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elena-mayfair · 7 months

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Fighting fear

Paring: Batman/Bruce Wayne x f!reader Genre: Thriller, mystery, with elements of slow-burn romance Warnings: rating T+/M, disturbing images, strong language, violence, depictions of illness, depictions of trauma, depictions of mental and physical abuse, lost of angst Summary: You wanted to close your eyes and disappear. Disappear forever. Push away the thoughts of the nightmare that was yet to come, dismiss the memories of the nightmares that were yet to haunt you, forget the deep blue eyes and the wandering barely perceptible smile you were destined never to see again, erase the feeling of safety and inspiration you were never meant to follow. You longed to escape. To disappear. To start all over again somewhere else. To become someone else. Word count: 18.2K Note: Some gifs are not mine, credit to the authors.

Series masterlist

***

For the past few months, Gotham citizens had been living their lives under the fear of a mysterious criminal who, through sophisticated psycho-control methods involving unidentified chemicals, had led to the deaths of twelve people and the suffering of at least another eight. Twenty people. You heard that right, twenty people fell victim to a madman who swore a vow to first do no harm. Can the people of Gotham finally live peacefully or is horror only about to come? This is Summer Gleeson, GCNN's news.

Doctor Jonathan Crane, head of the psychiatric ward at Eliot Memorial Hospital, has been identified as a criminal alias Scarecrow. Investigative reporter Vicky Vale is currently at the scene. Vicki, how dramatic is the situation?

The situation is truly horrific, Summer. I am currently outside the residential building where Doctor Jonathan Crane lived, and inside which the police have discovered a chemical laboratory, as well as eight more victims that Doctor Crane has been holding captive and torturing. Eight of Gotham's citizens, seven adults and a child had been imprisoned, subjected to physical and psychological torture, right in the center of one of Gotham's most secure neighborhood. The madman's victims were found in various physical states, ranging from mild to critical, which only suggests that Scarecrow had been committing these atrocities for a very long time. All victims are currently being transported to Gotham General Hospital. Among the victims was Matt Bower, known to police drug dealer working for mob boss Salvatore Maroni. Police and emergency services are currently working on securing the building to reduce the chemical hazard. Commissioner Gordon refused to comment, but we are all probably wondering what involvement Batman had in this discovery and where Scarecrow is now?

Thank you, Vicki. Where is Batman? And what connection does this gruesome discovery have to the late evening chase that ended with a shootout on the Metro-Narrows Bridge? Witnesses have reported that not only Batman but also his known associates, Nightwing and Red Hood, were involved. GCNN investigative reporter Jack Ryder is on the scene. Jack, how is the situation on the bridge?

Pretty typical for Gotham, Summer. Bridge is currently out of service and will be closed till midday as stated by the fire department. Scraps of a wrecked van, bullet shells, damaged pavement, nothing Gotham hasn't seen before. Three criminals, apprehended after a dramatic chase, were already handed over by Nightwing to the police, represented by Sergeant Rene Montoya, who declined to provide further explanation. Based on witness testimony, I was able to determine that the chase originated near Arkham Asylum and initially involved only Nightwing and Red Hood. Witnesses also informed that the criminals had a hostage, a woman, but her identity had not been established. Was the woman an accomplice or another victim? We will get to the truth. The people of Gotham deserve it.

Thank you, Jack. Despite the late night hours, we attempted to contact the Chief Executive Officer of Eliot Memorial Hospital who refused to comment. Shameful behavior in the light of current events. We do not know whether the Doctor's practices were known to him or not. However, we did receive a brief phone call from an Eliot Memorial Public Relations representative, who informed us that all ties between the hospital and Doctor Cran had been severed with immediate effect. But how much does this change in the eyes of ordinary residents?

Doctor Crane is the second medical expert in recent memory who, instead of protecting human lives as he swore to do, has chosen to cause harm. Most recently, Doctor Harleen Quinzel, a psychiatrist at Arkahm Asylum who is now widely known as Harley Quinn and associated with the Joker's criminal activities, is currently detained in the institution as a patient. She will face charges of attempted murder and armed assault. Unfortunately, Doctor Crane, or as we should be saying, Scarecrow is still at large. Was he involved in last Sunday's failed assault on the Gotham Medical Society? How long did his crimes go unnoticed? How long will it be before Batman manages to stop him?

"You shouldn't be watching this," Red Hood snatched the remote from your hand and turned off the TV, "enough of drama for one evening."

"Gotham's media works shockingly fast," you muttered then added quietly, "and I should, it's my fault."

"How is this any of your fault?"

You sat down heavily on the couch, threw the jacket off your shoulders, and accepted the glass of water he had handed you, quickly finding his way to the kitchen. Despite his commanding physique, two guns strapped to his belt, and face hidden under a red helmet and the hood, his presence filled you with a strange sense of safety. Still, within your apartment's four walls, the masked man somehow appeared incredibly surreal. You smiled amused, despite your weariness, as you watched him roam around your apartment.

"Something funny?" he glanced at you.

"I'd say make yourself comfortable, I'd offer you water or something hot to drink, but I don't think you'd take it," you scoffed, "can you even breathe under that helmet?"

"Outstandingly well!" he took off his jacket and removed his gauntlets, "you'll need something stronger than water." Not waiting for your permission, he once again headed to the kitchen and began looking through the cabinets and drawers. "You're not a tidy type, are you? I know someone who would get a heart attack seeing this mess."

"Relative tidiness. No one usually goes through my cabinets."

"There's always that first time," he sassed, "the first time to be caught in a shootout, the first time to be kidnapped, the first time to discover that your friend is a sociopath!"

"That's the second,"" you corrected him somberly.

"Damn, you're right! There is Harley Quinn! You don't have a good grasp on people, huh?"

"Thanks for reminding me."

"No problemo!"

"What are you looking for?" you followed him curiously as he went through cabinet after cabinet, and drawer after drawer.

"Your common sense," he quipped, "I was hoping you stored it somewhere."

"Very funny."

"But seriously, chill out. You're not the first and you won't be the last to get a knife between the ribs from so-called friends," he turned to you and although you couldn't see, you were convinced he was smiling under his helmet, "I need a clean towel."

"You're going to take a shower?" you put aside your glass to get up from the couch but your body refused to cooperate. The adrenaline that had kept you on high alert completely disappeared leaving you sore, drowsy and completely exhausted.

"Just tell me where," he placed his hand on your shoulder gently forcing you to sit back down.

"In the bedroom, in the dresser by the wall," you instructed, "right-hand cabinet, top shelf."

He nodded and disappeared into the bedroom only to return a moment later with two clean towels.

"Where do you keep booze?" he asked, folding one towel next to you.

"The cabinet next to the bookcase," you pointed to a corner of the living room, "you should find some whisky there."

"At least for alcohol you have good taste," he chuckled.

"It's not like I'm drinking a lot."

"You'll start."

"You sound like you want to tell me that shit like it's going to happen again!" you eyed him as he paced around your apartment collecting things one by one. A bottle of whiskey was placed on the table in front of you right next to a clean towel, followed a moment later by a clean glass which he filled with whisky.

"Somehow it's hard for me to imagine that you'll suddenly stop getting into shit, as you called it," he placed the sanitizer, lighter, needle, and thread in front of you, then returned to the kitchen, "trust me, I've seen it way too many times!" he chuckled as he rolled up his sleeves to wash his hands thoroughly.

"Stupidity?"

"That too," wiping his hands dry he returned to you, "but that's not what I meant. I was talking about that raging fire that burns in your eyes. Believe me, we've all seen it," he sat down beside you, "he's seen it too, more than once," he unfolded a towel on the table then placed a few cotton swabs on top of it and soak them in sanitizer. ""You blame yourself for what happened. You blame yourself for what happened to Quinn. You blame yourself for what Crane did to those people," he heated the threaded needle with a lighter then wiped it thoroughly with the cotton swab, "it won't leave you. It will haunt you and keep you up at night. It will feed that anger," he put down the needle, disinfected his hands and wiped the needle again, "anger at the world, at him, at yourself, at what happened to you, at the violence you experienced," he pointed to a glass of whiskey, "you will need this."

"I don't follow," fatigue slowed the mind, causing confusion.

"You have a fucking hole in your shoulder!" he pointed again to the glass, "drink up. It's gonna hurt like a bitch."

"Wow! Wow! Hold your horses mister!" you flung and moved away from him instantly, "it's just a small wound! It will heal on its own! There's no need to…"

"Shut up and let me patch you up!" he snapped at you, "you didn't want to go to the hospital then we'll take care of it my way! Damn, and here I was thinking that after tonight we have some trust between us."

"You said it yourself that I don't have a very good grasp on people."

"It's a little too late to change that," he snarled, "drink up and give me your arm."

"Have you done this before?"

"The charms of this job."

You downed the contents of the glass in one sip, closed your eyes, and stretched out your arm.

"Not so fast," he scoffed, "one more."

You did as he ordered. Ignoring the glass, you took a deep sip straight from the bottle, feeling the scorching liquid spread through your core. You took a deep breath, downed another and stretched out your arm again.

"Well, now that we've covered painkillers…" he knelt down in front of you and gripped your hand securely above the elbow immobilizing it. His strong hand steadied you painfully but the pain was nothing compared to the burning sensation of the sanitizer on the wound. You hissed in pain. "Hey, you took a cut you'll take the stitches," the feeling that he was smiling continued, "ready?"

"No," you took another swig from the bottle.

"Stay still," he ordered before piercing your skin with a needle. You cursed viciously but he only laughed. "You'll get used to it. But if it makes you feel better, I know someone who patches much better and much more gently."

"You couldn't take me to him?" you breathed through clenched teeth.

"Not this time," he quietly answered while pulling the thread across, "he'll come, you know that right? He'll come and he'll be fucking furious."

"Who? Jonathan?"

"I meant Batman but that one too," the needle pierced your skin again, "he's going to huff and growl. He'll probably tell you to leave town. Tell him to go fuck himself."

"I'm stupid but not that stupid," you snorted through the pain.

"He means well you know…" the pain in your arm faded despite him continuing to stitch, "I should tell you to let it go. That you should seriously, get out of Gotham and not look back. That you should fuck this godforsaken city and whatever is keeping you here. Or rather, whoever," he freed the end of the thread and placed the bloody needle back on the towel, "but I know you won't do that."

"You say this as if you know me."

"I know him and that's enough," he tied the knot and stood up, "he's an asshole and a self-righteous hypocrite but he means well. He will try to push you away. Something tells me you won't let him."

"I am so confused right now…"

"You'll get it. Eventually," he snatched the bottle from your hands and screwed the cork shut, "I'm taking this with me," he quipped before heading for the kitchen to wash the blood off his hands and put his gauntlets back on.

"Thanks," you muttered glancing at the stitching, "for everything."

"Burgers, remember?" he threw his jacket over his shoulders then reached into his belt pocket to pull out a small device to hand it to you, "do you know what it is?"

"A motion sensor…" you examined the tiny device closely.

"Yup! If you agree I'll install one at the door, one each at the windows and two at the balcony door. Batman was right. If they haven't caught him yet you'll be the first one Crane comes after," anxiety crept in, "each of us has the ability to remotely disable the sensor if needed. But if someone else tries to enter your apartment we will know. I'll also leave you this," he handed you a tiny switch, "should you want to leave. You can't be a prisoner in your own home. Although I wouldn't recommend wandering around the city as long as Crane is out there."

"Do it," you closed your hand over the switch, "you think he…" you didn't finish. A cold shiver shook your body at visions of what could happen.

"I think he'd be a fucking idiot if he tried, but we don't want to risk it."

You watched as this curious man roamed your apartment installing sensors. Red Hood, they called him. Adequate to his appearance which should make you frightened and yet did not. He was the only one among them who hid his entire face under a helmet. He was the only one among them who carried a gun at his side. He looked more like a criminal than a hero, and yet to you that's what he was. A hero. A man who risked his life to get you out of the trouble you had put yourself in.

"You carry a gun," you noted as he crouched down to install a sensor by the frame of the balcony door, "it's…. odd for a hero."

"Heh, I'm no hero," he chuckled dryly, "I carry guns cos they are damn effective! But rounds are nonlethal. Batman's rules."

"Hey, I'm not judging! Psychopaths and murderers, would it be a crime if the rounds were lethal? Cops have no problem with that."

"We're not cops," he walked over to the window in the living room, "and believe me, you don't want to bring this subject up in front of Batman." He installed the last sensor and returned to you. "All set. I gotta go. You'll be alright," Red Hood crouched down to level with you and the image of a keen gaze immediately popped into your mind. "After I leave you're going to be scared. For a while at least," he dropped the sarcasm while something familiar crept into his tone of voice, the empathy and compassion so reminiscent of Batman, "and that's alright. Everyone gets scared. Take it as an opportunity to fight that fear. As a chance to be brave," you listened in silence, "and do yourself a favor and get some sleep."

"I'll probably gonna sleep for two days," you smiled faintly, "thanks again. You say that you are no hero, but to me, this is exactly who you are. Hero."

"Damn! Just stop! You making me blush really hard under the helmet," sassiness returned.

"I'm serious!" you laughed as he got up, grabbed a bottle of whiskey, and headed toward the balcony.

"So am I!" he opened the door, "burgers! I'll hold you on that!" he stepped outside letting the icy air into the apartment.

"Hey! Red Hood!" you called out after him, "you saved me today. At least tell me your name."

Red Hood stopped just before the railing, holding a grappling gun in one hand and a bottle of whiskey in the other, turned and looked at you as if weighing his answer.

"I'll wait for him to tell you that," he answered finally then fired his grappling hook and soared into the air.

***

Tim and Damian knew that Batman had appeared on the Arkahm grounds. They heard the frightened whispers among guards, heard the taunting laughter between inmates once the information reached them, saw his signal displayed on the computer screens embedded in their gauntlets. His appearance was always followed by fear. It always stirred tension. Not only among those who had reason to fear him but also among those who worked alongside him. They expected him to appear at any moment, to emerge from the darkness, as it was in his habit, measuring them with a stern look and demanding an explanation. They expected him to call them in awaiting a report, demanding a detailed account of past events. Yet it did not happen. The certainty of him watching them from the shadows made them even more uneasy.

Tim lost the trail of Crane faster than he would have liked. For several long minutes, he followed him through the dark corridors of the Asylum, retracing his moves, tailing his footprints leading through Intensive Treatment, past the office that Strange used, down the corridors of the block to the Visitors Center entrance. The trail stopped. He hacked into Arkham's CCTV system and traced his escape route to the point where he rushed into his car and drove off into the night. He had his registration and the brand of his car. He could have followed him. He could have followed him to Gotham and tried to pick up his trail in the city's winding streets. Instead, he decided that at this point a chase was not the best course of action that he could take. Damian didn't need help, of that he was sure, and yet he should check on him. Nightwing and Red Hood were in the town while their comms were silent, a fact that bothered him deeply and formed another path he could take. Finally, the most important thing remained. Strange.

Weighing his choices, he ultimately determined that at this point the most important thing was to find the answer to the question why? With that in mind, he returned to the building to head straight for Hugo Strange's office. He did not expect to find anything evident there, but his detective instinct did not allow him to ignore the probability of discovering new leads. Even if the probability was slim. Ensuring that no one was around he picked the lock and stepped inside.

Stacks of papers, documents, and files perfectly sorted and buried in numerous drawers told him nothing more than what he had already suspected. Strange masked his operations effectively. To a cop or a regular detective, it would have been proof of his innocence, proof that he was an outstanding doctor who, as the transfer papers told him, had returned to Arkham to care for the most challenging patients. Among the records, he found psychological profiles of Two Face, Joker, Riddler, Mad Hatter, and Poison Ivy but also more unusual ones. "PM-X1, PM-X2, PM-X3," read the files of unidentified people as one by one he pulled out folders to study and scan the documents. Statements and reports he was unable to link to anyone he knew detailed the tests and results conducted on voluntary subjects. Vague, incomprehensible, written as if in cipher, ensuring complete anonymity and the inability to link them to him. "You're clever Strange, I'll give you that. But I'm genius here…" he tucked the scanned file away to reach for another. "Project Manticore… what is Project Manticore?"

"You should know that you won't find here anything that can be used against me, Robin," Strange stood in the doorway and measured Tim with a superior gaze.

"And you should know better than to come back here!" tucking the folder behind his belt he adopted a combative stance, "just give up Strange. We both know you're not a fighter."

"No need for violence boy. It's not like I'm gonna fight you. That would be utterly pointless."

"Let me guess, you gonna stall until your goons show up."

"My goons?" a mocking smile twisted his face, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Quit playing games Strange! We have them in custody!" he clenched his fists trying to control his emotions, "the back of the building is riddled with bullets that were aimed in our direction at your command!"

"Prove it," it sounded like a challenge Tim couldn't meet, "prove it. You have nothing boy. You are smart, I presume the smartest of them all. I'm assuming you've already managed to hack into Arkham's CCTV system while trailing Doctor Crane. And if you've already hacked into the CCTV, you must have discovered that the cameras at the back of the building as well as those in the corridors leading to the back exit don't work," he calmly and confidently revealed all the potential vulnerabilities he had long foreseen and eliminated, "you have nothing. Even the files, which are probably already on your computer drive somewhere, pose no threat to me. So why don't you politely give me the file you hid behind your back and in return, I'll tell you where you can find more evidence against Doctor Crane?"

"You talk too much."

The shadow behind Strange's back suddenly took shape as a glowed hand emerged from the void grabbing him and slamming his head against the wall. Strange's face twisted into a grimace of pain, but the groan that should have followed did not come out of his throat. Instead, a malicious grin crept up his face again.

"Where were you taking her?" Batman asked in a chilling voice emerging from the darkness.

"Ah, Batman… I should have guessed that birds don't fly on their own."

"Where were you taking her?" Batman repeated the question with emphasis while pressing his face harder against the wall. The glasses on his nose cracked.

"Do you really think you're going to get the answer to that question out of me with violence? Batman. Emotions cloud your judgment. So unlike you."

Tim stood stunned watching as Batman bared his teeth in rage and, grabbing Strange by the halves of his lab coat, lifted him off his feet to slam him against the desk. The wood shattered into pieces as he lunged and, pressing him to the ground with his boot, growled again.

"Give me something Strange before I send you back to Black Gate!"

"On what charges?" he coughed when Batman's boot pressed harder on his throat.

"The list is long…" he snarled menacingly, "Cadmus, Strange. Talk! Waller assured the Justice League and the President of the United States that the project was closed definitively after the first trials!"

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Detective," Strange dismissed stubbornly evoking even more anger from Batman. He grabbed him again by his coat and slammed him violently against the wall only to repeat it again.

"I am not playing your games, Strange," he gruffed dealing a punch to his stomach, "talk or they will send you to Black Gate in pieces!" his fist crashed savagely into his face as drops of blood stained Strange's coat, "you tortured her!" another blow shattered the glasses on his nose, "you tortured others like her!" Strange spat blood as Batman's fist hit his ribs painfully, "talk!"

"Batman!" Tim jumped to him catching his arm and preventing him from dealing another blow, "that's enough!" he looked into his enraged eyes, "not like this."

"You can't touch me, Batman," Strange groaned, "no amount of brute force can make me talk and you know it. Just as you know that you have absolutely no proof except the words of a woman who can so easily be dismissed and declared insane. Pitty, to what madness Doctor Crane can drive a person."

Tim tensed his muscles but Batman was stronger. With one sharp pull, he yanked his arm out of Tim's grip and, clenching his fist, delivered another punch. The wall next to Strange's face crumbled. Chunks of concrete scattered all over the ground.

"Next time it will be your face," it was a promise, "stay away from her."

On the other side of the ward, in the darkness of the long-unused corridors, Damian was finishing up his crackdown on Strange's thugs, those who, in a glimpse of sanity, had decided to escape. "Fools," he scoffed stalking from hiding the last terrified man cowering silently through the darkened corridor, "you think you will hide? From me?" His cawl read his accelerated heartbeat, over 120 beats per minute pumping adrenaline through his body. His eyes read his every faintest twitch, every rapid movement of his head, every drop of sweat running down his terrified face. Part of him immensely enjoyed the little game he played with them. He was better, smarter, more cunning, superior in every possible sense. They were hardly prey who, out of fear, tried to flee to the shadows and hide in the darkness. But he knew the Shadows, he was raised by them, shaped by them, the Shadows served him.

"Not so brave when you're not hiding behind a machine gun…" he quipped, eyeing the man's reaction. He jumped up spooked raising his fists to his face defensively.

"You're not Batman!" he shouted into space, "show yourself you fucking psycho!"

"Awh, big talk, that's cute…" he swooped over his head silently, holding onto the ventilation shafts hanging from the ceiling.

"I'm not gonna go to prison! Fuck no!"

"Behind the bars of a Gotham County cell, you won't be so snarky."

"He made me do it!"

"They always do…" situated just above his head he prepared to jump, "tell me why? What did Strange want from that woman."

"How the fuck would I know?!"

"Wrong answer."

"I'm just a gun for hire! Come on man! Tell your boss that I run away!"

"He is not my boss…" he growled through clenched teeth, "what is Strange doing here?"

"I don't know!"

"Wrong answer again," he could have taken him down at any time but he enjoyed it too much. He reached into the pocket of his belt and pulled out a birdarang, "all your associates are down. You are going down too." He threw the birdarang straight at the man's feet.

"Where are you!?" the man shouted in fear, "Where are you!?"

"Here…" a low voice emerged from space, followed by a blow, and the hollow sound of collapsing body. The shadows betrayed him. The shadows did not belong to him but to his father who embraced them long ago. Batman stepped out of the dark and, without even looking in his direction, said, "You were playing with him. You could have eliminated him three minutes and seventeen seconds ago."

"It's called intimidation techniques, Father. Something you should know very well," he snarled, jumping off the vent and landing next to Tim. Tension hung in the air between them.

"Report," Batman ordered standing over them and glaring menacingly.

"In the driveway in the back ten thugs. Unconscious, disarmed, restrained, ready for transport. Two more in the eastern part of Intensive Treatment, four at the entrance to Holding Cells, one in the restroom in the west corridor, and this one here," Damian reported.

"Crane got away," Tim began, "I hacked into the CCTV system after I lost track of him at the main gate. He took his car and drove off. Given that we know his registration, where he lives as well as his office and workplace locations I decided that trailing him was pointless at this point and chose to investigate Strange. He is a much bigger threat."

"Not exactly."

"What aren't you telling us?"

"Crane is the murderer we've been looking for," Batman began, "he won't go home because his house is currently being secured by Gordon and his men. He won't go to one of his offices or the hospital because he knows we're monitoring them. If he doesn't attack again tonight he will hide somewhere, wait and strike again. But this time it won't be a stealth attack."

"I should go after him…" Tim clenched his jaw suppressing his anger, "I decided, I decided that…"

"You made the best possible decision based on the information you had," he interrupted him, "we'll talk about it at home. Both of you, you are dismissed. Go home."

"You are not going with us?" Damian asked.

"No. I have one more thing to do."

You stood on the balcony calmly smoking a cigarette, watching his shape fade into the distance as the dreadful meaning of his words began to creep in. A slowly increasing fear seemed to be looking at you with green venomous eyes from every dark corner of the surrounding city. He was there. You knew it. You could feel it. He was watching you. He was furious. But so were you. The soreness and weariness of your body, the mental exhaustion, the heavy eyelids, and the numbness of your muscles could not subdue the rage you felt. "I've seen monsters. You're not one of them. You are their victim." Batman's words echoed in your mind.

"Victim…"

"The accomplice or another victim…"

"His victim…"

You closed the balcony door with a slam and made sure the sensor was on. You crossed the apartment checking each window and making sure the red light was steady. You turned the bottom lock on the front door and, just to be sure, inserted the key into the top one, turned it, and left the key inside. You were tired. So very tired. The weight of the past day's events was slowly beginning to settle in depriving you of that little bit of strength that kept you on your feet, pushing into your mind thoughts and feelings you didn't want to face. Not yet.

You stripped off your clothes, all of them, from your underwear to your skirt and blouse, but instead of throwing them in the laundry basket you folded them into a garbage bag, then another as if trying to hide your shame and disgust, and threw them in the trash. You needed a shower. A long shower that you didn't plan to get out of for many minutes. Maybe even hours. You needed to wash away the nightmare you had experienced. Needed to wash away his toxins. To wash away him. Tears ran into your eyes but you swallowed them. You couldn't fall apart, not yet.

Before you headed for the shower you lit another cigarette and sat down in front of the computer. You needed to endure for a little longer, you needed to do one more pressing thing before your mind completely crumbles under the weight of your emotions. The light of the screen blinded you, hurt your tired eyes but also brought a much-needed brief awakening. You inhaled the smoke deeply, opened the WORD document and, with a heavy heart and strong determination, tapped out a few important words.

"This is the right thing to do…" you tried to console yourself however the heartache was weighing down. "The right decision…" you inhaled again, opened the email, typed in the recipient, added the attachment and, with a heavy exhale, clicked send. "Now I can fall apart."

You didn't cry. The pain of the decision you made was nothing compared to the overwhelming feeling of helplessness gripping your body and mind. A numbness shutting out your sense to the surrounding safety of your own home, binding you in a cage of your own thoughts. The softness of the carpet under your bare feet did not bring a feeling of comfort as you headed through the bedroom to the bathroom with a dragging step. The warm light of the wall lamps did not bring a smile when you faced your own reflection in the mirror. A bloody wound on your arm covered with three black stitches was the only trace of comfort remaining on your body. "It's funny how a wound can bring comfort," you scoffed somberly while sweeping your eyes over your naked body. "What have I done…" you ran your hands over the traces of your mistakes. The red marks around your breasts were painful to touch, the scratches on your arm barely visible formed a path to the redness on your neck that slowly began taking on hues of purple, yellow, and green, the sad face and dark circles under your eyes revealed complete exhaustion, a nervous breakdown lurked behind them. You raised your hand toward your face to brush away your falling hair and paused to stare at the dried blood on your palm. You touched the wound but it didn't hurt. Not as much as the imprints of his hand on your neck. Not as much as the breaking pain in the back of your head. You looked your reflection in the eyes. "Is that what I wanted?" you searched for the answer within yourself, "is that what I deserve?" tears came to your eyes, "what now?"

You wanted to close your eyes and disappear. Disappear forever. Push away the thoughts of the nightmare that was yet to come, dismiss the memories of the nightmares that were yet to haunt you, forget the deep blue eyes and the wandering barely perceptible smile you were destined never to see again, erase the feeling of safety and inspiration you were never meant to follow. You longed to escape. To disappear. To start all over again somewhere else. To become someone else.

"The past has a habit of following us wherever we go…"

His words invaded your mind, concealing all the glaring pain with a thick shadow, and even though they seemed sad to you at the time now they brought a strange sense of solace. There was no way out. Escape was not a solution. You couldn't. Part of you knew that the only path you could take was through fear and horror, through anger and pain, toward a hopeful future. You couldn't turn back. You had to find the strength within yourself.

You let the warm water run down your body, wash away the cares and worries, hide the tears that began to flow down your cheeks, to take away the weaknesses and fears that tried to take over you.

"Fear, if you let it, can be a paralyzing force, can be the thing that sabotages your every move, your every plan. But if you take control of it, it can become one of the strongest forces driving your actions. It's all a matter of choice."

You stepped into the shower whole and, slowly changing the temperature to cold, watched as the remnants of blood flowed from the cut on your arm, from the wound on your hand, from the cut on the back of your head, running down the drain along with all your despair. Your body trembled under the icy stream but you clenched your teeth feeling as the pain gave way to determination.

"Take it as an opportunity to fight that fear. As a chance to be brave."

You clenched your fists breathing deeply. Trembling from the cold, you closed your eyes and sank deep within yourself, searching for the strength that lay dormant. Looking for that spark that guided your steps, that energy that seemed to bend reality to your will. It was there. Weak and stifled. Barely shimmering under the weight of reality. You reached for it.

"It always comes down to the choices we make. Do we let it control us, or do we control it."

You breathed deeply. Tears stopped streaming down your cheeks. The stinging feeling in your heart disappeared. You felt no pain nor cold. Blue sparks danced faintly over your arms and everything that was painful disappeared. All that remained was an unshakeable determination, a burning anger, a hope that perhaps a path through the nightmare would lead you toward a better future. Toward something good.

Bruce cursed under his breath upon seeing the parted curtains and their complete absence in some of the windows, promising himself that the day will come when he will bring it to her attention. Although he knew that the height of her floor provided a measure of privacy he felt that she should be more careful. He looked away when she dropped the towel, waiting longer than necessary to return his eyes to her windows. The light in her bedroom was still on when, wrapped tightly in a warm fluffy sweater, she opened the window to let the cigarette smoke outside. Wet hair fell over her face but she seemed not to care. She leaned against the sill and closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. From afar he could see the exhaustion on her face and the sadness in her eyes, a sight that burdened his heart. He longed so badly to go to her. He wished so much to take her in his arms and hug her, to take away her sadness and pain, to make her feel calm and safe, to cradle her in his arms until she fell asleep. He couldn't.

"It's all my fault…" the painful realization struck him again, "I should have told her. I should have stopped her. I should have protected her…" She looked in his direction, and even though the distance separating them made it impossible for a moment he was sure she was looking straight at him, that she could see through the darkness and fog and was gazing straight into his eyes. The illusion of her frail smile played on his imagination.

"I want to believe that in this vicious rotten world there are still people who care about the well being of others."

The memory of their first meeting still lingered vividly in his memory. Completely random, two strangers in a big city, and yet at that moment neither of them realized how close they were to each other. Her effortless charm, genuine smile, and the sparkle in her eye captivated him. Her brightness shattered his darkness, and although he didn't allow the thought at the time, at that moment she took possession of his heart.

For months he denied himself acknowledgment of this feeling and yet it was there, guiding his actions, with each passing day bringing him closer to her. No matter if by day or under cover of the night, he felt connected to her. Like two souls lost in the ocean of life who finally found their way to each other. A way from which he had to turn back. There was no place for love in his life. The burden of his life would destroy it. He longed for it but knew he couldn't have it.

He zoomed in on her face, watching as she raised her head towards the night sky and sighed heavily. The burden of the past day was dragging her down. The weight of everything she had experienced, everything she had seen, everything he had discovered. The memory of Crane's apartment crushed his heart as he angrily clenched his hands into fists. "I should have protected her…"

"Life is like poker you know! Sometimes a hand is dealt poorly and you have to wait it out. And sometimes you just go all in! We don't get to choose how we start in this life. Real greatness is what you do with the hand you're dealt."

The memory of her smile and the spark in her eye once again shattered the darkness that lingered over his thoughts. She didn't know it, but that day for the first time in a very long time he felt close to someone. Unknowingly, she wove with her words the silver thread that connected the two of them. Every day she drew him closer to her and he didn't try to stay away. "I should have..." Silver tears ran down her cheeks and she didn't even try to wipe them away. In her eyes he saw determination and strength to face the painful reality. So courageous. So naively idealistic. She reminded him so much of himself just a few years ago when life seemed simpler and the mission had not yet left its mark on him.

Mission. His dedication and the sacrifice he had chosen to make years ago. His whole life.

"Let's be open with each other. No secrets."

If only it was that simple. Even though the mission had become his life years ago, and all his attention and dedication was focused on fulfilling it there was a part of him that wanted it badly. Faint and repressed, barely breaking through all the regime he had imposed on himself but it was there. It surfaced sometimes when together with Damian he watched movies, when along with Tim he discussed the latest technological trends, when alongside Dick he worked on repairing equipment and modifications to the vehicles while discussing his friend's problems, every time Jason showed up at the mansion. That fleeting sense of ordinariness when, in Alfred's company, he sometimes opened a book to read to the accompaniment of classical music. Yes, in those moments he was himself, in those moments he was just Bruce. If only she knew how many moments like these he experienced in her company. If only she knew how many times he felt just Bruce when she was close to him. If only he could tell her how much he treasured those moments, how much they meant to him. If only he could tell her the truth.

She closed the window, turned off the lights, and, burying herself in the black sheets, she closed her eyes. He knew she would not be sleeping peacefully that night. He suspected that the nightmare would wake her once or twice in a cold sweat with her heart pounding in terror. His heart was aching to go there, knock on her window, take off his mask, kiss her, embrace her, and stay with her until the dawn of day. "She'll be better off without me. I won't ruin her life…" he sighed heavily suppressing the feelings inside him allowing cold logic to take over.

"I'm not a good person, Batman…"

She was wrong. She was so very wrong. It was he who was not a good person. "I condemned four lives for this fate. I will not condemn her as well."

He jumped off the roof and soared into the night.

On the other side of the city, below the rich mansion built on a hill, the night was slowly drawing to a close with each safe return. Alfred observed with a wary eye the boys' behavior, listened to their conversations, assessed situations, and drew conclusions. The most important thing for him was that they all returned uninjured, unharmed, and in relatively good spirits. No matter how many nights he stayed awake awaiting their return, no matter how many times he saw how highly trained they were, his heart always fluttered at the thought that any of them could get hurt. Too many times he had seen them on the brink of death.

The first to return were Damian and Tim. Their hung faces and focused gazes told him a lot and the conversation only added to the facts.

"I should follow him…" Tim repeated to Damian, "I should know better."

"Father should tell us everything, provide all the facts and details instead of withholding them from us!"

"Bruce is always hiding something from us."

"If we knew everything the situation would have turned out very differently. Don't make a martyr of yourself, Drake. It's beneath you."

"Alfred!" Tim turned to him putting down his equipment on the big workbench, removing his mask, and unfastening his cape, "if I could ask you for a strong coffee and some carbs. Work for tonight is not finished."

"Are you going to track him?" Damian threw in a surprised question, "I'm sure he's not going out of town. He has a reason to stay here and carry out the plans Father thwarted for him today."

"That's precisely why I need to find him before he attacks again!" he took off his gauntlets and sat down in front of the computer, "we know the registration of his car, we have his facial recognition, we know all the locations he has gone to in the past. With the help of the city's surveillance cameras and by using the triangulation of our satellites, I can still find him today and stop him before he strikes again."

"Timothy, he's only human. And the whole city already knows what he did. He'll hole up somewhere and wait out the first storm before he makes another move."

"All the more reason to find him now."

"Master Timothy, I understand that the conversation is about Doctor Crane," Alfred began calmly, "given the evening's news I take it that Master Bruce's assumptions were correct and that unfortunately, Doctor Crane managed to escape."

"He did not manage, Alfred," Tim corrected him quietly, "I let it happen."

"Master Timothy, I'm sure we'll find him in no time but I insist on a decent meal and an adequate amount of sleep. The past night was intense enough for all of you."

"I'm fine Alfred, we are all fine…" Tim wasn't listening as he activated the tracking system and entered the data into the computer.

"A few thugs with machine guns, hardly a challenge!" Damian added smugly yet Alfred could clearly see the fatigue on the boy's face.

"I insist."

"I need a few extra hours…" Tim ignored his pleas. Taking control of the city's surveillance systems and synchronizing them with the satellite he set the target, "and coffee."

Before Alfred had a chance to issue another argument the cave filled with the growling sounds of motorcycle engines. Nightwing drove in front and Batman followed closely behind. They parked and, without exchanging a word, walked through the cave to approach the same table and remove the equipment. It didn't take Alfred more than a few seconds to assess state of their minds. Bruce was furious while Richard, by contrast, seemed restless to break the uncomfortable silence.

"Jason?" Bruce asked noticing his absence.

"Master Jason has not returned to the cave," Alfred replied.

"Maybe he's still with Y/N?" Dick suggested.

"He isn't. I've been there," he cursed quietly which he didn't usually do in their presence, "call him up," he ordered to Dick.

"Maybe you should…"

"Just do it!"

"Listen, man, I get that you're pissed and all but…" Dick snapped meeting his stern gaze, "I'll call him up."

"I've set the CCTV cameras to search for Crane's car registration and for facial recognition," Tim didn't hesitate to inform him of the steps he had taken, "I've synchronized it with our satellites and set the scan field to Gotham, Bludhaven and Metropolis. We'll find him before he makes his next move."

"Well done Tim."

"I'm also uploading to the computer scans of the files I managed to find in Strange's office," he continued, "and then there's this," he handed him a folder labeled Project Manticore.

"Let's hope letting Crane go is worth it," Damian glanced at the caption, "Project Manticore…" he mused, "a hybrid, a chimera, a legendary creature being a fusion of a lion, a dragon, a bat, and a scorpion."

"Deadly and stealthy…" Tim continued.

"A weapon," Dick added walking up to them, "Jason will be here soon," he informed feeling Bruce's stern gaze on him, "first Cadmus, now this. Bruce this is getting bigger by the minute."

"What is Cadmus?" Damian asked curiously.

"Something that to Justice Leauge's knowledge should not exist," Bruce muttered flipping through the files.

"Father, I think in light of tonight's events we would all appreciate more transparency on your part," Bruce's menacing stare did not work this time. They were right, and they knew it.

"Cadmus was a secret government project designed to counter and control the expanding power and numbers of metahumans in the world," Dick began the explanation, "using highly developed technology and with the help of scientists of questionable reputation, they conducted research and experiments in order to create an army of metahumans in the service of the government."

"The practices and intentions of those involved in the project were extremely unethical, bordering on criminal activity. Some joined the project voluntarily when a well-timed persuasion was applied to others," Bruce continued, "the good and safety of humanity was just a fancy slogan they used to cover up the drive for power and the arms race in the form of superhumans. Justice League led to its closure and complete dismantling."

"Apparently not," Damian scoffed.

"Strange's attempt to extort Y/N now makes total sense and explains the complete lack of any trace of her for roughly four years," Dick began to connect the facts out loud, "no records of where she worked, no home address, no activity on social media, not even a credit card transactions! They must have been holding her somewhere! The question is how she got free. Did she escape or is she a manticore? If Cadmus has resumed their activities we must…" The words caught in his throat as the sudden realization of his own carelessness struck him. Bruce's cold gaze rested on him while his stone face masked the rage boiling beneath the surface. "Bruce listen…"

"Jason assured that none of you knew about the files," he growled through clenched teeth.

"Fine, I knew! Jason lied!" he sighed in exasperation, "you can get angry if you want!"

"I knew too…" Tim added quietly.

"We all knew. Big deal," Damian huffed.

"I clearly told you that I do not wish…"

"Okay man, stop! Just stop! Yeah, you told us and so what! That's what we're trained to do! That's what you trained us to do!"

"She jumped in front of a gun and made Jason fly with the power of her mind," Tim recalled their first meeting.

"Father, surely you weren't expecting us to stay away when you were getting increasingly involved. She's not exactly an ordinary dame."

"We only did what you should have done a long time ago! But since you decided to be a stubborn ass…." the growl of an approaching motorcycle drowned out his words, "we only did this because you refused."

"We needed to be sure that she is one of the good guys. Especially since she kept getting herself into all kinds of troubles."

"A coincidence that should have long ago aroused your suspicions, Father."

"We couldn't just let go and let you…"

"It's called privacy."

"You gotta be kidding me!" Dick couldn't hide his frustration, "she ain't just some chick that you are hanging with to keep up the appearance! Dude! I saw you two! Half of Gotham's elite saw you!"

"And we all interacted with her," Tim remained calm while trying to reach Bruce with logic, "after the incident at the Amusement Mile, she stopped being the woman who caught Bruce Wayne's attention and became the person of interest for Robins, Nightwing and Red Hood."

"Not to mention the Joker and, as it turns out, the new supervillain, Scarecrow," Dick continued, "you have no right to be angry with us."

"I have no right?" the illusive composure faded into an increasingly gravely voice, "I have no right?"

"Father…"

"You went behind my back despite my clear order. You violated my privacy. You've carried out an investigation which I did not want to do due to my personal reasons," the muscles of his shoulders twitched in tension as he approached Dick, "has it occurred to you that maybe I didn't want to know? That if I had cared to find out everything about her in advance then I would have checked it out myself?"

"Imagine that it did! That's why we didn't tell you anything about it until today!"

"Bruce, it was a right thing to do," Tim kept reasoning, "I'm sure some part of you knows that."

"First you follow her despite my direct order. You get Damian and Tim ivolved," Bruce aimed a furious stare at Dick, "and now this. And you have the nerve to tell me that I have no right to be angry?"

"So what now? Are we grounded or something?" Jason sneered joining them, "for fuck sake, man! Listen to yourself! We're all telling you that we did what you trained us to do, that we did the only right thing that could be done, that fuck, I don't know, maybe we wanted to make sure that you stubborn, all-knowing, self-righteous ass won't get hurt and that we won't get hurt in the process! That maybe we do give a fuck!"

"Master Jason…" Alfred tried to calm him down.

"Nah, I'm sorry Al but he gotta hear this!" Jason was boiling, "you always know best, huh? You're always right and your reason is always the most valid! You give orders and expect us to follow them like good little soldiers! Newsflash asshole! Some of us are fucking adults and the fact that we are here is our fucking choice!" he stood between him and Dick and pointed his fingers at his chest, "you insisted that you wouldn't do a background check on her and man, I get that, I totally do! Good for you and all! But you have no fucking right to be all pissed!" Bruce remained silent clenching his jaw in rage, "if we had listened to you your girl would have been long taken away to fuck knows where! If we had listened to you we wouldn't know shit about Cadmus! If we had listened to you we wouldn't know that Hugo fucking Strange is back in Gotham! If we listened to you we would have jack fucking squat! So why don't you pull your head out of your ass for a change and admit you made a mistake! 'Cause thank you would probably burn your throat out," he huffed heavily while Dick's hand placed on his chest held him back.

"Jason is right Bruce," anger blazed in their eyes and the last thing Tim wanted was for them to start exchanging blows, "you should tell us everything. This wasn't just your personal case. This is a case that concerns all of us and which you have made personal." He got up from the computer and walked over to them focusing Bruce's angry gaze on himself, "you taught us how to be a team and despite your best efforts we are a team."

"A team that worked extremely well despite the fact that the leader chose to keep it in the dark," Damian joined them standing next to Jason, "I'm sorry Father but you failed. Out of all of us, it shouldn't be Todd giving me the talk on how to be part of the team only you," despite the visible tension Bruce's gaze softened, "but don't worry. Even without you, we did just fine. Grayson is an outstanding leader on the battlefield."

"We've got Scarecrow on the loose, Strange and Cadmus to investigate, and whatever Project Manticore is," Tim continued calmly, "we'll all be working on it whether you want us to or not."

"Don't forget Luthor's investigation in Metropolis," Damian threw in and, upon seeing the surprise on his face, added, "Kent has super-hearing. Honestly, Father, you shouldn't be surprised."

"You heard them," Jason growled relaxing a bit, "stop bitching and start working with us instead of against us."

Bruce remained silent for a moment. Sitting down heavily in his chair, he looked at all of them closely and at each of them individually. For most of the day confronted with his mistakes, all day analyzing every wrong step he had taken in the past days and even weeks at this moment he could not help but feel pride. So different from each other and yet so similar. They had been through so much together, so much had divided them and yet they chose to stay together. As a team. As a family. Perhaps one of the few things he did right in his life was to bring them together.

"Hey, don't rush it, man! Let it sink in!" Jason snarled, "I have almost a full bottle of fine single malt in my trunk! You with me Wing?" he turned to his brother.

"Damn, and just like that you talked me into it!" Dick smirked, "let's get changed and head out."

"You're right…" Bruce finally spoke, "you're all right. I'm sorry."

"Wing, hold me I'm having a heart attack!"

"I don't know when but Y/N…" he stopped his words, "I care about her and yes, I took this matter personally. I focused on myself and let my feelings overshadow the greater picture."

"Emmm, B? You sure you're feeling alright?" Dick quipped helplessly trying to disguise the amusement appearing on his face.

"It's not just about your commitment. You made the right decision, and I thank you for that…" he rested his elbows on his knees and hung his head but the boys only came closer like curious children awaiting a good story.

"Go on! Don't stop yourself," Jason grinned, "tell us how badly you fucked up."

"Badly," he scoffed, "I fucked up badly."

"Let's guess," Dick wasn't about to give him the chance to back away, "you wanted to do things your way, at the same time trying to fight off the obvious feelings you have for her…"

"Explaining to yourself that the mission is everything and that you need to stay away…" Jason continued.

"Justifying your own behavior with the need to protect her…" Tim threw in.

"Yet simultaneously doing absolutely nothing to stop her from delving into our world," Damian pointed out.

"And thus falling deeper and deeper into the loop of your own lies, so contrary to your intentions…"Alfred remarked quietly, standing next to him and leaning against the computer.

"And now everything that happened today is your fault," Dick concluded, "from whatever you discovered in the Crane apartment to everything that happened in Arkahm."

"And of course you blame yourself for it, cos that's what you always do."

"That pretty much sums it up…" he sighed heavily, "now she is in danger because of me."

"Bullshit!" Jason sneered, "dude we all know how much you love to mope and suffer but she is not in dager because of you! She did this all by herself!"

"Besides, there are four of us against Carne!" Damian quipped with a smug, "at least until Mother finds out. Perhaps she won't kill her when she finds out that you brought a woman into the house."

"Damian!!!" all four exclaimed simultaneously.

"What! All I'm saying is nothing but known facts and an expected sequence of events! Aren't we all thinking that?"

"No one is talking about bringing her home, son. Nevertheless, that doesn't change the reality that her involvement in the Cadmus case as well as the fact that she is the most likely Scarecrow's next target makes her our priority. My priority."

"Oh here we go again!" Dick rolled his eyes, "Bruce! For the love of god!"

"She's not gonna stay away. She's hell'a stubborn just like you, man."

"She will need our help. Perhaps help of Justice Leauge," Tim reasoned, "even if you want to, which we all know you don't, you can't just stay away from her. You can't just leave a meta-human alone without oversight."

"Simply put, you are fucked!" Jason snarled, "so stop with all the bullshit excuses which lead us all to this place and fucking talk to her! If she has any sense left she'll tell you to go fuck yourself but hey, at least you could try."

"You should tell her the truth, Bruce," Dick encouraged gently, "the whole truth."

"That's gonna be a disaster," Damian scoffed.

"But we're all okay with it," Tim assured and the others nodded, "it's the right thing to do."

"Master Bruce, I'm afraid that boys are right," Alfred spoke up, "if you think about her as seriously as we think you do you should tell her the truth. And if not, you should stop deceiving the woman and meddling in her life. Socializing publicly with you does not go unnoticed."

"Boys, I appreciate but…"

"Just sleep on it!" Dick interrupted him, "let it sink in and sleep on it."

"I have to check on her."

"She's fine," Jason cut him off, "she's numbed herself with a few deep ones and I patched her up. Surely she'll have a nasty scar but she'll be fine. I installed motion sensors at the windows and doors."

"You did all that?"

"She allowed me! So you can go to sleep. No one will enter her house and if the sensors get turned on we will know."

"Thank you, Jason."

"Just doing my job."

"See!!! Teamwork!" Dick gushed grinning, "TEAM-WORK! We discovered the killer's identity, saved seven innocent victims, discovered Strange's involvement and saved an foolish idealist from serious trouble! TEAM-WORK!!!"

"You did a great job. I'm proud of you boys."

"Well fuck me…"

"Teamwork?"

"No more keeping us in the dark, Bruce."

"Your transparency will save us a lot of work, Father."

"I will do better," a frail smile affected Bruce's face, "you have my word."

"Damn, enough of these feelings! I'm starting to feel uncomfortable," Jason snapped as he grabbed his jacket to head out, "you with me Dickie-bird? I think our job is done here."

"Jason, stay for the night," Bruce stopped him, "this is your home too."

"Now you're just making things awkawrd on purpouse."

"Your bedroom is always ready for you Master Jason."

"Damn you guys… I'll stay if Dick stays."

"I won't let you finish that single malt alone little-wing," Dick smirked.

"No loud music at night, gentlemen."

"You got it, Al!"

"And no hangovers at the brekfast table!

"Yes, Alfred!"

"And no…"

"Sure thing, Al!"

***

A deep gloomy night descended over Gotham. The lights had long since faded from the surrounding buildings, leaving the city illuminated only by street lamps and the shining glow of the full moon. Gotham seemed to spread its veil of stillness and serenity but it did not reach you, it did not soothe your nerves into sleep. Interrupted sleep brought no rest. Haunting images pulled you back to lonely reality time and again, with a racing heartbeat and cold sweat. The pack of cigarettes grew emptier with each heavy sigh and each quiet curse. A faint tears running down your cheeks seemed to chase after the lonely raindrops trickling down the window panes as you got up once again to gaze at the moon. "Are you there?" you wondered, "are you watching me?" you asked.

In silence your thoughts seemed to scream louder, in the dark your fears seemed to stare at you from every corner of your home, at night you couldn't find solace. Letting slowly smoke out, you regretted that you allowed him to take that bottle of whiskey with him. "He knew what he was doing," you scoffed sourly to settle for a glass of water and return to bed. Behind closed eyes, you could see a clear picture of all your mistakes and when sleep finally came you could feel them all over again.

The white light once again blinded you hurting your eyes. The chill of the sterile surroundings brought a shiver to your skin while the sight of countless closed doors filled you with doubt.

"I see curiosity is eating you up," the man walking in front of you noted. He wasn't tall but his posture seemed to fill the room. His prying eyes glanced at you over his glasses but betrayed no emotion. His perfectly balanced words reflected a high intelligence that left you feeling small. "Soon the entire compound will become your new home and all these doors will be open to you. But first, we must clear the formalities."

He led you through a wide, empty corridor toward a small office, and once the door closed, he took a seat behind the desk and pointed to the seat opposite him.

"Professor, I was told that the facility is designed to develop and discover abilities in people…" hesitated, "that are gifted."

"Meta-humans is the proper term to describe someone like you. You'll learn everything, but first the paperwork," he reached into a drawer and pulled out a file of documents, "a few signatures, declarations and you'll be part of the program."

"I'd like to know exactly what the program is before I sign anything," you set the pen aside and flipped through the thick folder.

"I'm afraid I won't be able to reveal the details until you have signed the declaration of will," there was something unpleasant about him, something that made your skin crawl, "you must understand that the program is highly classified."

"What if I won't sign?"

"You will sign," he smiled tinctively, "after all, no one forced you to come here. Curiosity won't let you leave now."

You picked up a pen and pressed it against the first page only to stop for a moment and leave a single black dot.

"It says here that I waive the right to adjudicate my own will…" you uttered, "this is illegal. I'm sorry, but I can't sign this."

"Don't you want to discover your abilities?"

"I want to but…"

"Don't you want to find out what you can actually do?"

"Of course I want to but it doesn't feel right."

"Don't you want to know if you could save them if you only knew how?"

"I do…"

"Then sign."

You pressed the pen to the paper again but a trembling hand objected. They knew. How did they know? You were a nobody, and yet they knew. You dragged the line and gasped in shock. The black ink spread across the paper covered the entire page, spread across the desk, over the chairs, over the floor to reach the walls and cover the white underneath the implacable black. You jumped away from the table frightened, knocking over a chair that seemed to disappear silently under the black surface. It surrounded you on all sides and only the professor's face, twisted in a sinister smirk, seemed to be staring at you in a frozen expression.

"You remember…" from the darkness came a low deep voice piercing the void, "you keep coming back to the same memories," distant but close, coming from every direction and yet seeming to be right next to you.

"I know you…" you whispered into the void.

"Yes, we have met before."

"Morpheus…" you uttered silently as his name felt familiar and strange to you equally, "your name is Morpheus. And I'm not supposed to know that."

"For the convenience of this meeting, you shall know it. Just as you shall know me," the blackness parted revealing a statuesque man of skin as fair as marble and eyes as deep as depths of the endless starry abyss of the darkest night.

"It's a dream…"

"It is. Yet it is also a memory. A memory that you try to conjure in dreams but you can't."

"You can control it…"

"I can," he moved closer to you as if drifting carried by the darkness itself.

"You control all dreams and nightmares…" you uttered yet your lips did not move. The stars in his eyes glowed pale, "why do I know this?"

"Because I allowed it."

"Are you a god?"

"No."

"Who are you then?"

"The concept of my existence will not be conceivable to you at this moment," his lips moved but his voice seemed to echo out of the abyss beyond time and space, "I am no threat to you."

"Why are you here?"

"You need help Y/N Y/L/N," the breath of the universe swept coldly over your skin, "you keep coming back to the same dreams, the same memories, that you cannot escape from. You can't move past them. I find you here every night. Every night your memories create a new nightmare. This needs to stop."

"If you control the dreams why do you let it happen?"

"I am here now, am I not?" the endless black of his eyes deepened, "I have stepped into your dream once again and chose to reveal my presence to you."

"Will you stop the nightmares?"

"No."

"Then why…"

"Be quiet," he interrupted you sternly, "you must understand the exceptional nature of this moment. Decades passed since the last time I resolved to interfere with a mortal's dream. Yet my siblings ensure that your desires are pure, for most of the time at least," the marble face seemed to brighten in a barely discernible smile.

"Are there more like you?"

"Is that the question you want to ask?"

"I guess not…" the galaxies in his eyes mesmerized, "why me? Why are you helping me?"

"I get curious when a magic user emerges in the mortal world," the stars glimmered intensely.

"Say what?" your lips moved but no words came out. Yet he seemed to hear your thoughts.

"You are not a meta-human Y/N, not in the way humans understand it. You are something else. But you already know that. You have always known it. Your mind tries desperately to remember but it can't." Slowly he moved his eyes toward the professor while the stars in his eyes dimmed. "These humans. They have wronged you. They hurt your body, soul and mind. They have taken your intentions and perverted them to suit their needs. They violated your will. Your memories are full of pain and suffering."

"Will you show them to me?"

"I could send you all the memories at once if I only chose to. I will not do that. It would be pointless. Your mind would surely collapse under their weight," out of the midst of the darkness he reached out a marble slender hand towards you, "Instead, I offer to guide you through them. I can help you remember."

Although your hand trembled you reached out to grasp his. The blackness around you faded away. Golden grains of sand appeared as if out of nowhere enclosing you, dancing and swirling around you, blurring the image, lifting you above the nonexistent ground to spread into nothingness a moment later and reveal a new image, a new dream, a long-forgotten memory.

It felt as if the memories in your head blended together just like the colors of unsorted laundry carelessly thrown into the washing machine. The past far and near clashed together to create a new distorted reality. The space around you appeared white and sterile again, like the one from your horrific memories, but at the same time obscured and dimmed much like one of the rooms in Arkham. There was no blinding white light, no heavy metal doors, no machines, no cables, tubes or monitors. Only a vertical bed with wide safety straps so reminiscent of the one in Crane's lab, only a single metal frame with a narrow beam of light aimed straight at it.

"I don't remember this place…" you said silently as the darkness around you formed a shape revealing his figure, "I don't remember this."

"You do remember. After all, we are in your memories," he replied softly.

"You created this?"

"I merely took what you had hidden deep at the bottom of your consciousness and brought it to the surface," he explained, gazing not at you but into the space in front, "this memory, this dream, were particularly difficult to retrieve. They ensured that you would not remember it."

"Who did?"

As if in answer to your question, the door to the room opened letting in a sliver of light that disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. Professor Strange, assisted by two stout, strong men, stood a short distance from you and fixed his displeased eyes on you.

"I should have known there would be trouble with you," he clicked his tongue, "but the intrigue of your abilities doesn't allow me to simply write you off," he came close enough for you to smell the starch on his apron, "your insubordination, your defiance of orders, your deliberate sabotage of your training, and your stubbornness. Why do you resist when you saw for yourself the consequences of such behavior?"

He waited for the answer you should have given but couldn't. Your mind could not recall the event while your body seemed to remember all too well. Your muscles tensed as if in anticipation of the pain that was about to come. Your heart sped up as if in premature response to the distress you were about to experience. The headache attacked without warning piercing your head, cracking it, penetrating every thought and memory, shattering them into the thousands of pieces you were so desperately trying to put together.

"Big mouth and snarky words won't do you any good," he mocked, "we have ways to control the likes of you."

You looked at Morpheus horrified as two men came up to you and grabbed you painfully, one by your shoulders to lift you off the ground and the other by your ankles. You called out to him but he only watched everything with a marble emotionless face, only the stars in his eyes seemed to dim in sorrow.

"Make it stop!" you shouted to him as they pressed you to the bed, "I beg you! Make it stop!" you cried as they twisted your wrists to strap them down, as they grabbed your ankles to steady them, "Morpheus please…" you stifled as they forced a rubber guard into your mouth while fastening the last strap over your forehead.

"Insubordination we can correct, painfully," Strange smiled wryly, "how long you suffer depends only on you," he moved the metal frame closer directing it straight at you and activated the switch.

Your body shook in convulsions as the red laser entered your pupil piercing into your brain. Muscles contracted rapidly, bending your limbs at an unnatural angle. Breath caught in your lungs for a moment only to escape with a desperate panting. A cold sweat coated your skin soaking your clothes, blending with the warm trickle that ran down your leg. Red was penetrating through your wide open eyes, burning holes in your brain, distorting your consciousness. It was erasing your identity, turning everything that was yours into a blur. One by one, thoughts disappeared from your mind, feelings got erased leaving you hollow, leaving you numb. Anger, rage, frustration, will to fight, fear disappeared one by one devoured by the red. You felt nothing. You thought nothing. Only the brightly electrifying energy continued to simmer in you trying to protect the essence of your being.

The pale full moon light crept into Bruce's bedroom chasing away sleep bringing with it the chill of reflection and analysis. For few long minutes he laid with his hands under his head staring at the sky outside the window as if waiting for a signal to brighten in the sky, waiting for the needed distraction, for a way to escape his own thoughts. But the signal did not light up. "I wonder if she is asleep…"

For a moment he considered getting up and returning to the cave, to plunge into work, work out, to drown out his thoughts with the sound of punches, to turn emotions into the strain of muscles and tendons and the rush of doubts into a cool sweat on his body. Clear the mind if only for a moment. "Pointless…"

He got up from the bed, reached for his laptop, plugged in the flash drive he had taken from the cave earlier and hesitated. For so long he had resisted the information he could have at his fingertips. For so long he had fought off the temptation to learn everything he could about her. He wanted to savor every moment with her, to discover her, to learn her, to get to know her, as normal people do. He enjoyed it. For the first time in a long time, he felt truly good. She brought a smile to his face in the most effortless way. He wished he could preserve this moment. He wished for the illusion of normality to last.

"Delusion… naive desires…" he opened the file folder once again confronting himself with his mistakes. "There is nothing normal about me or her. We are far from normal. I was a fool…" reaching agreement with himself, he dragged his finger over the first folder and opened the file. Her entire life unfolded before his eyes.

School. Family. Friends. Retained in a few words and pictures found in the government institutions' records. Date and place of birth, age, height, hair color, eye color, parents' names, birthmarks. An ordinary girl from a small town, with an ordinary life, a good life. "She was born in Europe…" he paused at the information, "then moved to Bludhaven when she was only a child. She never mentioned Bludhaven. Why?" He trailed his eyes over the story of her life. "She was hospitalized, twice…" he opened the hospital records, "a broken leg and arm the first time," the image of her climbing trees entered his mind, "and neurological problems the second…" he frowned seeing the date on the file, "she was so young." Minimizing the file littered with medical details, he returned to her story. Elementary school, high school, college, first job at a far too young age. "Computer sales…" he chuckled quietly seeing her picture in a blue polo with a company logo. She looked like a sweet, innocent girl to whom nothing bad could ever happen. He opened another folder filled with photos. Mountain trips with her parents, her first bicycle, an adorable biscuit golden puppy that surely brought her a lot of joy made him smile fondly. Graduation, her first boyfriend, the academic year inauguration, concerts, parties, her first martens and leather jacket, "rebellious," he scoffed amused. Each photo depicted her happy and smiling, full of joy and passion for life which he continued to see in her eyes despite the passage of years. "What happened then?" he clicked through a few more photos, screenshots from social networks when in love she posted heartfelt lyrics, photos where she smiled joyfully in her boyfriend's embrace, posts where she uploaded clips of Linking Park and Thirty Seconds to Mars in anger. As the years passed, darkness crept into her life but she seemed to retain her smile, especially in those moments when Harleen accompanied her. "How did you get here…" his nature and curiosity took over as he closed away the years of her youth to display her adult life. Happiness seemed to vanish as she stepped into adulthood. Maturity reached her too soon. "She fell in love again…moved out from home before she turned nineteen… moved away…" he swiped through not so distant facts, "traveled the world, worked abroad, got engaged…" he frowned pausing at the photo. One look was enough for him to know everything. She loved him dearly, he loved only himself. "Why did you end up with someone like that?" he moved through the records of her life and smiled involuntarily seeing how short the engagement lasted. She returned to Bludhaven, resumed work, bought a new car and "…suddenly disappeared…" he mused over the fragmented story. "What happened?"

High walls surrounded the compound on all sides obscuring the greenery where twelve young people trained fiercely in the brightness of the morning sun. Men and women, all dressed in military style sweatpants and gray T-shirts, divided in pairs punched, kicked, flipped and knocked each other to the ground.

"In combat, you cannot rely only on your supernatural abilities!" a tall, muscular man with thick but snow-white hair roamed the field peering at them with a sharp eye, "your abilities are your weakness! Your abilities are your disadvantage! The first thing your opponent will use against you!"

The blows fell one after another, brutal, painful, aimed deliberately and precisely, drawing blood and marking bruises, twisting joints and straining muscles. But they kept fighting. Someone grabbed his partner's arm hard, bent it in an unnatural direction breaking the bone with a snap. A cry echoed through the walls.

"Hesitation means death! Death is a mercy given to the weak and useless! You are meant to be strong! Better! We don't train you to fight! We train you to kill!"

You watched everything as a movie projected in front of your eyes. Faces contorted from pain, blood stained shirts, sore bodies and despair in the eyes of those who were praying for death.

"Attack to inflict pain!"

The bones in your body creaked opening long-forgotten injuries, wept in forgotten pain.

"Block to maintain the advantage!"

The pain pierced your muscles like a memory hidden beneath the surface of your skin.

"Strike to kill!"

A shudder ran through your body, convulsions twisted your insides as if trying to fight off the poison that seemed to consume you entirely.

"He trained us…" you whispered, "he was merciless."

The sun illuminating the greenery beneath your feet dimmed as the shadow surrounded you with a warm, soft veil.

"They wanted to make us into weapons…"

"I know," Morpheus spoke softly in an eerily human voice, "I was there. In every dream and every nightmare you have dreamt while being here."

"They promised help and guidance but instead tried to use us, weponized us against those they deemed a threat…"

"The pages of human history have been marked by many like them."

Someone broke under pressure allowing his emotions to take control of his body. Applying superhuman strength, he struck his opponent breaking his neck in the snap.

"No powers!"

"Apologies, sir," the man leaned his head as he put his hands behind the back to stand at attention, "it took over me."

"I have no interest in your apology," with a heavy slow step he approached the terrified man, "you are a soldier. Soldiers follow orders. If you are incapable of following orders you will be useless in the field." In one swift motion, he drew a narrow long sword from behind his back. The steel flashed in the sunlight. Blood gushed widely staining the green beneath their feet. The man fell inertly to the ground.

"No one touches him! Back to training!"

The blackness swirled around you while the golden particles danced as if carried by a nonexistent wind.

"Are you ready to move on?" Morpheus asked while watching your furious gaze.

"Yes, please."

"She disappeared…just like that she disappeared…" Bruce leaned back in his chair and stared at the computer screen. "No one disappears overnight." He opened the files again and carefully traced the events of her adult years convinced that he had missed a detail. He had not. The few clicks and fractions of a second required to run his computer's systems were enough to fill his mind with countless questions. "Jason left something out…" He typed her name into the system, combined it with facial recognition, and personal information to momentarily display endless information about her. All aligned with the ones on the flash drive, all merely confirming and duplicating facts he already knew. "Something is missing…"

A part of him didn't want to dig deeper, but it was too late to back out. It was in his nature to investigate, to find the truth, to look for the smallest, least significant details, to see things that others could not see, to piece together the tiniest facts into a previously unknown truth. He could not back down now.

With a few clicks he changed the scope of the search, typing in the names and details of her parents only to freeze in stillness once the computer displayed the results. His heart ached with pain but his mind understood.

The gold dust settled, the blackness thinned to reveal an environment so familiar to you, one that you so desperately didn't want to remember. The brown wallpaper on the walls you had long planned to replace, the brown rug under your feet that should have been vacuumed days ago, the warmth of the yellow ceiling light that could not hide the surrounding decay. You were home. A purple cashmere sweater hung on a hanger just as it always did. Funny pink slippers were placed at the entrance in the same place they always did. A pleasant scent of apples and cinnamon lingered in the air, barely covering the foul odor of sweat, sourness, and death that wafted through.

"I don't want to be here…" you whispered in a trembling voice as tears came to your eyes, "please…" you looked into his endless eyes but his sombre face remained unmoved, "please take me away from here."

"I will not do that," he replied in a stern but warm voice, "this is where it all started. This is where you need to be."

"I can't, I don't want to…" tears slipped down your face, "don't make me."

"I would not force you even if my power allows it," compassion reached from the depths of the universe, "there is nothing wrong with being afraid. There is nothing more human than to be afraid. You tried to control your fear, you tried to get rid of it. You have allowed him to exploit that," he extended an open hand to you, "the time has come for you to face your fear."

You took his hand and allowed yourself to be led down a narrow hallway toward a darkened bedroom. You wanted to close your eyes and not see death standing by the side of the bed. You wanted to close your heart and not feel the pain tearing your soul into a million pieces meant never to become whole again. You wanted to close your ears and not hear the weak voice you would never hear again. You wanted to run away but his cold, steady hand kept you close.

"Y/N?" your legs buckled under you at the sound of the forlorn voice. Your throat tightened painfully straining breath in your lungs, forcing tears into your eyes but you only exhaled deeply and forced a smile.

"Hey, Mom," you let go of his hand and walked over to the bed, "how are you feeling? Have you slept at all?"

"I'm better," she lied. Eyes veiled with fog, a tired face, and a limp body disappearing into the folds of the sheets betrayed more than you wished.

"Mom…" placing a hand to her forehead, you brushed away her sweat-damp hair. She was cold. So very cold, "I'll make you some tea. And I'll open the window for a moment, it's terribly stuffy in here."

"How was work?" she asked, continuing the game of pretend.

"As always, all good," you pushed aside a bowl filled with black and yellow liquid, "did you eat anything?"

"I can't stomach the food…"

"Mom you have to eat. You take morphine, you can't take it on an empty stomach."

"I can't eat…" she said weakly, " I vomit everything I eat."

You took her cold hand feeling as painful realization tried to extinguish hope. Hope that everything will be fine, hope that the next operation will fix everything, that you will travel over the sea next summer.

"Don't worry my star," she smiled faintly, "this will pass."

"I know Mom," you sighed heavily forcing a smile, "they just have to cut out that fucking tumor. I'm sure it's pressing on your stomach and that's why you can't eat. They'll cut it out and everything will be fine."

"Exactly," she wanted so badly to believe it, and yet something seemed to hide behind her eyes, "I need you to pack my bag and call an ambulance," she had never asked before.

"Something's wrong?" your heart leaped to your throat.

"I feel that I shouldn't have been discharged from the hospital. At least at the hospital, they would give me an IV."

"You're right. At least your body will strengthen before the operation. Wednesday isn't far away," you helped her up and held her steady making sure she would not lose her balance, "we need to change your pajamas."

"I don't think I'll be able to stand up," once strong and full of life she now seemed frail and weak, "call an ambulance. Get my papers ready. You can drop my bag off later."

"Got it!"

Even though it was only a memory you played your part just as intently as you did on that day, feeling everything just as strongly as before. Panic when she couldn't stand on her feet, worry when logic took over from false hope, determination when you gathered her things and helped her get dressed, composure when the paramedics helped her sit in the wheelchair and carry her out of the house for the last time.

"You'll see, they'll patch you up and you'll be dancing again," you smiled as you hugged her one last time.

"Drive home carefully," she uttered her last words of concern letting go of your hand and disappearing inside the ambulance.

You stood in the middle of the street for a moment watching the ambulance drive away. At the time, you still believed your words. At that moment, you rejected the possibility that it might end differently. Full of belief and hope, unaware of the nightmare that was about to come just two days later.

"I never saw her again…" you wanted to cry but couldn't. Locking your emotions deep inside you, you chose numbness. "She didn't get to live to have surgery. Two days later, at five-thirty in the morning, she died."

"People despair when Death comes for them, comes for their loved ones," Morpheus spoke softly, "They fear the Sunless Lands. They deny Death. I have always found it strange. It is as natural to die as it is to be born and yet some seem never to accept this fact."

"Death leaves scars that never heal," you countered, "it leaves a void that we desperately try to fill. We wonder if we could have done something more if we could have prevented it somehow."

"There was nothing you could have done."

"You're wrong," you glared at him angrily, "if only I had known how! If at that moment, I had known, understood my abilities! Maybe I could have saved her! Maybe I could have healed her! Maybe she would still be here!"

"It was her time."

"Fuck that! She was too young! She was supposed to be with me until old age! She was supposed to be with me when I would get married! When I would have children!" anger burned in you igniting your blood, "she should have been here!! But I was afraid! I was afraid of my abilities! I was afraid of the fact that I was different! I didn't understand! I tried to suppress it inside me! If only I wasn't afraid! Maybe she would still be here!!!"

"Your mother got what everyone gets. A lifetime."

A quiet knock at the door pulled Bruce out of his deep thought. For a moment he wondered if he had misheard. The night was deep, everyone in the house should already be asleep or at least pretending. But the knocking repeated itself. He didn't want to answer it. He regretted staying home instead of leaving for the city. He needed this moment to himself, he needed to think, he needed to be alone with his emotions and nothing was more conducive to thinking than the lights of Gotham scattered in the darkness of night like millions of stars in a black sky.

"I know you're awake," Dick's quiet voice came from behind the door, "I saw the lights on in your windows. May I come in?"

"You may," he replied reluctantly, convinced that even if he hadn't answered and given permission he would have barged into his bedroom anyway. Dick had no hesitation to invade his personal space. He didn't even manage to turn off the laptop screen and he was already closing the door behind him. Dressed in loose sweatpants and an old Gotham University t-shirt, he minced barefoot across the soft carpet and, if it weren't for his height, imposing build and two whiskey glasses in his right hand, he would have looked just like the kid whose years ago crept into his bedroom when he couldn't sleep.

"I thought you might need this," he smirked innocently placing the glass in front of him.

"You know I don't drink."

"A glass of good single malt to calm the mind never hurt anyone," he glanced involuntarily at the computer screen, "you read it."

"I did," Bruce pushed the glass aside and locked the screen before adding in a serious tone, "your investigation was incomplete."

"Oh, it was complete, trust me. We simply decided not to include certain details," Dick replied observing him closely, "you wanna talk?"

"No."

"You sure? Cos you kinda look like you do," he smirked.

"How's Jason?" a quick change of subject seemed at this point to be at best a failed attempt to slip out of an uncomfortable situation.

"He's asleep. Drinking more than half a bottle by yourself after an intense night of ass kicking and car chasing will do that to you."

"You got him drunk pretending that you're drinking," Bruce glanced at him with amusement in his eyes.

"Indeed I did!" he grinned, "he needed this more than I did. And pretending to drink after years of observing how you do it was way to easy."

"I'm glad he stayed the night."

"I'm glad you asked him to."

"He should move back in."

"You should ask him."

"I should."

"Maybe that's not the only thing you should do, If you know what I mean." Silence fell as their eyes met again. Bruce was struggling, Dick could see that clearly. Unused to talking about feelings, he needed it so much and at the same time shied away from it so much. Without a word, he grabbed a glass and, crossing the lavish bedroom, sat down in one of the large, comfortable armchairs, waiting for Dick to join him.

"Maybe I should…" he sighed as Dick sat down on the bed opposite him, crossed his legs and took a small sip from his glass. Despite having a quarter century behind him, he still looked uncomfortable drinking alcohol in his company.

"Take your time, we still have a few hours before dawn," he smirked.

Turning the amber liquid in his glass, Bruce merely stared at the moon outside the window silently informing him that he would rather be in the city right now, would rather chase villains through the dirty streets of Gotham, would rather glide between buildings, sit on the roof and listen for trouble than have to confront his own feelings.

"It won't light up, you are stuck with me," he quipped forcing his attention back to him.

"Am I that obvious?"

"To me, yeah you kinda are."

"I don't know what to do…" Bruce finally said fixing his gaze on him, "for the first time in a very long time I truly don't know what to do," he sighed heavily while warming the golden liquid in his hand then hesitantly took a tiny sip closing his eyes, "I fucking don't know what to do."

"You care about her."

"I do."

"And you are so in love with her."

"Love is just a brain chemistry. A mixture of norepinephrine, dopamine and…"

"Bruce, seriously? I swear if I keep rolling my eyes like this I'll totally get to see the back of my skull!" he snarled then added gently, "come on. Let's be real for a moment. I've seen you two together. Even you can't hide your feelings that well."

"My feelings for her don't matter," he sighed while his tired eyes grew dark, "and I know what you're going to say. I've heard you before. But what happened today is my fault. I should have stayed away from her but I didn't. I should have warned her, protected her, but I didn't. And it is because of me that she got hurt."

"A few scuffs and bruises, she'll be fine…" he paused seeing the expression of pain on his face, "Bruce, what happened earlier? What did you find in Crane's apartment?"

A moment of silence preceded the answer. A moment of long silence that screamed a thousand unspoken words and concealed emotions. A silence that Bruce needed and Dick was willing to give him. A silence of quiet understanding. A moment of support.

"He hurt her," Bruce finally said, as he set his glass down on the coffee table to stand up and walk to the window, "He violated her. Perhaps at first with her consent, her willingness, it had to be..." he trailed off recalling the scene, "but the fact is that in his apartment's air, I discovered chemicals sufficient to rid her of boundaries and alter her behavior." The recurring images caused him pain but he needed this moment of honesty. Dick was the only one he could talk to about it, the only one he could really open up to, the only one who really understood him. "I think they got close before Crane discovered the transmitter I gave her, before he became violent. I found a dent in the wall and traces of blood on the floor…"

"Bruce, you can't put this on yourself. I know it's personal but still, she made her own choices."

"I knew something was wrong about him. I suspected him for a long time. I knew they were close. She told me that," anger tinged his voice, "I should have prevented her from being alone with him. Instead, I drove them both to his house! To the house where he tormented people! To the house where he hurt her! I drove them and left them there!" he looked at Dick with anger burning in his eyes, "you want to know why?" Dick remained silent, "because I chose to do so. Because I deemed that her friendship with him was my best chance to find out the truth. To expose him! Because I chose to use her relationship with him to solve this case."

"I understand that you blame yourself, but…"

"I don't blame myself. I despise myself. I will never forgive myself for this."

"It wasn't you who put her in danger!"

"But I didn't do anything to stop her."

"Your presence in her life changes nothing. The situation with Crane would have turned out exactly the same if you hadn't been there. Probably much sooner. And it would have ended much worse."

"That doesn't justify the decisions I made."

"Bruce, you're only human. We all make mistakes."

"I made a cold calculation, I made a decision that led to her harm. This is not a mistake. These are consequences."

"And now what, you're going to distance yourself from her or push her away like you usually do?"

He remained silent.

"The situation is different. You can't ignore the fact that she's meta."

"She's not," Bruce denied immediately.

"She's not?

"I verified that theory when we were in Metropolis. Or rather, Clark verified it. Her abilities are most likely magical."

"Damnn!" Dick gasped, "well that's an even bigger problem. With metas we have some experience but we have never trained magic users."

"And we won't."

"You're right. We are definitely not equipped for that. Good thing we know at least three, maybe four people who are more qualified for the task than we are. Zatanna would be the best here, although Constantine has an advantage over her due to his wide range of abilities, but I know there's no way in hell you'd ask him for help. Doctor Fate is definitely the most powerful but he doesn't seem like a people person to me."

"We won't train her, period. Neither we nor anyone else.

"You can't be serious, Bruce!"

"I am."

"No, you're not! You're just a stubborn dumbass who can't deal with his own feelings!"

"Why does she keep getting into trouble…" he sighed as if to himself, "why can't she just let it go?"

The gold particles swirled and fell around you for the last time revealing a void in nowhere, a vast and infinite blackness in which the sky and the ground seemed to melt into one. You couldn't feel the ground under your feet, yet you stood firm. You didn't feel the wind blowing, yet your hair waved around your face. You couldn't see the sky above your head, yet the stars seemed to spread against it, shining as brightly as the ones in his eyes when he appeared right in front of you and gazed into your soul.

"Now you know everything. Now you know the truth," he spoke in a deep, low voice.

"I don't know whether I should be happy or sit down and cry…"

"This is what you wanted, is it not? This is what you desired."

"And now that I have it I don't know what to do."

"What you do depends only on you. Your feelings are yours, as are your memories and experiences that have been taken from you and now are yours again. Your decisions, whichever you make, will also be yours. So will their consequences."

"If that was supposed to comfort me then it failed," you scoffed.

"I am not here to comfort you Y/N. That is neither my function nor my role," the black of his eyes deepened, "still, you should find comfort in the fact that there are people in the Waking World who care about you. You are not alone as you seem to think."

"You know who he is don't you?" you asked certain that there was no need to say his name.

"I know."

"You've seen his dreams."

"He doesn't dream like ordinary people dream every night. His mind is highly trained to avoid distractions as he sees dreams. But, yes. I have seen his dreams, rare as they are."

"Who is he?" the question snapped out.

"That is not my truth to tell," a shadow of a smirk ran over his marble face, "trust yourself. Trust your instincts as you have trusted them so far, especially now. Now that your consciousness is free from corrupting influences."

"Trust yourself…" you repeated under your breath, "how can I trust myself when I have no idea what to do!"

"You do know. You simply have not understood it just yet," the depth of the universe seemed to see into the future, "when you wake up, you will know."

"Will I remember you this time?"

"I don't think you will."

"Why not?"

"Because your future must be in your hands. Yet I can assure you, we will see each other again." With a wave of his hand, the dream faded away and disappeared.

You opened your eyes abruptly, welcoming the full moon's cool glow peeking through your bedroom window once again. You knew what to do.

Dick walked over to Bruce to hand him the glass of amber liquid again, which he accepted gratefully. Lost in his thoughts, he took a small sip and gazed back at the full moon in the cloudless sky.

"You thought about telling her the truth," he stated with certainty.

"It crossed my mind."

"Why don't you do it then? Think how differently today might have turned out if only she knew the truth!"

"I won't bring her into this life."

"Knowing the truth, she would know the risks and how to react in a threatening situation! She would know what to do! Hell, even without it, she acted instinctively. The transmitter hidden in her arm was a bit insane but an impressive solution you gotta admit that!"

"There is nothing impressive about putting yourself in danger for the sake of satisfying some senseless need to do the right thing," he growled angrily.

"That didn't just come out of your mouth," Dick scoffed.

"It's different and you know it."

"How is that any different!"

"I was an angry kid balancing on the verge of a mental breakdown who desperately needed to find a purpose in life! You were the broken kid whose world came crashing down and who needed care and guidance to not end up like me! Jason, Tim, Damian…"

"You are failing to make a point."

"We were all angry kids who needed to turn their grief and anger into something meaningful."

"And she is an angry adult who has had her will and identity taken away and who needs to turn her pain and trauma into something meaningful…" Dick interrupted him harshly before adding gently, "age doesn't matter here."

"I won't do that. I won't do that to her…" turning his gaze away from Dick he gazed wearily at the sky, "she deserves better."

"Bruce, for someone of your level of intelligence you are behaving like a complete idiot!" it was high time to abandon gentleness and strike directly, "she doesn't need your say so, she doesn't need your guidance to find the way to achieve her goals. The fact that she joined Cadmus is the best proof of that!"

"We don't know that."

"Bruce!"

"Fine. We know that."

"She'll find out the truth sooner or later, and it would be better if she learned it from you."

"Perhaps she won't," he so adamantly refused to accept the facts, "maybe today's situation will make her turn back from this path. She will choose a normal life."

"You really believe that?"

"That would be better for her."

"Sorry but that decision isn't yours," frustration slowly rose in Dick, "just as it wasn't your decision that I created the mantle of Robin, just as it wasn't your decision that Jason would adopt it, it wasn't your decision that Tim found us. Those decisions were ours, not yours!"

"I should never have allowed that to happen."

"You should have understood long ago what kind of impact we have on people, what kind of impact you have on people. How you inspire those around you."

"I have condemned your lives."

"You gave us purpose, strength, inspiration, the will to fight! You gave us hope…" Dick grabbed him by the arm and looked at him like a son looks at his father, "it seems you are thinking that you have failed us, but you are wrong. Each of us would be lost without you. We are here because of you. I am here because of you. My life crashed and fell apart before my eyes, but you gave me a new one. You gave me a purpose, a home, a family."

"Dick I…" his voice broke.

"Bruce…each of us had our own reason for getting into this life. And yes, we were kids but you seem to forget how many of our friends started out as adults. Ollie, Dinah, John, Barry even Uncle Clark. They were all adults when they decided to take on their secret identities. It seems to me that she is on a straight path to the same thing. The question is whether you will be there to help her and guide her as you have guided many before her. Not just us."

"She's already asked me that…" he sighed.

"She did?"

"Last night, just before shootout in Bristol," he explained, "just like today she dropped that she wants to come with me. She said she wants to help. That she could do more. That I could teach her how."

"What are you wating for then? You found a woman who wants to be part of your life. Your whole life."

"It's not that simple…"

"It is very simple Bruce. You are just making this so fucking complicated with your misguided sense of morality. She's a good woman, honest and kind with a clear desire to do good. She's obviously into you and she is obviously drawn to Batman. What's so difficult about that?" he blocked the window forcing Bruce to look at him. "Some perverted idea in your head, a flawed perception of love makes you think that you can't be happy. That Batman can't be happy. That the mission precludes that possibility. But Bruce, you're not thirty anymore. You have surrounded yourself with family and friends who day by day are proving to you that it is possible. So if they can be happy why can't you?"

"I guess…" he hesitated, "I guess I am scared," he finished quietly. "I guess I am simply scared."

"Hey, remember what you used to say to us when Jason was a kid?" a bright smile spread over Dick's face. "It's okay to be scared. Everyone gets scared. Take it as an opportunity to fight that fear. As a chance to be brave."

A single tear glistened in Bruce's eyes as the pain on his face faded away overtaken by Dick's kindness. Perhaps he had not failed after all. Perhaps there was still a hope for him to have it all. He reached out and pulled Dick in a strong hug.

"Thank you my son. I needed this."

***

~~TBC~~

~~***~~ Author note: Phew! It's good to have this one finished, way too much angst am I right? But it was needed. A lot happened prior to that. We needed that moment of feels and emotions and struggles and all the angst in the world. I was hoping that I would get to the point in this chapter but as you see that did not happen. And I'm glad cos it would be twice as long. And I'll admit, it was really hard to write and even harder to edit. After eight years of working half-night shifts I switched my role at my company and suddenly I'm working regular nine to five. Let me tell you, my body is in shock and my sleep pattern is all over the place! But I am very happy with the change! Just gotta align my writing with my new reality, no more writing in the night. I'm starting to write the next chapter right away cos I know exactly what will happen. For now, I thank you for reading my Dear Reader and till the next time.

~~***~~ Tag list: @mrsgrahamsdesign @theclassicvinyldragon @blondwhowrites @batgirlspain @hangmanscoming @julesjewelss36 @cherryflavoredcoke @grandstrangerphantom @maripositanoctruna @pluckastarfromthesky @butterfly-lies-chase-them-away @pirate-with-internet-connection @ooldcardigan @amandarobertsboyce

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elena-mayfair · 7 months

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Things I cannot have

Batman Day Special

Paring: Batman/Bruce Wayne x f!reader Genre: Thriller, mystery, with elements of slow-burn romance Warnings: somber fluff Summary: In a blissful solitude, away from the noise and distress, away from the struggle and suffering, free from cares and responsibilities, visible to no one. He was happy and he didn't want to hide it. Word count: 1.7K Note: The title picture is from Batman: War on Crime written by Paul Dini and illustrated by Alex Ross

Series masterlist

***

The darkness of night loomed around him, hiding everything in sight under its veil. On the moonless sky only single stars shone and the light of Gotham's quiet streets could not reach the high roof on which he stopped to enjoy the silence of the city immersed in deep sleep. A fleeting moment of rest, a moment of stillness just before dawn, as the night seemed to slowly give way to morning but still did not yield to its light. A passing minute of absolute silence when the hum of the city faded into hush just before the first ray of sun. His moment of solace. A time of meditation. A precious few fleeting minutes when the city was safe and the responsibilities of the day had not yet caught up with him. A time of peace and silence. A time of solitude. A time of deep breathing as he relaxed all his muscles, and freed all his thoughts disappearing into the darkness around him. He became a shadow.

Standing on the roof of the city's tallest building, he closed his eyes as he listened to the Gotham whispers carried on the wind. He listened to the sound of lonely raindrops falling down on his armor. He listened to the peaceful beating of Gotham's heart. He felt at peace. He breathed deeply feeling his nerves relaxing. He quieted his exhausted mind, slowed his heartbeat letting the cares and worries be taken away by the night. He became silence.

In a blissful solitude, away from the noise and distress, away from the struggle and suffering, free from cares and responsibilities, visible to no one. He became the night.

Yet he was not alone.

A gentle woman's hand slipped into his. Once he was alone here. Once he savored the fleeting silence in complete solitude. Now he listened to the sound of her cloak blowing in the wind right next to his, relished in her warmth close to him, eased into her quiet sigh as she rested her head against his chest and cuddled into him. He enveloped her in his arms and hugged her tightly.

"So quiet…" she whispered as if afraid to disturb his silence. He only nodded with a quiet murmur closing his eyes again feeling her arm wrap around him. It was peaceful. Once he would never have thought he could find peace in life.

She didn't say anything. Her quiet breathing gave rhythm to his heart, seeming to meld with the distant Gotham's hum. Her closeness brought solace, filled his stiff body with warmth, and his cold heart with a love he had not known before.

"Penny for your thoughts…"

There was so much he wanted to say to her. So many thoughts to turn into words, so many feelings to turn into actions, he couldn't. In all the languages he knew there were no words that could express how he felt about her. He opened his eyes and looked at her. She was looking back. Her shining eyes hidden under the mask gazed at him with love and understanding. They expressed so much. He reached out to gently slide off her head the black hood that hid her smiling face freeing her unruly hair to dance in the wind.

"You are my light…" he whispered and kissed her deeply, "a star in the endless night sky."

"Bruce…" she whispered.

"I am fluent in over twenty languages and in none of them can I find the words to express how much I love you," he embraced her as he swept her off her feet to draw her close and lost himself in her lips, to pour all his love into a kiss. She wrapped her hand around his neck while the other she brought to his cheek, giving herself over to the embrace completely, with each kiss devoting her love to him, with each breath giving him new strength. He loved her. She was his light. He held her close, he held in his arms his entire world. He longed for the moment to last.

"We should head for home…" she whispered against his lips.

"Let's stay a little longer…" he smiled gazing deeply into her eyes.

"Boys are probably up by now. We have to get Damian to school," placing one last gentle kiss she found the ground beneath her feet again, "I'll drive him. You have a board meeting, remember?"

"I remember. I moved it to early afternoon."

"You remember we're going to Jon's game at five? You promised Damian. Besides, I don't want to have to explain us to Lois again."

"We'll make it. We'll take the jet," he smirked.

"Show off," she smirked back.

"Let's go home. Shower, I'll finish the report, you take Damian to school and if nothing happens we'll catch a few hours of sleep."

"At seven-thirty, I want to see you in bed."

"Only if you will be there," he kissed her again, "ready?"

"Always."

He observed her while fear crept into his heart when, without waiting for him, she jumped lightly off the roof to soar into the night. Her cape flew in the darkness disappearing quickly in the distance. He followed after her. The cold wind reawakened his senses as he glided between the buildings, as he watched her launch her grappling hook time and again toward the rooftops to rise above the streets. She didn't have to. She could fly and yet she chose to rise and fall like him. He gained speed and reduced the distance between them. In the darkness of the night, the silver raven wings on her chest glimmered. She chose to wear the symbol of the bird, just like them. She looked at him and from under the cover of her hood he was able to see her radiant smile. He smiled back at her, only she and the silent Gotham were able to see the sincere smile on his face. He was happy and he didn't want to hide it. Not from her. Not from his light.

"I used to wonder what it would be like to have it all. Family. Home. Nothing to hide…"

He watched as a barely discernible blur of pale blue mist spread around her granting lightness to her movements. How it lifted her higher than a line could, how it sent her farther than momentum could, how it made her disappear into the darkness of night. She soared and fell above the city streets, each time moving farther and farther away from him.

"Stay…"

He tried to keep up with her but her power carried her away from his sight. He rose and fell and with each passing moment, the darkness around him seemed to thicken. An implacable blackness in which there was no light, in which fear seemed to pour into his mind and heart stifling his happiness, taking away the warmth she gave him, filling him with cold reason.

"Where are you?"

She disappeared. He stopped on one of the rooftops and looked around cautiously. She was gone. He called her on the intercom but only silence answered him.

"Please no…"

Fear took over him completely. Cold, paralyzing dread. He brought up her signal on the Gotham map displayed on his gauntlet. She was close but he couldn't see her. She was nearby but he couldn't hear her. He was alone in the darkness.

"Where are you?"

A gunshot echoed from afar as his heart froze. He jumped down from the building to follow it. In the narrow alley, he could distinctly smell gunpowder. In the dim light of the street lamp, he could clearly see the bullet shells scattered on the ground. He called out her name but she did not answer. Fear quickened his steps, accelerated his heartbeat as he turned into a back alley hidden away from the light.

"Y/N?"

She was there. Low against the ground. Hunched over. Almost invisible in the gloom. His heart seemed to tear out of his chest as he rushed towards her with a heavy step to grab her by the arm and turn her to face him.

"He tried to rob some girl," she glanced at him while holding the unconscious man to the ground with her knee and tying his hands together, "she ran away."

He merely grabbed her, gently lifted her to her feet, and pulled her close. In his arms she was safe, his light had not faded.

"Don't ever do that again…"

"Do what? My job?"

"Don't leave…"

"My heart, I'm not going anywhere."

Bruce opened his heavy eyes trying to catch a grasp on reality again. The dreamy images seemed to still linger clearly as he disorientedly struggled to pull himself back to reality.

"Master Bruce?" Alfred's hand shook him gently, "Master Bruce are you alright?"

"Alfred…" his heart pounded in his chest, "yes, I must have drifted off," he muttered sitting up straight in his chair and focusing his eyes on the computer screen.

"You were dreaming, sir. This is quite unlike you."

"Indeed it is," he rubbed his tired eyes trying to chase away the dream, "could I trouble you for a cup of strong coffee?"

"Right away, sir."

"Thank you, Alfred."

"Master Bruce?"

"Yes, Alfred?"

"What were you dreaming of if I may ask?"

"It does not matter…" he sighed heavily.

"If you say so, sir."

The images lingered. Still clear in his mind, still filling him with warmth as they seemed clearer than the reality around him. Hopeful, they brought a faint smile to his face.

"I was dreaming about things I cannot have."

***

~~***~~ Author note: Happy Batman Day my dear readers!

#batman #batman day #batman x reader #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne #bruce wayne imagine #batman x y/n #batman imagine #batman fanfiction #batfamily #batman x you #bruce wayne x fem!reader #batman x fem!reader #dc comics #bruce wayne fanfiction

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elena-mayfair · 8 months

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Questionable choices

Paring: Batman/Bruce Wayne x f!reader, Scarecrow/Jonathan Crane x f!reader Genre: Thriller, mystery, with elements of slow-burn romance Warnings: rating T+/M, disturbing images, strong language, violence, depictions of mental illness, depictions of mental and physical abuse Summary: Staring at the red dot pulsating against the background of a map of Gotham displayed on one of the huge screens, he couldn't chase away doubts and that growing, persistent feeling that this time his assessment of the situation had failed him. The icon had been pulsing in one place for six hours, pointing to the location of a house in the Upper West Side of Gotham, and with each successive pulse his conviction grew that although he thought otherwise, he didn't have all the information. He made a horrible mistake. Word count: 17.8K Note: Some gifs are not mine, credit to the authors. Series masterlist

Questionable choices. Consequences of the events and experiences that guided your actions. Based on conflicting emotions and doubtful instincts. Reckless and rushed. Driven by impulses and this uncontrollable desire to find only a trace of logic in this crazy world that seemed to surround you. The desire to find a path and a purpose. To find answers. The compulsive need to maintain control and the simultaneous yearning to lose it completely. Too many questionable choices you have made in far too short of a time. Too many times you have allowed yourself to be driven by your emotions with no thought of the consequences. Too often you let anger, fear and desires cloud your logical thinking. You balanced on the thin line between lies and truth, between what was virtuous and what was vile. Consumed by emotions, you bent your own moral principles, crossing the boundaries of what not long ago would have seemed unacceptable to you. To justify your behavior, to justify your lies, you found ever new explanations. In the process, you pushed the boundaries of what you considered acceptable and morally justified, hiding behind the concerns for others. No one else could lie to you as well as you could. So you lied. You had to.

Staring at the nightfall looming outside the window, you couldn't chase away the fear and that growing persistent feeling that this time you had made a terrible mistake. Jonathan's hand wandered over your naked body, and with each touch, a feeling grew within you, a feeling that warned you that soon you were about to see how far from normal you had strayed. You observed in silence the moon that was rising in the sky, your body barely moving under your calm breath. The shapes on the walls flickered in a macabre phantom dance, the lights seemed to cut through the darkness like a scalpel, scattering the night, chasing away the bat-shaped clouds against the blackening sky. You could only watch. There was no fear, no dread only a deeply hidden determination that seemed to form from in the darkest corners of your mind. You could feel and see everything and nothing at the same time. His warm breath on your sweat-slick skin, his greedy kisses that seemed to sip sweet adrenaline from your body, his restless desire pressing against you as he clutched you in his arms, his wandering touch relishing in your perdition. All so vivid and yet disappearing in the darkness growing thicker within you. You allowed him. Closing your eyes to the glaring lights, ignoring nightmarish shapes dancing on the walls, closing your ears to his whispers, you drowned in the sweet, safe, endless darkness. The sensations intensified, overwhelming you with their weight, yet you did not feel them. The darkness surrounded you, cradled you in its arms, protected you from the horrific reality. In the darkness you were safe. It was undoing and escape. The shadow gave strength and determination. In the darkness resided anger. The dark shadow had a shape. It reached out to you invitingly, and even though your body felt crushed by the weight of reality, you moved toward it. Bright flashes of sensation fought against him, the shapes stopped their eerie dance to watch and taunt you with curious prying eyes, their mocking laughter shattered your silence, the light struck once again seeking to dispel your darkness, to chase away your shadow, but it did not vanish. He waited.

His smoky voice came as if from afar drawing you back to reality. But you did not listen. Facing your shadow, you took his extended hand and let the darkness envelop you in a cloak of the night. Hidden in his arms, safe, calm, you tried to ignore the touch on your face, the whispers in your ear. The shadow embraced you tighter, concealing you whole, cradling you to his chest, with a non-existent touch brushing away the tears that began to flow down your cheeks, soothing your anger. The blaze of sensation once again illuminated the dark but you only closed your eyes, seeking to disappear into his arms. The shadow was safety. The shadow was strength. The shadow was watching.

"Don't let go," he whispered.

"I won't," you whispered back.

You opened your eyes. Gone were the dancing creatures on the wall. Gone were the flashes of light and deafening sounds. Only the pale moon in the blackening sky remained and against it, the shadow of a cloud took the shape of a bat.

"You drifted away," Jonathan whispered nuzzling his face into your neck, "where have you been?"

"In the darkness," still staring at the cloud against the silver moon you whispered. Jonathan only laughed deeply.

"And how did that make you feel?" he asked teasingly.

"Strong…" you and climbed over him to demand, "show me more!"

"Greedy…"

"So far you haven't shown me anything, well almost anything, that I haven't experienced before," you sassed, "I want it all."

"Why the rush, we have time…" he placed his hands on your back trying to pull you closer. You didn't let him.

"Not a rush, curiosity," you rested your straightened hand against his chest preventing him from moving, "now that I've experienced, truly experienced your wonderful concoctions, I want more! You promised to show me your world!"

"Oh dear, you haven't experienced anything yet," he smirked, "it was just a taste, a sample, of what you can experience. Barely a tiny brain teaser."

"But the things I saw! The sensations I felt!"

"Just a foretaste…" he repeated while his green eyes shone venomously. Unsure if your mind was still playing a trick on you, you resisted the urge to jump away from him. Instead, you leaned in and kissed him passionately.

"I'm hungry for more," you whispered biting his lower lip.

"Alright," he smiled then grabbed your hips forcing you to get up. He slipped on sweatpants and a creased shirt then, while handing you a robe, he added, "let me show you."

You desperately wanted to get dressed in your own clothes but he wasn't going to wait. Clearly excited by your interest, he didn't even wait for you to wrap yourself thoroughly. He grabbed your hand and led you towards the exit of the apartment.

"Jonathan!" you stopped him as soon as he touched the door handle, "where are we going?"

"Relax…" he smirked, "you could be completely naked, and I'll admit I'd prefer that a lot more."

He opened the door to the hallway and pulled you down the stairs with him.

"Jonathan," you whispered, "what if someone sees us?"

"No one will see us."

"What about the neighbors?"

"Neighbors?!" danger flashed in his eyes again, "oh my dear… they are long gone!"

He stopped in front of the brown door on the second floor and without a moment's hesitation pushed the handle and pulled you inside. The foul smell of mustiness and stuffiness hit you immediately. The dark dusty apartment had not seen the light of day for a long time, thick brown curtains blocked its access. Something sticky lingered in the air, sweet and rotten, like autumn apples that had lain too long on the damp grass. You looked around, quickly scanning your surroundings which lacked any sign of everyday life. Everything everywhere was in perfect order which contrasted so much with the nauseating stench. You hesitated alarmed by someone's heavy breathing, but Jonathan pulled you deeper, ignoring your silent objections.

"Meet Miss Reed!" he introduced loudly, approaching a woman who was sitting hunched in an armchair in the corner of the room, "she's not exactly here…" he waved his hand in front of her eyes without evoking any reaction.

"Jonathan, what's wrong with her?" you whispered distressed.

"Depression, anxiety, insomnia, persecutory dellusion, and recently psychosis and schizophrenia have also kicked in," he listed with as much lightness as if he were describing the weather, "she started hallucinating. Supposedly a horrifying Scarecrow haunts her and torments her. Poor woman."

A jolt of adrenaline surged like a lightning bolt through your spine. The tingling in your feet and hands urged an immediate retreat, blood pulsed through your veins accelerating your heartbeat, but your mind, your mind remained clear and composed. You took a deep breath quietly taking control of your nerves.

"Is she one of your…" you hesitated, "patients?"

"She was, she still is in some way," he pressed his hands on her wrist and, while glancing at his watch, measured her pulse, "probably not for much longer."

"She needs medical attention…" the words seemed stuck in your throat.

"Oh dear, she has one," he smiled eerily, "the best she can have."

Your legs seemed to grow heavier as you took steps forward despite the overwhelming fear. He was offering you what you wanted, you couldn't hesitate now. The stench of unwashed body reached your senses, bringing momentary nausea which was only suppressed by the adrenaline electrifying your muscles. He watched you closely. You prayed for your body not to betray you.

"How can this be?" you squatted beside the chair looking at the woman closely. Her empty eyes stared dully into space. You carefully touched her hand, it was damp with sweat. You looked into her eyes but they did not respond to your presence. "It's like she's not here."

"Because she's not here," he looked at you with undisguised satisfaction, "she's where you've been just a few moments ago. She has been there for a very long time."

"Why?" you asked breathlessly, studying her with fascination.

"Not everyone's psyche is strong enough to process through fears," Jonathan replied, "some just fall apart."

"You did this…"

"In her life, she was a sorry excuse of a human being anyway," he dismissed as if that would explain everything, "constantly on drugs, constantly unemployed, living on welfare. She came to me for help but didn't want it at all. She was looking for an opportunity to lose herself in her weaknesses."

"Why are you keeping her here?"

"I'm a scientist dear," he smirked, "she is just one of many research subjects. I'm testing how far I can send her into a world of her own psychosis before her mind compliantly stops functioning."

"One of many?"

"Oh yes. Outstanding scientific achievements require many trials and failures!" he grabbed your hand and pulled you to your feet, "come on, Mister Dawkins and his son surely require my consultation."

Mister Dawkins and his son Tyler turned out to be the residents of the apartment on the first floor. As you stepped into their apartment you prepared yourself for another shock but the sight that appeared to your eyes was much more normal. Mister Dawkins turned out to be a man in his fifties, short and stocky, so different from his young, 20-year-old, tall and skinny son. He was sitting in front of the TV watching GCNN's afternoon newscasts while his son sat on the couch with his legs curled up drawing something pensively. They took no notice of your presence until Jonathan stepped in front of him and turned off the TV.

"Doctor Crane! Where have you been! You've been gone so long! You left us! You left us!" Dawkins cried out at the sight of him.

"Calm down, I didn't leave you,'" Jonathan answered in a gentle voice, "it was part of your therapy. Time only for you to renew the bonds that have been burned between you."

The son flinched at his words and curled up more on the couch. He did not look at you. They both seemed to ignore you completely.

"Burned out yes, burned out…" Dawkins raised his hand to Jonathan's eye level. In the faint light of the lamp you saw the red-black flesh burned to the bone, "we worked on it."

"Good, very good," Jonathan praised, "Tyler come over please," he turned to the boy without even looking in his direction.

"Do I have to?"

"Come here immediately."

"But if I get off the couch the Scarecrow will come and set the house on fire," his voice trembled.

"The Scarecrow comes when you don't want to work on your relation," Jonathan countered, "we've talked about this. It's a product of your imagination. A manifestation of your primal fears. He doesn't exist."

"But I am afraid," he wept.

You swallowed the tears that rushed to your eyes clenching your throat.

"Was it Scarecrow who burned your father's hand?" Jonathan asked.

"No," Tyler whispered back.

"Then who?"

"I did it."

"Why?"

"Because the fire burned down our house…. because the fire burned our mother…. because it burned our family…" tears run down his cheeks.

"Would you have wanted him to burn then instead of your mother?"

"I wish he would burn now!" Tyler yelled then, snatching a torch from behind his pillow, he launched himself toward his father.

You gasped covering your mouth.

Tyler stopped.

With the torch in his hand, he looked at you finally noticing your presence.

"Who are you?" he asked staring at you with sunken eyes.

You did not answer. Every part of your body was raring to run upstairs and call the police. To grab the bat-shaped transmitter out of your jacket pocket and call him here. But instinct, piercing through your terrified mind like a pale blue light, ordered you to stay calm. It ordered you to wait.

"Ah my lovely assistant," Jonathan extended his hand to you calling for you to come up. You didn't want to. Yet what you wanted at that moment didn't matter. Stepping with bare feet on the rough scorched carpet, you walked up to him and let him put his arm around your waist and pull you closer.

"She's pretty," Tyler whispered sweeping his eyes over you.

"Oh she is," Jonathan murmured trailing his hand down your neck towards the breasts hidden under your robe, "have you ever seen a woman boy?" you stiffened under his touch.

"I'd like to…" the boy's eyes widened.

"She reminds me of Ruth…" Dawkins looked at you with the eyes of a wild animal, "she has such beautiful hair just like Ruth had. Before it burned on her head."

You slipped out of Jonathan's grip and, against your instincts, squatted in front of the man, exposing your knees and the roundness of your breasts.

"Go on, touch it," you began gently, "they are soft and silky."

He extended a shaking hand to you. Like a hyena he looked at you, swallowing loudly, clenching his teeth so hard they seemed to crack under the pressure.

Jonathan observed with fascination.

"You're afraid…" you whispered when his hand stopped barely an inch from your head. The faint smell of burned skin turned your stomach.

"I can't…" tears flowed from wide-open eyes.

"You can," you squatted closer to him fighting the disgust within you as his hand moved lower, "there's nothing to be afraid of."

His hand was trembling. His lip quivered. A tooth cracked and a shard fell to the floor.

"You can control your fear," you lowered your voice observing his dilating pupils and accelerated breathing, "I won't burn."

"You will burn!" he cried suddenly, "you will burn! You'll burn! Witch! You will burn like Ruth!" you jumped away from him instinctively.

"You will burn!" Tyler shouted, "father will burn you!"

Jonathan only followed their reactions as the flash of excitement lit up his eyes. Like wild animals locked in a cage of their fears with faces twisted in the agony of a desire they could not satisfy they retreated into the depths of the room screaming shrilly.

"Enough," he said calmly hiding you behind his body, "silence," he repeated gently even though there was nothing gentle in his gaze, "I SAID SILENCE!" he shouted and everything suddenly froze.

Horror paralyzed your movements yet your mind commanded you to act. You slid out from behind him and, grasping his hand, forced him to look at you.

"Well that was insightful, " you concluded smoothly, "Doctor, don't we have other patients to see?"

"Indeed," he replied, "we still have so much work to do," he added measuring them both with his eyes. You entwined your hand in his and this time you were the one to pull him toward the exit. Disgust with yourself, shock, and an overwhelming desire to escape fought for control of your body and mind as you opened the door to head toward another nightmare.

"Don't leave us," Tyler wept grabbing your hand and stopping you from leaving, "The Scarecrow will come. Don't leave me."

You wanted to say something but the words got trapped in your throat again. You wanted to grab his hand and run out into the streets, scream for help, run to the police station, find Commissioner Gordon, but would he believe you? Would anyone but him believe you? You said nothing back. You only watched as, in a furious motion, Jonathan ripped his hand off your arm and turned on the air conditioner, closing the door behind you. Half a floor below, your blood turned to ice by the terrified screams.

"What's going on up there?" you asked, "aren't we going to check?"

"There's no need, they're both are currently facing their own fears," Jonathan countered, "I suppose they're in their own old house and everything around them is on fire."

"Wait a second," you stopped abruptly turning to him, "did you do the same to me? During, as you called it, therapy?"

"Yes, but on a much smaller scale and under controlled conditions," he replied truthfully.

"Today? Before…" you hesitated, squinting angrily, "was there anything in the air conditioning?"

"Of course not," he intertwined his fingers between yours and brushed his free hand over your cheek, "do you really think I would do such a thing to you? Tricked you into altering your behavior?"

You remained silent, measuring him with your eyes. He only gently grabbed your shoulders and leaned you against the wall once again closing the distance between you.

"After all, you weren't afraid," he murmured kissing you gently, "we both wanted this didn't we?" he deepened the kiss invading your mouth with his tongue. You felt sick. Electrifying energy surged through your body trying to bend you to its will but you tamed it. Wrapping your leg around him, you allowed him to run his hand up your naked thigh. "There…" he purred with satisfaction, "much better." You put your arms around his neck pulling him closer while his hand tightened again on your hip. "So eager, so impatient," he broke the kiss searching your eyes, "and you kept me waiting so long."

"I told you that maybe if you hadn't played mind games with me it would have been different," you smiled, forcing up the most flirtatious smile you could muster.

"If it weren't for our meetings I wouldn't have achieved what I have achieved," he replied.

"Drawing me to your side?"

"No…" his eyes once again brightened ominously, "all of that. You helped me. You led me to a scientific breakthrough! Thanks to you, I was able to conduct my research! Thanks to you I was able to compose the perfect formula!"

"I think you meant to say 'on me,'" you corrected pulling away from him.

"Thanks to you," he repeated, "if you won't interrupt, I will show you," he smirked.

"I'll be good," you replied flirtatiously, sliding your leg back to the ground.

"And who's playing mind games with whom," he scoffed grasping your hand once again and directing you toward the basement.

The dim, cold space opened before you as soon as he punched the code into the electronic lock and opened the heavy metal door. Chill shivered through your entire body as your bare feet stepped into the darkness. You expected to feel the earthy ground beneath your feet but instead, you felt smooth, clean tiles. There was no anticipated mustiness of the basement, no smell of earth, or dust, only the sterile scent of cleanliness and chemicals immediately evoking images of a hospital, which as soon as the light brightened the space proved to be not far from the truth. A sterile laboratory, deceptively reminiscent of the one in your nightmares, brightened before your eyes. You swept your eyes around your surroundings, trying to remember every little detail, every single one that could prove useful later. Useful to him. Medical and laboratory equipment blended together. Against the walls stood EKG and EEG machines, a bed with safety belts, a gas dispenser with an inhalation mask, and a pump with cables and tubes hanging loosely, so similar to the one he hooked you up to a few weeks ago. You walked closer to the tables, examining the equipment with fascination. On a long meticulously organized countertop numerous stills lined up, filters, mixers, bottles, flasks, beakers, test tubes, everything he could need to create chemical compounds. A little farther away, syringes, scalpels, forceps, scissors formed a sort of pathway to a small cooler where he kept perfectly aligned vials of blood. On many labels, you could clearly read your own name.

"That's a lot of my blood…" you commented, fighting the urge to smash them all.

"Ah yes, your precious blood," he said as he stood behind you and wrapped his arms around you, "my key to success," he added kissing your neck.

"This is where you made it…" you whispered hoping your fear would sound like admiration, "the gas."

"This is where I made a lot of things," he brushed your hair away kissing the nape of your neck, "the first versions of my toxin, pills, subsequent versions, and finally the gas. Much more practical than liquid."

"And my blood?" you pushed against the image of your hand piercing his artery with a scalpel.

"Full of norepinephrine and cortisol," he slid his cold hands under your robe, "I don't know if it's thanks to your strong mind or your meta-abilities, but because of you I was able to develop and synthesize the perfect formula."

"Did you know about my abilities?"

"No," he murmured kissing your shoulders, "but that explains a lot. Your blood, your endurance and my genius combined together produced something extraordinary. And now, with your help, I will be able to continue my research. We will achieve remarkable and horrific things."

"No one will stand in your way…" you breathed out, "everyone will cower in fear. Unbelievable. All this…" you hesitated as his hands wandered lower, "actually, why? Why are you doing this?"

"Wouldn't you like to know…" he muttered in your ear.

"Of course, I would like to know! You've already dispelled the fairy tale of helping people," you turned in his arms looking deep into his eyes, "why then?"

"Questions, questions, questions," he laughed, "as always, you would like everything here and now. Maybe I'll ask for a change, how long have you known about your abilities?"

"Not long," you replied without hesitation, "I wanted to tell you but honestly…I didn't know how. Too much has happened in too short a time."

"It's okay," he slipped a strand of your hair behind your ear, "we'll have time to explore, and I even know someone who will be able to help," he kissed you gently. "You are handling all this much better than I expected," he changed the subject fixing his eyes in yours, "you didn't even flinch when young Dawkins almost devoured you with his eyes. You stood unmoved."

"I know what you did back then. You hit his basic instincts to observe his reactions. And mine," surprise tinged his focused gaze, "don't look at me like that, so surprised! It's insulting. Yes I am hasty, stubborn and impulsive but not stupid! I learned a few things from you. It's basic psychology. You tested me more than you tested him. You're still doing it."

"Am I?"

"I don't mind, I understand," you continued taking advantage of his complete focus on you, "just because we fucked doesn't mean you trust me. This whole operation must have taken you months or even years to organize," you ran your hand over his exposed chest. He liked it. "I get it. I wasn't exactly trustworthy. I know I have to earn your trust. You show me all this, you let me into your world but I'm not delusional, even right now in this moment I am completely bound to your will."

"And you are okay with that…" he stopped your wandering hand.

"Honestly?" you smirked, "it's kinda turning me on," you grabbed the elastic of his sweatpants and pulled him in for a kiss. You closed your eyes imagining your dark shadow enveloping you hiding you from danger while his lips once again collided with yours while his hands once again began wandering over your body. You had to get out of here. You had to get away from here as quickly as possible and, at the same time, not cause suspicion.

"Let's go upstairs," you whispered against his lips.

"Here we have a bed, too," he replied without breaking the kiss, "and belts that I could make use of."

"I'm cold…" you insisted as his hands loosened the belt around your waist.

"I'll warm you up…"

"Seriously Jonathan," you stopped him, "I wanna go upstairs…" You looked over his shoulder to the other end of the lab. You hadn't noticed before but there was a second door on the other side of the room. "What's behind that door?" you moved away from him.

"An ongoing experiment."

"Can I see?"

"Not this one," he refused.

"Is it dangarouse?"

"For them, probably."

"Is it scary?"

"Don't know, they can't tell me."

"Show me," you clung to him playing on his feelings. It worked but not the way you wanted. Not waiting any longer, he grabbed you by the shoulders again and pulled you to him kissing you brutally, "as you wish," he smiled deviously and led you back to the apartment upstairs.

You barely had minutes. Minutes to think of an excuse that would allow you to leave his apartment, the hell you found yourself trapped in by your own recklessness. Minutes to take action. Minutes to do anything that would get you as far away from him as possible. You knew he wouldn't let you reach for the phone. You knew that as soon as you entered the apartment his lips and hands would be on your body again, after all you were so eager, so impatient. "Think!" First floor. The screams died down. You didn't want to know what happened behind closed doors. "I gotta do something!" If only you knew how to use your skills consciously, you would do it. You would have attacked him and run away. Fled to where? In a robe? He kept you in a robe for a reason. Run out into the street? Pleading to strangers for help? Run to the police station? Would Gordon believe you after all the things you've gotten yourself into? "Think!" Second floor. Although you knew it was impossible, the stench seemed to escape from behind the closed door. "I need to help these people!" The transmitter was in your jacket pocket. If only you could activate it. If only Jonathan would leave you alone for a moment. "Think for fuck sake!" Third floor. The door to the apartment closed with a slam but he didn't let go of your hand. His eyes demanded. "A knife in the kitchen." Did you have any chance to run for it? His hands claimed. The phone in the jacket. "Phone in the jacket! Cigarettes!"

"Hey, wait a minute," you stopped him, "all this…" you moved away from him, "I'm taking this well but it is a lot," you smiled innocently letting go of his hand and heading for the jacket. "I hope you won't mind but I'd really use a cigarette," you reached into one pocket, then the other. "Where the fuck is it?"

"You smoke?"

"Yes, guilty," you chuckled dismissively, "some time ago I started smoking a little. My life hasn't been particularly peaceful lately." You reached into your inner pocket fiddling with your phone but not the transmitter. "Fuck! No… no… phone! THINK!!!" You grabbed your phone and glanced at the screen. "Fucking hell! Jonathan, I have to go! It's so late! I was supposed to go back to work today! I didn't realize how much time had passed!"

It must work. You rushed to grab your bra and blouse from the floor then ran to the bedroom to get your underwear and skirt slipping them on in a hurry. Zipping up your skirt you ran out of the bedroom clashing against Jonathan. His face turned to stone, his eyes full of anger. In his hand he held a smashed bat-shaped transmitter.

"Is this what you were looking for?" he asked in an icy tone.

"Jonathan, I don't … I don't know what it is," you lied instinctively.

"Liar," resounded threateningly, "don't look at me like that, it's insulting," he quipped.

"Seriously….I'm not lying…" you tried to control your voice but fear quickly took control of your body.

"I was warned that you have a bat on your shoulder," he grabbed your arm painfully and shoved the broken transmitter into your hand hurting it until it bled, "but as it turns out not only do you have, but you can summon him whenever you want."

"It's not like that, I would never do that to you!" you clung to him again.

"You spied on me for him?!"

"No!!!"

"He suspects me?!"

"How would I know!?"

"He knows that I'm the one who murdered those people!!!?" he shouted, grabbing you by the shoulders. You stopped fighting the fear, instead you allowed it to fill your mind and body, to spark a bright ray of adrenaline, to illuminate your thoughts and give you direction.

"I don't know!!!" you shouted, "I'm not talking to him! It's not what you think! Like I have a hotline or something!! After all of this, you seriously think I would do something like that to you! Who do you think I am! Fine! I lied! Sue me! Batman gave me a transmitter after the situation on the bridge," you lied, "in case the Joker…."

"Don't lie."

"I'm not lying! I didn't tell you because I didn't want to cause your suspicions! We slept together! You trusted me! How would it look like if I suddenly told you about him!" clinging to him with your whole body, with one hand resting on his chest, in the other you discreetly separated the electronics from the casing with your fingers. "Why would I tell you? I thought it wasn't important! Why would I mention something that wasn't important?" the metal kept slipping in your bloodstained fingers, "I would never do that to you."

For a brief moment, you allowed satisfaction to creep in, allowed the deluded feeling that you had managed to manipulate such a brilliant mind. You let the false hope flicker faintly within you only to disappear instantly when Jonathan, with a quick movement, grabbed you by the throat and pushed you violently against the wall. Your eyes went black as the back of your head hit the wall painfully. The remains of the transmitter scattered to the floor but your thumb held the most important part. You slipped it discreetly behind the waistband of your skirt, faking an attempt to push against the wall.

"You're hurting me," you groaned in pain.

"I thought you liked this, danger, pain and pleasure," a menacing voice sounded low, "my dear I don't want to hurt you. I need you. And you need me. I want to trust you, I want to believe you, but I would be a fool if I did."

"Jonathan, you can trust me," you assured looking deep into his venomously green eyes.

"Perhaps, but you said yourself, I have too much to lose," he replied gruffly, "so let's make one thing clear. If you go to the police, try to notify the authorities in any way I will kill them. I will kill all my patients," he leaned closer to you clasping his hand tighter, "if you run away to Wayne, I swear to you, I'll gas him, all his sons, his butler, the whole fucking tower and everyone who works there. Do you understand?"

Pressure restricted your movements but you nodded.

"Say you understand," he demanded.

"I understand…" you gasped through a clenched throat.

"Good,' he smiled wryly, "and most importantly. If you go to him. If you run to seek help from fucking Batman, I will hurt you. I'll hurt you in ways you can't imagine being hurt. We still have a lot of work to do, Batman won't screw up my plans."

"I would never…"

"Then you have nothing to worry about!" he grinned and let go of you, "put yourself together and gather your things."

"What?"

"Gather your stuff. You wanted to go to work, didn't you?"

"Yes, I have an important thing to do. If I don't show up Bruce will ask questions."

"I understand," he took a soft tone again, "this is not how you planned today."

"Not exactly."

"I'll go with you," he decided.

"They won't let you in," panic lighted your mind again, "it's WayneTech. Security works all day and all night."

"I'm aware," he huffed, "you do what you have to do and I'll wait for you."

"I don't know how long it'll take me."

"It doesn't matter. I'll wait."

"I'll come back after work. Or we can meet at my place."

"Didn't you hear what I said?"

"I heard and understood…"

"It won't take you long," his eyes grew dark, "I have something else to show you today."

"Can't it wait until tomorrow?"

"Maybe, but I thought you might like to see Harley," he smiled gently, "and at the same time meet my friend."

***

Questionable choices. Made as an outcome of the information he had and the conclusions he could derive from them. Grounded on experience and intuition. Coldly calculated yet so seemingly rushed. Guided by his own morality and judgment, always in pursuit of the greater good, but still remaining questionable. He has made too many questionable choices during his crusade. Too many times he had to compromise trusting that in the end, the good would outweigh the bad. Too many times he has allowed his own hubris to create completely opposite results. He worked outside the rules, balancing on the thin line between what was lawful and what was not. He bent the rules of the law to his will to achieve goals he could not achieve within its confines, crossing boundaries more often than he would have liked. His methods sometimes too brutal, his decisions sometimes morally gray, his actions often questionable, still brought results. He pushed the boundaries of what he himself considered rational and acceptable, morally justifiable, as long as he could find that reasoning within himself. The end justified the means, he told himself sometimes, bending yet another moral boundary. No one else could do it. He could. He had to.

Staring at the red dot pulsating against the background of a map of Gotham displayed on one of the huge screens, he couldn't chase away doubts and that growing, persistent feeling that this time his assessment of the situation had failed him. The icon had been pulsing in one place for six hours, pointing to the location of a house in the Upper West Side of Gotham, and with each successive pulse his conviction grew that although he thought otherwise, he didn't have all the information. He watched in concentration, his body barely moving under his controlled breathing, only his eyes kept wandering between the pulsing icon and the interrogation recording that Batgirl uploaded to the system. He played it back minute by minute, frame by frame, memorizing every little detail as the icon blinked with a steady pulse. He put the puzzle pieces together and every smallest nerve in his body, every free thought urged him to take action. Yet he waited. He had to.

The sound of growling motorcycle engines reached him from afar, announcing the return of Nightwing and Red Hood. The early autumn evenings were conducive to their activities, so much more work could be done through the short days. They kept coming but he continued to monitor. In a moment they will stand in front of him, Jason further away as usual, Dick just behind his back, ready to report to him, ready to inform him of what they found or not. Ready to confront him with his morally gray actions. He needed this. He waited.

The metal sound of the elevator heading downstairs informed him that Alfred, too, was aware of their return. Always watchful, always supportive, he appeared ever on time to care for them, no matter if they required a stitch, a warm meal, or just a kind smile and an open mind ready to listen. Alfred did what he was supposed to do. The painful realization of the many ways he had failed struck him. He needed this. He watched.

The sounds of raised conversation, the sound of crockery resounding on a silver tray heralded the inevitable loss of silence, the beginning of a very restless night. It heralded a hail of questions, conclusions, requests, criticisms, ambiguous quips, and stern looks. He needed these. They were his voice of conscience, one he could not drown out. His moral compass which he could not bend to his own will. A voice challenging his decisions, confronting his questionable morals, a guide on a path hidden in the shadows. He needed them. Without them, he would have long since lost himself in his own pride, without them, he would have long since lost sight of the greater cause.

"Safety deposit box on 8th Avenue checked," Dick informed as he threw his Escrima Sticks, gauntlets, and leg holster on the table, "we collected some fingerprints, five hairs, and a cigarette butt. Who would have thought the subway staff would be so concerned with cleanliness!"

"Good job," Bruce muttered staring stubbornly at the pulsating icon.

"I'll put this into the computer for analysis right away," Dick continued, "we can check the docks. There wasn't much action on the 8th."

"I want to check the docks myself."

"Got it," he accepted an energizing green drink from Alfred downing it in almost one sip then continued, "Falcone's people won't talk. They sit locked up in the GCPD. The two of the Joker's men are also sitting quietly, the third is in intensive care at Gotham General."

"Have Gordon's people squeeze them."

"If they won't say anything Falcone will probably pull them out in a few days and then we'll squeeze them!"

"Do you have names?"

"Duh!" Dick grinned standing behind his back and focusing his attention on the computer screen, "Who are we watching?"

"The fact that Falcone made a move against the Joker doesn't foreshadow anything good," he ignored the question, "he's probably trying to get the same information as we do. Find out who used his containers at the docks to store the chemical bombs."

"Hey that's not our tracking signal, the frequency is off," Dick studied the pulsating icon carefully.

"Falcone didn't authorize it. That's not his MO," he continued, patiently waiting for the moment when they wouldn't let him dodge the question, "whoever used his storage at the docks did so without his knowledge or consent creating a new enemy for himself in the process."

"Bruce! What's that signal?" Dick finally looked at him pointing at the computer screen.

"A low-frequency tracking signal emitted by our transmitter," avoiding an answer was acceptable, lying was not.

"Our transmitters emit on a different frequency," Dick measured him with a suspicious glance. As befits a detective, he was not content with a partial truth.

"There is a back door built into the transmitters that allows me to enable tracking without manual activation," the tension hung in the air. In a moment, his voice of conscience will echo through the cave and he will have to confront it.

"Without the knowledge of the person who has it," Dick emphasized.

"Without knowledge."

"Man, that's low…" Jason snorted, observing everything from afar, "even for you."

"Bruce, who are you watching?" Dick repeated the question.

"That's Crane's apartment," Jason replied as he walked closer, "Upper West Side near Robinson Park. But you're not watching Crane are you?" throwing his red helmet on the table next to Dick's equipment he looked at him pensively.

"Man…really!? You turned on the tracking in the transmitter you gave her? Bruce! So not cool!"

"I had no other choice," even in his mind that didn't sound convincing.

"You had no other choice but to start playing stalker?" Jason sneered.

"She's our best lead."

"Then maybe instead of stalking her you should, well, I don't know, talk to her!" Dick huffed with resignation.

"We did talk. Last night. She only confirmed my assumptions about Crane," he replied in a calm voice but anger gnawed at him.

"If she confirmed your assumptions why are you watching her instead of doing something?" Dick questioned his logic further.

"Because he's not sure if his assumptions are actually justified or if he's only seeing them because he wants to see them," Jason noted.

"Which is totally understandable! Bruce, we have absolutely no, no evidence that Crane has anything to do with this, other than the fact that the victims had access to the same drugs that Y/N had access to! Crane is clean as far as we know. The respected head of the psychiatric ward. They might have gotten them from another source. Buy on the black market or on the streets. And even if Crane is connected to it he could be another victim!" Dick's logic was flawless. Indeed, they had no solid trail leading to Crane.

"You're right Dick," Bruce admitted, "I've thought about it myself many times. Still, my gut tells me that he's behind it. Or at least he's partly connected to all this."

"Hasn't it crossed your mind that maybe she's not as much into you as you think?" Jason quipped harshly.

"My feelings toward Y/N have nothing to do with it," he mastered his voice even though the blood in his veins was boiling.

Jason, Dick and Alfred merely exchanged communicative glances acknowledging his words. They knew him well, perhaps better than he knew himself. All three were treading on thin ice.

"Bruce, I know you don't want to hear this, but have you thought that maybe she's playing you?" Dick began cautiously, "think about it. She showed up in town moments after the first attack. Completely accidentally, she met you. You hired her in the company. She got close to you. On top of that the whole situation with Quinzel, the Joker breakout, and the fact that she is somehow always in the middle of things. Maybe you were right to suspect her in the first place? Maybe she's the one you should be investigating, not Crane."

"No."

"What do you really know about her?" Dick continued.

"Enough."

"You still haven't done a background check on her."

"I have no need to."

"Bruce, you're acting ridiculous!"

"That's enough!" Bruce cast an angry glance, "I understand your concerns and doubts but I know what I'm doing. Sometimes a hunch is the only thing…"

"...a detective has to go by," Dick finished for him, "I know, I know. But you have to admit that even for you these hunches are far-fetched."

"Nevertheless, I know I'm not wrong," Bruce countered stubbornly.

"Why don't you investigate her?" Dick asked, risking his anger, " at least you'd be sure she isn't playing you."

"I'm sure."

"Bruce!"

"I said enough!"

"Unbelievable! You are so stubborn! How can you be sure! "

"I am."

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but Bruce is right to be sure," Jason cut in. Without a word of explanation, he reached into the inner jacket pocket and pulled out a flash drive. "If you want," he said, handing him the flash drive and measuring himself with his burning gaze, "don't look at me like that! Someone had to do it if you stubbornly refused!"

"I had my reasons," he growled through clenched teeth.

"You always have reasons! We don't have to agree with them. Besides, someone has to have your back," Jason smirked and Bruce's gaze softened, "don't you worry. She's clean, more or less. But, not gonna lie, there's a lot of stuff in there raising a whole lot of questions."

"Let's solve one problem before we approach another," Bruce reluctantly accepted the flash drive. Despite his anger, warmth spread inside him at Jason's words.

"Oh, and one more thing. The rest of us didn't know so if you want to lash out, lash out at me."

"I have no such intention," he assured him as his voice softened, "I appreciate that."

"Yeah, whatever," Jason huffed, "you gonna get all teary eyed later. Your red dot is moving."

For the first time in six hours, the pulsating icon began to move. Quite fast relative to the map even though the satellite connection was delayed.

"She's in the car,"" Bruce said more to himself, "she was told to call me when she would be ready. I was supposed to send a driver for her. She was supposed to go back to the office."

"It looks like she's heading toward Wayne Tower," Jason stated.

"I have to go," Bruce snapped to his feet grabbing his cape and cawl from the back of the seat rushing toward the Batmobile.

"Are you going after her?!" Dick called out after him.

"I'm going after Crane," he jumped into the car and before he slammed the door added, "you, both of you, you stay put!"

They didn't get a chance to ask anything more. Bruce started the engine and with a squeal of tires sped through the driveway, disappearing behind a passage hidden under a waterfall.

"Nice work," Dick smirked to his brother as they both watched lights disappearing in the distance.

"No better than your acting," Jason chuckled.

"Out of the two of us, you played your part better,'" he glanced at his brother. Although a smirk of satisfaction crossed Jason's face, his expression betrayed the sincerity of his feelings, "you weren't exactly acting."

"Don't push it, Wing," he snarled but the smile did not disappear from his face.

"Oh my gosh! Now I'm getting all teary eyed!"

"You are an asshole."

"Look who's talking!"

"Whatever, it worked."

"We are so going to hell for this," Dick sighed, "perfect manipulation."

"Someone must have…inspired him. Besides, better hell than his wrath."

Quiet footsteps approached and stopped just behind them. A focused stern gaze shifted from one to the other but there was no anger in it.

"Confronting morally questionable behavior, challenging actions, artificial fostering of doubt in order to enforce and validate decisions," Alfred listed calmly, "and on top of that solidifying the decision by accepting information whose acceptance was previously denied."

"Don't forget about playing on emotions," Dick smirked.

"And about indicting clouded judgment," Jason added.

"Well played gentlemen, well played," Alfred smiled proudly, "how long were you in possession of the files?"

"About a month," Jason admitted.

"You're planning to follow Miss Y/N?"" Alfred continued.

"Noooo, absolutely not!" Dick denied.

"Alfred! How can you accuse us of such a thing!" Jason sassed.

"There are some steaks left in the kitchen from dinner. Prepared with roasted potatoes and asparagus," he informed them before heading away toward the elevator, "in case you'd be interested in a substantial meal before you head back into town."

"So are we going after her or not?" Jason smirked as soon as the elevator started moving up.

"Gee, I'd eat a steak," Dick grimaced, "I suddenly feel hungry."

"We'll grab a burger on the way."

"You buying?"

"Fine."

"Motors?"

"Duh!"

"He'll murder us if he finds out," Dick's typical reasonable attitude returned.

"With emphasis on the 'if."

"If he does, I'll use you as a human shield!" Dick grinned.

"I'll call him father and that'll do it," Jason quipped, "besides, maybe the power of love will heal him and we won't have to worry about him finding out. Let's go!"

Gotham belonged to them. They loved it and it loved them. They learned to love this city years ago, when as young boys they donned green and red for the first time, each in their own time, to stand with the Dark Knight against the evil that consumed the city from within. Batman made them see Gotham as it was. Full of violence, poverty, injustice, suffering and yet filled with good people, people they were meant to protect. Now, years later, they saw most the impact they had on the people of Gotham. They saw kids not much older than them when they started, painting their symbols on walls and sidewalks, proudly wearing T-shirts with their symbols printed on their chests, saw smiling faces and sighs of admiration, they saw gratitude and warmth, inspiration, the wish to be like them, hope. Batman was a symbol of unyielding will and strength, a Dark Protector emerging from the shadows bringing relief and fear in equal measure. Robin was hope, a ray of optimism illuminating the darkness that seemed to cover the hearts of Gotham's citizens. The years passed and although none of them wore the Robin symbol on their chests anymore as they used to, they saw the change they brought. The citizens of Gotham idealized them. They idealized the heroes who protected them. But they knew better. They knew that their lives were far from ideal. They knew that none of them would entrust such a fate to anyone. They knew that just as they had brought hope into the hearts of Gotham's people, they had lightened the darkness in their own. A perfect symbiosis.

Love. To the city, to its people, to the mission, to the man who raised them, brought with it much joy but even more suffering. Death seemed to follow them, every step they took, waiting for an opportunity to take one of them or someone close to them. Take away again. They both bore on their hearts and bodies the countless scars that love had given them. And although some of them seemed to never heal they kept going. They never stopped fighting.

Sometimes, when the nights were unusually calm, they wandered around the city laughing at their own traumas. They stopped at alleys where they had overestimated their abilities earning painful injuries. They pointed out roofs that failed them resulting in broken limbs. They mocked the sewers in which they had to dive. They searched the buildings' walls for holes left by bullets that nearly took their lives. They recalled all the wounds, the stabbings, the blows, the broken ribs, the brain concussions as if bidding which one received more for his love. But the answer always remained the same. For on particularly quiet nights, they would sometimes sit on the roof, side by side, as they opened bottles of cool beer they allowed themselves to be silent. To be silent and feel the weight of their own experiences that rested on their shoulders. To feel the pain and anger they didn't want to feel. Sometimes the anger surfaced. Sometimes the silent Gotham took in the stillness of their cries, their anger, their angst as the wind took away the curses they had cast. Sometimes Gotham reached out its invisible hand to wipe away the tears that began to flow when words failed to provide solace. Sometimes it watched in reflection as despite their mutual love they exchanged blows, as if that would soothe their suffering. But the pain didn't go away. They merely learned to live with it. They had to.

Rushing through the city streets, they felt unusually good. The brothers they should have been all along, but whom death had not allowed to be. Partners who trusted each other with their lives despite the layers of grief each held. Understanding, brotherly love and a sense of mission drove them. Dick sometimes looked at his brother covertly, thinking Jason couldn't see. But Jason always saw. He saw the uncertainty and concern in his gaze, saw how even though Dick seemed to always smile, there was always worry lurking in his eyes. He saw the burden he carried on his back. Responsibility for him, for Tim, for Damian, for Bruce, for Alfred, for his beloved Barbara, for the whole city, and for each citizen individually. So much like Bruce and yet so different from him. While Bruce masked his worries with stoicism Dick masked them with humor. Always ready to be there for Jason when he needed it. Always ready to take his worries and embrace them. Always ready to be for him who Bruce couldn't or didn't want to be. Although Jason never told him he believed Dick knew how lost he would have been without him.

Gotham watched them silently as they rushed after the pulsing red light on their radars. It seemed to hear their thoughts. Bruce had given them everything he had but left nothing for himself. In his own way, he had given them love, care, and nurturing but had not allowed himself to receive it back. One of them and yet so distant. He taught them but refused to accept the teachings they wanted to offer back. Despite the passage of years, he continued to be locked in his pain and his trauma. He had so much compassion for others but none for himself. The thought simmered in both of them that perhaps the time had come to change this. That perhaps this time he would allow himself to put down the walls he had built around him and finally truly live. They had to help him. Even though he had let them down more than once they loved him like a father, like a brother. They shared a unique bond that could not be destroyed by anger, grief, hatred, and even death. They both knew that Bruce's life lacked the love they could not give him. It lacked a ray of optimism and the warmth of kindness to dispel the darkness of his soul. They wanted to change that. They had to.

"Slow down and get into stealth drive," Dick ordered Jason as he monitored the approaching dot. Leaving Bristol and entering Grand Avenue they were getting close to Wayne Tower. He pulled a little ahead to scan the cars and license plates with his eyes. "Sweetie, I could use your direction," he said into the intercom knowing full well that across town Barbara was running all the numbers through the computer.

"GTH S682," Oracle spoke in his earpiece, "a black BMW registered to none other than Jonathan Crane."

Jason only changed lanes passing several unsuspecting drivers to scan the vehicle with cameras hidden in his helmet.

"Two people inside," he informed, "Crane is driving. What the hell is she up to?"

"Or what the hell is he up to?" Dick added.

"I'm pulling over to the aisles by Wayne Tower, I'll see you on the roof!" Jason reported before taking a sharp right turn to disappear between buildings.

"You be careful alright?"

"Always," Dick smiled and followed his brother.

Your mind seemed to rush through each successive thought trying to decide the best course of action as the huge Wayne Tower blurred in the distance. Your body tensed and relaxed at the same time, ready to run, ready for it to take charge. Mind full of thoughts and empty at the same time presenting you with endless scenarios and possible outcomes. You could get out of the car and rush towards the GCPD building. It wasn't that far away. You could rush into the police station and tell them everything. Crane wouldn't have followed you. But what if he would follow? What if he had declared you insane? How far would you actually be able to run before he caught you? What would he do to you if he found out that you had been lying all along? Would you end up like Miss Reed? Locked in an endless spiral of your own nightmares until your mind collapses under their weight. Powerless.

You could enter the building, go to your office, as you normally would, and call the police. But again, would they believe you? And if they would, would they manage to stop him before he escaped? And if he escaped would he follow you? Would he take revenge for your betrayal, for your lies? Kidnap you and make you his perfect patient? Would you be able to defend yourself? Would he be able to protect you? Would the police investigate him? Would they investigate his apartment building, find the people he was holding? What was behind the locked door? Would you lead them into a trap? Into death?

You could go to your office but what if Bruce was there? What if he was working late? What if he saw you and, with concerned eyes, demanded an explanation? You could lie, but could you lie that well? Would he believe you? Or would you break into a million pieces while telling him the truth simultaneously putting him in danger? Him, his sons, and everyone at Wayne Enterprises. He would probably want to help you, that's who he was. Would you push him away or, by accepting his help, would you lead him into a trap? Was Jonathan really capable of doing that? The risk you couldn't take.

"I made a horrible mistake…" a single thought broke through the chaos in your head. You had to do something. "What if…" a thrill ran through your body again at the thought of Arkham. At the thought of a mysterious friend who was able to help you, maybe answer your questions. Who was he? Did he know the truth? Was the unquenchable need to find answers worth risking your own life? How much was your life really worth? Surely less than the lives of innocent people, of police officers, of Gotham's protectors. It was unimportant. It was worth the risk.

Jonathan's car stopped in the driveway and his gaze returned to you. Intense, piercing, analyzing your every reflex, your every breath, distrustful.

"I'll do my best to wrap things up as quickly as possible," you smiled at him, reaching for the door handle. You hesitated. He had to believe you. Before you pulled the handle, you turned back to him again, and kissed him deeply. "I'll be back soon."

"Shifting weight, clenched fists, hunched head…. she's ready to run, hurt, and angry" Jason watched Y/N as she calmly walked towards the entrance of the building, "tension in the jaw, tensed shoulders, distracted look…."

"Looks like a hostage situation," Dick assessed as if hearing his thoughts.

"Yup!"

"She's hurt…" he added zooming in on her.

"Dude, I can see that!"

"Sorry sorry, habit," he continued his observation as Y/N disappeared behind a closed door.

"Crane doesn't seem to be leaving," Jason noted, "maybe we could…squeeze him..."

"Hey doc, aren't you the one attacking people, messing with their heads and causing their deaths?" Dick sneered.

"Yeah yeah, I know…we have no proof. Damn, you are just like him! He too is all about proof!"

"We gotta wait," Dick decided as he turned on the radar on the small screen built into his gauntlets.

"What you got?

"This tracking signal doesn't allow for spatial localization but given the placement, it looks like she's in the western part of WayneTech."

"Yeah good fucking job detective!"

"I'm working with what I've got!"

"Are we going in?" Jason asked clearly impatient.

"Under what pretext?"

"We'll figure something out."

"No," Dick decided, "we wait and follow."

"Booooring."

"Miss Y/L/N! What brings you here at such a late hour?!" the security guard stood up from behind his desk greeting you surprised. The first obstacle in your way.

"No rest for the weary, Cliff," you smiled brightly, "I have one thing to check and I won't sleep until I do. I won't be long."

You didn't wait for his acknowledgment. Throwing him another beautiful smile, you pressed the elevator call button and disappeared behind the door. Thoughts kept racing forcing you to make quick decisions. "I need to know…" without hesitating any longer you pressed the -4 button instead of the 76 on which the WayneTech department was located praying that the refreshed clearance would allow you to access the R&D.

It worked. A feeling of relief instantly spread through your body as the red LED of the electronic lock turned green upon reading your palm scan. You were in. "Gotta work fast…" you pulled the barely holding transmitter from behind your waistband and ran toward the workbench. Light. A magnifying glass. "Where the fuck are the screwdrivers!" Multimeter. Soldering iron. Isopropyl alcohol. Searching through countless cabinets and drawers, you found the necessary tools. You had never been here before and the huge space did not make it easy for you to work quickly. "Damn, hope no one catches me…" you threw off your jacket and sat down in full concentration to work.

You quickly cleaned the electronics of particles and sweat by spraying it with alcohol and gently wiping the lint-free swab. You took a closer look at the connections on the small board, carefully separating the remnants of the plastic from the actual chip then, carefully picking it up with a tweezers, lifted it under the magnifying glass. "It's WayneTech…" surprise triggered further questions that you didn't have time to ponder. You looked at the miniature circuit board, at the spot where the switch had previously been soldered, "Okay…this should be easy…" You traced the connections which like tiny threads stretched across the green board, assessed the damage, determined the power supply component, the antenna, and the transmitter, all so small that the whole thing was no bigger than a fingernail. One wrong move could have damaged it irreparably. "I need a way to turn it on…" You quickly looked around for anything you could solder to the board. There was nothing in reach of sight or hand and R&D was huge. Minutes were passing. "Gotta work around this…". With a few skilled moves, and a bit of wire, you bypassed the turn-on system, creating a short circuit directly between the antenna and the power source. You reached for a multimeter and, to your relief, read a steady pulsing signal. "It's working!" you smiled satisfied, "okay, what now?" Pockets were not a good solution. Hiding behind the waistband of the skirt was too risky. Sewing under the blouse? "Where the fuck am I going to find threads!" you frantically searched through the drawers. "Swallow?" you squirmed at the thought, "I need to make sure that no matter what happens I'll have the transmitter on me…" You opened one of the drawers and pulled out the heat-sealing foil. "Ooookkaaaayyyyy…" another thought lit up brightly in your head. You cut out a bit of foil and sealed it around the transmitter with a lighter. You rolled up the sleeve of your blouse, unwrapped the bloody bandage, and looked at the fractured wound on your arm. "That's gonna hurt…" Gritting your teeth, you slipped the transmitter deep into the wound then wrapped the bandage again. "That's gotta work…"

You quickly washed your bloody hands, cleaned up erasing all traces of your presence and, throwing your jacket over your shoulders again, you moved towards the exit, convinced that whatever happened, he would find you.

***

Eight minutes and thirty-two seconds. That's how long it took Bruce to assess the situation before he fired a grappling hook toward the roof to lower himself onto the balcony of Crane's third-floor apartment. One high-frequency emitter scrambled the cameras. The temporary disruption of the streetlights darkened the surroundings. People in the building across the street were slowly winding down their day. In the darkness, they wouldn't be able to see him anyway. He won't have to worry about the Crane's building tenants either. The tenant on the second floor was asleep in an armchair, the residents on the first floor were too busy with television to pay attention to what was happening outside the window. He scanned his surroundings one last time making sure Crane wasn't home, then slid down on the line from the roof to the balcony and, loosening the hinge of the balloon door, stepped inside.

At first glance, everything seemed normal. The normal apartment of a normal person. But his eyes saw more, they saw things that no one else saw, all it took was to look closely. He pulled out a tiny spotlight from the pocket of his utility belt and began to investigate. "She was here, she must have left recently," he determined, smelling the still lingering scent of her perfume in the air. And something else. He quickly reached into his belt for a filtering mask.

"Batman!" Oracle's voice rang out in his earpiece, "your scanners are detecting increased concentrations of chemicals."

"I am aware."

"Trimethyl, dopamine, yohimine, carbogen, 3-quinuclidinyl benzilate, L-34-dihydroxyphenylalanine, nitrous oxide, in barely detectable doses."

"Sufficient," he directed the light toward the ceiling, the air vents, toward the air conditioning unit on the wall, "Batman out." He disconnected the link as he entered the kitchen. Scattered cups, knocked down cutlery, coffee spilled on the countertop, "they were scuffling…" He switched the flashlight to ultraviolet, "fingerprints, his and hers…" he took a close look at the countertop, "saliva…" he trailed the substance smeared on the tabletop, "no…it's not saliva." His heart pounded harder but he merely took a deep breath to calm his feelings. This was an investigation. Just like any other. He had to treat it like any other case.

He ran his eyes further down the countertop, towards the floor, in the darkness the shiny plastic of scattered buttons glinted and between them something else, "blood…" he assessed as he touched the dried sustenance. "Someone was bleeding…" he ran his eyes over the floor, "a little bit, small wound…. a cut? maybe…" he pushed away another thought as he followed the single drops of blood. One pointed deeper into the apartment, while the other toward the exit. He examined both. The one by the door was fresher, "still red, still liquid…the recent one," he assessed and moved deeper into the apartment. Still staring at the floor, with the light carefully scanning every bit of it, he tried to control the guilt that was building up inside him. "Someone fell," he stopped at a fingerprint on the polished floor, "or stumbled…" He ran his eyes over the floor, reading the footprints in a wide pattern moving away from the kitchen. "She pushed him away…" he deduced, "but he came back to her…and then…" he stopped at the returning footprints. There was only one but a drop of blood revealed to him the sequence of events. "He carried her..." he analyzed, heading for the bedroom. Furniture moved aside, a button that must have fallen off later, he stopped and crouched down lifting "her hair…" from the floor. The traces were clear and led in one direction. He hesitated, feeling a tightness in his heart and awakening anger. He didn't want to step closer but had no choice. He tried to stop the invading images, unsuccessfully. It was personal. It was painful. The picture of his poor decisions based on a misjudgment of the situation spread out before him in all the folds of the creased bed sheets, in the smell of sweaty bodies, in the scent of her perfume still wafting in the air, in the color of her hair buried in the folds, in the traces of bodily fluids still reflecting on the bed. He had made a horrible mistake.

He was about to move away when his attention caught a small gas container hidden by the folds of the quilt. "You fool! You stupid sorry arrogant fuck!" he scolded himself, bringing the canister to eye level and releasing the remaining gas that was still trapped inside. "I should have told her…I should have done something…" he clenched his hand crushing the metal under his fingers. His cowl immediately displayed the chemical composition. "I should have stayed away…" Trimethyl, dopamine, yohimine, carbogen, 3-quinuclidinyl benzilate, L-34-dihydroxyphenylalanine, nitrous oxide in a much stronger dose. "Enough to induce a state of psychosis…" he assessed and shoved the container into his belt pocket for evidence.

He knew all he needed to know and more. Gritting his teeth angrily, he headed for the door but a glint of shiny plastic caught his attention just before he left. He stopped and crouched down picking up the pieces of the transmitter he had given her. "Just the plastic…no chip…" he ran his eyes over the floor and the wall next to it, "blood…" barely discernible, smeared as if by a hand on dark paint. He straightened up tracing the wall, "he hurt her…" he ran his fingers over a barely defined circular indentation on the wall. "At some point, he discovered a transmitter…. probably after … he got violent…. he hurt her…hurt her hand with the sharp edges of the plastic…. he slammed her against the wall…" his eyes read the events as clearly as if he had witnessed them. "I should have stayed away. People around me only get hurt…"

"Where are you?" he returned to the main room to pick up the last trace, "did he take a tracker with him to lead me away from here? Where are you Y/N?" with a keen eye he noticed a single drop of blood closer to the entrance door. The simple lock posed no problem for him. He took out tools from his belt and before another painful thought entered his mind he opened the door to follow a trail further.

Footprints invisible to the bare eye glowed brightly in the ultraviolet light on the dark floor. They headed downstairs. They stopped at a door on the second floor, then at a door on the first. "Why?" he stopped to listen, "why did you stop here?" The traces led further down toward the basement, and he followed to stand a moment later in front of the metal door behind which they disappeared. "An electronic combination lock… you think this will hide your secrets…" he scoffed under his breath directing an ultraviolet light at the keypad. Bright glowing fingerprints revealed the code to him. The door gave way with a quiet creak as he stepped inside.

The clear laboratory space was all the evidence that he needed to move against him. Medical and chemical equipment, a bed with safety straps, a pressurized gas tank "you sick fuck…" he cursed in his mind, sweeping his gaze around his surroundings and stopping it at a small cooler filled with blood samples. "Willson, Brown, Allen, Walters, Scott, Phillips, Cambell, Carter…" he turned each one with his fingers to read the labels, "Y/L/N." A cold shiver ran down his spine, "the names of all his victims…" He snatched Y/N's blood vials and tucked them safely in his belt. The police couldn't find them here.

He was about to call Gordon when another door on the opposite side stopped him. Heavy like the previous one, also secured with an electronic lock. "Please don't be there…" he pointed the blue light at the keypad and followed the fingerprints. The door gave way, revealing to him the sight of a complete nightmare.

Four human-sized cages constructed of transparent plexiglas hooked up to air circulators, each of them connected to gas tanks. Four cages and four more victims in various stages of decline. The first one recoiled in fear and huddled in a corner at the sight of him hiding his head in his knees. The man, in his forties, sat on the transparent floor in his own feces sobbing like a child. From his cries, he could understand one word, "Scarecrow." The other, a woman in a catatonic state, with her hair torn out and her nails broken, laid on the floor with her eyes wide open, the walls of her cage covered with blood. She didn't even react to the sight of him. "Please don't be here…" he repeated in his mind as he approached the third cage. The man hidden in the corner of the cage upon seeing him sprang to his feet and ran closer.

"Batman!!! Oh god, Batman!!! Get me out of here!!! Get me out!!!" he slammed his fists against the plexiglass.

"Calm down and stay quiet," he ordered, "what's your name?"

"Matt Bower," the man answered.

"Drug dealer working for Maroni."

"Yeah, fuck that," he admitted then began pounding again, "get me out!!!"

"Quiet!" Batman ordered in a grave tone.

"Is he here?" panicked eyes began to look around, "do you hear him?"

"Who is he?"

"Scarecrow…." he replied cowering in terror, "Scarecrow…."

A high-pitched scream of terror tore the silence from the cage next door at the sound of his words. A short scream that pierced and died down into a stifled gasp.

"I'll get you out," Batman repeated once more before heading to the last cage.

Child. A girl no older than twelve. Sitting on the floor covered with crayons. She looked towards him with empty eyes. The drawings in colors of brown, red, and green depicted the nightmarish image of the Scarecrow.

"Did you see my brother and my dad?" she asked.

He knelt by the cage and, suppressing his anger and sadness, asked.

"Where are they?"

"I don't know…" she replied, still staring dully at him, "I heard them scream."

Ignoring the man's pleading calls, ignoring the child's cries and screams, ignoring the sobs and wails, he stormed out of the room heading for the apartments above. More evidence of his own misjudgments opened up before him as he rushed into the apartment on the first floor and then the second. He knelt by the woman, cursed silently, and called Gordon.

"Gordon. 183 Harlow Avenue," he informed upon hearing the signal, "get your squad and send paramedics. Chemical hazard. Wear a gas mask," he instructed while measuring her pulse.

"What is it, Batman?"

"I've found him," he directed the light into her eyes in an attempt to elicit pupil reactions, "it's Crane. "

"You sure?"

"Yes."

"Fuck! You were right to suspect him."

"Gordon, we have seven more victims."

"Seven! Sick bastard! I'm on my way!"

A quiet beeping in the earpiece informed him of the attempted call. He hung up Gordon only to hear Dick's voice in his intercom.

"Hey B. Sorry to cut into your brooding time but your little red dot just left Wayne Tower and she's heading toward Arkham."

"I've told you…"

"Yeah, you told us, we did what was right. Get over it and let's move on," Jason cut in, "they are together."

"Crane is with her. Look's like a hostage situation," Dick explained.

"Stay on them and do not engage!" he ordered sternly, "Crane is the killer. I've found seven more victims in his building."

"Fucking hell…" Jason's cursing almost drowned in the sound of the starting engine.

"DO NOT ENGAGE!" he repeated storming out of the apartment, "I am on my way."

The last time you walked through the eerie corridors of Arkham Asylum you hid your face under the hood observing everything stealthily. Disturbed even though you claimed not to, frightened even though you insisted otherwise, you absorbed the gothic surroundings of the psychiatric hospital around you. Now walking through the same corridors with your face uncovered and your head held high, you couldn't help but recall how safe you felt back then. The safety that the dark figure filling the space next to you brought. The gray and green illuminated time and again by pale flickering lights seemed less threatening than now. The creaking bars and metal doors didn't bring shivers to your skin like they did now. The echo of heavy boots seemed to muffle the screams, thumps, and strange growls coming from afar. The darkness that protected you, shielded you from the nightmares hidden in the walls, was now nowhere to be found and you could only pray that he was following your signal.

"Who is this friend you mentioned?" you asked Jonathan matching your step with his and taking control of your nerves.

"Friend is perhaps too big of a word," he replied, "more of a collaborator. A professor and scientist just like me."

"Like you?"

"Not in the literal sense of the word," he corrected himself, "our respective specialties are quite different." The sign Holding Cells blurred at the end of the corridor but Jonathan only took a right turn heading to another wing. "The professor specializes in the study of meta-genes," he continued, "I'm sure he'll be able to help you more than I can."

"So I am a meta-human…" you whispered quietly.

"Looks like it," he confirmed, "I admit it surprises me as much as it surprises you but it surely explains your unnatural resistance to my toxins."

"I'd like to see Harleen," you turned with him into the right corridor toward a large metal door. The sign above them read Intensive Treatment Center, "if possible of course."

"All in time."

"Stay on them and do not engage," Jason huffed as he parked the motorcycle next to Dick in the shade between the trees, "who the fuck does he think he is?!"

"Chill, you gotta trust him a bit."

"I know B is fucked in the head when it comes to endangering anyone but for fuck sake! Maybe he could trust us a bit for a change! How long have we been doing this?"

"He probably knows something we don't," Dick held out his hand toward the cell tower and fired a small scrambler, "they're heading toward the Intensive Treatment Center," he added while glancing at the GPS then with a nimble flip he jumped over the fence landing softly on the ground.

"My point exactly! He doesn't tell us everything and expects us to blindly follow orders!" Jason shot a hook toward the tower, soared over the fence, and landed next to him with a heavy thud, "I get that he doesn't fully trust me, but what's his problem with you!"

"The same as always Jay, the same as always," Dick sighed heavily, "in his head he probably thinks he's doing everything to protect us and is making the best possible decisions."

"Fucking hypocrite," Jason crouched near the ground avoiding the spotlight then fired another disruptor cutting off the power source darkening the surroundings, "Intensive treatment has a back entrance."

"I know it does!"

"Then let's go!"

Batman could not wait for Gordon. The situation was becoming tense, and time was working against him. Still, he had to. Every muscle, every thought of his tore toward Arkham, rushing after the distinct high-frequency signal he started receiving. The pieces of the transmitter he found on the floor told him it had been destroyed and yet she had repaired it. She was a hostage and she knew it. She wanted to guide him. "Why didn't she go to the police? Why didn't she lock herself in her office and wait for me? Why didn't she call the cops?" The questions came one after another but they had to wait.

He didn't free the people. He was alone, there were seven of them, and he didn't know what chemicals Crane had drugged their minds with or how they would react. All he did was cut the power to the air conditioning in all the rooms and block all the vents with glue bombs. He had to go. Now! But red and blue lights and an incoming distant sound of sirens stopped him.

Police cars and two ambulances came to an abrupt halt outside the building illuminating the darkness of the dim street as he slid on a line from the balcony landing right in front of the officers charging toward the door. Gordon was among them. He stopped abruptly and cursed quietly as he blocked his way.

"Batman! I've almost shot you!" he threw out angrily lowering his gun.

"You won't need a gun. Crane is not here."

"Then where the hell is he!"

"Nightwing and Red Hood are following him. He has a hostage," he informed him.

"Who?"

"Doesn't matter," he cut short, "in the apartment on the second floor you'll find a woman in a catatonic state, in the apartment on the first floor two men. In the basement, a chemistry lab and four victims in various states of psychosis."

"The sick bastard has turned the whole building into a fucked-up version of a clinic!"

"Gordon," Batma drew his attention with a brief pause, "there is a child down there," he emphasized.

"My god…"

"I've cut off the supply of toxins but the building is still contaminated. Proceed with caution."

"What about you?"

"I'm going after Crane."

"Doctor Crane! What an unexpected visit!" a bald short professor in a perfectly smooth lab coat looked at you from behind the round frames and, rising from his desk, greeting you. "I do hope that everything is in order with the latest delivery I provided."

"Yes, everything is in the perfect order. The delivery is performing outstandingly," he shook his hand, "that's not why I'm here." He extended his hand to you, bringing you to his side. You stepped up confidently even though your instincts screamed to run away. "Professor, please meet my friend and assistant Y/N, Y/L/N," he introduced you, "Y/N, Professor Hugo Strange."

You shook the hand he extended to you and a cold current of energy coursed through your entire body as he slid his glasses down to the tip of his nose and looked at you closely. Images flashed before your open eyes, the stark cold white, the painfully blinding light, the excruciating pain of a paralyzed body. You swallowed your fear and smiled kindly.

"It is a pleasure to meet you."

"I assure you that the pleasure is mine," the professor smiled slyly.

"Professor, if I remember correctly you have the ability to examine the genetic code to determine the meta-gene in a potential carrier," Jonathan inserted, situating himself discreetly in front of you, "I was hoping you could help us. As part of a mutually beneficial collaboration."

"Of course Doctor," he did not take his eyes off you, "follow me my dear. There is nothing to fear," he assured, directing you to leave the office.

Jason and Dick kept sneaking toward the back entrance of Intensive Treatment. Avoiding the light, they jammed another camera, crossing deftly the expanses of land surrounding the Arkham compound. They passed the Visitors Center and Medical Center with ease, incapacitated the two security guards overseeing the entrance to the Penitentiary, and, disabling more cameras, made their way toward the passage between the buildings to the Intensive Treatment Center. Leaping over the walls surrounding the building, they kept low to the ground, knowing well that on the low rooftops, they would be easily spotted. They found a hidden passageway leading to the back of the island that Batman had created years ago and, disappearing into the shadows, proceeded to the back of the building. Two ambulances stood in an open driveway hidden in the naturally forming rocks. They both shot their hooks upward to take position on the ledge above.

"Okay, six guards," Jason immediately proceeded to scan their surroundings, "two each at the ambulances and two at the entrance."

"Remind me, since when do paramedics carry guns?"

"Something smells fishy here…"

"Yeah, your breath…" a quiet sneer reached them from behind followed by a short figure nimbly hopping onto the ledge beside them.

"What the hell are you doing here!" Jason growled as soon as Robin crouched down next to him.

"Our job," Damian replied gruffly, "apparently you two cannot. We've been following you since you left the Batcave."

"We?" Dick's eyebrow arched questioningly. He didn't have to wait long for an answer. With a gentle whiff of air, Tim landed next to him and smiled apologetically.

"You should cover your six better," he chuckled.

"How did you?"

"Really, Nightwing, that shouldn't even be a question," Damian huffed, "it really wasn't difficult to track your signal, her signal, add two to two and deduce what you were up to."

"You should not get involved," even though Jason's face was hidden under a red helmet Tim could imagine all too easily his furious look.

"Cos why exactly?" Tim questioned, "what gives you the right to decide what we can and can't do?"

"We're older and more experienced!" Jason growled.

"And that's why following you was so easy…" Damian taunted.

"You little shit!"

"Whoa, guys! Chill the fuck down!" Dick jumped in between the brothers.

"Yes Hood, chill the fuck down."

"Robin! Language!"

"Guys? Since when are paramedics allowed to carry guns?" Tim drew their attention back to the task at hand.

"I don't think they're paramedics," Dick countered, "B is on his way. You better scram before he gets here."

"And let his wrath fall on you two dumbasses?" Tim smirked, "no way!"

"There is no need for you two to get involved."

"I'm gonna blame this on Damian," he grinned, "what excuse do you two have?"

"She's moving!" Damian cut in observing the dot displayed on his GPS, "are we going in or not? There are six of them and four of us."

"I'm not even gonna break a sweat."

"No. Not yet," Dick decided.

"Wait. Why?"

"Think about it," Tim began to explain, "she went to Wayne Tower for a reason, she turned on the transmitter at Wayne Tower. "

"She wanted us to follow her…"

"I'm pretty sure she wanted B to follow her," Jason quipped, "but Red is right."

"You guys are so boring," Damian threw his hood over his head and perched on the edge.

"Let her do her thing," Dick squatted next to him, "she's got good insticts."

"I'm pretty sure you're just doing what Father told you to do."

"Shut up."

"Of course, you are following orders like a good little soldier."

"Robin, stop."

"Maybe you could learn something for a change?" Jason snapped, "what is it with you kid! Always arguing, always tauting. Either you're part of the team or you're not."

"That is reach coming from you Hood."

"Hey, not cool!" Tim snapped.

"Zip it, Red! I don't need you defending me!"

"All of you zip it!" Dick fumed, "fuck! It's always like that! That's why I didn't tell you! We always fight!"

"Cos you are keeping us in the dark!" Tim frowned, "you're just like him!"

"Maybe he has a reason to keep you in the dark!" Jason growled, "maybe he preferred to keep you guys out of it. Away from his anger."

"Bullshit! Don't give me that sorry excuse that it's to protect us," Damian snarled.

"Like I said, just like B."

"Can we for fuck sake focus on a job and argue later!"? Dick threw his hands dramatically in the air, "if you keep yapping like that we'll have to get into confrontation! You gonna blow it all!"

"I'm fine with that," Tim shrugged.

"So am I," Damian stretched his shoulder muscles.

"I hope they send reinforcements, I could use some workout," Jason slammed his fist into his palm.

"Not yet."

You were walking toward the trap. You felt it. Overconfident, overly naive, you thought you had everything under control but you were terribly mistaken. The gray corridor walls seemed to close in around you as you followed them deeper into the Intensive Treatment Ward. Your heart quickened with each step you took, with each dark room you passed hiding the unknown. Guards passed you without paying any attention. Some with guns at their belts, others with holsters under their arms. With each passing minute, Arkham began to resemble increasingly more a prison than a hospital. The lights grew dimmer and more sparsely placed. There were no doctors, no nurses, just you and the two psychopaths at your side. Every smallest part of your body was raring to run. An energy that was beginning to feel familiar seemed to fill your every muscle, energize your every nerve, ready to attack them and throw yourself into flight. Would the guards open fire? Were they perhaps working for them? Where was Batman? Had the transmitter stopped working? You were alone. On your own. Way over your head. No one was coming to help you.

"Doctor," you began, turning to Strange.

"Professor," he corrected you.

"I'm sorry, professor. What exactly is it that you do?"

"The discovering and researching of meta-genes," he replied in a low voice.

"And more precisely?" you pouted, "please forgive my curiosity, but this is all completely new to me. And I'll admit that Doctor Crane surprised me by bringing me here," you prayed that your voice sounded most natural.

"Y/N, it's amusing how you feign sweet ignorance," a devious smile twisted his lips, "but false naiveté doesn't suit you. We both know what you're capable of."

Your heart leapt to your throat as your legs weakened beneath you.

"I don't understand what you're talking about."

Two stocky guards suddenly emerged from the room beside you. Standing behind, they blocked your escape route.

"Strange? What is this?" Jonathan frowned.

"Doctor Crane, I understand that you are completely unaware of who you have brought me here," without looking at him he reduced the distance between you, "but believe me, you have my gratitude. Mine and my associates."

Blue sparks danced across your arms as the air around you picked up and began to swirl. Panic surged in an uncontrollable wave, adrenaline filled your body, lighted your mind. The energy inside you demanded to be released. It demanded a fight. The game was over. You were ready. You had to act now. There was no way back. You had to fight. You quickly extended your hands in front of you and everything died down. The metal collar clenched tightly around your neck.

"Amusing…" Strange smirked.

"What is this! What are you doing!" Jonathan jumped between the two of you meeting Strange's angry gaze.

"I warn you, Crane, if you know what's good for you, you'll get out of my way," strong hands brutally grabbed your shoulders and forced you to walk. You yanked. To no avail.

"Where are you taking her? Strange! Release her!"

Strange only stopped abruptly and looked at Jonathan furiously.

"You've had your chance, Crane," he started sternly, "we offered you a part in the project. You refused."

"Cadmus…" Jonathan whispered, "you are working for Cadmus?"

"Not for, with."

"The project was never initiated. I would know."

"That's what we wanted you to think."

"Jonathan! What is going on!" you struggled but the guard's hands clenched tightly on your shoulders, "let me go you stupid fuck!" They ignored you. "Let go of me!!!" you shouted.

"The lab… memory lapses, buried trauma," Jonathan looked at you as if suddenly everything made sense, "you did this."

"Congratulations on your genius," Strange snarled, "Miss Y/L/N escaped us," his gaze returned to you again, "she escaped leaving carnage behind her. I assure you my dear, a second time will not happen."

"I will kill you you son of a bitch!" you shouted yanking fiercely, "I will kill you!!!"

"I won't let you take her away."

"You will," Strange stated, "unless you want to say goodbye to the constant supply of test subjects."

"Jonathan you can't!!!" the guard grabbed you around the waist and lifted you from the ground. You kicked and wrestled your legs trying to break free.

"So?" Strange asked.

Jonathan answered nothing. Held tightly in the waist, you could only watch as he moved aside letting them pass. You shouted but he didn't respond. You cursed him but he remained unmoved. His emotionless face and cool eyes betrayed not a shadow of regret.

"I will kill you sick pathetic son of a bitch!!!!!" you shouted into the darkness as Jonathan disappeared into the depths of the halls, "I will kill you!!!"

The exit door opened with a slam filling the space with vicious curses. Y/N squirmed and yanked herself out of the grip of the guard who headed unfazed toward the ambulance.

"What the hell!" Tim rose to his feet.

"It's Strange!" Damian added.

"When did he get into Arkham?" Jason asked.

"And how did we miss that!" Dick stood up and instantly assessed the situation, "Red, Hood you take the right side. Robin, you are with me."

They didn't need anything else. Batarangs flew with a swish cutting through the air as they jumped from hiding and attacked. Perfectly in tune with each other, they didn't need words, they didn't need instructions, they just acted. Red Robin attacked the guards at the ambulance, with a quick two kicks stripped them of their weapons as Red Hood rendered them unconscious. Nightwing attacked from the roof of the second car, snatching the weapons from the guards' hands and disarming them as Robin slipped from under the vehicle, undercutting them and incapacitating them with two quick punches.

"Take your fucking hands of me!!!" she shouted but her voice drowned in a series of gunshots. They dodged them swiftly. Nightwing flipped and jumped off the car hiding behind the hood from the flying death. Robin with a glide hid on the side as Red Hood, throwing out several smoke bombs, fired a grappling hook into the air disappearing into the shadows. Red Robin attacked, using the smoke screen he threw two Birdarangs straight into the barrels of the rifles. They exploded with a blast breaking the hail of bullets only for a moment.

"MOVE YOU FOOLS!" Strange commanded.

Out of the corner of his eye, Nightwing spotted reinforcements emerging from the building. Ten more rushed outside and began unloading magazines in their direction.

"IS THAT WHAT YOU WANTED HOOD?!" Nightwing shouted into space.

"NOW IT'S A PARTY!"

"LET'S DANCE BITCHES!"

The air shrieked. The smoke thickened as smoke bombs flew from four different directions. Projectiles in various shapes emerged from the shadows. A sword shone. Bō Staff sounded. Two Jericho 941s guns flashed. Eskrima Sticks whirred. They danced amongst the bullets knocking out one attacker after another. Smoke protected them, provided cover while sharp steel sliced through metal, while hollow thuds undercut and struck unsuspecting goons.

"GO! GO! GO!"

Strange was not backing down. Surrounded on all sides by machine gun fire, he tore through the smoke.

"GIVE IT UP STRANGE!" Jason shouted, firing a series of incapacitating bullets toward his guards.

"LET THE HOSTAGE GO!" Tim dropped from the air attacking another with precise blows knocking out their weapons and rendering them unconscious.

Damian only screamed as he drove his blade into the back of the goon who was holding her.

"ROBIN NO!" Nightwing shouted but it was too late.

The blade slashed his back. He screamed and fell down letting her out of his arms. She was not going to wait. She dashed forward, ignoring the rain of bullets, ignoring the confusion and chaos. Bullets flew in her direction but Red blocked them with his shield. Reload and another series got stopped by Nightwing's attack.

"AFTER HER!" Strange's voice broke through the mayhem.

Another series came from the side this time aimed at them. Nightwing jumped aside dodging the bullets still watching her. She ran and Strange's men rushed after her. She was fleeing and a hail of bullets prevented them from moving. He tracked Red Hood with his eyes.

"HOOD! CAR!"

It was too late. One of the thugs grabbed her around the waist and pushed her into the back of the ambulance. Two more jumped in behind him. Strange pointed one to the driver's side and jumped into the passenger seat himself. One breath. One moment's hesitation and the car took off with a squeal of tires. A grappling gun fired. Jason flew after him.

The swish of bullets and the sound of gunfire subsided. Everyone lay knocked to the ground and those who managed escaped inside the building.

"Red, Robin!" Nightwing called them back, "Red head on the other side. Crane must still be here."

"Got it!" Tim nodded and with a launch of his grappling gun took to the air.

"Robin! Go after them," Damian nodded in agreement, "and do not kill anyone."

"If I meant to kill him I would kill him," he growled.

"Dami please…"

"I know, I'm sorry…"

"I know."

"It's just…"

"I know…" Nightwing placed a hand on his brother's shoulder assuringly, "go!"

"Be careful Wing."

Batman sped through the streets of Gotham. Having previously abandoned his car in one of the hideouts under Wayne Tower, he cut through the streets as his cape blew in the wind. He needed speed and the ability to maneuver quickly, he needed to be there fifteen minutes ago when the red dot on his GPS pulsed steadily against Arkham Asylum. Now it was moving fast toward Metropolis.

"I've got eyes on the target!" he heard Nigtwing's voice on his communicator followed by gunshots in the background.

"Dude do something! I'm barely hanging here!"

"I'm working on it!"

He pushed the engine to the limits. Ignoring traffic lights, ignoring traffic directions, he cut through the city by the fastest possible route emerging on the Metro-Narrows Bridge straight into a hail of bullets.

"Nightwing," he called out, tracking him with his eyes, "take the left side I'll take the right. Aim for the tires."

"Y/N is inside! At this speed a collision could be fatal!"

"Red Hood!" he called out to Jason, who was hooked on the roof.

"Yeah, yeah I got it."

Jason pulled a sword from behind his back and slashed the metal on the roof with ease.

"What's up assholes?!"

"I will shoot her!" one of the men grabbed Y/N and put the gun to her head, "I will!"

"No, you won't," he dived inside with his feet first, kicking him in the face, grabbing her tightly as the explosive bang of the tires shook the car. Holding her closely to his chest, he softened the impact. The back door opened but he quickly launched a grappling gun catching the goons before they fell out to certain death.

The car rolled over as the world spun. On its side, on its roof, on its side again, it rolled on the asphalt bouncing like a toy. He held her firmly, with his other hand belaying himself and keeping them steady. The scrape of metal against asphalt and everything came to a halt.

"Heh, that escalated quickly huh?" he chuckled, "you okay?" with her eyes closed she didn't let go of his jacket, "okay, let's agree that you will be." He stood up, lifted her off her feet walked out of the car dealing a kick to the head to the still-conscious goon on the way out.

"You guys okay?" Nightwing jumped off the motorcycle and ran over to them.

"She's fine, just in shock."

"Hey, Y/N..." he touched her shoulder gently attempting to draw her attention, "it's over now."

"Yeah, I'm fine too. Thanks for asking," he sneered, "where is Batman?"

Batman was nearby. With a heavy slow step heading toward the driver, he watched as the man rolled out of the cab and dreaded to see the dark menacing figure approaching him. He wanted to run but was unable to do so. Batman merely walked up to him, picked him up, and while slamming him against the side of the overturned car, asked.

"Where were you taking her?"

"Let me go!"

"Where were you taking her?"

"I need a doctor! I'm not telling you shit!"

"You will need a morgue if you won't talk," he threatened, "where were you taking her!!!" he shouted in his face.

"To Metropolis! I don't know where! Strange had the coordinates!"

"Hey, where is Strange?" Nightwing asked as he walked around the car to the other side.

"He bailed out before we left Arkham!"

"What did Strange want from her?"

"I don't know! Strange is doing a bunch of different experiments! Something to do with metas! That's what he said to that other guy! I don't know anything! I'm just a gun!"

Y/N opened her eyes and moved in Jason's arms.

"Cadmus," she said quietly.

"What?"

"Cadmus," she repeated.

"Batman!" Jason called out, "guys come here!"

With one strong punch, Batman incapacitated the driver while Nightwing tied up the others.

"You can put me down," she smiled more confidently, "I'm okay."

"You sure?"

"Positive."

He lowered her legs carefully to the ground belaying before she found her stability.

"Thank you," she smiled gratefully, "thanks for saving me. All of you."

"No biggie! You owe us burgers."

"You got it," she laughed, regaining her confidence for a moment. But it didn't last long.

"What were you thinking!" Batman raised his voice as he walked up to them and grabbed her by the arm, "what the hell were you thinking!"

"Batman, I wasn't…" she cowered under his demeanor.

"Do you really want to get yourself killed!"

"I'm not…" she didn't finish. Both Jason and Dick watched in disbelief as Batman pulled her close hugging her tightly. They watched as his hand tucked her head as she wrapped her arms around his waist relieved to disappear into his cape. They stood like this for a moment in complete silence. Surrounded by the wreckage and empty shells. They breathed steadily while ignoring amused glances and delighted smiles. "I knew you would follow me," she whispered into his chest.

"The transmitter, it was destroyed. How did you…"

"You were in Jonathan's apartment!" she pulled away from him, "it's Jonathan! It's Crane! He has a whole laboratory in the basement! He is holding and torturing people!"

"I know," he calmed her, "I saw. The police are already there."

"Batman, it's my fault! Mine!"

"Calm down."

"He used my blood! He used my blood to create toxins! To torture people!"

"Calm down, one thing at a time."

"You used the word Cadmus," Jason spoke up.

"Yes," she confirmed, "that's all I picked up. Jonathan seemed to know it too but didn't know that Strange was involved. Whatever it is."

Jason and Dick merely exchanged communicative glances. They knew the meaning of the word Cadmus. Batman knew it, too.

"Where is Crane?" Batman asked.

"I sent Red after him," Nightwing informed him, "Robin also stayed in the Arkham grounds."

"Red Robin and Robin are in Arkham?" he clenched his teeth.

"They are following Crane," Nightwing emphasized.

"I was thinking that Crane is doing experiments there too! I thought maybe he was holding more people!" Y/N began to explain, "he promised me answers to questions about…" she hesitated, "my abilities. I thought if I went with him I'd lead you to him and catch him in the act!"

"Sneaky," Jason smirked.

"Brave," Nightwing admitted simultaneously.

"And stupid," Batman scolded as he watched Y/N slide off her jacket sleeve to unwrap the bandage and pull out the remnants of his transmitter from her wound.

"He found it earlier and I was afraid he would find it again," she looked at Batman embarrassed, "I managed to salvage and repair the electronics. I bypassed the switching element by connecting the antenna directly to the power supply. Simple design," she placed the transmitter in his open hand, "does Bruce Wayne know you're using his technology?" she added with a smile.

"You put yourself in danger, again," he ignored her question.

"It was the right thing to do."

"We'll talk about it later," he finally let her go and turned to his boys, "Nightwing, call the police and wait for them to give a report," Nightwing nodded, "Red Hood, take care of her."

"You got it B."

"I'm going back to Arkham."

"I'll go with you!" Y/N grabbed his arm and stopped him.

"Absolutely not."

"If Crane is there…"

"If Crane is there then we'll detain him and bring him to the custody," he interrupted her, "if he's not there, you'll be the first person he goes after. Go home, lock the door and don't let anyone in. Red Hood?"

"Don't you worry, I got her."

Before she could raise an argument once again Batman jumped on his motorcycle and drove off, disappearing into the night.

"Oh you are trouble girl! Trouble!" Jason laughed, "he's gonna absolutely hate that!"

"I'm trying to help!" she huffed.

"Yeah, yeah, I know you do! You want me to get this off you?" he asked, stepping closer and pointing to the collar around her neck.

"Please."

"Trust me sis, he knows that to," he brushed her hair away from her neck, "stay still," he instructed and grabbing the collar with one hand he stuck a Shuriken between the snaps then yanked hard snapping the collar, "but just cos he knows doesn't mean he isn't annoyed by it. Damn! I can already see him clenching his jaw and gritting his teeth!"

"Does it amuse you?"

"Totally! Shit's gonna be hilarious and I can't wait to see that!" he laughed heartily, "you okay riding a bike?"

"Totally!" she grinned, "but no hospitals."

"You should definitely get checked."

"Don't even try!" Nightwing chuckled as he disconnected the call with the police, "I tried, we both tried, she's stubborn like that."

"I like you even more," she couldn't see but Jason was smiling under his helmet, "alright then! Let me get you home."

"Can I drive?" she smirked.

"Absolutely fucking not!"

"But I know how!"

"I don't care!"

"It's an awesome bike!"

"Still no."

"Come on!"

"Foget about it!"

"I'll be careful."

"Maybe one day."

***

Chapter fourteen: Fighting fear

~~***~~ Author note: Funny thing. As I finished the previous chapter I immediately imagined the beginning of this one. It was Bats investigating Crane's apartment scene. Well...that didn't happen. Then I wrote the beginning, Bruce monitoring the GPS scene, which also moved way further into the story. As I was adding other bits and pieces the chapter grew, and evolved, and got quite complicated. Multiple plots got pulled into it, and new threads were created (at least in my mind). I hope it worked for you. It surely works for me. And I think I can tell you all that we are finally, finally approaching the "I am Batman" scene which already exists :) Thank you all for your comments and interactions and for spending your time with this story :) Till the next time Dear Reader!

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elena-mayfair · 8 months

Text

Running toward danger

Paring: Paring: Batman/Bruce Wayne x f!reader, Scarecrow/Jonathan Crane x f!reader Genre: Thriller, mystery, with elements of slow-burn romance Warnings: rating M, Explicit content!, NSFW!, strong language, graphic violence, themes of depression Summary: The last thing he wanted to do was leave her alone in his company. But Sunday's incident did not bring him any closer and Y/N was proving more and more every day to be his biggest clue and perhaps his best chance to expose him. He had to take that risk. He had to push aside his feelings for the greater good. He had to act quickly and discreetly. He had to find hard evidence that he could use against him before it was too late before Y/N becomes his next victim. But for now, he had no choice but to hope that after the failed attack Crane would be cautious that, if necessary, Y/N would activate the transmitter he had given her. That he was not making a mistake. Word count: 16.6k Note: Some gifs are not mine, credit to the authors.

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Disclaimer: The following chapter contains an explicit smut scene! Reader discretion is advised.

"Shouldn't you be at home resting?" Bruce asked opening your office door wider and glancing inside, "can I come in?"

"Sure!" you smiled looking out from behind the computer screen, "I'm fine. I told you I don't need sick leave."

"And I'm telling you for the third day in a row that I'd rather you take a few days off," he replied, leaving the door slightly open behind him as he was in the habit of doing. He walked over to you and, while placing a mug of aromatic coffee on your desk, asked, "Why are you so stubborn?"

"A manufacturing defect," you smirked, as you reached for the hot beverage, "I appreciate your concern, but you won't make me." Even his charming smile and compelling dominance couldn't keep you at home. Locked inside your four walls you were losing your mind as intrusive thoughts returned time and again replaying images from the past few days. Fear of what you can do, guilt over what you have done, confusion, a feeling of powerlessness, enchantment, a fleeting feeling of happiness, an unstoppable desire to escape. All of them fought for control, tried to determine your next step, drove you to the brink of insanity. You could escape from them at work, working was a distraction at least until Bruce wasn't around.

"I noticed," he smiled then pulled a chair over so he could sit next to you.

Wednesday evening was slowly descending over Gotham. Heavy, rainy clouds loomed in the darkening sky, dimming the cool glow of the setting sun. The pale, cold sun had long since hidden behind the horizon, taking with it a touch of autumn warmth, shrouding the city in a familiar mystical veil. Just as the setting sun took with it the warmth of the day, the approaching evening brought with it the anticipated comfort, the comfort of his gaze that seemed to watch over you every evening. So it was that day and each that came after Sunday. Monday morning dawned with a smile on your face when a message full of concern appeared on your phone screen suggesting that you should stay home instead of going to work. You refused, which led him to your office in the evening hours. Bruce Wayne, although absent for most of the day, seemed to be always nearby, watching attentively. He maintained a slight distance, but his eyes betrayed more than he may have intended. You were learning about him, studying him while conclusions and assumptions formed on their own. Bruce was a man of action. Determined, confident, insanely intelligent, and yet cautious. You could only assume that if he decided to take one step, he didn't plan to wait long for the next one, let alone back down. His constant presence kept building confidence in you with each passing day. Always close, yet so far away from you. Always charming, always composed, a perfect gentleman. You couldn't help but admire the professionalism he displayed in the office. The door was always left ajar, physical contact was almost non-existent, while only his gaze seemed to be touching your soul, looking longingly at you as he silently built tension between you. He was driving you crazy with that deep voice of his that seemed to pierce you to the core, that gaze that seemed to look into the deepest corners of your mind, and that infuriating, barely visible smile. So you tried, you tried your best to stay calm and relaxed as he came closer to you. You tried so hard to match his level of professionalism, but his mere presence was enough to trigger thoughts you shouldn't have in the office. It was enough that he came close enough for you to smell his perfume again, to ignite still lingering memories, to recall the touch of his lips on yours, the closeness of his body against yours, the words he whispered in your ear as you twirled together in a dance. Some part of you screamed: "Fuck professionalism!!! Fuck the cameras, fuck the possibility of being noticed! Don't hesitate!!! I won't either!" But although he seemed to be getting closer every day, he didn't make another move forward, and you certainly weren't going to urge him to do so. Instead, every evening you replayed in your mind that brief moment when you felt safe when you felt that perhaps the fairy tale didn't have to come to an end after all, those magical moments of the past few days. You couldn't lie to yourself, even though you knew you shouldn't, you were falling in love. And that feeling was more frightening than any other.

Yet, the brief moments of delight and excitement did not last long. Once Bruce disappeared, reality began to take on much darker shades. Overwhelming feelings, fear, anger, doubt, moments of enchantment that disappeared as quickly as they appeared, only to plunge you back into the endless darkness of reality and your own intrusive thoughts. Monday brought distress, as once again your own decisions led you to the Gotham City police precinct to give a statement. Tuesday brought frustration and anger as you were denied the opportunity to see and talk to Harleen at Arkham Asylum. As the days went by, you became more and more anxious and fearful, walking the streets of Gotham and clasping your hand on the bat-shaped transmitter, ready to press it at the first sight of anyone who even slightly resembled the Joker. The nights brought restless dreams, lucid nightmares, evoking images that awakened in you a sense of guilt, and regret for striving so hard to remember them. At night you wished you had never remembered. Only the evenings brought that brief moment of calm and comfort. That fleeting moment when you felt good. For every evening when you glanced into his blue eyes you found something different in them, something unfamiliar, warm and inviting, surrounding you with a sense of safety within which you longed to disappear. But a quiet voice whispering words of doubt wouldn't let you. Bruce was a good man, an honest man, a man who invited you into his life, while you gave him nothing but lies and secrets which you could not reveal.

You did not talk much at all about the events of the past few days, which in itself seemed surprising. Bruce didn't ask, and you couldn't shake the feeling that he was waiting for you to bring up the subject. You didn't know how. You didn't know how you were supposed to open this pandora's box and start explaining, how you should open up to him and not lose his affection in the process. And even though his behavior reassured you that he wasn't going anywhere, you couldn't stop thinking that he would disappear as quickly as he appeared, once you told him, once he understood how broken you truly were. He would disappear and take away the warmth of his eyes, the touch of his hand, and the taste of his lips. He would take away all that and the fairy tale would be over for good.

"The wound is healing quickly," his hand brushed gently over your shoulder lifting the sleeve of your blouse, bringing with it shivers on your skin, "I'll pick you up tomorrow morning, we'll drive to the hospital to take out the stitches."

"I still can't believe you made me go to the hospital."

"Don't you think it's ridiculous to think that a knife wound, ten stitches long, would heal on its own?"

"It would heal," you replied stubbornly.

"Y/N… don't be unreasonable."

"I hate hospitals. Even Batman couldn't make me go to the hospital."

"You hate hospitals but you still went to Arkham," he pointed out, "by yourself."

"I didn't want to bother you," you replied and he only sighed quietly, "I wanted to see her. To make sure she was doing well. Given the circumstances."

"You don't trust him?"

"Who? Batman?" he nodded in confirmation, "I don't know…" you continued, "I trust him. I think so. But I don't know him. I wonder if anyone knows him. Gotham's Mysterious Guardian, emerging from the shadows when you least expect it. It's hard to trust someone you don't know."

"You said he promised you."

"Because he did," you confirmed, "I wanted to make sure. I wanted to see her. But they won't let me in. They're holding her in Extreme Isolation! Maybe you could do something? I'm sorry for asking you this, but I'm convinced you have the connections that would get me permission to visit Harleen."

"Y/N, Arkham is a dangerous place," he began softly, "it's not a good idea for you to visit Arkham."

"I know, but I'd still like to get there. I'd like to see her," you lowered your gaze sadly, "I know she's done terrible things, and in everyone's eyes and probably yours as well, she's an insane criminal, but to me, she's just my friend. Whom I could not help…" You raised your eyes again only to meet the implacable depths of his blue eyes fixed on you. "I keep thinking that I should have noticed that there was something wrong with her earlier. That maybe if I had come to Gotham earlier, maybe if I hadn't hesitated so long to renew contact, maybe if I hadn't been so focused on myself…" he listened silently as his eyes watched with understanding, "maybe I could have done something, reacted earlier. Maybe if I had been there for her when I should have been everything would have turned out very differently."

"You shouldn't blame yourself for what happened," he mused quietly.

"And yet I can't help but wonder what if," you replied grimly, "so if there's even a small chance that you can get me a pass to Arkham, it would really mean a lot to me."

"I'm afraid even I don't have the power to make it possible for you," he replied but seeing your disappointed look he added, "but I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you," you smiled gratefully and, not thinking much, kissed him on the cheek. For a moment you both froze in suspense when your lips accidentally got too close to his. You pulled away hastily as your cheeks flared with a blush.

"I'm sorry," you gasped in embarrassment.

"Don't be," he smirked and your heart skipped a beat, "I do not promise anything," he emphasized.

"I understand. But I appreciate you trying," you replied with a smile.

"It's the least I can do, after all that's happened."

"About that…" you began tentatively, "you have no idea how grateful I am for your understanding, for not pressuring me, for being so caring…"

"I sense 'but' coming…"

"But I think I'm beginning to strain your patience," you continued.

"Believe me, you're far from it," he replied softly, "although I won't lie, the questions are piling up."

"I am aware of that," you admitted, "and I know that seeing me with a gun in my hand chasing after Harley Quinn doesn't help."

"I don't think this is a good place to have that kind of conversation," he interrupted you, "I will be out of town on business since Saturday but Friday is a good day to have dinner together," he once again decided instead of proposing.

"Bruce, I'm sorry but I'm not ready to be in Twitter and Instagram feeds again," you quipped then, not believing your own words, added, "but maybe we could meet at my place? I'd cook something and we could talk in private."

"You cook?" he smirked.

"Why do you look surprised! Of course, I cook!" you replied, amused as with his smile all your stress disappeared, "what, because I'm a woman, an engineer, single, that means I probably live on Door Dash, huh?" you sassed.

"I didn't say that."

"I may not cook to the standard of a Michelin Star restaurant, but I'm sure you won't complain."

"That honestly sounds wonderful Y/N and I'd love to have dinner with you in the comfort of your home," his eyes shone intensely.

"Then it's settled! In that case, I'll come to work in the morning on Friday so I can have the afternoon off. Jonathan is being released from the hospital. I want to pick him up," you immediately regretted mentioning his name. Another lie surfaced along with the reckless words. To Bruce, Jonathan was simply your friend, when you knew full well that his intentions were quite the opposite. "What am I doing?"

"Did you get a chance to see him since Sunday?"

"No, I didn't," you admitted, trying to hide a growing feeling of discomfort. Too much had happened that evening, too many things had been said, things Bruce had no idea about. "I went to visit him on Monday after work but I was not allowed in. Jonathan didn't want any visitors."

"You know how it is, if he has the same aversion to hospitals as you do, he probably didn't want you to see him hooked up to monitors and with a bandage on his head."

"He's the head of the psychiatric ward! Somehow I can't imagine doing that job and having an aversion to hospitals," you scoffed, "anyway, I haven't seen him. We only exchanged a few messages."

"Raincheck then? If you prefer," he offered kindly but his words did not reflect in his eyes.

"Another one?" you chuckled, "if we keep this up, the list of rainchecks will be full by next year!"

"That would mean we'll have plans for next year," the corner of his lips lifted again in a shadowy smile.

"Glass half full huh?" you tried to contain your excitement at the implication of his words, "no, no, no. I'll make it work. I'll get off work early, if Mister Fox won't mind of course, I'll pick up Jonathan and drive him home, make sure he doesn't need anything, do some grocery shopping, wrap everything up and I'll have the evening free."

"I could help if you would like. Alfred could go grocery shopping instead of you," Bruce suggested.

"Thank you, but I'd rather do it myself. I don't have many friends, I can't afford to piss off another one. Eight o'clock sounds good?"

"Sounds very good."

***

The only moment when Bruce's mind was free of intrusive thoughts was the moment of the fight. That moment when thoughts completely silenced allowing his body to take over. During combat, thoughts were an obstacle, a distraction, during combat there was no need for thinking. All that mattered was action and reaction, trusting the senses, relying on instincts. Dodge, strike, undercut and one opponent fell. Strike, dodge, grab and throw and another lost consciousness. The third one got smarter, the third one started to run away. Running away blindly from the menacing shadow that attacked them without warning. Still, the attempt to run away was pointless. A swift move, a shot, and a small grappling hook flew out with a high velocity towards the fleeing man, catching his legs and knocking him to the ground.

"Okay okay, man! You won!" the man exclaimed raising his hands defensively, "what do you want!?"

He gave him no answer. Perhaps he could, perhaps he would get the information he wanted. Yet, 'perhaps' was not enough for him. He had to have certainty. He had to have him scared. He remained silent approaching him with a heavy, calm step, he didn't even pull the line. He didn't have to.

"Oh god," the man cried still on the ground, "I don't know anything! I swear!" he tried to get up but a batarang thrown exactly an inch from his hand stopped him in place, "I swear!"

Everyone swore. They all lied in fear of him. Each equally naive, each sooner or later revealed the truth. All of them only needed the right persuasion.

His shadow slowly obscured the light of the lantern as he stood over him, grabbed him by his jacket, and lifted him off the ground at eye level. The man's feet hovered in the air.

"Who hired you," he asked in a grave tone, "who do you work for?"

"I don't know! I swear I don't know anything!" the man struggled in his grip.

"Who organized the attack?"

"It was the Joker! The Joker!"

"Don't make me hurt you," he threatened grimly, "there were ten of you. Seven in the building, three on the lookout. Did the Joker pay you to tip him off or did he threaten to murder you all?"

"Man, you're reaching! We weren't there! We work for Penguin!" the man defended himself, "I wouldn't lie to you! I'm not an idiot!"

"We'll see," he muttered then launched a grappling hook at the roof and pulled himself to the top ignoring the man's terrified screams.

Grabbing him by the leg, he dragged him to the edge of the roof then extended his hand and held him head down a hundred feet above the ground.

"Talk."

"Oh god, oh god! I can't! He's going to kill me! Or worse!" the man cried out pathetically.

"Do I look like I care?"

"Please! I don't know anything!" he begged.

"There are twenty-six bones in your leg that I can break," a terrified scream broke from the man's throat, "Talk."

"'Okay! Okay! I'll talk! Just pull me back!"

"I'm waiting."

"We've been working for Joker the whole time! For Joker! Me and those two downstairs! We were meant to tip him off when the other guy would be preparing an attack! Joker wanted to humiliate him in public, he wanted to piss him off because the other one robbed him! He wanted to provoke him!"

"Who delivered the bombs?"

"I don't know! I swear I don't know!"

"My arm is getting tired."

"I don't know! Seriously! I don't know! We never met him! Communication happened over the phone! The payment came in cash! Picked up from the safety deposit box on 8th Avenue!"

"Number."

"892! 892! Come on man! Pull me in!"

"How were the bombs delivered?"

"Container at the docks! Cape Carmine!"

"It's the Falcone district. Why there?"

"I don't know! We were supposed to find a container with a scarecrow painted on it! Inside were bombs and exact instructions! That's all I know! Pull me in, man!" the man pleaded desperately, "I told you what I know!"

"I know you did," Batman stated grimly then pulled him onto the roof and with a single punch rendered him unconscious.

He lowered himself to the ground again, tied him up with the others, sent a message to Grodon about a pickup waiting for him at the Bowery, then launched his grappling hook toward the rooftops once again and rose into the air.

The transmitter had been sending a signal for several minutes, a transmitter that was directing him toward the bridge leading to Gotham North. He didn't need to think, he's been thinking far too much over the past few days anyway, he knew who he would find there. "Why did she turn it on? What did she get herself into this time?"

He had not seen her for a long time under the cover of darkness when his face was hidden behind a mask when his shape was concealed by dark shadows when he could truly be himself. He scoffed under his breath, realizing the holes in his own logic, catching on to the next taller building to soar high above them. With her by his side, he was always himself. Day by day she unknowingly revealed the carefully hidden corners of his soul the ones he thought he would never see again. All it took was for her to be close for the smile to affect his face. He couldn't remember the last time he had smiled so much. It felt good. As if the sparkle of her shining eyes and the warmth of her melodic voice were slowly melting his ice-covered heart. He had given up plans to stay away from her, it seemed impossible and he didn't want that at all. He wanted to help her, to get to the truth, to get to know her, to find answers to the questions that plagued him, and perhaps, perhaps find the courage within himself to let her into his life.

He landed softly on the roof and saw her in the same place where she was then, this time sitting on the edge with her legs swinging carelessly in the air. A coffee cup was waiting for him next to her. He approached without a word, picked up the cup wrapped in a thermic cover, and sat down next to her.

"Nice gesture," he said taking a sip of still hot coffee.

"I thought you might be busy," she replied, "I didn't want it to get cold. The nights are getting colder."

"I told you not to use the transmitter needlessly," he didn't want to be harsh and yet the suit imposed a tone.

"You give me a number I can call and I'll rethink my methods," she sassed, "I wanted to talk. If you have time of course."

"I'm here aren't I?" interest piqued.

"You are…" she sighed pensively and gazed at the city lights on the horizon, "you always appear when I need you. Why?"

"I have my reasons."

"You watch over everyone you saved like this?

"Most don't get notoriously into trouble."

"Fair enough."

"What you did was brave but extremely foolish," he alluded to the Sunday events, "my people would have handled it."

"Nightwing was occupied by Joker, Red Robin was dealing with goons, Robin disappeared from my sight and you were not there," she replied casually but it didn't escape his attention that she remembered their names, "I saw her run away. She already escaped once, because of me. I had to do something."

"As I said, brave but foolish," he repeated then added, "you shouldn't blame yourself for her escape last time. You meant well, you wanted to help her. You made the best possible decision at that moment."

"I didn't think you were so understanding," she smiled weakly at him, " still, I can't help but think that if I didn't get involved then everything would have turned out quite differently. That maybe if I had reacted earlier, arrived in Gotham earlier, none of this would have happened," she said quietly.

"There's no point in thinking about what might have happened if we had acted differently," even though she couldn't know it, he said what he wanted to tell her earlier. "Are you alright?"

"Mentally, I could be better," she replied, "physically, I'm okay. The knife wound, no big deal," she shrugged, "I'm going to get the stitches removed tomorrow."

"Since when is a knife wound no big deal?"

"Since my life turned into a continuous string of bizarre events," she replied. "How is she?"

"Safe."

"You placed her in Arkham," she frowned.

"Despite popular belief, it's the best place I could place her. The best specialists in the country work there," he explained, "it was either Arham or Black Gate. Trust me, Arkham is the better option."

"I'd like to see her."

"Out of the question," he shouldn't have given her false hope earlier.

"Why? Somehow you had no problem taking me to Arkham before!" she snapped at him.

"I had reasons for doing so," he replied sternly, "Arkham is not a place to visit."

"Batman, she's still my friend," she looked into his concealed under cowl eyes. He watched her. "I would like to talk to her."

"About?"

"I have my reasons," she snarled coldly. The coldness didn't suit her, the sternness and hard stare looked somehow out of place. And yet, he couldn't stop observing with fascination.

"You ask for help but in return, you offer not even an explanation," he countered.

"I'm not asking," she corrected him, "besides, it's not like you're particularly open. People around me seem to be like that," she scoffed, "are you even human?" he remained unmoved, "forget that I asked."

"What do you need to talk to Quinzel about?" he continued. Y/N merely sighed with resignation, gazed into the bay and began.

"During the gala, she said something I can't stop thinking about," she said with a single breath, "she said I should look at the company I choose for myself and the people I seek help from before I start judging her." She looked at him as if looking for an explanation, a clue that would help her understand. He remained silent merely watching as single drops of approaching rain glittered in her hair. He may have had his suspicions, but they were still only suspicions. Without evidence, there was nothing he could do. Without evidence, he couldn't protect her, because what if he was wrong? "Given that my so-called company isn't particularly extensive, I only have three people to choose from. You, my former therapist and Bruce Wayne," she continued, "of which I can cross you out right away. Somehow I don't think she meant you when she talked about the company. Which leaves me with a choice between Bruce Wayne and my psychiatrist."

"Bruce Wayne, huh?" curiosity took over him.

"Don't pretend you haven't seen it," she snarked, "the pictures went viral all over the internet."

"I have seen."

"But somehow Bruce doesn't fit that comment to me either," she sighed in reflection, "why him? What could she possibly have against him?"

"Wayne is a public figure and Wayne Enterprises funds the GCPD," he noted, "Wayne Tech's plans for improving the city don't align with the criminal activities of people like Joker."

"No, that's not it…" a single flash of lightning brightened her pensive face, "you should have seen her. It was as if she was pointing out my own hypocrisy when I said that the Joker is a murderer and a psychopath. Bruce doesn't fit that comment. Bruce is a good man, a truly good man. There is care, kindness, and compassion in him." A strange feeling of warmth spread inside him. He couldn't remember the last time someone had spoken of him with such affection.

"You say that as if it's a problem," he noted when sadness took over her eyes.

"I'm not a good person, Batman…" a murmur of thunder followed her words. "I'm not."

"Every time we meet you try to do something for others, to help the other. And yet you say of yourself that you are not a good person," she looked at him with hopeful eyes, "I know that the Wayne Tech plans are your initiative. How can you say that, then?"

"How do you know?"

"I make it my business to know," he replied sternly, "you didn't answer my question."

"You don't know me," she suspended her gaze on him, "I don't know if I even know myself. Fragments of what I know do not add up to an image of a good person."

"You can tell me," he watched raindrops running down her face, a phantom of impending tears. A storm was hanging in the air.

"I don't know where I would begin…"

"The night is still young," he encouraged, "we have time."

"You think that's how it works? You say two words and I'll start sharing with you?" she glared in his direction but he remained unfazed. The mask hid any glimpse of emotion. It hid his curiosity, it hid his worry.

"Is there any other reason you wanted to meet me in the middle of the night?" he asked as another flash of lightning cut through the sky.

"Maybe I just like the company of mysterious grumps," she snarled back.

"If you say so," he took a sip of coffee and gazed at the city on the horizon. Somewhere in the distance, a siren sounded. A moment later, a second followed. His intercom was silent. He was silent. He waited. He could see the anger eating her up from the inside, the emotions raging inside her as she tried to decide whether or not to open up to him. Nervously, she reached into her pocket, most likely for a hidden pack of cigarettes, but after a second thought, she resigned, took a sip of coffee, then another, then rested her elbows on her knees and leaned forward, too far toward the edge. His arm shot toward her automatically, stopping in front of her. She only smiled and meekly leaned back.

"Fine," she sighed, "my coming to Gotham was meant to be a new beginning, the start of a new and better life," she began quietly, "I was running away, but I don't know from what. I wanted to leave the past behind but I didn't know what kind of past. I only knew that I had to move forward. Something was missing. There were feelings, fear, anxiety, anger…"

He listened in silence, watching as she slowly removed her mask cautiously revealing herself.

"It was as if a part of me was missing," she continued, "as if someone had erased the last three, maybe four years of my life from my mind," she looked at him. Her eyes shone in the darkness, she wanted to trust him, she needed to trust him.

"You can trust me."

"Trust is not my strong suit."

"That makes two of us."

"Why do I keep getting the feeling that you know more than I think you do?" she mused suspiciously, "do you, Batman? Do you know more than you let on?"

"As I said, I make my business to know," he replied calmly, "but don't worry. You continue to be a mystery." She smiled in response encouraged by his words and continued.

"I am convinced that whoever messed with my head did it on purpose…" she hesitated for a moment, " you know, I didn't know about your existence. I didn't know about anything! How, living in today's world, can you not know about the existence of people like you? Everyone was surprised that someone could move to Gotham so willingly, and I couldn't understand why. Now I know. Gotham is a truly remarkable place. A city where the Killer Croc lives in the sewers, maniacal clowns, gangsters and psychopaths run the streets, and the Dark Knight rises above the rooftops," her gaze rested on him once again, "I didn't even notice when I started remembering things. I think it was when, while being with Bruce in Metropolis, I didn't react to the name Superman or Flash. Yes… I began to remember. Jonathan and his practices…" she frowned, "it helped me reach those parts of my memory that were supposed to be erased, you triggered them, and Bruce helped my head to clear."

"Clear?"

"I'm sure he didn't exactly realize what he was doing, but he encouraged me to give away the pills that Doctor Crane recommended to me," she explained, "from that moment on, everything became sort of clearer. There is something off about him…"

"Wayne?"

"No, Doctor Crane," she corrected, "his practices are unusual, to say the least."

"Meaning?"

"Doctor Crane focuses heavily on fear and how fear controls a person…" she began, "he puts a person into a sort of hypnotic state and guides them through their fears. At least that's what it was like for me." The feeling of anxiety rose in him renewed and the flashing blue light on his forearm, signaling an attempted connection, did not help. Fear, fear control, unusual practices. All he needed was proof. He needed confirmation. He needed to pay him a visit.

"I understand why you asked me if I would get rid of fear if I had the opportunity," he recalled of their previous meeting ignoring the insistent call signal.

"You helped me a lot then," her eyes glimpsed in his direction. The expression of pain and sadness on her face was breaking his heart. "I didn't go back to him for another therapy session. What I already knew was enough. You, Bruce, Jonathan, you helped me without even realizing how much."

"You speak of him with affection," he asked taking advantage of the opportunity, "as of a friend."

"Because he is my friend. Maybe even more than that," she admitted. Jealousy pierced him painfully. "He was there for me when no one else was. He stood by me when I growled stubbornly as he tried to help when I got angry when he confronted me with the truth I didn't want to hear. He answered every phone call, at every hour, when nightmares and fears paralyzed me, making it difficult to function normally," she continued calmly and with every word she spoke, anger grew in him. He should be there. "Fuck! Why am I telling you all this!"

"Doctor Crane would probably say it's because people find it easier to talk to strangers than to those they hold close," he said.

"You're probably right…" she scoffed then abruptly jumped to her feet and backed away from the edge of the roof. With a quick movement, she reached into her pocket, pulled out a packet, and lit a cigarette.

His intercom kept signaling an attempted call.

"Batman, what is a Metahuman?" she asked suddenly revealing the reason she wanted to meet him. He saw what she had done even though she didn't know that. He had suspected it before even though she was unaware of it. He verified and cleared it a few days ago, but how could he tell her? How could he reveal part of the truth to her without revealing the rest? He couldn't. He wasn't ready.

"Why?"

"From what I've read, a Metahuman is someone who has so called Meta-Gene, a change in the genetic code that when activated grants powers. Some people live their entire lives without being aware of the deviation in their DNA and others, well," she smiled as he stepped closer, "others become Caped Crusaders protecting people."

"You've done a lot of reading."

"In my dreams, my visions," she stepped away from him to avoid blowing smoke in his face, "I remember the lab…." she said quietly while her whole body suddenly seemed to stiffen in paralysis as her hand paused halfway to her lips, "I remember the white lights shining straight into my eyes, bright like in operating rooms. I remember trials, tests. I remember being cut, pierced, subjected to electric shocks…" Without a word he stepped up to her and placed his hand on her shoulder. "I remember the doctors. I remember what they said, I remember them saying they wanted to get something out of me…" she looked at him as tears filled her eyes, "they laughed when I begged them to stop. They mocked when I talked about running away. They said that no one would believe me, that they would lock me up in a mental institution," her voice broke, "and now I can throw people against the wall using my will…." tears ran down her cheeks.

"I believe you," his heart was breaking but he couldn't show it to her.

"Batman…" she whispered through her tears, "I think I killed someone," she broke down, "I have blood on my hands. There was a doctor there. I remember him holding his throat as blood flooded his apron. I killed him…"

She fell apart. Crying hysterically, she wrapped her arms around his waist and cuddled her face into his chest letting all the emotions flow out of her. Letting everything she had been hiding, everything she had so meticulously kept under control, tucked away at the bottom of her mind finally come out with an uncontrollable stream of tears. He embraced her and wrapped her in his cape as if that would protect her from the pain of reality.

"I'm a fucking idiot. I delude myself that I can have a normal life, a job, a house, a loving man by my side," the crying didn't stop, "I don't deserve that. I deserve prison. No matter what I do I won't give back the lives of the people I killed," he embraced her tighter trying to calm her down but he knew it wouldn't help. She trusted him. Now she needed to let her emotions out. "Everything I touch turns to shit…" she wept into his chest, "I'm a monster…"

"I've seen monsters, Y/N," he whispered softly holding her tighter, "you're not one of them. You are their victim."

An explosion shattered the silence of the night. For a moment he thought it was the sound of thunder rolling over the city, but another one made him realize his mistake. With a heavy heart, he pushed her away from him, her teary eyes asked the question. He merely stepped back a few paces and picked up the call.

"Robin to Batman!" he heard in the receiver.

"I'm here."

"Shootout between Falcone's and Joker men in Bristol. Falcone's men attacked a police convoy. Two officers down. Nightwing and Hood are on their way."

"Don't let these three escape," he ordered, gazing at the horizon, "I'm on my way."

He cursed quietly and turned back to her.

"I have to go."

"Something's happened," composed, she calmly wiped away her tears.

"Yes," he admitted. He had to go, now. There was no time for explanations. "Call a cab and get home. Don't wander around town," he ordered before hurriedly walking to the edge of the roof ready to jump, but her words stopped him.

"I want to go with you!" she called out catching up with him, "let me go with you."

"No," dread stopped him in mid-step.

"I can help!"

"Are you trying to get yourself killed!?" he raised his voice but she stood unmoved. Anger simmered under the mask. "You keep running toward danger instead of running away from it! This is not a game! You could get hurt or worse, you could die."

"I want to help," she replied stubbornly.

"You are helping," he grabbed her shoulders and looked deep into her eyes, "you are helping where people should help! You are helping with your work, your innovations, your plans to improve the city. You are putting the company you work for on a noble track. You are raising awareness in the people of Gotham. You are helping. Let that be enough."

"I could do more," fire ignited in her eyes, "you could teach me how."

"Go home, Y/N," he ordered, "I don't want to find you following me," he warned then jumped off the roof and glided into the night.

He left her alone.

On the other side of town, Jonathan could not sleep. As he watched the raindrops running down the dirty window, he listened to the sounds of gunfire in the distance wondering if perhaps one of his hidden bombs had exploded causing the chaos. Wondering was all he did for the past few days. Locked in the hospital, under the watchful doctor's eye, he had nothing but time to think about every mistake he made. About every poorly planned step that led him to this place. Was it a mistake to hire thugs to execute part of the plan for him? Was it a mistake not to reveal himself yet and let the eventual blame fall on someone else? Was it a mistake to rely on money instead of fear for his small organization? Was it a mistake to steal the toxins that he knew full well Joker had his eye on? Was it a mistake to target civilians instead of going after those who protected them? Perhaps he should have weakened Gotham's defenses first? Strike at the police, perhaps the governing structure, perhaps even Batman and his men themselves? Perhaps he should wait longer? Perhaps he should hire serious people to work for him and not just any goons? Was it a mistake that he decided not to wait any longer, that he decided to seize the opportunity? Was it a mistake to attack Sarah Walters and let her escape? Allowing his emotions to take control when a woman who reminded him so much of Y/N walked into his office. Allowing his own anger to take control of his mind. The chances that she would lead the police to him were slim to none if her mind did not completely crumble after exposure to a more concentrated dose of his toxin. He still remained invisible. He still had time. Finally, was Y/N herself a mistake? Was it a mistake that he didn't draw her to his side? That he failed to release the darkness trapped within her so she would stand shoulder to shoulder alongside him instead of unknowingly working against him?

Nurses came and went, doctors visited him more often than he would have liked, and no amount of assurances that he was alright and didn't need constant care helped. They didn't listen, after all, "Doctor Crane may have had a concussion, he may have experienced psychosomatic disorders, Doctor Crane eats and drinks too little, Doctor Crane should know better than to refuse to talk to a psychiatrist, after all Doctor Crane is one of us and we take care of our own." But Doctor Crane was not one of them, far from it. Doctor Crane's knowledge and genius exceeded their primitive understanding of medicine, their limited academic knowledge of human bodies and minds, their narrow-minded understanding of the scientific field in which they had come to work. He looked at them while disdain grew with each passing day. He watched their inept practices while derision and hatred built up within him like layers of renewing skin that began to cover his cut forehead. He despised them all and every single one of them. He despised their mediocrity, their limited minds, their contentment with the constraints they themselves agreed to. He smiled kindly when the nurses changed the bandages, but the touch of their hands on his skin brought him nothing but disgust. He listened with feigned attention as the doctors updated him on his current condition, but their words brought him nothing but a sense of superiority. Only the thought that he would soon show them what a brilliant mind is capable of, to what limits it can push the human psyche, kept his nerves under control. The soothing vision of their faces contorted in horror, their throats torn apart from screaming brought a smile to his face, comforted him during sleepless nights. Soon everyone would see how limited they were.

The door to his room opened again but in his reverie, he couldn't care less. Another nurse, this time with fiery red hair, entered his room presumably to check his temperature, the condition of his wound, perhaps to inform him that they were planning to remove the stitches, or perhaps to finally tell him when he could leave the hospital. He only cast her a fleeting glance when the heavy thud of her shoes interrupted his musings. Haotic movements and lack of professional greeting ignited his fading hatred as he mentally added her to his list of future test subjects. Looking up at the blackened sky outside the window, anticipating the inevitable unpleasant touch of her hand on his skin, he could not help but smile at the vision of the near future.

However, the touch did not come. With a loud clatter, the nurse only dragged the chair closer to his bed and sat down without a word. The cold realization of another mistake cleared his mind.

"Hi," Joker grinned dangerously, "you look good Doc! How you've been?"

"What do you want? How did you get here?" Jonathan asked calmly. His mind was clear and his nerves were under control. The Joker didn't scare him.

"Rude," he grimaced with feigned offense. Jonathan raised himself up on his elbows wanting to level with the clown but Joker merely pulled a gun from underneath his lab coat and pointed it straight at him. "Now now, don't be hasty," he sang melodiously only to turn serious in a split second as his voice took on an icy tone, "we need to talk."

"I see you brought arguments with you," Jonathan quipped, "you have my undivided attention."

"Perfect!" he grinned, "listen, quite a number you wanted to pull off at that gala! Seriously, my respects! The whole operation so nicely organized! All the important people in one place! Oh, it would be fun if everyone started running in horror and throwing themselves at each other's throats! It would be glorious!"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"C'mon Doc! You can't fool me!" Joker waved his gun, "you can act innocent or even heroic for the cops, or maybe for my lovely runaway driver," he smiled ominously, "I know how close you two are. I wonder if she knows about your unusual activities."

"You don't know anything."

"Oh do I?" the smile didn't disappear from his face, "I know you stole my transport from the docks! I know it was you so don't try to lie. I hate liars!" he raised his voice gruffly, "I know they were used to create that wonderful gas which your people stuck all around the venue. Oh, they're dead, in case you're wondering," he quipped casually, "I know you're planning something exceptional, I just don't know if you're doing it all by yourself or if someone else is controlling the whole operation. Care to explain?"

Jonathan remained quiet, only his eyes betrayed a stilled desire to clamp his hands on the clown's throat and squeeze the life out of him.

"Doc, you don't look happy. Did I spoil your mood? Sheesh, and here I was, thinking we'd form some kind of partnership. I'd take care of my friend Bats, and you'd have a full rein to spread mayhem. Disappointing," he sniffed comically, "after all, we already share associates!"

"You're delusional," Jonathan scoffed.

"Oh, am I now?" with the agility of a predator he jumped to him and clenched his hands around his throat, "you, Doc, bring trouble. Your plans cost me my shipment! Do you know how hard it is to bribe people these days?! But you do know. Sure you know. You bought off my former men to work for you!" Joker's hands clenched tighter, "you bribed or intimidated! Like a puppy who is looking for his pack, you took what I threw away and usurped it as your own! You are creating a media fuss! You are drawing the cops' attention! They are beginning to snoop! Batman is starting to snoop! You don't want Batman snooping," the air caught in Jonathan's lungs but the Joker only squeezed tighter and, bringing his face closer to his, he growled, "she has the Bat on her shoulder. He's following her every step, watching her from the shadows. Do you think it was a coincidence that Boy Blunder and the birds appeared so quickly? There is something quite different about her that draws him in. She shoves herself everywhere, she's always where she shouldn't be, somehow always in the middle of things. And where she is she the Bat is too. And she cost me Harley!!!"

"I can take care of her," Jonathan gasped out through a clenched throat.

"You better," a low growl came from deep within the Joker, "because if you don't I'll take care of her myself. I've got my own plans and I don't need the Bat flying all over town."

"He won't."

"Stop screwing with my business or Bats will be the least of your problems," he snapped and let Jonathan go. "Well, good talk! We need to do that again soon!" he bared his teeth in a smile, "get well Doc!" he added and nonchalantly left his room leaving Jonathan alone with his anger.

***

Throughout your life you have seen many hospital corridors overcrowded with sick people, busy doctors and nurses doing what they could to provide the best possible care to patients. However, none even came close to what you found at Gotham General Hospital. Doctors left one room only to immediately head to the next, calm and composed, despite the suffering surrounding them from all sides. The nurses tried to maintain a smile on their faces and a warm tone of voice, but their eyes betrayed how many of them were on the verge of a nervous breakdown. As for the patients, they seemed to fill every available space in the hospital. Elderly people trying to fight another illness shared halls with young ones intoxicated by drugs. Young women looked disdainfully toward those who found their work on the streets, and with whom they had to share space. Accident victims and those of gang wars merged into one endless image of wounds, bruises, blood stains and cuts. Someone shouted, "I oughta butcher you! Penguin won't let it slide!", someone else dropped, "Fuck you you pathetic motherfucker! Falcone rules this city!", a mother covered her child's ears in time as the halls filled with the echo of a woman's frustration, "I may be a whore but at least the gangsters pay well and protect us from freaks!" Someone wept from one of the rooms, someone groaned in pain from another, as a doctor walked out cursing under his breath. Gotham was infected, steeped in violence to its core, and nowhere was this more apparent than in the hospitals.

If it hadn't been for Bruce walking beside you with a calm, steady step, you would have run home and removed the stitches yourself. The late night conversation with Batman left you in a somber mood and piling up guilt while the hospital environment didn't make it any easier to conceal that from him. You could only hope not to raise any suspicions. So desperately did you want to escape. Still, his towering figure filling much of the space next to you brought a strange sense of comfort. He didn't have to come here with you, truthfully you didn't even think he was willing to. And yet there he was, glancing at you time and again as if checking to see if everything was okay. He observed everything around with a stoic face and yet, you could see the pain and anger in his eyes.

"Why do you hate hospitals so much?" he asked, watching the changing expression on your face.

"Bad memories," you replied weakly then added, "I spent too much time in hospitals. I entered the hospital grounds too many times wondering if it was the last time," maybe you couldn't reveal the whole truth to him but you wanted to give him something. You might as well have reached further back in your memory. After all, the bad memories weren't just confined to the last missing years.

"They'll remove your stitches and we'll be out," as usual he didn't pressure you for which you were grateful, "a few minutes at the most."

"If it weren't for you, I probably would have pulled them out myself at home."

"Y/N! Would you really do that?"

"I would," you smiled innocently seeing his surprised look, "hospitals give me the creeps. Thank you for coming with me."

"You have nothing to thank me for," a gentle smile lifted the right corner of his lips brightening the dreadful reality surrounding you. You wished so much for that light and warmth he brought with him to stay in your life longer, but deep down you knew that he would disappear from your life as soon as he knew the truth. Pillar of the city, philanthropist, benefactor, for some a reflection of what Gotham could be, for others the only living memory of better times, for many a billionaire businessman, for few a father. You glanced at him stealthily once again painfully realizing that there was no room for damaged goods in his life, no matter how much you wished it would be different.

"When we get back to Wayne Tower I'm getting to work immediately. I'm in contact with several suppliers who will hopefully provide us with the materials we need to make the sensors. After I verify the specifications, I plan to provide a list of potential suppliers to Mister Fox and ask him to order the small quantity needed to make the test components."

"You're starting with sensors?"

"Linking with telecom, internet, satellite and whatnot won't be a problem. Only whether I can design and make sensors that will detect exactly what we need to detect could be. It's the base of the whole project so yes, I'm starting with the most difficult part."

"This is not the most difficult part," he countered, "I have no doubt that we will be able to achieve the design goals. The biggest problem will be the implementation of the system and convincing the city authorities of its relevance."

"Look around!" you stopped in mid-step allowing the nurse steering the medical bed to pass, "it may be naive thinking on my part, but at least some of those victims could be at home instead of in the hospital thanks to this improvement."

"You're right," he admitted in a lowered voice, taking a step closer to you and forcing you to raise your head to look him in the eyes, "I only wish more people in Gotham shared your thinking, especially those in power."

"Did my ignorance and lack of knowledge once again derail my thinking?"

Bruce did not answer immediately. Only gently placed his hands on your shoulders and turned you in the direction from which you came. Your shoulder rested against his chest as he leaned closer to you and began to explain.

"Now you take a look around Y/N," a husky voice sounded right next to your ear as Bruce discreetly began pointing out different parts of the vast infirmary, "to the left next to the entrance in black and white sweats are Penguin's men," you trailed your eyes along his words, "the one in the suit is probably their leader. The Penguin, as the people call him, is really named Oswald Cobblepot and is the last living member of one of the oldest families in Gotham. Penguin built his empire on weapons smuggling. But not just any weapons. Firearms, biological weapons, chemical weapons, whatever was in demand. Once he established himself in the city, he changed his role from a supplier more into a broker. His club Iceberg Lunge continuously hosts Gotham's criminal underworld as well as politicians and businessmen. You see, this is how Penguin views himself, not as a criminal but as a legitimate businessman. Anything that can be bought, sold, sourced, and liquidated with additional profit serves as an object of interest for him. Items, information, people, it doesn't matter. His record includes many assassinations, extortion, blackmail, bribery, and he does not hesitate from getting involved in politics. Just like Carmine Falcone, whose people you can spot at the entrance to the main block corridor, you swept your eyes down the hall toward a group of people dressed in sleek suits. Bruce continued, "Carmine 'The Roman', Falcone is one of the most feared and ruthless gangsters in Gotham and he does not disguise himself as a businessman at all although it's hard to deny his talent for business. Falcone doesn't act alone, he has a whole empire behind his back managed by many members of his family, as befits a true mafia. Brilliant and brutally efficient, he has on his payroll not only countless enterprisers who buy their protection from him but especially police officers and politicians. His organization mainly supplies Gotham with weapons and drugs, but he derives most of his power from his extensive connections, employed blackmail, bribery, intimidation, assassination, and kidnapping. Nothing in Gotham happens without his knowledge. No one gets to power without his approval."

"I assume that those on the opposite side closer to the ER entrance are the rival gang?" you asked quietly looking at the group of people in black suits.

"Maroni's men, always competing with Falcone for positions and territory," Bruce explained, "Sal's chain of Italian restaurants is just a front for his criminal organization. Simply put, where Roman's hand does not reach, Maroni's does. They hate each other but one thing unites them. They both hate Penguin more."

"Why?"

"You see, Falcone and Maroni are classic gangsters, people in power which they acquired in the most brutal way possible. Penguin, on the other hand, represents a new species of criminals in Gotham. Penguin doesn't shy away from working with those whom both Falcone and Maroni treat as freaks. You would never see one of them selling weapons to Joker. Penguin has no problem with that."

"How do you know all this?" you asked turning to him and gazing into his eyes again.

"I'm Bruce Wayne," he replied as if that explained everything, "you don't get to be me and not cross paths with one of them. Or as in my case with all of them. I have power, money, influence and I do what I can for the benefit of Gotham. The name Wayne means a lot in this city and public opinion takes into account my perspective. It's fair to say that they resent the fact that they don't have me under their control."

"Aren't you afraid?"

"Gotham is my city, my home. I won't let fear of people like Falcone or Maroni stop me from doing what I do."

"But you are knowingly exposing yourself to a potential attack from their side."

"Believe me, it's not as scary as it seems," he replied with a nonchalant smile, "as you can see we went through the hospital and no one rushed at me with a knife."

"Bruce…"

"I didn't mean to scare you, Y/N. I only intended to make you aware that it's not the city government we'll have to worry about but them," the seriousness returned, "but enough of that. Come on, let's do what we came here to do." His hand moved to your waist steering you toward the surgical ward.

"Wait a second," you placed your hand on his chest, "since we're already here I'll ask if Jonathan is leaving tomorrow as planned," you informed him and without waiting for his answer you moved towards the nurse at the reception desk.

The reception desk was only a few steps away and it didn't even take you a minute to cross the hall. Yet a minute was enough for you to observe the unpleasant stares from the gangsters who shot in your direction time and again, to hear quiet whistling and disgusting comments.

"Look, look, Wayne's new doll. Nice ass. Why don't you introduce yourself?" came to your ears.

"Come on Frankie, the Prince of Gotham is right there."

"So what! What's he's gonna do? Fucking nothing! But I know what I'd do to her if I got my hands on that ass. She'd be squealing."

"It's not what he's gonna do. But what the Boss will do if he finds out."

The shivers ran down your spine only for moments quickly replaced by a new, yet familiar feeling. He watched you. His gaze, like a cool soothing touch rested on your back and did not leave you waiting for you to return to him. There was something reassuring about it, and yet strangely unsettling at the same time.

"Excuse me," you turned to the nurse drowning in patient files.

"Wait your turn."

"No, it's not that, I just wanted to ask about the patient who is staying here," you continued but the nurse didn't even raise her eyes from over the documents.

"When was he admitted?"

"Four days ago," you replied.

"Ask in the ward. This is an emergency room."

"I don't know which ward he's in. I would be very grateful for your help," you tried again feeling an increasing chill on your back, "Doctor Jonathan Crane? If you could at least point me in the right direction."

"Are you family?" she asked moving her eyes from over the documents to the computer screen still ignoring you.

"No, a friend."

"We only give information to the patient's family."

"Please, I'm sure he wouldn't mind," you insisted while the chill on your back continued to rise. The gangsters' conversations quieted down.

"We do not give information to non-family members."

"We're not asking for his health status but what ward he's in," Bruce corrected the nurse appearing silently beside you, "I'm sure you can give us such information."

"What don't you people understand, this is an emergency room not a ward!" the woman finally raised her annoyed eyes that instantly softened, "Bruce Wayne…" she whispered stunned, "I mean, Mister Wayne, yes, of course."

"That won't be a problem, will it?"

"Absolutely not! I'm already checking," she replied with a smile while tapping Jonathan's name on the keyboard, "yes…. Doctor Jonathan Crane, admitted to trauma, transferred to general after a day, head injury, possible concussion…" she read from the computer, "discharged today at his own request."

"Discharged?" you asked surprised.

"Yes. But he hasn't picked up his papers yet so I assume he's either still in his room or in the treatment area for a bandage change."

"Thank you so much for your help," Bruce's charming tone brought a smile back to the nurse's face, "we were just going there."

All Jonathan wanted was to get as far away from all the overprotective doctors as he could. Settle into the peaceful silence of his lab and continue his work. All he had to do was get his bandage changed one last time and pick up his discharge card.

The Joker's visit brutally made him realize that he was not as invisible as he would have liked. The fact that the cops were looking for him was known to him, but he was sure he could deceive them indefinitely. But if the Joker was able to get to him, Batman was certainly closer than he thought. After an unexpected encounter in Arkham, he was convinced that Batman was there because of Harleen Quinzel. After all, that seemed to be the most logical explanation. Just one of the many errors in thinking he made. Y/N and her lies, her half-truths, her untold facts caused him to overlook another explanation. He failed to see the obvious connection. Sure, she told him about the events at Iceberg Launge, she told him about how he rescued her from the sinking car, but how many things did she leave out? How many things did she leave unsaid during their sessions? She claimed to trust him and yet she was never completely honest with him. The trip out of town turned out to be a party in the company of none other than Bruce goddamn Wayne of all people, he could only assume that her previous date was also with him. A lying imposter, she chose her words so carefully to give him exactly what he wanted while not revealing the whole truth. "Fool!" he gritted his teeth.

"I'm sorry Doctor, but I'm trying to be as gentle as I can," the nurse uttered seeing his sudden reaction, "unfortunately the wound may still hurt for a few days," she added applying a fresh bandage to his temple.

"It's fine," he muttered in response.

If she had concealed so much he could only guess how many other things she had kept from him. Did he have reason to believe that she had seen him more than the two times she had told him about? Perhaps because of Quinzel she kept in touch with him? Perhaps she even told him about his unusual practices? Perhaps she didn't have to. Perhaps he already knew. Did he have reason to believe that Batman knew how unusual she was and that's why he decided to observe her? One thing was certain, whether she wanted it or not, she had led Batman to him. He had to act fast. He had to decide his next move quickly and deal with the problem she posed. All he had to decide was how. He had roughly 24 hours to plan what he would do with her. A day to decide before Y/N would show up again and start lying and cheating under the guise of being honest and open. A day before Y/N…

The door to the treatment area opened and in it stood Y/N. Behind her back towered none other than Bruce Wayne. She looked around the room as Wayne grabbed the doctor's arm, stopping him in his steps. Two sentences were enough for the doctor to point them in his direction. She smiled brightly at the sight of him, and with her smile the 24 hours he had to make plans disappeared.

"Jonathan!" without a moment's hesitation she ran up to him and, completely ignoring the nurse finishing her work, threw herself around his neck and hugged him tightly. Although rage boiled within him, he welcomed her embrace eagerly.

"Game on, Wayne," he thought as he watched his icy stare while he wrapped his arms around her and hugged her tighter.

"It's so good to see you. I was worried," she beamed and before she pulled away from him her lips pressed a light kiss against his cheek, "you look great! They took good care of you here!"

"What are you doing here?" he asked her simultaneously acknowledging Bruce's presence with a brief nod.

"Bruce brought me in for stitches removal," she replied lifting the sleeve of her blouse and showing a long wound, "supposedly scars make the man. I'll have another one for the collection," she sassed.

"Very kind of you, Mister Wayne," Crane turned toward Bruce with feigned courtesy.

"You were supposed to stay in the hospital until tomorrow," Y/N continued, "I was planning to pick you up."

"I'm definitely fed up with the hospital," he replied, "so fed up that I think I'll take an overdue vacation."

"What were you thinking! What you did was incredibly dangerous!" anger ignited her eyes.

"No more dangerous than your actions," he pointed to the wound on his arm, "maybe we shouldn't talk about it now."

"Right," she agreed, "since you are leaving the hospital today…damn. This is not how I planned all this. "

"Things don't always go according to plan. But don't worry, I'll call a cab."

"Nonsense," Bruce inserted himself into the conversation, "we'll give you a ride."

"There is no need for that," Crane refused but Y/N completely ignored it.

"Seriously, it won't be any problem?" she asked, walking up closer to him. Too close for Jonathans' liking.

"Absolutely none," he replied without a second thought.

"You're the best," she smiled brightly, "I'd stay for coffee, maybe do some shopping for Jonathan. I know a moment ago I was talking about work but…"

"Relax," Wayne interrupted her, "do what you have to do and come to work later. I don't see any problem."

"But Mister Fox…"

"Flexible working hours, remember?" he noted, "don't worry about Lucius. I'll take care of it."

"Bruce, I don't know," she hesitated.

"But I do," he interrupted her again, "let's get your stitches out and get out of here," he decided, " Doctor Crane if you're done why don't you wait outside with me? Let's give Y/N a little privacy."

The nurse nodded, gave final instructions advising Jonathan that for the next few days he should take things easy, avoid long baths and soaking the wound, keep it clean, and report for a check up if necessary. She also instructed him to pick up a discharge card before leaving, then bid them both good day, focusing her attention on Y/N.

"We'll wait outside," Bruce threw in her direction before closing the door behind him.

They were left alone. Although the hospital life in the hallway was bustling with machine sounds, conversations, raised directions, clattering equipment, and whining patients a complete silence settled between them. Standing on one side of the door, Jonathan occasionally glanced silently toward Bruce, who without a word pulled out his phone and immersed himself, as Jonathan could only assume, in his work. "Bruce fucking Wayne," he cursed in his mind, "on top of everything I have to deal with him. As if it wasn't enough that Y/N drew to me Joker and Batman she had to catch his attention. Fucking magnet for trouble."

"Mister Wayne," he began, glaring at him from above his glasses, "thank you again for offering to drive me home but I assure you it won't be necessary. I'm sure someone of your status has much more important things to do."

"As I said, it's no problem," Bruce replied without taking his eyes off the phone screen, "Y/N was very worried about you, I can see how important this is to her. It's the least I can do."

"Speaking of Y/N," Jonathan lowered his tone and stood closer to him, "let me be direct and ask, what do you want from her?"

"I beg your pardon?" Bruce glared at him sternly.

"A simple question Mister Wayne."

"I believe it is none of your business Doctor Crane."

"It happens to be my business," Crane countered, "you see, Y/N is in a very fragile state right now. When I met her she already had a ton of problems and buried trauma to work through and, let's be honest, Gotham hasn't been kind to her. I'm sure you know that. She looks like she's fine but the experience makes me wonder how much she can take before she snaps," his gaze traveled through the glass of the door in her direction then returned to him.

"Your point?" Wayne's face expressed no emotion.

"She was making fantastic progress and then you showed up and she stopped. She is living in denial and you are the distraction that gave her an escape route," Crane continued, "please understand me, I only have her best interests at heart."

"She is lucky to have a friend like you," Wayne remained unmoved.

"Leave her alone," Crane's words sounded closer to a warning, "for her sake. Let's not fool ourselves sooner or later this will end in tragedy. At the risk of offending you, Mister Wayne, everyone knows your reputation. How long will it be before you get tired of her and move on to the next flavor of the season? Weeks? Months perhaps? Y/N doesn't look at you through the same lenses as others, and I assume you must find it extremely refreshing. But sooner or later you will disappear and leave destruction behind," Jonathan's cold gaze confronted Bruce's stern one, "all I want is to protect her from the inevitable. Y/N is strong but I can't let her take another hit. I'm not sure I'll be able to help her put herself back together."

"I'm sure Y/N would appreciate your concern," Bruce spoke gravely, "and I will agree with you on one thing, she cannot take another hit. But rest assured you won't be helping her put herself back together."

"I'm glad we understand each other."

The door to the treatment center opened brightening their surroundings again.

"Stitches are out, another sexy scar for the collection!" Y/N sassed with a broad smile, "I don't know about you but I'm so ready to leave the hospital! I could use some coffee though!"

On the way out of the hospital, Y/N didn't hide her joy at seeing Crane back on his feet. Yesterday's sadness and despair had disappeared replaced by her usual cheerfulness and Bruce couldn't help but wonder how much of it was an act. The intrusive thought prompted him to imagine how easily she would have found her place in his world returned but he quickly pushed it away focusing his attention on observation. She kept asking him about his health, about what the doctors said, about what recommendations he had, and he politely answered. But the politeness of his voice had nothing to do with the expression on his face that Bruce monitored in the rearview mirror. Restrained and cold, time and again laced with a calculated smile as he glanced in her direction. Bruce had seen this expression countless times and understood very well what it meant, Crane was hiding a completely different emotion. The last thing he wanted to do was leave her alone in his company. But Sunday's incident did not bring him any closer and Y/N was proving more and more every day to be his biggest clue and perhaps his best chance to expose him. He had to take that risk. He had to push aside his feelings for the greater good. The unease he felt suspecting him of being involved with the attacks on the people of Gotham, of messing with Y/N's mind, was becoming increasingly more justified and after the night's conversation, it almost became a fact. An uneasiness that was now further intensified by his growing jealousy. But what worried him, even more, was that Y/N seemed to completely ignore the obvious signs. She was so eager to jump right back into the middle of danger as if her instincts were working in reverse. Driven by concern for others, she completely disregarded her own safety, which she only proved to him yet again last night. He had to act quickly and discreetly. He had to find hard evidence that he could use against him before it was too late before Y/N becomes his next victim. But for now, he had no choice but to hope that after the failed attack Crane would be cautious that, if necessary, Y/N would activate the transmitter he had given her. That he was not making a mistake.

He stopped the car outside the small building that Crane had pointed out to him and carefully scanned his surroundings. "A few CCTV cameras, no problem," he quickly counted six that could record images located nearby, "but neighbors' prying eyes could be," he scanned the surrounding buildings, combining the number of parked cars with the number of tilted windows, "I'll have to come at night, make sure Crane isn't home, disrupt the cameras, turn off the street lights, and get in through the balcony window, preferably from the roof," he planned quickly as he got out of the car and walked around it to open her door and help her out.

"Thank you again," she smiled, standing in front of him with her hand still holding his. He didn't let go.

"Let me know when you're ready. I'll send a driver to pick you up," he ordered.

"Come on. I can call an Uber."

"All right. In that case, the driver will wait for you as long as it takes," he replied gently but leaving no room for argument.

"You don't take no for an answer, don't you Mister Wayne," she smirked.

"I do not," he smirked back, "don't be long."

"I won't," she replied, slipping her hand out of his hand. He didn't let her. Instead, he put his arm around her waist, pulled her closer and kissed her. She didn't resist. The brief surprise subsided when her lips softly welcomed his as her free hand rested on his chest. Her lips craved it as much as his, and although they both maintained decent control, he prolonged the kiss.

"I'll see you later…" he said when their lips finally parted then kissed her again briefly, nodded shortly to Crane, got into the car and drove away.

One glance in Jonathan's direction was enough to cool your burning feelings. His face set in stone and devoided of emotion, a cold and disappointed look, without a word he headed towards the entrance of the building while you followed. The rest of the day did not look pleasant, but you could not simply ignore him. For the past months he had been there for you every time you needed him, so now it was time for you to be there for him. Even if everything was much more complicated now. You were ready to endure his reluctance and aloofness, maybe even anger, if it meant that you would be able to take care of him the way he took care of you. After all, he was the one who stepped forward to defend the people, standing up to your friend and the Joker. After all, it was your friend who got him into the hospital.

As you walked in silence up the stairs leading to his apartment on the third floor, you couldn't help but reflect on your Sunday conversation, on the words he said that made everything feel different. He cared about you more than you thought and in the meantime you let Bruce sweep you off your feet and take you to Wonderland. Simultaneously, with that in your mind, you allowed Bruce to think that Jonathan was just a friend to you, you took advantage of his understanding and lack of knowledge when you could have simply been honest with him. Perhaps Jonathan was right, perhaps lies and half-truths indeed came too easily to you? Life around you seemed to take on a frenetic pace, events unfolded one after another and you tried your best to keep everything under control. Failing miserably.

"So, you and Wayne are like a thing right now?" Jonathan asked bluntly as soon as the apartment door closed behind you.

"Wow, that was quick," you snarked with a frown.

"What else did you expect? That we would waltz around the subject?"

"No pun intended, huh?" you scoffed angrily, "I don't know, maybe the usual hey coffee on the second shelf in the cabinet above the countertop."

"Coffee on the second shelf in the cabinet above the countertop," he snarled, "I need a shower and a change of clothes. I stink of the hospital," he added then disappeared behind the closed door of his bedroom.

"Fantastic start, great job," you sighed throwing the jacket and bag on the armchair to head toward the kitchen, "but he's right. What did I expect?" You turned on the coffee maker, then the air conditioner to pull out the stuffy air then opened the window to let out the weird smell spreading through the apartment. You regretted not taking your cigarettes with you. You could use one right now. Instead, caffeine had to be enough. The black one which you hated. But the milk had managed to spoil in the four days of his absence. You couldn't find any cream either. Neither could you find bread, nor any essentials. The refrigerator was glowing empty.

"When was the last time you cleaned the air conditioner!" you threw loudly in the direction of the bedroom, "and did any shopping? Your refrigerator is empty like no one has been here for weeks!"

"I've been eating out or at work a lot lately, and the AC is broken," he replied, as he walked out of the bedroom. Dressed in a suit, a clean white shirt and a silver tie tied tightly around his neck, he looked like he was heading straight to work. Only the wet hair pulled back from his face implied otherwise.

"The doctor told you to take things slowly," you scolded, "I'm going to run down to the grocery store, and cook something for today and tomorrow. Stay at home."

"I have work to do," he grunted under his breath while pouring himself a cup of coffee, "I'm not going to sit at home and do nothing."

"You said you'd take an overdue vacation."

"I have other work to do."

"What other work?"

"Other work," he repeated with emphasis, "outside the hospital. Stop with the questions. You know I don't just work at the hospital. My patients have been unattended for the last four days. I have to check on them."

"Jonathan I'm sure your patients will understand that you need a few days off," he avoided your gaze, "work is the last thing you should be thinking about right now."

"Look who's talking," he mocked, "how quickly did you get back to work?"

"On Monday," you admitted, "but it's not the same. I only got a cut. You got a baseball bat to the head."

"Why did you run after her!" he asked suddenly and his gaze finally focused on you, "why do you keep running toward danger? You're only drawing attention to yourself," anger blazed in his eyes.

"You know very well why," you replied calmly, "I had to do something."

"No, you didn't have to!" usually subdued this time he raised his voice, "you didn't have to Y/N! Normal people see danger and run away in the opposite direction! You run towards it!"

"Maybe I have things to make up for," you argued quietly.

"What things? What aren't you telling me again!"

"I didn't come here to talk about myself," you muttered, "I'm no longer one of your patients you have to check on."

"You're right, you're not," sounded menacingly. Jonathan stepped closer trapping you between the kitchen counter and his own body. "You're not my patient. You won't be my patient ever again. But you are a woman I care about, whose well being I care about. The fact that Wayne came into your life doesn't do any good."

"We're not going to talk about Bruce," you snapped.

"He's playing with you."

"You don't know him, you have no idea what you're talking about!"

"Fuck! Y/N you sound like Qunizel," he laughed, "and you supposedly know him? He's a womanizer! Playboy. Everyone knows about it! He changes women like his suits! He constantly shows up with another one! I thought you were smarter than that."

"I said I don't want to talk about it."

"You're not special," he smirked spitefully, "you're just another one."

"It was a mistake for me to come here," you growled slamming your coffee mug on the countertop, "I thought we could continue being…"

"Don't say friends," he interrupted you, "no, we won't be friends. Friends don't lie to each other."

"I am more honest with you than with anyone else!" you lied without thinking, "I thought you of all people understand that it is not easy to talk about certain things!"

"You lie, you lie constantly," he placed his hands on the countertop on both your sides, "you hide from me, you conceal the truths. And even though I confronted you with this barely a few days ago, you are doing it again."

"Get away from me…" you whispered, trying to find a little distance. You had never seen him so angry.

"He is bad for you Y/N," Jonathan continued lowering tone of voice, "he brings to you danger you can't see. Don't you have enough excitement? Do you really need an aristocrat who will entertain himself with you and leave you more broken than you already are?"

"Space, please…" you looked at him fiercely but he only pushed back the hair falling on your cheek before trailing his hand along your neck.

"But you like it. You like danger," resounded from within him ominously, "after all, no one forced you to go to the Penguin Club, to risk your life back then on the bridge, to confront Harleen, to seek help from Batman instead of me."

"Jonathan stop…" you warned while the familiar feeling inside you reawakened. Energy seemed to pulsate through your veins, filling your body, infusing the muscles, forcing you to act.

"How did you feel when the Joker put the blade to your face?" he asked as he pressed his hand to your throat, "were you afraid?"

"I was not afraid."

"Lies," the green eyes brightened intensely, "lies, lies, lies. Did I ever tell you how much I hate liars?" he clenched his hand tighter on your neck.

"I'm not lying," you replied stubbornly.

"Were you afraid when the black waters of the bay filled the car?" he ran his free hand up your thigh, "when life began to flee from you?"

"I wasn't afraid," you replied unmoved but inside the energy was burning. The same energy that pushed you to act, the same energy that made reality seem to yield ignited your senses. It was furious.

"Were you afraid back then, when in visions you lost control over your own body? Over your own will?" he moved his hand over your hip while tightening the other more firmly around your neck, "powerless, hopeless."

"Take your hands off me…" you warned.

"I'm not going to hurt you," a deep smokey voice assured, "I'm just trying to help you."

"Stop it…" your senses ignited dangerously as his hand moved higher up your waist.

"You're afraid," his eyes demanded submission, "you're afraid. I can see it…" he slid his hand under your blouse, "I can feel it…" he smiled with satisfaction, "but you like it."

"I said stop!!!" you shouted extending both hands in front of you and pushing him away. Energy flew out of you sending Jonathan several steps backward. A fright took over you when you saw his shocked face, "I'm sorry…" you whispered but he only smiled.

"How did you do that?" he was fascinated.

"I don't know."

"Do it again," he demanded moving toward you. His eyes blazed.

"I don't know how."

"Do it!"

"I can't! I don't know how!"

"But I know…" he growled menacingly jumping at you again, "I told you that fear controls you. I told you what power it has over you," he closed the space between you again, "admit it. You are afraid."

"I am," you replied, looking into his burning lustful eyes, "but not of you."

"What are you afraid of?"

"Loss of control," you replied, "I'm afraid of this strength that's inside me," you looked at your hands, "I'm afraid of my thoughts. Of the fact that I might hurt someone. I'm afraid they'll lock me up. The feeling of powerlessness."

"Let it go," he grabbed your hands firmly, "give me your fear. Let it go. Feel the strength," he tightened his hands around your wrists, "I can make you stronger than you have ever been. Free from the fear that limits you," he murmured softly, "I have opened your mind, I will take away your fear and fill you with power you have never known. I will show you the world as I see it. I will open to you possibilities you didn't know you had," his hands gripped tighter on your wrists, "we could do so much together."

"Stop…" you whispered slipping your hands out of his, "I can't control something I don't know. I could hurt someone. Like then…"

"You'd rather others hurt you!" he shouted grasping your arms. You squirmed in pain. "You'd rather they were the ones inflicting wounds on you!" he gripped your arms tighter.

"You're hurting me!" you groaned as his fingers painfully dug into the wound.

"You'd rather be a victim!"

"No!"

"How did you feel when you took control! How did you feel when you inflicted pain on those who hurt you!" blood ran down your arm, "how did you feel when you lost control for a moment!"

"Alive…" you whispered quietly, "I felt alive."

"You are chasing danger," he growled, "danger excites you," he pulled you close, "it fills you with this burning exhilaration."

"It does."

"They've used you, they've abused you," danger ignited in his eyes again, "you continue to let them. Those who held you, your friend, Batman," his hands took hold of your neck again, "they tightened the noose of fear around you and you let them," he clenched tighter, "they suffocate you. And you let them. How much can you take before you snap?"

"What makes you think I haven't already," you whispered pulling toward him ignoring the pain pushing against your throat, "I remember the terror I felt in the past. Fear, helplessness, pain, weakness. You helped me remember," you released one of his hands from your neck placed it again on your waist. He squeezed painfully. "I remember the harm that was done to me, the will that was taken from me," you released his other hand. His eyes widened with fascination. "I remember how they cut me, stabbed me, tested me," you ran his hand down your arms, tracing each vein directing it upward, over your breasts where electrodes used to be pinned, down over your stomach to direct it down to your back toward the spine where needles used to be inserted. "I remember their laughter, I remember the mocking, I remember the voices and faces of the people who did this to me," the hand on your waist clenched tightly as the other pulled you closer, "I didn't tell you. I remember more than I would like to remember."

"What do you want?" he asked as his hand traveled further down to slip under your skirt.

"Justice," you replied as your body trembled.

"What do you really want?" he tightened his hand painfully on your hip.

"Vengeance," you smiled, "I want to make them afraid as much as I was afraid," the green of his eyes grew sinister. You grabbed his jacket and yanked him closer, "I want you to show me your world. As you see it. I want to lose control."

His hand clenched harder but your scream stifled his violent kiss. He drew you close while his lips began to greedily drink the hatred from yours. You threw your arms around his neck and drew him stronger to you. The pain on your hip disappeared when his fingers entwined in your hair and yanked strongly back.

"If you lie to me," he began ominously.

"Awh, come on Doc! Are you scared?" you purred, unleashing lust in him. You grabbed his neck and drew him back to you. His strong arm wrapped around you as his tongue forced its way into your mouth. You moaned as his hand went under your blouse, closing on your breast. He pushed against you with all his strength, kissing your neck, your collarbones, caressing your nipple with his fingers. Taking advantage of the countertop, you gently bounced up and wrapped your legs around his waist. He hardened against you as with one hand holding you in the air he pulled off your blouse with the other. You entwined your fingers in his still damp hair as his greedy lips closed on your breast. Blood pulsed in your temples as he sat you down on the countertop and slid his freed hand between your legs. You tugged at his hair forcing him to look at you. The green in his burned venomously. You drowned again in his lips. In his passionate, lustful lips. You drowned in freedom, in bliss, in anger, in hatred as his fingers began to wander at your entrance. Kissing incessantly, you loosened his tie, ripped his shirt open while buttons scattered over the floor. His fingers entered you as you dug your nails into the exposed skin of his arms. You moaned in pleasure as you slid your hand into his pants.

"Show me," you whispered in his ear sensing him hard under your fingers, "show me what it's like to be powerful," you tightened your grip on him, "take away my fears," he pulsed in your hand, "make me free." He pulled his fingers out of you, grabbed your hips and lifted you allowing your legs to wrap around his waist again. Devouring lips crashed against yours again.

"I'll do a lot more than that," he breathed against your lips.

"Do whatever the fuck you want," you murmured in delight as he continued to hold you in the air while heading for the bedroom. With a kick, he opened the door as his passionate kisses caressed your neck. He threw you on the bed and ripped off your skirt. Naked, uncovered, you watched as he slipped his pants off revealing himself in all his glory. Your hand went between your legs invitingly. You moaned as he watched you tease. You didn't stop when he climbed onto the bed positioning himself on top of you. When his hands and lips began to cup your breasts again. He gripped your hips painfully as he pulsed at your entrance. He ran his fingers along your thighs only to slide down lower a moment later to kiss the inner of your thighs, to tease your lips with his tongue. You moaned arching under his touch. Giving him temporary power over your body.

"I knew you were hiding from me," he whispered as his eyes shone in front of yours again, "why these games. Why the lies?" he asked kissing you passionately, teasing you with his aroused hardness, "what was the game of appearances for?" he asked sliding over your wet entrance.

"I needed to understand," you replied arching toward him, "I needed to remember," you wrapped your leg around him encouragingly, "maybe I was afraid."

"I'll show you fear," he growled entering you violently, "I'll show you the fear no one knows," you moaned and he thrust in again, "I'll show you what power fear has," you spread your legs and he pushed in deeper, "I'll show you how to control it," a cry of delight broke out as he penetrated deep. Harder, with rhythmic movements, he moved inside you pressing you with all his weight against the mattress. Slowly and steadily at first, only to increase the pace as your body began to beg for more. He sped up and slowed down while his breath cooled your burning skin. He teased you with his fingers pressing his lips to your breasts as you moaned from pleasure with each violent thrust. Your body trembled as he knelt down, grabbed your hips and began to push rhythmically, deeper and more intense. A loud ecstasy filled the room as he pressed his hands against your breasts. Your body arched when his lust took over you as he drove his fingers into your hips pushing into you with all his strength filling you with an electrifying feeling of freedom. You were close to the end but he was just beginning. With a swift movement, he turned you on your stomach, trapped your legs tightly between his own and thrust into you violently, pressing his whole body against yours.

"Is this what you wanted?" he again clamped his hand on your throat tilting you back pumping intensely, "pain and pleasure," he rammed into you harder, "are you afraid?"

"No," you groaned.

"You should be," he purred sliding out of you only to lift you up, sit on the bed and let your legs wrap around him tightly as you slid down onto him. His lips once again found their way to yours. Found a path down your neck to your breasts. His hands tightened around you again as pleasure filled you completely. An explosion of sensations as you took control sliding out and onto him. The thrill of desire as you sank your nails into him, rising and falling rhythmically, making him penetrate you deeper with each movement. Your bodies pulsed in unison as he pressed you tightly against him with one hand while the other wandered into the drawers of the nightstand. He took control and quickened his pace, you felt blood under your fingernails. He tugged your hair and lustfully began to pleasure your breasts. Exhilaration pulsed in every bit of your body as his fingers found their way to your rear entrance sliding inside. Your body trembled in his hands as his tongue circled around your nipples while he ravaged your insides. You muffled cries in his neck as he invaded your rear with his fingers thrusting from both sides. Another orgasm shook your body but Jonathan only laughed deeply. He slid his fingers out of you, paused for a moment inside you, yanked painfully on your hair tilting your head back, and before you had time to react he sprayed gas right in your face.

Fear gripped you completely. Terror took over all other emotions when Jonathan's face twisted into a wraithlike smile. The lights suddenly seemed brighter, the sounds seemed louder, the blood in your temples seemed to pulse harder than anything else. Panic overwhelmed you completely as you drove your nails into his chest. His eyes blazed venomously as acid rushed from his mouth. His fingers suddenly seemed rough, scratching your skin painfully. His lips savaged yours until blood flowed as he laid you back on the bed with a terrifying smile, grabbing your arms above your head with one hand while pressing the other against your mouth.

"Don't scream," he ordered sliding slowly out of you, "I know you're scared but you can't scream," with his legs he spread yours wider, "you won't scream will you?" he didn't wait for an answer. He rammed into you violently while his hand muffled your cries. Again and again, with a rhythmic throbbing movement, he ripped your insides apart, thrusting harder and deeper each time. "You're so beautiful when you're afraid," he whispered, pulsing inside you, "when terror makes you want to scream but you can't," he pounded harder, "when all your nightmares come crashing down on you and there's nothing you can do!" he exclaimed, ramming into you.

The world suddenly flooded with white again. The white of bright burning lights fell on your bare skin, hurting your eyes, burning your senses.

"That's it," he pushed in harder, "feel the fear. Let go."

They were cutting, slashing and stabbing and there was nothing you could do. Red life was escaping from you through plastic tubes and you couldn't stop it. Powerless. You wanted to scream, but his hand covered your mouth. You wanted to cry but the light seemed to burn the tears in your eyes. Only the violent thrusting sensation slamming into you again and again. Only his exhilarated murmur when the acid from his mouth seemed to flow into yours. Only his strokes between your legs invading you. You snatched your hands from his grasp and sank your fingers into his paper skin, tearing it apart. He moaned in pleasure as he advanced inside you. You sank them in once more but he refused to be hurt again. The only venom in his eyes glistened as he turned you on your stomach for a second time and rammed into you. Pillows stifled a scream when you felt him deeper than before. Like a nightmare monster, he invaded you from behind while a laugh of satisfaction echoed through the apartment. You were completely subject to his will. Powerless as he slid his hand in front and with his burning fingers began to tease you. Acid burned through the skin on your neck and your back as he devoured your flesh. The blazing light burned your senses with each successive thrust. They cut, sliced, and stabbed as he crushed you with his whole body, grabbed your neck with both hands, and squeezed hard pushing down harder and deeper and faster until finally a cry tore through space with the feeling of acid pouring inside you.

Darkness fell.

The monster sank down heavily beside you cradling its hideous face into your neck.

In the darkness you found peace.

"I'm glad you came," he whispered kissing your back, " I really didn't want to kill you," he wrapped his arms around you, "and now that you are mine, I can show you my world."

A single tear ran down your cheek.

You were scared.

***

Chapter thirteen: Questionable choices

~~***~~ Author note: No comment... Well maybe except, I don't know how this happened, it just happened, I wasn't planning on this, I definitely wasn't planning on this! And honestly, for about a week I was thinking about removing that scene and reworking the whole chapter. But ultimately I decided to leave it. I don't know, it ain't my usual thing to write, but it kinda fitted the story, will see where it's gonna lead. I have tons of ideas moving forward. So I hope you won't mind this well...let's call it a moment of weakness. Till the next time Dear Reader! ~~***~~ Tag list: @mrsgrahamsdesign @theclassicvinyldragon @blondwhowrites @batgirlspain @hangmanscoming @julesjewelss36 @cherryflavoredcoke @grandstrangerphantom @maripositanoctruna @pluckastarfromthesky @butterfly-lies-chase-them-away @pirate-with-internet-connection

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elena-mayfair · 9 months

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Risky decisions

Paring: Paring: Batman/Bruce Wayne x f!reader, Scarecrow/Jonathan Crane x f!reader Genre: Thriller, mystery, with elements of slow-burn romance Warnings: rating T+/M, strong language, violence, themes of depression, depictions of mental illness Summary: Bruce knew he should keep his distance. He knew that any move he made toward her was the worst possible idea. He could picture every feasible, most probable, far-reaching outcome of his actions. He knew the answer to every if and when. Every possible scenario. He could see every worst possible future. Violence, pain, suffering, shock, disappointment, death, blood on his hands. He could see them all and each of them separately as they projected like a movie tape before his open eyes, intercut frame after frame by the image of his hand over hers. And yet, despite all his knowledge, experience and certainty that he knew, he couldn't find within himself the answer to one question. "What if I'm wrong." Word count: 14.3k Note: Some gifs are not mine, credit to the authors.

Series masterlist

***

"Are you free tonight?" Bruce asked casually as if an idea had unexpectedly crossed his mind.

"I'm sorry, but I already have plans," you replied, and to your surprise realized that your heart wanted to give a quite different answer. "Raincheck?"

"Another one," he smirked, "we didn't get a chance to go to the movies as we had planned."

"Bruce, men are divided between those who seek opportunity and those who can create one," you began flirtatiously, feeling a sudden boost of confidence, "I'm sure you are one of the latter."

He answered nothing. He simply smiled with that signature mysterious half-smile of his, leaned toward you and gently brushed his lips against your cheek. For a split second, the exuding aromatic scent of his fragrance surrounded you. Spices, citrus, leather and something sweet that lingered close to his skin. You imagined him in a black cashmere sweater, sitting with a book by the fireplace, sipping on a glass of whiskey delighted by the quietly resounding jazz. It was a good image, warm and comforting, you wanted to save it in your memory to one day relive in reality.

"Thank you," his low, husky voice snapped you out of your daydreams, "I can't remember the last time I had such a wonderful time."

Some part of you wanted to defuse the tension with a witty joke, a snappy retort, a self-deprecating slight, but when you glanced into the ocean depths of his blue eyes all you could do was to respond with the same.

"I thank you," you replied softly, "see you soon?"

"See you soon."

"Soon" was about to come earlier than you expected, but at that moment you didn't realize it. A few minutes after noon you closed your apartment door behind you, threw your suitcase into a corner, and sat at the window with a freshly brewed mug of coffee. You longed for the touch of his lips that still lingered on your cheek to last, along with the scent of his perfume that still floated around you. You gazed at the cloudy gray Gotham sky and drifted into dreams. These past three days were like a journey through the most beautiful fairy tale, even if at times the vibrant magic got covered by a shadow of darkness. With him, even the darkness did not appear so dark, taking on a warm enveloping shade instead. Charming and mysterious, full of contradictions, confident, noble, a gentleman in every way, that's what he was, and you wished that "soon" would come as soon as possible.

"I have a date with Jonathan…" your consciousness broke suddenly through the languor. You reached for the phone, fighting the urge to cancel. It didn't feel right, it didn't feel right to Jonathan but especially to Bruce. Perhaps Jonathan did say he liked you, perhaps Bruce never did, but Bruce's behavior conveyed more than any of Jonathan's words. You shifted your gaze to a beautiful black A-line floor-length dress with lace shoulders and a lace insert on the back and sighed with resignation. In your wildest dreams, you never imagined that a weekend in Metropolis would mess with your head like this.

"I can't cancel, it just isn't right," you decided then impulsively opened the Twitter app. The smile disappeared from your face as quickly as the feed refreshed.

"Unfortunately I'm afraid we won't avoid controversial headlines," Bruce's voice sounded in your head as your feed filled with photos from TechX most of which featured smiling faces, his and yours. Photos from the red carpet that captured perfectly his hand on your waist, photos of your smiling and slightly embarrassed face as he leaned toward you whispering words of encouragement in your ear, photos that captured his sparkling eyes directed toward you as he complimented you, your beaming smile as you walked with him proudly with your hand placed on his forearm. It was all there, frozen in frames and shots, cropped with variations of the question, "Who is billionaire Bruce Wayne's new girlfriend?" With a trembling heart, you expanded the comments under one of the posts, there were hundreds of them.

Does anyone know who she is? I need an answer asap #curious #brucewaynegirlfriend #brucewayne #techx They look kinda cute #brucewayneinlove #brucewayne Adorable Stunning I wish to be her He deserves better #brucewayne #wayne #brucewaynegirlfriend Is she wearing a dress from Zara? If H&M and Tom Ford made a collab #brucewaynedesrevesbetter Cheap skunk #brucewaynedesrevesbetter Wish he would have go back with Charlotte. They were perfect together #charlotteandbrcue4ever She's so cute omg I'm dying!!! #brucewayne #wayne #brucewaynegirlfriend Need name now! #brucewayne #wayne #brucewaynegirlfriend I would tap that! I look at this and all I want is to become a new villain in Gotham. He's way out of her league. Mommy please seat on my face #BruceWayne could destroy my body and my life and all I'd say is "does tomorrow work for you too?" I would let her sit on my face until I die from suffocation. It would be beautiful death. Whore! BRING VANESSA BACK!!! #bucenessa4ever Gender swapped beauty and the beast They look so in love!!! I'm loving this!!! He deserves love!!! #brucewayne #wayne #brucewaynegirlfriend You should know better… Is it just me or does she look like Killer Crock did a number on her? Oh my god I am so jealous!!! #brucewayne #wayne #brucewaynegirlfriend He definitely exudes big dick energy #wayne She looks like a girl next door. The kind you want to watch from behind a curtain, in the dark room, with lube nearby.

It was too much. You locked the screen with rage and threw the phone on the bed. Your heart pounded in your chest and blood pulsed in your temples. "Fucking assholes!!! Fucking assholes on fucking Twitter!!!!" you shouted furiously trying to swallow the tears rushing into your eyes. Wonderland was gone. Reality had returned. And you hated it.

Bruce hoped to slip into the mansion unnoticed. He had no desire for Dick's quasi-innocent teases, Alfred's controlled curiosity, Tim's knowing glances, or Damian's clearly judgmental stares. All he wanted to do was slip into his bedroom, change his clothes, head to the cave and make up for the past three days. He tried at all costs to maintain a modicum of privacy, and although he usually succeeded now he had a feeling he wouldn't be able to avoid his boys. How was he supposed to maintain privacy in a house full of detectives he himself had trained.

"Father, we need to talk," Damian greeted him with a stern look as he entered the main hall and set down his suitcase. Hands crossed over his chest indicated his determination.

"Not now, Damian. I have work to do," he replied, avoiding his son's scrutiny.

"We did the work, Father. You just have to read the report. I'll admit that in your absence Todd has proved to be an invaluable asset," he didn't take his eyes off him, "I shouldn't be surprised. After all, you trained him."

"Jason was here?"

"You know very well that Jason is always here when you're out of town so don't act surprised," despite his young age and small stature he exuded confidence, "Father, do we have reason for concern?"

"Concern about what?" Bruce played confused.

"Well I probably don't need to remind you that most of the women you've associated with in the past have been on the wrong side of the law," Damian pointed out gruffly, "you told us that this whole affair is driven by the observation and investigation."

"And what makes you think otherwise," Bruce smiled softly, bending down to look his son in the eye.

"The photos that are circulating the Internet reveal a very different story."

"Damian, I assure you that you have nothing to be worried about," he put a hand on his shoulder, "I appreciate your concern, but your suspicions are absurd."

"Father…" Damian began but Bruce did not let him finish.

"Clark and Jon will visit us next Sunday," even though Damian tried to feign indifference Bruce could see a glint of joy in his son's eyes. He wouldn't admit it out loud, but he considered Superman's son a friend, "I was hoping it would make you happy."

"It will be a nice change from the company of Grayson and Drake," Damian grunted, "but you're avoiding the subject."

"Because there's nothing to talk about," Bruce denied stubbornly, "and now if you'll excuse me, I really need to get on with my work."

With a cigarette in one hand and a phone in the other, you stared at Jonathan's name displayed on the screen. You hadn't heard a word from him in two days, and the evening was approaching fast. You inhaled deeply and let the smoke soothe your nerves. You weren't proud of your returning habit, but you desperately needed to calm down and alcohol wasn't out of the question. You knew it was appropriate to call but anxiety prevented you from making such a bold move. The certainty that he had also seen the photos made your stomach curl and your throat tighten with a strangling choke. Judgment by strangers on social media was one thing, but you weren't ready for judgment from him. With a cigarette hung at your lips, you tapped a simple short message.

Are we still up for tonight?

The answer came a moment later. Equally short and simple, leaving you unable to decrypt his emotions.

Sure we are. I'll pick you up at seven.

The date wasn't looking promising. "A date," as he called it, under your pressure. "It didn't come from him, he invited me there as a friend, I was the one who pushed. Why did I push?" the thoughts piled up in your head. Part of you wanted to move as far away from the idea of a date as possible while the other was pulling toward it with uncontrollable force. After all, it was Jonathan who was always there for you when you needed him, it was Jonathan who answered your calls in the middle of the night, calmed your fears, listened to you, tried to help you, Jonathan not Bruce.

"Bruce busted out the hotel room door because I had a bad dream…"

You lit another cigarette and took a drag.

"Maybe Bruce would have done all this too if he knew? Bruce doesn't push, Bruce understands without words…he is so caring…so understanding…" you stared into space, "Bruce is completely out of my league. Unattainable. Why the fuck am I even thinking about this?" anger stirred within you again, "I wouldn't want to be here with anyone else right now…" you recalled his words and cursed viciously. "Would I even want to be with him? Constantly judged, constantly trending, zero privacy…." and even though your head said one thing your heart strongly disagreed, "oh for fuck sake!!! I have to come down to earth! Jonathan is here, Jonathan is just a regular good guy who likes me and cares about me!"

"Jonathan was in Arkham…" a quiet voice of doubt spoke up from the depths of your consciousness, "Jonathan was in Harleen's hidden office. He was looking for something. Batman was clearly suspicious of him. Batman…"

The thought was now completely unnecessary to you and yet once it appeared in your mind it surrounded all the others with a black cloak drowning them all out. You dimly looked out the window at the darkening sky. You could not help but wonder where he was now? Who was he? What was he doing? Was he chasing criminals? Or was he conducting some kind of investigation?

"Batman would know what to do and who to trust…"

Bruce checked his watch nervously, trying to form in his head a schedule for the evening. The gala was starting at eight o'clock in the evening, which would give him four hours of operation time. He could use it to re-analyze the results of the research boys had conducted, meet with Gordon which was well overdue, or take a breather and prepare for the gala. The autumn season provided the benefit of an earlier dusk, and the earlier dusk gave him the cover he needed. Sitting at the kitchen table, in Alfred's quiet company, he swiped mindlessly over the tablet screen while his thoughts kept drifting back to the scent of jasmine and vanilla that surrounded him with soothing warmth as they said their goodbyes.

"Pointless…" he muttered under his breath chastising himself for his indecisiveness.

"Young masters were very pleased with the results of the study and what they were able to achieve," Alfred's attentive ear caught the comment.

"That's not what I'm talking about, Alfred," Bruce corrected himself, "the lab results are truly insightful. They did a remarkable job! We may not know everything but we are one step closer. We have a correlation between the pills and most of the victims. The only thing we're missing is a connection with Juliet Cambell and her daughter…"

"Maybe it's not the same perpetrator after all?

"I'm sure these cases are connected," Bruce mused for a moment, "Damian told me that Jason was in the house. That he was helping with the investigation."

"Master Jason showed up at the house on Saturday morning," Alfred replied softly, "he looked healthy and had everything under control."

"Good…"

"Master Bruce, you are avoiding the problem and therefore its solution," irritation crept into Alfred's controlled voice, "why are you able to talk to each other when you are working and not quietly at home?"

"Al…"

"You raised that boy Bruce! You can't push the conflict aside hoping it will resolve itself! I know you care about him and he cares about you too. "

"I'm not hoping for that…" Bruce interrupted him gently, "Jason has to come to the point where he wants to talk about it himself. If I pressure him he will only lash out and all the progress we have made will be lost. I know something about this…" he smiled faintly remembering his own behavior, "Dick has his eye on him, Jason trusts him. We'll deal with the rest when Jason is ready for it," he locked the tablet screen, finished his coffee and got up from the table.

"I prepared the tuxedo as requested," Alfred stated abandoning his attempt to continue the topic.

"Thank you Al, but the tuxedo will come later."

"What are you planning?"

"I have to see Gordon."

The black cloudy sky over Gotham lit up with a bright bat-symbol as if in response to your contemplation. For a moment you couldn't help but feel as if Gotham heard you, listened to your thoughts, listened to your worries, and in response decided to lighten the darkness that surrounded you a bit. Batman was busy which could only mean growing terror. Still, the symbol did not bring fright as it did just a few months ago. It brought a sense of peace, of reassurance. Whatever was happening, Batman was there, whatever would happen next you had the transmitter he handed you. Whatever happened…

"Could I trust him?" the thought came suddenly, "I have to trust someone."

The scattered puzzle pieces you called memories slowly began to come together, and at their center stood Lex Luthor. He had done something to you, of that you were sure. Something that created gaps in your memory, something that created the nightmarish images that haunted you during therapy. Perhaps not by himself, perhaps not with his own hands, but you were convinced that on his orders. You were certain that you were not the only one.

How were you to discover something that had been erased from your memory. How were you supposed to go up against one of the most powerful men in the world? Compared to him, you were a nobody, powerless, hopeless, a mere insignificant voice that could be drowned out at the snap of a finger.

"Bruce is powerful when compared to him…" you quickly pushed that thought away from you. Bruce couldn't know, you couldn't tell him, as a matter of fact, you didn't even quite know what you were supposed to tell him.

The images in your head, the facts from reality slowly pieced together but still were not enough. You continued to be in darkness. You still didn't know. You could only guess. You needed help.

"What about Jonathan?" you wondered for a moment as you slipped the beautiful black gown over your shoulders.

An implacable, infinite blackness enveloped your thoughts and from its depths a quiet, low voice rang out, piercing through your every other thought. A voice that said, "be careful…something is not quite what it seems."

Gordon didn't have to wait long to meet his masked friend. Barely a few minutes after he turned on the signal Batman landed softly on the roof of the GCPD building. A stoic, black figure hidden under a black cape that seemed to form a unity with the shadows of the night.

"Did you teleport or what?" Gordon chuckled as he lit a cigarette.

"I was on my way," Batman replied in a low voice.

"Good to see you back in Gotham. Don't get me wrong, working with Nightwing and Robin is definitely more enjoyable than working with you, but still, I'm glad you're back. Honestly, I don't know how you and Nightwing…" he stopped his words in time to refrain from breaking an unwritten rule they had. He pretended not to know who Batman and his team were, and Batman pretended not to know that Gordon knew. "Right, anyways! This morning we apprehended a woman who, unless my hunch is wrong, is another victim of this maniac. Which means we have a living witness."

"She's alive?"

"Yes, but I don't know how useful it will be for us," Gordon sighed heavily and rubbed his tired eyes, "you'd better come with me and see for yourself." He put out his cigarette and headed inside the police station. Batman followed him.

His presence at the police station always generated extremely different reactions. Some sighed loudly in disbelief, smiling, even expressing gratification at his presence, others leaned out from behind their monitors, looked out from their offices to see him, others growled not-so-discreetly calling him a "freak," informing him that "this is a police building." He ignored them all as effectively as Gordon, who only occasionally would send an angry glance or issue a strict order. An order they reluctantly obeyed.

The door to the Holding Cells wing guarded by two heavy-armed police officers was located across from the other one, which Batman knew all too well. Maximum Security in the east wing was a place designated to hold Gotham's most dangerous criminals before their transport to Arkham, Blackgate or, in extreme cases, Belle Reve. Currently unguarded by anyone, it was empty, with a cell prepared for the one whom Batman planned to capture soon. At least that's what he hoped.

The officers wordlessly moved away from the door as soon as Batman and Gordon approached. The young policewoman, far too young, in Batman's opinion, to stand guard in such a place, smiled discreetly as if grateful for his presence.

"What's the status?" Gordon asked dryly.

"It's quiet, commissioner," an older police officer began the report, "the sedatives are still working."

That was all Gordon needed to know. Without a word, he opened the door and he and Batman walked into the wing.

"We had to give her a large dose of sedatives for her own safety," he began the explanation not waiting for Batman's question, "we got a call from civilians, a possible suicide on Penitence Bridge. According to the report, the woman was seen in several different places in Drescher, scared, lost, running away in panic from anyone who tried to approach her. When we arrived at the scene, paramedics tried to calm her down and detain her. Batman…" Gordon stopped in mid-sentence as they approached the cell, "she was petrified."

"Why isn't she in the hospital?"

"She's a witness," Gordon stated, "I'm sure that whatever induced the frightened state is the same substance that caused the death of Juliet Cambell and her daughter."

"Toxicology?"

"We have ruled out the use of drugs," Gordon reached into his pocket and pulled out a small vial of red liquid, "taken thirty minutes ago. I thought you might find it useful."

Batman tucked the vial into his belt pocket and silently opened the cell door to examine the woman more closely. She was lying unconscious, sedated, while her arms and legs were tied to the bed with straps.

"It's for her and our safety," Gordon commented as he followed with his eyes after Batman.

"Scratches, abrasions, tattered clothes on her arm, dirt and moisture on her knees and thighs…" Batman traced his eyes over her body, "she was running away. She must have fallen over more than once." He gently took her arm turning it towards himself, "the only punctures fresh, from the blood draw and sedation…" He ran his eyes over her neck, pushing back her hair in color "…the same as hers."

"History of mental illness? Treatment? Relationship to previous victims?" he asked Gordon not stopping his examination.

"Funny you should ask," Gordon sneered grimly, "our witness here is Sarah Walters, Jeremy Walters' older sister. So I can answer 'yes' to all three questions, the first two of which remain as conjecture. No recorded or documented psychiatric treatment."

Batman did not comment immediately. He gently lifted her eyelid and shone a flashlight into her eyes then took two steps back to examine her whole. Height, body build, hair color, eye color….

"Just like…" he suppressed the surging fear, "I don't believe in coincidences Gordon. Neither do you," he stated quietly, "I have reason to believe that all the victims with the exception of Juliet Cambell and the suicide from the bank robbery had contact with Doctor Jonathan Crane."

"The head of Eliot Memorial psychiatric ward?"

"Conjecture, I have no evidence to back it up. Yet."

"If it's true Sarah Walters may also have had contact with him…" Gordon looked at her unconscious body contemplating, "and if she indeed had it would mean that Juliet Cambell and her daughter…"

"Inform me if you learn anything," Batman instructed, "hopefully when she wakes up she'll be able to talk."

"Don't you want to be around for the interrogation?"

"I don't know if I'll be able to but I'll send someone," Batman stated, "I need to test a sample of her blood and start working on an antidote. I'm sure this won't be the last case like this we see."

***

Johnatan had it all figured out. Every last detail of the approaching evening carefully analyzed and planned including all possible unwanted deviations. He had been preparing for many weeks, working for days and nights, planning every single step, each and every move, carefully and with extreme care. As he put on his shirt and jacket, he ran in his mind through every point of the night ahead, as he tightened his tie he analyzed once again every uncertainty, on the way to his car he methodically ticked off every last checkbox of the plan. He had sacrificed too much, taken too many risks, the plan had to succeed and nothing could stand in his way.

At seven fifteen in the evening a black BMW parked on the side of the road in front of your building. You observed it for a while, hidden behind a curtain, waiting for the driver, who should have gotten out of the car, but did not. Instead, a short message popped up on your phone screen.

I'm waiting downstairs.

Anxiety, suspicion, suddenly arose, seemingly without reason. You quickly pushed away the unwanted thoughts, which immediately began to compare this situation with the one from two days ago. This didn't seem right. You took one last glimpse at your reflection in the mirror, brought the most charming smile to your face, and with the intention of enjoying the evening once again left your apartment.

Yet, with each stair down, the positive thoughts seemed to disappear. With each stair, they grew heavier and more anxious. Only three days ago, you were impatient to get an answer to the question that tormented you and brought you no peace. Now, even though your excited heart was beating restlessly, thoughts and instinct seemed to repress it, seemed to take over, to drive out the excitement to replace it with anxiety. Now, you regretted asking the question.

"Nothing happened, though," you tried to explain to yourself, "what am I even thinking about?" you tried to argue. And yet, two and a half days spent in the company of Bruce had changed so much. Just two days were enough for you to see that maybe the world and life didn't always have to be so dark.

Jonathan watched her as she left the building. Beautiful, elegant, dressed in black satin and lace that seemed to follow her like a shadow of the night itself. To his eyes she was like a mistress of darkness, powerful without knowing it, tempting without trying, dangerous if she wanted to be, fascinating. He saw it all in her, behind the facade of uncertainty, behind the guise of innocence, with the feigned persona behind which she so carefully tried to hide. He saw it in her eyes when anger ignited her blood, he saw it in her gestures when rage overwhelmed her thoughts, he heard it in her unspoken words when she pushed hard to contain her hatred. He saw it all and wished to get it out of her. But she played her part to perfection. The grace with which she walked down the stairs gently lifting her dress, the look that glanced from under her windswept hair, made a part of him feel like turning back. To take her far away from here, to lock her away from the world, to keep her only to himself. As for the smell with which his car filled as soon as she closed the door behind her, made him eager to rip off her dress and devour her in a rapture of passion. He couldn't. He had given up too much already, risked too much, he couldn't back down.

"Was it for me that you dressed up like that?" he smirked the moment their eyes finally met.

"You said it was a formal gala to which Gotham's scientific elite was invited. I didn't want to stand out from the crowd," sharp as ever, she refused to be embarrassed.

"You chose the wrong dress, then," he swept his eyes over her shamelessly.

"Is it too much?"

"Do you really care?"

"A bit," she smiled that innocent smile of hers, the one he thought didn't quite fit her, then added, "but now it's probably too late to change. So I'll choose to take it as a compliment and bear the consequences of my decisions."

"And rightly so," he smiled slyly and turned on the engine, "I hope you have some energy left after a busy weekend in Metropolis. It's going to be a very interesting evening."

In the cool cave below Wayne Manor, everyone had gathered, for it was not often that Bruce called for a briefing before a patrol. Everyone suit up, everyone ready to take on the task that would be given to them. They were a team, they worked as a team, but he had the final word. Bruce was the only one not wearing a suit. Dressed in an elegant black tuxedo, he stood in front of the computer, as if afraid of the creases that sitting in the chair would inevitably cause. He silently stared at the computer screen and waited for the conversations to finally quiet down so he could begin.

"Sarah Walters, the victim restrained this morning," he began quietly, displaying the case file on the computer, "the thirteenth victim, of a psychopath we have so far been unable to identify or apprehend," a long pause brought a silent tension to the team, "thirteen victims. Thirteen unclosed cases, between which the connections are thin."

"We will find him," Dick tried to defuse the tension. To no avail.

"As Dick has surely managed to tell you, I have reason to believe that Doctor Jonathan Crane is involved in this case," Bruce continued, "I don't know to what extent."

"Where did this supposition come from? Crane is a respected psychiatrist, highly regarded in his field," Barbara interjected the question, "I did some research on him. An impressive career, outstanding achievements, numerous scientific publications."

"On what subject?" Bruce asked.

"Phobias, PTSD, panic disorders, substance-induced anxiety disorder…" she stopped listing, "I see your point."

"Even you couldn't link it to the attacks without solid evidence," Jason muttered. He remained at a distance the entire time but listened intently.

"True," Bruce only reached into his pocket and pulled out a small bottle of green pills, "exactly the same ones Tim found in Marc Jacobs' house. You all know the results of the analysis."

"They found them with the victim?" Tim asked, "the same composition, the same chemical compounds?"

"The same composition. Exactly the same pills," Bruce replied evasively giving himself a chance to avoid answering questions he didn't want to answer, "the pills connect unquestionably to nine of the thirteen victims. But given the nature of the latter, the conclusions are self-evident. The perpetrator is the same. Only his methods are evolving."

"He's just getting started…" Barbara sighed quietly.

"We'll stop him before he starts," Dick's hand twitched as if he wanted to embrace her and provide comfort.

"Batgirl," Bruce turned to her, "the victim is currently being sedated in police custody. You and Red Hood will interview her as soon as she wakes up. Commissioner Gordon will keep us informed."

"Bruce…" Barbara began, trying to back away from a mission that required her to work in close contact with her own father. Both of them pretended to have no idea about her costumed alter ego; she didn't want to deliberately strain their unspoken agreement.

"I need you on this one," Bruce interrupted her, "we don't know what she went through or what happened to her. Your sensitivity and gentle approach is invaluable here."

Barbara only nodded, observing Dick's surprised reaction to unusual paring out of the corner of her eye. Bruce noticed it too but ignored it and continued.

"Red Robin," he turned to Tim, "to you and Damian I entrust the city partol. If anything happens, anything that would require our involvement, don't try to prove something to yourselves."

"You got this," they both nodded.

"I'll take care of Crane."

"What about me?" Dick finally asked, " you want me on computer duty?"

"You need a change of clothes," Bruce smirked mischievously, "I believe you'll find a tuxedo prepared in your bedroom."

"You shitting me?! That is so not fair! Why do I have to go!" a grimace of disappointment twisted his face.

"I believe it is your turn," Tim pointed out with a wicked grin on his face.

"Not true! Now it's Damian's turn!"

"You wish!" Damian snorted, laughing as well, "I was forced to the Charity Ball in July!"

"Hood?!" he looked desperately at his brother.

"Forget it," Jason huffed.

"Barbs?"

"My talents are needed elsewhere," she smiled innocently, "besides, your agreements on public appearances don't apply to me," she rightly pointed out.

"Come on, Bruce!!! I hate this stuff!"

"Navy blue as far as I could see was Alfred's choice."

"But I'm already suited up!"

"You have 30 minutes to change and be ready to go," Bruce's tone ended the discussion, "everyone knows what to do. We have an intense night ahead of us," he turned away from them, took his jacket from the back of his chair getting ready to leave, but an unwanted question stopped him in mid-motion.

"You still haven't told us where you found the pills and what led you to put Crane in connection with the case," Jason pointed out. Everyone thought the same thing, but they knew Bruce well enough to know that if he's not talking about something, questions won't change it.

Bruce only looked at Jason with a stone face, and only his gaze betrayed a shadow of emotion. Conflict fought within him like a storm, an instant analysis of the situation, an immediate conclusion, a firm decision followed by hanging the jacket back on the chair and settling heavily in the armchair.

"I found them in Y/N's possession," he replied in a stern voice measuring himself against Jason's softening gaze, "I'm also convinced that the nightmare she experienced on Friday night was induced by them," perplexed by his sincerity everyone remained silent, only Jason dared to ask further.

"She again," he scoffed quietly, "I'm beginning to think that problems find her on their own. Maybe she told you how she came into their possession?"

"She did," Bruce had no intention of lying. He might sometimes deliberately omit certain things but when asked directly, he never lied. That's not what he taught them. "I don't know the details, and I haven't insisted on them, but it turns out that Doctor Crane has been helping her for some time. She didn't say explicitly that she got it from him, but the conclusion seems logical."

"It makes sense," Jason nodded in agreement, his voice sounding much softer than it did moments ago, "will you tell us what happened in Metropolis? You can skip the details."

And so he did.

***

Long years ago, Bruce established a rule in the family. Once in a while, each of the boys appeared with him in public at formal events. This routine was intended primarily, to maintain their secret identity, but also to maintain the public image of both Bruce and his sons. Over time, the family grew and their public presence rotated, with the exception of two events a year, the Wayne Foundation Christmas Gala and his birthday party at which they all usually appeared. One of the many measures they used to keep their double life a secret, admittedly who would have guessed that the obscenely wealthy CEO of Wayne Enterprises and his sons spent their nights as masked crime fighting vigilantes in Gotham.

Dick understood the established rule very well and over the years had grown accustomed to his role in the spotlight, although that didn't change the fact that he hated it more than a drenched suit on a winter night. Although he retained his family name, Gotham's elite treated him as Wayne and observed him with the expectations and judgment the name carried. Still, years of practice, learned mechanisms that came as easily to him as a quadruple backflip, made him bury his resentment deep in the pocket of his navy blue tuxedo, bringing to his face the charming smile that accompanied polite answers to all unsolicited questions.

"Yes, I graduated law from Hudson University and did an additional major in psychology at GU," he answered politely when asked by someone whose name he should remember.

"Oh I currently live in Blüdhaven but it's hard to stay away from Gotham for long. This is my home. So I divide my time a little here and a little here," he smiled brightly.

"Children! Oh no no no no… maybe one day," he attempted to contain his amusement pretending to sip champagne.

"To be honest, I don't have an opinion on the direction Wayne Tech is taking. These are matters that my younger brother Tim is much more interested in," he retreated from the uncomfortable conversation.

Their presence has always sparked general interest. No matter how many years passed, no matter how many events they appeared at, no matter how many times he answered the same question, wherever Bruce was, interest followed. However, this time, to Dick's undisguised delight, most of the attention was focused entirely on Bruce. Photos from TechX circulated the Internet at lightning speed, and Gotham's high class women didn't wait long to surround him with the intention of extracting information from him. It may have been a scientific society Gala designed to celebrate the most brilliant minds, the most outstanding achievements, and the hardest work, but underneath every Gala was a social event where the elite mingled, exchanged gossip, drank, danced, and enjoyed a rich, privileged life.

"If they keep obsessing over you like this you'll never make it to Crane," Dick grinned when he finally managed to drag Bruce away under a contrived pretext, "I can't remember the last time you made such a social fuss."

"Natascha Patenko," Bruce muttered letting his socialite mask drop for a moment.

"Ah yes! Taking the entire Russian ballet on a cruise the day before a performance has that effect!"

"Do you see Crane anywhere?" Bruce scanned through the guests seated at lavishly set tables shimmering with silverware and crystals, swept his eyes around the bar area where the most expensive spirits poured endlessly, peered through the twirling couples on the dance floor.

"You're worried about her," Dick stated completely ignoring Bruce's question.

"He should be here."

"She gives the impression of a smart woman, she can handle a little heat."

"You said he was on the invite list."

"Besides, the subject will die down soon. The buzz will last two weeks tops, then they'll move on to the new hot gossip."

"Dick!" Bruce finally pulled his gaze away from the crowd and looked at him angrily, "we have work to do."

"Hey, I'm just trying to help!"

"Then focus on Crane," his eyes darkened.

"There he is!" Dick's glance ran over Bruce's shoulder straight toward one of the tables, "holy shit…"

Jonathan knew you were sure of it. You could see it in the way he surreptitiously scanned his surroundings, in the tone of his voice, in the way the green of his eyes shone angrily every time you smiled kindly at someone. A mixture of anger and possessiveness simmered beneath the surface of his controlled demeanor.

"Are you looking for someone?" you asked softly when his glance once again traveled past you.

"No, why?"

"You're looking around all the time," you pointed out, "so you're either looking for someone or avoiding me."

"Why would I avoid you?" he scoffed, "we're here together. We have a beautiful evening ahead of us. Maybe not as beautiful as the ones you spent in Metropolis, but beautiful nonetheless."

"If you have something to tell me then tell me," you prompted gently, trying to control the anger that was also rising in you.

"If I had something to tell you, I would tell you."

"I can see that you are angry."

"Angry?" the green eyes blazed angrily, "angry? No. I'm not angry. Disappointed more."

"Jonathan…"

"There is nothing to talk about Y/N," he interrupted you, "you are an adult, a free woman who makes her own decisions. One of them was the decision not to tell me you were going to Metropolis with Bruce Wayne."

"I work for him, that was…" you didn't want to explain yourself but you couldn't leave it at that

"If you're about to tell me it was a business trip then save it," he interrupted you again, "I don't resent the fact that you went with him. As I said, your life, your decisions. However, I do resent the fact that you chose not to tell me. That you concealed this detail."

"And what does it matter!" you chuckled in a loud whisper, blessing the orchestra that drowned your conversation.

"It makes me wonder…" he leaned over the table reducing the distance between you, "how many things have you concealed, thinking they don't matter. How many details you left out, how many threads you considered irrelevant. It seems that lies come so easily to you. You pretend to be open, and you lie incessantly."

"Don't psychoanalyze me," you snarled annoyed.

"Can't help it," he smirked but it wasn't a charming smile, "we're talking about trust, I'm offering you my time, attention, support both professionally and privately, help, and you can't bring yourself to be honest.

"And now you are guilt-tripping me…"

"That's how you perceive it," he replied immediately, "I'm pointing out the facts to you. You perceive them as guilt tripping which only means that your subconscious sees it that way."

"I don't!" you denied, "there is no guilty conscience. I had a wonderful time in Metropolis and I have absolutely nothing to regret. It's not my fault that you suddenly decided to act like a jealous boyfriend!"

"Do not project your desires onto my behavior," green glowed dangerously, "I'm not talking about us just the fact that you lie all the time."

"Bitch please," you scoffed, "two days ago you couldn't give me an answer as to what is between us, and now that you saw me in the company of Bruce you suddenly try to change the whole narrative. Maybe if you had been open with me instead of playing mind games we wouldn't be having this conversation now!"

"I'm not playing mind games with you."

"Maybe my head is fucked but I am not stupid!" you snapped, "what was in those pills that you gave me?!" without thinking you shot the question catching him off guard.

"Where did that came from!" he frowned.

"What was in those pills?" you repeated the question, "I may not be telling you everything but I trusted you. I didn't question anything. So answer me."

"A mixture of herbs to calm your nerves and sleep peacefully," he replied calmly.

"If that's so, then why did I have nightmares because of them?" you quipped, "horrible nightmares from which I couldn't wake up! Nightmares as intense almost as those visions during the last therapy?"

"Side effect," he replied gently placing his hand on yours, "why didn't you tell me earlier? Another thing you withheld from me. Why?" you didn't answer so he continued, "if you had told me earlier that you had such a reaction I would have reacted right away. You chose not to, by doing so you, harming only yourself."

"I'm sorry…"

"Don't apologize to me," he smiled softly, "but promise me please, truly promise that you will stop hiding things from me. Lies and secrets are not a good foundation for building a relationship."

"You meant to say friendship," you smirked.

"I know what I wanted to say."

Bruce knew he should keep his distance. He knew that any move he made toward her was the worst possible idea. He could picture every feasible, most probable, far-reaching outcome of his actions. He knew the answer to every if and when. Every possible scenario. He could see every worst possible future. Violence, pain, suffering, shock, disappointment, death, blood on his hands. He could see them all and each of them separately as they projected like a movie tape before his open eyes, intercut frame after frame by the image of his hand over hers. And yet, despite all his knowledge, experience and certainty that he knew, he couldn't find within himself the answer to one question. "What if I'm wrong."

"Stay here," he turned quietly to Dick without taking his eyes off Y/N and Crane. Something didn't sit right with him. Every time Y/N looked away, Crane glanced at his watch or phone screen, discreetly yet nervously, only to return to the conversation a split second later. "Watch him from a distance," he ordered.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm about to find out if I'm wrong."

As he approached them with a calm, confident step, he saw how close they were to each other. Closer than he expected. He saw the heated conversation, the angry glances, the cynical smiles. Crane attacked, subtly, stealthily, while she defended herself, only to boldly attack a moment later, directly, without warning. He saw anger in her eyes and surprise in his. He saw the moment when surprise turned into calculated, measured concern. He saw the movement of his lips and understood the words without having to hear them. He was manipulating her. So skillfully that she succumbed to him unaware of his tactics. Her eyes softened with every lie he uttered, her face brightened with every minute in which his hand rested on hers. Her anger gave way to humility, her attack turned into an apology, as Crane continued to weave his manipulations. With each step toward them, the anger grew stronger within him. Anger at the scene he was observing. Anger at her for not realizing the danger she was in. Anger at the fact that by some miracle she was always in the middle of danger. Anger at himself for not inviting her here sooner, for failing to predict this scenario. The anger burned stronger and stronger, with each passing moment fueled by a new emotion, jealousy.

Fragments of a hushed conversation began to reach his ears. The scent of her perfume reached his senses when she glanced up at him and for a moment their eyes met. For a split second, the world seemed to stop. Her eyes shone brightly caught in his while her face lit up with a sincere smile as she slipped her hand out of Crane's grasp.

"Bruce!" she greeted him brightly and for a brief moment he indulged the idea of her being naturally brilliant at this game which, he called life.

"Y/N! Fancy that!" he greeted her, loudly announcing his presence.

"Fancy that…" she repeated with a hint of disbelief in her voice, "I actually should expect you to be here. After all, the gala is named after your family."

"There's no denying it," he replied with a smile unsure of whether she saw through the mask of socialite he had adopted, "Thomas Wayne was my father."

"A renowned surgeon in scientific circles and to the people of Gotham a philanthropist and benefactor," Crane inserted himself into the conversation, "to this day everyone remembers and appreciates his contributions to the city Mister Wayne."

"Ah Bruce, meet Jonathan Crane," although it wasn't necessary Y/N maintained courtesy, "Jonathan, Bruce Wayne."

"It's hard not to know who you are," Crane joked dryly as he shook his hand, "Y/N has told me all about you."

"I certainly hope not," Bruce replied in a vague tone. "So let's put a couple tables together!" it sounded more like a statement than a suggestion.

"I'm not sure they'll let us," Crane expressed his doubt.

"Oh they should," Bruce smirked confidently, "I own the place."

It took only one hand gesture, one look, and reality once again shifted to match Bruce Wayne's will.

"So, Doctor Crane, Y/N said a lot of good things about you," Bruce began the conversation as he sat down nonchalantly in a chair and accepted a glass of whiskey from the waiter, "and I, for my part, have also heard and read nothing but positives. Your work on fear control was particularly interesting."

"Are you interested in psychiatry Mister Wayne?" Crane asked startled.

"Not particularly, but as a board member granting annual research funds, I have come across your work once or twice," Bruce admitted casually, "besides, my son Richard studied psychology at Gotham University. You studied there too, didn't you?"

"That's true," Crane nodded, "I spent the best years of my youth there."

"And if my memory doesn't fail me you also taught for a short time."

"That's also true."

"Why aren't you teaching anymore? Working with young people and tempering their bright minds was not to your liking?"

"We had differences of opinion with some professors about the direction of the research I was doing," Crane replied dryly, "you know a lot for a man who is not interested in psychiatry," the change in his tone of voice did not escape Bruce's attention.

"The Wayne Foundation provides annual grants to both Gotham University and Mercy General, Eliot Memorial Hospitals and minor clinics," Bruce countered with a touch of well-balanced arrogance, "I like to know where that money is going."

"You are continuing your father's legacy," Crane commented, "your father was friends with Roger Elliot, after whom the hospital was named, wasn't he?"

"Friend is a big word. They were both surgeons and worked together. But that was a long time ago."

"Yes, it's tragic what happened to them," Bruce saw through Crane's artificial sympathy, "to both of them. It's truly terrible what happens to good people in Gotham."

"We all know Gotham is a dangerous city. But let's hope it doesn't stay that way."

"Oh yeah! I read about the WayneTech plans you announced on TechX! Impressive!"

"News travels fast," Bruce chuckled and, pretending to reach for his phone, discreetly glanced at Y/N. She looked upset and her usually sparkling eyes clouded with sadness.

"Why the sudden interest in the city's security?" Crane asked, "I know you do a lot for this city, but as you. And here all of a sudden such a big development for the company."

"Oh, it was Y/N who came up with the whole project!" Bruce replied with his businesslike smile, "but I'm sure you already knew that. I couldn't help but support such a thoughtful and well-planned initiative!"

"If it all looks as beautiful as you presented it perhaps the city will stop relying on freaks in capes."

"Could it be that you have no sympathy for Batman and the rest?"

"With all the supposed good they do for the city I think their place is in Arkham. In the padded cells next to those they fight," Crane replied without hesitation.

"Strong words Doctor. I think many would disagree with your diagnosis."

"Batman is a firefighter and arsonist in one," Crane didn't back down, "his very presence creates the conditions for the rise of criminals like the Joker, the Riddler, Two Face, or the new one who surfaced recently, whoever he is. If I were the head of Arkham Asylum I would forbid him from entering the premises and force the police to apprehend and psychoanalyze him."

"You would psychoanalyze everyone!" Y/N playfully chuckled, "I think that's an occupational deviation."

"Everyone has one," Bruce also laughed, "why aren't you the head of Arkham? With your reputation, that shouldn't be a problem."

"Elliot Memorial had greater needs," Crane replied warily, ignoring the incoming call and tucking the phone into his jacket pocket.

"I may not have lived in Gotham for long but I think your diagnosis is way too harsh Jonathan," Y/N continued, "Batman does so much good for the city."

"You're letting your own feelings overshadow rational thinking," Crane countered gently but with firmness.

"I don't think there's anything surprising about it, since he saved my life," seeing Crane's puzzled look she added, "Bruce knows."

"Yes, Y/N demonstrated immense honesty, respect for the work ethic that governs WayneTech, and trust in the company when she explained the unusual medical bills."

"He is risking his own life to help those who need it," she continued.

"That's what the police and emergency services are for," Crane quipped.

"The police also have their limitations," she continued, "it only took me a few days to see how powerless they are against the Joker."

"If there was no Batman there would be no others like him," the light of the screen broke through the blackness of the fabric.

"If there was no Batman there wouldn't be me either," she threw in a final argument, "this discussion is pointless! It's like debating the origin of the egg and the chicken!" she added wryly after a moment, "besides, your phone is ringing. Why don't you answer it?"

"Yes, sorry. It's so annoying," Crane once again reached into his pocket and glanced at the phone screen, "it's one of my patients. I have to answer it, excuse me for a moment."

With a hastened step, Crane walked away and silence fell around the table, broken only by the sounds of violin, cello and piano. An orchestra stationed at the head of the room was playing a beautiful melody to the many couples who twirled on the marble dance floor.

"I didn't think 'soon' would come so soon," she finally smirked at him, "I thought I wouldn't see you for at least a few days."

"Sorry to disappoint," he murmured with a spark of satisfaction shining in his eyes, "I see you've grown sad, I hope not because of something I said."

"No," she replied in a half whisper and took a sip of champagne, "it's because of what Jonathan said. I don't know why the hell he brought up such a distant past. His comment was unnecessary. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize for words spoken by someone else," she was the only one who had never so far mentioned a story that all of Gotham knew and Bruce couldn't help but wonder why.

"I feel obligated. I am his plus one today."

"Forgive me for being blunt, but I take it Doctor Crane is the friend you mentioned?" Bruce inquired.

"Yes…" she replied quietly, "although I'm increasingly wondering if friend is the right word," she added in reflection and gazed again at the dancing couples.

All shades of gold, silver, maroon and blue swirled in the soft light trickling down from a crystal chandelier hung by the marble ceiling. Couples twirled and swooned to the accompaniment of a beautiful waltz led by talented violinists. Seamlessly and rhythmically as if at a fairy tale ball, the gowns rose and fell, flowing in waves with each turn. He observed her in silence. Her subtle smile wandering on her dreamy face, the gleam of delight in her eyes, her finger gently tapping on the exposed knee that slid out of the high slit. He wondered if she was aware of her beauty, if, seeing herself in the mirror, she could appreciate how brightly her skin shone under the black lace that adorned her shoulders, if she could see the magic he saw. Did she know? His heart ached as she closed her eyes delighting in the music. Could he allow himself to be selfish even if only for a moment?

"Beautiful…" he said in a barely audible whisper unable to tear his eyes away from her.

"Beautiful that's true…" she replied with her eyes still closed, "classical music, especially played live by an orchestra…" she fell silent when the pianist began a slow overture, "there is magic in it."

"I was not talking about music…." her eyes opened in bewilderment while a soft blush came to her cheeks, "although as an obscenely rich snob, I appreciate the beauty of classical music," he added provoking her hearty laughter.

"How long are you going to tease me like this?" she asked, drowning her gaze in his, "what do I have to do to get you to finally forgive me for this embarrassing slip-up."

"Dance with me," his eyes darkened, and although he could see that she wanted to escape with hers, she didn't.

"This?" she chuckled, pointing discreetly toward the dance floor, " Mister Wayne, I don't do waltz. So please forgive me but I'll spare myself another embarrassment."

Bruce only rose from his chair, walked around the table to stand in front of her, and extended his hand.

"Dance with me," he repeated, deepening his gaze.

"I can't…" she whispered but her eyes smirked, "marble and heels don't seem to be safe."

"Take my hand and trust me," he did not lower his hand, "I will not let you fall."

She hesitated. For a moment, for a split second, there was uncertainty in her eyes which disappeared immediately. She smiled brightly, took his hand, and let herself be led towards the dancing floor.

Your heart was pounding frantically, threatening to burst out of your chest as Bruce took your hand and, holding it slightly outstretched in the air, led you to the dancing floor. Before your eyes, reality shifted once again to match his presence as the dancing couples moved aside creating space for you. But he seemed not to notice. With his eyes fixed on you, he placed one hand on your back and closed the other on yours.

"You forget to breathe," he whispered pulling you closer to him, "forget about them. They don't matter."

"They stare…" you whispered wandering with your eyes.

"So do I," he pulled you closer as if to eliminate the distance between you and sank his gaze into your eyes. You smiled, put your hand on his shoulder, and flowed.

As if carried by the tangible sounds of music, by the light and the electrifying air that seemed to gather between you, you drifted. Gently and rhythmically to the sound of the music, one-two-three, one-two-three, you spun and the world swirled around you dissolved into a meaningless background as you sank into the ocean of his eyes. They stared at you incessantly, calm and stormy at once, inviting and dangerous, reflecting the brilliance of the crystals like the surface of the water reflects the stars scattered across the night sky. He smiled and you forgot to breathe again. His hand traveled higher on your back as if he longed to feel you whole, to remove the little distance that dancing had created between you, which he would not allow.

"You trust me?" he whispered quietly. You nodded only to break away from him a moment later, twirl in place, and return straight into his arms.

"What are you doing?" you asked feeling his hand back on your bare skin.

"I'm dancing with you," he smirked then pushed you away from him again, spun you in place and drew you back. The world swirled with colors all over again. One-two-three, the piano gave a rhythm when the violin made you twirl.

"Don't tease," you corrected your hand that landed closer to his neck.

"But when teasing with you comes so easily," he moved his hand dangerously low across your back. A shiver ran down your spine.

"Are you having fun Mister Wayne?" you flicked your eyes surprised.

"I do," he replied with shameless satisfaction, "I believe you do too Miss Y/L/N." He turned and the world swirled again in colors and lights only to return with the warmth of his chest against yours, with the touch of his hand firmly on your back, in a captivating smile. With each passing note, all the pretenses he had kept over the weekend disappeared, escaped with each exchanged breath, faded with each deepening glance.

"I have to admit that this is not quite how I imagined this weekend," you moved your hand up over his shoulder toward the back of his neck.

"And how did you imagine it?" the whisper of his words danced over your skin.

"Less magical…" he released you from his embrace again. You twirled and returned to his arms to finally eliminate the remnants of the space that separated you.

"If you were worried before about them staring then you'd better not look around," he whispered in your ear, pressing his cheek against yours. The scent of his perfume swirled through your senses.

"I won't," you whispered closing your eyes, "they won't ruin my princess moment," a low chuckle sounded deep within his chest.

"Princess moment," the touch of a smile imprinted itself on your skin, "damn…you smell incredible."

"Stop…" you didn't open your eyes, "whatever you are doing, stop." The touch disappeared, the world swirled, the closeness returned, along with the ocean in which you wanted to sink.

"Why should I stop?" a new feeling resonated in his deep husky voice as the ocean stormed with desire.

"I'm a big girl, I don't believe in fairy tales," your mind believed it, but your instinct screamed the opposite, "in a second our dance will be over, the moment will disappear, the gala will come to an end and with the rising sun the fairy tale will vanish with the return of reality."

"Since when are princesses so cynical?"

"Realistic," you corrected him, "and I'm not a princess."

"Cynical," he repeated as his hand wandered up your back again, "what if…"

"What if what?" you asked almost feeling the touch of his lips on yours.

"What if we took that risk…" his words danced on your lips, "what would happen if we…" he didn't finish. The unspoken words died in your breath, faded into touch, turned into a dance of craving lips as the last space separating you disappeared. His kiss deep, yearning, passionate took away the remnants of doubts that only moments ago spoke uncertain words. Beneath your closed eyes, the world ignited with desire as your hand found its place on the back of his neck drawing him closer. Your lips danced on his, your breaths became one as you lost yourself in a magical moment. The world stopped. Reality once again yielded to his will.

In the middle of the ballroom, a feeling blossomed in the glimmer of silvery light diffused by hundreds of crystals. He, dressed in a black tuxedo, tall, handsome, charming, known by all. She, dressed in a beautiful black gown, shorter by a head, elegant, graceful, enchanting, known by no one. They, joined in a kiss, suspended in a half-step, between a twirl and a turn, paused in a dance that just a moment ago everyone admired. A feeling they did not want to hide. Desire culminated in a passionate kiss. They indulged in the moment while others watched them intently.

Some, with a heartfelt smile, recalled a time when they themselves were in the same place.

Others with undisguised envy, wishing they could be them.

Others with indignation or amusement, shaking their heads in disbelief at the sight of a scene like this in an elegant society.

Someone muttered words of disdain.

Someone else sighed in delight.

Someone else followed their example.

Dick only took out his phone and discreetly took a picture. Warmth spread through him, a beaming smile lit up his face as he tapped the message in a quick motion. "Capture THIS!" two words, one picture, sent only to two people, Barbara and Alfred. A quickly calculated move directed at the best possible outcome. For one needed a bit of joy, and the other needed a warning of impending chaos in the family. Both, on the other hand, were necessary for him to protect Bruce from self-sabotage.

Dick was happy. For a moment, he too forgot the task, forgot the mission. He lost sight of the goal only for a moment however the moment was enough.

On the opposite side of the room among the guests, Jonathan Crane was also observing the fairytale scene, but there was no jealousy, contempt or mockery in his eyes. There was nothing. Without breaking his dead stare, he took his phone out of his pocket, dialed a number and, after just one beep, gave the command.

"Do it."

Two words, one decision, that's all it took to unleash chaos.

Scream. A terrifying female scream tore through the music paralyzing all the guests. But the paralysis didn't last long. A loud thud followed by the sound of shattering glass, cracking wood, the rumble of tumbling tables and chairs, the sounds of panic. People backing away in fear deeper into the room, grasping each other's hands, trying to hide in the crowd. It only took a few seconds for all the magic of the charming evening to shatter into pieces. Bruce instinctively grabbed Y/N's by the hand and, taking a step in front of her, hid it behind him. He scanned the crowd instantly, swept his eyes over the terrified faces, eyes filling with tears, looking for Dick and the source of the danger. One glance, a discreet nod, and Dick disappeared from his sight. The danger did not keep him waiting for long. A mocking, maniacal laughter echoed around the room freezing people's blood in their veins.

"No, no please, don't interrupt yourselves! Musicians play!" with a dancing step Joker entered between the crowd wielding a knife in his hand. Amused Harley Quinn followed him.

"I wanna dance puddin! Let's dance!" she asked playfully jumping from one foot to another.

"Now now, pumpkin, remember what we came here for," Joker waved the knife in Harley's direction in a gesture bordering on threatening, "but we could definitely use some music! Orchestra play!!!" he exclaimed towards the band but none of the musicians picked up their instruments, "no one has respect these days," he muttered to himself.

Bruce followed his steps, every little movement, every slightest gesture. He had no possibility of moving away from the crowd, no way out. Every exit was blocked by a shotgun-wielding henchman. His mind ran through all the scenarios, calculated all the possibilities trying to formulate a plan that didn't exist, while Y/N's warm hand clenched tightly in his own made him realize that there was nothing he could do. He had to wait.

"What do you want!" a man shouted from the crowd.

"Finally! I'm glad you asked!" Joker replied theatrically bowing to the man, "I want the music to play!!!" he shouted and when the answer did not come he pulled out his gun and fired a single, precise shot. The cellist fell inertly to the ground into a growing blood stain. "This is how it's going to be! I will ask the questions and all of you will politely answer," he walked closer to the man, grinding the knife toward his throat, "capiche?" the man only nodded. "Fantastic!!!" he exclaimed gleefully, "then now after we've said our good evenings, can someone tell me where my toxins are!?" He circled the crowd, directing the knife to each person one by one, "anyone? Maybe you can tell me?" he pointed the knife at the director of Gotham Mercy Hospital. "I'm taking a short vacation at my favorite resort and when I return my toxins are gone! Maybe you know something?" he waved the knife in front of the Gotham Diagnostic Laboratories representative's face. No one answered. "Someone among you must know something!" everyone remained silent as they measured themselves against the clown one by one, praying that they wouldn't be the next victim. "Someone took them and is unleashing this wonderful terror on the city and I want to know who!" the scientist from S.T.A.R Labs scowled when Joker ran his hand over her face. "As much as I enjoy seeing Batman failing miserably I can't stand outrageous, disgusting theft!" he continued theatrically gesturing. "Would you agree with me that theft is an outrageous crime?" snapped one of the women who only nodded desperately and tears streamed down her cheeks. "A horrible, horrible crime! And do you know what the best part is?" he asked the people around then aimed his gun at the space and fired. A huge flower vase shattered into pieces and a small metal ball rolled on the ground. The Joker picked it up and, with a grin on his face, pretended to inhale the toxin trapped inside. "This stuff is fantastic! Truly makes you go mad!" he laughed and placed the ball into Gotham University professor, "he must really dislike you guys," he added, grinning, "he wanted to gas you all! Can you imagine?! Outrageous! But not as outrageous as the fact that he stole from me! So, now that I have saved your fragile minds from a trip to the crazy side I expect your cooperation. Who stole my toxins!" he grabbed a Strader Pharmaceuticals board member violently by the jacket, "I'm sure you'll know. Where are my toxins?"

"I don't like him, sweetie. His giving you a stinky eye," Harley measured the man with a disdainful glance.

"He does?" Joker pulled the man closer to him, "are you giving me a stinky eye?"

"No, I'm not, I'm not…" the man replied in a pleading tone.

"Harl, I think you are right!!! He does give me a stinky eye!" the blade shone against the man's face.

Bruce watched everything as if in slow motion while his mind desperately searched for a way to protect the guests. However, cool logic kept his nerves under control. Five exits, five shotguns, the Joker had a knife and a .44 Magnum with 8 rounds magazine capacity, Harley had a baseball bat resting on her shoulder and a Chiappa rhino 60ds by her side, which meant another six bullets.

"I don't like it puddin'! He has no respect!

"You are right pumpkin pie!" Joker pulled a man out of the crowd and threw him against the ground right at Harley's feet, "there, he is all yours!"

He had to stay calm for a little longer. Nightwing will fall through the ceiling window in a moment, followed by Robin and Red Robin. He will have to get out of her sight. He will have to quickly order her to run away, order Nightwing to lead her outside. His suit was hidden in the car. She will look for him. He will have to lie.

"Stop that!" Y/N's hand yanked violently as Crane stepped forward from the crowd, "leave him alone!"

"Why? Do you want me to play with you instead?" Harley let go of the man directing her attention to Crane.

"These people don't know anything, can't you see that?"

"But it's so much fun to see them squirm!" facing Crane Harley crooked her fierce head, "but you ain't scared, ain't ya Doctor Crane?" she placed the baseball bat on the ground and looked defiantly at him, "nah, you like good old scares!"

Y/N's hand yanked again in Bruce's grasp, trying to break free. He turned to her, looked at her but there was no fear or apprehension in her eyes. Only anger.

"There's nothing you can do," he whispered looking at her intensely, "on the opposite wall, in the upper right and left corner you'll see a discreet green blinking light," she followed his words with her eyes, "it's a silent alarm. Someone has set it off. The police is on the way."

"She's my friend," she replied quietly, "she'll listen to me."

"Y/N stay calm," he instructed but the hollow sound of a thump shattered his words. Crane lay curled up on the floor, his head shielded by his hands. Y/N's hand slipped from his. A split second, a moment of distraction, and she ran out into the middle of the room.

"Harley!!! Enough!" she shouted. It was enough to distract them. Harley jumped up happily at the sight of her friend and moved immediately in her direction. But the Joker was first.

"Oh hello, beautiful…" a quiet murmur came from his throat as he approached her, "long time no see. You don't visit, you don't call, I'm hurt! We had so much fun together," he circled her straining his words but she stood unfazed, "it is so good to see you!!!" he smiled widely.

A shadow of movement ran across the glass tiles of the roof. One, then another, and moments after that a third. They will fall with a crash and shattering glass. Batarangs will fly toward the two most distant goons. Robin will attack the other three quickly disarming them. Red will attack Harley. Nightwing will deal with the Joker. Haos will be unleashed. People will start fleeing in panic.

"Harley told me that you refused my invitation," Joker continued reducing the distance separating them, "you made her sad. What kind of friend are you?"

"A friend wouldn't let her boyfriend hold her friend at gunpoint," Y/N growled measuring herself against Joker.

Shadows moved swiftly across the roof. Just a moment more. Every muscle in Bruce tensed to fight, but his mind controlled his actions. He couldn't face the Joker and take away his ability to leave to get the suit. He needed a few minutes, but he couldn't stand by passively. He couldn't watch as the Joker closed the distance between him and Y/N.

"Ha, I like you! You have a fight in you!" Joker exclaimed with amusement only to lower his tone again and grab her violently by the arm, "are you close?" he glared at Crane, "oooh you are. You can't deny it, I can see it in those angry eyes of yours."

Out of the corner of his eye, Bruce noticed a window in the ceiling swinging open. Muscles tensed waiting for the right moment. His eyes watched the Joker's hand clenched on Y/N's shoulder, his body subconsciously assumed a fighting position, ready to react at any moment.

"The rage is burning…" she yanked but Joker grabbed tighter, " curiouser and curiouser…" with a quick movement he corrected his grip placing his hand on the back of her head.

"Interesting company you choose my dear…" he lowered his voice so that only she could hear him, "dangerous…. but you like danger don't you," she tried to break free but he grabbed her face tightly forcing her to look at him. The blade flashed dangerously against her cheek, "yes, you like danger. That feeling when adrenaline burns in your veins making the whole world cover itself in red. That crazy waltz on the edge of life and death," he strained his words, "you're as crazy as I am. All you need is a little push."

A silvery rain of broken glass rained loudly from the ceiling to disappear a moment later in a cloud of thick smoke. A swish cut the air as the Batarangs soared toward their targets. The black and red cape danced nearby knocking the weapon out of Harley's hand, that rolled with a clatter on the ground.

"Push that!" Y/N growled while an invisible force pushed the Joker back a few steps. Through the smoke, she couldn't see his amused look. The screams got lost in his maniacal laughter. His vicious words drowned in a throaty growl as the blue emerging from the smoke kicked him in the stomach.

"Run!" Nightwing shouted in her direction dodging the knife gleaming in the midst of the smoke, "run!!!"

For a moment, paralysis overwhelmed you completely as your legs refused to move. You stood there frozen, with your eyes wide open observing the scene. The Joker's purple coat danced amidst the smoke with each aggressive swing, the blade gleaming from the left then from the right as Nightwing nimbly blocked and dodged. The deadly dance cut through clouds of gray smoke but only one of the dancers was the harbinger of death. Fury blazed in Joker's eyes as he unsuccessfully dealt blows. Curses of hatred drowned in the sounds of battle. Watchful eyes glared in your direction beneath the mask that covered part of his face in a mixture of surprise and worry. But you couldn't move, you couldn't stop admiring. As if mesmerized, you watched the agile leaps, accurate strikes, painful hits and soft flips, and only one thought filled your entire mind. "I need to help him."

Strong male hands grabbed your shoulders trying to pull you aside. Intense blue filled with dread shone before your eyes. He shook you gently in an attempt to snap you out of your amok. His lips moved but you couldn't hear his words. His hands tightened on your shoulders but the touch seemed distant.

"I need to do something…" you said than snatched from his grasp and began to run through the dense gray.

Instinct seemed to guide your steps when reality as if seeing your determination, matched your will by creating a path for you. Frightened people fled in terror, but you dodged them swiftly. A Batarang swished past your ear, but you slowed your step just in time to avoid the accidental impact. The light from the shattered chandelier shone through the clouds of smoke, revealing the Joker's weapon at your feet. You bent down to pick it up, evading the black and yellow cloak flying over your head. A voice called out from the distance, loud enough to make you stop for a split second to avoid a massive blow from the staff. You tore through the chaos without fear, without doubt, without hesitation, as your body and mind seemed to sense the impending danger before it came. It seemed to sense its surroundings before your eyes had time to register the image and transmit it to your mind. The thick gray smoke blocked your vision and yet you knew perfectly well that the moment your dress got caught between your legs, you should crouch down, chase away the smoke with your hand, and help him get up.

"Jonathan…" your words sounded close and yet so far away, "Jonathan, are you alright?" Still clenching your hand on the gun, you helped him up. Blood ran in a thin trickle down his face.

"What are you doing? Are you crazy?" he looked at you surprised.

"Can you stand up?"

"Y/N, get out of here! Run!" the green lit up intensely.

"Can you stand up?" you repeated stubbornly, and without waiting for his answer you grabbed his hand and lifted him to his feet, "tell me you're okay."

"I'm fine."

"You're bleeding."

"I'll be fine. Let's get out of here," he grabbed your hand but you didn't move, "Y/N?"

"Go!" you ordered, "I can't. Not yet."

Before he had time to react you rushed deeper into the room while reality shifted again, yet this time to match your will. The smoke thinned, revealing overturned tables, broken glassware, scattered food, spilled glistening stains of fresh blood. Red-blue lights flashed outside the window exposing a distant rush of blond hair. Involuntarily, you tightened your hand on the gun and sped up your run. Harley fell out the door and you followed her. She rushed down the stairs in desperation trying to get away, to no avail. Leaping down several stairs at once, you could clearly see the surprise in her eyes as she turned around to see how close you were. With a grunt, she fell through the next door but you were right behind her.

"Harley stop!!!" you yelled falling behind her into the hallway, "stop!!!"

"Forget it!!!" she yelled back without slowing down.

"Stop!!!" you had her almost at arm's length.

"Or what!"

"Harley!!!" you could see the glistening droplets of sweat on her bare arms.

"Catch me if you can!" she laughed mockingly.

"I said stop!!!" you shouted reaching out your hand towards her. She did not stop. An invisible force pushed her forward with a powerful surge sending her flying through the air. With a deafening crash she fell painfully to the ground.

"Hey, how did you? That hurt!" she cried out, trying to pick herself up from the floor, but it was too late. Not thinking much, you jumped to her, knocking her over onto her back, kneeling over her, pressing her to the floor with your whole body, immobilizing her.

"Hey!!! Get of me!!!" she exclaimed trying to break free, "get of me! Get of me! Get of me!"

"Harleen! Calm down! Listen to me!" you tried.

"Let me go! Let me go or I will!!!

"What will you do Harl!" you grabbed her hands and pressed her to the floor, "What will you do! You fucked me once already! You took advantage of me! You left me to drown! You let that maniac threaten me with a gun!!!" the Joker's gun suddenly ignited in your hand, "with this gun!!!" you shouted furiously putting the gun to Harley's temple. "You let him put it to my forehead, he threatened to splatter my brain all over the windshield…" you pressed the gun harder against her temple, "so tell me, what else are you going to do?"

"It's not like that, puddin' was just joking."

"Stop it! For fuck sake, stop it! Stop this madness! Whatever he told you, whatever he promised you, he's crazy! A psycho!"

"You don't know him like I do!"

"Harley! Do you even hear yourself? He's a murderer and a psychopath!"

"Before you start judging me maybe you should first look at the company you choose for yourself and who you seek help from!!!" she shouted furiously, "my puddin' loves me! He loves me! And when he finds out what you did he will be very very angry with you! He will not like it, not a bit!"

"Batman was right…" you sighed with resignation, "I can't help you."

You lifted yourself heavily from your knees and reached out to her. For a moment you thought you were looking at Harleen, your friend from the best years of your life, the one you could rely on, the one who would never betray you. For a moment, Harleen smiled warmly as she used to do. She reached for your extended hand and for a moment you thought that everything will be alright. You couldn't see the knife flashing from behind her back. She swung sharply and blood flowed from your slashed arm. You jumped back a moment too late.

"See ya sucker!!!" she laughed, jumping to her feet and launching herself into a run.

For a moment you watched her move away. For a moment you thought to even let her. But the moment vanished in an instant, replaced by pain and anger. Red shrouded your vision, rage filled your mind, ignited the blood in your veins, filled your will. A deep inhale that seemed to consume the anger and then an exhale that ripped it out of you releasing the accumulated force outward. The red disappeared. Silence followed. Reality took on normal colors and shapes. Reality stopped bending to your will.

Nightwing, Red Robin and Bruce watched as an invisible force appeared out of nowhere, pushing Harley forward only to pick her up in mid-air and slam her against the wall. Harley's lifeless body slid down the wall. Y/N stood in the middle of the hallway, clutching a gun in one hand, she breathed heavily. Neither of them needed to see her face to understand the exhaustion her posture betrayed. She lowered the extended hand only to slump against the wall and sank heavily to the floor.

"What the hell…" Nightwing gasped in disbelief. With a nod, he instructed Robin to check on Harley as he himself moved toward Y/N. Calmly and gently so as not to frighten her, so as not to trigger an instinctive defensive reaction in her. The gun glistened in her hand, damp with sweat and blood running down her cut arm. Out of the corner of her eye he glanced at Bruce who had followed, his face betraying a blend of tension and worry.

"I stopped her…" she whispered when Nightwing entered her line of sight, "I had to stop her. It's all my fault. If it wasn't for me, none of this would have happened."

"She's alive," Robin informed, "only unconscious."

Bruce brushed past Nightwing and crouched by her side. Tears shone in her tired eyes.

"Y/N, it wasn't your fault…" he said softly, "it wasn't your fault."

"Bruce…" a confused glance jumped between Nightwing and Bruce.

"Mister Wayne is a very stubborn man," Nightwing explained, "he ran after you first, pointing us in the right direction. He refused to stay behind."

Without a word, Bruce knelt down, took off his jacket, loosened his bow tie, and took out a white silk handkerchief from his pocket.

"I helped her free the Joker from Arkham," she explained quietly as he pressed the handkerchief to the cut on her arm, "I tried to convince Batman that she was innocent," she continued as he used the tie to stop the bleeding, "I let her escape when they tried to stop her…" his eyes stopped on the gun she was still clutching in her hand. His glance asked without words. "Oh…that…" she sighed as if her consciousness had only now registered the weapon in her hand, "it's Jokers'. I found it as I chased Harley. He must have dropped it…" she deftly turned the gun in her hand directing the grip to Bruce as if she had done it many times in the past, "I would never use it…" she continued handing it back to him, "I just didn't want it lying there. I didn't want him to use it."

Bruce did not take the gun from her. He merely looked at Robin, who quickly took the gun from Y/N's hand, pulled a Ziploc bag from his belt pocket and closed it tightly.

"We need to get you to the medics," Bruce finally said, throwing the jacket over her shoulders and gently lifting her to her feet.

"I'm fine, it's just a mild cut.

"It wasn't a question."

"What about Jonathan?" she asked as he put his arm around her waist as if he feared she would fall down any moment.

"He is fine," he replied shortly, "let's go," he ordered motioning her towards the exit but Robin blocked their way.

"Miss…" he began uncertainly trying to ignore Bruce's menacing stare, "Y/N right?" she looked at him and nodded, "how?" he asked glancing at Harley whose unconscious body lay laid in a safe position nearby.

"I don't know…I just did…" she answered weakly, "what's going to happen to her?"

"She will probably be transported to Arkham," Robin replied.

"Please remind Batman that he promised me."

"What did Batman promise?"

"That he would help her."

***

Chapter twelve: Running toward danger

~~***~~ Author note: I got carried with words. Sorry about that. But I had this idea for this scene, you know which one, but it couldn't happen in isolation. The story needed to happen. Speaking of that scene, a few months back I heard this song, Merry Go Round Of Life Cover By Grissini Project. Within minutes that scene was born. Everything, from the initial setup, through the conversation just before, to the final moments. For the last few months that scene lived in my mind waiting for its time. Waiting for the story to lead our characters into this place. Hoping it will lead them there. And as they finally arrived here, I'll be honest, I was giggling like a teenage girl while writing it. I do hope that it worked for you as well as it did for me. But now, I can finally move away from a keyboard (for now) and go watch Good Omens season 2. At the end, as always my Dear Reader, I thank you for reading.

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elena-mayfair · 10 months

Text

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.

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elena-mayfair · 1 year

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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elena-mayfair · 1 year

Text

Fears

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: He wanted her to trust him, he wanted to reveal the darkest depths of her mind, he wanted to explore her fear, he wanted to take it away from her, use it and exploit it. But the dance between nightmare and dream, between care and torture was a delicate art requiring careful movements. In the end, he didn't want to break her, on the contrary, he wanted to fix her. Liberate her. And perhaps in the process satisfy his own desires. Word count: 8k Note: Gifs are not mine, credit to the authors.

Series masterlist

***

Y/N could remember very well the time when she was a young girl, full of hope, full of joy, full of hopes and dreams. She remembered vividly all the teenage fantasies she used to dream, all the plans she used to make, all the goals she wanted to pursue. She could retrieve from memory every single part of her adult life that she had imagined, clearly as if those dreams had never left her. She never wished for much, never wanted too much, all she desired was a peaceful, warm, happy life. A loving husband, two sons, a house with a white picket fence, a loving family, a simple sweet apple life. Just as vividly as she remembered all her teenage fantasies she recalled the pain of disappointment when all her dreams crumbled into nothing, the bitterness with which she lived with every day. For Y/N's life quickly turned out to be quite different from what she wished it had been.

As a young girl she created in her mind an image of her future self. A strong woman with a smile on her face and a kind heart. Drawing inspiration from strong fictional characters who, despite hardships and adversity, always maintained a cheerful and good nature, this is how she wanted to be. Yet she had not assumed that one day she would become one of them, the pain and trauma they had to deal with included. Not much remained of that hopeful young girl, only a realized image of her own fantasies now devoided of the beauty and warmth she so desperately longed for. Kind but cautious, sincere but reserved, who loved life but walked through it completely alone, she began to realize more and more how broken she really was. How much each successive blow she received from life seemed to be the one that would tip the cup of bitterness and push her over the edge. And yet, balancing on the edge of resignation, she kept on clinging to life. She kept looking for wonders in the dark corners of everyday life, searching for joy in the midst of anger and disappointment, trusting as she pushed aside fear and prejudice, she continued to smile, even though more often than not her smile was stained with contempt.

And yet on that evening, when she was with him, she smiled. She genuinely smiled. That evening her eyes shone as before, her voice was soft as before, that evening for the first time in a very long time, she just felt herself, she felt normal. As if for a fleeting moment, her dreams were revived once more. It was a beautiful moment, fleeting, ethereal, which like a lovely dream came and went, leaving only the reality. And even though she knew she had no reason to, Y/N felt sad, broken. How could she feel sad when she had spent a wonderful time in the company of a fantastic man? How could she feel sad when that man made plans for the future in which he included her. How could she feel sad when the future seemed bright and exciting.

Yet she knew well that just as little happiness had befallen her in the past, there was little chance that happiness would befall her in the future. After all, why should the future be any different? Why should she cling to delusional hope?

She knew these moods all too well, days like this came without warning, out of the blue. Days in which she couldn't smile, couldn't sing, couldn't pretend, and yet she did. She would go to work with a smile on her face, at work productively she would always be full of energy, always close to her colleagues, always bright, always determined and focused. Her mask fitted her face perfectly well. Long ago she had learned to answer a concerned question about her well-being with a nonchalant, "I'm fine, just tired, didn't sleep very well." Long ago she learned to disguise her anger with a smile. That in this case, there is no point in being honest, after all, people didn't care. After all, she was always alone in the end anyway.

"Why do you insist that you can handle all this alone?" Jonathan sat comfortably in an armchair and observed as you tried to avoid the subject through cooking, "we were making such good progress and now over the course of a day you take not two, but ten steps back and shut down completely."

"I'm not shutting down!" you denied, "there's just nothing to talk about!"

"You know I completely disagree with that. You would have to be blind not to notice how withdrawn you are."

"Hey, I didn't invite you here to give me another psychoanalysis!" you turned on your heel angrily threatening him with a spatula, "I wanted to take my mind off all this, not talk about it."

"I don't even know what you mean by all this," he pointed out calmly, "as your…"

"I thought we were no longer contracted therapist-patient agreement," you snarled.

"As your friend, I'm worried," he finished in a stern yet gentle voice.

"There's no reason! Sometimes I just have these moments, it will pass!" shifting your focus away, you angrily stirred the pot, "They come just like that, for no reason. Some trivial trigger that opens all my carefully sealed boxes and bad memories and negative emotions pour out one by one," the words flew out nervously, "I don't need therapy! I need a friend who will take my mind off all this! I can handle the rest on my own. I just need some time to lock them up again…" Jonathan's hand rested on yours stopping your frantic movements. You didn't even hear him approaching. You looked at him, into his intensive green eyes that revealed understanding and concern.

"It is no achievement to box up negative emotions and experiences and shove them deep into the back of your mind," he began as his eyes shone intensely, "the trick is to eliminate those boxes. To free the mind from pain and fear. To take control of the fear."

"Do you have any magic drug that will do that?" you smirked.

"I may have one," he replied, "but it won't work if you don't talk to me."

Jonathan turned off the gas under the pot, took both your hands and pulled you to sit with him for a moment. You knew well what he was getting at, yet you couldn't say no to those mesmerizing green eyes. In all the chaos you've been experiencing over the past few weeks, it was he who was always there when you needed him, like an anchor that held you safely to the ground. He answered every phone call, came whenever you needed him, listened, understood, and wanted to help you. Without knowing when Jonathan Crane went from being an unwanted therapist to a very wanted… "friend?".

"If you're about to say something among the lines you have to open up and trust me, you can't hold it all in because it will eat you up from the inside then spare me please," you started before he could say anything, "let's have dinner watch a movie and just have a nice time. Since you're not my therapist, in the literal sense of the word, please do what I want for once!" Jonathan merely tightened his hands on yours as if he was trying to stop your rush of thoughts.

"Y/N you need help. And even though you know this you make it much more complicated than it needs to be," the green of his eyes seemed to darken along with the tone of his voice, "It's really quite straightforward. You've got…well…" he paused as if picking the right words, "let's be honest. You've got issues. Major issues."

"I've asked you…" you tried to interrupt him, get up, walk away, serve dinner. You couldn't. His hands were clenched tightly on yours and his green eyes were hypnotizing.

"The only way we can even begin to resolve them is through therapy. Intensive therapy," he affirmed in a calm voice and added, "unless you don't want to get better?" you remained silent. "But of course you do…"

"I'm doing perfectly fine!" you attempted a confident tone.

"Do you now?" he didn't believe you, "Tell me. How can you possibly be fine after everything that happened to you?"

"Head up, chest forward and always keep fighting!" you smiled cockily.

"How long?"

"As long as it takes. Until I collapse."

Jonathan let go of your hands and moved away a little staring at you intently. Some part of you wanted to use this moment and run away, to break the tension that hung in the air, to get away from him as his close presence made your confidence vanish with each passing second. Despite this, you stayed. Even though his hands let go, he still had a pull on you, without saying anything, by simply being close.

"You see life as a struggle," he began after a brief reflection, "you said it yourself. Always keep fighting, until you collapse. You're an intelligent woman, tell me, is this how it supposed to be?"

"Maybe not, but we have no control over what Destiny has planned for us."

"You think everything that happened to you is destiny? Everything that has happened to you since you came to Gotham not to mention the things you stubbornly refuse to talk about. Do you really think it's destiny?"

"That's the way I see it," you began, aware that you won't be able to escape this conversation, "Destiny deals the cards of fate, looks at what he has on hand and throws it. To one Destiny gives happiness, to another wealth, to yet another fame, to someone else love, then he reaches for the cards of trauma, pain, and suffering. Destiny looks at them for a moment, then throws them to those who have already been dealt them in the past and are still standing. Throws them to them because he knows they can handle it."

"Fascinating that you talk about destiny as if it were conscious being capable of making decisions. Even more fascinating how you see and perceive the events in your life," the intense green of his eyes shone with sheer fascination, "there may be a bit of truth in what you say. I am a psychiatrist, not a philosopher. However, I dare say there is something else, equally important, that you are overlooking."

"What's that?

"Choice," one word, spoken in a low half-whisper, pierced you to the core, "your choice. The choices you make when faced with adversity. The choices you made that led you to where you are now. It wasn't Destiny that told you to come to Gotham, it was your own choice. You chose to work at Wayne Tech, you chose to sign up with me for counseling, you chose to renew contact with Harleen, you chose to drive the car off the bridge, you chose to confront Harleen at Amusement Mile, you chose every single day to get up, lift your head high, smile and keep going. Destiny, if you want to include it, may have laid out the paths of fate before you, but it was you who chose to walk them," as he spoke gazing into your eyes intensely a single tear broke free and ran down your cheek in a silvery trail. "So now I, not destiny, present you with a choice. Will you choose to continue to abuse yourself and stubbornly refuse the help I want to give you, or will you be brave enough to take the hand I extend to you and let me guide you through your fear."

"Jonathan…" your voice trembled as you tried to answer. You didn't have to. With the back of his fingers Jonathan gently wiped a tear from your cheek and gazed deeply into your eyes as if trying to reach your subconsciousness. Emotions took over you. You didn't fall apart with tears. Even though his words struck straight to your heart you did not allow yourself to cry, crying was personal, could see it. Instead, you moved closer to him, curled your legs up, and cuddled into his side as he put his arm around your shoulders. "Alright, let's do this…" you whispered into his chest, "whatever you think is right. I trust you."

"Do you now?" he asked quietly while brushing your shoulder. Snuggled into his chest, with your eyes closed, you couldn't see the satisfied smile fading over his face.

"I do…" you murmured, "I don't know why. You know very well that I'm rather cautious when it comes to people. The last time I trusted someone…." you sighed heavily, "you know…"

"Don't try to sabotage yourself justifying it with bad experiences," his low smokey voice sounded from deep within sending a pleasant shiver down your spine, "don't let fear control your actions."

"Choices…."

"Choices indeed…" his fingers moved in a soothing rhythm over your bare skin, "if you let me, I'll teach you how to control fear, how to use it and turn it into a weapon more powerful than all others. All you have to do is let me."

"Over the past weeks, you showed me more support than anyone else…" the warmth of his body was so pleasant, so soothing. Even though a part of you screamed that you shouldn't, you wanted, craved this closeness, didn't want it to vanish. "I can't remember the last time…" you paused.

"Stop that…" he whispered and wrapped his arms around you tighter, "we'll take care of all this tomorrow."

***

Tomorrow came. It came and brought with it worries and doubts. Just the previous evening everything seemed so simple and you were so determined. After the evening full of fascinating conversations about all kinds of topics and the movie you watched together, you felt wonderful. You haven't brought up the subject of therapy again, for which you were grateful to him. You didn't feel uncomfortable even though you had spent well over an hour, silently listening to the calm beating of his heart. He didn't seem bothered either. Not so long ago he had been Doctor Crane, a psychiatrist whose persistent piercing gaze made you want to run as far away as possible, now he was….

"Who?" you wondered once again as you walked down the quiet city streets. You couldn't find the right word. Somehow "friend" didn't seem like the right one. You quickly chose not to think about it any longer. Too much was going on. Too many events occurred one after another. You couldn't think about it because if you started, you would have to start thinking about everything else. "I jumped in front of the pointed gun. I met not one, not two, but five vigilantes! Harleen lost her mind. Batman promised to help her. Why was Jonathan in Arkham? Batman also asked me to trust him! I'm flying with Bruce fucking Wayne to Metropolis!" thoughts and events on which you should reflect flashed through your mind one after another. "At that rate I'm gonna lose my fucking mind by the end of the year!" You pushed them all aside. You had neither the mental strength nor the desire to process them all. "Just go with the flow," you decided.

That evening the city was supremely quiet, and you couldn't shake the feeling that Gotham was somehow hearing you and adapting to you. As if it was whispering "let it go…", as if it was tempting "take what I give you…". A gentle wind swept over your face bringing a pleasant autumn chill, the empty streets murmured with the quiet hum of life giving rhythm to your steps. And yet, despite the all-pervading calm and gentleness, an eerie feeling kept returning time and again. A strange tingling in the back of your neck as you changed direction, a feeling of tension as you turned down a side street, everywhere you looked there was peacefulness, yet you felt uneasy. Stealthily glancing over your shoulder, you tried to spot movement, in vain. Friend or foe? Safety or danger? You briefly clenched your hand on the tiny bat-shaped transmitter hidden deep in your pocket. Would he really show up? If you pressed a small button, if you were in real danger, would he save you? How long would it be before he jumped off one of the roofs, before the shadow of his flowing cape covered the light of the setting moon? Or was he already here? Maybe that tingling sensation on the back of your neck was his own watchful eyes following your every move? Or maybe it was just a delusional hope. A fantasy of a Dark Knight who would save you from danger.

You let the transmitter out of your hand and sped up your step. Friend or foe one thing was certain, in Gotham the shadows had eyes, watchful eyes, peering at you from hiding, tracking your every move, your every step…watching over you. You smiled to yourself and decided to accept the new feeling. It felt good.

Jonathan anxiously counted down the minutes until Y/N's arrival, minutes that seemed to pass unbearably slowly. He counted down each one of them as he listened for footsteps on the stairs, eagerly anticipating the sound of a soft knock on the door, looking forward to the moment when she would finally appear here in his office. For here came the opportunity he had been waiting for for a very long time, which came to him on its own, reluctantly asking for help, offering his complete trust in return, and he could take advantage of it. For weeks he had been working to convince her to finally trust him, for her to give herself to him, to surrender her mind to his control, and it seemed to him that today was the day. Exhilaration pulsed through his veins as he once again inspected the tiny pressurized container attached to the oxygen mask, the small vials that were about to be filled with blood, the strap fastenings he might need, as well as the cream-colored envelope discreetly tucked aside. The envelope intended as a reward if she was good, if she obeyed him, a temptation of sorts. For he knew full well that in order to maintain a good relationship with Y/N, he had to preserve a perfect balance. He wanted her to trust him, he wanted to reveal the darkest depths of her mind, he wanted to explore her fear, he wanted to take it away from her, use it and exploit it. But the dance between nightmare and dream, between care and torture was a delicate art requiring careful movements. In the end, he didn't want to break her, on the contrary, he wanted to fix her. Liberate her. And perhaps in the process satisfy his own desires.

A quiet knock finally sounded, and before he had time to answer, Y/N entered his office. She was smiling as always, but doubt lingered in her eyes, fear already nestled beneath the surface of seeming fearlessness. "Good…" he decided, "now all that needs to be done is to amplify it."

"You're here, finally," he greeted her with a hug, "I was worried that you would change your mind and not come," empathy, she expected empathy and care, so that's what he had to give her.

"I'll be honest if it had been anyone else but you I would probably have told him to go fuck himself," she sassed with a grin letting him take off her jacket, "what's all of this?!" observant as ever, she hadn't even had a chance to enter the office properly and had already noticed the changes in her surroundings.

"I had to make some adjustments," he kept his tone of voice calm and controlled. Although he wanted with all his heart to push her onto the bed and let his desires finally take over, he knew he couldn't. It was a dance. "We talked about it. I used the word intensive therapy for a reason," he surrounded her with his arm gently urging her to come inside. He was so close, he couldn't let her back out now.

"That looks creepy…" she looked at the bed, at the prepared empty vials, at the leather straps hanging loosely at its sides, fear clearly affected her face, "I don't know if that's such a good idea…."

"But I do," he tried to discreetly tug her closer, " we've talked about this. I understand your hesitation, but it's the only way."

"When we talked about this I thought you meant stronger drugs and conversations from which you would not let me escape, no…" she frowned, "whatever the fuck this is!"

He was losing her. Instead of following the impulse he decided to operate cautiously, decided that he wanted not only to satisfy his desires but also to really help her, and now he was losing her. The more he steered her toward the bed the more she resisted, the more he pressed the more she retreated. He couldn't let her go. Thinking little, he grabbed her hand and pulled her with him, forcing her to sit down with him. He sat close, very close, the scent of jasmine dawned on him as her hair waved with a sudden movement. He took hold of her other hand, as if accidentally brushing her exposed knee in the process, and looked deeply into her eyes. She liked it, he knew it and used it.

"I won't let you back down," he lowered his tone of voice and she trembled slightly, "we talked, we tried to talk. It doesn't work and you know it. There are topics, areas of your life you don't want to talk about. You stubbornly refuse to do so. There are also ones you claim you don't remember," for a moment she tried to slip away from him but he wouldn't let her. He could see that she felt uncomfortable. He could see that she wanted to escape. He was too close to let her do that. He only tightened his hands over hers forcing her to look at him. "Listen to me! If you can't make the choice yourself, I'll do it for you. If you don't care about your own well-being, the fact that I care will have to be enough!"

"Just give me a moment alright? Is not that easy."

"I know you're scared. And rightly so. I won't lie to you, it won't be a pleasant experience. But I promise you that I will guide you through your fears and nightmares. I will take your fear from you, and free you from it," that was his plan, "do you trust me?"

She nodded. Even though he saw fear and uncertainty in her eyes, he would not give her the opportunity to object. He got to know her, he understood her, and he was sure that this was what she desired. Although she presented herself as strong and independent, in reality she wanted to trust him, wanted to be subject to him, wanted for someone to take control, to take the decision out of her hands.

"Alright…" he smiled dimly, "then take off your dress," he instructed, "we need to connect the heart monitor."

It was a pleasure to watch her succumb to him. As she freed her hands from his, she pulled off her shoes, then her tights, and finally unzipped her dress and let the black material slide off her shoulders and fall to the floor. He didn't look away, but neither did she ask him to.

"What now?" she asked, standing in front of him in the silk chemise. To his surprise, he saw no shame in her eyes, only quiet determination. She felt safe with him. His plan was working.

"Lie down comfortably and try to relax," he instructed, standing up and turning on the oxygen pump.

"What are these straps for?" she asked, musing apprehensively on the loose pieces of leather hanging on the sides of the bed.

"I do not know what your reaction will be," he explained, "it is for your safety."

"My reaction to what?"

"We'll start with a small dose," he adjusted the valve altering the flow, "we'll increase it if necessary."

"Dose of what?" she asked, "you won't give me pills as usual?"

"The time for pills has passed. You can take them at home to balance your anxiety," he put a hand on her shoulder and forced her to lie down. "No more questions. Now it's my turn," he put the oxygen mask to her face and smiled, "breathe….breathe deep. Let it into your system. Let it take control of you. Let me see your fear."

You ran. You ran forward. You ran blindly. You didn't look back. Your heart was pounding in your chest, your lungs were burning with fire, and yet you ran. Your bare feet echoed on the cold white floor, blood pulsed in your ears, your head spun, yet you didn't stop. You kept running.

"Stop her!!!" you heard from afar.

Steps. In the distance, behind you. Heavy. Threatening. Quick. They ran after you. They were chasing you.

"Don't let her get away!!!"

Your muscles were burning but you didn't stop. They were getting closer.

"What do you see?" a low throaty voice ripped through the surroundings, louder than anything else, coming out of nowhere and everywhere at once, "tell me what you see!" he ordered. The voice caused you pain. Intrusive. It wanted to invade the reality around you. "Tell me!" it demanded. You pressed your hands tighter to your ears.

"I can't… Can't answer him. I must not…"

The footsteps came closer. Kneeling on the floor, you pressed your hands with all your strength and yet you could hear the clang of metal, the click of safety pins being unlocked, heavy gasps, the clatter of chains.

"There she is!!! Stop her!!!"

You struggled to get back up, supporting your hands on your knees. They were getting closer. You had to get up, you had to move. You had to run.

"Tell me what you see!" the voice demanded once again.

"No!!!" you shouted desperately breaking through the sound of heavy boots, through your own heartbeat, through the intruding voice. You smashed the white tiles on the walls, smashed the floor under your knees, smashed the light, time and space.

Nothingness.

Endless darkness.

Emptiness.

"What are you afraid of?" the same grave voice came from the void, "tell me your fears. What are you running away from? Where are you running to?"

You fell. Into nothingness, between time and space, between fear and desire. You were falling into the abyss of nightmares.

"There is no way out of here…"

You closed your eyes. Darkness enveloped you, blissful darkness, silence.

"I can't…I won't…"

"Oh now, don't be so stubborn. I'll take it from you whether you let me or not."

"No, you won't!"

You opened your eyes. The void was gone. You found your feet resting on the ground again. Confused for a moment, you looked around at your surroundings.

"It can't be...no…"

The dark brown rug under your feet bore the marks of your shoes. Mud, grit, dust, ginger cat hair. You should vacuum it, but there was no time for that. Yellow warm light brightened the hallway, the hallway you knew so well. The brown old-fashioned wainscoting on the wall, the light brown furniture, the big mirror that, although it had fallen off the wall several times, never shattered. You took a few steps, carefully, reluctantly and the smell struck your senses, a smell you hated. Sweat, the sour stench of acid, the stuffiness of an unventilated apartment, the stench of death.

"Where are you?" the voice asked, "who will you see when you enter the next room? A dying father? Or perhaps a mother? Is that what you are afraid of? Of death? Oh, how cliche."

"I'm not afraid of death," you growled answering him for the first time.

"Then what haunts you? Sickness? Pain? Loss? Who left you? Abandonment issues? Did you look after someone? Who did you let down?"

An unknown force pushed you toward the bedroom, a bedroom that you remembered all too well.

"You must face your fear," the voice pressed, "show me your fear."

"Fuck you!"

You turned around sharply and pushed with all your strength against the thrusting force. It resisted. It wanted to push you deeper into the nightmare. You clenched your teeth, dug your heels into the floor and, straining all your muscles, broke through the force. You grabbed the door handle and fell out into the hallway. A hallway that should have been in colors of gray and green. And yet, once again you got blinded by the white.

"You resist, not good…" Jonathan watched as she winced and thrashed on the bed. Fear, pain, despair painting on her face. Although her eyes were wide open, she could not see him, she was too far gone. She stared into space in terror as tears ran from her open eyes. "Beautiful…" he wiped a tear from her cheek and pressed it to his lips. The bitter saltiness tingled pleasantly on his lips. He was ecstatic. Fear was delightful but she needed a little more. He opened the valve and pressed the mask to her face again.

"Give me your fear."

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

"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."

They wanted to hurt you. You knew it. You yanked hard but someone's hands held you down.

Jonathan ran his hand over her exposed shoulders, over the blemished pulsing veins that seemed to shimmer green against the glistening skin. Slowly, as if he wanted to memorize and learn each and every one of them. He secured the leather strap on both wrists then led his hands slowly up. He paused at the hollow of her hand, gently wet it with a cotton swab soaked in alcohol, then pierced the vein with a small needle. Red blood rushed in a rapid flow, through the plastic tube, straight into a bag attached next to the bed. She moaned as the tears ran down her cheeks again. But he did not stop. He ran his hand higher. Over her neck, over her delicate skin, over her inflamed cheeks then stopped for a moment staring into her wide-open terrified eyes only to follow the trail of sweat down with his fingers and stop his hand on her firm breast, listen to the pounding of her desperately beating heart.

"Give in."

"There is no way out," you tried to struggle but couldn't. An unknown force tied your arms and legs, you couldn't move, "when we're done with you you'll thank us. You will be stronger than ever. Nothing will stop you. You will be my greatest creation."

"I am no one's creation! I am myself!" you shouted fiercely.

"Not anymore," the man replied but you couldn't see his face, the light blinded you mercilessly, "the moment you signed the papers you became our property. My property! I can do whatever I like with you. Notch, cut, test, modify until I deem you finished. Until I consider my work finished."

"I won't let you!"

"And what will you do!" a sneer tore the silence, "You have no power here! You belong to me! My…"

"My property."

"No…" you wept.

"Give me your fear."

"No!"

"Stop resisting. Why are you fighting with me. Let go. Let me take it from you. Show me…."

You closed your eyes and when you opened them again the reality around you changed once more. The cool sun brightened the blue sky, and the singing of birds, the smell of fresh grass and blooming flowers brought the first signs of an awakening spring. The smell of flowers…

Lilies…

The world took shape. The ground trembled and parted, and marble and granite emerged from between the bushes and grasses. One by one they shot to the surface of the earth, bringing with them the smell of earth, of loss, of emptiness. In the distance, candles flickered under two spreading yew trees, with a bright twinkling glow. They called out to you.

"Who lies there?" a voice broke through the chirping of birds, "Why don't you go over there? What are you afraid of?"

"I don't want to."

"Who have you lost? Who has abandoned you?"

Staring still at the flickering candlelight, you took two steps back. The light came closer.

"You have to look. You have to show me."

"I won't…" you whispered in a trembling voice.

"You have no power here. You belong to me. You will do as I say."

"No, I won't..."

"Why are you resisting? Why do you refuse? Don't you know that the path of freedom leads through pain and fear?" the voice seems to have softened, as if to urge you to submission, "Let me help you. I can set you free. Free you from dread and fear. Take it away from you. You will never be afraid again. Never again will you feel that feeling that paralyzes your body and mind taking control of you," he tempted.

"We need to feel fear," you replied finding the remnants of confidence within you, "fear is essential. Fear is a natural part of human existence, without it we would be broken, defective."

"Don't resist…"

"It's not an achievement to get rid of fear, to stop feeling it," you raised your head high, "it's not admirable," you took a confident step forward, toward the tombstone, toward the flickering candles, "it's not inspiring," you sped up, "it's nothing to be fucking proud of!"

"You're wrong…"

"The real power is to take control of your fear!" you could see the shimmering golden letters against the marble gray, "to know it, understand it, and control it! Not to get rid of it! Not to let it control you! True strength is to fight despite fear! To fight along with fear! To never give up! Always keep fighting!"

"You're wrong. I will prove it to you. Give me your fear."

Before your eyes could read the golden inscription on the marble stone you turned sharply and with burning fierceness threw into space.

"You cannot have my fear!!!"

She woke up. She blinked, and her conscious gaze returned to her eyes. The fear was gone, what remained was exhaustion and confusion. He knelt down beside her bed and began to undo the straps. He said nothing. The blood bag had long been hidden. The toxin pump turned off. He only left a small vial of blood in plain sight, a check of hormone levels, as he planned to explain later. He freed her one hand, then the other, and helped her up.

"Are you okay?" he asked caringly, at least that's what he hoped.

"I am…" she replied and the same fierceness lit up in her eyes, "what happened?"

"You had a strong reaction, I had to tie you up so you wouldn't hurt yourself," he explained taking her hand and gently massaging her wrist. "I would like you to tell me all about what you saw. You were crying and screaming. I can only imagine what you might have experienced."

"My biggest nightmares…" she whispered staring into his eyes. There was something different about her, something changed. All traces of fear and anxiety were gone, in her eyes burned strength and anger.

"Tell me about it," he insisted.

"Not now, not today," she refused then looked at him again, "I don't want to be alone today. Can I sleep at your place?"

"Of course, Whatever you need."

Two hours later she fell asleep peacefully cuddled in his arms.

***

The night was deep and dark when you suddenly woke up. The nightmares that just a few hours ago you saw with your waking eyes now returned in your sleep, more intense than before. Even though there was no voice demanding for you to give your fear to him, even though there was no force pushing you deeper into the nightmare, you were more afraid than before. In the dream, you wandered over the marble monument with the golden letters once again, but this time you took the time to read them. You fell to your knees and pain tore at your heart, tore at your soul, tears ran uncontrollably down your cheeks and then you woke up. Your fevered mind could not register reality for a moment. The dark bedroom did not look like yours, the bedding did not smell like yours, and the pillow on which your head rested rose up and down in a calm rhythm. Jonathan was lying on his back with one arm embracing your shoulder as he slept deeply. You looked at him for a moment, at the sharp features of his face, at the defined jawline shaved smooth, at his dark brown hair, at the firm muscles hidden beneath his plain black t-shirt. So calm, so handsome, so caring and yet….

It only took a moment for your thoughts to start slipping away. A few hours of sleep cleared away the initial exhaustion, bringing new strength, new restlessness, and anger. When you asked him a few hours ago if you could sleep at his place you didn't think much. You didn't question your actions, you didn't question your choices, you didn't wonder, you simply didn't want to be alone. But when the shock wore off, when the terror passed away when you regained some of your strength you discovered that you wanted to be anywhere but here. This was not right.

Carefully, so as not to wake him, you slipped out of his embrace and off his bed. Quietly you dressed, tied up your messy hair, threw your jacket over your shoulders and walked out into the dark cool night, leaving only a short note on the kitchen table.

I couldn't sleep. I didn't want to wake you up. I'll be in touch.

The cold night air awakened your face and your thoughts. Even though the watch on your phone indicated three o'clock in the morning the city was awake, after all, Gotham never slept. Someone was always going somewhere, someone was always coming back from somewhere, someone was always just wandering the night streets. You didn't care. You had only one thought in your head.

The first stop turned out to be a 24-hour store. A pack of cigarettes and two cups of coffee, one white and the other black were all you bought. You ignored the taunts of the guy behind you, ignored the slimy smile of the cashier, you paid and walked away with a confident pace.

The white corridor. A hospital gown. Escape. Soldiers.

You lit a cigarette. Thick biting smoke filled your lungs making you slightly dizzy. It had been years since you had last smoked, yet that night you decided to forgive yourself for this little stumble. You walked ahead.

Family home. Dirty rug. The smell of sweat, acid, the smell of….

You inhaled deeply, ignoring the burning sensation in your throat. You closed your eyes as if to push the images away from your mind. You did not slow your step.

The blinding light. Helplessness. Lack of control. Pain.

Gotham Bay loomed in the distance. The breach in the bridge's railings, still unrepaired, was becoming more and more visible. But this time you headed in the opposite direction, towards the tall building overlooking the place. Carefully, wary of spilling your coffee, you climbed the closed fire escape stairs and made your way up.

Cemetery. Marble gravestone. The smell of lilies.

You choked on smoke as you climbed another floor. You weren't particularly athletic, and the old habit didn't help in getting up to the roof. You pushed away another thought focusing on your breathing and conquering the last steps. Finally, Gotham appeared to your eyes in its majestic beauty, twinkling with a million lights, like an endless ocean of stars in a black sky. You sighed in awe, lit another cigarette and pressed the tiny transmitter hidden deep in your pocket.

Time passed. Minutes, tens of minutes, you couldn't tell, you didn't care. You stared at the glow of flickering lights on the horizon, listened to the quiet whisper of the city, letting the breeze from the bay sweep over your face, taking your cares and worries with it. Before doubt had time to invade your mind, the air suddenly changed, as if electrified, when the soft sound of a falling cloak announced his arrival.

"You came…" you whispered without looking at him.

"You called," a low murmur brought a pleasant shiver down your spine. "Are you alright?"

"I honestly don't know…" you answered when Batman stood next to you. He didn't look at you, instead he gazed into space as you did. "I brought you coffee," you smiled innocently handing him a cup, "black cos you seem to me like the type who despise cream and sugar. I'm afraid it's gotten a little cold by now."

"What are you doing on the roof in the middle of the night?" he asked, accepting the paper cup from you.

"I'm thinking…"

"On the roof?"

"I suppose you do that quite often," you smirked, "and no wonder. Gotham is so beautiful from up high. So peaceful."

"That's true…" he agreed quietly and added after a moment, "when I gave you the transmitter, I was clear that it was so you could call me if you were in danger."

"Do you define danger only as a state of physical threat?" you asked glancing at him, "I honestly didn't think you would show up."

"Why wouldn't I?"

"I don't know…" you took a sip of coffee, "judging by your appearance you probably have more important things on your mind," you pointed out the dirt on his face and his suit.

"I gave you a transmitter for a reason."

"I know…" you whispered.

You both were silent, staring at the ocean of lights and stars. You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye trying to read his reactions but he only calmly sipped his coffee. He waited. Perhaps initially angry that you had called him for seemingly no reason, he now seemed to understand that the reason was hidden deep inside you, that he was the one you wanted to talk to.

"Do you ever get scared, Batman?" you finally asked but seeing his surprised look you added, "you do what you do, putting yourself out there in danger, do you ever get scared?" your eyes met like so many times before and once again he seemed to be weighing the words in his mind, thinking over what to answer.

"All the time…" he replied after a brief reflection.

"How do you do that? How do you do what you do? How do you prevent fear from taking control of you?" the questions came one after another, " back then when you pulled me out of the water…." you searched for the right words, "I was a complete stranger to you. And yet you pulled me out of the sinking car. Why?"

"And why did you jump in front of the gun that Harley was aiming at Robin?" the question came from deep inside.

"Because it was the right thing to do," you answered almost immediately, "but this is different. It was an impulse! I was reacting to the situation!

"If you were to do it again?"

"I would do exactly the same thing!" you replied with confidence, "but you do it every night! You knowingly put yourself in danger…" you took a step forward closing the distance between you and looked into the eyes hidden beneath the mask, "tell me why, please. I need this."

Tension hung in the air. Standing just a step away from him, you were sure he saw the quiet despair in your eyes, the simmering questions, the traces of fading fear. You were sure he saw it all as you did, a shadow of worry flitting across his stoic face, a flash of blue in the black of his eyes when his mask fell a little as he spoke in a low husky tone.

"Because I made promises," he began, "because I swore that I would do my best to protect those who could not protect themselves. That no…" he hesitated. The mask broke for a moment, revealing the man hidden beneath it, a man who had feelings, a man who hid pain, who was afraid. "Because I swore," he finished.

"And yet you say you feel fear."

"I do," he admitted, "so do you…"

"Hey, I climbed up on the roof to talk to the Dark Knight!" you chuckled "fear becomes a relative term!" however, you became serious upon seeing his stern eyes. "I'm sorry. It was stupid…" you reached into your pocket and pulled out your cigarettes. You lit one, inhaled the smoke and closed your eyes relishing the feeling. "I don't usually smoke," you explained, "I quit years ago. Its just...today I decided that I could forgive myself for this bit of weakness."

"Do you want to tell me what happened?"

"You're right…" you continued your previous thought ignoring his question, "I do feel scared. But not because of what has happened since I arrived in Gotham. I'm not afraid of the Joker, let alone Harley…" you paused acknowledging the name you used as you spoke of her, "no…. that's not what I'm afraid of. My fears…they came here with me. Even though I was hoping to leave them behind."

"The past has a habit of following us wherever we go…"

"Someone recently told me to let go of my fears, to give them up…" images broke into your mind again, "if someone told you that they could take away your fear," you turned to him again, "take it away from you, make you never feel fear again, would you let them?"

Once again silence fell between the two of you. Yet this time Batman was not analyzing his answer but your question. So strange, and yet so sincere.

"I wouldn't…" he finally replied, "Giving away your fear to someone, even if it was possible, would mean giving away the force that motivates you to action. Fear, if you let it, can be a paralyzing force, can be the thing that sabotages your every move, your every plan. But if you take control of it, it can become one of the strongest forces driving your actions. It's all a matter of choice."

"Choice…" you repeated quietly.

"It always comes down to the choices we make. Do we let it control us, or do we control it. I wouldn't give my choice to someone else. "

"Neither would I….neither would I…"

***

Chapter nine: Dreams - part one

***

Author note: The choices were made... right? I'm very curious to see your reaction, hope you will enjoy it? Enjoy it's such a bad word here. But I've decided to focus heavily on Crane this chapter, and I wasn't exactly planning to exactly that route, but that is where the story lead. I don't usually question it. I allow the story to lead me, not the other way around. Next chapter will be much lighter in tone, but I can't help it, I do like my dark stories. Anyways, as always, thank you for all your responses! I tagged those who asked to be tagged. Sorry for not replying, it is truly a mirricle that this chapter came to be today. I had a busy two weeks. At the end, as always Dear Reader, I thank you for reading.

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

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elena-mayfair · 1 year

Text

Choices that shape the future

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, themes of depression, depictions of mental illness Summary: You tried to conceal your excitement, but your heart was pounding in your chest like crazy, for you found yourself in a movie-like scenario that frightened you more than anything you had received from Gotham so far. Close encounters with death, the nightly escapades through the city, the chases, the gun to your head, the nightmares, and everything that happened yesterday seemed like nothing, a complete triviality compared to the situation you were currently in. Suddenly snapping at a masked vigilante seemed much easier than having a polite conversation with a gentleman like Bruce. Word count: 11k Note: Gifs are not mine, credit to the authors. Pictures made by me.

Series masterlist

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"Where are we going?" you asked, quickening your step to catch up with Batman. He did not look at you. He walked half a step ahead of you with his head raised high and eyes focused on the distance. As you followed him, you couldn't help but wonder, is he doing this to protect you from a potential threat, or is he seeing things that you don't see? It didn't seem to you that he was especially observant of his surroundings, and yet your instincts told you that he didn't have to, that he just knew. "Batman?" you tried again to get his attention.

"I have to show you something," he replied shortly yet the coolness of his voice took on a different tone. There was something gentle in it, something strangely familiar.

"You've already said that, but I'd appreciate it if you weren't so mysterious! Can you do it?"

"No," came the dry reply, and again something else crept into his tone, a barely audible shadow of amusement.

"You really like this freaking word, don't ya?" you sighed frustrated, "your friends aren't coming with us?"

"No."

"And are we going far?" you continued with questions," come on man, give me something!"

He did not answer. He only kept walking with a steady, heavy pace while his cape brushed the ground beneath his feet with each step. You watched him, this mysterious figure covered in black, with his face hidden under a cowl, in an armored suit, with a long cape ensuring additional cover in the midst of the night. "Like a figure from myths, and yet so real," you thought.

Batman led you to the exit of the district, through the stone arches topped at its peak by the iron Amusement Mile, outside toward a black car hidden in the shadows of the night. For the first time, you could get a close look at the beast you tried to escape from not so long ago, and you realized that the attempt was pointless. The beautiful car, shining in metallic black, was vaguely similar to a sports car, but definitely much more modified. You had never seen such wide exhaust pipes, such a low profile, such thick tires mounted on a sports car, such shiny rims, such black paint, such bright lights, and such black windows. Wide vents rose on the front hood, providing air flow, to what you could only assume was a powerful engine.

"Damn…" you stopped in awe, "how long did you look for a mechanic who would take on such a job?"

"I didn't," Batman answered but seeing your surprised face he added, "I did it myself."

You were speechless. A million thoughts and questions popped into your head in an instant but they all merged into one. "Who is he? Who is the man who hides his face under the mask?" The passenger door opened and Batman was suddenly right behind you.

"Get in," he ordered.

"Hey, you don't expect me to jump into your car without even knowing where we're going! Mom said you shouldn't get in the car with strangers!" you threw in his face.

"Your mom probably also said that you shouldn't get into trouble, and here you are," you got the impression that he was amused by this banter, "I won't repeat myself."

"You want me to just trust you? That's rather unreasonable…"

"Are you afraid?" he asked, getting dangerously close to you.

"No…" you replied confidently and to your surprise, there was no fear in you.

"Then don't make me force you…"

You didn't want to push his limits. You got into the car and he closed the door behind you, then walked around the car and sat in the driver's side. You tried not to stare at either him or the interior of the car, but it was mind-blowing. The latest technology, countless indicators, and displays that probably showed things other than the speed and revs of the engine. An onboard computer that seemed more suited for a government jet than a modified sports car. Leather black upholstery, leather seats, and that smell, of leather and wood and musk, a smell that strangely seemed familiar to you.

"Fasten your seat belt," he commanded in a stern tone then started the engine, its growl resonated within you.

The force of acceleration crushed your stomach into the back of your seat as the car sped up to a hundred in a split second. The city behind the window seemed to dissolve into one colorful blur passing by in a flash as the Batmobile sped through the streets. Despite his immense speed, Batman remained completely calm and in absolute control. With one hand loosely resting on the armrest, he drove the car effortlessly. Buildings, lights, people appeared and disappeared before you could catch a glimpse of them, leaving you unable to figure out the direction of travel. You gave up. Resigned, you looked at him, and your eyes met. He kept glancing at you out of the corner of his eye, only to focus his gaze back on the road.

"You're watching me," you stated, "if you want to ask me something, just ask."

"Usually people are more anxious in my presence…" he pointed out while his watchful eyes glared at you once again, "you seem completely calm."

"Does it bother you that I'm not afraid of you?"

He remained silent.

"I have no reason to be afraid of you," you continue, trying to avoid another awkward silence, "I haven't done anything wrong!"

"Wrong? No…" his low gruff tone seemed to reach deep into your core, "stupid? Yes."

"Was that stupid that I wanted to help a friend after you refused me?"

"It was stupid that you decided to go alone into the depths of the Amusement Mile. You were lucky the Joker wasn't there."

"I'm not afraid of him!" you quipped feistily, "besides if it weren't for your friends, the situation wouldn't have escalated! They were the ones who attacked her!"

"Are you trying to say that Dr. Quinzel was only defending herself?"

"No…" you replied quietly, "she pulled a gun on one of them. The one in red suit," you admitted reluctantly, "but if they hadn't appeared none of this would have happened!!!"

"If they hadn't shown up, there's no telling what would have happened to you now."

"Why do you even care?"

Batman once again did not answer. He couldn't. Because how could he tell you that your safety had become very important to him. How could he tell you that he didn't want to see you get hurt, that it annoyed him that you were getting yourself into dangerous situations. How could he confess something he didn't want to admit even to himself, that he liked your company, that for the first time in a very long time he began to catch his thoughts involuntarily running in your direction when he wasn't watching them. To your smile, to your sincerity, to the ease with which he found himself talking to you, to the sparkle in your eye when you presented your project to him, to the ferocity in your voice when you tried to defy him, to the smell of your perfume that wafted through the office every time you arrived at work. Batman couldn't confess what he didn't want to admit to himself, that he had made this case personal.

The buildings, streets and streetlights disappeared outside the window giving way to a vast blackness. Gotham Bay appeared as quickly as it disappeared only to be replaced by countless trees appearing one after another in the fading brightness of the headlights. Before you had time to figure out the destination, the car slowed down, in front of the iron gate of Arkham Asylum. As if on command, the gate opened and you for the first time found yourself on the grounds of the asylum. Batman steered the car between the buildings of the Medical Facility, Penitentiary, and Visitor Center, which, up close, seemed even eerier than you remembered, only to stop the car in front of the Intensive Treatment building.

"Pull that hood on, and do not pull it down under any circumstances," he commanded, "whatever happens, follow my lead."

You didn't feel like defying him. His stern look and the seriousness of his voice were enough to freeze the blood in your veins. You pulled your hood over your head, nodded silently, got out of the car and without a word followed him straight toward Intensive Treatment.

You wanted to look around, your natural curiosity trying to take over you as Batman opened the door to the building and stepped inside, holding the door behind him and letting you enter. He didn't look around. Once again, it seemed to you that he didn't have to. With your head bowed you glanced stealthily at your surroundings from under your hood, wary of exposing your face. The gray floor, the gray-greenish walls, the blinking pale light, the bars everywhere, you tried covertly to capture your surroundings but what you saw made a cold shiver run down your spine.

"Stay close," you heard a quiet command and you quickened your step, matching his.

"Why did you bring me here?" you asked in a whisper.

"You'll see…" he replied quietly then turned towards the massive metal door separating the admission area from the true asylum. The door creaked quietly under his pressure but before he could pass through it a man jumped out of the security guards' room, a gun he held in his hands was pointed towards the floor but he had his finger placed on the trigger. "He doesn't look like a hospital guard…"

"Batman?" he asked surprised and from under the hood you saw as the tense muscles in his hand loosen.

"Cash," Batman didn't even look at him. You were beginning to think that this was in his habit.

"Batman you know the rules," the guard took two steps forward, "no civilians in the Intensive Treatment Center," from under the hood you could see he was looking at you.

"She is with me," were the only words he said. Without waiting for his further reaction, let alone permission, he opened the door and let you in.

Gray and green once again surrounded you on all sides making the black, masked figure walking half a step in front of you seem strangely comforting. The sound of his heavy boots echoed off the worn tiles with a rhythmic thud, interrupted time and again by noises you'd rather not hear. Somewhere from the distance the echo brought a scream, from another direction came deranged laughter followed by a growl and a hollow thump. The creaking metal made you turn sharply back, but there was nothing there. Someone screamed again, a piercing maniacal shriek of pain and despair that broke off as suddenly as it began. Another door opened with a creak and, just like before, Batman held it to let you in. The atmosphere around you seemed to grow darker and darker, with only the green-yellow light continuing to flicker inexorably. The darkness in front of you seemed safe, and yet you kept looking back time and again as if expecting a bright light in the distance. That warm, bright, welcoming light, like from your nightmare, the one that could burn you alive.

The screech once again shattered the silence so suddenly that you ran up closer to Batman almost crashing into him.

"I thought you weren't afraid…" he looked at you warily.

"I'm not afraid, but this place is fucking creepy…" you whispered, "why did that guard there had a gun?"

"Guards working in this wing have to carry guns," he replied, "the most dangerous criminals are kept in here. The weapons are for their protection should someone try to escape."

"Has anyone ever escaped?"

"Joker did," your eyes met again when Batman stopped in half step and turned towards you, "Joker was held right here, now as you well know, he is on the loose."

"You brought me here to show me where Harleen should be?"

"No," he replied and added after a pause, "I brought you here to show you where she was working."

"Why?" you asked almost silently. Batman merely moved close enough to you to block out all the light and surround you in complete darkness.

"Because you keep putting yourself in danger…" he looked deep into your eyes and from under the cover of the darkness of his mask you could see the barely visible blue of his eyes, "because you need to understand, really understand, what you're getting yourself into and my words don't seem to be enough."

"He has blue eyes…"

A scream shattered the silence unexpectedly making you involuntarily flinch.

"Don't be afraid…" the husky voice drew your attention again, "you are safe with me."

"I'm not afraid…"

Batman merely turned around and with a quiet "mhm" continued down the hall. You were sure that he was about to open another door and in a moment you would see cells full of prisoners, the most dangerous criminals in Gotham, but instead, he turned into a side corridor leading towards the freight elevator. Without a word, he sent the elevator upward then fired his grappling gun and hooked it to the elevator floor.

"Come on," he extended his hand toward you, "I won't lead you through Holding Cells," with one hand stretched upward, the other held out toward you, he waited.

"Are we going down?" you asked while placing your hand in his armored glove.

"Just a bit, we have to go down to the lower level," he pulled you close to him and put his arm around your waist tightly.

"You're not going to drop me?" you hesitated, placing your hand on his chest, and to your surprise, Batman smiled. A gentle smirk appeared under the cowl and you immediately knew that you would not forget this sight any time soon.

"I won't…" he muttered quietly then tightened his grip firmly on your waist and slowly lowered you to a deeper level.

The dampness immediately hit your body and nose. An earthy, murky, rotten dampness as if suddenly you were below the surface of the earth. But this was no damp cave, just an old dusty, unused corridor, the same as the ones above only more decayed. Batman stood you on the ground and waited to move his hand away until he was sure you were standing firmly.

"You can remove your hood, there's no one here."

You did as he instructed. Your hair, hidden under the hood, spilled loosely over your black leather jacket, and you couldn't help but notice that his eyes lingered on you.

"I know, I know," you stuck an unruly strand behind your ear, "they wave when it's humid."

"It's not far now…" he again assumed a statuesque posture then made his way towards the depths of the corridor.

You walked in complete silence for several long minutes. The Dark Knight in front of you, as always by half a step, and you behind him. Now free of the hood, not forced to hide your face, you could look at him, watch him in fact. In the small narrow corridor, he seemed even more imposing than when you saw him on the bridge. He was tall, taller than you by over a head, and the pointed ends of his cowl only added to the illusion of height. Powerful and broad in the shoulders, like two average men combined, he seemed to fill the entire space, and his armored suit and black cape only added to his magnitude. Yet despite his size, he moved gracefully, without the heaviness you would expect from such a towering man. Aside from the heaviness of his boots, his entire silhouette seemed to be slender but strong, muscular but graceful, strong but gentle at the same time. "And he's got blue eyes."

"You're staring…" you heard a quiet amusement.

"I am not!" you denied but did not hide the amusement in your own voice, "hey, mister dark and brooding! Have you seen yourself in the mirror! You should be used to it by now!"

"We are here…" as with a snap of the fingers the amusement disappeared replaced by cold seriousness. This time Batman didn't walk inside first, instead he stood at the entrance to a small room and looked at you meaningfully, "see for yourself."

A breach in the wall. The breach in the wall was the first thing that caught your eye. A huge hole starting in the middle of the wall, going upward all the way to the upper level.

"Explosion…" you whispered and Batman merely nodded.

You entered the room uncertainly. Blood. Splattered in a wide trail on the wall had already blackened from the passage of time and yet it was impossible to mistake it for anything else. The image of Harleen taking a wide sweep and delivering a blow to the guard immediately appeared in your mind.

"Baseball bat…" you looked at him looking for confirmation.

"I didn't know what tool she used, until today."

You turned around slowly and looked at the opposite wall. The gray-green tiles were riddled with bullet holes. The pattern started at head height only to slowly make its way downward. You imagined, clearly and in detail, a guard shooting at the attacking Harleen, then falling to the floor knocked down by the blow, firing a few more rounds.

"He tried to stop her…" your gaze wandered in his direction again.

"He's in a coma."

You sighed heavily. You wanted so badly to believe that it was all just Joker's manipulation. You wanted so badly to believe that Harleen was just a victim, that he had forced her, taken advantage of her. You wanted so badly to help her. You walked over to the desk which, by the level of clutter, looked like it had been used for months.

"Do you have a flashlight?" you asked Batman even though some part of you didn't want to look at the pictures hanging on the wall. Batman walked over to you, stood behind your back and illuminated the room.

"My god…" you sighed, losing the remnants of your delusion. Photos, newspaper clippings, articles, printouts, all of them about Joker, all adorned with hearts painted in red lipstick. "Harl what have you done…"

"She needs help…" a low, husky voice just behind you brought a shiver onto your skin, "she needs help but not the kind of help you are able to offer her."

You turned to him and your eyes met again. There was no coldness or contempt in him, only a quiet voiceless hope, a quiet voiceless plea for understanding and trust.

"I will help her…" he continued, "trust me. I will do what is in my power to help her but I will do it my way."

"You refused…"

"I didn't refuse because I didn't want to help her. I refused because I didn't want to help you," he spoke calmly and softly while his eyes seemed to look straight into your soul, "I didn't want to put you in harm's way."

"That I did myself," you smirked.

"Can you trust me?" he asked with complete seriousness.

"And do you trust me that I only had good intentions?"

"I do," you smiled upon hearing his answer, not quite understanding why you cared so much.

"Then I trust you too," you replied gazing straight into his eyes, "I trust that you know what to do."

It seemed to you that for a moment the blue of his eyes shone through the blackness of his mask once again. That for a moment the mask seemed to disappear revealing the man hidden underneath, the man who was relieved to hear your words, the man who for some reason cared about your safety. You wanted to ask why. You wanted to ask why he cared so much, why was he concerned, why did he send medics to your home, why did you keep meeting. There was so much you wanted to ask him.

A rustling and the sound of approaching footsteps pulled Batman out of his thoughts moments before you could register what was happening.

"Hide behind the desk and whatever happens stay out of sight," he ordered in a hushed voice.

Without looking back you slipped behind the desk, pulled your hood over your head and curled up in the corner between the desk and the wall, trying to blend in as much as possible and thanking yourself in your mind that you usually wore black. The black that concealed his figure so well in the darkness, hid him so well in the shadows, leaving only the metallic gleaming bat symbol visible on his chest.

The footsteps were approaching. Not rushed. Light. It seemed to take an eternity. Curled up against the wall, you counted the passing seconds with each heartbeat pumping adrenaline through your veins. A beat, two steps, a beat, another two steps, someone was coming in your direction. Before the flashlight filled the room blinding you completely you took one last look at Batman hidden in the darkness and a strange sense of safety calmed your pounding heart. But it wasn't pounding from fear. You were exhilarated. In the darkness, not even Batman could see the smile of excitement painted on your hooded face.

Light filled the darkness blinding you completely for a moment only to dim revealing a figure standing in the shadows.

"Jonathan…"

Professor Crane looked around the room focusing his attention on the desk. He didn't notice the shape hidden in the shadows against the opposite wall, didn't notice the glare of watchful eyes following his every move. He took a few steps toward the desk, but before he could raise the flashlight toward the top and illuminate the space where you were hiding Batman spoke.

"Are you looking for something?" he asked with a growly voice, and although the question wasn't directed at you, you trembled.

Yet Jonathan did not look surprised. From hiding, you could clearly see the frown of anger and frustration on his face.

"I've been delegated to clean up Dr. Quinzel's personal belongings and patient files," he replied in his usual calm tone, so different from the emotion on his face, "But that's nothing I should confess to you," he added before turning to face Batman. "Batman. You realize that your presence in the Asylum aggravates the patients staying here."

"Do you see any here?" the icy tone froze the blood in your veins again, "You are a man hard to find Professor Crane."

"Busy schedule," Crane replied coldly, "if you need my expertise I would suggest you make an appointment through my assistant at Eliot Memorial. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'd like to continue with what I came here for."

"Why is the head of Eliot Memorial's psychiatric ward delegated to Arkahm? You have no jurisdiction here."

"Arkham is short staffed but you probably know that."

"Just as you know, Professor, that this is still an active crime scene and nothing can be taken from here."

"If you have any objections you should raise them with Warden Quincy Sharp. Although I'm sure the Warden doesn't know you're here." Crane remained professional yet you clearly heard a distortion in his voice, something strange, something different, something you've never heard before, "you say this is an active crime scene, and yet I don't think you're wearing a badge."

Batman came out of the shadows and took a few steps toward him, which from your concealment looked as if he was approaching without moving. He stood in front of Jonathan and growled quietly.

"You don't want to get on my bad side," he said but Jonathan remained unfazed, "leave or you'll be explaining yourself to the police."

"I have nothing to hide, I told you why I came here," he persisted.

"You have nothing to hide…" even though you couldn't see you were sure that the barely discernible smile appeared on Batman's face once again, "tell me about Marc Phillips. He was your patient wasn't he?"

"Show me your badge," Crane refused to be intimidated, "I don't have to tell you anything. And if the police are investigating his death they know where to find me."

"They do know. They're waiting for you upstairs. I think they'll have some questions for you."

Crane answered nothing, only fixed his glasses and angrily walked away.

Batman watched him disappear into the depths of the corridor for a while, and only after he heard the metal clang of the closing door and made sure Crane was out of sight and hearing range did he return to you and allow you to come out of hiding.

"We have to leave, now," his tone left no room for discussion, "we can't leave the same way we came."

"The cops are really up there?" you couldn't hold back the question.

"Yes," he confirmed, "there is another exit from here. It leads through the sewers."

"Why didn't we come through it? We would have avoided the guard."

"I chose a safer way in," he explained after which, without delaying any longer, he made his way deeper into the corridor.

Although your mind told you that you should sense fear, there was none in you. The corridor led downward and with each step became darker and tighter, so much so that you stopped seeing Batman who was walking just a few steps ahead of you. Gone were the flickering lights, gone were the rotten doors leading to unknown rooms, gone were even the creepy creaking bars, all that was left was the endless murk and the smell of decay. Trying to make out the way you traced your fingers along the morose walls, and although your mind wondered if it was water or blood, you weren't afraid. When a quietly squeaking creature scuttled across your feet you didn't flinch in fear, when a cobweb coated your face you felt only disgust. When a menacing growl and subsequent mewling sound came from the distance your mind only wondered what it was, but your heart remained calm.

"Watch your head," Batman warned illuminating the lowering ceiling with a frail light, "are you okay?"

"I'm fine," you whispered as if afraid that your voice would summon something from the darkness, "do you know where we're going?"

"Yes."

"I'm guessing that wasn't your plan."

"No," Batman stopped and illuminated the path under your feet, "there's about to be a rift in the ground. Be careful, it's a deep drop down," he warned again.

"What's the deal with this professor? Why do the cops want to interrogate him?" curiosity won, you had to know.

"Why do you ask?"

"No reason," you lied, "curiosity, that's it. You seemed hostile and he didn't particularly enjoy your presence either."

"Professor Crane is connected to another investigation that doesn't involve Quinzel," he replied dismissively, "keep your curiosity out of it," he concluded then stopped abruptly, " breach down. Wait here," he ordered then jumped down and disappeared from your sight.

For a moment you stood like that, hunched over avoiding hitting your head on the vault and only the faint light piercing the floor indicated to you where the rift was. Batman disappeared and in complete silence your thoughts seemed to scream. "What is he doing here? Why was Batman so suspicious? Why was Jonathan so aggressive? What the fuck am I even doing here?" questions followed one after another, "why am I so calm? What's wrong with me?"

"Y/N…" came from down below, "you'll have to jump."

"Did you lose your goddamn mind?!" you snapped towards the two bright dots against the darkness below, "I can't see shit!"

"But I can," Batman replied, "Trust me."

"Fuck no! I'm gonna break a leg!"

"You don't have a choice. You're not planning on staying there, are you?" you didn't have to see his face to hear the infuriating grin.

"Are you having fun?!" you snarled furiously.

"A little…"

"Fuck you! I'm going back upstairs!"

"How?" the question did not require an answer, "You have to trust me. I'll catch you."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Cursing under your breath, you sat down on the edge of the rift in the floor and hesitated. It was not fear. Rather, it was pure, cool logic telling you that you don't know how deep the hole goes, how far to the ground, how high above it you are and what awaits you below.

"I swear if I break my leg I'll kill you," you growled one last time then pushed off with your hands and slid down. Before you could even feel the rush of air Batman's strong arms wrapped around you and stopped you in mid-air before your feet could touch the ground.

"It wasn't so terrible was it?" a husky voice sounded right next to your ear.

"You are asking way too much of me," you replied as you opened your eyes, "I tend not to trust people."

"Why?" still holding you in his arms, with one hand under your knees and the other wrapped around your waist he observed you closely.

"As you've probably noticed by now, I don't have a very good sense when it comes to people," remarkable how delicate he seemed compared to the strength he displayed, "I usually don't trust at all, or if I do, I trust entirely and then…well you already know."

"You couldn't have known…"

"It's not just about Harleen," anxiety crept in, anxiety you couldn't hide while being so close to him, "people…. did me wrong more times than I could count."

"That's what usually happens when someone has a good compassionate heart," the blue broke through beneath the darkness of his mask again, and something new emerged in his deep husky voice. Sympathy.

"How can you know? You don't know me…" you tried to shrug it off.

"I have a good sense of people," he murmured quietly then released his hand from under your knees and, further belaying your back, allowed your feet to make contact with the ground. "Let's go. We're almost outside."

You tore your eyes away from him and finally looked around at your surroundings. The dark corridor disappeared giving way to wide, expansive sewers. Greenish brown water flowed in a lazy stream down the middle of the sewer, bringing with it a stench stronger than the one you smelled in the corridors above. Mold, rot, mildew, shimmered in all shades of green against the reds and browns you preferred not to name.

"Damn…" you cursed quietly, "I'm going to stink like a sewer all day tomorrow…" you muttered, "Fuck! I'm going to reek of sewers all day tomorrow!!!" the dread finally came to mind, " Fuck fuck fuck!"

"You will survive…"

"You don't understand anything! Tomorrow is Saturday!"

"And?"

"I have a super fucking important date tomorrow!"

"You'll reschedule…"

"No fucking way!" you denied immediately, "No way in hell I'm gonna reschedule that! There are some meetings you simply do not reschedule!"

Walking half a step behind Batman, trying to avoid the stinking water at all costs, you could not see the smile on his face. For Batman was smiling. With a sincere wide smile, at the sight of which even those who knew him would have been surprised. You couldn't have known that the thought suddenly dawned in his mind, that he too would have to make sure he didn't reek of sewers. As he climbed the old, rusty staircase you couldn't hear his thoughts that were planning a long hot shower, a sauna and his favorite perfume for tomorrow. As he opened the heavy metal door you couldn't have known how he planned that tomorrow he would tell everyone that dinner was strictly for investigation and observation purposes. When he emerged to the surface you couldn't see the expression on his face and the spark in his eyes that said he too was looking forward to tomorrow's dinner.

***

There was a time in the past, a few years ago that now seemed distant as if it belonged to another life, when Bruce thought for a moment that he could have it all. When he thought he could have a social life, a successful career, that he could sacrifice his body and mind for a mission and combine it all with a love life. It was a brief moment, a brief delusion that disappeared as quickly as it appeared. Her name was Andrea, and Bruce loved her so much that for a brief naive moment he even thought he could leave his mission for her, that he could stop being Batman. When everything fell apart Bruce painfully realized that there was no room for love in the life he had chosen for himself, at least not romantic love. He never regretted that moment for it taught him a lot. It taught him that even though he considered himself a loner who didn't trust anyone, the right partner could open him up, could make him open the heart he had closed to the world when he was just a young boy, could make him dare to love. He also taught him that despite the abilities he had, he was only human, and like any human being, he couldn't have it all. He could have been Bruce Wayne, a billionaire, playboy, philanthropist, and CEO of Wayne Enterprises. He could have been Batman, the Dark Knight, one of the three founders of the Justice League, and protector of Gotham. But he could not be Bruce, the loving boyfriend, devoted husband, and father. He couldn't have it all.

Over the years, women passed through his life. Some came and went so quickly that he didn't remember their names or faces. Others stayed for longer, like Selena, who was more or less always a part of his life. And there was Y/N. She appeared suddenly, accidentally, completely out of nowhere, but Bruce had a strange feeling that she wouldn't disappear from his life any time soon. And for the first time in a very long time, he had to admit to himself that he didn't want that at all. A random conversation, a random meeting, one smile, one look, a few bad decisions she had made, that was all it took for him to want more. For with her, Bruce for some reason was simply himself. He wasn't the Bruce Wayne the tabloids wrote about. He wasn't the Bruce Wayne they bowed to in the corridors of Wayne Tower, whom everyone wanted to shake hands with at lavish events, whose face was lit up by hundreds of flashes everywhere he went, with her he was simply Bruce. Just Bruce.

Choosing a suit for the evening, Bruce could not help but wonder if he was making the right decision. In the privacy of his dressing room, away from prying eyes, he replayed his encounters with Y/N over and over again in his mind, trying to understand his own actions. The dinner invitation was an impulse that he immediately tried to explain to himself, as a need for observation and investigation. However, he quickly rebuked himself knowing full well that his intention was quite different. There was something about her that would not let him simply move on, and she did not make it easy for him either, both when he met her as Bruce and as Batman. She was so effortless when she talked to him, so unpretentious, so natural, brave, stubborn, passionate, so real. He didn't intimidate her as Bruce, he didn't scare her as Batman, and it fascinated him immensely. Yet despite this, the years of experience which in the blackness of his hair slowly began to shine with single silver strands, placed their burden on him. A burden that reminded him... "you will ruin her life."

A knock on his bedroom door pulled him out of his thoughts.

"Come in," he threw towards the door as he took a classic black suit off the hanger.

"Hey, Bruce," Dick entered his bedroom carrying in his hands freshly ironed shirts, "Alfred asked me to drop these off for you," he explained placing the shirts perfectly flat on the bed, "Are you going out?"

"I have a meeting," Bruce replied evasively. He knew his boys, knew what to expect, and preferred to avoid it.

"Steel gray," Dick pointed a finger at an elgan suit hanging in the depths of the closet, "steel gray and a black shirt. You're going on a date not a business meeting."

"It's not a date," he really didn't want to continue the subject, "Y/N continues to be part of the investigation, and a link to Quinzel and by extension to the Joker. We don't know what kind of…"

"Yes yes, whatever," Dick interrupted him with a smile of amusement, "still, a gray suit and a black shirt."

"It's not a date."

"Is that why you used Parfums de Marly instead of the typical Armani Code?"

"The sewers under Arkham tend to leave an unpleasant stench…"

"Bruce! Come on!" Dick threw him an amused look, "you took a civilian on a tour through Arkham and now you're going on a date with her and trying to bullshit me that it's strictly business."

"We know nothing about her except that she's unreasonable, she's friends with Harleen, and she's a brilliant engineer."

"You looked her up," Dick stated.

"As much as you needed to…" controlling his voice and facial expression came naturally to him. Just as naturally came to Dick deciphering his behavior. No one but Alfred knew him as well as he did.

"No way…" astonishment appeared on Dick's face, "you didn't look her up! You, Batman, didn't check her out! You must really like her."

"She's my employee," Bruce stated firmly, "to conduct a full investigation into her and her past based only on a string of random events would be highly unethical."

"You've done more for far lesser reasons," Dick noted.

"Are you implying something?"

"I'm not implying anything! I'm stating facts!" Dick smiled broadly, and although Bruce was irritated by the tone of the conversation, he couldn't be angry with him. With the same kind smile Dick walked up to him and while placing his hand on Bruce's shoulder he said, "it's okay to want to try, to want to be happy."

"Dick I know you have good intentions but…"

"You know she covered Tim when Harley pointed the gun at him?" Dick interrupted him, "without a moment's hesitation she jumped between him and the pointed gun."

"Jason told me," Bruce nodded, "Tim was mad at himself for dropping his guard off."

"That's really all you got out of it! She doesn't even know him and when in danger she jumped right into the line of fire! Who does that?"

"Someone who doesn't understand the danger they're in."

"Or someone who is brave enough to stand up for a stranger…" Dick looked at him meaningfully, "Isn't that what we do? Isn't that what you've been training us to do for all our lives?"

"Your point?"

"All I'm saying is that she's cool! And I'm glad you going on a date with her!" he grinned, "don't fuck this up."

"It's not a date," Bruce reiterated with stubbornness.

"I'll tell Alfred not to wait up for you!" Dick threw in with a broad smile and before leaving the bedroom he added, "steel gray and black shirt! Trust me!"

"It's not a date…" you repeated in your mind stubbornly dumping out the contents of your closet in a desperate attempt to find something suitable for the occasion. "It's Bruce freaking Wayne! He dates models and actresses not freaking nerdy engineers!" you explained to yourself while shuffling black clothes from one pile to another. "It's not a date, right? Why would he invite me to dinner?" you wondered discarding your jeans and black shirt, "fuck! why did I agree to this!"

You overslept. After an evening and a night full of excitement, you overslept. Going to bed at three o'clock in the morning you planned to fall asleep quickly and get up at ten o'clock at the most, but your awakened mind had other plans. You couldn't sleep. Every time you closed your eyes Batman appeared in his intimidating demeanor, with his deep husky voice saying "trust me" assuring you "I will catch you," looking you deep in the eyes and saying "you are safe with me." You tossed from side to side while his intense presence returned repeatedly. "Promise me that you will stay out of trouble," he asked on the way back from Arkahm, "Harleen or the Joker may appear. If that happens if you feel in danger, call me. I'll come," he assured as he handed you a small bat-shaped transmitter before you left his car. How you were supposed to fall asleep when adrenaline burned in your veins relentlessly.

For a moment you thought of calling Jonathan. Calling him and asking if he would come over, or at least talk to him for a while. Talking to him was slowly becoming the only solace you were finding. Something you had feared not so long ago was now becoming a pleasant daily routine. But you quickly decided against it. You merely swallowed the pills he gave you and, while watching the moon slowly setting in the brightening sky, you finally fell asleep. But it was not the good regenerative sleep your body and mind were desperate for. It was a sleep filled with nightmares and fear, feelings of despair and helplessness, pain and suffering, and when you finally woke up from it, you regretted that you had decided to go to sleep at all.

Six o'clock in the afternoon was approaching mercilessly and you were slowly beginning to panic. "It's not a date! It's a casual meeting!" you explained to yourself while trying to find something appropriate for the occasion. The pants didn't seem classy enough, the jeans didn't work at all, the shirt seemed too businesslike, and the cashmere sweater although elegant remained a sweater. "I don't have anything to wear!" you let frustrations out loud, "after everything that's happened lately, all I need is to stress over a dinner with the most desirable guy in Gotham!"

Yet for you, Bruce was not at all the man that the tabloids wrote about. He wasn't the playboy who appeared in public each time with a different woman, he wasn't the guy who got the Russian Ballet's performance canceled after he spontaneously took the prima ballerina and the entire cast on a yacht cruise, he wasn't one of the most influential people in the world, to you Bruce was just Bruce. That charming man who one evening decided to walk you home when you had not yet realized the dangers that lurked in Gotham. Who smiled warmly when you marveled at the city's architecture, who listened to your babbling when you outright insulted him to his face and only responded with a warm look and a kind smile because he did not "want to spoil this delightful evening," who never for a moment made you feel like you were inferior. Yes, he was the CEO of Wayne Enterprises, but even in that role he always made sure you felt comfortable around him. It was the little things that counted. A kind smile, a sincere interest, the fact that he didn't close the door behind him when you were alone in your office, encouragement, approval, understanding. And that infuriating smirk. In the frantic turmoil of the past week's events, you didn't even have time to think about it for long, but now, as you put on your elegant knee-length black dress and styled your hair loosely pinned up, you had to admit to yourself, you liked him, and the idea of having dinner together was only becoming more exciting with each passing minute.

You took care of every detail. Natural but classy makeup, silver jewelry for you hated gold, a clutch purse, a dress elegant but paired with a casual suede jacket; after all, it wasn't a date. You never wore stilettos, and although you felt they would have been appropriate for the occasion you decided to opt for mid-calf heeled boots. And you topped it all off with your favorite perfume, praying in your mind that a far too long shower killed the odor of the sewers.

"Classy but without overdoing it," you assessed approvingly while looking at your reflection in the mirror, "maybe it's a good thing I overslept. At least I didn't have time to think about what the hell I am doing!"

You grabbed your favorite bracelets from the dresser and a watch that indicated 5:50 p.m. "At the last minute, as always! I'm a disaster! I could have slept longer! Oversleep to meeting with the Bruce Wayne! Pathetic!"

You took one last look at yourself in the mirror and were already reaching for your lipstick when the soft, deep growl of the engine sounded quietly outside the window. You paused with your hand halfway to your lips. Lured by the unexpected sound, you walked to the window, pushed back the curtain, and froze. Your heart stopped for a moment as the warmth of a blush came over your face. "Holy shit…"

Four stories below, a silver-gray Lamborghini Murciélago parked on the side of the street, while you slowly began to realize that both the car and its owner were waiting for you. For a moment you watched as Bruce got out of the car, walked around it so that he was standing on the passenger side, leaned nonchalantly against the car and glanced toward your window. The suit so similar in color to the car's paint contrasted with the black shirt and tie making you suddenly feel underdressed. He smiled when your eyes met and your heart skipped a beat, waved discreetly and you understood what the tabloids meant when they wrote about "the most desirable man in Gotham." You smiled, waved to him, and with a pounding heart headed for the door, at the last minute swallowing the two pills Crane had given you.

Bruce knew he would never forget the sight of Y/N when he saw her in the glow of the evening lights. The sincere smile she gave him, the sparkle in her eyes as she walked towards him, the scent of jasmine that approached him with her every step. Black dress but no stilettos, elegant jacket but hair loosely pinned up as if she didn't want to do it at all, so normal, so real, so effortless. Over the years he had got used to the fact that the women around him were always trying too hard, straining too much, trying to impress him. The newest fashion trends, the most expensive designer clothes, nails for hundreds of dollars, hair for thousands, fake breasts, fake lips, fake personality. Their every move, every word, every gesture was coldly calculated, carefully balanced, aimed at seducing him or using him for his influence. But not her, she was real, and she didn't care one bit about it all.

"Are you trying to impress me Mister Wayne?" she smiled playfully closing the distance between them.

"Perhaps I am. How am I doing so far?" he returned the smile, leaned over and gently kissed her cheek. She stiffened a little surprised by his gesture only to return the kiss a second later.

"You look dashing in a gray suit," she replied coquettishly, "I should have asked beforehand where we were going. I have a feeling I'm dressed totally inappropriately for the occasion."

"Not possible," even though his mind suggested that he should keep his distance the flirtation came naturally, "you look lovely."

She smiled sweetly as a gentle blush covered her cheek. He didn't want to make her feel embarrassed but he couldn't hold back the compliment.

"Shall we?" he asked, opening the passenger door and offering her his hand as courtesy demanded. With a sparkle in her eye, she took his hand, and although he could clearly see that she had never gotten into a sports car, she maintained complete grace.

The scent of jasmine filled the entire car as he took his own seat behind the wheel and started the engine. He looked at her, at her smiling face, at her sparkling eyes, at her hands folded elegantly on her lap, at the dress that ended just before the knee, and he couldn't help but think how different she looked just a few hours ago. Gone was the fierceness on her face, gone was the mixture of fascination and fear of the unknown in her eyes, gone was the sarcasm and frustration. Despite yesterday's unusual circumstances he truly enjoyed her company, but at the same time he knew he would enjoy it even more today.

You tried to conceal your excitement, but your heart was pounding in your chest like crazy, for you found yourself in a movie-like scenario that frightened you more than anything you had received from Gotham so far. Close encounters with death, the nightly escapades through the city, the chases, the gun to your head, the nightmares, and everything that happened yesterday seemed like nothing, a complete triviality compared to the situation you were currently in. Suddenly snapping at a masked vigilante seemed much easier than having a polite conversation with a gentleman like Bruce. For he was a true gentleman in every little gesture he made. His kiss on the cheek was brief and polite, his glances did not linger on you, there was no hubris in his attitude when he gave you a compliment nor pretend in his gestures when he offered you a hand to make it easier for you to get in and out of his sports car. It seemed that everything he did came effortlessly to him, but you paid attention to every single gesture, to every single glance. To the fact that on your way to the restaurant he positioned himself on your left closer to the street, to the fact that when opening the door he stepped inside first only to hold the door for you, to the way he kindly helped you take off your jacket when you got to your table only to get your chair before he himself sat down next to you.

You felt strange when everyone bowed at the sight of him as if everyone knew who he was except you. Valet, bowed at the waist taking the keys from him and a far too large tip. The host greeted him with a polite "Mister Wayne! It's an honor to have you and your lovely companion with us tonight," and the wine was brought to your table by the restaurant owner himself, who bowed low to him and kissed your hand to Bruce's evident displeasure.

"It's beautiful here," you remarked, as you looked around at your surroundings. The restaurant may not have been the most expensive in town but it had an elegance and simplicity about it that gave the interior a warm and cozy aura.

"I'm glad you like it," he replied sincerely, "the best tagliatelle with white truffles in town. I know the head chef, he's incredibly talented," there was no hubris in his words and yet you couldn't help but feel a little overwhelmed. You looked around the room, at the restaurant staff who fled shyly away from your gaze, at the other guests who whispered in hushed voices casting not-so-subtle glances in the direction of your table. Everyone without exception was interested in you.

"Ignore them," a soft low voice drew your attention. While you were observing your surroundings, Bruce was observing you. He smiled apologetically and added, "They're always talking, always staring. Forgive me, I should book the whole restaurant."

"No, don't apologize! That would only be weird! It's just…" your gaze shot toward the blonde woman in the red dress who was clearly talking down about you, "it doesn't bother you does it? You're used to it."

"I've lived my whole life under the watchful gaze of Gotham's elite, it doesn't affect me anymore," he admitted.

"Gotham seems to have opinions about you," you stated while taking a small sip of your wine, "billionaire, playboy, most desirable bachelor…" you listed the headlines with a playful smile.

"Well well, someone discovered the internet," he smirked.

"Hey, don't mock me, mister!"

"I'm not," he denied but the smirk didn't disappear from his face.

"Just because I made one stupid mistake doesn't mean I am completely ignorant!"

"I have not thought like that," he turned serious, "besides, it was one adorable mistake."

"You'll never gonna forget that aren't you?"

"I don't think so," he smirked again.

"It's so infuriating!" you sighed with amusement.

"What is?"

"This!" you pointed discreetly at his face, "this! All of this! It's infuriating!"

"My apologies," the smile disappeared from your face but remained in his eyes, "should I play serious? Should I play billionaire playboy? "

"No…" you whispered, "don't play. Just be yourself."

For a moment he answered nothing. Only his blue eyes shone as if some thought had emerged and he was considering whether he should say it out loud.

"I am…" he finally replied, "believe me, it's been a long time since…" he hesitated.

"I get it," you looked at him with understanding, "each of us plays a certain role in our lives, each of us puts on a mask and presents ourselves to the world in one way and not another. I can only imagine what that might have looked like in your case. Always in the public eye, always watched. I understand that such situations demand that you wear a mask."

"You have no idea…" something dark crept into his soft voice.

"Don't worry, I didn't believe half the stuff I read, and the other half I completely ignored," you added with a smile.

"Why?" he asked surprised.

"It's just…" this time you hesitated, not knowing what to say to make it sound appropriate.

"Just say it, don't overthink it," he insisted.

"Half the things I read didn't fit with the description to the man who walked me home," you smiled sweetly, "I would like to get to know you as you would like me to get to know you, not as the newspapers describe you," the certainty in your voice and the directness surprised you yourself. You should feel intimidated by this powerful man and yet you felt damn confident.

Bruce only smiled, but the smile did not reach his eyes. Eyes that hid something you couldn't name. Something hidden deep beneath the surface, under the mask of perfectly styled hair, a shiny Rolex and a perfectly fitted suit. A mystery.

You were silent, suspended in each other's eyes, suspended in gentle smiles, between soft music and aggressive glances, as if you were both planning your next move, as if there was no one else, as if you were both studying each other without saying a word. Your directness surprised him, as much as it surprised you. You saw the puzzlement that briefly appeared in his eyes. And something else. Curiosity.

The waiter appeared interrupting your wordless flirtation to take your orders. Despite the recommendation of a fantastic tagliatelle you declared, to Bruce's amusement, that you were a simple girl and ordered the gnocchi with spinach and parmesan, while Bruce ordered the Fiorentina steak.

"You don't like your wine?" Bruce asked, noting the nearly full glass.

"You're not drinking either," you pointed out, "I don't drink alcohol. Very very occasionally."

"How come?"

"It doesn't work with me," you replied honestly, "there is a lot, in here…" you tapped your finger onto your forehead, "I like to keep it under control, and alcohol has its way of letting it all loose."

"Now you just trying to get me interested," the smirk returned.

"Hey I know that dating in our thirties has its own rules but we won't talk about past traumas, ex-relationships, issues, and galloping inflation," you sneered.

"I am way past my thirties," he quipped, "but I'm glad to hear you think it's a date," the choice of your words didn't pass Bruce's notice but you didn't let him catch you in the trap of words.

"What's your excuse?"

"Surprisingly similar to yours," he replied just as honestly, "but as you said, we won't talk about past traumas and issues."

"I suppose you're tired of being seen through the lenses of past events," you began, as Bruce gestured to the waiter and asked to swap wine for sparkling water, "so tell me, who is Bruce Wayne?" the question was simple and sincere, dressed in a warm tone, inviting openness.

"Who is Bruce Wayne…" he looked at you as if weighing the words in his mind, "he is a compulsively obsessive workaholic who likes to ride his motorcycle, listens to jazz, blues, metal, and classical music, enjoys good books and freshly brewed coffee, and wishes to find a time to visit the Tibetan mountains again."

"Oh now, you just trying to impress me," you joked, "what's a good book for you?"

"King, Koontz, Abercrombie, Erikson," Bruce listed, "but I also like classical literature and philosophical works. Immanuel Kant, Aristotle, Friedrich Nietzsche, Ralph Waldo Emerson…"

"I knew you were an intellectual," you smiled cockily.

"And I dream of going to the movies," he continued, "it's been ages since I was in a movie theater!"

"We gonna have to change that," you smirked, "but you just told me what you like, not who you are. Don't think I'm not paying attention."

"The answer to that is much more complicated."

"Life is complicated Bruce," you smiled and leaned over to look at him closer, "who are you?"

"Well…" he didn't break eye contact but behind the stormy blue eyes you saw a struggle going on, "I'm a father."

This was not the answer you expected. How did this information slip away under a flurry of gossip headlines? You leaned back in your chair and looked at him with undisguised surprise and genuine curiosity.

"Well sort of…" he continued, "it's a difficult and quite strange relationship we've got. Something between father and older brother. At least with most of my boys."

"Most of?"

"Yeah," he chuckled awkwardly, "there are five of us in total, well six if you include Alfred. Dick is the oldest, he's in his late twenties. I adopted him when he was just a young boy after his parents…" he paused as if recalling a memory, "I witnessed his parents death when I was in my twenties. They were circus acrobats. The circus owner didn't want to give the mafia extortion money, and the mafia responded by cutting the acrobats' safety ropes to make it look like an accident," he visibly saddened but didn't avoid your eyes. On the contrary, he looked at you intently. Little did you know that there was a battle going on inside him, with one side wanting to talk and the other trying to stifle that urge.

"This is heartbreaking…" you whispered, feeling tears run into your eyes.

"Then there is Jason," Bruce continued, "Jason was a street kid, Gotham raised him. Our paths crossed when he tried to steal from me. That didn't work out," he smiled wryly, "Instead of an easy loot I offered him something completely different."

"Not many people would do that…"

"The next in terms of age is Tim. Tim will be seventeen this year and he came to us quite differently. A brilliant boy. His genius was sometimes a problem at school and even now as he's in college, it often gets him into trouble. I try to help him nudge his genius and talent in the right direction."

"Perhaps one day he'll be the next CEO at Wayne Enterprises," you smiled.

"Perhaps," Bruce also smiled, "the youngest of them is Damian, my biological son…" he hesitated again for a moment, "Damian is troubled. Angry, frustrated, full of resentment, just as I was when I was his age."

"How old is he?"

"Thirteen…" Bruce replied without hesitation, "For years he grew up with a mother and grandfather who, let's just say, didn't care for him as they should have. Especially his mother. Damian came to me barely three years ago, and since then it has been a continuous learning process for us."

"Where is she now?" you asked uncertainly, "his mother."

"She's not in the picture," he replied shortly, "how do you do that?" the blue of his eyes suddenly brightened and lit up with intense brightness.

"Do what?" you asked innocently.

"Making me talk," he replied and furrowed his brows as if trying to decipher something, "I don't do that. That's not how it works."

"You don't talk about yourself?" amusement mixed with surprise tinted the tone of your voice.

"No…" he replied quietly, "No, I don't. Besides, no one usually cares to ask."

"Let me guess. Women in your world are only interested in your Lamborghini, privet yacht, fancy parties, and your wallet," you snarled.

"Pretty much."

"That's sad…." your reply again brought a surprise to his face, "Bruce Wayne is such a fascinating man. Kind, compassionate, caring…"

"You must be talking about someone else…" he scoffed.

"I mean it. How many twenty-something guys would adopt a teenager who lost his parents or a street kid who tried to steal from them? I'll tell you. Not many."

"They needed a place to belong to and I could give that to them. Besides, I could relate to and understand their pain."

"Compassion…" you emphasized, "I must say, you surprised me, Mister Wayne. Tell me about Alfred, you've mentioned his name," you wanted him to continue.

"No no no, enough about me. You know now who Bruce Wayne is. Now tell me who is Y/N Y/L/N," the blue eyes stared at you intensely.

"She's definitely curious," you smirked paraphrasing his own words.

"You told me how you feel, not who you are," he too was good at this word game.

"The answer to that question is much more complicated," you replied quietly and for the first time, you lowered your gaze. You saw sincere interest in his eyes and wanted to satisfy it but how could you when you were looking for the answer to that question yourself. There were gaps in your memory, torn-out fragments, missing pieces you couldn't put together. And there was also trauma. A trauma you hadn't talked about with anyone, not even your psychiatrist. "Who am I?" the thought ran through your mind and for the first time you regretted that in your confidence you had brought up the subject. You should have anticipated this turn of events.

"Forgive me. I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable," you could see the sincere worry on his face. And how could he not be worried when he was well aware of things you were not telling him about. At least that's what he thought.

"You didn't," you denied, "I'm sorry. It's just… you gave me such a sincere answer, you shared something important to you, and here I am struggling to even begin to answer this question."

"You don't have to if you don't want to…"

"I feel like I owe you and," this time you hesitated, "and I really want to. It's just…"

"No pressure," he interrupted you and all you could see in his eyes was understanding, "there will be other opportunities," he assured you.

"There will?"

"I kinda wanted…damn that's gonna sound weird right now but…" he combed his fingers through his hair in embarrassment, "please don't take this the wrong way."

"I won't."

"There is this Tech Expose in Metropolis next week and I've been thinking, given your project which frankly is really great, that it would be very beneficial for you to be there," a moment ago so confident now he had something of the insecure embarrassed boy in him, which in your eyes was incredibly cute, "TechX, all the important companies in the market will be there. S.T.A.R. Labs, LexCorp, Stagg Industries, Queen Industries, and Wayne Enterprises. It's a big event. I would like you to go with me."

"And why would I take it the wrong way?"

"I don't want you to feel like I'm taking advantage of you…" he replied, "and given that I'd like to meet you again, privately, the proposal to travel to Metropolis together might be perceived as inappropriate."

"And do they have movie theaters in Metropolis?" you smirked.

"I'm sure they do," his eyes shone.

"As long as you won't fire me I'm gonna gladly mix professional and private life," you replied in a hushed voice, "cos as much as I like working at Wayne Tech I kinda want to get to know my boss a little bit closer," you added confidently.

"Good. Cos he sure wants to get to know you."

***

Chapter eight: Fears

~~***~~ Author note: As I started writing this chapter I thought to myself it's gonna be a breeze to write. I knew exactly what I wanted to contain in it, what plot points needed to happen, I new how, more of less it would look like. Let me tell you guys, It wasn't. Turned out that writing Batman is much more difficult than I originally thought! It's like writing at least six different characters! Cos he is different depending on with whom he interacts. And I really wanted to convey that difference. I thought that writing two big scenes one with Bats, and another with Bruce is a brilliant idea! And I hope it turned out to be. But writing four different versions of him in one chapter was a hell of a task. I do hope it worked out as I intended. And I do hope you liked it :) I'm grateful to you all who are reading this story. I hope it's bringing you as much joy in reading as it brings me while I'm writing it, despite the struggles which I created myself. Till the next one! At the end, as always Dear Reader, I thank you for reading.

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Tag list:@clown-princesa @theclassicvinyldragon @blondwhowrites @batgirlspain @hangmanscoming

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elena-mayfair · 1 year

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Choices that define us

Paring: Bruce Wayne x f!reader, Batman x f!reader Genre: Thriller, mystery, with elements of slow-burn romance Warnings: rating T+/M, gore and violence, strong language, themes of depression, depictions of mental illness Summary: "This was supposed to be a new beginning, the beginning of a bright new future…" you recalled the optimistic thoughts that filled your mind when you first set foot in Gotham City. But Gotham City turned out to have other plans for you. "How did I get here?" you wondered. Between the Joker and Harleen and Batman and Bruce Wayne, between near-death experiences and sessions with Professor Crane, in an endless loop of constantly recurring nightmares, attempts to contact Harleen, and the bold decisions. "What am I doing?"Word count: 10.5k Note: Gifs are not mine, credit to the authors.

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***

"No" two letters, one syllable, that's how much Batman answered to your question. For a moment you looked at him surprised, not quite believing your ears. "No?" you asked in a whisper, anger rising in you second by second, "No?!" you stood up abruptly and measured him with a furious look, "isn't that what you do? She needs help! And you have the opportunity to help her and you refuse?!" you asked Batman, who before your eyes turned from an empathetic man into a stern, cold mythical being. He stood in front of you measuring you with an unwavering stare, while his posture betrayed no emotion, "how can you say no?!" you tried but he looked at you with eyes hidden under a mask and in an icy tone ended the discussion, "leave it or I'll have you arrested for interfering with the investigation."

Sitting back in the office, tapping angrily on the keyboard, you tried your best to focus on your work but his words still echoed in your head. The cold and harsh tone of his voice, the threat of arrest, the last glance, his shape looming faintly in the sky as he rose above the rooftops. At that moment, when you asked him for help, you were sure he would agree. After all, you had spent two weeks reading incessantly about how much good he had done for the city, how many people he had helped, how many he had saved, how he had restored hope in the hearts of Gothamites. The words Batman and hope so often appeared side by side, and yet, he refused.

Days had passed since that evening and yet, the echo of his words refused to leave you. Days have passed since you went back to work and yet, every day your own words echoed in your head. "I can't just go back to work and normal life," you said, and each passing day convinced you more and more of the truth of your words. When you first stood in front of the majestic Wayne Enterprises building more than two months ago, you felt joy and excitement. With your eyes open, you were daydreaming your bright future, the growth opportunities you would get, the possibilities to build your new life. Now, as you sat in front of your computer, you felt trapped, like an animal that had tasted a little freedom only to find itself caged again. The numbers didn't line up in equations, the drawings of the project didn't look perfect, and your focus kept slipping away with a longing look out the window. For the world outside the window was frightening, it was full of horrible people doing nightmarish things, but it was also thrilling, alluring, exhilarating. What was mundane work, even for a prominent company like Wayne Enterprises, compared to loud stuffy clubs, to chases with a gun put to your forehead, to late-night strolls along the bank of the bridge, to long fascinating conversations over a mug of coffee when everyone had gone to bed, to the feeling of flying when you soared above the surface of the water in Batman's arms. Some part of you felt ashamed to admit it, but secretly, you longed for it. You longed for that feeling of wild freedom, for the threat that could end your life in the blink of an eye, for the adrenaline pumping through your veins, for the cool thrill of excitement every time he spoke in a cold stern tone. Batman. He possessed your every thought causing you to follow the news every day, forcing you to go out to the observation deck after work every evening longingly looking out for his symbol in the night sky, causing you to replay your encounters over and over again even while at work. Every gesture he made, every step he took, every word he said to you was imprinted in your mind and you could once again see clearly the contradictions colliding with each other. Because in your eyes, Batman was just that, a clash of contrasts like all of Gotham. The Dark Knight, the crime-fighting vigilante bringing pale terror to the faces of criminals by his mere appearance. A defender who put his life on the line to protect those who could not protect themselves. Manece, capable of knocking down several armed assailants in the blink of an eye. A savior, diving into the depths to save the life of a stranger. There was strength and authority in him, under which even his partners yielded, but also kindness and concern, which he did not have to show at all. There was something else, something infuriating, something that wouldn't let you just "go back to normal life." Something that made you stare mindlessly at the computer screen instead of paying attention to your surroundings, oblivious to the approaching footsteps.

"Good morning," a soft voice snapped you out of your thoughts.

"Mr. Wayne," you whispered surprised raising your gaze above the computer screen. Bruce Wayne, stood in the doorway of your office, with a barely discernible smirk wandering across his face. He leaned against the doorframe with his hands nonchalantly shoved in the pockets of his perfectly tailored black suit, and you couldn't help but wonder how long he had been looking at you like that, "I'm sorry, I didn't hear you coming," you stood up abruptly, realizing that it wasn't polite to sit in the presence of the company's CEO.

"It's okay," he replied maintaining a gentle tone, "I saw you were busy, I didn't want to interrupt you. Lucius reported that since you came back from sick leave you are not allowing yourself to be sent home and you are working for twelve hours a day."

"I thought I was contracted for non-regular, task-based working hours," you replied maintaining a professional tone, "I didn't think that would be a problem."

"It's not a problem," he replied softly, "don't get me wrong, I'm glad you're feeling well after that terrible accident you had. But that doesn't change the fact that your engagement caught Lucius' attention, and consequently mine."

"I have wasted enough time…"

"You suffered an accident, a fortuitous situation. You can't hold that against yourself. None of us do."

"And yet I feel I must make up for it," you replied stiffly. Bruce merely continued to stand leaning against the door and looked at you intently, "Excuse me for asking Mr. Wayne, but what brings you here? It seemed to me that the CEO has more important things on his mind than keeping an eye on lower-level employees."

"I'm not checking on you, not on your work to be precise," he replied shortly, "I pay close attention to Wayne Tech, I'm sure I told you that. Besides, I wanted to see how you were doing," he took two steps inside your office and pushed the door behind him without closing it completely, "I hope you don't mind."

"No, not at all," you replied with a smile yet you struggled to hide the irritation caused by his sudden appearance, "this is your company."

"But your office," he smirked, "so, how do you feel Y/N? To be injured in a car accident, that must have been horrible," the blue eyes watched carefully as if observing your reaction.

"Unexpected, that's for sure," you replied, "but I feel fine, physically at least. My shoulder still hurts, but the doctors said that's normal with joint damage. And I'm managing with the rest, a friend is helping me."

"I'm glad to hear it," he replied sincerely, "if you need anything…"

"I'm fine, Mr. Wayne," you interrupted him.

"I thought we were past that," the smirk returned to his face, arching a surprised brow.

"We're at work," you replied in a hushed tone, "forgive me if I don't feel comfortable addressing the company CEO by his first name on professional grounds."

"Forgiven," the discreet smirk irritated unbearably, "speaking of professional ground, wouldn't you mind sharing with me what you're working on?"

"Sure," you replied shortly and sat down at your desk, "this is just the start of a project. Mr. Fox gave me a few others to choose from but the events of the last few days inspired me to do something else," you explained as you opened the files and arranged them across the three monitors. Bruce made his way through the office and stood behind your chair, bringing with him the energizing scent of fresh citrus, smoothed by woody and musky notes.

"Some kind of detection system?" he asked leaning closer to the computer screen, placing one hand on the desk the other resting on the back of your chair. The scent of his fragrance lingered in your nose sharpening your senses, making you hyperaware of yourself. "Does this dress show too much cleavage? I forgot to put on my bracelets. Why do I have such a mess on my desk? I should straighten up, I hunch over. My hands look awful with these bloody cuticles," the thoughts ran rapidly through your mind, one after another.

"That's right," you said focusing on the design displayed on the screen, "but not some kind of. A system designed to detect increased activity in the city meant to warn Gotham citizens of a potential threat," you explained.

"May I?" Bruce asked, gently taking the mouse from you, "continue please," he encouraged while clicking through the project files.

"My recent accident as well as the events of the last few weeks that have been talked about in the news inspired this idea in my mind. First the shootout at the docks, then the Joker's escape from Asylum and the chase through central Gotham. Miraculously, only three people were injured…"

"How do you know?" he glanced at you out of the corner of his eye.

"I've been reading online," you replied evasively, "anyway, it all gave me an idea. What if we created a system to detect increased activity in the city that could send alerts to the people of Gotham warning them of potential danger?"

"You'd want to use telecommunication boxes, traffic lights, and radio towers for this," he analyzed points plotted on a map of Gotham.

"Wayne Tech owns most of the telecommunications and radio network in the city," Bruce nodded confirming, "we could use the already existing points spread throughout the city. On top of that, we could install the system in traffic lights, CCTV cameras and coordinate everything by triangulating the signal to the radio towers," you continued to explain.

"What would be detected?"

"At first, I thought to base the system on existing in the city speed limits and coordinate them with traffic lights. In case the limit was significantly exceeded and the registered vehicle ignored the traffic light, the sensors would send a signal to a radio tower, which in turn, coordinated with the telecommunications network, would send out alerts to citizens," you took the mouse out of Bruce's hand and clicked through several files, presenting a diagram of how the sensors would work, "this solution, however, seemed too flawed to me."

"Detecting every increased traffic would send too many irrelevant notifications unnecessarily spreading panic…"

"Exactly! So then I thought about adding a camera system and face detection software, but I think the city government and some of its people could find that…"

"Unethical…" he finished for you.

"Yup!" you confirmed and smiled faintly seeing his visible interest, "having crossed out these two solutions, I started to think what else could be detected. I thought of detecting sounds and the air's chemical composition," Bruce shifted positively surprised blue eyes from the computer screen to you, "criminals are unlikely to operate silently. This method may be flawed, but by my calculations, it has at least a 65% success rate. Sound detection based on specific sound waves to eliminate accidental detection. Sound waves such as those emitted by screeching tires, gunfire, the shouting crowd, the sound of shattering glass, an explosion."

"What about detecting a chemical alteration of the air?" he asked without breaking eye contact.

"An additional precaution to eliminate accidental detections. We would have to design really accurate and sensitive sensors, able to detect the slightest change in the air but based on its chemical composition. I was thinking that the sensors could detect gun smoke fumes, chemicals released during explosions, carbon, nitrogen, nitroglycerine, mercury fulminate, lead styphnate," you listed, "we could present the design to the police and get the chemical composition of the toxins the Joker has used in the past. I was thinking that one more safety feature could be added in the form of supersonic sensors to detect blast waves in an area, but I don't have that worked out yet."

"You worked it all out in four days?"

"I've been working too much," you smiled playfully, "I know that's not what I was supposed to do but…"

"This is good," he interrupted you, "really good."

"You think so?" excitement crept into your professional tone.

"Yeah, really impressive," he returned his eyes to the screen, "it requires the development of new technologies, especially sensors, but the idea itself is really impressive."

"I know it would require a lot of financial resources to implement the project, but if you give me the green light I will refine it! I'll develop new technologies, design the required components, plan tests and proofing methods, sparse risk levels and an implementation plan," seeing his interest you didn't hesitate, "Bruce! Imagine how many needless accidental casualties we could avoid with such a system! We could deploy the system to hospitals, the police and the emergency services, thereby improving response. We could design a mobile application for smartphones, voluntary to install, thus avoiding unnecessary dissenting voices and unfavorable public opinion that would probably want to turn this against us and argue it as an infringement! Bruce! Every time when something bad happened in the city people could just stay home and avoid the danger!"

"You've really thought it all through," he smiled fondly.

"I've had a lot of time to think lately," you replied innocently, "what you think?"

"Keep working on it," he replied, "you have the green light. I'll inform Lucius not to assign you any additional work for the next few months."

"Yes!" escaped happily, "sorry, but I'm really glad that you approve of my idea."

"And I'm really glad that I hired you," he replied straightening up, "send it all to me please. To me and to Lucius. I'd like to study your concept in detail," he added heading back toward the door, "good work."

"Thanks!" the wide smile didn't disappear from your face, "you'll have a link to the share drive tonight."

"Speaking of tonight," he stopped in mid-step, "I still owe you a stroll," he added softly.

You blushed not knowing what to answer. The sudden change in tone and direction of the conversation completely threw you off balance.

"Bruce… I'm sorry but I think this time I'll ask for a raincheck," you replied hesitantly, "don't get me wrong but after my accident, somehow, damn…" you stumbled over your words.

"What about dinner, then?" he asked and that rage-inducing smirk crept onto his face again, "Saturday night?"

"Bruce, you're my boss…"

"Lucius Fox is your boss, I just sign papers and spend money," he smiled wider, "Italian or Asian?"

"Italian," you smiled meekly, "after last weeks Asian is enough for me for the next six months."

"Italian it is," he agreed, "I'll pick you up at let's say 6 pm," he added, then without waiting for your answer he left your office leaving you confused, shocked and happy.

"Bastard is smooth…" you chuckled to yourself in disbelief at what had just happened, "damn smooth…."

***

Twelve miles southeast of Gotham in the Bristol Township amidst the towering hills and green woods a lonely Wayne Manor stood. Huge, lavish, majestic, a symbol of wealth and prosperity hidden deep within the estate behind an iron gate decorated with a stylized W at its top. To casual eyes, it seemed to be a Gothic palace, with beautifully ornate carved walls, and perfectly preserved architecture, surrounded by a beautifully tended garden. For some Gothamites, it was just one of the city's many Gothic buildings, for others it was an unshakeable memory of the great men who had been taken by the city's darkness and whose memory continued to live on in the hearts of many. Yet only a few knew its true meaning. For behind the perfectly painted richly decorated walls hid something more than prosperity and wealth. Beneath the arched vaulted ceiling, below the polished wooden and marble floors, below the firmly set foundations, countless caves spread. Once raw, wet and cold, they had been transformed by a young man who decided a few years back to change Gotham forever. The smaller caves were combined into one huge one, stretching underneath the entire mansion. Stone obtained from the reconstruction was used for creating various elevations and passageways. The natural structure of the cave was preserved but the flow of water was modified, leading all the streams down a single torrent towards the entrance, which in turn was converted into a waterfall hiding behind a driveway. Electricity and heating were brought in. An elevator was installed connecting the property to the cave as well as multiple minor entrances. Digitization was introduced, monitoring and many safety features were installed. Not one, not two, but three training rooms were created, and a special augmented reality simulation room was designed. Some of the natural rocky hollows were transformed into a medical wing, another into a workshop, and another into a laboratory. A huge computer was installed, multiple vehicles were brought in and in time even a small kitchen was arranged. For overtime, the cave became a home not only for one determined young man but for four more. Each so different from the other, each with a different past and different baggage of experience, all united in one goal, to make Gotham safe, to protect those who could not protect themselves.

Life for the men living in Wayne Manor was not easy. Years passed, years spent in sacrifices, devotion, and constant work. Years of loneliness and a sense of belonging. Years of frustration and joy. Years of anger, angst, grief, and understanding. Years of loyalty and love, even if none of them would admit it out loud. Years full of pain and suffering but also joy and warmth. Years kinder to some than to others. But can one speak of the kindness of fate when each of them bore on their bodies and souls countless wounds and scars like badges from battles fought? Can one speak of the kindness of fate when some carried within themselves wounds so deep that it seemed they would never heal?

In the empty cave music echoed from one of the training rooms. The loud deep beats blended together with the sound of fists hitting the punching bag repeatedly. 'Till the roof comes off, 'till the lights go out 'Till my legs give out, can't shut my mouth fists hit the bag rhythmically again and again. Right punch, kick from the knee, left punch, kick, elbow, kick. 'Till the smoke clears out, am I high? Perhaps I'ma rip this shit, 'till my bone collapse sweat poured down Jason's forehead but he didn't stop. He pounded the bag repeatedly and the swollen muscles pulsed under the tight T-shirt. Fist, elbow, kick, right fist, left fist alternating, faster, faster, harder, faster, kick, knee kick, fists again, alternating, as if his life depended on it. 'Till the roof comes off, 'till the lights go out 'Till my legs give out, can't shut my mouth anger, frustration, pain poured out in a hail of strikes.

"I think this bag has had enough Jason," Dick said in a raised voice observing his brother, "don't you want to change the bag to a living target?"

"Go away Grayson," Jason growled without interrupting his strikes.

"I'm just sayin'! A living target is better than a training bag! Promise I'll go easy on you!" Dick's unbearably cheerful tone irritated Jason.

"I don't need a training partner," Jason breathed out through clenched teeth without even looking at him.

"Come on Jay! Let's agree that I need a workout!"

"Then find Drake or little brat," right fist, left, kick, elbow, kick.

"I rather spare with you!"

"I said go away."

"Dude, don't make me beg!"

"Fuck off Grayson!!!" Jason yelled sending the bag ripped from its hanger with a thump through the room, "I won't train with you when I'm in like this cos I'll fucking massacre you!" Panting heavily he finally looked at his brother. To his surprise Dick was not smiling, concern and worry were painted on his face. He took a few steps toward his brother and handed him a towel and a water bottle.

"No, I don't want to talk about it," Jason snarled, downing the entire bottle in one gulp.

"I'm not saying anything!" Dick raised his hands defensively.

"You don't have to!" Jason growled angrily, "you've got this look on your face!"

"What look?"

"The one you give to little shitheads from Brat Justice Leauge! The one that says I'm your friend and mentor you can talk to me," Jason mimicked Dick in a mocking tone.

"Dude I'm just worried about you, that's all..." Dick kept his voice calm, knowing very well how to talk to his brother.

"Then don't! Just fuck off! I don't need your pity!" anger burned in Jason's eyes.

"Jay, you are boiling with rage…"

"What a fucking discovery mister detective!!! Wow!!! Just wow!!! Fucking brilliant detective work!!!"

"Jay…" Dick tried to interrupt him but it was too late. Jason's remnants of self-control were gone, the barriers let go.

"And how the fuck would you feel in my place?! How would you feel?! Every fucking time the Joker shows up, the fucker benches me! Every fucking time! Because what?! Because I can't handle it?! Because I can't handle the Joker?! Because he doesn't trust me?! Because he thinks I'm weak and I'll fucking break as soon as I face the fucking clown!!!"

"No, Jason!" Dick interrupted him abruptly, "Bruce doesn't think you can't handle it! None of us thinks so! Just the opposite…"

"What?! He's afraid I'm going to fucking kill him!"

"Jason…"

"I should do it! I should kill the fucking clown! I should fuck him up with a fucking crowbar, just like he fucked me up!!!! I should do it because neither Bruce nor any of you have the balls to do it! Because your precious moral code doesn't allow you to do it! But it did allow you to have the Joker kill me!!!" Jason grabbed his brother by the shirt and pulled him violently towards him, "I should do it. Not a day goes by that I don't dream about it. I should repay him with death for death. But I won't do it!!! But I won't fucking do it even though I want it and even though he deserves it! I won't do it because I'm not like him!!!"

With his hands gripped on Dick's shirt and his face red from anger, Jason was breathing heavily, and even though he was shouting the rage in his eyes was beginning to dim. For as he looked into his brother's eyes he saw only sympathy, concern and understanding and something much more important to him, trust.

"Better?" Dick asked quietly.

"Fuck you," Jason chuckled but this time a faint smile swept across his face. He let his brother go and proceeded to collect the ripped bag from the floor.

"Good, because we got work to do."

"Suit up?"

"Yup!"

"What's the job?"

"Tim and I interviewed Elliot Mercy employees, but they didn't tell us anything interesting. Crane, on the other hand, hasn't appeared at the hospital or at his home for several days. We need to track him down and interrogate him."

"You and I?"

"Not this time," Dick replied sensing his brother's impending second wave of rage, "You and Damian are tasked with observing the hospital and Crane's home."

"Stakeout with little batbrat? You must be shitting me!"

"Dude, work with me here!"

"What about you?"

"Tim and I have other job to do,". Dick replied evasively hoping Jason wouldn't ask for details.

"You are going after the Joker…" Dick was wrong.

"After Harleen Quinzel more than the Joker but yes."

"And what about Mr. Brooding?"

"Bruce is investigating Arkham," Dick replied, "Dr. Quinzel worked there for almost two years. There is a lot to investigate at Arkham."

"So I'm stuck with babysitting on a stakeout…" Jason muttered with resignation, hanging the bag back on the hook.

"Please don't kill him," Dick chuckled, "One dead Robin in the family is enough."

"Very funny Grayson, very fucking funny…."

Yet they both laughed, understanding very well how much self-control Damian sometimes required of them. Understanding very well that in the presence of death sometimes there is nothing left to do but simply laugh in her face.

***

Batman deeply wanted to share Y/N's belief in Dr. Harleen Quinzel's innocence. His memory was still vividly alive with situations from the past in which he himself had first assumed the innocence of a potential criminal, only to later realize painfully his mistake. He was young then and his head was filled with idealistic ideas and the belief that people deep down are good, only the situations they find themselves in do not allow goodness to flourish. Years passed, and he learned. He learned painfully from his own experiences, and he learned through the experiences of others. He hardened his body, honed his mind, learned to rely on his intuition, learned to see the facts as they were, without embellishing them with needless ideology. Years passed and he changed, his view of the world changed, his view of people changed, his approach to the mission changed. Still, one thing never changed. He always believed that the people deep inside were actually good, that he could help them. And he tried. He tried until no illusion remained. He tried until no other choice remained.

As he walked through the dark corridors of the Intensive Treatment Center, he looked sadly at the cells of all those he had failed and he could not help but wonder if each of them was a lost cause. He knew their stories, he knew the cause-and-effect sequence that led them to where they were now, but still he pondered who they would have been had they made different choices. Who would Victor Zsasz be if he hadn't lost millions in a casino and started murdering people arguing that he was "liberating" others from their pointless existence? How much good could Jervis Tetch, a brilliant neuroscientist, have done for the world if he hadn't gone on a homicidal spree driven by delusions and psychotic manic depression. Would Dr. Robert Langstrom have made a scientific breakthrough had it not been for the experiments he conducted on himself that eventually turned him into a humanoid bat-like monster and led to the death of his wife? How much good could Harvey Dent have done for the city as an amiable and courteous district attorney had it not been for the acid thrown in his face by Sal Maroni? Could the rise of others like Mad Hatter, Man-Bat, Two Face have been prevented? The latter particularly saddened Bruce; after all, they were once friends. Walking into Harleen Quinzel's former office, he wanted nothing more than for Y/N to be right.

Dick remembered very well the glory days of the Amusement Mile. The times when the Mile was bustling with life, laughter and joy, resounding with music and lighting up the neighborhood in all the colors of the rainbow. He remembered the times when families came with laughing children to ride the carousels, to feel the adrenaline rush while riding on roller coasters, to see the city from the top of the Ferris wheel. He remembered clubs bustling with music, theaters filled with artists, cinemas overflowing with viewers. He remembered the crowds of excited spectators filling the benches of Haly's Circus which was stationed on the shore of the bay. He remembered donning a shiny, tight red and white costume every night to swing with his parents on trapezes suspended from the ceiling, performing intricate acrobatic tricks to the delight of the crowd. It was the latter that Dick remembered very well, as well as his parents' dead bodies lying ten feet below him.

Only a painful memory remained of the past. The Amusement Mile was long forgotten, consumed by time, rust and decay. Once vibrant with life it now stood abandoned, silent, only occasionally whining metallically under the pressure of the wind. It once brought laughter and joy, but now the only laughter to be found in it was the distorted maniacal laughter of the only clown left in it.

"You okay?" Tim asked glancing stealthily at his brother.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Well…you know…" Tim didn't want to state the obvious.

"I'm fine Robin," Dick forced himself to smile, hoping to look sincere, "honestly, I'm fine."

"I wouldn't be," Tim replied zooming in on the entrance, " One time I wandered in there you know? I never told you that. Did you know in some parts of a mile you can still find posters?"

"I know," Dick replied shortly, "there was a time I wanted to burn them all."

"What happened?"

"Batman made me realize that wasn't the healthiest thing to do."

"How does he do that?"

"Do what?"

"He acts as if nothing moves him. As if he has everything under control."

"He doesn't have everything under control," Dick countered, "he tries, but it's not possible, even for him."

"Then why pretend?"

"It's not about pretending Tim," Dick lowered his voice addressing his brother by name, "this is about us. About you, Jason, Damian, and me. I think he's doing this for us. That he has decided in his mind that he needs to be strong so that we could be strong too."

"But displaying emotions is not a sign of weakness," Tim argued.

"You and I both know that," Dick chuckled, "But you know how he is. I'm not sure there's anything that could change him. He carries too much."

"But you are so much like him and yet so much different," Tim continued scanning his surroundings, "You have a life beyond the mission. People you care about. You have Barbara, and you guys somehow made this work! And I see how happy you are together!"

"Don't think that is all sunshine and rainbows! We've got our problems and it can be challenging at times."

"But you make this work!"

"Are you implying that Bruce needs a woman?" Dick chuckled.

"I'm not implying anything but even Joker got himself a girlfriend," Tim rightly pointed out straightening up from his squat, "and there she is…"

The door of one of the buildings opened revealing a female figure. Dressed in a tight-fitting red and black outfit, with two braids tied at the sides of her head, with a gun attached to her thigh, she wielded a baseball bat in her hands.

Jason hated many things in life. He hated the color green because it reminded him of the years he spent alongside Batman as Robin. He hated the sound of metal scratching against the pavement because it reminded him of things he preferred to forget. He hated it when the v-belt of his motorcycle jammed, hated the punctured tires as they bent the rims. He hated it when someone disturbed his reading, he hated black coffee, he hated pineapple on pizza, and above all he hated hospitals. Sitting on the roof of a building overlooking Elliot Memorial Hospital, he slowly realized another thing he hated, stakeout. Hours passed, every position he tried became uncomfortable, and Crane didn't show up.

"So, father assigned you with me so you wouldn't get yourself killed by going after Joker," Damian started the conversation as he scanned the hospital windows one by one, "If you ask me, I don't understand father's hesitance toward killing. It's the most effective way of dealing with criminals. Hundred percent success rate."

"I didn't," Jason muttered.

"If you think about it father doesn't at all bring the change he would like to bring for the city. He's only minimizing it temporarily, but the threat comes back sooner or later anyway. It's not a very impressive tactic." for a 15-year-old, Damian was haughty and snarky, in a tone of voice indicating his superiority over others.

"No one asked you for your opinion."

"Mistake. My grandfather has a much better approach from a tactical point of view. Complete eradication of the threat at the source."

"Ra's al Ghul would have happily slaughtered hundreds and thousands of innocents if he had any reason to do so," Jason growled, "The Lazarus Pit perverted his mind. Even you must see that."

"Lazarus Pit brought you back to life," Damian pointed out, "my grandfather didn't have to do that and yet…"

"Listen, kid! I didn't ask to be resurrected! Ra's al Ghul hoped to bring me back to life and create for himself the perfect soldier, which he failed to do. There was no moral virtue in it! Mere calculation and cold logic!"

"He is a great tactician."

"For fuck sake can you just please shut up!" Jason cast a warning glance, "your name is Wayne, isn't it! So think about it, who are you? Are you Damian Wayne, the son of Bruce Wayne? Or are you Demon Head descendant, grandson of Ra's al Ghul?"

"I'm both…" the confidence suddenly vanished from Damian's voice, giving way to downright childlike embarrassment.

"You can't be both," Jason stated, "You're smart kid, too smart for your own good. Think about it, can you really be both? You're here, with me, proudly wearing Robin's outfit, and at the same time you're bullshitting about how you don't like your father's tactics."

"I thought that who like who but you would understand…" Damian tried explaining quietly.

"I understand. But no matter how much I sometimes resent him, and how much I sometimes disagree with his approach, and how much I sometimes wish he would behave differently…." Jason hesitated for a moment and sighed heavily, "no matter how hard it is for me to admit it, but Batman is right."

"It's not like you Todd," Damian quipped.

"Maybe not," Jason admitted, "but sometimes you have to shove your pride up your ass and admit someone else is right."

"From a strategic point of view…" Damian began again in a haughty tone but Jason didn't let him finish. He stood up abruptly throwing a loud for fuck sake, then began to walk away at a quick pace. "Where are you going!" Damian called out after him, "Hood! Where are you going!?"

"Far away from here!"

"But Batman clearly…"

"Crane is obviously a no-show!" he turned on his heel to face his younger brother, "my ass froze to concrete! Fuck it! I'm outta here!"

"But Batman clearly gave us instructions!"

"If you want you can stay. Do I tell you to follow me," Jason growled.

"And where are you going!?"

"I'm going after Wing and Red."

***

Meanwhile, in another part of the city

The white light was hurting your eyes making keeping them open impossible. A huge lamp shone straight at your face, blinding you, hiding everything around you from sight. The light was irritating, causing your eyes to water. You wanted to push it away, smash it, you couldn't. You yanked with one hand, then the other, to no avail. You couldn't move. You moved your wrists and felt the material tightly wrapped around them. You tried to pull yourself up, you couldn't. You were weak, helpless. You wanted to speak but instead of words, a pitiful moan came out. You tried to scream but your voice seemed trapped in your throat. You were choking, the tube pushed deep down your throat made it impossible to breathe. Fright overwhelmed you completely. You tried to get up but someone's hand held you tight.

"She's waking up," came as if from afar.

"Too early…" replied another.

Stinging in the hollow of your hand, a burning sensation like acid spread through your veins. You cried out. Darkness followed.

You pulled yourself upright drenched in sweat. For a moment you lost your sense of time and space blinking intensely trying to find anker with reality.

"Breath steady, everything is fine, you are safe," Jonathan grabbed you gently by the shoulders and force you to look at him, "do you know where you are?" he asked softly.

"Yes…" you whispered anchoring yourself in his eyes, "we are in your laboratory."

"Good. Now breathe calmly," he instructed.

"Easier said than done," you chuckled, "since the accident I've been dreaming the same dream, alternating with other nightmares. Every goddamned night."

Jonathan handed you a glass of water and helped you sit down comfortably. You placed your bare feet on the soft carpet thus making sure you were not still dreaming. For a laboratory, the room you were in was uncharacteristically cozy. If it weren't for the medical equipment, ECG monitor and electroencephalogram you were hooked up to, you might have thought you were in a cozy living room with a curved chaise longue and soft fluffy carpet. The design was reminiscent of his office where you met regularly for weeks. Suspicion crept into your head at the realization that Crane had two nearly identical offices in two different parts of the city. Nevertheless, you didn't have time to dwell on it, you were here for another purpose.

"Tell me what you were dreaming about," he instructed in a gentle voice.

"It's hard to say…" you tried to gather your thoughts but your mind seemed as if behind a fog, "I was in some room, a hospital maybe? I couldn't see much because the lamp above my head was shining in my face, blinding me. I tried to struggle but I was tied up. I couldn't see but I think it was the operating table."

"That would explain the spikes on your EEG," he stated, looking at a printout from the machine, "what happened next?"

"I couldn't speak, I had an oxygen tube in my throat," you continued, "and there was someone else there. At least two people. I couldn't see their faces. One held me down and the other gave me the injection," you involuntarily touched the deepening in your arm and to your surprise you felt a small pinprick under your finger, "what the hell!"

"I had to give you a sedative because your heart was racing at over 200 beats per minute," Crane explained, seeing your shocked look.

"Then I woke up…"

"Continuing the test was a threat to your life, we can't risk that," he explained handing you two pills.

"What are those?" you asked uncertainly.

"I thought we trusted each other," green eyes glared above his glasses, "something to calm your heart rate and iron. I need to take your blood for testing," he explained before walking over to you, putting his hand on your shoulder and gently forcing you to lie down again, "relax," he smiled, "I promise to be gentle."

"You better!" you replied with a frail smile and straightened your right arm exposing a vein, "I have an important meeting tomorrow, I don't want to be forced to cover the bruises!"

"And what is this important meeting?" Crane asked tightly clenching the belt above the hollow of your arm.

"That's something you don't need to know about," you smirked, grimacing simultaneously when the needle pierced your skin, "and don't start again with confidence and full transparency! Some things I must keep to myself, and I assure you they have nothing to do with my problems."

"So sure you are able to assess that?" he glanced at you.

"Yup!" you smiled widely, "one hundred percent sure! My problems apparently come from the past and tomorrow's meeting has nothing to do with it."

"If you say so…" he relented while gently removing the needle from your hand, "all done. There's not even a trace."

"You're lucky!"

For a moment you watched the professor as he busied himself around the equipment. He tightly secured the blood vial and labeled it with a date sticker, tore the printouts off the machine and folded them methodically placing them in one of the drawers, then returned to you and began detaching you from the machine. First, he gently removed the sensor grid fitted on your head, carefully so as not to tug your hair, then proceeded to remove the electrodes from your chest and ribs. You watched him. Undressed from the waist up, lying in front of him in nothing but a bra, you didn't feel ashamed; after all, he was a doctor, and he also maintained complete professionalism, focusing his gaze alternately on the electrodes and on your eyes.

"I'd like you to add to your evening medications, two more," he informed, removing the last electrode and handing you your blouse, "one that will help you sleep better, and the other is simply iron."

"Am I to understand that we plan to draw my blood more often?"

"It is imperative. We are subjecting your body to a strong chemical influence. It's my duty to monitor the changes on a regular basis and react accordingly should anything alarming occur."

"Sure," you nodded in agreement and put on your blouse, "Do you think it happened?" you asked, then added upon noticing his puzzled look, "I mean my dream. Do you think it happened?"

"And what do you think?"

"I'm not sure…"

Jonathan only sat down next to you, looked deep into your eyes, and placed his hand on yours as if to assure you.

"We can't conclude anything after one session, but don't worry, I promised to help you didn't I?"

"That you did," you smirked in response. "Not like him…."

***

Contrary to popular opinion, which was often expressed by his boys, Batman did not like to always be right. For two weeks he kept returning to Arkham Asylum, for two weeks every night he hoped to finally find evidence that he was wrong. He hoped for it when he analyzed the breach in the wall in the Joker's cell that strangely reached toward the floor and below. He hoped for it when he forcibly interrogated the inmates, when he talked to the Arkham staff, when he surveyed Dr. Quinzel's office, when he calmly listened to the arguments of Warden Quincy Sharp, who tried at all costs to keep him out of the Penitentiary's lower levels. However, as he stood in the room hidden deep in the lower levels of Intensive Treatment, from which, as it turned out, the explosion had been initiated a few days ago, he could not help but feel disappointment, sadness even, that Y/N's faith in human goodness had lost in the battle against his suspicion of human intentions. "Perhaps if Y/N had arrived earlier in Gotham, Dr. Quinzel would have changed her plans in time, perhaps she would have turned back, perhaps she would not have made the choices she made…" he wondered.

The evidence was unmistakable, the breach in the wall, the traces of blood splattered on the floor, the bullet holes, the knocked-out teeth in the corner of the room that no one has cleaned up till now, the photos and plans hung on the wall, all of it left no doubt, that Y/N was right about one thing. Dr. Quinzel was a victim. A victim who, like all the others he passed along the way, had been harmed by the circumstances in which she found herself, by the man she met on her path, by the choices she made because of him. But instead of running away, instead of turning back, instead of seeking help, she gave in to madness.

"Are you getting this Oracle?" Batman murmured seemingly to himself, yet the voice in the earpiece answered almost immediately.

"Every single bit," Oracle confirmed, "enough evidence to convict her."

Batman squatted wordlessly over a fragment of the detonator that had not been destroyed but had merely flown off to the other end of the room during the explosion.

"I'm sending you more fingerprints for analysis…"

"Sloppy job," Barbara replied, analyzing the image from his camera displayed on the computer on the other side of the city, "the bomb must have been unstable, and constructed in haste, or without much knowledge, that's why the fuse flew off instead of being destroyed," she assessed with confidence, "Batman, those marks on the wall…. blood…"

"The pattern and direction of the spatter, as well as the amount of blood on the wall, suggests that the blows were inflicted with something very heavy and with a wide sweep…" Batman assessed as he stood up from his squat and approached the wall again.

"Could a petite woman have hit a large bodyguard with enough force to knock his teeth out?" Oracle questioned.

"You could," Batman noted, "And you wouldn't need a heavy tool to do it."

"True, but I was trained."

"We don't have enough information on Quinzel to be able to rule out training or the presence of a metagen. The evidence is clear," Batman straightened up and retreated to the entrance of the room placing himself in a way that allowed his eyes, and therefore the camera, to capture an accurate image and send it to the computer, "Dr. Quinzel used this room for months, maybe longer. On the day of the Arkham breakout, she came here from the main corridor of Intensive Treatment and detonated a charge placed on the east wall," he trailed his eyes to the breach.

"The fingerprints match…" Oracle interrupted him upon seeing the results of the analysis.

"Arkham's security guards must have known or at least suspected something because they resisted and tried to stop her," he ran his eyes over the wall, "shots were fired, I assume they were aimed at her…"

"Frank Nelson who was on shift that night is in a clinical coma, we can't verify that," Oracle's voice in the headset interrupted his thoughts, "his weapon was not found."

"It doesn't matter," Batman continued, "bullet marks on the wall suggest a tracking pattern. The guard fired, Quinzel dodged the bullets," he paused with his eyes on the traces of splattered blood, "she reduced the distance separating them and overpowered Nelson with a strong blow with a heavy tool made from a sweep, rendering him unconscious."

"Analysis of the tooth found matches dental records. Well, and there's also the fact that Nelson actually has several of them knocked out."

"We need to find her and stop her," Batman stated thus completing the analysis, "Oracle, give me a status update on Nightwing and Red Hood."

"Dick and Tim are in the Amusement Mile and Jason and Damian are on the move…" Barbara replied almost immediately, "Dick, report!" Batman heard a beep in his intercom and after a brief moment a second voice.

"Nightwing to Oracle. We have eyes on Quinzel. Over."

"Do not engage!" Batman spoke, "Stay out of site. Follow and observe. Hopefully, she will lead us to Joker."

"Copy that!" Nightwing confirmed.

"Dick! Consider her highly dangerous and be careful. If she tires to run, detain her."

On the way from Crane's office, you couldn't stop thinking about the situation you were in. Events followed one after another and it seemed you had no control over them. "This was supposed to be a new beginning, the beginning of a bright new future…" you recalled the optimistic thoughts that filled your mind when you first set foot in Gotham City. But Gotham City turned out to have other plans for you.

"How did I get here?" you wondered. Between the Joker and Harleen and Batman and Bruce Wayne, between near-death experiences and sessions with Professor Crane, in an endless loop of constantly recurring nightmares, attempts to contact Harleen and the bold decision to go out for dinner with Bruce Wayne. "What am I doing?" you questioned your choices while swallowing one of the green pills you got from Crane. This wasn't your style. Just a few weeks ago, the vision of seeing Bruce Wayne at the office gave you heart palpitations, and talking to him on the observation deck brought a strange excitement that you tried with all your might to hide. But when he mentioned a walk you didn't refuse because you were afraid, you refused because decency demanded it. And when he did not back down and invited you to dinner, you did not hesitate for a moment. There was no fear or anxiety in you against meeting with this powerful man even though logic told you that there should be. You felt good, confident.

Just as confident when Crane put his hand on yours and, while looking deep into your eyes, assured you that he would help you. You didn't run away with your eyes, you didn't took your hand away, you embraced it. "He will help me… I've got someone I can count on…" you thought, recalling in your mind his intense gaze, a gaze that was almost immediately banished by darkness and an ice-cold voice, "No. Leave it, or I'll have you arrested for obstructing the investigation."

Determined, fearless, you pulled the hood over your head and hid your face in the shadows, glancing one last time at the dark, extinguished "Amusement Mile" sign looming in the distance.

"Hood wait!" Damian shouted, following Jason with rushed steps. Jason was older, taller, and although Damian was much more agile, he moved much faster.

"Keep up kid!" Jason shouted as he saw the Amusement Mile sign faintly in the distance, "You don't want Wing and Red to have all the fun for themselves!"

"Don't call me a kid!"

Jason only laughed deeply, amused by his brother's reaction. They may have had different fathers and mothers, but to Jason, Damian was always the little brother. He had never told him this, but he hoped Damian understood it without mincing words. The grapple gun fired high and Jason soared, dragged through the air toward the tall buildings.

"Where the fuck are they…?" he asked quietly, landing softly on the roof, knowing that thanks to the intercom installed in his cowl, Damian would hear everything. He looked around trying to spot any movement, "Quiet…too quiet…" he muttered under his breath.

"Do you think they are not here?" Damian asked landing quietly next to him.

"I think they are…I think they are here. As well as Joker and his chick…"

"Hood, we should not abandon the task. Batman will…" Damian began but stopped mid-sentence. He climbed on his toes and fixed his gaze pointing wordlessly at the figure in the darkness.

"Bingo!"

Nightwing and Red Robin observed. Crouching in the darkness, hidden under the cover of the night, they sat on the roof and watched. Their perceptive ears picked up every murmur, their attentive eyes caught every slightest gesture Harleen made. Every glance at her watch, every glance at her phone screen, every methodical tweak of her hair, every affectionate pat on her bat.

"Someone is coming…" Tim said almost inaudibly, "can you hear?"

"Yup…" Dick nodded quietly, "be ready…"

Tim replied with a nod, pulling a Collapsible Bō Staff from behind his back.

"Multiple steps…. ambush?" Tim turned his head then left then right listening for movements.

"I think we might have overstayed our welcome…"

The surroundings were eerie. Abandoned buildings with broken windows bore no trace of their former decadence, the empty dark littered streets had long forgotten the joy and vibrancy of life. Even the street lights seemed dark and gloomy, as if trying to scare away stray wanderers. But you were not strayed. You walked confidently ahead with a steady step, minute by minute, decreasing the distance between you and the pin on the map. You wondered what you would say to your friend, what words would be appropriate? Will you contain your anger? Will you hold back your resentment? Will she do the same? What could you possibly say?

"Harleen?!" you stopped in half step shocked, "what the actual fuck?!"

"Call me Harley, everyone does!" Harleen turned on her heel displaying her new look and smiled broadly.

"No one calls you that!"

"You like my new outfit?!" she asked, running her hand over the tight-fitting red and black corset, "What am I saying! Of course, you do! Who wouldn't!"

"What the actual fuck…" you measured her with your eyes from top to bottom. Tight leather pants, corset, mid-waist jacket, baseball bat placed by her leg, gun at her thigh, tattoo on her forearm, all colored in black and red.

"I see you speechless! Imagine what Mr. J said when he saw his new and improved Harley Quinn!"

"Did you lose your goddamn mind!" you growled angrily not believing your eyes. Walking here you imagined that you would find Harleen miserable, weeping, and tormented, instead she looked thriving.

"Hey, no need to be mean ya know!"

"Fucker put the gun to my head!!!" you shouted and your voice echoed through the empty surroundings, "your boyfriend threatened me to blow my brains out and you telling me not to be mean!"

"Oh he was just joking with ya!" she brushed off, "ain't my fault that you never could take a joke!"

"A joke…" you gritted your teeth, narrowing the distance between you, "a joke?!"

"You see… Mr. J found your joke very funny! He was laughing all evening! So no hard feelings, forgive and forget!" she sounded infantile, modulating her voice in a playful way, "what ya think!? We can still be friends!"

"Harl…" you lowered your tone, "you need help. That maniac has you wrapped around his finger. I don't recognize you."

"Mr. J loves me! I don't need any help!"

"Harleen…" you looked at her seriously, "whatever that is I am sure it's not love…"

"You just say that cos you don't know him!" she grabbed you firmly by the forearm, "once you get to know him you'll see!"

You never thought Harleen had such strength in her. Ignoring your screams, she dragged you toward the entrance. You begged, fought, tried to struggle but she didn't listen. Singing cheerfully under her breath she dragged you towards the entrance.

"Let me go!!!"

"You know, I ain't even mad at you! You shouldn't be mad at me either!"

"Harleen, please! Let me help you! Come with me please!" you begged "Whatever he did to you we can fix this! I'm gonna help you! Just please come with me!"

"Mr. J always says….."

"I don't give a fuck about what Joker says!" you yanked your hand from her grasp, "just come with me!"

"You shouldn't say no to my invitation," she frowned, "Mr. J won't like that. He doesn't take no for an answer."

A swish cut through the air. Something metal flew past your head and hit Harleen right in the hand in which she was wielding a bat. She cursed foully.

"You brought them here!!!" she exclaimed furiously with a blazing look.

Jason didn't have to give any orders; he and Robin worked in perfect synergy. They jumped off the roof using the element of surprise and attacked. Batarang aimed at her hand stripping her of her grip on the bat giving Damian a split second to leap into the air and attack Harley. With one swift move, Jason pushed Y/N aside and attacked. Both he and Damian assumed a quick effortless fight but the Joker's new partner turned out to be much more skilled than they anticipated. She leaped back nimbly with two back flips, avoiding Robin's attacks, and delivered a powerful half-turn kick.

"Where is Joker!" Jason shouted furiously.

"Mr. J is not up for a visit! Especially not from a batshit crazies like you!" she chuckled angrily and swung aiming a punch.

Block, counter, punch. Jason delivered three quick, precise blows. Harleen groaned falling to the ground.

"Where is Joker?" he repeated the question, standing over her and crushing her hand to the ground with his boot as she tried to reach for her weapon. Harley groaned in pain. He had her. Weeks of searching were over. He may have defied Batman but he had caught the Joker's accomplice.

"Red Hood to Batman," he spoke into the intercom, "we apprehended Quinzel."

An unknown force lifted him into the air and threw him several feet away. His eyes darkened as he hit his head on the wall.

"Hood!" he heard Nightwing's voice in the distance. He opened his eyes again and saw an utterly hilarious image. Dick, Tim, and Damian trying to deal with two angry women.

Nightwing tried to reach out to Qiunn but Y/N stubbornly kept placing herself between them.

"Leave her alone! She needs help!" she shouted in Nightwing's face.

Tim and Damian attacked Quinn again. A big bat snatched from Y/N's hand flew above their heads trying to hit them. They dodged the attacks nimbly, one by one trying to counterattack. Aimed at Quinn's head, Damian's Batarang missed, Damian never missed. Tim attacked from behind Quinn's back but Y/N reached out in time and grabbed his cape sabotaging his attack.

"Wing would you mind!" Tim threw in the direction of Nightwing who was struggling with the girl.

"Harleen run!" she shouted.

She merely smiled broadly, reached behind her belt, and pointed her gun straight at Tim.

As if in slow motion, Jason watched the flash bounce off the metal, a wide Joker-like smile, her finger on the trigger…. He reached behind his belt and threw the Batarang with all his strength in Quinn's direction. He missed. He never missed either. The clang of metal. Y/N's terrified eyes and her two hands on Nigtwing's chest as she pushed him back with all her strength.

"Harleen don't!!!" she ordered with a shout, situating herself between the aimed weapon and the unaware Tim, "just don't…" she added more gently, "don't make choices that you won't be able to change…"

"You just made yours…" Harleen hissed angrily and dashed to escape.

Tim and Damian ran after her. They did not wait for permission or for the reactions of their older and more experienced brothers. They knew what they were doing. During the fight, during the mission, they worked seamlessly with each other. Jason watched them disappear behind a closed door and for a moment considered running after them.

"Hood!" Nightwing called out in his direction, "you good?!"

"Yeah yeah…" he muttered gathering himself from the ground. He knew very well that this question was only there to redirect his attention, "What the hell happened?"

"That is a good question…" Nightwing glanced meaningfully at Y/N who was still struggling in his grasp. Despite her hands twisted to the back held with little force she yanked and pulled in an attempt to free herself from his grip, "please stop. You gonna hurt yourself."

"Let me go!" she hissed fiercely.

"I cannot do that…"

"You are hurting me!"

"Then stop yanking…"

"But Harleen…"

"She made her choice."

"Oh, you are as stubborn as he is!!!"

"Who? Batman?"

"Let go of me!"

"If you try to run I'll stop you…"

"I won't…" she replied but as soon as Nightwing loosened his grip she threw herself running towards the building.

"Where do you think you're going?" Jason asked blocking her way.

"Oh for fuck sake!!! How many of you is there!" she boiled with frustration.

"How come I flew over a hundred feet and hit a wall?" he asked, ignoring her curses.

"I don't know, fucking magic!" she growled, "get out of my way!"

"Is she always like that?!" he asked Nightwing ignoring her completely.

"Last time she was more unsteady on her feet but just as fierce," Nightwing countered in his characteristic playful tone, "are you done?" he turned to Y/N, "we won't let you in."

"But Harleen, she needs…"

"Yes, yes she needs your help yatty yatty yatta…" Red Hood sneered, "you want to go get yourself killed by all means!" he taunted stepping off her way. She, however, did not move. The door to the building opened and Batman emerged from the darkness. He measured her with a stern look and, without taking his eyes off her, spoke.

"Quinzel is gone, Joker was never here," he informed, "the building was a decoy. Two additional exits with quick access. Robin and Red are searching the place."

"Now it's Quinn, Harley Quinn apparently," Nightwing informed him.

"Are you trying to get yourself killed?" Batman turned to Y/N, "You ask me to believe in your innocence and yet I keep finding you in compromising situations."

"I wanted to help her," Y/N began uncertainly only to look at him furiously a moment later and add in a raised voice, "I wanted to help her because you refused to help me!"

"I think I like her…" Jason muttered to Nightwing quietly.

"I asked you to help me! Didn't I! I gave you my reasons, explained my point of view, and asked for help and you said no!!!" she shouted furiously standing at arm's length in front of Batman, "so don't fucking act all surprised that I decided to act on my own!"

"I definitely like her..." Jason grinned under his mask.

"I also said that I'll have you arrested for interfering with the case…" Batman reminded her.

"Then please!" she held out both hands in front of him, "Arrest me!"

For a moment they stood like that. Y/N and Batman in uninterrupted eye contact as if they were fighting each other without words. As if they were challenging each other, soundlessly questioning each other's choices. Jason and Dick were just observing but they too didn't need to exchange words to know what each was thinking. Both were amused and curious by the unfolding situation.

"You have to come with me," Batman finally broke the silence but did not cuff her hands. He only turned around and started walking toward the district exit.

"Hey, I was just kidding…" Y/N chuckled nervously and yet she sped up her pace to catch up with him.

"I'm not arresting you."

"Then why do I have to go with you?"

"You need to see something."

***

Chapter seven: Choices that shape the future

~~***~~

Author note: Well...I got carried away with words. Oops? As I started to write this chapter I had only two major bits to hit and story, well it just happened. Is unfolded as I wrote it, and I had to make sure that it will all come together. I hope it did cos I won't lie, I really really loved this chapter. Mostly because I got an opportunity to more light on beloved Batfamily! Oh, I so love them all and it is a crime that Batfamily is so ignored in the mass media and popular big blockbuster movies! Batman, there is no Batman without his Robins, without his whole family. So right from the beginning, I knew I wanted to bring Batfamily to this story. I wouldn't have it any other way. Hope you enjoyed this very very long chapter! I'm hitting "publish" and starting to work on next chapter :) I've got a feeling it's gonna have more fluff to it. Thank you all for your interactions and shares! I truly appreciate that. And as always Dear Reader, I thank you for reading.

~~***~~

Tag list:@clown-princesa @theclassicvinyldragon @blondwhowrites @batgirlspain @hangmanscoming

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elena-mayfair · 1 year

Text

The Horror and the Night

Series masterlist

Paring: Batman/Bruce Wayne x f!reader, Scarecrow/Jonathan Crane Genre: Thriller, mystery, horror, with elements of slow-burn romance Warnings: Rating T+/M, gore and violence, strong language, themes of depression and suicide, depictions of mental illness Summary: Gotham City was supposed to be a new beginning, the beginning of a bright future, a new chapter of your life. Yet Gotham City turned out to be all that and much more than you expected. One casual encounter that was about to change your life forever. One impulsive decision that set in motion a chain of events you weren't ready for. One declaration that was about to place you in the midst of a nightmare. What future awaits you in a city converted in darkness even by the day? What secret hides in the shadows of a forgotten past? What awaits at the end of your journey through Night, Nightmare, and Fear? Word count: 166k(ongoing) Note: Gifs are not mine, credit to the authors.

Chapter one: Bright future, dark city

Chapter two: Curious people

Chapter three: Madness and old friends

Chapter four: I am innocent

Chapter five: Will you help me?

Chapter six: Choices that define us

Chapter seven: Choices that shape the future

Chapter eight: Fears

Chapter nine: Dreams - part one

Chapter ten: Dreams - part two

Chapter eleven: Risky decisions

Chapter twelve: Running toward danger

Chapter thirteen: Questionable choices

Things I cannot have - Batman Day Special

Chapter fourteen: Fighting fear

~~***~~

Tag list: @mrsgrahamsdesign @theclassicvinyldragon @blondwhowrites @batgirlspain @hangmanscoming @julesjewelss36 @cherryflavoredcoke @grandstrangerphantom @maripositanoctruna @pluckastarfromthesky @butterfly-lies-chase-them-away @pirate-with-internet-connection @ooldcardigan

~~***~~

From the author: Special thanks to @mrsgrahamsdesign for creating the title graphic for this story! Thank you for realizing my little dream.

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elena-mayfair · 1 year

Text

Will you help me?

Paring: Bruce Wayne x f!reader, Batman x f!reader Genre: Thriller, mystery, horror, slow burn Warnings: rating T+/M, blood and gore, violence, strong language, themes of depression and suicide Summary: When in distress seek help from friends. But what if friends have proven to be untrustworthy? What if there is no one to turn to for help? How to establish new relationships? Sometimes all it takes is one simple question: will you help me? Word count: 8k Note: Gifs are not mine, credit to the authors.

Chapter one: Bright future, dark city Chapter two: Curious people Chapter three: Madness and old friends Chapter four: I am innocent

***

"Do you like scars? Do scars make the man?," you hummed under your breath the lyrics of the song playing through the speakers as you stared in the mirror at the deep cut healing on your arm. Four stitches, seemingly not much and yet the scar would become a sure reminder of the day you almost drowned. After two weeks, the wound had almost healed, leaving a pale red thin line decorated with dots on the sides where the stitches had been just a few days ago. Two weeks were enough to heal the surface wounds. For the purple-green bruise that painfully scored your body to disappear almost completely, for the brown scab to fall off showing softly pink flesh, for the number of pain pills you took every day to decrease from eight to two. Two weeks, enough time to heal the wounds on your body, enough time to recover, enough time for rest and regeneration, time which you spent locked up in your apartment isolated from everyone…time not nearly enough to heal the wounds that were not visible at first glance.

"There are still good people in this world," you repeated each day as you replayed the events of that evening over and over again, trying to push them out of your mind. The indifferent look in the rearview mirror, the car speeding through the city, the cold metal touch on your forehead, the two wrecked cars, the creepy grin, the gunshots, the maniacal laughter…

Indifference…

"There are still good people in this world," you insisted, clenching your eyes as if that would somehow help push the images away. Black rapid water, screeching tires, impact, yanking, pain, cold, panic, water rising, horror…

Fear…

"There are still good people in this world," you repeated once again, forcefully pushing away the recurring images. There was Lucius Fox, who, in a compassionate and understanding email, assured you that all medical expenses were covered by insurance provided by the company. Lucius Fox, who assured you that you don't have to worry about your job or your place in the company, and you are to take as much sick leave as necessary. Lucius Fox, who personally signed a card wishing you a quick recovery that was attached to a small package delivered by a courier, containing a new phone. "'With wishes for a swift recovery, from the company,'" not many words and yet a faint smile appeared on your face.

"Yes…there are good people in the world…" such as your colleagues at work who, despite knowing each other for a relatively short time, sent you a sincere and kind message. Such as the policewoman who made sure you arrived home safely by escorting you to your door. Such as the paramedics who, seeing your fear and stubbornness in refusing to be taken to the hospital, showed great understanding and kindness in attending to your wounds at home. Such as the doctor who visited you twice at your home. Such as the Chinese food delivery guy who knocked on your door every other day…such as….

Kindness…a concerned look, a warm tone, a gentle assistance when your legs refused to obey you, a kind smile…Nightwing.

Hope…the light shining in the darkness of the water, the muffled explosion heralding rescue, the strong sure grip on your body, the life he took from his lips to give to you…Batman.

Support…the phone call answered in the middle of the night when you woke up from a nightmare drenched in sweat, the words of reassurance and comfort spoken each time when fear rose within you all over again, the understanding and empathy when you refused to recount your experiences in detail, the quiet empathy when he visited you at home time and again whenever you had no strength to go out…Jonathan Crane.

Over the past two weeks, Professor Crane proved to be your greatest support and your only contact with the outside world. The initial information about the car accident was enough to swap visits at his office for home visits. The suggestion came from him, he argued that if you felt up to it would be advisable not to interrupt the therapy process you had started. He explained that especially now, in a situation of increased stress, your mind becomes more susceptible to negative thoughts and feelings. Initially, you refused. The idea of having a psychiatrist come to your home, your safe place, your oasis of peace, seemed wrong. You only accepted the suggestion of sedative medication, which was delivered to your home. You appreciated the gesture and understanding, simply going to the pharmacy seemed like a mission for which you did not have the strength. However, this situation only lasted for two days. The night before day three, you woke up terrified in the middle of the night certain that the Joker had found you. That he was sitting in your living room, turning a gun in his hand, that as soon as you came out of your bedroom you would see him, that wide creepy smile, hear his maniacal laughter, feel the bullet piercing your body. "Hello toots!" he will say, "did you really think you would get away with it! HA!" he will snarl, "did you really think that you can drive a car off the road and be done with me?! HA HA HA HA HA!" he will laugh as a fired bullet will pierce your stomach.

Fright paralyzed you completely making you unable to move from the bed. Fright so sure of his presence. Horror fueled by the awareness of your complete loneliness, the absence of anyone you could call, anyone who could come, anyone you could turn to for help, you were alone. Not thinking much, you dialed the Professor's number, and to your surprise he answered. For an hour he talked to you on the phone, trying to calm you down and convince you to come out to the living room, but when that didn't help, he got in his car and drove to your home in the middle of the night.

***

~~Few days earlier~~

"You need to come to the door and open it," Professor Crane's voice echoed on the other side of the line, "I'm at the door."

"I can't…" you replied in a weak voice. Your heart pounded in your chest with each beat making it harder to breathe. Curled up against the bedroom wall, with your knees drawn to your chest, you stared at the door in horror, anxiously awaiting the moment when it would open to reveal the shiny gun metal.

"You have to…" Crane replied.

"He's there…" you whispered, "if I open the door… he is there… he will kill me…"

"Y/N think about it," Crane said in a calm controlled tone, "I know you are terrified. You are experiencing a panic attack. Your body is probably shaking, your pulse is accelerated, cold sweat is covering your skin," he listed the symptoms, "You are having a panic attack."

"But Joker…"

"Think," he interrupted you, "I know it's difficult at the moment but think for a second. If the Joker was actually in your apartment, would he wait for you to come out of your bedroom? If you didn't wake up, would he wait until morning? If he was really in your apartment, would he wait and risk you calling 911?"

"He could…"

"Y/N!" Crane raised his voice, "Do you think he wouldn't have heard our conversation through the door? Do you think if he heard it he wouldn't react?"

"He's insane…"

"Y/N open the door."

"I can't."

"Get up and open the door."

"I'm afraid…"

"Y/N!"

"I'm sorry…"

"Open the fucking door!" he shouted commandingly. It worked.

With your legs shaking, you slowly got up from the bed and cautiously opened the bedroom door, carefully looking out first, ready to close them immediately. The living room was empty, exactly as you had left it the previous evening. There was no sign of anyone's presence. No shoe marks on the floor, no furniture moved, no smell, no Joker.

"Y/N, are you there?" you heard on the phone which you still held tightly to your ear. You didn't answer, instead you headed for the front door behind which Crane was waiting.

"There's no one here…" you whispered in a weak voice, opening the door wide and looking at the Professor. He stood there, wearing a dark brown coat, looking at you intently. He, too, was pressing the phone to his ear. "There's no one here…" you repeated while your body shook again.

"Can I come in?"

You moved away from the door letting him in.

"It was all so real…" you tried to explain weakly. You leaned against the door and slid slowly to the floor. Adrenaline was leaving your body like air through a punctured balloon. "I, I was sure, I was convinced that he was here."

"The mind can be very decieving…" Crane looked around the apartment as if despite everything he wanted to make sure you were alone. He checked the other rooms, the bedroom, the bathroom, and for a moment even looked out the window, simultaneously making sure it was closed.

"I couldn't imagine it…" you argued in a half whisper, "it was too real."

"Traumatic experiences can trigger in a person anxiety levels so strong that imagination can seem real," Crane explained. He squatted in front of you and his green eyes looked straight into yours, "are you hurt?" he asked, "can you stand up?"

"I think so…" you nodded uncertainly then, grasping Crane's outstretched hand, you got up on your feet.

"Alright…" belaying you, Crane walked you over to the couch, turned on the soft lamp light, then sat down across from you and once again began to pierce you with his gaze, "Then now tell me, why would the Joker want to kill you? What exactly happened two weeks ago?"

And so you did. Two cups of tea and three hours later, Crane knew everything. Every little detail starting from the party at 44 Below, to your first encounter with Batman, to Joker's Arkham brakeout, ending up with Batman and Nightwing's rescuing you after you drove the car of the road. Every single feeling, every single thought, every single fear, fascination, emotion, thought. Every most trivial detail. You hid nothing, for the first time you were completely honest with him. With a flow of words, you poured out everything that was sitting inside you, and you had to admit that you felt damn good about it. Crane only listened. Sitting comfortably on the couch next to you, sipping tea, he did not interrupt, did not comment, only listened without taking his penetrating eyes off you.

"How are you feeling?" he finally asked when you finished the story.

"Good," you replied without hesitation, "really good…" you added at the sight of a smile on Crane's face, "but I'm afraid this intervention is going to tug hard on my wallet."

"Don't worry about that now. We're finally talking honestly, you finally lowered your guard enough to open up to me. Don't bother with trivial matters now."

"I needed this, I'll admit it. I needed to get it off my chest, and let's be honest, I don't have anyone to talk to. We've already established that. And the only person I considered a friend….well…. let's just say that I wasn't wrong for not trusting people."

"And yet you trusted me."

"That's different. My emotional exhibitionism is driven by pure selfishness and the need to throw out negative emotions. After what happened today, you might as well be a pizza delivery guy," you quipped.

"Would you also call a pizza delivery guy in the middle of the night paralyzed with fear?" he smirked.

"I guess not," you chuckled, "why did you come?"

"It's not unusual for a psychotherapist to respond to a crisis situation, even in the middle of the night," even though his words sounded serious and professional something completely different shone in his eyes. A mystery, a dangerous gleam, betraying something contrary to the spoken words.

"Thank you," you looked confidently into the cryptic green, "I didn't know what to do. I was afraid. You were…" you hesitated, "you were the first person I thought of," you lied hiding your embarrassment in your tea cup. He wasn't. But the person you thought of was not someone you could call in the middle of the night, even if you had the possibility to do so. "Why did I thought of him…." you rebuked yourself in your mind.

"Something is bothering you," Crane noticed.

"Many things bother me," you replied evasively.

"I thought we were over word games…"

"Because we are," you sighed in resignation, "forgive me. I guess that's my habit."

"If you want we can go back to standard questions like 'how do you feel about it', 'do you want to talk about it'," he smiled mischievously.

"No, thank you!" you denied immediately, "you don't even realize how annoying these questions are."

"So talk."

You took another sip of tea and gazed at the full moon rising against the black sky. A moon that involuntarily made you think of the Batman signal lighting up the night sky. The symbol of the Dark Knight, the protector of Gotham. The symbol of hope that there is someone in this world who cares.

"For the last two weeks I've been cooped up at home and I've been doing some reading…" you began, still staring at the sky outside the window, "colleagues recently joked that I have little chance of ever finding myself in the middle of a fight between Batman and Gotham's psychos. And yet here we are."

"Wrong place, wrong time."

"Possibly," you replied quietly, "But with spare time on my hands and a million questions in my head, for the past two weeks I've done nothing but read newspapers, archived posts, blogs, forums. How is it possible that I have never heard anything about this before?!" you threw a frustrated question, angrily looking into the green gleam, "how the fuck is that possible that I never ever heard anything about Batman, Nightwing, Robin, Superman, Wonder Woman, Flash, Green Lantern, Green Arrow?! How?! It seems like it is fairly common knowledge! It seems that every big city has its own Batman! So tell me Professor, how come I never heard any of it?!" Crane answered nothing, clearly taken aback by your question, "Like dude can fucking fly! And it seems like this is the first time I ever heard about it!"

"I think you already have the answer to this rhetorical question," Crane stated.

"Something is missing…" you sighed heavily, "something is not right with me…" you tapped angrily with your finger on the side of your forehead, "something is not right in my head. I feel like I should know these things, and yet I don't. I feel like I'm missing part of my mind. Like there are gaps in there, missing pieces which I cannot find," your gaze met his again and hung on for longer than was polite, "Will you help me? Will you help me find the missing pieces?"

"I will," he replied without a moment's hesitation, "but it will require a different approach. If it is indeed as you think, if indeed some parts of your mind are blocked, it will not be enough to simply talk it through. I will expect you to be completely honest and trusting."

"I can do that."

"Good. Let's start from changing the dynamic of our relationship," he scooted closer to you, set his tea cup down on the table then extended his hand to you, "Jonathan," he smiled anticipating your reaction.

You only shook his hand with a smile on your face and relief in your heart certain that you did the right thing by telling him about your worries. Confident that you could count on his help.

***

"Hey isn't that the girl we rescued last time?!" Dick Grayson asked at the sight of the photo and personal file displayed on the Batcomputer screen. Dressed in sweatpants and a tight tank top with a towel hung around his neck and a water bottle in his hand, he was rubbing sweat from his forehead after intense training. His younger foster brother followed him closely step by step, exhaustion painting on his face. Tim was eager to work, to train, to improve his skills, and the years of practice Dick had had over him posed a satisfying challenge.

"The one who tried to drown Joker?" Tim asked standing behind Bruce's chair.

"Yup, the one!" Dick replied, "She got some fight in here! She would rather drove care of the road into the bay than get the Joker to his destination! That's impressive!"

"Is she a friend or foe?!" Tim inquired.

"I don't know yet," Bruce replied without taking his eyes off the monitor, "She works for me."

"What?!"

"How come?!"

"She works at Wayne Tech, we hired her less than two months ago," Bruce replied in a poised voice upon hearing their simultaneous question, "I've had the opportunity to talk to her a few times."

"And?"

"And I can't tell if she's really an innocent victim of circumstance or just a good con artist."

"Do you want me to keep an eye on her?" Tim asked, "I could keep tabs on her for a while, see where she goes, who she hangs out with, what she does after work."

"No, Tim," Bruce refused immediately, "if she is indeed a crook sooner or later she will reappear under not very favorable circumstances and then we will have grounds to be suspicious of her. For the time being, we must assume that she is innocent, as she claims. Besides, as Bruce Wayne, I will have the opportunity to keep an eye on her every day. And as Batman… I want to take on this case personally."

"But…" Dick tried to object yet Bruce didn't give him a chance.

"We have more important things to deal with," Bruce interrupted him by minimizing Y/N's photo, "another victim. Marc Phillips, age forty-five, pilot," a photo of a middle-aged brunet appeared on the computer screen.

"The pilot of the avionette from which the newlyweds jumped," Dick stated, quickly tracing with his eyes over the text on the screen.

"That's right," Bruce confirmed, "After the incident he was under the psychological observation by Professor Jonathan Crane, he stayed in the psychiatric ward of Elliot Memorial Hospital, from which he was released two days ago."

"What happened?" Tim asked unable to find an answer on the screen.

"He hung himself."

Silence fell in the cave as all three began to analyze the facts and the cause-and-effect sequence in their minds. Each of them knew that there was an element of strangeness in the previous victims, an element of the unusual and untold that connected them all. Suicide by hanging had nothing inexplicable about it.

"It doesn't make any sense," Dick began, "I mean it makes sense, but at the same time it doesn't make sense. Oh you know what I mean!"

"It doesn't fit the residual pattern we've had so far," Tim joined in, "the guy hung himself. There's a cause and a reason."

"I want you to inspect his apartment," Bruce informed, finally getting up from the computer and looking at them, " inspect his apartment, talk to the Elliot Memorial staff, and most importantly Professor Crane. His file is perfectly clean, which doesn't change the fact that we can't exclude him from the suspects list."

"What about you?"

"I have an interrogation to attend to."

***

Gotham by day was not much different from Gotham during the night. Thick rain clouds usually hung over the city effectively blocking the sun shrouding the city in a damp sheen. The wet streets and buildings reflected the city lights dressing the city in a veil of mysticism and secrecy. Walking through the city you didn't feel overwhelmed, quite the opposite. Despite the thick clouds in the sky, the brisk air from the bay allowed you to breathe fully, for the first time in weeks. For a moment you forgot where and for what purpose you were going, allowing yourself to once again admire the mysterious beauty of the city, marvel at the million lights and colors refracted in the droplets of water, gaze at the statues carved into the buildings' walls seemingly crying over the fate of the inhabitants, gargoyles lurking on the rooftops appearing to drool at the sight of their victims. The beauty and menace of the city seemed to clash with each other at every turn as if battling for dominance over the city and its citizens. Every alley seemed to hide a mystery, every street seemed to teem with secrets deeply hidden. Gotham was dangerous but also beautiful. For around the next corner, a frantic death could be waiting to herald the end of the adventure, or a laughing group of children in their innocence kicking a ball joyfully, a sign of goodness and purity that had to be protected.

Lost in thought, lost between delight and fear, you didn't notice when your feet led you to the First Gotham City Police District building. A building that was a perfect representation of the city itself. Modern style merged with age-old classics. The central part of the building wore the signs of the age, while the modern wings on the sides, although initially appearing incongruous with the rest, effectively brought the building into the 21st century. In the center of the tall clock tower a blue GCPD glowed, while gargoyles positioned on the sides seemed to keep a watchful eye on the surroundings.

The interior proved to be a perfect reflection of its exterior and an even more appropriate deepening of Gotham's atmosphere. Dark, stuffy, dusty, shrouded in a yellowish light that seemed too dim to meet health and safety requirements. Cigarette smoke lingered in the air ignoring more regulations and laws. On old-fashioned cluttered desks stood modern computers bearing the Wayne Tech logo bringing an element of modernity to the age-old interior. From an office nearby, raised voices could be heard indicating a confrontation behind closed doors. A little farther behind bars, several criminals were taunting the cops, doing their worst to provoke them. Someone reported a theft, someone else a missing person, another a beating. Fragments of conversations between police officers drew a picture of deep-rooted crime.

"I'm telling you Frank, Maroni will go to war with Falcone! It's only a matter of time!" said one.

"Don't even joke like that! We don't need a gang war now when the Joker has escaped from Arkham!" countered the other.

"He didn't escape, he got busted out."

"By two chicks! Can you imagine?"

"Yeah, trust me, I can," the man laughed rubbishly, "chick who has the balls to bust Joker out of the Asylum must have some imagination if you know what I mean."

"Damnn man, you are sick!"

You shuddered at their words as if something disgusting had touched your skin. "What a pig," you thought and headed for the reception desk behind which a young policewoman was drowning in paperwork.

"Excuse me," you snapped her out of her work, "My name is Y/N Y/L/N, I was supposed to report to the police station to provide a statement."

"Y/N Y/L/N," the policewoman lifted her gaze from above the documents and looked at you with a gentle smile, "yes, yes…Arkham case…" she said more to herself while searching the computer for information, "Commissioner Gordon is in his office waiting for you. Please follow me," she stated and gestured you deeper into the building.

The commissioner's office situated on a small rise in the central part of the police station towered above everything as if emphasizing his presence and authority. A yellowish light shone through the glass walls from within, gently illuminating the entire precinct, bringing to your mind a faint ray of hope breaking through the darkness and gloom. Inside, the office was as messy and hazy as the entire post. Despite the large centrally located windows, it seemed murky and tight. The central part brightly lit contrasted so much with the black corners hidden in shadow. Thick cigarette smoke drifted against the yellow warm light. Cigarette butts spilled out of an ashtray that fought for its place on the desk with coffee cups and stacks of documents and folders. Stacks of files were crammed on shelves and in boxes piled against the wall and on the floor around the desk even more than everything else so far informing you of the scale of crime in Gotham. The commissioner sat behind his desk bent over the files with a cigarette hanging at his lips as if not paying attention to his surroundings.

"Commissioner Gordon," the policewoman began.

"I told you I am busy," Gordon muttered under his breath, "if nothing is burning or exploding Bullock can handle it."

"Miss Y/L/N to see you, Commissioner," she finished, announcing your presence forcing the commissioner to raise his eyes from over his papers and interrupt his work.

"Thank you, Alice," he turned to the policewoman changing his tone of voice, "find Bullock and send him to me please," he instructed, "Miss Y/L/N please sit down," he turned to you pointing to a chair on the other side of the desk.

You took the seat opposite him, and although you tried very hard to remain calm and composed you were sure that Gordon clearly saw nerves and uncertainty in your movements. You involuntarily looked around the room wanting to register every little detail, returning your gaze again and again to the dark corners shrouded in shadow.

"Would you like something to drink?" Gordon asked politely, "the coffee is dreadful but it gets the job done."

"No, thank you," you replied just as kindly.

"I see you're feeling better now," Gordon continued, "I'm glad, and thank you for showing up."

"Did I have a choice?" you asked without thinking, momentarily regretting not biting your tongue.

"We brought you in to give a statement, you are not under suspicion in any way," Gordon explained, "nor do we have any grounds to interrogate you against your will."

"So if I want I can leave and refuse to testify?" since you had already started there was no point in backing out.

"You can," Gordon confirmed, "but I think it would look very suspicious. Would you agree with me?"

"I think you're right," you admitted quietly.

The door opened abruptly and a second man entered the office. Medium height with a heavier physique, another picture of contrast and clash of two contradictions. His lengthy hair and several days of facial stubble expressed nonchalance and neglect, yet his suit blazer, shirt and tie showed professionalism and elegance.

"Miss Y/L/N, my partner, Detective Bullock," Gordon introduced the man.

"Right, so how was it with the Joker and his girlfriend," Bullock leaned against the glass wall of the office and asked directly, "We know you helped him escape, we know you were the driver of the car the Joker used to escape," Bullock didn't plan to play nice.

"I... it's not quite like that…" you began.

"During the escape, you broke more than a dozen laws, caused two accidents, and damage to public property," Bullock listed, "three people are in the hospital of which one is in serious condition and fighting for life."

"I'm sorry…" you cringed at the sound of your own words, knowing very well how pathetic that sounded.

"Sorry ain't gonna cover that sweetheart! You gotta work with us here."

"It's not like I had any choice…" you tried to defend quietly.

"We can book you for complicity and charge you with a fine," he added.

"And what about the assumption of innocence?" you looked at Bullock defiantly.

"It went to shit the moment you pressed on the gas."

"Miss Y/L/N, please tell us how it happened that you were dragged into this situation," Gordon interjected into the conversation, adopting the role of a good cop, "everything, with details."

"I didn't know," you looked at him trying to sound as sincere as you could, "I had no idea. I was asked by a friend to pick up her boyfriend, who was returning from a short vacation. I had no reason not to agree."

"Dr. Harleen Quinzel," Gordon inserted.

"That's right," you confirmed, seeing no point in hiding her identity.

"How long have you known each other?"

"Most of our lives," you replied, "we grew up together, went to school together, we used to be inseparable. Then, life happened and we just each went our separate ways. Harleen moved out to Gotham and I stayed in my hometown with my family and contact just stopped."

"And yet you decided to renew it," Gordon continued.

"I recently moved to Gotham, I don't know anyone here, I thought it was a good opportunity to renew an old friendship."

"Why did you move to Gotham?" Bullock cut in.

"For work."

"As a Joker's getaway driver?"

"No!" you denied angrily, "As an engineer at Wayne Enterprises. You can check it out. I was hired at Wayne Tech as an engineer. Lucius Fox is my direct supervisor."

"We know," Gordon stated, "what was happening on the eve of the Joker's escape? You were seen at 44 Below." A cold shiver ran down your spine when you realized how bad it all looked.

"I met Harleen for the first time in years," you began to explain, "I don't know the city very well yet, so I decided to rely on her."

"Didn't it seem suspicious to you that you were going to a club beneath a club?"

"She said her boyfriend knew the owner and that it was a VIP club," you replied, "I had no reason not to trust her."

"And then? Nothing seemed suspicious to you?"

"At times, sure," you admitted, "strange types watching us, drinks appearing out of nowhere, it was unusual, but I was happy to spend time with my friend, I didn't want to look like a freak, and also alcohol did its job."

"Please continue the story," Gordon encouraged.

"Everything was pretty normal until we were invited to the owner's office," you continued, and you had to admit to yourself that now as you were telling the story out loud in front of the cops, it sounded very bad, "Harleen called him Ozzy, a short corpulent man. There was another one, big and stocky, Harleen seemed to know him," you recalled from memory, "Butch, she called him Butch."

"Oswald Cobblepot and Butch Gilzean," Bullock threw in.

"There were a few others there as well, I think security guards," you continued, "I refused to go inside."

"Why?"

"Something felt off," you countered, "I'm sorry don't have a better explanation."

"What happened next?"

"Batman happened," you replied quietly, "Batman fell out of the ceiling," you repeated looking Gordon in the eyes, "he jumped out through the ceiling vent grate, beat everyone up in a snap, and told us to leave."

"Just like that?" Bullock questioned.

"I didn't ask him why," you furrowed your eyebrows, "I almost shit myself when he jumped out of the ceiling. Sorry, but I didn't give a shit about his reasons!"

"Alright, that was Saturday," you followed Gordon's voice with your eyes, "What happened on Sunday?"

You calmed your blood pressure, regretting not asking for a glass of water, and continued.

"As I mentioned earlier, Harleen asked me to go with her to pick up her boyfriend who she said was returning from a short vacation. She was very eager for me to meet him, so I didn't refuse even though I didn't feel like socializing after the Saturday events."

"After all that happened you just said yes?" Bullock inquired.

"I know how it looks, but I didn't even have time to think about it all," you replied, "more than that, I looked at everything through the prism of our friendship."

"Continue please," Gordon encouraged.

"Harleen didn't tell me where we were going, and I didn't ask. I was tired and lost in thought. In the car, we talked about her work at Arkham Asylum, and we got into a discussion about how dangerous that job was and how dangerous Gotham was. Trivial matters of life decisions and supporting each other, the kind that friends talk about. Although now as I recall that conversation, it takes on a whole different context…" you remarked quietly, "anyways, Harleen said she wanted to drive up to Arkham on the way because the doctors were donating blood on Sundays and now it was her turn. I had no reason to suspect a lie."

"What happened next?"

"Harleen went to the hospital and I stayed in front of the gate by the car. She was gone for a long time. And suddenly I heard an explosion and sirens! I was scared that something had happened!"

"Why didn't you run away? A normal person would have run away," Bullock threw in another question.

"I was worried about my friend! You have my recording! I called 911, reported the incident and seriously for a moment I wanted to go into the Asylum and look for her! I was afraid for her! But before I could go in I saw her from a distance running. I had her on the phone, she was screaming for me to start the engine. I thought she was running away from whatever was going on there. I didn't think twice! I jumped in the car and started the engine. She shouted, urged me on, everything happened very fast…" you recounted in one breath, "I didn't even look at the seat next to me. Only at the moment when the Joker put the gun to my head did I realize what was really happening."

"But you didn't stop the car," Bullock noted.

"Did you skip the part where the Joker put the gun to my forehead, detective?" you fumed angrily, "again, I've never been in a situation like that, obviously! I didn't know what to do! Everything happened very quickly! Only screaming and a gun to my forehead! I was trying not to kill us and at the same time not to kill anyone along the way! And then everything sped up even more when Batman appeared out of nowhere! So forgive me, Detective Bullock, but I didn't think, I reacted to the situation! Joker as soon as he saw Batman started shooting! I was afraid that he would shoot one of the people walking by, I was afraid that I would cause a crash! I tried to maneuver through traffic and not cause an accident!"

"How did it happen that you drove off the road?" Gordon asked softly.

"I did it on purpose," you replied as if slightly embarrassed.

"On purpose?"

"The situation escalated, I knew Harleen was a great swimmer, it seemed the only way out of the situation. I didn't want anyone innocent to get hurt."

"Weren't you concerned for yourself?"

"I wasn't thinking," you replied, "I wanted to stop all this. Driving off the road seemed the best solution at that moment."

"How did you get out of the car?"

"Batman pulled me out," you replied, "he saved my life…." you added in a half-whisper.

Silence fell when you finished telling the story. Gordon and Bullock exchanged meaningful glances as if they were wordlessly exchanging thoughts. Your gaze wandered once again to a dark corner of the commissioner's office hidden in shadows an anxious shiver ran down your spine. The shadow seemed to have a shape.

"Alright,'" Gordon broke the silence, "we have no more questions. Detective Bullock will escort you to the exit. Please do not leave the city and remain available should we have any more questions."

"Commissioner, what about Harleen? Have you found her? Is she safe?" you asked unable to hide the worry in your voice.

"Harleen Quinzel remains wanted with a warrant for her arrest. Her whereabouts are currently unknown," Gordon stated before thanking you again for your time and closing the door behind you.

Gordon watched Bullock and Y/N walking away for a moment before turning the lock on the door and sitting down again behind the desk, lighting a cigarette and taking a drag while slowly letting the smoke out.

"What do you think?" he asked into the space.

"I think she is telling the truth," a growly voice answered from the shadows.

"Yes, I think so too. Poor girl. I haven't seen such bad luck in one person for a long time," he sighed heavily.

"Though just because she doesn't lie doesn't change the fact that we have to keep an eye on her. Her history with Qunizel and genuine concern for her safety makes me think that Miss Y/L/N still has a role to play. Either of her own will or in spite of it."

"You want me to put APB on her?"

"No. I will handle this myself."

"I'm sure you've heard about the pilot," Gordon added after a moment, letting out a puff of smoke, "have you had a chance to check out his apartment yet?"

"I've got Nightwing and Robin working on it as we speak," Batman replied, "I'll let you know when I know something."

"Batman, I don't think there's any connection. The guy hung himself!" Gordon began to think aloud receiving only a cold breath of air in response. The shadow was just an empty shadow again. Batman was gone.

***

Across town in a small suite on the second floor of an apartment building once lived Marc Phillips. Marc was an average man, working as a car mechanic by day, earning just enough to live an average life and pay alimony. Marc wasn't proud of his average life, but he was proud of his avionette. A beautiful little plane that he loved more than his own wife, although he never admitted it. He cherished it, cared for it, looked after it like it was the most precious treasure. Mark didn't quite like his average life, but he loved the moments when he took the avionette into the air above streets and buildings and skyscrapers. Yes, in those moments Marc felt he was alive. How happy he was when his closest friend found a lovely woman he wanted to marry. She was a good, honest woman, the kind Marc had met very few in his life. How proud he was when he was able to offer them a private flight in his beautiful avionette for their dream honeymoon. How despaired he was when all that joy splashed into a wet stain on the dirty pavement. Marc knew that if he was gone no one would take care of his beautiful avionette, his greatest pride. As he put the loop around his neck, he imagined how rust ruined and ate away the red paint, how moisture covered the blue with a foul green hue. Yet that evening Marc wanted to feel free. He wanted all his fears and anxieties to disappear. He wanted to rise above his mediocre life one last time. His last flight, however, turned out to be short, just half a meter, which was given to him by a knocked-down chair. Then came the darkness.

"Bills, payment notices, signed divorce papers, nothing interesting," Tim was browsing through a dresser drawer, looking for anything that might provide a link to the investigation.

"Standard rope probably purchased at Home Depot. Good strong weave, zero rush, looks like he was tying it for two days," Dick looked closely at the marks, "he knew full well what he was doing. The rope was woven tightly with a triple twist, leaving no chance of breaking. The length was chosen almost perfectly, considering the height of the chair."

"Poor bastard," Tim muttered under his breath, "what do we know about his psychiatrist?"

"Professor Jonathan Crane. A renowned psychiatrist, specializing mainly in trauma, PTSD, and phobias. Born in Gotham, he graduated from Gotham University with honors. He later worked at Metropolis General Hospital and the Royal Memorial Hospital in Star City. Recently, he has become the head of the psychiatric wing at Elliot Memorial."

"Isn't that chick who broke the Joker out of Asylum a psychiatrist as well?" Tim asked inquisitively.

"Hey, just because we have two psychiatrists on file doesn't mean they have any connection to each other, Robin," Dick corrected his brother.

"A bit too much of a coincidence don't you think?" Tim countered and returned to searching through the drawers, "Hey Nightwing?!"

"Yup?"

"Didn't Batman seem more cryptic than usual to you today?"

"Yup!"

"He's hiding something."

"Yup!"

"Do you think it has something to do with that girl?"

"Yup!"

"Hey, I found the pills!"

"Good job Robin!" Nightwing applauded as he walked over to his brother, "Damn, a whole drawer of pills."

"Sedatives, sleeping pills, antidepressants," Robin looked at each bottle separately to finally stop at one, "these I don't know," he stated lifting a small bottle to the light.

"Neither do I," Nightwing stated looking at the pill, "take them, take them all. This is the only trace so far."

"Not quite!" Robin grinned, raising the folder of documents to eye level, "hospital discharge and diagnosis!" he announced with a smirk.

"Jackpot! Our job is done here."

***

If one would raise his eyes upward and look at the evening sky casting its blackness over the city he would see nothing. He would not see the black figure rising and falling between the buildings, spreading his cape and gliding above the city. He would not have noticed the calm face and keen eyes scanning the city intently. He wouldn't have noticed the discreet turns of his head picking up on disturbing sounds. He would not have heard his cape flapping in the wind, would not have noticed the worry painted on his face at the sight of the huddled figure sitting on the edge of the bridge leading to Gotham North. From the street, it was hard to see the black figure in the starless sky. Yet Batman could see everything. He perched on the building's rooftop close enough to see everything yet far enough away to remain unnoticed. She was sitting there, exactly where the metal railings had been until two weeks ago. Black leather jacket, heavy boots, her hair loose and dancing in the wind, she seemed distant. Gazing into the rough waters of the bay, she seemingly carelessly waved her legs hanging off the bridge. "Why would she come here?" he wondered, "what is she hiding?"

For a moment he thought of leaving her there. For a moment he considered turning his back to her and carrying on with his patrol. For a moment he was convinced that he shouldn't approach her, that this was a very bad move. And yet there was something wrong with the sad picture he was observing, something that wouldn't let him just walk away. Zooming in on her face, he realized that something was missing. He was missing the feisty smile he had come to know, the carefree laugh and that adorable embarrassment. The picture was broken. He couldn't simply ignore it. He gently jumped off the roof and soared toward her landing softly a few steps away, careful not to scare her.

"Don't jump," he murmured quietly as he approached her slowly. She shuddered and turned abruptly, too abruptly for his liking.

"Batman…" she gasped with widened eyes.

"You're not planning to jump are you?"

"No," she replied shortly, "what are you doing here?"

"I'm the one who should be asking you that."

"I'm waiting," she replied without taking her eyes off him.

"Waiting for what?"

"A miracle, I guess,'" she quipped, "my phone died in the water, and Harleen doesn't respond to my messages on Insta, Messenger and Twitter. Don't know why, but I was kinda hoping that I would find her here."

"You shouldn't be looking for her."

"She's my friend!" she fumed angrily, "if nothing else at least she owes me an explanation."

"Let it go. She has made her choices."

"It's so easy for you to judge people Batman?" she asked and looked away gazing once again at the water below, "it's so easy for you to cross someone out? Maybe it's not what you think it is?"

Batman did not answer immediately. Part of Bruce knew he shouldn't, yet he drowned out that voice. He sat down next to her on the edge of the bridge and fixed his eyes on the raising waves.

"Then tell me how you think it is…" out of the corner of his eye he saw her flinch slightly surprised by his action, but she did not take her gaze off the water.

"Harleen is a good person. All her life she has wanted to help people. That's why she chose her specialty. She has always said that there is a stigma against people with mental disorders, especially those who commit crimes. She objected to the statement that the criminally insane cannot be cured. She always said that she would prove to ignorant people that illness, any illness, can be cured or at least mitigated," Y/N said and Batman listened in silence, "Does that sound to you like a description of someone you treat like a criminal?"

"No," he admitted, "but I, unlike you, know something you don't."

"Which is?"

"I know who the Joker is."

"Another reason to consider her his victim, not his accomplice," Y/N stated stubbornly, "you know she's a wanted criminal?"

"I know."

"I'll find her first and prove that she, like me, is just an innocent victim of circumstance," fierceness flashed in her eyes and Bruce realized that there were no words that could stop her, "I'll find her before the cops find her, before you do!" she furrowed her brows angrily and tightened her hands on the edge of the bridge. Bruce knew this fierceness well. He saw it many times in Dick's eyes, Jason's, Tim's, in his own each time he looked in the mirror.

"You almost drowned," he tried to appeal to her sense of self-preservation, "you almost died in there," he looked at her but she stubbornly stared into the water.

"You saved me…" she whispered finally, "And I thank you for that," he did not comment. "Thank you also for sending paramedics to my house."

"You're welcome."

"How did you know where I live?"

"I didn't," he lied, "The policewoman knew."

"Right…"

"Leave the Harleen case to me and the cops," he insisted gently, "two weeks ago you almost drowned. Leave it. Go back to your normal life, to your family, to your job."

"I can't…" she replied before adding after a brief pause, "you're right, I almost died. I should have died. Every day I get from now on is a gift. I can't just go back to work and normal life. I can't leave her."

"I can't let you put yourself in danger and potentially hinder the investigation."

"Then help me,"" she snapped her eyes and looked straight into his own, "Will you help me, Batman?"

***

Chapter six: Choices that define us ~~***~~

Author note: It took a while but here we are at the end of chapter five! Thank you for your patience. I'm really trying to publish chapters as consistently as I can but unfortunately, there is work and other responsibilities. And these chapters, well they do take time. I hope it was worth the wait! We had slow down a bit, take a breather after chapter four, tighten the plot, so we could pick up the pace again. Besides, I am really enjoying slow world-building, adding characters, adding new pieces to the story, connecting the dots. I do hope that it will pay off at the end. I've been asked for a tag list and I took the liberty of adding some of you so please let me know if you want to be added or removed. I thank you all for your DMs, comments and reblogs. Even if I do not respond to all of them, I assure I read them all, and each brings a smile to my face. Enough of me bubbling, gotta start working on chapter six cos I kinda miss Bruce ;) For now, as always Dear Reader, I thank you for reading.

~~***~~ Tag list: @clown-princesa @theclassicvinyldragon @blondwhowrites @green-parx @batgirlspain

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elena-mayfair · 1 year

Text

I am innocent

Paring: Bruce Wayne x f!reader, Batman x f!reader Warnings: rating T+/M, blood and gore, violence, strong language, themes of depression Summary: Old friends, wrong decisions. The day after the party at 44 Below, which had an unexpected ending, you find yourself in a new nightmare. After all, all you were meant to do was to do with your friend and pick up her boyfriend from a short vacation. And so you did... How one small decision can flip your whole world upside down? Word count: 7.2k Note: Gifs are not mine, credit to the authors.

Chapter one: Bright future, dark city Chapter two: Curious people Chapter three: Madness and old friends

***

In the darkness, you could see nothing but flickering green lights that grimly reflected off the dirty, wet walls. They dimmed, fading out completely only to once more illuminate the corridor that stretched before you a moment later. With your bare feet, you took a few steps, and the sound of footsteps on the murky floor echoed eerily through the empty corridor. Somewhere in the distance, a door creaked, with a metallic sound that made you shudder. You froze. Your heart should be beating with an accelerated beat, yet it beat steadily. Your mind should be panicking, yet it was completely quiet and calm. A metallic creak sounded as if it grew louder, closer, yet you did not move from your place. Instead, you calmly turned and looked behind you. In the distance at the end of the corridor, a wide-open door invited you into a room lit by a warm pleasing light. It seemed as if the walls were whispering "come…enter the light" and why shouldn't you? The light was warm, with a yellowish hue, like the rays of the sun lighting up the sky on a warm summer afternoon. They promised warmth on skin that was so frigid from the surrounding cold. The light seemed to shine more as if it were stronger as if it was calling you, but you turned your eyes away from it and looked in the opposite direction. There was darkness at the other end of the corridor, endless deep darkness. It was silent, it said nothing, quietly extending its arms to you, spreading its black cloak around you. It wasn't inviting, it was offering. And yet the light was so bright, so lovely, illuminating the darkness with a golden glow. The two steps you took toward it were tentative, one brought a metallic creak right next to you, and the other made the flickering green light go out again. In the darkness, its golden glow shone even brighter, luring with warmth, tempting with solace. And yet you did not run toward it. A strange shiver ran down your back and you turned away again towards the darkness. It was there, watching you as if waiting for your move.

The light began to whisper quiet words of encouragement, the darkness was silent, and you turned your gaze away from it and took another step toward the light. The light in its splendor seemed not to be threatening, its warmth, after all, could not burn…. could not…. its glow, so bright that it seemed to blind you, in its glow, you would be visible, in the light there was no shelter. You moved uncertainly toward it wanting to escape the dampness and gloom that surrounded you. "No…" you heard a quiet murmur from behind you. You turned again and looked into the darkness and it seemed to be looking at you. You looked at it and it looked back at you and the longer you looked the less scary and empty it seemed to you. In its shadowy depths, it became warm, as if soothing, safe. It didn't tempt, invite or call, it was just there, waiting for you. You knew that in it you would find solace, you knew that in it you would find strength, that in it you would be safe.

You took two confident steps toward it when suddenly the green light of the lamps flashed brightly, hurting your eyes. You took two steps forward and discovered that the dampness of the floor beneath your bare feet had changed as if it had thickened. You looked down at the red shimmering green and fear ran down your back for the first time. You looked at the dirty damp walls around you, they seemed to be closer to you, and red was also oozing from between the gray tiles. "Step into the light…" you heard close by your ear. "No," you replied angrily and threw yourself running towards the darkness.

The walls around you seemed to close in on you. The metallic creaks sounded louder, closer and faster but you ran. You ran through blood and dirt, through blinding green and the burning heat of the light on your back, through fear and anger, you ran toward the darkness, and it waited, waited with arms spread wide, with the cloak of the night ready to envelop you. You ran and amidst the echo of your bare feet on the murky floor you could hear maniacal taunting laughter.

***

"You are awfully quiet today," Harleen looked at you out of the corner of her eye without taking her sight from the road, "Batman gave you creeps didn't he?!"

"Nah, it's not that," you replied quietly, "I didn't sleep very well."

"Hangover?"

"Nightmare," the Gotham streets you passed seemed so peaceful. You watched through the windshield, the city street, buildings, alleys, parks and people immersed in their daily affairs. It seemed to you that people in Gotham were never in a hurry, were never rushing anywhere. They always walk with a calm poised step as if they were challenging the city. "Try me! Just try to ruin my day today!" they seemed to say, "I challenge you! Whatever you throw at me today I'll keep going!" they seemed to cast challenging glances into space. It seemed to you that it should be quite different. Living in a city like this, they should rather walk hunched over, looking down at their feet, not raising their eyes, hurrying to get to their destination as quickly as possible. But no, Gotham citizens were proud, Gotham citizens were tough, Gotham citizens didn't run away. They lived here because they loved this city.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Harleen snapped you out of your reverie.

"I'd rather not," you replied, "sorry Harl, it was a fucked up dream, nothing to talk about. It just gave me the creeps and I can't shake it off."

"Hey, at least you'll have something to talk about tomorrow to Crane!" Harleen smiled brightly.

"Hey Doc, on Saturday I went to a party that was crashed by Batman, and on Sunday I dreamed of spooky corridors, blood, and whispering lights!" you snarled, " how are the rooms in that Asylum of yours, Harl? Can you get me an all-inclusive with a view overlooking the bay?" Harleen only laughed and answered nothing, "Why do you work there Harl? I've been reading about this Asylum, and damn, they describe the place eerily…" you wondered, "criminally insane patients locked in padded cells. Don't you think it's…I don't know, dangerous?"

"Gotham is dangerous, and yet you moved here," Harleen countered, "why?"

"For work," you replied, knowing very well where the conversation was headed.

"Wayne Enterprises," Harleen emphasized distinctly, "sweetie, you got lucky! Such a pristine company!"

"I'm well aware of that! I didn't think anything good would happen to me yet in my life, and yet. The offer came down unexpectedly, and I would be stupid if I turned it down.

"I'm happy for ya!"

"Thanks, Harls," you replied with a smirk.

"It would be nice if you said the same about my work," she added irritated, "that you're happy for me too."

"Hey, that's not fair! You know very well that I'm happy but also worried. These are not normal patients."

"Maybe they aren't, but you can't deny there's an element of glamour to these super-criminals."

"Well, fair enough," you admitted.

"Besides, I don't see ya runnin' away from Gotham!"

"That's different."

"How's that any different huh? You are in danger on the street, while you walk to work, at work, as much as me! There ain't no difference here!"

"You making this sound like Gotham is some kind of hell hole forgotten by everyone…"

"You'll see…" she chuckled and took a right turn on Field Avenue toward Cauldron.

"What's that supposed to mean!" you furrowed your eyebrows angrily.

"Nothin' nothin'," she brushed off, "just after some time you'll see Gotham's true colors."

"It can't be all that bad…" you grimaced, musingly looking out the car window, "I don't think these people are going anywhere. I believe there are good people in Gotham, like truly good people."

"Like who!?"

"Bruce Wayne?" you replied without thinking, immediately regretting it.

"Bruce Wayne?" Harleen repeated with amusement, "What can you know about Billioner Prince of Gotham?!"

"Honestly, not much," you lied with an innocent smile. You didn't want to tell her about the few moments you spent with the CEO of Wayne Enterprises. Perhaps she was still the Harleen you knew, but there was also something new about her, something different, something that made you unsure if you could trust her again. "It just seems to me that someone with as much power and influence as he has could do plenty of bad, could use his company to do evil, and yet he seems to be doing a lot of good for Gotham and its people," you explained.

"And how do you know he's not using his company for evil?" Hareleen questioned.

"I don't know," you admitted, "but I don't think so. Somehow it wouldn't make sense to me with what he's doing for the city."

"Oh dear," Harleen smiled kindly, "you've always been an idealist, and I can see that nothing will change that!"

"A manufacturing defect," you joked, "where are we going anyway?" you asked as you observed in the side mirror the city getting farther and farther away.

"To Arkham Asylum!" Harleen smiled broadly seeing your surprised face, "Oh don't sweat it! I have to run one errand at work. Sunday is usually quiet, so those doctors who can, donate blood. There are often shortages in Gotham hospitals. Sometimes we joke that the last thing we still need in Gotham is a vampire. Today it's my turn to donate blood."

"You see, there are good people in Gotham!" you exclaimed.

"Hopeless idealist," Harleen scoffed.

"'Cynic,'" you shot back.

"I wanted you to come with me so I would have a backup driver," Harleen continued, "after donating blood I'll probably be a little weak. You don't mind, do you?"

"No, come on!" you replied, "You should have said something before! I'll drive!"

On the lonely Mercey Island, far away from the city, the gates to the Lovecraftian land of nightmares were located. A great iron gate separated the city and the gloomy grounds, a gate guarded by two large angel statues. They leaned over everyone who passed through the gate, looking with sad eyes as if despairing over the fate of those who entered the Asylum. Beyond the gate, amidst towering trees and green vines stretched the Victorian campus. Old stone walls, overhead a line of dilapidated wings, seemed to ward off all those who would dare to wander here. The steeply pitched roofs of the numerous towers were deceptively reminiscent of churches, and yet you knew that the people behind the Asylum's walls did not say their prayers. The countless shutters, shimmered in the pale moonlight rising in the sky, but the beauty of the tinted glass was hidden behind the thick iron bars mounted on their outside. Round towers and turrets rose toward the sky as if trying to distract the eye from the nightmare that hid behind the greenish walls destroyed by time. The fog from over the bay seemed to cover the entire campus as if even it wanted to hide Asylum from the eyes of innocent people who got lost here. However, you knew very well that no one ventured into this area by mistake.

The longer you looked at the landscape in front of you, the stronger the belief grew within you that the interior of the Asylum looked just like in your dream. Although you knew it was impossible, after all, it was a hospital, and yet, you couldn't shake the feeling that behind the walls of the Asylum was anything but a hospital. You wondered what nightmares lurked behind the grim walls. What horrors were experienced by those who were confined behind the creepy walls? What dark fantasies conjured up by diseased minds filled the spooky corridors.

"Perhaps I should visit?" an intrusive thought popped into your head, "maybe that's where I belong, maybe that's where I should be…" the questions haunted your mind. That grim realization of the lies you told yourself every day, the lies you told your therapist, those half-truths you tried so hard to believe, those remnants of hope and strength which you tried to nurture within yourself. "Everything will work out somehow," you repeated to yourself, "I just need to push forward," you convinced yourself, "I just need to stay busy," you insisted. And even though you tried hard to believe that this is how it would be, that quiet voice in the back of your head whispered "you are fucked…nothing is gonna be okay."

You looked away from the Asylum's spooky walls and looked up to the sky. The pale silver moon rising in the sky was vividly reminiscent of the signal brightening Gotham's night sky, the signal of its mysterious protector. "There is light, it may be pale and give no warmth but there is light…" you thought and your mind involuntarily brought back a recent memory when standing on the observation deck of Wayne Tower, you first saw the Bat Signal in the night sky. You smiled faintly at the memory of the sky-blue eyes. "Maybe everything will work out somehow after all…."

A stream of light appeared out of nowhere in the night sky snapping you out of your thoughts. First one, then another, followed by one more, and the next. One by one the lights pierced the sky cutting its blackness into pieces just as the sound of a siren cut the silence seemingly out of nowhere. You snapped and ran towards the gate trying to spot Harleen. Something had happened, something bad, and your friend was at the center of it. The siren howled relentlessly, drowned out for only a moment by the rumbling explosion.

Hardly thinking, you reached for the phone and, without taking your eyes off the darkness, you dialed 911.

"And here I was thinking it was going to be a quiet Sunday," Dick muttered under his breath while hurriedly securing the clasp on his gloves and boots.

"I can handle this on my own," Bruce countered as he headed toward the car.

"Sure you can! But I didn't come from Bludhaven just to sit on my ass and be backup Oracle to you!" Dick chuckled while securing two Escrima Sticks on his back, "Besides, it's Joker we are talking about here…."

"I know…" Bruce replied without looking at him, "Jason could use your company…."

"Jason could use some field training but that's not something you will agree on…" Dick did not hide his anger.

"I will not," came the short emotionless reply, "not yet."

The car door slammed shut with a clatter. Although Dick was hitting his thirties, his temperament reminded Bruce of a teenager. His usual optimism and cheerful nature sometimes dimmed, giving way to anger and defiance.

"I'll lead," in a tone of voice Bruce left no room for objection, "you follow," he finished and started the engine.

"I am not your sidekick anymore you know that right?" Dick chuckled in an annoyed tone.

"No you are not," Bruce confirmed, "but you are still my ward."

"Ma'am please calm down," a female voice on the other end of the line pleaded, "where are you now?"

"I'm standing in front of the gates of Arkham Asylum, as I said," you replied into the phone, "I heard a rumbling, like an explosion! Can't you hear the sirens! There is something bad going on there! Please send someone!"

"Please calm down, the police are on their way," the woman assured, "please get away from the Asylum area immediately."

"I can't!"

"This is a matter of your safety!"

"I can't!!!" you shouted into the phone, "my friend is in the building!!!" your voice broke.

"I understand but you are in a dangerous area," the woman continued relentlessly, "please move away from the Asylum grounds."

"I won't leave her there!"

"Ma'am!"

"Fuck it!!!" you fumed furiously disconnecting the call. The sirens howled continuously but you couldn't see any movement in the darkness. You swung the gate open but saw no guard. Holding the phone to your ear, silently begging Harleen to answer, you took two steps into the Asylum grounds when suddenly you spotted a wave of blonde hair in the distance and your friend's voice finally spoke into the phone.

"START THE ENGINE!!!" she shouted into the phone.

You darted running to the car and started the engine. Your hands on the steering wheel began to sweat as you quickly began to turn around positioning the car to face the exit. You glanced nervously in the rearview mirror again and again, keeping your foot close to the pedals ready to drive away. Your heart was pounding like crazy as you tried to fasten your seat belt while keeping your eyes on the mirror. She was running and she wasn't alone.

Everything happened in a flash. Before you had a chance to look at the other person's face the back and front passenger doors opened abruptly and the car was filled with Harleen's commanding shouts.

"DRIVE!!! DRIVE!!!" she commanded shouting, "DRIVE FOR FUCK SAKE!!!" she urged from the back seat.

Clutch, first gear, gas, second gear, more gas, third gear, fourth gear. Ignoring the pleading whine of the engine, you accelerated as fast as you could on the winding roads leading to the Asylum.

"Y/N!!! STEP ON IT!!!" Harleen urged with a shout, glancing behind her time and again through the rear window.

"I CAN'T! WE GONNA CRUSH!!!" you shouted maneuvering through the narrow roads trying to maintain control of the car.

"If you won't drive faster we're gonna be fucked!!!"

"Harleen what's going on!?"

"JUST DRIVE!"

"HARL!!!"

"Haven't you heard her?" you felt the cold touch of metal on your temple, the gun flashed in the rearview mirror, "drive."

The frantic heart suddenly froze as if in mid-strike. Out of the corner of your eye you looked to the right, with your eyes following the hand that put the gun to your temple. Green hair, white face, black eyes, a wide grin….smiled.

"Joker…" you whispered breathlessly.

"Oh so you've heard of me!" he smiled even wider, "Harley! You didn't say you told her about me!"

"Oh, Puddin' there was no time!" Harleen sounded sweet, even infantile, "but she is my best friend of all time!!! of course I mentioned you!" she leaned forward across the seat looking at the gun he was holding in his hand, "please don't point a gun on my friend," she smiled sweetly.

"Yeah puddin'," you growled dodging a tree that grew out of nowhere in front of the hood, "I'm driving aren't I?"

"But if I'm gonna put a bit pressure," Joker pressed the gun stronger to your temple, "you gonna drive faster!"

"How the fuck do you want me to drive faster!?" nerves were raging inside you making you unable to control your words, "I'm going as fast as I can!"

"Are you sure?" Joker asked releasing the safety lock.

"Puddin please stop…"

"SHUT UP HARLEY!!!" he growled furiously causing Haleen to squirm in the back seat and he turned his attention back to you, "And you, stop being feisty with me and drive faster!"

The tires squealed as the car sped down Field Avenue toward Mercy Bridge. You sped trying to dodge passing cars, focusing all your attention on the road ahead ignoring the gun pressed to your temple. Fifth gear, switching lanes to the right, to the left, to the right again, light braking, fourth gear, left lane, fifth gear, gas to the floor. You threw a furious glance in the mirror but Harleen only smiled innocently.

"That's all you got?" you threw back furiously, "an innocent smile? Is that all?"

"Oh come on! Don't you look at me like that!" Harleen shrugged her shoulders and began to pin her hair into two side ponytails, "I ain't gonna talk right now! Not when you so angry with me!"

"And you are surprised exactly why!!!" you glanced at Joker, "you can lower your gun, I don't need convincing."

"I can, but I won't," he replied, "you see there is a balance of power right now. I hold the gun, you do what I say. If you won't I'll pull the trigger and your brain will be splattered all over the shield."

You looked at Harleen's reflection in the mirror but she didn't react.

"If you do this, you'll crash…" you stated struggling to control your voice.

"Do I look to you like somebody who cares?!" a wide grin once again entered his white face.

"Where do you want me to go?"

"Down through Miagani Island to North Gotham."

"It's a closed road!"

"Then we gonna open it!!!"

"How the fuck do you want me to open a closed bridge?!!!"

"You gonna drive through!!!

"Guys…." came from the back seat.

"I don't have that kind of skill!!!"

"Oh sugar I beg the differ!" the Joker quipped and lowered his gun, "You are an excellent getaway driver!!!" he exclaimed gleefully, "we should do that more often!"

"Guys!"

"Fuck you!" you growled.

"Fiesty!" he smiled as if the whole situation amused him, "I like it!"

"GUYS!!!" Harleen shouted, "We've got company!"

You glanced in the rearview mirror hoping to see the lights of the police cars catching up with you. However, there was no red and blue reflected in the mirror, only blinding white. You looked away for a moment and when the light softened you looked again. Out of the white emerged a car shining in metallic black. On big tires, low to the ground it cut through the busy streets of Kingston instantly closing the distance between you.

"And now the fun begins!" The Joker lowered the window, leaned out, and opened fire. The rush of air did not drown out the loud gunshots of the Magnum 44.

"Just drive…" Harleen looked at you apologetically.

"COME ON BATS!!!" Joker taunted firing in the direction of the approaching vehicle once again.

The vehicle was approaching mercilessly. Harleen was beginning to panic in the back seat. Joker fired two more shots. The cars to your relief seemed to move out of your way. You turned left down through Grand Avenue, toward the closed bridge. Another two shots. Two cars in the right lane collided. You dashed through the city ignoring red lights. Another gunshot. "People…" you thought in horror. The car was right behind you. The rush of wheezing air drowned out the shouts of the Joker. A bridge leading toward North Gotham loomed in the distance. Another shot rang out. The bridge was getting closer and closer. With one hand you tried to unlock the seatbelt. A black car hit the bumper. A haunting maniacal laugh tore through the swish of air. You mangled the belt release.

"What are you doing!" Harleen asked in horror.

"You're a great swimmer," you smiled mischievously then made a sudden, sharp right turn sending the car off the road straight into the deep waters of Gotham bay.

You had always thought that a car plunging at high speed into the water would cut through it like a torpedo. The truth turned out to be painfully different. The car hit the surface of the water with the impact of hitting the wall. The world went black in front of your eyes for a moment when the crash yanked you from your seat. First came a sharp pain in your shoulder, a split second later a piercing headache followed only by a cold. A cold that grew with each passing second. You looked to your right but the Joker was nowhere to be found. Through the open window, water was rapidly flowing in, instantly filling the car, dragging it to the bottom. You tried to open your door but it was too late. The pressure was too high, the door would not budge. You looked back but Harleen was gone too. The back door was open, letting in water in a rushing torrent. You tried to free yourself from your seat, to get out through the window or the back door. But the pressure was rising rapidly, you couldn't move. You clung to the seat next to you in a desperate attempt to swim outside the car, fighting the flooding stream with all your strength. The icy water that reached your shoulders made it painful to breathe. "I have to get out of here…" you reached out again this time catching hold of the door. You couldn't. The water rushed in washing your hand away. It reached your neck. Panic. Panic and fear. "I can't get out…." you tried again, to no avail, "I have to get out…" you drew breath when the water covered you completely pulling you to the bottom. The car was completely underwater, and you reached toward the open window one last time.

A gloved hand emerged from the dark depths of the water and behind it two shining points against the blackness. It grabbed your hand and moved it away from the door. Faint light illuminated the depths moments later, revealing the shape of Batman. With a hand gesture, he ordered you to move away from the door. Your lungs were beginning to burn from holding your breath as you slid as far away from the door as possible. Something flashed, a muffled explosion rose bubbling to the surface. Batman yanked the door open and tore it away from the car, opening an escape way for you. White dots looked at you and extended a hand toward you. You gripped it tightly and he pulled your body out of the seat. The sudden movement made the air escape from your mouth. You began to suffocate. You were struggling but he only placed his arms around your waist pulling you tightly to him. You tried to hold the air but couldn't. Pain, burning pain was tearing at your lungs. He only gestured with his hand forcing you to look at him then removed the mask covering his mouth from his face and pressed it firmly to yours. You grabbed it and desperately gasped for air. Batman pressed you tighter against him then pulled something from behind his belt and launched himself toward the surface. The pull made him grip you tighter as the momentum carried you swiftly toward the surface.

The water broke above your head. The cold air hit you in the face as you rose above the surface of the water high into the air. You opened your terrified eyes wide. You were flying. For a moment you flew high above the water and he held you tight. You flew, in terror continuing to press the mask to your face. You flew toward the bridge. The water stayed far below you.

"Put your legs around me," he ordered, "otherwise the impact will break your bones."

You did as he ordered. A moment later, Batman stood heavily on the concrete bridge and looked at you. Water dripped from his black cawl, running down his exposed cheeks.

"You can let go now."

As if in slow motion you put your feet on the ground and they refused to obey. They yielded beneath you as if those few minutes had made them forget how to function. Batman held you steady. Gently he sat you down on the ground and removed the mask from your face.

"Leave it off," he ordered, pulling the mask out of your hands, "you're going to hyperventilate."

"Right…" you replied soundlessly.

"Stay here," he ordered once again after which he jumped off the bridge and soared toward the water.

For a moment you sat in complete bewilderment staring at Batman's majestic shape against the rough black waters of the bay. Clenching your hands tightly on the oxygen mask, you let the fresh air slowly fill your inflamed lungs. Water dripped down your face entering your eyes and mouth but you didn't wipe it off your face. You simply sat, staring into the space in front of you, watching as time after time he sank and rose above the surface of the water. "He's looking for them…" a single thought appeared in your numb mind, "he's looking for the Joker and Harleen…." another one appeared. Slowly you regained a grasp of reality. "I'm shaking…" you realized regaining awareness of your frozen drenched body. You felt the cold. You felt pain. First a splitting headache, then a pain in your left shoulder, you regained feeling, and awareness…that crippling awareness…. "Holy fuck…" dread filled your whole mind, "holy fuck…I drove a car off the bridge…" thoughts began to appear one after another, "fuck, fuck fuck! I helped Joker escape Arkham Asylum!" the shocking realization of what just happened hit you. Ignoring the pain and shaking body, you rested both hands on the asphalt in an attempt to get up, "I need to get out of here…"

"I would not do that if I were you," you heard a male voice behind you. You ignored him as you tried to get to your feet, thoughts flashed through your head one after another and each one said the same thing "I need to get out of here." You knelt down on one knee and resting your hand on your thigh, searching for any remaining strength in yourself, you tried to get up.

"Hey hey hey stop!" a male voice repeated but there was no threat in it, there was only concern, "You shouldn't get up!" you didn't listen. A strong hand took you under the arm, while the other you felt on your stiffened back. Assuring you against falling, he gently lifted you to your feet, "okay, stubborn you!" he chuckled, "there, you're standing, happy now?"

"Yes…" You replied weakly and looked at him. A black and blue suit, with an emblem that looked vaguely like a bird's head, stretched across his chest. Eyes hidden beneath a mask, black hair falling unruly over a face that to your surprise smirked, "there is more of you?" she muttered while staring at him.

"I'm pretty sure I'm the only one," he smiled kindly, "are you alright? Is something hurting you?" he asked while keeping his hands on your shoulders.

"Yes," you lied, "thank you for helping me up. I'll be on my way…"

"I don't think that's an option," he replied gently.

"I…" your head pounded with pain, "I appreciate the concern and rescue but…"

"I think you misunderstood me. You're not going anywhere until…"

"Listen!" you interrupted him, "I had a really really really bad day!" you looked at him defiantly, "Like really fucking bad alright? You don't look like a cop to me, so unless you want to arrest me, I'd really like to go home."

A gust of air brought with it the sound of a flapping cape. Batman landed firmly beside you and at the sight of him all the courage you had found within you suddenly disappeared. Water dripped from his mask as he looked at you with his mere gaze holding you in place.

"Joker and the other woman are gone," he informed the other without taking his gaze off you.

"You have no right to hold me…" you began weakly.

"What are you doing here? Who are you? What were you doing with the Joker?" a low stern voice made you suddenly feel small, "answer me."

"This is a misunderstanding…" sounded more pathetic than you wanted it to.

"This is a misunderstanding…" the words sounded more pleading than you wanted to.

"Who are you?" he repeated the question and you remained silent, "where were you going?" he pressed in a cold poised voice.

"The Joker ordered me to cross the closed bridge towards North Gotham, I don't know anything else," you answered.

"Old Amusement Mile…" the man in the blue and black suit cautiously let go of your shoulders as if still making sure you were able to stand on your own two feet, "Batman….he's probably planning to hole up in the former amusement park."

"Go there," Batman ordered, "observe, don't get involved, wait for me."

"Batman…" the other attempted to argue.

"Do not engage Nightwing," Batman repeated harshly. Nightwing did not try to argue again. He bowed slightly to you with a small smile on his face, "you should get that shoulder checked," he advised after which he shot a rope high above his head and launched himself into the air towards the pillars of the bridge.

"Awesome…" a sigh of amazement escaped your lips.

"Who are you?" the hard question forced you to return your gaze to Batman.

"My name is Y/N Y/L/N, " you replied gathering all your confidence, "I have nothing to do with the Joker."

"I find that hard to believe," he commented drily.

"I'm not lying to you! I'm innocent! This is all some big fucking misunderstanding!"

"Innocent people don't hang out at 44 Below," he stated, and although you couldn't see his eyes, you felt as if they were burning through you, penetrating your flesh skin and bones, seeing your thoughts and feelings, exposed, unveiled for him to read.

"This is also a misunderstanding…" you sighed and sat back down on the ground. You felt weak.

"Speak."

"I'm new to Gotham, I moved here a little over a month ago…" you began your explanation, "I don't know why innocent people don't hang out at 44 Below, I don't know…I didn't know what this place was…" you hung your head trying to piece the events together, "I guess I didn't know what kind of place Gotham is."

Batman remained silent.

"I went out with a friend," you continued, "we haven't seen each other in years. She moved to Gotham, like me, for work, only that it was some time ago. We've known each other all our lives, so I thought it was a good opportunity to reconnect. She was the one who took me to the club. I didn't know…" you glanced up at him but he remained still, his black cape falling to the ground covering him entirely, making him look like a phantom, like an extension of the night itself. "She asked me to go with her today to pick up her boyfriend who was returning from a short vacation. I didn't ask for details, and she didn't give his name. Your appearance yesterday sort of cut the evening short."

"I'm almost sorry about that," he replied with a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

"I didn't know where we were going, why we were going, or who he was…" you continued, "she told me she wanted to donate blood on the way because that's what doctors usually do on Sundays. I had no reason not to believe her as we drove toward Asylum."

"What's her name?"

You didn't answer.

"Don't make me repeat myself," he warned menacingly.

"Do you believe me?" you asked.

He didn't answer.

"I'm the one who called 911! I was the one who informed the police that something was going on at the Asylum!" you argued, "I thought she was in danger."

"And now what do you think?" he asked but this time the tone of his voice sounded gentler.

"Now I think she helped him. That she broke him out…" admitted sadly, "he put a gun to my head, and she didn't react…"

"What's her name?" he gently repeated his question.

"Harleen Quinzel," you gave her name, " she is a psychiatrist at the Asylum."

"Rather, she was…"

"What are you going to do to her? Is she in danger? Maybe he is controlling her! I need to help her!" you sprang to your feet and approached him, ignoring the dizziness.

"What you need to do is visit the hospital."

"No hospitals," you denied almost immediately.

"Why did the car go down into the bay?" he continued his questioning.

"Did you miss the part where the Joker held a gun to my head?" Batman once again did not respond, "I drove it off the road on purpose," you continued.

"On purpose? Weren't you afraid the Joker would shoot you?"

"I was afraid…" you replied, "I was afraid that by shooting at you he would kill some random people. I was afraid that I, speeding through the city, would hit someone, I was afraid that something happened to those two drivers who collided on the bridge because of me…"

"So you drove the car off the bridge…"

"It was the right thing to do…" you shrugged and squirmed as pain pierced your shoulder. Suddenly, the night took shape again. Without a word, Batman reached out and began to examine and apply cautionary pressure to your shoulder while simultaneously looking at the cut on your forehead.

"It's probably displaced," he assessed, ignoring your groans.

"So you believe me?" you tried to make sure.

"You should pick your friends better Y/N Y/L/N," he sneered.

"Thank you for saving me," you said quietly as he gently embraced your cheek to inspect the wound on your forehead more closely. His presence continued to intimidate but did not inspire fear. Anxiety and nervousness gave way to a sense of safety and fascination.

"The ambulance is on its way," he declared, moving a step away from you, "you are unlikely to need stitches but they should examine you."

"No hospitals!" you denied firmly.

"You have a dislocated shoulder, a suspected concussion, not to mention the fact that you almost drowned…" he listed calmly.

"I don't care, I won't go to the hospital!"

"You should…"

"I heard you the first time," you interrupted him, "I won't go to the hospital! You won't force me."

"You shouldn't be alone," he argued, "anyone at home? A husband? A boyfriend? A girlfriend?"

"I'll be fine…"

"You're in no condition to walk," he pointed out.

"I'll call a cab."

"I'm sure your phone doesn't work."

"Fuck!" he was right "then I'll fucking walk!" you exclaimed.

Batman answered nothing. He watched you in silence for a moment then turned away from you and walked a few steps away. You didn't see what he was doing. From a distance, you thought he was talking on the phone, yet you didn't see him pull out a device. Only his fingers were placed to his ear, and apparently, that was enough because after a moment he turned around and approached you with a calm step. Despite his massive stature and heavy-looking suit, he looked like he was drifting through the night, carried on her wings. A cloak covered his entire body, brushing against the ground with every step he took.

"The police car is on its way," he informed, standing two steps away from you, "it will take you home."

"Thank you…" you said with relief, "for that and for getting me out of the water."

"You don't have to thank me," he replied softly while his gaze remained on you. For a few seconds that seemed like an eternity, he stared at you in silence. It seemed to you that he was observing you, examining you as if he wanted to make sure he had made the right decision. It seemed to you that he wanted to say something more, perhaps ask you something. God himself, if he existed, knew that you wanted to ask him a million things, tell him a million more. You didn't quite know why, but you felt the need to make sure that he believed you, that he believed that you weren't lying. You wanted your mysterious savior to know that it was all one big misunderstanding. You wanted to ask him not to hurt Harleen, you wanted to tell him that it was definitely not what it looked like, that you would talk to her, that she surely needed help, that she was surely the victim in this. You wanted to convince him that she was a good person, a noble person who was always concerned about the wellbeing of others. You wanted that so much, yet the thoughts did not turn into words. From the distance of the Bristol side, you saw the approaching police car lights. Approaching faster than you would have liked.

"You should get that shoulder checked…" he said quietly then extended his hand high up, and from the device, he held in his hand shot a rope toward the pillars. You didn't have time to say anything. All you could do was watch as he rose like a creature of the night toward North Gotham.

"The Dark Knight…"

***

The apartment that was slowly becoming your home seemed so unnaturally warm and pleasant to you. After a kind policewoman named Rene drove you home and escorted you to the door, making sure along the way that you didn't need any help, you were left alone. The cold and pain previously masked by the adrenaline pulsing through the veins were beginning to be felt, really felt. Shoulder hurt unmercifully, and his head seemed to compete with it, challenging him with pain at every movement and every step. You threw your soaked clothes on the bathroom floor and went straight for the shower. The hot water at first hurt your skin only to bring it much-needed relief a moment later. You didn't know how long you stood there letting the warm streams of water wash away the nightmare of the past hours. Your head was blank, filled only with the image of Batman pressing you tightly against him and removing the oxygen mask from his own face.

"He saved me…" you thought while wiping the mirror that had gone steamy, "I would have drowned…" you looked at the wound on your forehead, which wasn't bleeding but was pulsating with a deep cut. You traced your fingers over the sad and tired face only to stop a moment later at your temple where cold metal touched your skin, "what was I thinking…"

Dread suddenly flooded you completely. Like the cold water of the bay, it broke into your mind pushing out the image of Batman. Joker… His evil grin, his entrancing stare, his words….

A knock sounded at the door. Quiet and discreet at first, then more insistent coupled with a ringing bell. Fear sharpened all your senses as you grabbed your robe with trembling hands and cautiously approached the door.

Knocking. Then the bell rang.

You started looking around for the phone, belatedly realizing it was dead.

Another knock.

"Joker…"

The bell rang.

"Ma'am?" you heard a voice from behind the door, "Gotham General Hospital Emergency Medical Services. Are you there?"

You didn't answer.

"Ma'am?" the voice repeated, "we received a call that you were in a car accident. Can you hear us? Can you open the door?"

"You should get that shoulder checked…"

***

Chapter five: Will you help me?

***

Author note: Before I even started writing this story, I spent a few days trying to figure out the timeline. Do you know how hard it is to figure out the timeline, characters' ages, age differences, etc in over 80+ years of comics? It's a nightmare! I knew I want my Batman to be older. When I think "Batman" The Animated Series portrays pops into my mind immediately. When I think Batfam I see Scott Snyder Court of Owls run or Young Justice. So there were a couple of things that I knew I wanted, older Bruce, like in his forties, more experienced, and I was really really leaning towards bringing Robins. But this is connected lore! One decision triggers another so tbh till now I was not sure how or even if I will bring Batfam into the story. But for me, Batman does not exist without his family. So I said to myself "screw that! screw timelines, it's fanfiction after all." Well, I guess that was my little explanation of me completely screwing with a canon timeline ^^ I know, it is and will be all over the place! I could write a lengthy explanation justifying my decisions but I rather focus on chapter five. But for now, my Dear Reader, I thank you for reading.

***

#batman x reader #batman x y/n #bruce wayne x reader #batman imagine #batfam #nightwing #batfamily #bruce wayne imagine #batman x you #bruce wayne x fem!reader #batman x fem!reader #batman #bruce wayne #dc comics #batman fanfiction #bruce wayne fanfiction #gotham

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elena-mayfair · 1 year

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Madness and old friends

Paring: Bruce Wayne x f!reader, Batman x f!reader Warnings: rating T+/M, blood and gore, violence, strong language, themes of depression Summary: New city, old friends. Feeling lost and called out by prof. Crane and his accusation that she couldn't or was afraid to build relationships with people she makes an impulsive decision to renew an old friendship. But her old friend is not who she used to be. What path will it open in front of her? Where it will lead? Word count: 7.2k Note: Gifs are not mine, credit to the authors.

Chapter one: Bright future, dark city Chapter two: Curious people

***

James Gordon did not like waiting. Waiting made his perpetually overworked mind start listing all the things he could be doing right now, made his imagination spin images of all the people he could be helping right now, made the number of cigarettes in his pack start decreasing fast. Still, he waited. He would light the specially modified Klieg searchlight located on the roof of the First Precinct of GCPD building, illuminating the sky above Blake Island with a pale bat-shaped symbol, lit a cigarette and wait. Sometimes he waited a few minutes, sometimes even an hour. The longer he waited the more anxious he became. For when Batman didn't show up it meant one of two things, either he was busy or Gotham was in trouble.

The alliance with Gotham's mysterious masked protector was not an easy one. James was a commissioner, and as a commissioner, he should obey the law in every way. He should lead his men by example. He should always act by the book. And yet, how to act perfectly by the book in a city where corruption reaches every level of government. How to stick to ideals when even the Judge and Jury are paid by Carmine Falcone, the biggest mafia boss in Gotham. How to obey the law when in this city no one breaths without his knowledge and consent. Finally, how to apply the law to criminals like the Riddler, who loved to torture people with complex puzzles, Poison Ivy, who, under the pretense of protecting the planet, would murder anyone who dared to pluck a flower from the garden, Mad Hatter, who would kidnap young blond-haired girls and subject them to mind control in the eternal search for his Alice, and finally the Joker, who was the embodiment of madness and mayhem. James knew that when facing the challenge of protecting Gotham's citizens from criminals like these, he had no choice but to create new ideals, he had to bend the law, he had to create new rules, and in the end, instead of arresting the masked vigilante had to trust him.

He glanced nervously at the watch he got from his daughter for his birthday and reached for another cigarette. Half an hour had passed and the bat symbol continued to light up the night sky. He was absolutely sure that it was visible from every Gotham neighborhood, even those far away, he checked. Years ago, when the searchlight was first installed and Batman first failed to appear, he forced his men to go out to Gotham's most remote neighborhoods to confirm that the symbol was visible. From the lonely Mercey Island where Arkham Asylum was located to the equally remote Wayne Manor as far as twelve kilometers from Gotham located in Bristol Township, the symbol in the sky was visible everywhere. That night Batman first confronted the League of Shadows and his old friend Ra's al Ghul who came to Gotham with a plan to destroy the city. Batman never told him about it, and James could only guess. The clues left in the city allowed him to piece together the facts and put the sequence of events together. Tonight, as he stood on the roof of the GCPD, smoking cigarette after cigarette, he could only hope he wouldn't have to do it again. The briefcase in his hand seemed to grow heavier with each passing minute. Photos and officer's reports, burned into his mind, seemed to manifest before his open eyes. One by one, similar murder cases seemed to appear. Photos of more nightmarishly mutilated bodies kept appearing on his desk. On the surface, they had nothing in common except the gruesome deaths. Some part of him didn't want to turn to Batman for help, didn't want to admit the fact that the police were failing to find the perpetrator, didn't want to admit that he was failing. Yet there were always too few police officers in Gotham, especially those he could trust, those who weren't fed by the kind hand of Falcone or Maroni. He needed that trust, deep down he knew that just as Gotham needed Batman, he needed that strong bond of trust that kept him firmly grounded in reality, that kept him hopeful.

"Jim," a low throaty voice reached his ears. He turned sharply, in his mind cursing his ally and his habit of appearing silently in the darkest places.

"One of these days you'll give me a heart attack," he fumed, letting out a cloud of smoke, "Busy night?"

"We'll see," he replied shortly and with a slow step approached Jim. No matter how many times they met on the roof of the GCPD, Jim never got used to the towering figure, dressed in a black armor-plated suit, whose black cape reached all the way to the ground. The only bright spots of his suit were a symbol shining with a black metallic glow in the middle of his chest, and two bright dots standing out against his cowl. Jim knew better than to stare at the masked ally so he simply opened the folder containing the case file and handed it to him, " more victims, similar to the family from two weeks ago," he outlined, "at first glance, nothing connects them except…"

"They all died the same gruesome death," Batman finished for him and took a closer look at the photos. The first report showed two young girls whose bodies were marked with dozens of incisions. Their faces, chests, thighs, the insides of their arms, were cut with surgical precision.

"Scalpel," Gordon interjected quietly, "forensics combed every inch of the apartment, found no signs of forced entry, struggle or fingerprints or DNA."

Batman made no comment, simply turned the page and looked at the next case. A young man, slim, of slight stature, beaten to death.

"I sent homicide guys to the scene, but it turned out that it wasn't a murder at all. At least not intentional. Witnesses testified that the boy went to the area of one of the smaller gangs and attacked its members. He was armed with a machete and a revolver. They beat him up. They are now in custody and will be tried for unintentional manslaughter."

Batman took a closer look at the photos of the young boy. He seemed to him the type of bookworm, perhaps an aspiring scientist, certainly not a gangster. The camera in his cowl scanned all the photos, which he planned to analyze once he got back to the cave.

He turned the page and saw another photo. This time if it weren't for the description he wouldn't have been able to recognize the victims. The photo showed two bloodstains splattered on the sidewalk. Blood, shattered bones and insides were one with the clothes.

"They jumped from a plane, without parachutes," Gordon explained quickly, "Batman, it doesn't make sense! The family from two weeks ago and the two girls would suggest that it could be the Joker's doing.

"It's not his MO," Batman interrupted, "Too clean. The Joker would have left more havoc behind. And he wouldn't act discreetly by attacking individual random people. Joker wants to be seen."

"And what's more, a boy and two jumpers destroy any substitute for a pattern..."

"No," Batman flipped through the pages again, "they create a different pattern."

"Care to share?" Gordon glared at him surprised.

"When I know more," Batman replied and handed the file back to Gordon, "in the meantime, have the security around the Joker at Arkham Asylum strengthened."

"You expect that he will try to escape?"

"I expect everything," he replied after which, without a word of farewell, he jumped off the roof and glided into the night.

***

Y/N knew she should go to bed but was too excited to fall asleep. She tried the podcast, tried reading, tried watching the meager night TV, but nothing brought her to sleep. She was thinking about Professor Crane's words and his accusation that she couldn't or was afraid to build relationships with people. Perhaps there was a grain of truth in that. Perhaps experience had taught her to be cautious, distrustful, and to always expect the worst first. Yet for those few brief moments when she was talking with Bruce, she felt so comfortable, felt so very natural, so very at ease. The conversation with him flowed so smoothly and freely. She didn't have to calculate in her mind her every move, she didn't have to think about every word she spoke, and the conversation flowed on its own, despite her ignorant remarks about him. "Consider me curious," she recalled his words and those blue eyes that for a split second came within breathing distance of her face. She giggled when the part of her that was still sixteen years old momentarily peeked out. However, the adult side of her quickly stifled the exultant teenager, "I don't need problems," she rebuked herself in her mind turning restlessly to the side and closing her eyes, "I don't need drama in my life, I need peace and quiet." And yet, even under her closed eyelids, the barely visible smirk refused to leave her.

She got up irritated, grabbed her phone, and impulsively typed a message.

"Hey, I'm in Gotham. Maybe we could catch up?"

The answer came a few minutes later, just as she was trying to assign the scent of his perfume to any of the well-known brands.

"Heya sweetie! Sounds like a banging plan! Bowery, tomorrow around 9pm? How does it sound?"

Y/N smiled at the idea of an evening spent with an old friend. "At least I won't sit at home and think," she thought.

"Sounds like a plan :) send me a pin!"

"Will do! See ya tomorrow!"

***

Saturday meant a day without therapy. Saturday also meant a day without work. On Saturday, Y/N could be calm, she could not stress about Professor Crane's perfectly targeted questions, on Saturday she could not worry about another accidental Bruce Wayne encounter during her work day. Saturday meant she could get up later than usual, run some errands, and then plan an outfit for the evening. She had hoped for a casual meeting with an old friend at some quiet restaurant, but a quick google search shattered all her hopes. The Bowery turned out to be the commercial district of old Gotham, filled with pubs, stores, cafes, restaurants, and the hottest club in town, Iceberg Lounge. As soon as Y/N saw pictures of the club she knew it was where Harleen wanted to go. The club didn't match the Harleen she knew, the quiet, sometimes shy girl with a feisty sparkle in her eyes that betrayed to an attentive observer a hidden, dormant other self. Y/N knew it, saw it come to the surface in situations of heightened tension or complete relaxation. Harleen, however, wanted to be seen seriously, wanted, dreamed of being a psychiatrist, but not just any psychiatrist, no that was not Harleen's style. Harleen and her dormant bit of insanity decided that they wanted to work nowhere else but Arkham Asylum, a psychiatric hospital for the criminally insane. They tried to talk about it but Harleen was stubborn, and Y/N had her own problems on her mind, problems that overwhelmed her, problems that made her close herself off and cut herself off from the world. And so Harleen left, and Y/N was left alone. As she was getting ready to leave, Y/N wondered if and how much her friend had changed, wondered if they would find a common language again, wondered if the little black dress and calf-length boots were too much, wondered if someone like Bruce Wayne frequented places like the Iceberg Lounge. She left her hair loose on her shoulders and swiped her lips with burgundy lipstick, just in case. She grabbed her favorite black leather jacket, smiled at her reflection in the mirror, and decided it was going to be a good night.

Bruce Wayne didn't spend his Saturday evenings as befits a billionaire. Once in a while, he would show up in town, and let the camera flash lights and the endless calls of the paparazzi focus on his person for as long as he let them. He would smile politely while doing so, turn in the direction in which he was being called, and played the role that had been entrusted to him. However, he usually didn't have to play, he usually holed up in a cave deep under the foundations of his mansion and worked, fulfilling the role he had entrusted to himself. There was always work in the cave. If it wasn't investigation, it was training, if not training it was maintenance work, if not maintenance work it was implementing new technologies and improvements. And even when everything was already done, which was extremely rare, he came here simply to sink into his thoughts in peace and get away from the world on the surface. On that evening, however, he stared for another hour in a row at the photos of the victims and the case files displayed on most of the large computer screens, as if he hoped that looking at them from a different angle would make him see something he hadn't seen before. He zoomed in and out, scaled up, framed, looking for details that could be part of the puzzle. He searched, read, analyzed, each victim individually. Who they were, where they lived, what they liked, who they were friends with, where they worked, what stores they went to, what they bought, every little detail could be important, every little detail could be a breakthrough in understanding the pattern. For Bruce saw the pattern, saw the sense in the randomness of the events, saw the similarity of the victims so different from each other, saw the pieces of the puzzle, and was able to name them however he did not want to do so. Not yet. "Too soon," he thought.

"Four cases, eight victims. They didn't know each other, they didn't frequent the same places, they have no connection to each other. And they don't fit any known pattern…" he spoke aloud hearing the echo of approaching footsteps, "It's someone new Alfred," he continued accepting a mug of steaming coffee from the butler, "it's someone precise, discreet, intelligent."

"I see you've already managed to determine that these were no random cases Master Bruce," Alfred stated while looking at the displayed photos. Bruce didn't respond immediately, he merely enlarged the photos of the family that he himself had taken a few days ago and arranged them side by side with the photos of the young girls he had received from Gordon, "a gruesome death…" Alfred quietly commented.

"The family from Narrows was the first victim we know of," Bruce took a sip of coffee without taking his eyes off the computer screen and continued, "The man died of exsanguination after he scratched his eyes out."

"Nail fragments and blood on the fingertips left no doubt…"

"A woman and a child," Bruce continued, "They died from internal burns after drinking solvent."

"We rule out the possibility that someone forced the solvent into them…" Alfred stated more than asked.

"There were no traces of forced entry or foreign DNA in the apartment. Whereas the traces I found and which were later verified by Gordon's forensics confirm definitively that the woman first gave the solvent to the boy then drank it herself," he took another sip of coffee, "No, Alfred. No matter how we look at it the facts are indisputable."

"How could a mother do such a thing to her son? What was going on in her head?" Alfred asked quietly.

"I'd like to know…" Bruce moved his mouse across the screen drawing red lines on the photos of the young girls, "They were friends, went to high school together, and later went to college together. Exemplary students, exemplary daughters," as he was saying this he outlined red lines connecting the cuts on their bodies, "good homes, loving parents, no problems, no history of mental illness or tragedy in the family…"

"At least until now…"

"On Instagram, they followed celebrities, models, singers, actresses…" the number of lines was increasing, some straight, some forming oval shapes, on their abdomens, on their faces, on their arms, on their thighs, "the wounds were made with a scalpel…."

"My god…." Alfred whispered looking at the patterns that Bruce had drawn, "it looks like surgical incisions, like the ones that are made during plastic surgery. Buist augmentation, liposuction of the abdomen, thighs and arms, fillers in the cheeks and lips, correction of the nose…."

"Anything they'd like to improve in their seemingly less than ideal bodies…" Bruce concluded.

"Master Bruce, you do not think that they also did that to themselves!" shock and disbelief tinged Alfred's voice, "it's impossible, a person is not able to inflict so many wounds on themselves and not pass out from the pain!"

"That's exactly what I think Alfred," Bruce replied grimly, "the fingerprint marks on the scalpels, the angle and depth of the incisions suggest that they did that to each other. Instead of drawing on each other's bodies with red marker pens, they drew with scalpels."

"But Master Bruce, this is not physically possible…"

"The evidence is clear, and as with the family, the toxicology came out clean. If they took any drug, it had cleared from the bloodstream by the time the bodies were found. The problem is that no known drug disappears without leaving a trace. Not in such a short time."

"What about the other victims?" Alfred asked in a tone that told Bruce he was quietly hoping for a pattern disruption.

"A couple, a woman 28 years old and a man 34 years old," Bruce displayed their photos on the screen next to the bloodstains on the sidewalk, "they got married a week before. They were flying on their honeymoon."

"And halfway there they decided it would be more romantic to jump out of a plane without a parachute?" Alfred scoffed.

"Gordon questioned the pilot," a scan of the police report appeared on the screen, "he was their friend. A pilot by passion. As a gift, he got them a flight in his private avionette. An hour after takeoff, they unexpectedly got up from their seats and, ignoring his shouts and cries, opened the door and jumped out."

"How is the man doing now?"

"He is under psychiatric observation, which is being conducted by a certain Professor Crane, a prominent psychiatrist with a very impressive resume," Bruce took another sip of coffee, minimized photos of the couple and displayed a photo of the latest victim.

"Jeremy Walters, age 17," he informed, "with him I have the biggest problem."

"As far as I can see, he was beaten to death by inferior gang members…" Alfred ran his eyes over a scan of the case file.

"Maroni's men, pawns for collecting ransoms, and intimidating small businessmen."

"Coincidence?"

"Perhaps," Bruce replied pensively, "one thing, however, troubles me."

"What's that?"

"All Gotham residents know which neighborhoods to avoid, and where not to go. What was he doing in the Maroni area?"

"Stupidity? Bravado? Need to impress his colleagues?"

"Or a missing piece of the puzzle…" Bruce minimized the images and set the empty cup down on a silver tray set on the desk.

"What are you going to do Master Bruce?"

"I need to see if there is any connection between the victims and the dockside shooting and what was in the cargo," Bruce stood up abruptly and began reviewing the state of his suit utility belt, the bottom part of which he had been wearing all this time. As he checked pocket by pocket each of them, his face was painted with calmness and complete control, like that of an experienced soldier who checks his rifle before going to the battlefield. Despite the passage of years, Alfred couldn't shake the terrible feeling that maybe if he had done more himself, maybe now he wouldn't have to watch the man he had treated like a son don the top of his suit, attach the long black cape and hide his face under the mask, becoming someone completely different.

"I understand that I'm not supposed to wait with dinner," he said in his perfectly controlled tone tinged with a hint of irony. Bruce merely smiled at the corner of his mouth.

"I'll be in touch."

You wouldn't say that Harleen looked exactly as you remembered her, for she had changed a lot. Long gone were the sneakers, loose pants and oversized pullovers she used to be so fond of. They were replaced by tight black jeans clinging tightly to her slim body, a blue shirt unbuttoned two buttons too many, and brown high-heeled boots. The beautiful blond hair she once wore in a loose bun or ponytail now fell in waves of gold to her shoulders. Eyes painted with strong black eyeliner peeked confidently from behind strong black eyeglass frames, and her lips adorned with blood red lipstick smiled wryly.

"Harleen, if it weren't for the damn pin I would have passed you on the street and not recognized you!" you hugged your friend joyfully, and she reciprocated the hug, "damn, you've changed!"

"Girl gotta look the part don't ya think!!!?" Harleen replied with a sparkle in her eye.

"Totally!"

"You've changed too!" Harleen swept her eyes over you, "what's with the goth vibe?!"

"Don't know, kinda like it I guess, feels right," you replied dragging your hands over your black dress quickly realizing that every part of your outfit was black.

"And looks right! You look fineee sweetie!" the smile on Harleen's face seemed sincere, and you could clearly hear undisguised joy in the tone of her voice.

"So, Iceberg Lounge," you began awkwardly, realizing that after so many years you didn't even know where to begin, "I hope it won't be cold inside."

"We won't have time to get cold! We'll have a few shots, and hit the dance floor!" Harleen replied with a broad smile then grabbed your hand and pulled you along, pushing through the crowd of people waiting in line to enter.

"Harleen!" you tried to stop her, "shouldn't we wait like everyone else!"

"Fuck them! My boyfriend knows the owner, we'll be here like VIPs!" she threw over her shoulder then stopped abruptly in front of the bouncer, whose physique surpassed both of you both in height and width, "Hello, Butch" she smiled playfully, "a table for two! Me and my bestie are planning to have a banging evening!"

"Miss Quinzel…" the bouncer spoke quietly but his gaze, instead on Harleen, focused on you, measuring you from head to toe, his gaze giving you unpleasant shivers as if something slimy had just touched your bare skin, "enjoy your evening," he opened the door revealing to your eyes a gigantic establishment bathed in shades of blue, white and silver.

Everywhere within your sight you could see countless tables adorned in black and white at which ladies in elegant dresses and gentlemen in suits were engaged in many conversations. Some were enjoying elegant meals, while others were sipping sparkling wines or amber whisky from shining silver crystals. In the middle of the room, at a shiny black piano, a musician was playing a graceful classical melody, soothing nerves and inviting people to dance.

"Harleen? I think we're a little underdressed," you chuckled quietly, looking around the room.

"Oh, oh don't be silly! The upper hall is for stiffs and snobs!" Harleen replied without lowering her tone of voice causing outrage from guests sitting nearby, "we're hitting there!" she added and pointed to a silver and black door with a shiny VIP sign.

44 Below, the club below club, opened its doors with rumbling synthwave bass and blinding red lights reflecting off the black walls and floors. Elegant couples chatting in hushed voices over a glass of wine turned in the blink of an eye into a sea of bodies rhythmically floating between the smoke and the blaze of light, huddled together in cramped lodges tilting glass after glass. Between one flash of lights and another, a glass of green and purple liquid appeared in your hand. You tried to stop Harleen, who was still holding your hand and dragging you deeper into the club, but she only turned around and winked wryly.

You tried to take in your surroundings, so strange and fascinating at the same time. On one side, girls dressed in skimpy dresses, latex pants and corsets dancing so close to the men as if trying to melt their bodies into one. On the other, men in suits, hidden in lodges seemed to watch everything and everyone at once. Someone winked at you, someone smiled, someone's hand touched your shoulder, another brushed your hip. The music was pounding, the lights were blinding, and Harleen seemed to be in absolute heaven, even though to you, the place looked more like hell. It seemed to you that she was waving to someone, perhaps greeting someone. An empty glass not knowing when became full again when she pulled you by the hand and slipped into a vacant booth deep in the club.

"Isn't this awesome?!" she asked throwing her shirt off her shoulders exposing a black sleeveless top, "I love this place!!!"

"It's something, I give you that!" you replied forcing yourself to smile. This is not how you imagined this evening but you decided, to go with the flow.

"It's fucking brilliant! You look tense! Drink up and let's hit the floor!!!"

"I don't drink much…"

"How so?"

"It's messing up with my head…" you smiled apologetically.

"Come on! You gotta loosen up a bit!!!" Harleen's hand landed on your shoulders "All that trauma is gonna eat you alive! And I know what I'm talking about!! I am a psychiatrist! Have a paper and all!"

"You know?" you pulled away from your friend in surprise, suspicion seeping into your mind in an instant sharpening all your senses.

"Sure I know!" Harleen countered with an innocent smile, "Just cos you ain't staying in contact doesn't mean I don't keep tabs on ya! You my bestie aren't ya?!"

"Then why didn't you say something earlier?"

"Well, it was kinda obvious you needed time! I ain't gonna rush you! You been through hell, you needed time, I get that! But now since you here, chill dude!!!" she pushed a glass in your direction, "drink up! Doctor's orders!"

You smiled uncertainly and emptied the glass.

"That's my girl!!" Harleen applauded and emptied hers, "don't ya worrie sweetie, I'm gonna take care of ya! No talks about trauma, no talks about past, no sadness! You have your therapist for that! Today, let's put some smile on that face!!"

"How do you know I see a therapist?" suspicion crept in again pushing out the brief dizziness.

"Dude, I fucking now ya!" Harleen replied without hesitation, "C'mon we know each other like whole life!!!"

"That's true…" smiled faintly, "alright then! Fun it is!"

"Fuck yeah!!!"

Batman knew that if there was anyone in Gotham who would be in possession of information about the cargo on the docks, it would be the Penguin. Nothing in Gotham happened without his knowledge. He acquired, sold, stored information more expensive and valuable than all the cocaine that passed through his club, than all the weapons he traded. Oswald Cobblepot was many things, but above all, he was a businessman. If something constituted value and could be sold for an exorbitant amount, Oswald was the first person in Gotham to take an interest in it. At the 44 Below, various transactions took place every night. The club was frequented by the very elite of Gotham's social scene, criminals, gangsters, dealers, politicians, police officers, a Judge, the District Attorney. All who contributed in one way or another to Gotham's downfall. Dealers sold drugs under the noses of police officers, passed through the hands of hookers the purest goods destined for the Judge and his men. Gangsters were striking deals to sell things far more dangerous than drugs right behind the backs of an unseeing District Attorney. And all in the underground of a seemingly pristine establishment for the upper class.

Piecing together the plan in his head, Bruce was tempted for a moment to enter the club with the door and let the whole place go up in smoke. Chase people away, burn it to the ground. He knew, however, that it wasn't the premises that were the problem, but the people. Burning down the premises would only spread the plague throughout the city until they would find a new place. They couldn't seek refuge with Falcone, who played his political games in a more discreet way, with blackmail, threats and bribes. They couldn't hole up in one of Maroni's restaurants, since he wasn't interested in political games, only in the pure profit from the arms trade, the harassment and the eternal war with Falcone. Sionis continued to pretend that he was just an influential businessman focused on industrial development. Penguin was not picking and choosing, Penguin accepted everyone and could profit from anyone. Without him, they would have scattered across Gotham like locusts, spreading all over the city. They would have become more desperate, more dangerous.

So he chose the stealth approach. Squeezing through a narrow ventilation shaft, he seriously questioned his decision to reinforce his suit with kevlar plates and attach a cape. "Superman does have a cape," he mused, "but Superman doesn't sneak into the underground clubs through the narrow shafts…" he smiled faintly, imagining Superman in his place.

The plan was simple, get through the shaft straight over Pingiwn's office, surprise him, intimidate him and interrogate him. The only problem was a quick exit. The narrow ventilation shafts were not suitable for a quick escape. More than that, they left a clear trail, an entry and exit route, betraying his tactics, something he could not afford to do. "I will have to improvise. Make my way through the crowd to the upper level exit and grapple my way out…" he planned, "it's gonna get messy."

"Everyone I've ever loved either left me or died!" you exclaimed as you downed a glass of whisky in one sip. The alcohol was starting to warm you from the inside, causing the world to spin along with the flashlights, "I don't blame you Harl, I don't have any resentments," you corrected yourself quickly, "I don't hold a grudge, you left much earlier."

"I get it!" she assured you.

"No one gave a fuck! No one!" you reached for the bottle and refilled your glass, "Not my remaining family! Not my friends!!! They did not give a single flying fuck!"

"People suck!!! Fuck them!!!"

"I didn't know what to do! I was so fucking lost! It's just…I was left alone so I said FUCK IT! Fuck it all!!! I packed my bag and here I am! In fucking Gotham out of all the places!!! Where some maniac named Joker is fighting in front of the police with a guy dressed as a bat! What the actual fuck?! What is this place!"

"It's Gotham baby!!!" Harleen replied with a wide grin.

"Who does that!? Batman and Joker!! Like mindblowing!! Who gives him right!"

"Right!!! Beating up innocent people like that!!! Fucking psycho!"

"Totally!!! What is his problem! Like dude, therapy is actually a thing! Get one!"

"No one cares about anyone these days!" Harleen emptied her glass while anger clearly painted on her face, "And fucking Gothamites, all they do is judge and judge! No one actually takes a time to think! All they want is someone to blame! They don't take time to understand!"

"Fuck them Harl!!!" you chuckled with a smile, "fuck all of them!!!" raising your glass in a toasting gesture.

"That's right!!!" Harleen smiled tapping her glass against yours, "I'm so glad you texted me!"

"Honestly, I wasn't sure if you still want to have anything to do with me," you replied sincerely.

"Don't be stupid! 'course I want to!"

"And truly, it was my therapist who convinced me," you laughed.

"What's his name!?" curiosity shone in Harleen's eyes.

"Professor Crane," you replied without thinking, "you know him?"

"I do, "Harleen replied with a sly smile, "but don't count on me to tell you anything about him! Professional courtesy!"

"Fuck professional courtesy!" you laughed, "talk!"

"He's a brilliant psychiatrist. He'll help you, free yourself from that cage you've built in your head!" Harleen replied, "And I won't tell you anything else!"

"Fine!"

The music was pounding louder and louder which meant that he was getting closer to his destination. A few more meters and he should find himself above Penguin's office. He couldn't turn on his listening or echolocation because the music would damage his hearing. He had to count on himself. He tried to listen in on the conversation, but the thin metal trembled moved by the rhythmic bass and his own careful movements. He had to rely on himself, had to trust himself, had to trust that, as in any air-conditioned room, every few steps a ventilation shaft would be cut by a vent and that one of them would be above Penguin's office. According to the reconnaissance he did, Penguin's office was about 120 square meters, the vents appeared on the ceiling evenly every 50 meters in a straight line, which meant that there was at least one in his office. A few meters and he should see one of them below him, and through it a few security guards, armed goons, and a short squat man probably with a cigar in his mouth.

"A quick attack from above, by surprise," he planned, "before he realizes what hit him."

Dancing in the middle of the crowded dance floor, for a moment you forgot all your worries and cares, forgot the stresses of everyday life, forgot the anger that boiled inside you every day when you showed up for therapy, the feeling of loneliness every time you went home, the strange excitement that appeared in you every time you recalled that blue eyes and that low soft voice. The music rumbled inside you, the alcohol allowed your perpetually heightened senses to finally relax, the lights dazzled you, and you flowed along with them. You didn't notice that within a few steps, no one was dancing around Harleen and you, you didn't notice that several men standing at the bar were clearly watching you, you didn't see the owner of the club standing behind the glass wall of his office watching you from afar, nor a stocky man heading in your direction. Nothing mattered. You were free, you felt free, you felt as the rhythm of the music awakened in you a new strength and confidence that something incredible was waiting around the corner, a confidence that Gotham was indeed becoming the beginning of an amazing new life.

You opened your eyes and saw a stocky man standing behind dancing Harleen smiling at you in a way that made you shudder. He leaned over her and said something in her ear making her stop immediately. She threw him angry glances and shouted something while gesturing intensely, but the loud music drowned out her every word. The man only smiled again, as if this gesture was supposed to be the answer to everything.

Harleen turned to you and gestured in a direction then followed him into the depths of the club.

"What's going on?!" you asked, evening your step with theirs, "where are we going?"

"The boss wants to talk to Miss Quinn," the man replied without even looking in your direction.

"Why?" you directed your question to Harleen ignoring him.

"Told ya my boyfriend knows the owner!" Harleen replied with a wide smile, "don't ya worry! Ozzy probably wants to talk business with me while my puddin' is away!"

"What kind of business your boyfriend does here?!"

Harleen didn't have time to answer. The door to the owner's office opened wide revealing a short man inviting you inside with a gesture. You didn't want to enter, your intuition suddenly seemed to have sobered up and wasn't happy about where you found yourself. Harleen stepped confidently inside, while you took two steps back, clashing your back with Butch who effectively blocked the way out.

"I'll wait outside…" you smiled softly.

"Nonsense!" a voice reached you from deep in the room, "C'mon love! Harley's friends are my friends!"

"Five armed goons, two handguns, probably a Colt M1911…" Batman assessed the surroundings from above, "one, Micro Uzi, plus knives. Two at the glass wall, two at the entrance, one at the door. They need to be taken down first. First the ones by the wall. Then those by the door. The one behind the door will manage to get inside, freeing my way out."

"Come here! Ozzy wants to meet ya!" Batman picked up the female voice and scanned the room for its source. A blonde woman with a petite athletic build was turning toward the door and gesturing inside, "Who is she? Who's behind the door?"

"You have a business to discuss!" came from behind the door, "seriously, I'll wait outside, I won't disturb you," he knew the voice.

The thugs began to move. The two at the door turned their backs to the room. In the glare of the lights reflecting off the glass wall, Batman could clearly see one of them reach behind his back and unlock his holster. "I'm out of time…" he decided after which he sprayed a bit of explosive gel in a quick efficient motion and pressed the detonator.

The rumble of the explosion, the pieces of metal and debris falling from the ceiling caused disorientation exactly as he had planned. He didn't even have to use a smoke grenade. Before the thugs had time to realize what had happened he fell from the ceiling and in two quick moves hit those near the wall. A stunning blow to the head and a kick to the chest sent them flying outwards shattering glass in the process. Somewhere behind him he heard a furious curse and a woman's cry of surprise. He didn't care. In two quick steps he jumped to the armed men at the door. A knife flashed before his eyes, but he dodged in time. Swift hand movement and the knife got stuck in the spikes of his gloves. He yanked hard sending the knife far toward the floor.

"It's Batman!" the other shouted, yanking the weapon from behind his belt. A blow to the chest left him breathless but only for a moment, a hit to the shoulder sent a bullet to the floor, a kick, to the abdomen, a dodge, "I have to move them away from the door" he thought, he parried the blow catching his arm in flight and flipped one over his shoulder with a punch to the floor knocking him unconscious. The other one just screamed, pushed through the door and started running away. For a moment Batman saw the chaos that prevailed in the club. One exit, hundreds of people, "I should have foreseen that," he thought. But he didn't have time to analyze, a strong blow to the jaw came from behind the door, sending him tumbling back into the room. He didn't fall. With a backward roll, he got back on his feet poised to fight. He quickly sent a Batarang toward Penguin effectively knocking the weapon out of his hand and attacked his opponent. Butch Gilzean was a stocky man, two meters tall and similarly wide but he was slow which gave Batman the advantage. He attacked first, stunning him with his cape, knocking the gun out of his hand, and hitting Butch's hard chest again and again, pushing him outward to finally send him crashing into the wall with a kick. The scanners in his cawl read a pulse of 47 beats per minute, and he knew Butch wouldn't be getting up anytime soon.

"Don't hurt me…." he heard a familiar female voice from a darkened corner between the door and the wall, "We are not with them…."

Y/N stood there leaning against the wall with her hands raised in a defensive gesture. She looked at him but there was no fear on her face, only shock and confusion. He quickly suppressed the overwhelming fear and surprise, "what is she doing here…"

"Leave," he replied briefly, but she did not move. He turned away from her and looked at the blonde. She did not run away from him with her eyes. On the contrary, she looked at him defiantly and with scorn, "You too. Leave, both of you. Penguin and I need to talk."

***

Standing outside, slowly smoking a cigarette you received from one of the girls who rushed out of the club, you watched as one of the windows shattered from the inside shimmering in the light of the neon lights. A black figure shot up into the sky like a phantom, and if it weren't for the fact that a few minutes earlier you had seen him, standing just a few steps away from you, you would have thought your mind was playing a trick on you. Batman rose into the air towards the tall buildings only to disappear under the cover of night.

"What the actual fuck…" you whispered.

"Told ya this night gonna be banging!" Harleen joked with a wide grin.

"Yeah…let's not do that again…" you breathed musingly.

"What are you doing tomorrow?" Harleen asked as if completely ignoring what you had just said.

"Oh no no! I am not partying with you ever again! Forget about it!" you sneered.

"C'mon sugar! It was an awesome night! Till this nutcase showed up!" Harleen grimaced, "but don't ya worry! No party tomorrow! Just thought you might go with me to pick up my puddin'! He's coming back from his short vacation and I so would love ya to meet him!"

"I don't know Harl…" you hesitated, "after this insanity, I think I need some time to cool off before Monday. Gotta work Monday."

"C'mon! don't be like that!" Harleen looked at you with her big blue puppy eyes, "Now when we are back together I really really want ya to meet my boo! Do this for me! Pretty please!"

"Fine…" you smiled in agreement, "I can't say no to you," you added and Harleen only jumped up joyfully and hugged you, "but please, no craziness tomorrow!"

"You got it sis!" Harleen agreed but the glint in her eye betrayed to you that she wasn't entirely sincere, "Where do you work by the way?"

"Wayne Enterprises."

***

Chapter four: I am innocent

***

Author note: The story continues! Thank you for your patience and my apologies for the long await. I got distracted by work, some additional tasks that you took on, and then totally got lost watching Peaky Blinders (I know, I'm late to the party but this show is absolutely brilliant! It's been on my 'to watch' list forever and the time finally came!). But a dear friend of mine reminded me kindly that she is still waiting for chapter 3 so I had no other choice but to find time and write the next chapter. Even though I was distracted lately, I kept it in the back of my mind and I'll say, going back to it was a blast! Hope you like it! And I promise I'll do my best to publish the next chapter much sooner than this one! But for now, my Dear Reader, I thank you for reading.

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