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tarrenterror25 · 1 year

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Title: When the Night is Over Chapter: 1 of ? Pairing: Alfred Pennyworth (The Batman 2022) x F!OC Rating: E Word Count: 4.1K

Summary: After the flood, Dulce looks to do her part to help Gotham heal and hopes to bring change to the city. As a wealthy designer there’s little she can do, but when she becomes privy to the identity of the Batman, she seizes the opportunity to help the caped crusader. With her close to Bruce, Alfred Pennyworth fears she has ulterior motives for the vigilante, but little does he know who she really has eyes for. Dulce learns what it’s like to live a double life and the sacrifices it takes to save a city.

Tags: post-The Batman, alcohol, smoking, MxF, age-gap (30′s/50′s), mention of disaster, post-disaster

Playlist here

Notes: Title is from Streets by Doja Cat. It’s here!! Just in time for 100 followers!! I am SO excited to begin this story and hope you guys have fun reading it! This is my second published OC ever and this story and her character are close to my heart so I’m excited to share her with you guys! I also am no fashion expert (love it to bits tho) so I am doing a LOT of research for this!

Chapter 1: Someone Like You

“Quality is remembered long after price is forgotten.” - Aldo Gucci

The Gotham City Museum hall is packed with an assortment of high society; mostly entrepreneurs and business moguls, but there are a few celebrity names. Among the crowd you can spot Johnny Charisma chatting up some folks or you can spot Jack Ryder weaseling his way through the guests looking for the next scoop. Of course, wherever the next headline is, Vicki Vale is never far off. People with money and enough drink in them will spill all kinds of secrets.

Champagne flows and hors d’oeuvres disappear faster than they can be plated. Loud music from a live jazz band fills the air combined with the sound of high pitched haughty laughter and chattery gossip from the guests. Everyone’s dressed in their finest; expensive fabrics flow and drape on the shoulders and hips of wives and mistresses while the men don their best suits, neatly pressed and shoes shined. The scent of the most obnoxious perfume and cologne creates a rather unpleasant cloud of smog once it meets with the cigar smoke. Mix in the vapors from all the liquor and it gives Ace Chemicals a run for its money.

“Why are we here again, Alfred?” Bruce Wayne asks with his hands in his pockets.

The older man gently nudges his ward and makes a gesture for him to stand up straight. Bruce mutters an apology and obliges.

“This is a benefit for those affected by the flood, Master Bruce,” Alfred explains.

“We couldn’t just write a check? I mean...I don’t see much reason for me to actually be here...I don’t see how this helps anyone.”

Alfred’s face wants to frown, but underneath the poor attempt is the hint of an amused smile. “Mayor Bella Reál insisted that you be present,” he says. “I warned you plenty of times that this was coming up. Just smile for a little longer, say some nice words, and then we’ll head home.”

Bruce nods and scans the room boredly.

There’s a large screen towards the front of the room next to the band with a dollar amount on the display; the numbers tick higher and higher every so often. Currently, the number is in the hundred thousands, just shy of a million.

Dulce’s gaze breaks from the screen and scans the room of guests. She scoffs and turns to Bella Reál and says, “So, we get to drink our weight in champagne while the rest of Gotham still wades in the harbor?”

“Don’t worry, Ms. Salazar,” Bella says assuringly. “Reconstruction for lower Gotham is already underway and we have federal assistance helping rebuild the seawall. The money from tonight will help locals reclaim their livelihoods and homes.”

With an understanding nod, Dulce sighs. “You’re right, I shouldn’t overthink it. It just...it doesn’t feel right,” she says politely refusing a champagne flute from a passing server. “Us here and the people affected...not. The danger may be gone, but the aftermath has only started.”

The mayor smiles and places a comforting hand on Dulce’s shoulder. She turns to her friend and says, “The people need to see that no matter what they think divides us, we are working together. This is our city, too.”

The two women embrace warmly. “Gotham is lucky to have you,” Dulce comments before pulling away. “You have my support no matter what, but now more than ever, whatever you need, I’m there.”

“You’ve always been generous to the city and I’m grateful for that,” Bella says. Her smile fades as she continues. “I wish I could say the same for the majority of Gotham’s elite.”

Dulce catches the mayor’s gaze wandering from her so Dulce glances over her shoulder and sure enough there’s the Prince of Gotham hanging back in the hall looking like he’d rather be literally anywhere else.

Bella sighs and says, “He’s come around since the flood, but it’s still a battle getting him involved.”

“Maybe he thinks there’s no hope for the city,” Dulce says dryly. “We should focus on the people who believe we’re worth saving.”

“I think he just needs some convincing,” Bella says. She gives a look to Dulce.

“Wait, what?” Dulce raises a brow, but Bella’s pleading face says it all. “You want me to talk to him?”

“Listen,” Bella says. “Spring is coming and you have your fashion show coming up! Get him involved, make it public, and use it to rally people! Boost some morale around here!”

Dulce shakes her head and waves a finger at Bella.

“Bella, no! Partnering with Bruce Wayne is not a good idea.” She makes sure her voice is quiet when she says that. “He’s hardly ever out of his own home much less has his hand in his own business!”

Bella grasps Dulce by the shoulders and looks her dead in the eye with all the seriousness she can muster. “Look, you are one of the most influential people in this city,” Bella says.

Dulce smiles and opens her mouth to thank her but Bella cuts her off.

“Behind closed doors,” she adds.

“Bella, I don’t do anything for the attention of it, you know that. I just-”

Bella interrupts again. “I want to see you both come out at the top of this. What was that about ‘whatever you need, I’m there’?”

Dulce is quiet and has to stop from rolling her eyes mid-roll.

“You’re my friend, both of you, and his name holds a lot of weight in this city. Please,” Bella pleads again.

Dulce has only ever seen Bruce Wayne from afar. She’s never actually formally met him though he’s never bothered to introduce himself to anyone anyways, she’s never had a reason to talk to him.

Bruce straightens when he sees the mayor and Dulce approaching him and Alfred.

“Bruce Wayne,” Bella says extending her hand to him. “Good to see you out and about. You look great.”

Bruce shakes her hand and offers a polite smile. “Good to see you, too,” he says.

“I want to introduce you to a close friend of mine,” Bella says. “This,” she gestures next to her, “is Dulce Salazar, a huge supporter of Gotham City. She’s partaking in efforts to rebuild Gotham’s infrastructure.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Bruce says extending his hand to Dulce.

“Charmed to finally meet you, Mr. Wayne,” Dulce replies shaking his hand.

There’s an odd silence that settles between the group. With a raised brow, Dulce’s eyes flick over to his companion as if to remind him of his manners.

“Oh, this is Alfred,” Bruce adds quickly.

The butler, with a smile warmer than his master’s extends his hand. “Alfred Pennyworth, miss,” he says.

Dulce shakes his hand. Her eyes can’t help but hold his gaze for a fraction of a second longer than she know she should.

Bella and Alfred leave the other two alone. The conversation between Bruce and Dulce is strained and awkward. Bruce is out of practice with how to. speak and without Alfred to feed him lines or give him cues, he’s stumbling a bit. It doesn’t help that Dulce just doesn’t seem interested in talking to him so her answers are short and clipped.

“So, we haven’t met before?” Bruce asks, his tone tentative but even, like he’s putting together a puzzle. “I feel like I know you?” A moment later and then he gives a small smile. “You own the fashion house in the diamond district?”

Dulce’s smile tries to hide that she’s not offended by his ignorance and poor memory. She’s doing her best, really, she is, but she can’t help the sarcasm that slips through when she speaks. “No, Mr. Wayne, we haven’t been formally introduced,” she says. “We have met briefly in passing though you wouldn’t remember.”

Bruce raises a brow, sensing the hostility. Quickly, Dulce clears her throat and adds in a much nicer tone, “And yes, I own the Castillo fashion house as well as the boutique, Castle Co.”

He nods thoughtfully and gives a very small sly smile, like he knows more than he lets on. “The Castillo fashion house, I’m familiar with it,” he comments. “But...your surname is different?”

A small, but genuine, sly smile graces Dulce’s features. “You’re more perceptive than you let on,” she says straightening up. “Castillo is my family’s name.”

“But not yours?”

“No,” Dulce quips. She mutters an apology and continues. “I was denied my father’s name. Salazar is my mother’s maiden name.”

Bruce nods. “The rest of the family must get a kick out of that,” he says with a soft chuckle.

Though she senses that he’s trying to be playful, Dulce doesn’t smile.

“There might be...distant familial relations somewhere, but as far as I know, I am all there is to ‘the family’. I am what’s left of the name and the house, much like you, Mr. Wayne.”

His smile fades into an apologetic expression. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to-”

“This city is my family now,” Dulce adds.

Bruce gives a small smile, it’s soft and understanding. “You and me both,” he says.

Dulce’s offensive posture softens as she’s sees something different in Bruce’s eyes; something lost and hurt. Maybe it was always there and she was being too stubborn too notice, but she sees it now. She scolds herself for forgetting his own experience with loss and being too concerned with putting up an aggressive front. She corrects her tone and posture to be more warm and inviting. He takes to it and slowly straightens up as the conversation moves along much smoother than when it initially started.

As the two continue to talk and bond a little over their similar familial structures, Dulce can’t help but steal glances at the gentleman who accompanied Bruce.

She’s seen photographs of him, mostly his profile from a distance as Bruce is typically the focal point for the paparazzi. Tonight is the first night that she’s seen him in person and this close.

None of the media do him justice.

Despite that he may appear as a humble butler, Dulce can detect another sort of mysterious air about him, a graceful aura. She notices he stands with by far the most poise of any of the other guests, hands neatly folded in front of him. She watches him walk, how he carries himself when he’s speaking to the other guests; so polite, smooth, and refined. For a man his age, he’s also impeccably handsome, the distinguishable rogue scar on his brow contrasts the neatly trimmed facial hair. It’s simultaneously sophisticated and rugged.

Mentally, Dulce slaps herself, a twinge of shame coming over her for looking at him in such a way. She can’t help it. Every time her gaze dances around the room, her eyes land on him. His presence is so magnetic and Dulce wants nothing more than to go over and talk to him. A somber thought occurs to her that no one knows when Bruce will show his face again. Dulce might never see Alfred Pennyworth again beyond this night.

As Bruce begins to excuse himself, Dulce thinks quickly and retrieves a business card from her clutch. She hands it to him. “Come by and I can fit you for something,” she says happily.

“I take it these clothes bother you?” Bruce jokingly asks.

She chuckles at his joke. “Three buttons is a little 90′s, Mr. Wayne and we can talk more about raising funds for the city. I have a proposal you might be interested in.”

He accepts the card and walks off. Dulce wastes no time in turning her attention back to Alfred, frowning and gently shooing away a server trying to offer her some kind of appetizer.

Dulce plays like she’s just hanging back and taking in the room, but she’s taking the opportunity to look Alfred over completely. Being a designer, she can’t help but look over his outfit and she notes how handsome and striking he is in it. Most of the men here, the younger ones and the older ones trying to pretend they’re young, are wearing sports blazers or just a pressed shirt. They have gaudy ties that don’t match their attire, they’ve adorned their hands with every hulking ring they own, and they saunter like the world owes them something. Dulce finds the lack of care and the audacity of them distasteful.

Bruce and Alfred are about the only two who are wearing three-piece suits and Alfred is about the only one with his tie on properly; not poorly knotted or pulled loose from the neck. For his accessories, he has on only a gold watch that pairs nicely with his cane. Everything about him says “proper” and it makes Dulce’s heart swoon. Yet his expression, when he isn’t smiling, but watching and observing, is harsh and stern. The way his brow quirks up makes him look like he’s getting ready to tell someone off. It has Dulce feeling a certain way and she’s not sure if she likes it or not.

Dulce doesn’t realize Alfred is walking towards her until he’s a few yards from her. She pulls herself from her thoughts and smooths out her gown and adjusts the strategically placed loose curls from her updo. Soon Alfred stands directly in front of her.

She gives a polite smile and says, “Bruce stepped away for a drink I think.”

“I hope he wasn’t too off-putting,” Alfred jokes. “His conversational skills are a bit rusty, I’m afraid.”

“He seemed to do well enough,” she replies.

The light coming off of the candles and golden light fixtures in the museum hall do wonders in catching the blue of his eyes.

“I don’t think we’ve met properly,” Alfred says.

“No, we haven’t,” she replies. “I’m Dulce, I’m a designer and run the Castillo fashion house.”

His smile is cordial. “I thought the name sounded familiar,” he notes. “The mayor says you are an avid supporter of the city, do you do any sort of political work or...?”

“Oh, no!” Dulce says. “Nothing like that, I’m just a designer and I make clothes.”

“No one is just anything, miss.”

A warmth spreads to Dulce’s cheeks and she has to turn away from him. “You certainly are too kind, sir,” she says off-handedly.

From the corner of her eye she catches the swell of his chest at the title. The thought of calling him that again flutters briefly in her mind.

The pair chat awhile longer, longer than Dulce realizes. From across the room, Bella taps her watch and waves her over. Reluctantly, Dulce excuses herself from Alfred’s presence.

The rest of the night carries on with the usual unpleasantries of these things; drunken laughter, a few unwanted touches, and blissful ignorance. Hardly anyone seems actually interested in why they’re there, they just seem to gloating in the fact that they are. The money that’s being donated is only done as a show of power. Dulce watches how every political official, socialite, and business power clams up the second Bella mentions the flood and its victims. Dulce’s one of the few at this party who has actually stepped foot in lower Gotham. Most of these guests haven’t so much as lifted a finger in their entire lives.

Dulce can’t help but be sarcastic when she makes conversation with the rest of the guests. She doesn’t pretend about liking them like they do with each other. Many of these people covet Dulce’s work and would love to talk to her, but it’s speaking to Dulce, herself, that is less than desirable since she’s seen as unpleasant. But she has to be, she can’t help it. If Dulce were anything but unpleasant then these people would walk all over her. But she tries to be nice for Bella’s sake this evening.

Even while navigating the rest of the party, Dulce’s mind comes back to him.

Alfred.

On the drive home and all the way to her front door where she kicks off her heels, she’s still thinking about him. Not even the scalding water of her bath can numb her to whatever feeling she’s clinging onto, the one she felt when he was standing so close to her. She sighs and slumps further into the tub, submerging herself until the water stops right under her nose.

It’s been a long time since she’s felt this way about someone. It’s difficult; being successful and having an equally successful relationship. Trying to balance the two was exhausting, especially when most men were against her being the breadwinner. After her last relationship some time ago, she just stopped trying. She hardly even bothered giving anyone the time of day now. She didn’t really feel the need for a partner anyways. She didn’t need dates or to flirt, didn’t need to hold hands with someone or look forward to seeing them. Or was she just telling herself that?

She closes her eyes.

Something about Alfred gave Dulce the whole butterflies in her stomach; it was a little pathetic, really, how weak she suddenly was for a well-dressed man. A much older well-dressed man. Oh, that makes Dulce’s face heat up. A flush comes over her and suddenly the water’s cold. Dulce, herself, is only in her 30′s which, in Gotham, is quite young since most of the powers that be have been around since she was born. It’s those people that look down their noses at her. They think she’s too naive, not yet mature enough to understand how things work in Gotham. But Dulce understands all too well how things work in Gotham’s higher social circles and it’s why she doesn’t want to think about Alfred in this way, but she does.

Her mind starts to wander from the features on his face, his eyes, jaw, to his torso, so broad, to his hands and...

She has to completely submerge herself in the water to keep from imagining how his hands would feel on her skin.

A clock on the wall of the Castillo fashion house chimes that it’s noon.

Bruce and Alfred enter the establishment.

It’s been some time since the benefit, but the butler has managed to get Bruce out of the tower to be properly fitted for something to “keep up appearances”.

Right now, Bruce wears a t-shirt with some jeans and a sports coat while Alfred is dress in his usual neat attire. Bruce removes his sunglasses and tucks them into his coat when he enters the building, his eyes squint at the light coming off the white walls and furnishings. Alfred is clearly the more well-rested of the two.

A woman comes up and takes their coats as Dulce approaches them with an amiable smile. She’s dressed in a pinafore jumpsuit and a simple blouse. Her hair is pulled up into a ponytail, nothing like the tight updo from the party. She seems much more relaxed here.

Dulce leads the pair to a dressing area of sorts where there’s a small short platform in front of a massive trifold mirror. She guides Bruce to stand on the platform and begins to look her over curiously. He scans the room a bit like he’s expecting someone else to come in.

He notes how Dulce collects a tray of supplies and sets it on a small end table next to the platform. Its contents are needle and thread, tape measure, pins and pin cushions, scissors, and whatever else he suspects a seamstress or tailor might need.

“You know how to sew?” he asks, surprise slipping into his tone.

Dulce just smiles as she picks up the measuring tape and gestures for Alfred to have a seat on a couch nearby. “Your reputation precedes you, Mr. Wayne,” she says looking up at him.

“What do you mean?”

She begins taking his measurements as she speaks, occasionally jotting down the numbers on a notepad. “I think people underestimate you,” she says. “People think you don’t care to notice things and I admit, I was one of those people, but really, you seem to be quite the detective.”

Bruce stiffens a bit at the comment.

Dulce goes on and says, “But yes, I can sew. I can cut, drape, and stitch. I like doing things myself. Why do you ask?”

He shrugs and replies, “Most people, designers, who do this stuff don’t, I guess. They just tell someone else to do those things.”

Dulce straightens and looks him right in the eye. “I am not most designers, Mr. Wayne,” she says with a curt smile.

Bruce rolls his eyes and looks away.

As Dulce continues measuring him, she steals a few glances over to where Alfred sits on the couch. His legs are slightly apart and his cane sits between them, both hands resting atop the pommel. There’s a soft power in how he sits; his back straight, chin up, and shoulders back. She can’t explain it, but it has her, Dulce, a woman who prides herself in being bold and confident, feeling very small.

All the men she had been with before didn’t have the same grace about them and it was laughable how they thought their crude dominance would bring her to her knees, not like that would ever happen anyways. But something about just the way Alfred was sitting exuded a quiet air of authority and again Dulce can feel the butterflies in her stomach.

Everyone else she’s ever been with didn’t even know how to hold a woman, but Dulce can tell that Alfred looks like he would hold someone like a gentleman would.

She finishes up the measurements and has a few employees bring out some clothes for Bruce to try on. He disappears behind a nearby dressing screen to try each one on and then resumes his place on the platform to look himself over. Dulce makes some adjustments to a jacket he’s wearing, putting pins in where she wants to make alterations. Bruce looks over his shoulder and asks Alfred for his opinion. The butler rises from the couch and walks over to get a better look.

Oh dear.

Alfred is close enough that Dulce can pick up the faint scent of his cologne. She clears her throat as Alfred speaks to Bruce and adjusts one of the sleeves of the jacket, her hand accidentally brushing Alfred’s. She looks up at him to apologize and for a brief moment their eyes meet. In this light, his eyes are like oceans; bright and blue. There’s no doubt she could get lost in them.

Dulce clears her throat again to break the tension and moves to adjust the lapels on the jacket. “As I was saying earlier,” she says trying to compose herself, “a notch or peak style lapel suits you much better, brings out your shoulders. A shawl style you should save for formal occasions. For pants, I think a straight leg style works for you, makes you look more broad. And I think an overcoat is in order, a peacoat doesn’t suit your figure.”

Bruce gives a small smile as he looks himself over in the mirror. “I’ll try to remember all of that.”

After trying on more clothes, Dulce insists that she bring the finished pieces to Wayne Tower herself. She and Bruce discuss payment and though the former tries to argue against it, Bruce insists.

“You said you had an idea about raising funds for the city,” Bruce says as Dulce returns the clothes to a garment rack nearby.

“Oh, yes,” she says handing him and Alfred their coats back. “I’m about to present my spring collection in an upcoming show and the funds from it will go towards the flood relief efforts. I would like to have you as a sponsor. Your name attached to it would certainly draw a crowd.”

Bruce nods thoughtfully. Though his face has his usual stoic expression, Dulce can tell he seems to agree with her reasoning.

“Sounds good,” he says.

He gestures for pen and paper and Dulce hands it to him. Bruce scribbles down some information. “Here’s a number and you can come by Wayne Tower to make arrangements. Whatever you need we’ll cover it,” he says.

“Thank you, Mr. Wayne,” Dulce says taking the pen and paper. She’s a little shocked, not entirely expecting him to go along with the idea. “Truly, I appreciate this.”

“Just Bruce is fine,” he replies with a small smile.

The pair leave and Dulce begins work on the garments for Bruce. A few times she pricks her finger with the needle and swears it’s not because her mind is drifting back to the only person who’s been on her mind since the party.

She sighs and sets down the jacket she’s working on and sits back in her chair.

A small smile graces her features as she thinks about how she can see Alfred again when she brings the garments to Wayne Tower.

Notes: I had to pay homage to Lucius from The Dark Knight because his soft sass is unmatched 💕

“I need a new suit.” “Well, three buttons is a little 90′s, Mr. Wayne.” “I’m not talking fashion so much as function.”

I am so worried I made Dulce too mean, but she can’t be perfect, she has to grow okay 🥺

#when the night is over #Alfred Pennyworth #alfred pennyworth x oc #the batman!alfred pennyworth #the batman!alfred pennyworth x oc #alfred pennyworth fanfiction #the batman fanfiction

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tarrenterror25 · 1 year

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Title: When the Night is Over Chapter: 2 of ? Pairing: Alfred Pennyworth (The Batman) x F!OC Rating: E Word Count: 5.8K

Tags: post-The Batman, post-disaster, MxF, light violence/injury, family trauma, mention of family death

Playlist here

Notes: Much of this chapter takes inspiration from the Nolanverse.

Chapter 2: And So It Goes

“There are many kinds of beauty, and you can find it where you least expect.” - Jean Paul Gaultier

It’s just another late night for Dulce at the Castillo fashion house. The last employee left hours ago and outside the streets are empty save for the occasional newspaper blowing in the wind, The moon shines on the damp city streets and the stoplights change their color for the occasional lonely vehicle passing through.

Inside the backroom of Castillo, Dulce sits at her work station. She’s seen designers who usually keep their offices upstairs, but she has her table right with the other designers and seamstresses that she oversees. Her table is at the front of the room, but what’s important to Dulce is that she doesn’t place herself above those that she employs, figuratively and literally. Gotham has enough people who walk all over the ones who hold them up and she’s not trying to be like them.

She checks her watch and gasps at the time. How did it get so late already?

Dulce sets down her work and tries to tidy up her station, but settles on leaving it for tomorrow after she fumbles with some rolls of fabric that keep rolling off the table. She grabs her coat and heads out the employee entrance, being sure to lock up before she heads off.

The parking situation isn’t the best in Gotham, but thankfully for Dulce there’s a parking garage not far from where she works.

There’s a brisk wind that sweeps through the streets and has Dulce pulling her coat tight around her. Her heels click on the concrete sidewalk with sure steps. One can never be too careful when traversing the streets of Gotham at night. Whenever Dulce stays late, she never has any problems, but tonight she was particularly late and the night seemed darker than ever at this hour. Working in the Diamond District means that police regularly patrol the area, but tonight Dulce doesn’t see a single patrol car.

Somewhere in the distance, Dulce thinks she can hear the sound of someone struggling with something.

She picks up the pace.

Even in the finest parts of Gotham, no one is safe.

Not bothering to wait on the crosswalk signal, she crosses the street and arrives at the parking garage. Dulce wasn’t just late to leaving work, but she was also late to getting there and that makes her parking situation more on the less than desirable side.

On the bottom floor she finds the elevator and takes it up all the way to the top. When the doors part, she can spot her vehicle on the far side, all alone. She steps out of the elevator and glances over her shoulder as her ears hear something again.

There is definitely the sounds of a struggle somewhere.

Dulce can hear faints grunts.

And a whoosh.

Call her curious, but she gravitates towards the edge of structure, hands braced on the short wall that keeps her from falling from a high place. She scans the ground below. Nothing. She looks up and peers into the night.

Something’s moving out there.

Is it...flying? Possibly?

Dulce squints, trying to make out the black clad figure flailing in the wind. She catches a glimpse of the unmistakeable shape of pointed ears.

“The Batman,” she breathes.

He’s gliding, though not very gracefully. Dulce watches him weave through taller buildings in the distance. He seems to have trouble turning and instead of sharp swoops around the corners, he’s making wide sweeps. Before Dulce can ponder exactly what he’s doing, she sees him clip the edge of a rooftop and he begins to spiral. He rights himself, but she notices that he seems to be getting closer to her.

And closer.

The Batman releases a parachute and tries to steer himself to land, but he’s coming straight for her. Dulce’s stunned in place and she isn’t moving until it’s too late. When she does turn to move out of the way, the hulking vigilante tries to upright himself for the landing, but he only barrels into her, knocking her to the ground.

Dulce hits the concrete and the Batman keeps rolling until he harshly hits a couple of bollards. He groans in pain and lets out a curse.

For a minute, Dulce just lays there face down on the concrete, not worried about the sting from her scraped hands and knees. The Batman, or what she hopes is the Batman, is right behind her, shuffling to stand up. She can hear him struggling with the parachute. The harsh tearing of fabric rips into the night.

Slowly, Dulce pushes herself up, wincing at the small debris embedded into her hands and knees. A midnight clad arm helps her help and murmurs a soft apology.

Dulce brushes herself off, her coat is definitely going to need to go to the dry cleaners, but that’s not what’s important to her right now. She’s still reeling over the fact that Batman is right in front of her. “Thank you,” she says as she squats down to pick up the spilled contents of her purse.

The vigilante is silent save for some strained groans as he moves to collect the parachute and what appears to be a gliding suit attached to it. The city lights illuminate the dark enough that Dulce can see the apparatus is in disrepair, there’s a huge tear through the gliding suit. She slowly stands and watches as he briefly assesses the damage.

After a moment, he just angrily balls up the whole thing, quickly tugging the parachute and crudely rolling it up to make it easier to carry. Dulce doesn’t miss that he winces with each movement and that when he tries to walk off, he limps, a hand coming up to his side. He makes it over to the elevator and pushes the button to call it up.

“Hey,” Dulce says tentatively, “I can...give you a ride somewhere if you want.”

“No,” is all he says in response without turning to face her.

She frowns at that. “You’re in no shape to walk anywhere and judging from that in your hands, I don’t think you’ll be flying anywhere either,” she says.

The elevator doors part, but he doesn’t move.

“I’m fine,” he finally replies.

He takes a step forward to get on the lift, but a wave of pain comes over him making him stumble and brace himself against the doors. Dulce hurries over to him, unsure of whether she should touch him to help him, her hands just hover over his form. “Take it easy,” she says. “Just...Just let me help you. I can’t just leave you like this. Um, you have a vehicle or something?”

Dulce takes the wadded up parachute and gliding suit as Batman climbs into the passenger seat of her vehicle. She places it into the backseat behind him.

Call it curiosity again, but as she hears him shifting to get comfortable and buckling his seatbelt, she examines the apparatus. She quickly takes in where it’s torn, where it’s supposed to connect, and tries to analyze the craftsmanship as quickly as she can without being suspicious.

She moves to shut the backdoor until something catches her eye.

A label. On the suit.

A quick glance over to where Batman is in the passenger seat to make sure he’s not looking and she feigns that she’s just setting her coat in the backseat. “Just gonna set this back here, too,” she says glancing up to the rearview mirror where their eyes briefly meet.

Her heart pounds as his dark eyes hold her gaze and for a moment she thinks he’s onto her, but he just turns away. Dulce pretends to be folding up her coat, but grabs ahold of the label and yanks it off of the gliding suit, using the coat and a fake cough to muffle the high pitched rip.

Shutting the backdoor, she puts the label into the pocket of her skirt and gets in the driver seat.

Batman is silent during the drive save for a few directions. Unsure of how to break the tension, Dulce just dives right into what she wants to ask.

“I couldn’t help, but notice your suit,” she says. “It looks like it’ll need someone to patch it up.”

He’s quiet.

“No offense to whoever made it, but...I think I could do a pretty good job if you’d like.”

He’s quiet again. No, not quiet, Dulce feels like that doesn’t describe the way sound seems to dissipate around him. He’s silent.

“I know you don’t know me,” Dulce goes on as she drives. “But I’m a designer, my name is Dulce and I could...I could help you.”

“Turn here,” he says softly.

“I’m serious. I can darn, mend, or whatever you need to get that repaired.”

“What is it to you?” he asks looking straight ahead.

The question catches her off guard and she stumbles a bit over her words.

“You’re...you’re the- the Batman,” Dulce replies. “Helping you is helping Gotham and I care about this city too much to ignore the opportunity to offer my assistance.”

“I appreciate the offer,” the vigilante says. “But no.”

Dulce arrives at the specified destination, it’s just an empty street. She throws the car in park with a scowl and turns to face him. “I could help you, really!” she insists.

She reaches into the backseat and grabs the wadded up suit and parachute and shows him the tear. “I’m telling you,” she says, “I could fix this up and maybe, I don’t know, maybe even make it better. You...you used this from atop the GCPD didn’t you? I remember reading about it! It’s failed you once before and...I think I can really help improve it.”

“No,” he says unbuckling his seat belt and taking the suit from her. He exits the vehicle and begins walking off.

“Wait! Hold on!” Dulce calls out as she follows him. “You don’t have to do this alone, you know!”

The caped crusader turns a corner into an alley and Dulce hurries after him. “Hey!” she calls out.

When she turns the corner and steps into the mouth of the alley, she’s only met with a pair of lonely dumpsters.

Back in her car, Dulce angrily buckles her seatbelt. She feels defeated and a bit embarrassed. She’s also still trying to process what just happened; the Batman knocking her into the ground and then being in her vehicle was a little surreal and she was sure that no one would believe her even if she wanted to tell them.

Dulce examines her knees now that the adrenaline has worn off and she can feel the harsh sting of the scrapes she’s suffered. They’re minor and just need to be cleaned. She digs in her purse for some kind of handkerchief to wipe off the-

The label.

The scrapes can wait.

The car is thrown into drive and Dulce speeds home. She doesn’t bother hanging up her coat or purse, she just drops them by the door and races to her desk.

Dulce’s home is not at all what one would expect for someone in her position. For starters, it’s a loft and very open save for the bedroom tucked away in the wings. Dulce saw no need for something grand like a mansion or a penthouse like the rest of her peers. She only has herself to care for so she saw no need to take up so much space.

Warm earth tones decorate the space and there’s teal and rose gold accent furniture to brighten the space. There’s a brick wall with large windows that overlook the city and as for the furnishings, well, it’s clear that she’s not expecting many guests over. There’s a modest size television and a loveseat precisely large enough for just two people. Contrary to the sparse furnishings for company, Dulce’s space is lived in; sketches litter her dining table along with some work binders and there’s fashion magazines with tabs in them scattered on the coffee table. A small stack of books occupies the wingback chair next to the loveseat and on an end table sits the remainder of this morning’s coffee.

At her desk are swatch boards with fabrics, more sketches and work related things that she shoves aside. “Damn it,” she curses as some of the things fall to the floor.

She sits at the desk and turns on an overhead lamp and retrieves from her pocket the label she ripped off of Batman’s suit.

It’s just a standard looking cloth label, but whatever was stitched onto it is missing now save for a few letters.

It takes all night and Dulce’s no genius, but she doesn’t have to be to figure out the origins of the label, the origins of the suit.

The stitching on the label had come undone, but with a good set of glasses, a steady hand with the right tools, and a lot of patience, it’s like connect the dots for Dulce and she can make out the rest of the words.

Why does the Batman have something from Wayne Enterprises?

Dulce skips out on work at the fashion house so she can research further. She’s not a tech wizard so she has to do her detective work the hard way. She makes some phone calls, writes a bunch of emails, and does whatever she can to figure this out. It takes a few days and a lot of dead ends before she makes any headway.

Why am I doing this? She ponders at her desk in her home.

Instead of the usual fashion sketches, gown ideas, and scraps of fabric on her desk there’s pages of information she’s printed out about Wayne Enterprises: she has a directory of their departments, contact information for the head of each department, and information on the current board members as well as all of their public business proposals in the last few years. Wayne Enterprises has a few connections to military technology, but none of that sticks out to her. The city funded projects for better equipment for the GCPD, but again, nothing sticks out to her. She’s even called the GCPD and spoken with Commissioner Gordon to ask if he knew about any odd projects or happenings involving gliding suits. He seemed amused and surprised at the question so another dead end.

Why was she doing this?

I have a chance to find out who the Batman is.

But why did she want to know who he was?

The city...I can help him and help the city.

She kept telling herself that while she kept searching for answers. She kept telling herself that it wasn’t her pride driving her to find the truth. And once she found out who he was, what then?

She shakes her head.

She’d figure that out later.

When Dulce does go back to work, she stays even later than usual to see if she can spot the caped crusader, but he never shows. She tries to investigate the area where she dropped him off, but nothing. Just when it seems like she’ll have to give up her search, she makes a breakthrough.

The head of the research and development department at Wayne Enterprises is a man just like any other so Dulce is able to lay on the sweet talk to get him open up. It burns her to do this and to dumb herself down as well, but whatever gets her the answers she needs, she’ll do it.

“I’m certain I just have the wrong number, silly me!” she says sweetly over the phone.

Her voice is sweet, but she’s sitting in her office chair at her desk, boredly scribbling something on a piece of paper. She could vomit right now.

“That’s quite alright,” Roger, the man in question on the other end of the line says. “Who were you trying to reach Ms. Salazar?”

“Oh, well you see, Mr. Wayne is sponsoring my upcoming fashion show and he gave me a number for a uh, well, I’m not quite sure who, his handwriting is practically chicken scratch!”

Roger laughs at that and Dulce makes sure to laugh, too. Not just any laugh, that high pitched kind of laugh that gets men to say anything because they think it’ll go right over your head anyhow.

“Yeah, I’m not sure what you could find in our department for that, miss,” he says with a chuckle. “Unless you want tactical armor!”

Got him.

“Oh, Roger, you’re hilarious, really,” she says feigning that he’s the funniest person she’s ever come across. “Tactical armor! I hope you have something else I can work with besides that. Got any parachutes laying around?”

She says the last part with a flirty tone.

“I might have a few. You like base jumping?”

“Base jumping? Oh! Well, I’ve never been.”

“I could take you sometime, I’ve got a private helicopter we could take to-”

“I didn’t think there was any research to be had in base jumping of all things!” she says trying to get him back on track.

“Oh, of course,” he replies. “Not to get all technical, but it’s perfect for military use. We’ve got a couple of suits here we use to test out all kinds of things. Come by and maybe I give you a private tour of the department?”

The last part he says with too much innuendo for Dulce’s liking. She’s sorely tempted to take him up on his offer, to see for herself, but she decides against it. She’s not ready to indulge this Roger in that sort of thing.

“Wow, that’s such a kind offer, Roger, really,” she replies. “And I would love to keep chatting, but I should get going now.”

“How about dinner sometime? I know this-”

Click.

A shudder comes over Dulce and she composes herself to gather her findings.

She is certain that the gliding suit came from Wayne Enterprises now. The only question that remained is who took it and how did they get it without anyone noticing.

Maybe it was someone working in the department or it could be military personnel. Batman definitely seems like he has military experience. Was Wayne Enterprises hiding something? Some kind of vigilante program they were keeping under wraps?

Instead of sitting in front of the television with her dinner, Dulce takes her plate to her computer. She starts searching videos posted online of Batman and studying them. She stays up into the night watching grainy cellphone videos and CCTV footage of the caped crusader. She scrolls through comments, forums, and blogs reading theory after theory about who the Batman might be.

She glances at the time on her computer screen and curses at seeing how late it is. She really shouldn’t be pouring herself into all of this, but she can’t help it now, she’s in too deep.

A sigh.

She should be working on planning her upcoming show and her spring collection. She only has a few designs hammered out and some need alterations and-

Oh no!

She had been so busy with the mystery of the Batman that she neglected to deliver Bruce’s garments.

The next morning, she pops into work and packs Bruce’s clothes into some garment bags. She delegates some work to her employees as she grabs a work binder and then sets off for Wayne Tower. She’s already called Bruce’s office to make sure he’s prepared for her to stop by and she’ll go ahead and go over some things with him about the fashion show.

Dulce wonders what Bruce would think if she told him about her findings. He probably wouldn’t care. Or would he? If the GCPD found out about it, there is sure to be a thorough investigation of Wayne Enterprises. Bruce might have some interest, but Dulce doesn’t have interest in telling him. She wants to figure out who the vigilante is herself and speak to him face to face.

There’s her pride again.

The elevator ride to the top of Wayne Tower takes longer than Dulce expects. Her arms are starting to grow weary from holding the garment bags, but thankfully the doors part and she steps into a foyer of sorts. Not like she would forget where she is, but in case she did, the large ‘W’ motif on the polished tile beneath her heels is a good reminder.

Dulce’s greeted by an older woman in the foyer, Dory, who lets her in through the double doors of Bruce’s home.

The place is rather dark in terms of lighting and structure; gothic arches and deep wood tones are the highlights of the space. Large windows allow for natural light, but in Gotham, even living in the highest building means you’re still getting gray skies.

“Allow me to take those, miss,” a familiar warm voice says.

Alfred approaches Dulce and politely takes the garment bags from her.

Even out of the formal wear, he still looks so handsome. Dulce has to pretend she doesn’t have chills from the slight contact his hand made with hers just now.

“Bruce will be down momentarily,” Alfred explains. “Follow me and I’ll show you to the parlor where you can wait.”

The butler guides Dulce through the halls decorated with antiques and a few sparse family portraits that seem to stop the closer to the end of the hall they get. Alfred hangs up the garment bags in a closet and continues towards the parlor. Despite the use of the cane, Alfred seems to stride through the halls. It gives Dulce the sense that though Bruce’s name may be on the building, Alfred seems to be the one in charge of things here.

The parlor is a very open room with more dark colored furniture and gothic details. The only light that illuminates the space is from the large windows though in this room, it seems brighter than the foyer. There are two couches across from each other and a coffee table in the middle.

“Would you like me to take your coat?” Alfred asks.

“Oh, yes please,” Dulce says.

The butler tucks his cane under his arm and his fingers hook under the collar of her coat to help her out of it. The hairs on the back of her neck stand up at him being so close to her.

As he hangs her coat up in a closet nearby, Dulce smooths out her skirt and blouse. She starts to adjust her hair and then has to tell herself to stop fussing.

“Bruce tells me that the two of you have more in common than he realized,” Alfred says coming to stand beside her.

“Oh, yes,” Dulce replies as she clears her throat. “I’m also technically an orphan I suppose, but I wasn’t alone, I had some...relatives. But they passed when I was very young.”

She rambles and inwardly rolls her eyes at not being able to keep her composure around Alfred.

“If I may inquire, your name is different than that of your house?” Alfred asks.

It’s a question she’s been asked time and time again. Why is her name different than the one that’s on the building of her business? Alfred senses he’s broached a sensitive topic and apologizes.

“No, it’s alright, really,” Dulce says. “I get that a lot and perhaps that’s why people don’t remember me often.”

“You don’t seem like type one would easily forget,” Alfred replies.

There are those damn butterflies again. God, he’s so smooth.

Dulce explains, “My parents didn’t have the loving relationship that Thomas and Martha had. I was given my mother’s maiden name when I was born.”

“I imagine from the business side of things, your family didn’t take to that?” Alfred asks.

Dulce can tell he’s just making conversation to kill time while she waits for Bruce and damn, he’s really good at it. She feels so calm and relaxed, not her usual tense self with the wall she always has to put up. She laughs a little at his question and he smiles, too.

“You’re right, they didn’t like it at all,” she explains. “When my parents passed, my grandfather looked after me. He and a few aunts and uncles were quite...distraught that his only son had only one child and that the child didn’t even have his last name. My father left me his share of the business and at some point I think they tried to write me out of it while he was...on his deathbed.”

Alfred’s eyes shoot up in surprise and Dulce nervously chuckles at her moment of oversharing.

What the hell is wrong with me?

“Apologies,” she says, a hand coming up to her chest. “That...that is a rather grim thing to say. I’m so sorry.”

He gives a sympathetic smile. “It’s alright,” he assures her. “Bruce has dealt with similar circumstances. It’s easy for people to try and take advantage of someone who has lost something.”

Alfred insists that Dulce have a seat as Dory brings in a tea cart. The butler thanks her and she leaves. Dulce sits on the couch and can’t help, but watch Alfred as he sets his cane aside and begins to set out the contents of the cart on the table.

“I hope you’ll forgive Bruce’s tardiness,” Alfred says as he sets out tea for two on the table. “I have told him time and time again how rude it is to keep a lady waiting.”

“I don’t mind the wait,” Dulce says softer than she realizes.

She did mind. Usually. Dulce hates having her time wasted and people like Bruce are typically her least favorite. But for once she’s thankful that she’s being made to wait. She gets to chat with Alfred and admire him for that much longer.

The butler takes a shiny teapot and pours its contents into the two cups. The warm and comforting scent of lavender wafts up to Dulce. On the tea cart there are also a couple of silver serving bowls that Alfred arranges on the table. One has fresh and fragrant strawberries and the other has teacakes.

Dulce wants nothing more than to have Alfred sit down next to her, have tea, and tell her everything about himself. He’s a mystery she wants to unravel and the thought frightens her.

She doesn’t want to feel this way about him; she doesn’t want to get butterflies in her stomach, feel her heart jump at the sight of him, or lose her breath when his hand brushes hers. But she feels all of those things all at once and it overwhelms her.

Bruce finally enters the parlor and Alfred greets him.

“Thanks, Al,” Bruce says dismissing the butler.

He sits across Dulce and helps himself to a strawberry. “Sorry to keep you waiting,” he says around the fruit.

Bruce looks exhausted, more so than whenever she’s seen him before. It’s eleven in the afternoon so it’s not like she’s dropped in on him at the crack of dawn or anything. She’s tempted to reschedule this visit, but she’s already taken time out of her day and again, Dulce hates having her time wasted.

“It’s alright,” she says with a worried brow. “Is this going to be a productive talk or-”

“Yes,” he says stuffing a cake into his mouth and washing it down with the tea.

“Right,” Dulce says pursing her lips at being interrupted.

Something about Bruce feels...off. It’s not like she’s familiar enough with him to know what his normal behavior is outside of social functions, but she can just sense that he’s withdrawn from her.

Wanting to just get this over with, Dulce retrieves the binder she brought and flips through some pages to go over a general idea of the event. She has photographs, some mood boards, spreadsheets, and all kinds of details covering everything from security to catering.

The show is to be held at Gotham’s Botanical Gardens and will feature some live music as well. “I’d like to get Dinah Lance for the event,” Dulce says.

Dulce’s choosing to make a statement with the show so she’s hired local vendors to work the event. “I’m using this as an opportunity to showcase the talents of the citizens of Gotham,” she explains. “Vendors who were affected by the flood will be offering their services to us. We’ll have photographers, food, drink, entertainment, and whatever else we need.”

“And the cost?”

“We’ll supply them with the cost of materials, any other fees, as well as pay for their time. They’ll pay nothing out of their own pockets.”

Bruce just nods as he eats a few more strawberries and Dulce feels relief wash over her. She’s never worked closely with Bruce Wayne and so she isn’t sure how he is with his money. Thankfully, he seems quite generous and she starts to feel optimistic about future business ventures.

"And funds from the sold pieces will go towards the relief efforts,” Dulce says.

“Why not auction them off?” Bruce quietly suggests.

Dulce blinks a few times, his response catching her off guard. This whole time Bruce has been fairly quiet and has hardly looked at her. She’s trying not to be offended and attributing it to his tiredness, but up until this point she really just felt he didn’t care and was just letting her talk his ear off.

He clears his throat and explains by saying, “Drive up the price a bit? People want what other people want.”

“That’s, wow, I didn’t even think of that,” Dulce replies with a genuine smile. “That’s a great idea!”

As the two talk, Dulce realizes how wrong she’s about Bruce this whole time that she’s never spoken with him; he’s shy and a little awkward, but well-spoken and not at all the lazy playboy the tabloids make him out to be. At the time, she believed the lazy part at least, not so much the latter.

The planning finally comes to an end for the moment, all the fruit, cakes, and tea gone. The two plan to meet again at a later date as they rise from the couch. Dory beckons Bruce to a side office where he has a phone call waiting for him. Bruce hurriedly excuses himself, keeping his head down as Alfred enters and retrieves Dulce’s coat.

“Went well, I hope?” he asks as he hands the coat to Dulce.

“Oh, yes, I guess,” she says as she reaches out to take the coat. “I worry that he thinks some of my ideas are too ambitious. He’s not exactly perfect for bouncing ideas with, but we’ll just have to see.”

Alfred holds the coat out and makes a gesture for her to turn around so he can help her put it on. It catches Dulce off guard as his face is not stern, but it definitely says that there’s no room for questions. For a moment she’s just standing there staring at Alfred.

“Something wrong?” he asks, raising his brow.

Oh, the way he looks with just his scarred brow quirked up; Dulce’s suddenly lost for words. The two of them are nearly eye level; Alfred doesn’t have much of a height difference when she’s in heels, he’s about a few inches taller, but with that look on his face, she swears he’s looking down on her with how small she feels.

“What? Oh, no, I just, um...”

Slowly Dulce turns and guides her arms into the sleeves of her coat. Alfred’s fingers in the collar brush against her neck as he helps secure it on her shoulders.

“Thank you,” Dulce says softly.

Bruce walks back into the room and thanks Dulce again for coming as Alfred steps aside. Dulce can hardly process Bruce’s words as she buttons up her coat, her mind still reeling from the interaction. She feels almost light headed, she needs to get home quick before she embarrasses herself further.

“Thank you for having me,” she says starting for the way out.

“Oh!” She quickly turns and faces Bruce. “One more thing,” she asks. “What do you plan on wearing?”

Bruce just shrugs and his hand comes up to rub his chin thoughtfully, but it’s more like he’s trying to hide behind his hand and not speak. Alfred gives him a look that says he should probably answer Dulce who’s looking at Bruce with a concerned brow.

“Just something I have here,” he says softly. He clears his throat and says it a bit louder when Dulce doesn’t quite hear him, but he speaks quickly like he’s trying to avoid talking.

“Yeah, that won’t do,” Dulce says. “Stop by again and I’ll fit the both of you?”

The last part she asks with a glance to Alfred who just nods his approval.

“That’s fine, but really,” Bruce says. “I’m fine. I’ll just-”

Alfred interjects. “I’ll have the front desk schedule something with you, miss,” he says with a warm smile that begs for forgiveness for his ward.

“No, Alfred, it’s fine,” Bruce argues, his voice louder than it’s been the entire afternoon. He looks to Dulce and says firmly, “I appreciate the offer, but I’m fine.”

Dulce waves her hand dismissively and says, “I won’t press the matter, but really I think you should-”

Silence befalls them like a wind takes out a flame.

The air is thick, heavy with tension. A clock ticking somewhere on the wall is suddenly deafening to the trio.

Dulce’s wide eyes flick over to Bruce who stares at her with a hard expression, jaw clenched and his pupils wide.

It speaks volumes.

She knows she’s heard that line before though it was much softer that time, raspier, and more articulate than Bruce is at the moment. Her eyes flick over his form, mentally comparing his figure to all the videos and photographs she’s been studying. The dots connecting in her head as Bruce gives the faintest tilt of his head that says “don’t”.

Alfred looks between the two of them, confusion evident on his features, and clears his throat. “Let me walk you out, miss,” he says stepping between them. “Bruce has some other matters to tend to and I’m sure you’re also quite busy.”

It all makes sense now, the realization flooding her mind; of course Bruce would have access to the tech at Wayne Enterprise and that’s why he’s been so quiet and so reserved, and that’s why he looks so tired.

It all makes sense.

Dulce follows Alfred out of the parlor, but not before looking over her shoulder at Bruce and saying one last thing.

“Bruce,” she says.

Bruce looks to Dulce, she can see it on his face now, yes, that brooding stillness in his dark eyes. She can see it even without all the black around it and she’s certain, it’s him.

“Don’t stay out too late tonight.”

#when the night is over #wtnio #Alfred Pennyworth #alfred pennyworth x oc #alfred pennyworth fanfiction #alfred pennyworth x f!oc #the batman!alfred pennyworth #the batman!alfred pennyworth x oc

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