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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.

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***

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…"

***

~~TBC~~

***

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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mrsgrahamsdesign · 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

***

"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, his in his early thirties. 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 is in his twenties and 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?"

"Sixteen…" 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."

***

~~TBC~~

~~***~~ 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.

~~***~~

Tag list:@clown-princesa @theclassicvinyldragon @blondwhowrites @batgirlspain @hangmanscoming

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mrsgrahamsdesign · 1 year

Text

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.

Series masterlist

***

"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 does?" 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."

***

~~TBC~~

~~***~~

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.

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Tag list:@clown-princesa @theclassicvinyldragon @blondwhowrites @batgirlspain @hangmanscoming

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