or a silk shirt, she was the same, and he longed to be close to her.

He got up quietly from the couch as she rolled to the other side snapping him out of his reverie. The sun was slowly rising over Mentropolis bringing the cool morning brightness. Another quiet night in Metropolis was coming to an end, another restless one in Gotham was also fading into the sunlight. He threw a sweater over his shoulders, put a receiver into his ear, and cautiously so as not to wake her, went out onto the balcony. A few clicks on the phone and he was connected to the Batcomputer. With each finger swipe across the screen, he fought within himself the urge to abandon TechX and return to Gotham. The case file from the night before presented a further fragment of the pattern. Gotham had another supervillain and it was only a matter of time before he would strike again only to show up in full glory shortly thereafter.

"Shouldn't you sleep? Two days away from Gotham wouldn't hurt you," a message displayed on his screen. Not thinking much, he activated his voice connection to Nightwing's commlink.

"You've had a rough night," he said quietly as soon as he heard the familiar beep in the receiver.

"Strange more like it," Dick corrected him, "did you read the whole report?"

"I did."

"Why aren't you sleeping?"

"Strange night."

"Strange or interesting?" Dick's playful tone implied.

"Strange. Dick, you noted in the report that before throwing himself off the roof the man said he had no fear in him. Explain."

"I noted as it was," he replied, abandoning his attempt to extract details from Bruce, "he had no reason to jump. It wasn't suicide. He had a gun, a full clip, and a bag full of money. He could have tried to get away. Or fight back. I was alone with him. Jason was dealing with the mess in the bank."

"What happened?"

"I caught up with him on the roof, I thought he was going to give up or try to fight me. But he just looked at me, smiled in this eerie way, and then, as if even mocking me, said that I couldn't do anything to him because there was no fear in him," Bruce could clearly hear the distress in Dick's voice; none of them felt comfortable with innocent people dying. No matter how many years passed or how many times they experienced it, the distress was always the same.

"And he jumped?"

"He didn't jump. He just leaned back and let himself off the roof with his arms spread wide and a smile on his face. If only I had reacted faster…"

"Don't blame yourself. We can't save everyone."

"I should have done something, but his reaction, his words…. I didn't expect that.

"It's all connected," Bruce leaned against the railings and stared at the sunrise, "it's all connected either by one person or a group of people."

"You mean all the recent murders?"

"Gordon said we haven't caught one murderer yet and already another is emerging, I don't agree with that."

"You think it's the same person?"

"And that he's not a killer at all. Not on purpose, not intentionally at least. It seems to me that murder is not his goal, but more an unexpected consequence of his actions."

"That's why he tried to stage the murder of Juliet Campbell…" Dick concluded, "he didn't want to kill her. But when she died he wanted to make it look like a murder so as not to leave a trail."

"Whoever he is he's just getting started…" Bruce added, "all the deaths were strange…"

"And none of them looked like murder…"

"Except maybe the murder of Jeremy Walters…"

"But it went on to be considered involuntary manslaughter," Dick finished, "why are you thinking about this at five o'clock on a Saturday morning?"

"I may have a lead," Bruce replied.

"Did you find it in Metropolis?" Dick chuckled in surprise.

"It was closer than I thought if my suspicions are correct," Bruce answered, eyeing the waking Y/N through the balcony window, " I want you to observe Doctor Jonathan Crane."

"Marc Phillips' psychiatrist? What could he possibly have to do with this?"

"I don't know yet, but I want you to follow him," Bruce explained, "And Dick! Have Tim analyze the pills you found in Phillips' apartment."

"We've already analyzed them. The computer has detected nothing outside the norm."

"Do a cross analysis with samples of the victims' genetic material."

"You got it!"

"Keep me informed," Bruce instructed, "I should be back in Gotham tomorrow around noon."

"That's great because Crane is on the invite list for the Thomas Wayne Annual Gala of the Scientific Association!"

"Of course…" Bruce muttered under his breath, "did I get the invitation?"

"Do I look like Alfred to you?" Dicked sassed but hearing Bruce's silent disapproval, he added, "you got it, of course you got it."

"Perfect," Bruce smiled with satisfaction.

"I'll tell Alfred to get the tuxedo ready."

"Thank you, Dick."

"Okay, I'll set Tim up at the stakeout of the Crane apartment, Jason at his office in Drescher, I'll take Elliot Memorial and Damian Arkham," Dick planned everything in a snap.

"Have Tim cover Arkahm and Damian his apartment," Bruce corrected.

"You don't want Damian close to Arkham?"

"I don't want Damian close to situations that can trigger a sudden instinctive reaction in him. Tim's cool composure will work better in such a situation."

"Got it. The kid needs training," Dick corrected the plan, "he needs training from you."

"I know."

"He may be skillfully superior to us when we were his age but he lacks the training you provided us."

"I know."

"I'm trying but you know how he is…. stubborn."

"I know."

"He reminds me of Jason only decidedly more aggressive…"

"Dick?"

"Yup?"

"I gotta go," he grinned at the sight of the awakening Y/N.

"Wait wait wait…" Dick clearly heard a change in the tone of the conversation, "is she with you?"

"I gotta go."

"Okay…." Dick chuckled with amusement, "try to have fun? It won't hurt you know?"

"I know," he smiled and, as he entered the penthouse, ended the call.

She looked lovely with tousled hair and sleepy eyes, the picture of sweet bliss buried in the sheets. He opened the curtains letting in the morning sun which was met with her displeased grimace.

"Good morning," he smirked, "coffee?"

"Yes please," she rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand, "what time is it?"

"It's coming up to six o'clock."

"Oh good," she groaned, "way too fucking early."

"I didn't mean to wake you up."

"You didn't," she replied with a yawn, "I always wake up early if I'm not sleeping in my own home."

"Take another ten," he suggested while putting on the coffee machine and heading to the bathroom, "if you fall asleep I'll wake you up."

Y/N merely smiled murmuring in agreement and snuggled her face back into the pillow. In the pale morning light, surrounded by the warmth of the sheet, she was completely different. Adorable. Gone were the fears and hesitations, the worry and concern, the embarrassment over the incident from a few hours ago. In the cool glow of the autumn sun she seemed not to care where she was or who he was, all that mattered was the comfort of the bed and the freshly brewed coffee. Although he tried to repress that warm long-forgotten feeling that was rising inside him, he couldn't lie to himself, he was drawn to her.

He hoped that the cold shower would wash away the thoughts and feelings he didn't want to have, hoped that it would restore a steady heartbeat, that it would wash away the languor from his face, but instead he found himself wanting her to share the shower with him. He found himself wishing that she would cuddle her sleepy face into him. He wanted to but at the same time knew he couldn't. He couldn't have it all. As he changed the water temperature to icy cold, he focused all his thoughts on fighting this desire. On all the logical arguments against any moves he could make toward her. On all the worst possible scenarios that could happen if he allowed himself to want, if he allowed himself to take the risk. Aware of his fascination with her and at the same time determined to put distance between them and maintain a friendly relationship, he dried his body, shaved his face, put on his favorite fragrance, dressed in the black suit and black shirt he had prepared a few hours ago, and walked out of the bathroom with a determined step. He knew that there was no place in his life for a romance, he knew that he would have put her in danger, he knew that even though some part of him wanted to he could never tell her the whole truth, he knew that he wished but could not allow himself to do so. Yet the moment his eyes rested on her sleeping face snuggled into her pillow his determination turned to shit.

A long forgotten feeling woke you from a shallow sleep, a gentle touch on your shoulder preceding soft words spoken in a low, gentle voice. As you opened your sleepy eyes, you fought off the fleeting thoughts insisting that you were still asleep. After all, it was impossible for such a handsome and charming man to wake you up on a cool autumn morning. And yet it was not a dream.

"I promised to wake you up," he smiled, and in the brightness of the morning sun his smile seemed even more charming than the one he graced you with under the cover of darkness.

"I'm awake," you replied reluctantly forcing yourself to get up from the comfort of the soft bed. The sun had not yet risen fully yet Bruce was already perfectly put together. Smelling of energizing freshness, perfectly dressed, brimming with style and class that was not disrupted by the nonchalantly unbuttoned shirt collar. Realization of your own disarray suddenly pierced through your sleepy mind. The loose t-shirt, tangled hair, and frowned face were the complete opposite of his, and yet you didn't feel embarrassed. Everything was so normal, effortless.

"I feel a tad remorseful for waking you up at such an early hour, but I'm sure you'd be distinctly unhappy if I went to the expo area without you," he handed you a mug of freshly brewed coffee, "the event starts at nine but I thought you might want to have breakfast before then."

"I'd love to, but first I need to wake up and put myself together," you replied, while taking a sip of aromatic coffee, "I don't want to find myself on the headlines in sweats next to a billionaire in an Armani suit."

"Knowing the media you would start a new trend," he chuckled, "maybe I should match to you and put on a sweats?"

"Do you even have sweats?"

"Suits are not really useful for workouts," he smirked noticing how you looked at him.

"Damn, somehow I can imagine Armani designing a suit fit for a workout specifically for you," you sassed, "although Bruce Wayne in a sweats on GQ and Men's Health front-page would also be an interesting phenomenon."

"A billionaire in sweats! The downfall of men's fashion!" Bruce laughed.

"I'm sure they would have added a different narrative to it," you laughed along with him.

"Most likely!"

"So we decided. I'll match you and there won't be any controversial headlines!"

"Unfortunately I'm afraid we won't avoid controversial headlines," the smile disappeared from his face.

"What you did last night…" you also became serious, "forgive me for my poor range of words at such an inhumanly early hour, so poor that I can't find the right ones to express how I feel," you stared into space only to return to him a moment later and gaze into the blue of his eyes. "All I can say is, thank you."

"You don't have to thank me," Bruce began but you didn't let him finish.

"I have to," you interrupted sternly, "I didn't want to cause you any trouble. It's not that I'm ashamed of my own problems, I'm sure that even in your perfect world you struggle with some…"

"My world is far from perfect."

"I know I owe you an explanation. Maybe not even so much that I owe them but I feel the need to give you one," you reached for the pill bottle thrown into the vanity bag on the nightstand, "I would like to explain to you…. I don't know why, but I'd like to. Only I don't know where I would start. Everything seems so messed up."

"If there is something I can do…"

"You've done enough," interrupted him again ignoring good manners, "kindness and empathy are qualities so rare in today's world."

"You're right," he looked at you tellingly.

"You have too high an opinion of me," you chuckled.

"I think not."

"You're doing it again!" you sighed in amused frustration, " it's some kind of your default mode?! I make an effort here to express my gratitude and embarrassment and you ruin everything in two words!"

"Because I don't want you to feel embarrassed and worry needlessly," a warm smile once again affected his face, "when you want, as long as you want, you will tell me what's bothering you. I don't want you to feel obligated in any way."

"It's hard not to feel obligated, especially after what happened last night," you lowered your head in embarrassment, "I feel like I bring nothing but awkwardness and problems into your life, both privately and professionally. I am grateful for everything you do but I don't fit in here. Into a big world where every mistake I make can have a negative impact on your public image. I wouldn't want that. No matter how much I enjoy being here with you some part of me wonders all the time what the hell I am doing here."

"You're here because I wanted you to be here," he replied in a low voice, "I wouldn't want to be here with anyone else right now," he smiled again seeing your weak smirk, "I'll go down to the lobby so you can have some privacy. Take your time. Enjoy your morning. And don't worry needlessly," you nodded wordlessly and Bruce added, "if I can indulge one piece of advice, perhaps it will be out of place…"

"You burst out the door because of me and spent the night on the couch. I think 'out of place' we have behind us," you smirked and Bruce merely walked up to you and held out an open hand.

"I don't think these pills are good for you," the blue of his eyes took on the color of a rough ocean as he looked at you intensely, "trust me. You don't need them. You are stronger than this."

"How can you know?"

"I have a good sense of people," he murmured quietly as you placed the bottle of pills in his hand.

"You have too high an opinion of me," you repeated with a frail smile.

"As I said, I think not."

You hoped that a hot shower would allow you to wash away the worries and cares of the previous night. The uneasiness, confusion, and fear that seemed to be creeping relentlessly over your skin despite the fact that Bruce's presence provided a sense of security. Instead, you found yourself wishing you were closer to him, wishing he shared the shower with you. His kindness and empathy that appeared in the friendly smile and sparkle of his eyes, his stoicism and the strength he exuded in every situation, his charm and swag that came so effortlessly were nothing compared to that something you couldn't quite name. Bruce Wayne was unlike any man you had ever met in your life. Despite his well-known public persona, Bruce Wayne was a mystery. Bruce Wayne liked you, which in itself remained a bizarre thing. His behavior revealed more than words could; he liked you that was certain, just as certain as it was that you definitely liked him. You had to be honest with yourself, he drew you in a magnetic way as if he himself was the center and you found yourself in his orbit. You were drawn to him and every moment you spent with him made you want more, even though you knew very well that more would never be given to you. How could someone like him even think of someone like you? Two people so different from each other and yet so similar. Two worlds so different, brought together by a chance meeting. It felt good and at the same time so very wrong. You didn't belong here, with your problems, traumas, and secrets. You were broken even though you didn't show it, you were damaged even though every day you tried to pretend you weren't, but you knew very well that damaged goods did not belong in the Bruce Wayne perfect world.

As you stepped out of the shower, you made a decision to enjoy the moment you were spending in Wonderland even if it was only a fleeting one. You made a decision to experience and feel every minute of the coming day as if it would never happen again. To create new beautiful memories that perhaps could at least slightly mask the bad ones you kept deep in your mind. If it was to be just a moment you decided to cherish it.

You styled your hair, put on makeup, dressed in a black dress and heeled boots and, confident that you would look at least presentable, you left the room to re-enter his orbit.

***

Gotham City

"On behalf of myself and the entire department, I assure you that we are doing everything in our power to arrest the criminal who committed these heinous crimes!" Gordon raised his voice despite the microphone to break through the crowd of reporters, " However, until we have him in custody I strongly urge the people of Gotham to exercise extreme caution!" he hated public statements and even more hated reporters just waiting to ask the next question to which he would answer in exactly the same way.

"Commissioner Gordon!" shouts came from various directions, "Are we talking about a single criminal or an organized group!?"

"At this point, we are unable to state with certainty."

"Commissioner! Are the deaths of the couple who jumped out of the plane and their pilot related!"

"No comment."

"Commissioner! Have the people of Salvator Maroni been arrested for the murder of Jeremy Walters!"

"No comment."

"Commissioner! Does Gotham have a new super-criminal!"

"Let's hope not."

"Commissioner! Does the Joker's escape from Arkham have anything to do with the recent wave of murders!" one reporter uttered a frightening name.

"We have no evidence that would lead us to this connection."

"Commissioner! Is the Joker still on the loose!"

"Commissioner Gordon! When will the citizens of Gotham be able to feel safe!!!?"

"Commissioner Gordon! Is Batman involved in the investigation!"?

"No comment!" he repeated stubbornly then added, "no more questions. Thank you all for coming."

"Commissioner Gordon! Vicky Vale, Gotham Gazzette! Is it true that a wanted criminal is using sophisticated psycho-control methods and drugs of unknown origin!?" Vicky Vale a devilishly good journalist who always seemed to know more than her peers was a constant pain in Gordon's backside.

"Miss Vale, I don't know where you got such information from but I suggest you verify your sources and don't spread rumors," he replied harshly, "that's all from my side. Thank you for your attention." He concluded his speech and left the podium set up in front of the precinct building.

All he wanted was a glass of cheap whiskey which he had tucked away in his desk cabinet and a cigarette smoked in complete silence. However, both of these things had to wait. With a heavy face and even heavier thoughts, he got into the elevator and went straight to the roof of the building to meet the one he hoped knew more. But Batman was not there. Instead, he was greeted by the smiling face of the ever-optimistic Nightwing and the more bewildered Robin.

"I swear this boy never stops smiling," he chuckled in disbelief over how Nightwing and Batman could be so different from each other, one seeing the glass always half full and the other seeing the glass always filled with poison. "Where is Batman?" he asked as he walked up to them.

"Busy," Robin replied while browsing something on a miniature computer installed on the forearm of his suit.

"Hey Commish, why so grumpy? That went rather well!" Nightwing jumped off the edge of the ridge landing next to it softly.

"Rather well?" Gordon sneered, "they almost devoured me! Where did Vale get this information from!?"

"She must have gotten it straight from the source which would suggest that she knows who we're looking for or knows someone who does and knows them very well," Robin replied without taking his eyes off the computer, "there's also the possibility that she interviewed his victims before they died and pieced together the facts herself."

"She would have to know who his victims were in the first place and we didn't reveal that information to the public," Gordon countered, "she would have to be a better investigator than we thought."

"Vale always has good information," Robin approached the commissioner, and although the suit and mask gave him confidence, it lacked the degree of freedom that Nightwing and Batman displayed. Gordon knew them very well, better than he sometimes would have liked, but it was Batman and Nightwing he talked to most often, his other protégés usually remained in the shadows. If Robin was here it meant that Batman wanted it and had mobilized everyone to work on the case, which in turn must have meant that they definitely had another supervillain in Gotham, "that's the chemical formulation broken down into the various components of the drugs we found in Marc Phillips' apartment. Run through the computer and compared with blood samples from previous victims, it showed no matches. However, we have a suspicion that whatever chemical agents were used are unstable and decompose very quickly. Not detectable in blood analysis."

"Yesterday's victim, if our suspicions are correct would have had the strongest concentration of toxins in his blood," Nightwing continued.

"Given that his body is being held in the police morgue we need a blood sample for analysis," Robin explained, "we would also need a blood sample from Juliet Cambell and her daughter."

"Tell me the bodies have not been released to the family," Nightwing interjected.

"No, they're still in the morgue."

"Great! Three samples with potentially the most concentrated dose, one of which is still fresh, should allow us to confirm Batman's suspicions!"

"So Batman suspects that all these murders are connected?" Gordon asked even though he didn't need an answer, "that they were committed by one man?"

"What do you think?"

***

"I think all of us here would agree that we have come to live in extremely dangerous times! Times in which organized crime increasingly seems to be the least of our worries! It doesn't matter if we look at Metropolis, Star City, Central City or Gotham, in every city the security services are struggling with a threat they cannot stop! You know very well what I'm talking about! Residents of the various cities hope that masked crime fighters, heroes in capes will protect them from danger, but even they are not able to be everywhere at once! Not everyone is as fast as Flash! So it falls on us, as engineers, creators, innovators, leaders in our fields to do everything we can to help the cause in these difficult times! Ladies and gentlemen, colleagues, friends, it is our moral duty to use our technologies to help those who cannot help themselves. So it is with pride that I would like to present to you Wayne Tech's plan for the near future, Project D.R.A.C!" Bruce moved to the side of the stage to reveal the outline of the project, fully displayed on a huge monitor, "the latest security system we plan to design and implement throughout the city, designed to Detect potential threats, Recognize them, Alert citizens and make them Cautios and aware of potential threats! A system through which the citizens of Gotham would be assured of their safety, would be aware of the potential danger prevailing in the city, a system that we plan to integrate with the public security systems and at the same time improve responsiveness to incidents and eliminate accidental victims of unfortified incidents that affect not only my city but yours as well! Wayne Enterprises has always been focused on bringing improvements not only to the lives of the people of Gotham but to everyone. Whether it was new wireless networks, new digital technologies, hospitals, or infrastructure, our guiding principle has always been to improve people's lives. And so it is also this time! Wayne Tech wants to keep Gotham and perhaps the people of your cities safe!" he spoke with a lightness and ease known only to those who have spent their entire lives in the public eye. The perfect intonation of his voice, the posture brimming with confidence and strength, the sharp gaze full of passion, and that gentle smile that involuntarily came over his face every time his eyes rested on Y/N. She smiled while her cheeks blushed with excitement, admittedly he was talking about her project. "I intend to make all progress on the project available to the public, at every stage. Our goal is to demonstrate that not only can superheroes make our cities safer, but we can do it too! Ordinary people whose only superpower is a sharp mind, passion, and sincere intentions! From this place, I also want to extend an invitation to you, my colleagues, to participate in the project. Wayne Tech will make this work! The question remains whether you will decide to implement it in your own cities. The time has come for us to help those who risk their lives for our safety! The time has come for us ordinary people to take care of our collective safety!" applause interrupted his speech but he only cast a glance in her direction, smiled again, and silenced the room with a gesture, "Are there any questions?"

"What happened to the plan to introduce augmented reality to universities and hospitals?" someone asked from the crowd.

"Someone recently reminded me that Wayne Tech has been focusing on innovation for too long instead of focusing on the real problems of ordinary citizens and ways to eliminate them," his gaze once again wandered in her direction, "I am fortunate to surround myself with outstanding engineers whose creative thought is focused on doing and creating good," the broad smile that lit up her face warmed his heart. "And since I've got your attention, one more thing. As you might have already realized, we can put an end to those ridiculous rumors about the sale of Wayne Tech to Lex Corp! Sorry Lex, not this time!" the whole room burst out laughing, only Lex Luthor was smiling spitefully, "but if you have no more questions I think we'd all love to go to the banquet! I believe I won't be far from the truth if I say that we'd all like to stop bragging about our companies' plans already and would rather just eat and drink something delicious! Have a great evening!" a wave of rousing applause accompanied him as he walked off the stage behind his back the silver Wayne Enterprises logo shone brightly. Someone stopped him to shake his hand, someone else patted him on the back, but he, with a smile on his face and swag in his movements, nimbly dodged everyone to finally stand face to face with her.

"Well well well, Mr. Wayne! One hell of a way to end the event," she grinned and a flush of excitement once again came to her cheeks.

"What do you think?"

"I think Luthor looks like he wants to kill you," she shot a glance to the back of the room, "and the presentation is first class! The lights, the music, the visuals!"

"You know very well that's not what I mean," he lowered his voice as if to avoid being overheard, "your project, your work, your idea reminded me of what's really important. In the constant battle for the market, we were driven by the pursuit of innovation, by the constant development of technology, instead of focusing our energies on what's really important. Thank you for reminding me of that."

"I didn't think that my trauma based project would meet with such approval from you. But I'm glad, and I can't hide it," a bright smile lit up her face, "I'm damn proud of myself!"

"And you should be! If everything goes as we'd like it to perhaps many people will avoid the trauma you had to experience."

"No pressure, huh?" she chuckled, "especially since you are planning to make progress public! But seriously, I think there are very few people who are so stupid and naive as not to notice when someone is playing you and so blind as to end up in the same car with the Joker helping him escape from Arkham," she gasped immediately regretting it. Horror immediately dilated her pupils, her smile disappeared, and Bruce could see that all she wanted was to get as far away from here as possible. He knew, he knew the truth, but she did not know that. How could she?

"What did you say?" he feigned shock, "Joker? Arkham? What are you talking about?"

"I shouldn't say that…" panic tainted her voice, "fuck…. I don't know why I said that. Stupid babbling, just ignore it. It's just…"

"Hey calm down," he saw that she was panicking, "you surprised me with all this. I'm beginning to understand what you might have meant when you said Batman saved your life."

"Sorry… I lied at work. I lied to you," she wanted to flee with her eyes but withstood his stare, "but what was I supposed to say? Mr. Fox, my friend from my teenage years turned out to be a lying bitch in love with a psychopath? And I, unaware of anything, sort of, helped him escape from Arkham. Bruce, what would you think of me?"

"I know Gotham better than you, I can understand that someone can become a victim of coincidence," he said softly but he could see that she didn't believe him.

"Batman couldn't," she snorted, and to his surprise, the sneer pained him, "I couldn't take that risk."

"I think it's his job to be suspicious of people," he replied, "but I understand that you preferred not to tell the truth."

"For real?" she still didn't believe him, "how can you be so forgiving? I haven't given you anything from myself so far! Well, except maybe the idea of improving security in Gotham. I'm not stupid, I'm aware of what I say and do, and I realize I'm avoiding a lot of topics. Last night was the best proof of that."

"I believe in the credit of trust, you give it to me yourself, so I can only do the same towards you," he replied calmly, "and believe me, I am not as transparent with you as I would like to be. I understand that each of us has subjects that do not come easily to talk about."

"Then be transparent," she replied without hesitation, "let's be open with each other. No secrets."

"Can you do that?" her eyes shone when he asked the question.

"I wish I could," she replied quietly.

"Baby steps then?" he smirked.

"Baby steps," she agreed with a smile then took him under the arm and together they headed to the banquet hall where the formal after party was being held.

***

Over the years, Alferd Pennyworth got used to the silence that usually prevailed at Wayne Manor. To the quiet creaking of the floors, the sound of the wind that danced under the roof on autumn days, to the clock echoing through the empty corridors, to the all-encompassing calm that was occasionally broken by the sound of jazz or classical music. The sound of violins and cellos carried through every floor, reaching every room, resounding like the most beautiful concert. It followed from the bedroom on the second floor through wide corridors, down the stairs to the lavish foyer, only to fill the library, the office, the kitchen, to burst through the centuries-old walls, flow down through the cold corridors straight into the underground to then fade into the sounds of…

Jazz if Bruce worked downstairs.

Metal if he needed to focus or get rid of the anger eternally boiling under his skin.

Rock of all its varieties if Richard took charge of the team.

Rap or heavy metal if Jason was working out.

Dramatic classical or indie rock if young Master Wayne was allowed on the computer.

Electronic music or light 90's pop if Tim took charge.

80's classics if Miss Gordon was taking charge of them all.

But still, there were days like this one when the music reaching the cave itself was met with emptiness. Violins would turn into guitars, drums would turn into heavy basses, basses would mellow out with a light beat that turned into melodic singing. Concerts of all genres resounded one after another in the empty cave because upstairs, above it, the house was teeming with life.

They had one simple rule. Shuffle. When everyone was in the house, the music was always on shuffle. Everyone had their own musical moment, everyone, without exception, was allowed to add something to the playlist. And when one forgot, someone else did it for him. That's how Wagner mixed with Nirvana, Tina Turner fronted Linking Park, Eminem rapped along with Marvin Gaye and the most beautiful operatic voices competed with each other accompanied once by classical music and another by symphonic metal.

Alfred loved those rare moments when they were all together. When no one was on patrol, no one was injured, no one was sitting in the cave focused on work, and for a moment everyone acted like a normal family. Well, almost a normal family. Almost a normal family spending an afternoon together at the kitchen table.

"We compared sample one to sample three and sample two to sample four. But did we compare the fourth to the first and do a cross-check with the second and third?" Tim was leaning over the tablet screen checking Dick's work over his shoulder. A freshly cooked pancake dangled from his fork.

"Hey, why didn't I get a pancake!"? Dick asked outraged but Tim only pointed ostentatiously to the stack of pancakes on the kitchen counter.

"Master Dick, if you had focused your attention for a moment on your surroundings and not on what is displayed on the screen you would know that the pancakes are done and have been waiting for fifteen minutes," Alfred replied putting some on a plate and topping them with chocolate syrup, just as Dick liked.

"Thanks, Al," Dick pushed the tablet away making room for the plate, "sorry, but it won't let me rest! I feel like the clue is right in front of our noses and we can't see it!"

"There are pancakes under your nose now. So eat!"

"Why did he insist on watching this doctor?" Jason threw the question from above the book as he reached for his coffee mug. He wasn't often at the mansion, especially in his spare time. Alfred, however, had learned to expect him at the breakfast table every time Bruce was out of town. It broke his heart, seeing their complicated relationship, and knowing the hundreds of unspoken words and hidden grievances, but he knew them both. He had seen Jason grow up, knew the influence Bruce had on the boys, and believed that all wounds would heal in time.

"He didn't give any details," Dick mumbled with his mouth full.

"And of course, you didn't ask," he scoffed.

"Dude! There was no time! Besides, since he instructed this, he must have reasons for it."

"Obviously. And we just take orders…"

"With strawberries and cream," Alfred interjected placing a plate full of pancakes in front of Jason.

"We don't take orders! We are a team! We're working on this together! And as you can see Bruce is working on it too even if he's not here!" Dick defended.

"He's working, for sure! Between the legs…"

"Master Jason!"

"Sorry Al," the man approaching his thirties blushed like a rebuked teenager under Alfred's stern gaze.

"Jason, if you don't want to be a part of this just say so," Dick began more softly, "I get it. I do get it. Just be honest man. I'll understand," he continued but Jason merely scoffed with a mocking face, "but that won't change the fact that I need you on the team. We all need you. "

"You're the best fighter of us all," Tim added.

"It's a stakeout," Jason snarled.

"There could be a fight during a stakeout," Dick grinned, "besides, you know very well we're not just talking about this mission."

"I know, I know. Just so the little brat doesn't hear it because there will be a fight," Jason mumbled, reaching for the tablet on which Tim and Dick were working.

"I'll get you a towel and water!" Dick grinned wider.

"Fuck you, Wing!" even though the words were vulgar a wry smile wandered across his face, "sorry Al. Okay geniuses, let's see what you left out," he moved his finger across the screen faster than it was possible to read, "boring, boring, boring, useless," the pages moved one after another.

"With chocolate?" Dick asked, slipping him his plate of pancakes.

"I am working here! Don't disturb me!" he chuckled but the fork stabbed into the stack of chocolate pancakes and snatched one, "fuck! You guys are such geniuses! Sorry Al," he paused meeting Alfred's angry gaze, "damn, such geniuses and have either of you come up with the idea to stop comparing blood samples with each other and compare the blood samples with the chemical composition of the pills found in the hanged man's house?!"

"Empathy Jay, empathy!"

"We compared the chemical analysis of the blood with the chemical analysis of the pill formulation," Tim moved his finger across the screen and displayed the results, "no matches."

"Okay, you compared each sample to the chemical formulation of the pills. But did you compare the individual chemical components to the pill chemical formulation taking into account the exclusions?" Tim and Dick exchanged only surprised glances. "Ha! Geniuses my ass! You didn't!"

"But what would that give us? How would taking the exclusions into account help the investigation?" Dick asked, "We didn't find similar pills with the other victims, so the assumption that each of them had access to them is far fetched already."

"The assumption is wrong…" Tim interrupted with a sparkle in his eye, "the assumption is wrong!!!"

"Oh look, now the genius has dawned on him."

"The assumption is wrong!" Tim repeated again.

"Go on, before night falls."

"We assumed that each of the victims came into contact with the same pills and did an analysis to find common chemical components between the blood samples and the pills' chemical composition. The pills are decoy!" Tim snatched the tablet out of Jason's hands, "what if we ran a cross analysis but not to find what's common but what's not in the blood but is in the pills?"

"Bingo!" the smirk of satisfaction did not disappear from Jason's face.

"How did you…?"

"It only takes one glance to realize that it's not a pharmaceutical but a drug."

"Every pharmaceutical is a drug, Jason."

"True. But the drugs that circulate on the market have a slightly different effect than the ones you get at the pharmacy, don't they?"

"Right."

"Mostly they have completely different formulations and concentrations because their goal is to hit the right hormone and organ quickly and efficiently stimulating the desired reaction much more effectively than drugs from the pharmacy. Damn, do I really have to explain this to you! Dopamine regulates moods, enhances pleasure, enhances reflexes and focus, serotonin affects emotions, norepinephrine stimulates the central nervous system. Dudes! The basics!"

"We know!" Dick interrupted him, "We know. We did an analysis for drugs in the blood."

"But we focused on what is and isn't there," Tim explained.

"An artificially stimulated organ would create huge amounts of hormone. A body subjected to such artificially created stimulation would become insensitive after some time," Jason reached for another pancake and continued, "it's a bit like diabetes! Often the first step to diabetes is insulin resistance. With high blood sugar spikes, the pancreas produces insulin intending to break down the sugar. But it produces too much of it. Insulin, instead of breaking down after doing its job, stays in the blood and circulates in the bloodstream which in turn leads to insensitivity, which in turn leads to damage to the pancreas, which stops producing insulin. In a nutshell, that's it."

"Holy shit…" Tim gasped staring at the screen.

"Was I right?!"

"No, that's not it. The computer takes an hour and forty-seven minutes to give the results," he set his coffee mug aside and brought his face closer to the screen, "hooooly shit."

"Dude! What is it!"

"Tim, is it another murder?"

"Worse…" Tim turned the tablet towards them with the screen filled with pictures from the TechX red carpet, "is it just me or doesn't he look like he's pretending to have fun?"

"What the fuck is this!" Jason grabbed the tablet, "is this a smile?"

"But, a genuine smile!" Dick cast a glance at the screen over his brother's shoulder.

"That is so wierd…"

"He looks so normal…"

"Where did you get that?" Jason asked swiping through the photos.

"Barbs sent it to the group chat with the caption 'capture this'," Tim countered, "maybe someone switched him?" he asked snatching the tablet out of Jason's hand, "or Mad Hatter found a new way to control the mind."

"Or Strange brainwashed him!"

"It's definitely the work of Poison Ivy!" Dick grabbed the tablet, "It's so eeire. Is he laughing? In public?"

"And what is he whispering in her ear there?"

"Dudes we got a problem…" Jason took over the tablet again and zoomed in on the photo, "Does this look to you like the look Bruce Wayne gives his many escorts?"

"Master Bruce looks happy," a dreamy smile lightened Alfred's face, "and Miss Y/L/N is a lovely young woman."

"We definitely have a problem," Damian eyed them while leaning against the door frame and swiping photos on his phone, "given father's past poor choices in women including but not limited to my mother, we should react immediately. We all know that father's taste in women is not exactly healthy."

"Calm down team! We need to approach this like any other mission. We don't have enough data to draw any conclusions!" Dick decided.

"So follow up and report," Damian concluded.

"That's not what I meant!"

"How else do you want to collect data? It's not like father is going to tell us anything!"

"Observe but not track. Bruce wouldn't want that. And we have to trust that he knows what he's doing."

"Need I remind you that my very existence is the result of his affair with a known criminal?"

"You forgot about the drugs she served him," Jason sneered.

"Just more reason to check her out and keep an eye on his actions!"

"Gentlemen, your concern for the welfare of Master Bruce is admirable, but I must stand against your plans," Alfred inserted with stoic calm.

"But Alfred! What's the probability that it's just an ordinary woman, and not, for example, a planted distraction, placed, for example, by the one we're looking for?"

"Let me put it in other words," Alfred ignored Tim's question, "if I catch you snooping around and meddling in the affairs of Master Bruce, you will have me to deal with. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes Alfred!" replied everyone in agreement, including Damian.

"Good. Perhaps the assumption you are drawing is as wrong as the one in the chemical analysis. Perhaps this time Master Bruce has met someone who will change his life for the better."

***

"Bruce Wayne! Fantastic speech! You change people's lives as always!"

"Mr. Wayne! Brilliant idea! Don't you perhaps have some open jobs in the company? I would love to work for you!"

"Bruce! The future of Wayne Enterprises looks bright! Luthor must be having a hell of the time right now!"

The last words of applause slowly faded into the thinning crowd. The event was slowly coming to an end, and the guests one by one were leaving the building while only a few remained. Even though there were fewer and fewer people the expressions of approval after Bruce's speech did not disappear. Time after time, someone came up to express their words of appreciation. Y/N was proud, by his side the entire time, with her hand firmly placed on his forearm she observed as optimism painted itself on the faces of the exiting guests. As for Bruce, he too did not hide his satisfaction even if it took the form of professionalism and reserve. Bruce's speech changed something, changed something in the people, in the way their faces looked, in the way they looked at them and at each other. The kind smiles, the beaming faces, and that gleam in their eyes told them both the same thing, people felt inspired. Delight spread through her, a joy that could not be extinguished by the occasional cynical comments or snarky taunts that reached her ears. Bruce had taken her idea and made it into something truly special.

Minutes passed, more guests left the TechX area, and as the crowd dwindled, Bruce's attitude changed. The earnest smile gave way to a reserved grin, the bright blue of his eyes dimmed to once again take on the color of a rough ocean, and his muscles tightened under her touch.

"You don't seem to be looking forward to the evening's banquet," she noted discreetly.

"Because I'm not," he replied in a half whisper, "we won't be among friends, except Oliver and his wife," he added lowering his voice and leaning toward her.

"Sounds like fun," she sneered stepping in place trying to hide the discomfort her painful stilettos were causing.

"If by any chance you have any witty comments don't hesitate," he smirked, "elegant society disappears behind closed doors. These people are sharks. Sharks unleashed to prey."

"Can I quote you on that?" from behind Bruce's back emerged a stocky man with a kind face and keen brown eyes peering out from behind thick black frames.

"Absolutely not!" Bruce replied immediately, "Clark Kent I presume. We were scheduled for an exclusive. I don't recall eavesdropping on private conversations being part of that agreement."

"That's the job," the journalist smiled innocently and shook Bruce's hand.

"If memory serves me right, we were scheduled yesterday Mister Kent," the power and authority returned.

"Yes, apologies Mister Wayne. For personal reasons, I was unable to attend TechX yesterday."

"I understand that the personal ethic and professionalism of your job do not require you to inform me of the rescheduled date."

"It was an emergency," the journalist replied, and despite the fact that with his physique he considerably surpassed Bruce it seemed as if he was diminishing under his authority, "however, I can't help but be pleased with this turn of events. Your speech today was truly impressive. When your competitors are outdoing themselves in the cybernetics, technology and weapons market you decide to take a completely different direction. Where did you get the idea to, as you yourself said, help those who risk their lives for our safety? In the past you have spoken unfavorably about masked heroes."

"Oh, the idea was not mine!" Bruce countered nonchalantly while Y/N's hand gripped tighter on his forearm, "I only throw money and make grandiose speeches!" he released her hand gently as if wishing to reassure her, "let me introduce, Y/N Y/L/N. Lead engineer and creator of the D.R.A.C. project."

"Mister Wayne gives me way too much credit," she smiled kindly and extended her hand, "pleased to meet you."

"Clark Kent, Daily Planet," the journalist introduced himself, "perhaps you'd be willing to give me a brief interview then as part of the Daily Planet's Women in Business campaign?" he asked but the moment their hands touched he stumbled unsteadily, took two steps backward, and clenched his eyelids tightly as if trying to fight off a sudden surge of pain.

"Mister Kent? Are you all right?" she asked concerned, supporting him by the arm.

"Are you okay Kent?" Bruce watched him carefully.

"Yes, thank you," he replied forcing a weak smile and standing on his own, "it's just a migraine. It's been bothering me for the past few days and making my days difficult. I'm fine."

"It must be a hell of a migraine," she quipped.

"It's good that it comes in waves and goes away right away," he smiled and straightened up, "so, how about this interview?"

"If there's a column about women in the tech industry I'll be happy to do an interview," she cast a quick glance in Bruce's direction, "if it's in line with Wayne Enterprises' policy, of course."

"For the moment, you'll have to settle for my company Mister Kent," Bruce cut in, "as long as you feel up to it, of course. We can reschedule."

"I wasted your time yesterday, I have no intention of wasting it again today," the journalist replied, "besides, I'm sure you won't find time in your schedule for me for the next six months if not more."

"You're right! I like your determination! Please excuse me for a moment," he apologized to the journalist for a moment and pulled Y/N aside, "I need fifteen to thirty minutes. You will be okay alone?"

"Sure! You go ahead!"

"Maybe you want to run to the hotel in the meantime and change your shoes?" he suggested, "the driver will take you anywhere you want."

"Not a chance!" she smirked, "I won't ruin this outfit just because the stilettos are causing me pain! No way!"

"You look beautiful," he added in a half whisper closing the distance between them, hesitated for a moment, then took on a stern expression again, "I'll be back soon."

"Migraine, huh?" Bruce chuckled as soon as they were behind the closed door of the soundproof interview room.

"Are you sure we can talk freely here?"

"I am."

"You sure? We're in a public place," Clark inquired.

"I'm sure. The building's security systems are designed using Wayne Tech technology. I personally supervised the final functional tests before the event began."

"I should have known your paranoia wouldn't let you have it any other way," Clark laughed with amusement and sat down heavily in one of the armchairs. Bruce refrained from doing the same.

"What was that?" he asked sternly.

"You ask but you already know the answer," Clark rubbed his eyes and massaged his forehead, "I'm beginning to understand why you're so interested."

"If we're dealing with another meta-human we should both be interested."

"You know very well that's not what I meant," his friend's stubborn attitude amused him, "she's not a meta-human."

"Are you sure?"

"As sure as you are sure of your security systems," Clark replied but seeing that this was not enough for him he continued, "there is nothing abnormal about her. Neither at the tissue level nor at the bone level. The brain looks normal, no changes or overgrowth. Nor did I find any implant in her brain. She is human, just human."

"I don't think she's just a human," Bruce noted, "Clark, you almost passed out."

"I feel like an idiot. But that feeling when I shook her hand…" he hesitated, "I don't want to jump to conclusions but it was like when you first introduced me to Zatanna. Or when we visited the House of Mystery."

"Magic," it wasn't a question.

"That's how it felt."

"That would explain a lot…" Bruce mused, "Red Hood said that something slammed him a few meters against the wall. But at the scene were only Y/N and Harley Quinn."

"The Joker's girlfriend?"

"Don't even start," Bruce warned.

"Even the Clown found a girlfriend!"

"I don't know if she even realizes it…" Bruce ignored the comment.

"Why don't you just talk to her? Instead, you just do an intricate investigation. Don't you think that's a little too paranoid, even for you?"

"I have another supervillain in Gotham who is using sophisticated mind control methods with chemical agents and I have no idea who he is! More people are dying and I'm not one step closer to finding him!" Bruce growled through his teeth.

"And you really think she's involved?"

"Not directly and not of her own volition."

"So what? You want to use her to find whoever is behind these attacks?"

"No!" Bruce denied immediately, "I'd like to keep her as far away from all this as possible but she seems to be getting herself into trouble whether I want her to or not. And I'm beginning to think she's becoming my only lead."

***

"I told you that was a good lead!!!" Jason, Tim, Damian, and Dick all sat in the cave analyzing in suspense the results the computer was presenting on the screen. Nine victims, nine samples, nine identical results.

"This doesn't make any sense at all!" Tim scrolled through the results, "each of these people died a gruesome death. At least four of them were exposed to extremely stressful situations just before they died…"

"So we can assume that the others experienced extreme stress as well," Dick added.

"I'm sending the results to Father," Damian took control of the keyboard to upload the results directly to Bruce's phone.

"Shit! How is that possible? How could we have missed this?" Dick analyzed carefully.

"In such extremely stressful situations and cortisol levels should be off the charts," Tim continued.

"And there's hardly any…"

"Just like with diabetes! Remember?" Jason cut in, "their bodies have stopped producing cortisol."

"Which would mean…" Dick began.

"That they were exposed to extreme levels of stress long enough for adrenal damage to occur…" Tim finished, "but if there was adrenal damage where did the high levels of norepinephrine come from?"

"There is nothing in the formulation of the pills to stimulate it," Dick stated.

"Norepinephrine can only be administered by intravenous therapy," Tim corrected him.

"That means we're still missing something," noted Damian.

"But we finally have a clue! We're finally moving forward!"

***

"We are moving forward with innovation all the time, with technological progress, with digitization. I mean what I said, it's time to concentrate our talents on something more than progress," Bruce took a sip from his whiskey glass, the same one he had been drinking for the last three hours, in which the alcohol was not diminishing at all.

"Bruce I've always had you for an idealist, but what makes you believe that the Gotham authorities would even want to implement something like this?" Oliver Queen asked while taking a sip from his glass. His wife, a beautiful sultry blonde named Dinah, eyed him warily.

"Simple! The results," Bruce replied, "In any business transaction, the most important thing is to show a benefit to a potential customer. Implementing the system in the city will be a transaction like any other, only without a financial contribution on the buyer's side."

"You mean to say that if Queen Industries decides to support your campaign, you will implement the system in Star City for free?" Oliver grinned.

"If Queen Industries decides to support the campaign, that will be a benefit in itself."

"Fuck, it's impossible to listen to you gentlemen," Lex interjected louder and more vulgar than was appropriate in the elegant company, "since when is running a business a goddamn volunteer job! Who are you trying to impress Wayne?"

"Go ahead Lex," Bruce encouraged him, "do you want to say something to me?"

"Gentlemen! We are running businesses! Huge multi-billion dollar companies! None of us got to where we are without risky investments, yet by default every risky investment was supposed to bring a profit."

"Your point?"

"By launching this free-wheeling charitable project of yours you are putting all of us in the bad light Wayne," Lex snapped at both Bruce and Oliver with his eyes. You didn't like it. Just like that day when you stood in front of him at LexCorp, now too, something told you that you should get away from him as soon as possible.

"Luthor is right," Simon Stagg, CEO of Stagg Enterprises, inserted into the discussion, "everyone will be watching us from now on to see what we will do!"

"I didn't ask for your support Simon," Lex snarked.

"This is not the first charitable investment I'm making," Bruce noted.

"Yes, but it's different when you do it in your own city in your own backyard. But when you reach out to all of us by offering free innovations in our cities then, then you make a problem for us. I'm not going to let you and your system into my city. It's my city, it belongs to me. The moment we sign the papers we become your property."

A cold shiver ran down your back. White flashed before your eyes while your hands trembled.

"No one is going to force you to implement the system, Lex," Bruce kept his stoic composure and perfectly controlled voice, "and we're still a long way from the moment when public opinion will start pressuring you."

"Be careful Wayne, idealists don't meet a happy ending in your city," Lex's voice sounded dangerously low.

"If it weren't for the fact that we're in a company I would take that as a threat," Bruce remained unfazed.

"All I'm saying is that you be careful where you push, Wayne."

"Maybe if more businessmen thought about the common good instead of filling their own wallets people wouldn't have to rely on self-appointed vigilantes," you gritted through your teeth.

"Would you like to share something with us Miss Y/L/N?" Lex's mocking smile boiled blood in your veins.

"No, I wouldn't," you quipped angrily, "I'm afraid any appeal to your higher sensibilities Mister Luthor would be utterly needless. I am sure that someone like you does not possess such feelings. And also any logical arguments in favor of the common good would first have to break through your ego, which in itself seems to me something utterly impossible," Oliver chuckled loudly, "so no, I have nothing to say to you."

The white light flashed once again before your open eyes, and even though you knew it wasn't there, even though you knew it was only in your mind, you couldn't stop your hands from trembling. You apologized to everyone gathered and rushed outside.

The cool autumn night air hit you in the face effectively sobering your senses. You tried to get your mind under control.

The moment we sign the papers we become your property.

The moment you signed the papers you became our property.

My property…

You clenched your hands on the railing surrounding the observation deck with such force as if you wanted to grind the metal in your hands. Your heart pounded and anger burned the blood in your veins.

"What's happening to me?" tears of anger came to your eyes, "I have to remember."

From the first moment you met him something seemed wrong, something told you that you shouldn't be near him, something told you to run away.

"I need to remember…" a sudden gush of air made you open your eyes abruptly. There was nothing there and yet a cold shiver of adrenaline danced down your spine once again.

"I need to remember…"

Whiteness surrounded you again. Cold, raw, menacing. The white light illuminated your face, hurting your eyes, blinding you, hiding everything beyond.

"I must remember…" the metal of the railing squeaked under your fingers.

"I don't understand why you tried to escape," someone's voice came from the shadows, "after all, you signed yourself up for this. Why would you want to escape now. We want to help you."

"I must…" tears streamed down your cheeks.

"You signed up for this…"

"I must…" the metal faltered miserably crushed by your hands, "I remember!"

"Do you?" you turned sharply only to see Lex standing barely a few steps away from you.

"You…" you growled through your teeth, "you sick fuck. You were there!"

"There, meaning where?" he reminded you so much of the hyena again.

"You know very well what I'm talking about!" you had no intention of being his victim, "what did you do to me!"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Don't play dumb! I remember you! You were there! In that laboratory! You were there!" anger burned relentlessly in your veins, "I remember! You played me all this time! What did you do to me!!!" you ran up to him and grabbed him by the halves of his jacket, "I want to know the truth!"

"But you already know the truth…" he smiled viciously, "shouldn't you rather ask what did you do?"

"No…" you whispered, "it was just a nightmare…"

"Before you start throwing accusations and demanding answers think about it," the cruel smile did not disappear from his face, "what would dear Bruce think if he found out how many people you slaughtered."

"I didn't…" you denied weakly, "you did. Whatever you did to me… I would never…."

"But you did."

***

"That's what she said?" under the cover of night, no one was able to see the black and red capes blowing in the wind, no eye was able to see the two figures hidden under the cover of night on the roof of the skyscraper, "why were you there? "

"I wasn't following you if that's what you want to ask me, but my reaction today... I couldn't just leave it," Superman explained, "I wanted to make sure I wasn't mistaken."

"Thank you for telling me about this."

"Hey, what are friends for right?"

"Hmm…" Batman merely muttered in reverie, "I need to get back to Gotham. Looks like I have not one but two cases to solve."

"Leave Luthor to me," Superman demanded, "whatever he's up to, whatever he's done, I'll find out."

"I have no doubt about that."

"You still owe me an interview, though."

"Step by the manor next Sunday."

"What are going to do?"

"I don't know yet," Batman admitted, "Robin sent me information a few hours ago that could have a significant impact on solving at least one case. Boys did a brilliant work."

"And what are you going to do about Y/N?"

"I'll be keeping an eye on her."

***

Chapter eleven: Risky decisions ~~***~~ Author note: Hey! How are you doing? I hope you are doing well. That chapter took me longer to publish than I anticipated. I am sorry for the delay. I had to take some time off. For the last few months, I basically split my time between work and writing while I put aside all the other things, or the other hobbies in my life. Kinda missed that. I need to step back for a moment, find some time for other things in my life, and deal with an increasingly more mind-draining workload. But finally, I started missing that, missing writing. So there it is! Part 2. Finally! But you know what? I had a blast finishing this chapter after I got myself back into the story. And I am excited again about it! And I'm convinced that next chapter will be published sooner than later :) For now, as always my Dear Reader, I thank you for reading.

~~***~~ Tag list: @mrsgrahamsdesign @theclassicvinyldragon @blondwhowrites @batgirlspain @hangmanscoming @julesjewelss36 @cherryflavoredcoke @grandstrangerphantom @maripositanoctruna @pluckastarfromthesky

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elena-mayfair · 2 years ago

Text

Dreams - part one

Paring: Bruce Wayne x f!reader, Batman x f!reader Genre: Thriller, mystery, with elements of slow-burn romance Warnings: rating T+/M, strong language, unsettling images, themes of depression, depictions of mental illness Summary: When Bruce Wayne asked you if you would go with him to Metropolis for the weekend to attend one of the most important events in the business that was TechX you expected to hear from him over the week. You expected maybe a visit to the office, a phone call, or at least an email and instead you got complete silence. Bruce did not write, did not call, did not show up at work, did not show up at the office, no headlines, no Twitter posts, absolutely zero contact for a week. "Of all people, why would he want to take a trip with me," you wondered. Word count: 12k Note: Most gifs are not mine, credit to the authors.

Series masterlist

***

Blue and red lights were flashing in the darkness of night as Batman crossed the yellow tape that marked the crime scene. He rarely appeared at crime scenes, being used to operating from the shadows and disappearing at the first sound of sirens coming from afar yet there were exceptions. That night was one of them. Gordon didn't dwell on his explanations, illuminating the night sky with a signal only to state in a grave tone a few minutes later "you have to see this." Batman didn't question. The shocked expression on Gordon's face told him all he needed to know. He rushed to his car only to follow Gordon toward the unknown. Toward, as it turned out, a nightmare he had not seen in a long time.

Silence fell as soon as he walked in between the policemen. All movements seemed to stop for a moment, conversations grew quiet, while all eyes turned to him. All except one. Gordon had ignored the surprised looks of his officers, ordering them to make a space, to leave the crime scene, to shut up if they wanted to keep their badges. Batman merely followed. Between the trees and benches of Robinson Park, reluctantly stepping out of the shadows and into the dim light of the street lamps, he had to, Gordon needed him. Whatever was waiting for him was so terrible that Gordon was willing to subject himself to the judgment of his men under him just to be able to lead the investigation with him at his side.

"They were found about an hour ago," he began quietly, "an elderly woman reported it after her dog smelled blood. The paramedics are taking care of her, she's in shock," he explained as he rubbed his tired eyes and lit a cigarette. "For a moment I thought it was Zsasz's work, but something does not fit here," he continued, "you'll see for yourself." In a harsh tone he ordered the two forensics to move away then crouched down and sighed heavily, "I hope you'll be able to deduce something from this because I'm not."

Batman froze in a stupor for a moment. On the ground between the trees, huddled against a bench a woman's body lay. Young, classy, elegant, probably from a good home. Light blond hair not so long ago perfectly pinned up was now messy, draped with leaves and mud, stuck to her face. Her elegant makeup was showing through the countless cuts on her face, the remnants of her red lipstick blurring with the wide cut of her lips reaching to the sides of her face, merging with the red of the cooling blood trickling down her slit throat straight onto her once creamy velvet coat. Multiple slashes scarred her body, deep, wide, tearing flesh, destroying organs, ripping out life. In her arms, she was cradling a child, a little girl with wide-open blue eyes, whose head was falling lifelessly to the back.

"Batman?" Gordon asked, observing his friend who stepped a few steps closer.

"Jewelry, purse, whoever did it took nothing," Batman stated quietly, "a diamond ring on her finger, a gold wedding ring, diamond earrings…" he reached into the pocket of her coat and pulled out a phone handing it to Gordon to be secured as evidence.

"So far you're not telling me anything I don't already know," Gordon growled.

"Rough night?" Batman decided to ignore the commissioner's tone.

"Fucking rough month…" Gordon once again sighed heavily, "we haven't caught one murderer yet and already another one is emerging!"

"A murderer…" Batman muttered calmly and crouched down by the bodies, "I'm not so sure."

"What do you mean?"

"Dilated pupils... bulging veins…bruised fingers and lips…dilated nostrils…" Batman mumbled to himself while looking more closely at the woman's body, but Gordon could hear everything, "clenched teeth and hands…" he examined the child's body more closely, careful not to gaze into her wide-open terrified eyes.

"We've already photographed everything, you can if you must…" seeing as Batman struggled to spot the leads Gordon gave permission. Frozen bones crackled as Batman cautiously drew back the woman's still arm.

"The child's body was crushed…. exophthalmos… fingernails broken, scratches…" he examined the child's body then the mother's body then rose from his knees, reached into the utility belt and pulled out a flashlight. Slowly and cautiously, with the flashlight pointed to the ground, he began to move away from the corpses. Step by step, scanning each millimeter of the ground beneath his feet carefully, separating the traces of police boots, from the traces of dog paws, deciphering every detail, reading the last hours from leaves, branches and mud.

"She was dragged here…" Gordon spoke up quietly.

"No… not dragged…" Batman walked a few more steps then returned to the bodies, "she was moving away, clear heel marks pressed into the wet ground. She tumbled over, moving backward, pushing away from someone."

"Killer?""

Batman did not answer. He crouched in front of the bodies once more and began scanning all the details once more. Mud on her hands, on the back of her velvet coat, lumps on her shoes confirmed his assumption. Frightened eyes, mother and child, mother's clenched hands, bulging veins….

"She was afraid…" he finally stated, "she was terrified. Whatever or whomever she saw she wanted to get away from him. She wanted to protect her daughter. She held her tight, too tight. The girl tried to break free, scratching her mother's face. She was in pain. But she was afraid…so much so that in an attempt to protect her daughter she crushed her ribs and suffocated her after which she died of a heart attack."

"A heart attack?" Gordon asked surprised.

"A heart attack," Batman repeated, "wounds…. on her face, on her abdomen, on her chest, were inflicted posthumously."

"Forgive my skepticism but how can you tell?"

"The wounds are precise, detailed," Batman pointed with his finger to the slit in the mouth and the slit in the throat, "if she was alive, she would try to fight, the wound would not be so clean. The blood loss is comparatively too small and there is no sign of splatter. In a state of fright, her blood pressure would have been at least 180-200/120. Cutting the carotid artery at such pressure would have caused the blood to gush out. There would have been marks on the ground all around."

"Makes sense…" Gordon nodded, " an attempt to pose it as murder?"

"Clumsy. Whoever did it was unsure, he was trying to fake a murder or cover up the actual cause of death but he hadn't done it before. He wanted to be accurate, too accurate, he improvised, he didn't think like a murderer.

"Who then?"

"A psychopath."

***

When Bruce Wayne asked you if you would go with him to Metropolis for the weekend to attend one of the most important events in the business that was TechX you expected to hear from him over the week. You expected maybe a visit to the office, a phone call, or at least an email and instead you got complete silence. Bruce did not write, did not call, did not show up at work, did not show up at the office, no headlines, no Twitter posts, absolutely zero contact for a week. You checked the TechX profile to find out if his attendance had already been announced, and sure enough, posts announcing the billionaire playboy CEO Wayne Enterprisses' presence had been trending for days. Yet you haven't heard from Bruce. On Wednesday, you began to think that perhaps you should write to him and ask where and when you were supposed to show up, what time your flight was leaving, and from which airport. After all, it was somewhat of a business trip. TechX was starting on Friday evening and would wrap up by noon on Sunday, so even though doubts were beginning to cloud your mind, just in case, you started packing your suitcase and preparing the right clothes for the trip. You checked your email, checked your spam folder, checked your business mail, nervously glanced at your phone knowing that even though he hadn't asked you for your phone he had access to it, still no contact. On Thursday, you discreetly asked Lucius if Mister Wayne was perhaps in the office, under the pretext of discussing feedback on your project. You were not sure if Lucius knew, you were not sure if this was more of a business trip or more of a social one, you were not sure what kind of relationship Lucius and Bruce had, and above all at all costs you wanted to remain professional. Lucius only replied with his typical smile that Mister Wayne was out of town and then added, "don't worry, the information will come, he hasn't forgotten." The suggestive smile and the tone of his voice took you aback, suggesting that he wasn't really talking about feedback on the project. Resigned, you returned home, ready to give up, unpack your suitcase and settle in for the weekend with a bag of chips in front of your favorite TV show. "Of all people, why would he want to take a trip with me," you wondered. You didn't have to wait long for an answer. A short message, just a few words and the nervous frenzy began all over again.

"I hope you are ready. The car will pick you up tomorrow at 11:30am. See you then."

And period. No emoji, no smiley face, no emotion. And yet it didn't seem to you that someone like Bruce was a man who used emojis. That message made you realize that Bruce was a man who apparently had no need to ensure, to check, to confirm. He was a man who was certain and decisive, if he said something once it was clearly so. And he probably expected the same from the people around him.

"I'll be ready. See you tomorrow."

You wrote back briefly and succinctly but even though you didn't add a smiley face, a grin lit up your face. The craziness had begun. You thought you were prepared and yet suddenly everything seemed inappropriate. The dress you had chosen was too casual, unsuitable for a public appearance in the company of someone like him. The sneakers you wanted to fly in flew out of the bag, "I can't walk around in sneakers next to a guy wearing Tom Ford suits," you scolded yourself. Classic straight black pants replaced jeans, a black dress shirt with chiffon sleeves replaced a more formal one, a black leather jacket also went into the bag, plus two dresses one more businesslike than the other just in case. Your favorite black-heeled boots that match everything also went to the bottom of the bag, along with, to your displeasure, black heels. "Okay, that looks good. Now only accessories, electronics, and cosmetics," you assessed the contents of the bag with satisfaction. You were excited. All sadness disappeared replaced by a radiant smile, the burden of the past days' experiences seemed insignificant, worries were replaced by a wonderful mood, the only thing missing was an unexpected knock at the door.

You didn't expect anyone, after all, who could visit you unannounced. Convinced that it was a courier with plane tickets, you turned down the music and ran to open the door. Green eyes shone before you as the blood froze in your veins.

"You don't call, you don't write, you don't answer my calls, I decided to drop in." Jonathan smirked, "can I come in?"

"Jonathan this is not a good time," you answered not feeling like having the uncomfortable conversation that awaited you.

"There hasn't been a good time all week," he chuckled spitefully and, without waiting for your permission, entered the apartment, "are you avoiding me?"

"I'm not avoiding you!" you denied immediately.

"Forgive me, but after you slipped out in the middle of the night leaving a note that you would be in touch only to not hear from me all week, I dare say you are avoiding me," anger boiled under a facade of calm control.

"I just needed some time to myself, that's all," you tried to dismiss it with a chuckle, "I needed to sort things out in my head."

"And apparently you need not only time but distance," his glance swept over to the open suitcase, "you going somewhere?"

"To Metropolis, on business," you replied briefly as if it was nothing important, " sorry, I didn't mention it, the time wasn't right."

"It was. Apparently, you just didn't want to tell me about it."

"I didn't think it was something you should know about," you shrugged, "if you were my therapist I would have simply called off the appointment."

"But I'm not your therapist," Jonathan's voice sounded dangerously low.

"You're not…." you repeated, "and actually who are you, huh?!" you spat angrily, "what is this?! This strange thing between us. You are not my therapist and yet you are putting me through some horrible therapy methods! You're not my therapist because a therapist wouldn't be angry with my business trip. You're supposedly my friend and yet you won't say that there isn't something between us…." you paused in a half word, "what are we?"

"Do you really have a need to give it a name?" Jonathan came closer and took your hand. His green eyes shone intensely as he said, "some relationships are more complicated to give them a definite name."

"I'm trying to control the chaos in my life, and I'm not sure if you're helping me with that or not," you replied, aware that his proximity certainly wasn't helping. Jonathan didn't respond, only reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a cream-colored envelope.

"I was planning to give you this after therapy but there was no time," he wryly accented your words handing you the envelope, "I was hoping that as my friend you would like to accompany me."

You opened the sealed, elegant envelope made of thick cream paper and pulled out a richly decorated stylish invitation. The headline proclaimed The Thomas Wayne Annual Gala of the Scientific Association.

"You want me to go with you?" you whispered in surprise staring at the invitation, "I don't know what to say, you surprised me."

"Say you have an evening dress in your closet," he smirked then added, "The gala is usually a boring party full of snobs and self-obsessed members of the scientific society, but in your company, it would be bearable. Besides, I thought you could use some entertainment. The food and music are mostly exquisite."

"Is that supposed to help me name this thing between us?"

"You think too much of it all my dear," green eyes shone intensely as he put a finger under your chin forcing you to look at him, "but if you must name it so much, then let it be your way. I like you. Consider it a date," a thrill ran over your skin as he spoke the last words in a smokey voice.

"A date…" you repeated in your mind while looking at the invitation, "damn, it's on Sunday! I'm in Metropolis until Sunday. Why didn't you say something earlier?!"

"I wanted to. A week ago. But you chose to avoid me."

"I'm gonna make it," you glanced nervously at your watch which indicated four o'clock in the afternoon, "you need to go!" you ordered and started rushing to get dressed.

"What? Why?!"

"You need to go now!" you grabbed your jacket, bag, keys "I gotta run! I don't have an evening dress!"

***

At exactly 11:30 on a Friday morning, a black Chrysler parked on the side of your street. You applauded in your mind your decision to wait in front of the building when the car pulled up at the exact appointed time, not a minute earlier or a minute later. Excitement quickened your pulse as you waited for the charming man who would get out in a moment to take your luggage from you and help you get into the car, but Bruce was not there. The driver's door opened and an older gray-haired, slender man in a three-piece suit with his shirt buttoned up to his neck tied with a black bow tie got out of the car. He bowed his head politely and spoke in a strong British accent.

"Miss Y/L/N I presume. Alfred Pennyworth at your service," he bowed gracefully and, without waiting for your permission, took your suitcase and coat from you, "Miss, allow me."

"Alfred! Nice to meet you, Bruce has mentioned you," you smiled politely thanking him and handing him your luggage. Confused, you waited for his instructions, you were not used to such treatment. Alfred placed your suitcases in the trunk, laying your coat perfectly flat, then opened the passenger door with a gesture inviting you inside. You smiled thanking him again.

"The plane departs at 1:15pm. The flight is scheduled for exactly one hour and forty-five minutes which gives a landing time in the Metropolis of 3pm. The weather in Metropolis is excellent. Sunny, temperature around twelve degrees Celcius or fifty-seven Fahrenheit, however, the evening is forecast to be colder so I suggest you bring an outer garment," Alfred informed as he started the engine and drove the car out onto the busy road, "in your seat pocket you will find a folder with the event schedule."

"I suppose Mister Wayne is already in Metropolis," you prompted, looking over the event schedule, "since he didn't come to pick me up in person."

"You look troubled miss," Alfred cast a glance in the rearview mirror, "is everything alright?"

"Yes, of course! I'm sorry," you faltered, "if I can be completely honest this is all new to me! I didn't expect this trip to happen at all considering that he messaged me yesterday afternoon. I'm flying to the biggest event in the industry and I don't even know what airline! I'm a little nervous."

"I understand," Alfred visibly frowned, "in that case, I am obliged to apologize on behalf of Master Wayne. Master Wayne can be quite a busy man," he explained kindly, "I hope you were not offended in any way."

"No, of course not," you smiled, hoping it would look natural.

"Master Wayne will be expecting you at the airport," he informed, "and don't you worry about your ticket and lines. Master Wayne does not fly commercial airlines."

"Of course…he flies private…" you sighed pensively, "why didn't I think of that."

You didn't have to wait long to see for yourself the luxury of travel in the company of Bruce Wayne. Thirty minutes and a dozen politely exchanged sentences later, a black Chrysler pulled up at the back of Gotham City International Airport in perfect synchronization with the familiar gray Lamborghini. Your heart skipped a beat when you saw his car approaching. Alfred parked, and you, not used to the custom, reached for the door handle eager to get out.

"Allow me, Miss," Alfred immediately reached for the door and extended his hand offering assistance. You smiled apologetically and once again thanked him. You kept repeating in your mind that it wasn't a cab, that you didn't have to worry about your luggage, you didn't have to glance nervously at what was happening to it, you didn't have to collect it from him, nor pay or tip him. The only thing left for you to do was to wait awkwardly and watch as Bruce got out of the Lamborghini and walked with a slow nonchalant pace toward you. He smiled, elegant as ever and yet the few days of stubble on his face suggested that he had indeed had a busy week.

"You look nervous," he smirked as he approached you.

"Is it that obvious?" you chuckled.

"If it's because of the plane then I understand, I don't like to fly either," he admitted, reducing the distance and standing in front of you. For a moment he flinched as if he wanted to kiss you on the cheek however he chose not to, "please excuse me for a moment," he excused himself and pulled Alfred aside.

You watched them from afar as they talked in hushed voices. Something was clearly bothering Bruce, he was giving orders as was in his habit while Alfred remained silent for a long moment nodding in agreement. For a moment you thought it was a conversation between a superior and a subordinate, but when Bruce finally turned silent and Alfred began to speak, you realized it was in fact a conversation between son and father. Bruce's face darkened and this time it was he who nodded in agreement before they both turned in your direction.

"Shall we?" the mask returned to Bruce's face as he pointed to the plane.

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Pennyworth," you smiled courteously.

"The pleasure was all mine Miss," Alfred replied with a bow, "have a safe trip."

Feeling like in a movie scene, you followed Bruce. Brought to the airport by a private butler on the way to a private plane alongside one of the most influential men in the world. "How did that happen?" you chuckled under your breath.

"What's so funny?" Bruce threw a sidelong glance at you.

"Reality," you replied, "ignore me, please. It's just myself thinking to myself about myself."

"Care to share?" he asked, offering you a hand and assisting you to board the plane. This time you didn't rush.

"Nope!" you replied with a grin, "I'll keep it to myself."

The interior of the plane turned out to be exquisite like everything around Bruce. Spacious, suitable for up to six passengers. There was no stewardess, only a well-stocked bar and a mini-fridge at each of the lodges. Everything in wood and leather conveyed luxury but didn't scream hubris.

"This is the first time that I'm seeing an airplane without a flight attendant," you noticed as you settled comfortably into a soft seat so big you could sleep in it.

"I value my privacy," Bruce explained.

"I noticed. Private car, private pilot, private plane," you listed, "you're very secretive Mister Wayne."

"It comes with the job," an infuriating smirk once again dawned on his face and you were sure it wouldn't go away anytime soon. As soon as the two of you were left alone, something changed, the expression on his face, the look in his eyes, and the tone of his voice, were completely different from how they had been a moment ago, "Alfred informed me that it was extremely rude of me not to call you for a week," he began softly, "forgive me. I didn't mean to cause consternation or doubt."

"I have nothing to forgive," you replied, "Mr. Pennyworth has already apologized for you, explaining that you happen to be a very busy man. I should have come to those conclusions myself."

"Which doesn't explain my behavior," Bruce continued, "I know that I can sometimes come off as neglectful."

"It's okay, really," you assured him, "I was stressing, that's all. TechX is a dream come true! I typically like to have everything planned to the T' and you didn't give me that opportunity. Sorry, I'm not used to well…" you hesitated weighing your words, "let's just say I feel like Alice who fell out on the other side of the mirror."

"What do you mean?" you weren't sure if he was pretending to be ignorant or if he really was.

"Well, you're not going to tell me that all this is standard!" you laughed, "because it's not!"

"Oh, right!" he awkwardly rubbed his neck, "but don't worry, you'll get used to it."

Your heart hit stronger in your chest but you remained calm. The implications of his words were not hard to read, and once again you couldn't help but wonder if he said it on purpose.

The plane rose into the air remarkably gently, and although you felt a pressing force in your stomach it was not as unpleasant as usual.

"I read the event schedule, it looks packed!" you began as soon as the plane reached the right altitude, " sorry for asking, but the unknown frustrates me, what's the plan? What time should I be ready today? What about tomorrow? When are we flying back to Gotham?"

"You have a lot of questions," he noted, "but I understand, so I'll try to outline a plan. The whole event runs from today until Saturday evening, late at night. I have planned to return to Gotham on Sunday at noon. A car will pick us up at the airport today and take us to the hotel. I've reserved two suites for us at the Metropolis Plaza Hotel," gentleman as always, "we'll have about three hours to freshen up before the event starts," he ran his hand over his beard, "and shave in my case. Don't worry about anything. Everything in your hotel room is for your use. If you feel like ordering something just do it. The hotel staff knows what to do. Don't worry about meals at the event venue there will be plenty of them. Tomorrow evening after the main event ends we are going to attend, well private party…" he chuckled seeing your amused look.

"Again, sorry but I have to ask, dress code business or business casual?"

"I'm sure whatever you have in your bag will be perfect for the occasion," a smirk flashed over his face once again, "but I think business elegant if you can put it that way."

"Got it."

"Tomorrow if you want we can spend the whole day at the expo. Exhibitors from many different companies will be presenting their latest designs, new ideas, and technologies. I will be giving a short presentation during the panel."

"I wouldn't miss it!"

"And as I mentioned in the evening we are invited to a banquet with several of my associates. So formal dress code, black tie."

"I'm prepared for such an occasion as well," you smiled pleased that thanks to yesterday's unexpected shopping you bought not one but two dresses, one of which you packed for the trip, "but if you were intending to calm me down I'm afraid you only made me even more anxious."

"Nothing to worry about," the blue eyes flashed brightly, "trust me, I'll keep you close," he added in a smooth low tone making you wonder about what your role was on this trip. "I know the schedule seems intense, and it probably will be, but most of all I want you to enjoy yourself," he said.

"I have a feeling it will be an unforgettable experience."

In the Bruce Wayne world, everything ran like clockwork, no delays, no mistakes as if everyone who came into contact with him knew instantly what standards he expected as if his mere presence made the world suddenly adjust to his requirements. Immediately after landing, a black Bentley pulled up and a driver who, as it turned out, only delivered the car, packed your luggage into the trunk and handed Bruce the keys. In front of the hotel, a staff awaited, ready to pick up the car and luggage along with an impressive tip, as if they were well aware of the car he was traveling in and the time he was scheduled to arrive. At the door, the elegantly dressed door-keepers waited for that perfect moment when he would come close enough for them to take a proper bow, greet him with a trained "Welcome, Mister Wayne," and open wide the door leading to luxury and prestige. As you walked beside him it seemed to you that everyone was looking at you, that curious eyes were flitting from every direction even though you were certain that most of the people in the hotel were of no less status than Bruce himself. And yet, with his statuesque posture, his perfect blend of nonchalance and class, and those intensely gleaming blue eyes, he seemed to tower above them all.

"Welcome to the Metropolis Plaza Hotel," the concierge greeted you in a perfectly smooth professional tone, "the suites are already waiting for you," he added pulling out the gold-colored key cards without expecting any acknowledgment from Bruce, "all according to your preferences. Your luggage has already been delivered."

Bruce simply picked up the cards with a brief polite thank you then directed you towards the elevators.

"Do enjoy your stay, Mister Wayne," you heard as you moved away from the reception desk.

"So this is the standard in the Bruce Wayne world," you smirked as soon as the elevator doors closed, "I understand that the lack of a hotel escort to the room is due to your preference for privacy."

"I hope this doesn't overwhelm you," the stoic billionaire's façade dropped again showing a sincere, kind-hearted man. You were fascinated by the ease with which he came to change faces depending on his surroundings.

"Maybe a little," you admitted, "I should expect it, but still, this is not a world accessible to mere mortals."

"Don't be fooled by apparent beauty and glamour. Everyone here plays a role."

"You too?" you glared with a devious smile.

"I do too," he confirmed, "and so do you."

"And what role am I playing, Mister Wayne?" you didn't intend to but the flirtation was coming out so very naturally.

"It remains to be seen, Miss Y/N/L," the way he accented your name brought a shiver to your skin.

You didn't have to wait long to find out. Bruce escorted you to your room, informed you that his was right next to yours, and left you alone for less than three hours, three hours that flew by in the blink of an eye. Coffee came first, having the highest priority in any situation, followed by a short message to Jonathan containing a simple, "I'll make it. See you on Sunday." Next, a shower because you needed to freshen up, makeup and hair because you needed to present yourself, black pants imitating leather and a dress shirt with chiffon sleeves according to you were business elegant. You topped it all off, despite your reluctance, with high heels, silver jewelry and a small handbag on a silver strap. You decided that with your budget and mortal's possessions, you looked elegant enough, and with half an hour still to spare you took a coffee and stepped out onto the balcony to get some air.

"Mr. Pennyworth had some good information," you grinned as you exposed your face to the surprisingly warm for this time of year sunshine lighting up the cloudless sky. Metropolis was so different from Gotham. From the top floor of the hotel, the view of the city spread with a shimmering glow reflected off the glass skyscrapers. So bright, so inviting, promising fulfilled dreams, the city you were supposed to live in, and yet. You listened for a moment to the whisper of the city below, so different from the hum of Gotham. Instead of menacing murmurs and mysterious whispers rolling through the city like blood pulsing through the veins, you heard joyful music composed of the sounds of distant conversations, signals, the hum of cars, the sound of horns, and the singing of birds. There was no darkness lurking in every alley, no fear, no dread, no quiet determination. After all, how could there be when the city was protected by the Man of Steel, who, instead of lurking in the shadows, rose in the sunlight toward the blue of the sky.

"Different isn't it?" reached you from the balcony next to you.

"Very different," you replied glancing at him. In the sunlight, his black suit shone with a soft velvety glow. The black shirt, black tie fastened with a pin under the collar, and that typical smile of his made your knees weaken. "But different doesn't mean, better. I liked Gotham's dark gothic vibe and its dark soul. There's something about it that just draws you in."

"You were supposed to work at LexCorp and live here," Bruce recalled, "now, after a few months in Gotham, don't you regret your decision? After all, Gotham was not kind to you."

"Absolutely not!" you grinned.

"I can't believe you wouldn't trade Gotham for Metropolis, the city of the future!"

"Nope!" you repeated with an even wider smile then added, "Metropolis has no Batman. And he saved my life."

"What are you saying?!" a shock of surprise swept over his face, "you didn't say anything! What do you mean he saved your life? That accident of yours?"

"Sorry but I don't go around bragging about it!" you replied awkwardly, "actually I don't know why I said that. Somehow, I thought of Gotham and thought of him," you mused for a moment, "but yes, Batman saved my life."

"I don't think I'll surprise you if I say that my curiosity peaked," he smirked, "you'll have to tell me all about it but in a spare time," he looked at the road below, "that's our car. I hope you're ready."

"I am!"

You weren't. You weren't ready at all and not even a little. You weren't ready for the crowd of reporters waiting outside the Metropolitan Expose, you weren't ready for the crowd of staring eyes, for the endless flash of cameras, for the excited voices exclaiming his name that you could hear behind car closed doors. A cold sweat washed over you as you looked at the world on the other side of the windshield, and suddenly you longed to be back in the sewers of Arkham Asylum instead of facing the devouring reporters. You needed a moment, you needed a moment of silence to calm your anxiety, to gather your courage, but it was not given to you. Bruce parked the car and, without a moment's hesitation, got out and the camera lights flashed even more intensely.

His name was shouted from every direction, calling for him, just to get his attention, just to get him to turn toward the right camera, but he ignored them all, walked to the passenger door to open it, and extended his hand to you.

"Breathe," for a split second he removed the mask from his face, "you are with me, you will be fine. Trust me."

"Trust me…"

You took his hand and got out of the car with the utmost grace, grateful in your mind that you decided to wear pants. As much as you wanted to head for the entrance as quickly as possible, to escape the blinding light of the flashes, you had to rely on him, and he had to play his part.

"Smile," he murmured quietly glancing at you discreetly. His eyes shone with understanding, safety but also pride, "you look amazing. Relax…" he smiled as he placed his hand on your waist drawing you gently closer to him. The camera lights blazed with doubled intensity taking away all your confidence and Bruce as if sensing this only tightened his hand tighter on your waist, as if wanting to give it back to you.

"Mister Wayne!!! Mister Wayne! Here!!!"

"Mister Wayne! Who is your companion!?"

"Bruce! Are you dating!?"

"Mister Wayne!!! Mister Wayne! GQ!!! Can I count on a short interview!?"

"Mister Wayne! What do you think of LexCorp's controversial moves!?"

"Mister Wayne! Is it true that you are planning to sell WayneTech!?"

"Mister Wayne! Who are you wearing today!?"

"Mister Wayne! Are you planning to settle down!?"

"Mister Wayne! What do you want to say to all the grieving women who will see you with your new partner?!"

"Miss! What's it like to catch the most desirable bachelor in Gotham?!"

A hail of questions fell from every direction. You couldn't see their faces, voices blended together, lights flashed from every direction and yet you were smiling, playing your part.

"And that is enough for them," you heard a quiet murmur. Bruce smiled one last time then, without taking his hand off your waist, directed you toward the entrance.

Yet inside, it was not at all quieter but much more interesting. Exhibitors from all regions of the country, each in their own part of the huge hall, yet occupying a space larger than that of many stores. There were no major players on the stands, only companies wishing to impress those who really meant in the business, hoping that perhaps their idea would impress one of those who had the means to implement it. Illuminated banners, music, impressive sound effects, excited promoters, passionate young entrepreneurs trying, at least for a moment, to stand in the glare of the world's most influential enterprises, a glare that shone above their heads hiding them in its shadow. On the walls around the entire room, high above their heads shone huge logos of the biggest representatives of the technology industry. The stylized LexCorp in sunset color, the minimalistic S.T.A.R Labs in blue and white, the red plain Stagg Industries, the green-gold modern Queen Industries, and among them the silver elegant Wayne Enterprises. You stopped for a moment gazing in awe. An exhilarating realization broke through the stress and anxiety bringing a bright smile to your face, you were part of it, one of them.

"Is it just as you imagined?" Bruce asked eyeing you with fascination.

"Absolutely not!" you grinned, "but I'll have to survive it, somehow."

As flattered as you were by his company you wanted to ditch him and run toward the stands, talk to the young brilliant minds, inquire about technological innovations, peek at solutions, absorb as much as you could. Bruce, however, had other plans.

"Forgive me, I should have warned you about the reporters," he said in a hushed voice pulling you gently to him, "I hope you won't hold it against me."

"Don't worry about it, I'll add it to the list of transgressions," you sassed.

"I'll have to do my best to balance this list with good deeds then," the blue eyes drew magnetically close. Bruce didn't even try to pretend that this was strictly a business relationship. "I have a few hands to shake, it would be a pleasure if you would accompany me," the soft voice and the charming smile made it impossible for you to refuse. He took your hand placing it on his forearm and led you into the crowd.

Moving through the venue from one group of people to another, you tried to remain classy and keep a discreet smile on your face even though excitement made your face flush. The statuesque figure at your side nodded time and again to someone in the distance, greeted with a look and a smile, shook one hand after another. Some faces came and went, faded into oblivion leaving only their gazes in your memory. Some full of admiration, others full of surprise, others brimming with contempt. You didn't learn their names you didn't know who they were and neither did Bruce feel the need to stop and have a word. They were just pawns when he was the man in power. Yet even though everything around told you that here you were walking hand in hand with power and prestige there was no hubris or contempt for others in him. There was none of the arrogance that others exuded.

"Miss Y/L/N! What a pleasant and totally expected surprise," arrogance emerged from the crowd dressed in a black suit, white shirt, and red tie, "I should have guessed someone had bought you off from me!"

"Mister Luthor," you greeted him with a polite smile while simultaneously clenching your hand tighter on Bruce's forearm, "nice to see you again."

"Professionalism trained to perfection," he looked at you meaningfully while simultaneously addressing Bruce, "Wayne, I thought we'd finally get along but meanwhile you first refuse to sell me WayneTech only to then buy off my engineer."

"I believe that's what we call a friendly compromise Lex," Bruce's tone dropped menacingly low. He refused to shake his hand, "WayneTech was never for sale to begin with."

"Come on Wayne! If you wanted to bargain all you had to do was make a counter-offer!" Luthor's ostensible nonchalance deprived of Bruce's honesty, once again he resembled a hyena taunting its prey. But Bruce was no prey.

"I'm not interested in your money Lex, and no amount of it would convince me to sell you WayneTech."

"Shame. With a mind as brilliant as Miss Y/L/N's we could accomplish so much," he finally looked away from you and fixed his gaze on him, "I understand merging business and pleasure but Bruce, you should stay with your models and actresses. It's a shame to waste such potential," he sneered and Bruce's muscles tightened under your hand. "If you had decided to work for me we could have cut a much better deal," he added in your direction.

"With all due respect Mister Luthor, but I simply could not agree to work for someone with such questionable ethics and a company profile that does not align with my own moral values," you snapped back with a wry smile, "no offer you would have made me could possibly persuade me to work for you."

"Questionable ethics? Well, well, she's entered the big leagues and she's already messing around," Luthor laughed, "Moral values can be easily changed and bent. You just have to know where and how to push."

"Not mine," you growled, "forgive me, gentlemen," you glanced at Bruce apologetically and walked away.

As you approached the bar you tried with all your strength to remain calm, but the blood in your veins was burning with anger. Once again you were reminded of your ignorance. You should have expected to meet Lex Luthor at the event, just as you should have expected the luxuries provided by Bruce and the dozens of photographers awaiting his arrival. "What am I doing here?" you leaned against the bar, ordered a coffee, and, sipping it slowly, watched him from afar. Although the conversation between him and Luthor seemed to be heating up, they both remained classy and professional. Standing a step away from each other, with forced half-smiles glued to their faces, only their eyes betrayed their mutual dislike. You were fascinated by how smoothly the look in Bruce's eyes changed, from worry when he glanced in your direction to icy anger when he turned back to Luthor. "How many faces does he have?" you wondered, "which one is real? Or are they all there?" you observed him, "he is hardly trying to keep a professorial distance."

"Don't let him get under your skin. He's a piece of shit, an arrogant piece of shit. He's hardly worth your nerves," a friendly voice commented next to you, "and you have nothing to worry about. Bruce knows very well who he's dealing with."

"I don't recall asking you for your opinion," you snarled without taking your eyes off Luthor and Bruce further immersed in conversation, "keep your friendly advice to yourself."

"So he's already got under your skin," the man laughed and slipped a fresh cup of coffee under your nose, "I am not sure if coffee is such a good idea, but yours seems to have gone cold."

"I appreciate the gesture, but I'd really rather be left alone," putting the cold cup of coffee down on the countertop and accepting the fresh one, you looked at the man and almost let it out of your hands, avoiding chaos only thanks to his quick reflexes.

"Careful!" he smirked saving the situation, "maybe we should order water after all?"

"Mister Queen…" the blond man smiled charmingly seeing your surprised face, "I'm so sorry! I really hadn't, damn it, I'm sorry. It was incredibly rude of me."

"Relax! Luthor is doing this to people, roaming around and pissing everyone off. A scumbag like no other!"

"I guess you're right," you smiled shyly, and remembering your previous faux pas you extended your hand to him, "Y/N Y/L/N," you introduced yourself.

"I know!" a wide smile lit up his face, "WaynTech's newest addition! Oliver Queen," he shook your hand exchanging courtesies, even though he didn't need to introduce himself at all.

"I know!" you replied with an equally broad smile, "please forgive the question, Mister Queen, but how do you know about me? I don't think a lower level engineer is important enough to be talked about at Queen Industries."

"Call me Oliver, there's no need for forced conventions," he corrected you, "Bruce didn't fail to mention you once or twice. Well, maybe five."

"Bruce talked about me?" you tried to control the tone of your voice in an attempt to hide your surprise.

"He talked is an understatement! How is the work going on the project to improve Gotham's security warning system? I'm looking forward to seeing the results of the first test phase. I think Star City would also benefit a lot from such a system!"

"I'm sorry, but I'm not sure if I should discuss this subject with the CEO of a competing company."

"Okay, let's establish one thing up front," he threw his arm around your shoulder and, steering you toward Luthor and Bruce again, he pointed his finger ostentatiously, "over there, that one in the red tie, an asshole and a scumbag. And my humble person, a friend," he smiled sincerely, "you do not think Bruce would talk about this project and you with just any random guy."

"I don't think that Bruce would talk about me or this project with anyone."

"You won't get far with downplaying yourself! A lower level engineer," he snorted, "not for long, oh not for long."

"I'm not downplaying myself," you denied, "I just…"

"Just what?" the ease with which he spoke made you want to abandon professionalism and be yourself.

"I'm surprised that's all! Seriously, I didn't do anything special, I'm just doing my job!" you sighed heavily but Oliver continued to smile disarmingly.

"Keep going, say again that you and your work are not worth talking about between two CEOs," he sneered.

"Because it isn't!"

"Y/N look around. Where are you and who are you here with. Believe me, if you weren't worth it you wouldn't be here. I know him very well," green eyes flared with amusement, "Bruce doesn't do or say anything without a reason, and those things and people he spends time with are worth a lot."

"You see, I hear what you're saying to me but it doesn't quite get through to me."

"It better start, and it better start fast, because tomorrow you'll be on the tongues of not only two CEOs but all the gossip magazines and portals out there," he chuckled.

"Fuck…" you swore quietly prompting a loud rubbishy laugh from Oliver, "I don't want any drama! The problems I already have are enough!"

"Let me tell ya, if you don't want drama you chose the wrong guy," he winked and added quietly seeing Bruce approaching, "there will be plenty of drama, believe me…" he whispered after which, spreading his arms wide, he gave Bruce a truly friendly hug.

"Ollie, I hope you maintain at least a modicum of professionalism," Bruce gritted but smiled kindly. The anger had disappeared completely from his eyes, and the smile he bestowed upon you as he stood at your side was as warm as before, "Was he behaving himself?" he asked.

"Me, never!" Oliver laughed, "I tried to persuade her to pour red wine on Luthor, completely accidentally, but she stubbornly refused."

"Yes, Y/N can be very stubborn," his hand seemingly involuntarily found its way to your waist again, "I'm glad you two had time to get to know each other. Oliver and I have been working together for years."

"I always thought Wayne Enterprises and Queen Industries were in competition with each other," you noted, uncertainly finding your place again at his side. Oliver's words did not leave you indifferent.

"Queen Industries would first have to have something to compete with," Bruce chuckled.

"Hey don't get cocky Wayne!" Oliver feigned offense, "mutual collaboration doesn't have to involve what our companies do," he turned to you.

"And what then?"

"I think we will have to leave this subject for another day," Bruce's tone suddenly grew firm again, "I think we have enough excitement for one day."

"Right! Tomorrow we'll have plenty of time to chat during the banquet!" Oliver nodded.

"Ollie, did you happen to see Clark Kent today?"

"From the Daily Planet, I've only seen Lois Lane but Kent hasn't. Why do you ask?"

"I was supposed to give him an exclusive during the event."

"He'll probably show up tomorrow, after all the paparatzi crowds have cleared out and only the real reporters are left."

"He better."

***

They called Metropolis the City of Tomorrow, a city of opportunity and fulfilled dreams, a city of lights that even in the middle of the night seemed as bright as during the day. A city where shadow and darkness never entered, where people could feel safe, guarded in the end by the Man of Steel. An idealized image of reality created by hopeful people. They didn't pay attention to crime, they didn't pay attention to violence, they seemed to ignore threats and those who threatened them, they felt safe, they felt that someone was watching over them. Someone who didn't hide his face under a mask, someone who didn't hide in darkness and shadows, someone who wasn't to be feared even though he posed a far greater threat to them than the one they feared. One who even here was able to find shadow amidst the radiance of the lights. One who seemed to bring the shadow with him, weaving it around himself like a veil that Clark could see from afar. The statuesque, motionless figure whose shape only loomed against the blackness didn't even flinch when he landed next to him on the roof of the skyscraper.

"Where were you?" he asked him in a low grave tone staring into the distance.

"Sorry Batman, I got held up," he replied walking up to him.

"The cat was stuck in a tree?"

"A plane fell from the sky."

"Funny," he chuckled quietly.

"Everyone's okay, nice of you to ask," Clark replied grumpily.

"I wouldn't have thought otherwise."

"Batman, what's going on? Why won't you tell me the details?"

"I want your honest reaction and opinion. My intentions don't matter."

"Why?"

"You don't need to know why," he replied sternly.

"If it wasn't important you wouldn't have asked me for help."

"I want you to either confirm or dispel my assumptions. At this point, you don't need to know more. Just be there tomorrow."

"I've seen the pictures," he decided to make a dangerous move knowing his friend very well, "they're already circulating online."

"Typical."

"You looked happy. Truly happy."

"I was doing my job. Don't look for much meaning in it."

"Bruce, we both know that's not true," he tried gently, "I saw you doing your job. I saw you putting up appearances when the spotlights demanded it. It wasn't the same."

"You have a point?"

"It's okay to want to be happy Bruce…. it's okay to want something or someone…." Batman didn't even flinch but his face hardened, despite that Clark decided to continue, "this life we lead, the mission, we can't do it alone. You can't do it alone. Want it or not, you're only human."

"I didn't ask you for life advice.

"Bruce, come on! How long have we been friends! You like her, that's obvious! For once, let yourself take a risk and give it a try."

"Stop," Bruce interrupted groggily, "just stop. Don't assume my intentions without knowing them."

"Lois has been watching you and said that she seems to like you. You. Not the persona you created."

"And that's exactly the problem," he muttered quietly.

"And why is that a problem?

"Just be there tomorrow," he ended the conversation then pushed off from the edge of the roof and soared into the night.

***

"And what are we going to do with you? You tried to run away, it wasn't nice of you. One can't just escape from here."

"Watch me," you spat out viciously. Your arms, legs, tied with wide leather straps prevented you from moving. You tried to yank yourself out but couldn't. Not far away, in the shadows of the light, multiple people seemed to be watching. "I have repeated this hundreds of times. I am not what you think I am! I can't do the things you think I can! Let me out!!! I revoke my consent!!! Let me out!!!"

"I can't," the needle flashed against the white light, "I can't just let you go. I can't let you run free out there. You know too much."

"Even so, no one would ever believe me! I'm a nobody! I'm unimportant! No one would pay attention to me! And even if someone did they would probably lock me up in the loony bin instead of believing me!" you tried to bargain, "Please. Don't. You know it won't work. Just let me go. I'm no threat to you."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that…" The icy voice pierced you along with the needle puncturing your skin. "You see I believe we just haven't found the right spot yet, the one we're looking for," he murmured beside your ear, "we press and push, prick and pierce, but we haven't found the right spot yet, which when pushed properly will release all your potential…" With cold wet fingers, he ran over your collarbones, neck to stop at your forehead, "it's here…. inside your head. And I want to bring it out."

"I beg you not…" tears flowed down your cheeks, "you're wrong! You are wrong!"

Cold metal touched your temples.

"Please stop…"

He laughed quietly tightening the straps on your arms and legs.

"Please don't…"

The sound of the machine being turned on rose above your sobs.

"Please…" a wide piece of leather shoved into your mouth drowned out your cries.

"And now we'll try to push."

Shock jolted through your entire body as electricity ran from your head to your feet. Muscles tensed, teeth clenched painfully on the leather in your mouth as the first wave convulsed your body.

"Again."

Your eyes went black as another surge shot through your muscles.

"Come on, show me what you're hiding."

The third surge stopped your breath, every thought, every feeling except the metallic taste of blood in your mouth.

"We can play like this and for hours. For me, the situation is won anyway. In the worst case scenario, I'll fry your brain and then you certainly won't be any threat."

The fourth surge, stronger than the previous ones stopped your heart.

Darkness fell and everything suddenly stopped. The pain disappeared, the tears dried up, the fear, dread, suffering seemed so distant. You fell into an abyss in which you heard neither your own breathing nor the beating of your own heart. You were falling into a blissful, peaceful darkness. You wanted it. You craved solace in the darkness, and when it seemed to have already surrounded you when you could almost feel its soothing touch on the wounds of your soul an aggressive flare tore through it bringing with it renewed pain.

A fifth wave shook your body with a scream that ripped out of you as if it wanted to destroy everything around you. A scream filled with pain, a scream filled with bitterness, a scream of hatred, a scream of anger, a scream of uncontrollable desire for revenge. It tore strips of leather from your arms and legs, shattered the lamps above your head, blew away the machines to the wall, set scalpels and syringes in a whirlwind, started hurling them in all directions, inflicting wounds, cutting and puncturing just as they cut and punctured you.

"I knew it!!! I knew it!" he exclaimed in delight, " magnificent! So magnificent!"

"You shouldn't poke in my head…" you breathed out through your teeth.

"Just look at you! Magnificent!!! You gonna be my…" the words sank into a gush of trailing blood. His white coat flooded with red as he grabbed at his slit throat as if desperately trying to keep the life inside him.

"I warned you," life escaped from his terrified eyes.

It was over. The nightmare was over. You were free. All you had to do was open the metal door and run down the long corridor toward freedom. All you have to do is open the door.

Bang! Bang! Banging against the door. Insistent, loud, aggressive, filling the silence. They were trying to enter. They were trying to breach the door. To stop you.

Someone called your name. From a distance. Barely heard under the deafening sound of pounding doors. Fading into the noise.

The pounding grew stronger, louder, knocking the door off its hinges with each blow. One more moment and they'll force their way in! One more second and they'll capture you!

A voice from afar called out again. Desperately. It called out once and then a second time. It was so far away.

The door yielded. With each blow bending the metal more and more to finally tear it from its hinges and forcibly send it to the other end of the room.

No one called your name.

You froze staring into the darkness. You waited for them. You waited for them to rush in with guns, with handcuffs, with chains. They will capture you. They will execute you. They will kill you. In terror, you waited. Ready to fight. Ready to take back your freedom by force.

But the fight did not come. The darkness took shape, the shape of a tall, slender man with raven black tousled hair, a marble face, and eyes that seemed to hide the stars. The darkness wrapped around his body taking the form of a long black cloak as he took long strides toward you.

Something had changed.

"Who are you?" you asked tentatively.

"That is not important,'" his voice resounded deep as if from the abyss of the world. He stopped between the blood and the pieces of glass, swept his eyes slowly over the surroundings before fixing them on you. His eyes seemed endless, like the infinite depths of a black starry sky. "You must wake up."

"Wake up?" you whispered.

"All of this," he ran his eyes over his surroundings once again, "this is not how it should be. It does not feel normal. Dreaming is disturbed, tainted, broken. You are broken."

"This is a dream?" you couldn't take your eyes off his, "how can I be aware that I'm dreaming?"

"Because I have allowed it."

"You allowed it?"

"You often come back here. To the same place. To the same memory," the infinite depth of his voice seemed to wash over your body and mind, "this is not the first time we have met."

"Why don't I remember it?"

"Because I don't want you to remember."

"Can you do it?"

"I can do many things," there was a gentleness in him, a cold soothing kindness, "I can erase this dream, this nightmare. The distorted memory."

"So this happened? I…" you looked at the blood spilling at your bare feet, "I killed him."

"Only you can find the answer to that question, but not here," he replied, "this nightmare is not quite real. It is altered, bent by your fear and by something else," he rubbed his fingertips in front of his eyes as if to feel a non-existent structure, "it feels forced."

"By whom?" the question broke out breathlessly.

"You will not find the answer to that question here," the stars in his eyes shone, "in a moment you will wake up. You will not remember our meeting. Nor my words. But you will remember the doubt. The feeling of doubt and suspicion. Trust in it. It will guide you to the truth," he slipped a pale hand out from under his coat.

"Wait!"

"This dream is over."

Bruce shook her gently in an attempt to wake her up. Forehead burning with fever, skin wet with sweat and tears, he repeated her name, gently trying to pull her out of the nightmare. She couldn't hear. Her face twisted in a grimace of pain, her hands clenched on the sheets, her body twisted as if in a convulsive shock, she suddenly relaxed and sank onto the bed.

"Y/N wake up!" he repeated again, "wake up! Do you hear me!" the realization of the adrenaline syringe hidden deep at the bottom of the bag in the closet of his room suddenly brightened his mind, "Y/N!" he shook her gently by the shoulders.

She moaned quietly. Her breathing took a steady pace, her heart seemed to calm down. Despite his terror, his thoughts were clear and composed. He looked around the room. The windows were closed. No signs of intrusion. Everything was in order, no disarray, except for the door lying on the floor, which he had knocked down a moment ago. He ran his eyes over her arms and hands and, finding no traces of a needle, reprimanded himself in his mind for thinking she might have been using drugs. "I've seen them before," he thought as he looked at the unmarked bottle. Y/N groaned again shifting under his hands.

"Y/N can you hear me?" he caressed her cheek. The fever was subsiding, "open your eyes…" he whispered. She only moaned softly and, cuddling her face into his palm, opened her eyes.

"Bruce?" confusion marred her eyes, "what are you doing here? What's going on?" she tried to get up so he helped her then rose from his knees and sat on the edge of the bed.

"Do you know where you are?" he asked softly.

"Sure I do," she replied startled.

"Tell me."

"We are in Metropolis, in a hotel room at the Metropolis Plaza Hotel…" she stopped in mid-sentence when her eyes rested on the hole in the door frame where the door should have been. At the entrance to the room stood a confused young man in a room service uniform, "Bruce? What happened to the door?"

"I knocked it out," he replied briefly then added, "I'll be right back alright?" he informed her and with a quick step made his way towards the entrance.

Y/N watched as he changed from a caring man to a powerful persona in the blink of an eye. She watched his commanding stride, the look he threw at the butler making the man yield under his weight, she could hear the icy "stay here" with which he held him in his place. He was gone only a moment. A moment full of confusion, the covers pulled high up to her neck, confused stares, and an uncomfortable silence. When he returned he didn't wait a single second, the authority spoke up issuing orders.

"Here's a grand," Bruce began, placing the bills in the man's hand, "I trust the press and tabloids won't find out about it."

"Mister Wayne, sir, I would never…" the boy blushed hesitantly accepting the money.

"Let me see your phone."

"Sir?"

"Show me your phone," Bruce repeated with emphasis taking the phone from the butler, "unlock it," he ordered.

"Sir I would never do anything that would…"

"I believe you," Bruce interrupted him, "unlock it."

The boy reluctantly unlocked the phone and handed it to Bruce. He only swiped the screen a few times before handing it back to its owner.

"Thank you," he pulled another stack of bills from his pocket and shoved it into the confused man's hand, "if anyone had asked I was drunk, completely wasted. I mixed up the rooms," the butler nodded while Bruce pulled out another bill, "here's an extra five hundred. A token of my gratitude for your cooperation and assistance in moving Miss Y/L/N's belongings to my suite quickly."

"Yes sir!" the boy merely nodded then with swift careful movements began to gather her bag and scattered clothes.

"Bruce it really won't be necessary," she began but he didn't listen to her. He only threw her an assuring look then disappeared into the bathroom only to return a moment later with a packed makeup bag and bathrobe in his hand.

"You can't sleep in a room without a door," he smiled kindly handing it to her, "you'll spend the rest of the night in my room. And tomorrow we'll work something out."

Fifteen minutes later you were sitting disoriented, wrapped in a robe and sipping hot mid-tea that had been delivered to you by the butler. The nightmare had not yet fully left your mind, still clouding your perception of reality. Bruce was pacing around the room. He arranged your clothes on the sofa, hung your dresses on hangers, carried your cosmetics to the bathroom then opened the window letting in the blissful fresh scent of the night air and sat down opposite you.

"You will take the bed, I will sleep on the couch," in the privacy of his apartment he adopted a gentle tone and warm expression once again.

"Bruce, I can sleep on the couch. Really! A lot of fuss about nothing!"

"About nothing?" his brow arched in surprise, "Y/N you were screaming. I thought someone broke in, that you were in danger. You were screaming in your sleep."

"I'm sorry…" you whispered embarrassed.

"Don't apologize," the warmth of his voice and the blue of his worried eyes seemed to calm your exhausted nerves, "don't apologize because you have nothing to apologize for."

"I have caused you trouble."

"It's nothing," he assured, "the most important thing is that you're okay. Are you okay?" his eyes shone with concern.

"I don't know…" you replied weakly, "I'd like to say yes, but that would only sound like a lie. And for some reason I don't want to lie to you."

"Has this happened to you before?"

"Nightmares? Yes. That intense? I don't know," you admitted, "it's not like there was anyone around to tell me about it."

"You were all feverish, crying in your sleep…"

"Awesome," you smiled faintly, "another mishap. This is what happens when you pick up an idiot from the street and bring her into the society."

"Stop it!" his hand tightened on yours, "I didn't say that to embarrass you or make you feel uncomfortable. I just, you worried me, I don't think that's surprising," there was no lie in his eyes.

"I didn't mean to worry you," you replied, but hearing Bruce's heavy sigh you gathered your courage and decided to continue. You owed him that much. "It started after the accident. Nightmares, anxiety, maybe slight paranoia. I ignored them, not the first trauma in my life. I knew that with time it would pass. But it didn't pass."

"Don't get me wrong but have you talked to a doctor about it?" concern shone in the dark depths of the blue of his eyes.

"A psychiatrist?" he nodded, "let's say that I did. My… friend helps me with the mess in my head. He has extensive experience and knowledge in psychology and psychiatry. He has been a great help and support to me since the accident. But I wouldn't call it typical therapy."

"Did you dream about the accident?"

"No…" one part of you wanted to run away from his gaze when the other wanted to completely sink into it, "no, I don't dream about the accident."

"If you don't want to talk about it, I won't insist."

"I don't want you to think I'm insane," you smirked.

"I won't"

"Promise?"

"Promise," a shiver ran down your spine at the sound of his words. A strange feeling, a familiar sense of security, "you can trust me."

"I think these are memories…" you began hesitantly but Bruce's hand still on yours provided comfort, "some of my nightmares are memories, for sure. I remember them too well to have any doubts. But others, I'm not so sure…" you mused for a moment, "they feel like memories, but I'm not sure. Because I don't remember…"

"You don't remember?"

"There is a two-year gap in my memory," you replied quietly. You looked at him but there was neither surprise nor derision in his eyes, only a quiet understanding, "A void, a complete void. A black space where memories should be. I don't know anything, I don't remember anything from that time."

"Memories began to return after the accident?"

"After the accident I increased the frequency of therapy sessions," you replied, "I also started taking medication. You probably think I'm nuts."

"I do not think that," he assured, "believe me, crazy is the last word I would use to describe you."

"Liar," you sneered even though his eyes spoke the truth, "I think the sessions and the drugs unlocked something in my mind and memories began to return."

"Memories of what?" he inquired.

"I don't want to talk about it," you slipped your hand from his under the guise of reaching for a mug of tea, "at least not now."

"Of course, I understand."

"Forgive me but I haven't even talked to my psychiatrist about it."

"This friend of yours, yes," you nodded in response to his question,

"This friend of yours, yes?," you nodded at his question, "you say he's good at what he does. What's his name if you don't mind me asking?"

"Doctor Jonathan Crane."

***

~~Gotham City~~

Nightwing stood over the broken body of a forty-year-old man and watched the blood flow from his frozen in excitement mouth. The bag of money he had recently stolen lay nearby, green bills spilling out onto the wet concrete sidewalk. The gun he had fired at him just a moment ago still warmly fell out of his hand with a metallic clang. If only he had reacted faster the man would still be alive. He should have seen this coming, but how could he?

"What happened here?" Red Hood jumped off the building and landed next to him.

"He jumped," Nightwing replied quietly.

"He jumped?"

"He just jumped. I didn't even have time to react."

"Wait wait wait. He robbed the bank and then committed suicide?"

"No… it wasn't suicide," Nightwing denied, "I got him cornered and instead of giving up he said I couldn't do anything to him, that he wasn't afraid of me," he looked at his brother seeking understanding, "he laughed in my face."

"That's new."

"He said I couldn't do anything to him because there was no fear in him."

***

Chapter ten: Dreams - part two

~~***~~

Author note: Originally this part was meant to be all in one chapter. But as I sat down and started writing, it grew and grew so much that I decided to split it into two. Otherwise, this chapter would be about 20k. I really wanted to get you all into his world, like truly deep into the world of Bruce Wayne, or at least the world that I imagine. I think it worked out. Some new characters appeared and one unashamed cameo which I couldn't help but write! After all, he is a character in DC comics (and I love him so much). The second part will be out as always within the next two weeks, and then I will take a break, which means that chapter eleven will arrive a month later. I'm traveling abroad to see my friend so I won't have time for writing. Hope you'll forgive me. I added to the tag list those who asked to be added. Thank you for your engagement! It truly means a lot to me. And finally, as always Dear Reader, I thank you for reading.

~~***~~

Tag list:@clown-princesa @theclassicvinyldragon @blondwhowrites @batgirlspain @hangmanscoming @julesjewelss36 @cherryflavoredcoke @grandstrangerphantom

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