Chapter Text
(37 HOURS)
Bruce keeps his promise, and you wake up in his arms. More precisely, you wake up with your face pressed to his naked chest and both of his arms around your figure.
You sigh. It's early morning, and in the distance, you can faintly make out a conversation. You know those voices, it's Alfred and your mother. There's a specific frequency you recognize, there's some sort of familiarity and some sort of ease that no one else but them can reproduce. They are most likely talking while making breakfast, and if you were more awake, you'd join them.
For now, your eyes are scanning every single inch of Bruce's face as he still sleeps. As if you're forgotten why he looks like. You haven't, how could you forget? They'd have to kill you or take a very essential part of you to make you forget how this man, this one man right there, looks like or how he makes you feel. Your eyes leave his face to examine his naked torso, and you frown that started a few seconds earlier deepens.
His pale skin has always been marked by scars; you knew this, you've known this, and you've also grown accustomed to every single one of those permanent tattoos, knowing full well they are part of him. They are part of Bruce and who he is. And ultimately, who you love. It doesn't make it any easier to see the new marks on his skin, and particularly the burns mark all over his flank.
Gently, you don't want to wake him up, you rake your nails over it, and Bruce does stir a little bit in his sleep. He pulls you tighter to his chest. You slightly chuckle and close your eyes.
Could everything be as simple as this? As Bruce pulling you back to him and keeping you safe? Fuck, you want it to be that simple, you need it to be that simple.
Even though that's not how you meant to confess your feelings last night. Your first times with Bruce aren't made of perfection; they're messy, rushed, and a bit tilted to the side, because that's who you are without him, and that's who he is without you.
But it will be better, you think, kissing his collarbone, the two of you, you make each other better.
You don't mean to doze off to sleep, but you do, and it's Bruce who was to wake you in the end, mumbling your name. He's not in the bed anymore, you've lost your very secure blanket, and that's what wakes you up more than anything.
"Hmm?"
"I was asking you if you wanted some breakfast before we go to Cynthia's funeral," Bruce mumbles, with the toothbrush in his mouth. You blink repeatedly at all the information, and you run one hand through your hair, you don't go far because the curls are more untamed than usual, and you sit up. As you do, Bruce presses one hand to your shoulder. To steady and help you.
"Is it today?" You whisper, suddenly a bit lost.
"Yes, Alfred came to wake us up both with the news, apparently, her husband doesn't want to delay it any further, he hasn't sent out invitations or anything..."
"But?"
"But he's asked about you," finishes Bruce.
"Oh, I see..." You mumble out more out of a reflex than anything as Bruce gets up to return to the bathroom, most likely to finish brushing his teeth. Cynthia's husband, a stranger to you, but he knows you. He knows you because Natasha, no, Cynthia, talked about you. She talked about you enough that he remembers your name and knows who you are. You have lost a friend and a valuable ally, but him? He lost a wife, he lost the love of his life...
You have to see him, if anything for support, and if you don't find the right thing to say, well...
"Hey." Bruce appears in your line of vision again, his palm back on your shoulder again, he's been more insistent with his touch this time, forcing you to look up from the blanket. "You don't have to go if you don't feel up for it, honestly, I am certain he will understand."
"I know it's just... I've never been to a funeral. What do I wear? What do I say? Should we bring the man some food? Should I offer to visit him or... I don't know."
You sound shaky. Even to your own ears, there's this unease in the pit of your stomach, it's coming up your throat and... yeah, what are you supposed to do? How can you even face Cynthia's husband? He knows more truth than you.
Before you spiral too much, Bruce is there, back into the bed, kneeling over it, actually, and he grabs your two hands. He grabs them gently, a contrast to the way he was beating up inanimate objects a mere few hours ago. But he squeezes your palm, gentle and soft, his blue eyes anchored into yours as he says your name in a whisper.
"Breathe, this is an unusual situation, I know. You were black, something simple, not too showy, this is a funeral, I don't think there'll be cameras, well, I hope not. As to what to bring and what to say, it's entirely up to you. But I know you, you'll find the right thing to say without any pretence or you know..." Bruce trails off, and you nod, because you think you understand what he's trying to convey.
"Without any bullshit?"
"Exactly. None of that today, that's a man who's burying his wife. He's gonna have a hell of a day, let's not add to that."
"You... are absolutely right, if you're done with the shower, I'll just hop in."
"Yeah, go ahead, it's free."
Bruce still plants a quick kiss on your forehead before releasing your hand. The shower is a searing hot one that you needed. It helps you clear your thoughts, and as you comb through your wet hair next, you repeat Bruce's words and somewhat pieces of advice. Someone is having the shittiest day of their life today, it's about him and his loss, not you.
You braid your hair so it doesn't look like a mess of curls, and you easily find something to wear, thanks to your mother, who did pack some clothes for you two. You opt for a long black dress with matching tights and short black heels. You borrow an old leather jacket from Bruce, it doesn't look that big on you, and after gracing your little boy with the longest hug, you head out with Bruce.
Alfred also wanted to join, Bruce tells you in the car, but he figured you would feel more at ease if he stayed behind with your mother and with your son, which is one hundred percent true. You'll have to thank him later.
Your face is pressed to the window as Orlando drives you to your destination. When you spot a flower shop, you make him stop. Surprisingly, and despite the warning from the mayor, it's open. Bruce hands you his credit card before you can say anything, you thank him with a kiss, and head inside. Inside, there's an old woman behind the counter, tending to a massive bouquet. Without looking up, she gestures to one side of the flower shop.
"Carnations are that way, sweetheart?"
"Excuse me?"
"You're obviously going to a funeral, right?" The woman looks up, with the small shears in her hands, and a tired expression on her face.
"Yes."
"Carnations are usually what people bring."
"I see but... do you..." You swallow as you come closer, your heels clicking on the floor. "Do you have azaleas? They are...well, were my friends' favourite?" It's the only thing you know about Cynthia, and even though you don't know if it's a lie.
But you remember a conversation, from months and months ago, an eternity now it seems, one of the dancers receiving a bouquet of red and pink roses from a customer. You remember Natasha frowning at the display while lighting up a cigarette. Nah, roses are clichés as fuck, overdone if you ask me. I prefer azaleas, their colours put any other flower to shame.
"Of course, right this way, sweetheart, let me pick something nice for you."
"Thank you."
The new bouquet is arranged in silence, and you watch as the woman picks different colours of azaleas: pink, white, even yellow. It all comes together beautifully, and you think that yeah, Cyntha was right, they really put roses to shame.
"Here you go, all ready for you."
"Thanks, how much is it?"
You sniffle as you pay, you hadn't even realized the tears were already gathering in your eyes, you don't intend to cry in the middle of a flower shop. You swipe the credit card instead, and, hands full, you head for the exit. You still look over your shoulder at the older woman who went back to working on the very first bouquet.
"Just... be careful, okay," you tell her, not knowing what prompts you to say that.
"Oh, sweetheart, thank you, but I've already lived my life, for me... this is just another day in Gotham... you be careful and go say goodbye to your friend properly, okay?"
You nod, she reminds you too much of your mother, too much of the losses, so you exit the store with surer footsteps next. Back in the car, you find Bruce's arms easily, happy when he wraps both of them around you. It's too tight, you're too hot pressed against his chest, but you just make sure the bouquet doesn't get damaged, and you let him smother you.
This would be a good way to go.
There's a row of cars in front of the cemetery, and when Bruce starts moving, you sigh, but you're ready to follow him. "Stay close," the Wayne whispers as he exits his car. Turns out Orlando is also coming with you, you realise as you hold Bruce's hand and press the flowers to your chest with the other one. Then it hits you, Orlando is not just Bruce's driver, right? He has to have more responsibilities, right?
You don't have time to dwell on that, as you walk through the cemetery's alleys and toward the small crowd assembled, you see more police uniforms than you've ever seen in your entire life. That and a sea of black, and you freeze on the spot as you see her.
Natasha, Cynthia, red vibrant hair, perfect skin, and... it looks like she's asleep, soundly and peacefully asleep in her coffin.
Is that where it all ends?
Fuck.
Fuck.
This is so wrong.
Bruce whispers your name, pulling at your hand, and you look up to him. Crap, the tears are back, and you swallow harshly, in a pant, to calm yourself.
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah, it's... she... she just…"
"I know, I know, it's okay, you can do this."
There's another kiss pressed to your forehead, and you nod. You believe in Bruce's faith in you more than anything, and you follow his pace. You notice from the corner of your eyes, Bela Real and her deputy, and you watch as Bruce nods in her direction. Your attention is elsewhere next, you lock eyes with a man who looks as distraught as you and who's shaking hands with one police officer, and then another, and another.
That's him, that's Cynthia's husband.
Before you know it, you let go of Bruce's hand and you make your way to him. He says your name, and you nod.
"I don't even know your name, I..."
"Kevin, I'm Kevin," he says, looking more tired than ever. Kevin is tall, even taller than Bruce, he has brown hair and matching brown eyes. A long face and what appears to be a broken nose, but you notice the bags underneath his eyes, the stubble on his chin, and how the white shirt underneath his black jacket looks a bit wrinkled. And still, Kevin looks very well put together for someone who lost his wife; you would probably look ten times worse if you had lost Bruce.
"You already know my name and..." You hand him the bouquet next. More than that, you press it to his chest and you watch as he gasps, looking down at the flowers. "She told me they were her favourite, I hope it's true, and even so I..."
"They are," Kevin interrupts. He takes the flowers from you, and surprisingly, he has a small laugh. A tired one, but still a laugh. "She thought... she thought roses were a cliché, she told me on our very first date, you know... Like I'm thinking, don't mess this up as I'm walking her home, and suddenly she turns to me, talking about her second date already, telling me not to bring her roses or else. Telling me azaleas are the way to go. And then guess what she did?"
"She kissed you?" You guess, not picturing Cynthia doing anything else.
"Yep, she kissed me, full-on French kiss in the middle of Gotham streets. I panicked, a pretty girl like that kisses you... But yeah, I didn't bring roses, and we started dating for real after that." Kevin sighs, he raises the flower to his nose, and keeps smiling. You keep watching, and something tugs at you when he removes a few flowers from the bouquet and places them in the coffin, with Cynthia. They frame her face, her neck, and he presses one kiss to her cheek. "There, babe, now you're ready. I'm really sorry, I didn't think about this. I guess I'm not the best husband, hmm?"
The scene is extremely intimate, and just as you think of looking away, Kevin turns back to you. "Thanks, it's appreciated, everyone has been supportive, but it's been very...."
"Performative?"
"Yeah... fuck if I care if the force is behind me? I'm a law professor, I know that... they lost a colleague and an asset, I lost my wife, you know? It's all so messed up." Kevin sighs. "They think I want revenge or some bull like that, honestly, I'm dreading going back home the most, when she's not here."
"Where have you been staying?"
"With my parents, pathetic, I know, but yeah."
"Well." You put one hand on his shoulder. "If you need help with anything, sorting through her stuff or just someone who really talks to you, you can call me."
"Thank you... Hey, will you sit by me during... all of this?"
"Of course."
"Thank you."
Like you told Bruce, you've never been to a funeral. But it's almost natural to find your place on the seat right next to Kevin's, as everything starts. You wouldn't call it a ceremony; however, no other terms fit you realize as a priest is standing up while everyone sits down. Men lift something and you watch, definitely paralyzed in your seat, as they reveal the fresh grave that's been dug into the ground.
Of course.
That's where Cynthia is meant to go. That's where she's meant to disappear from the world, now that she can no longer open her eyes, smoke, and make those snarky remarks she always had for you. Still compliments most of the time, but still.
That's where she's going because she's dead.
Someone grabs your hand as the priest starts talking, he has a deep, grave voice, which fits the scene very well. For a brief second, you think it's Bruce to your right, grabbing your hand and making sure you're okay.
But it's not.
It's Kevin who has reached for your hand, it's Cynthia's husband, squeezing your fingers as tight as he can. As you turn to him, you see the tears in his eyes. His brown eyes are glued to his unmoving wife, and you squeeze his fingers back. If that's what he needs right now, you're more than happy to hold his hand for now. For a second, for a few minutes, for some hours, whatever he needs.
You don't listen to the rambling of the priest, you don't listen, it's all background noise. At some point, the priest is replaced by police officers in front of that microphone. Cynthia's superiors. Different colleagues she knew. And even the mayor, too. She's solemn and true to herself, but even her speech doesn't reach you, it's all very clean. Very generic, and almost rehearsed. None of those people really knew Cynthia, you realise.
Kevin is the last one to get up. For a moment, you wonder if you should stand up with him, and just accompany him to the mic, and like he is sensing your silent question, he leans toward you and whispers, "I think I'll be okay, but don't go too far, okay?"
"Okay."
You nod, and you watch him muster a smile in real time and get up. He dries his tears quickly, clears his throat, and then Kevin speaks directly into the mic.
"I honestly wished I had a speech ready. But I don't. How do you get ready for burying the love of your life, right?" Kevin manages to chuckle, and the sound is so off, it slices something within you. "If she were here, she would probably say that I should have been ready. That she's a cop and it's fucking Gotham City. Or she would have said it in a charming and fucked up way, while smoking more than she ought to be. Yeah, that's my Cynthia. So maybe it's on me, maybe I should have been ready, because although I didn't know the details, I knew she was out there, every night, trying to make this city, fuck, the world even, slighter better. A little bit fairer. So yeah..." Kevin sniffles, and he turns to his wife next. "I'm not gonna be angry, I'm gonna get up tomorrow morning, and the one after that, and the one after that, and do my part too... It's what she would have wanted. It's who she is." Kevin nods, he most likely doesn't expect anything else or some praise, and you can understand him.
He slumps back into the chair right next to yours, and immediately, you reach for his hand.
"Thank you," Kevin whispers. "How was I?"
"Perfect, she would have loved it."
"Yeah, I thought so too."
You are still holding hands as everything continues and as the casket is closed and lowered slowly to the ground. Why is it so slow? You don't know, and then they cover her coffin with fresh ground. Over and over again, until it disappears, until there's no hole visible.
"... I think I'm gonna get myself home and get some sleep," Kevin breaks the silence first as the guests start walking away. You're still close. Bruce already shook his hand and told you he would give you a minute.
You fish your phone from your leather jacket and hand it to Kevin.
"Just give me your number and seriously, whatever you need, don't hesitate."
"Hmm..." Kevin inputs his number slowly. You notice two older people a bit behind, watching you, Kevin's parents, you figure. "What I need right now is some food... I'm thinking some fries and a shake."
"That's a solid combo," you say as he hands you back your phone. You send him a text immediately, and he nods. "But yeah, whatever you may need, to help you go through her stuff or anything else, I'm here."
"Thank you, it means a lot, I'll have to get to it, but not today."
"Yeah, go get your food."
Kevin hugs you to say goodbye. If you're surprised at first, you quickly return the embrace. He hugs you with his whole body, as your mother would say, but it's welcomed, it's welcomed, and you know you cling to each other longer than necessary, but who cares about that today? Not you and clearly not him.
"Thank you for the flowers. Get home safely, okay?"
"You too, and please, text me."
"I will."
You watch him join his parents, both his father and mother place one hand on his back for support, he needs it. He's not alone, you tell yourself as the small family slowly walks away, at the very least, he's not alone.
You sigh, and you glance at Cynthia's fresh grave.
"I'm still pissed about your death, I know you wouldn't like it, but if I can do something about it... I will." You take a deep breath, and you turn as your eyes land on Bruce. He's a few meters away, hands in the pockets of his long black coat, ironically, the mayor and her deputy are talking to him. He's barely listening, you know you have his full attention, and, more resolute than ever, you make your way towards the Wayne.
"I know we have some of the best surgeons and doctors in Gotham City, but I truly do not know how you can be standing or walking for that matter..." Bela Real is talking to Bruce as you bump your shoulder to his, and you grab his hand as he offers a polite nod as an answer.
"I guess I'm just lucky," Bruce concedes, lying in the process.
"Lucky or you must have a guardian angel!" adds Benjamin Garcia, her deputy, patting Bruce on the shoulders. You know the gesture is meant to be soothing; however, you also know who you're dating, and rather than dwell on that, you just pull at Bruce's hand.
"Now, if you'll excuse us, it's been a long day, and we should really go back inside and to our family." Both the mayor and her deputy understand, no one will argue with your logic, and Bruce follows you easily after saying goodbye to the two parties concerned. You wait until you leave the cemetery and see the Bentley and Orlando right behind you before you speak again.
"What was that about?" you ask.
"Oh, just me being curious, I just had to ask her if she had a real plan to deal with Domino or any idea of his identity."
"She didn't tell you much, didn't she?"
"Well, first of, she can't, seconds, I wasn't expecting her to, and yeah... they got nothing." Bruce sighs just as you reach the car, and he opens the door for you, his blue eyes focused on nothing, the gears turning in his head. You can almost hear the thoughts bouncing around in his head.
"I hate this feeling," Bruce speaks again once you're both in the backseat and the car starts, to take you back home. "But anyway... I know it's a shitty thing to ask, but... how is Cynthia's husband?"
"Honestly... considering everything, he's doing good. Very good. I gave him my number, and before we get into a whole argument about it, even if he calls in the middle of the night, I'll go help him, okay?" You say to Bruce as you squeeze his hand. Bruce brings your joined hands close to his face, and he kisses your knuckles one by one.
"I know you," Bruce mumbles against your skin, it's enough to give you goosebumps. "And I might not have known Cynthia as much as you did, but I wouldn't expect less from you. You can tell him, whatever he needs, we'll both be there for him, as much as we can, okay?"
You nod, and you watch Bruce kiss your knuckles again. Again, he does it slowly, kissing each one of them, a tired look on his face, and it's enough to pull you closer. You're haunted by the vision of Kevin doing his best to stand tall, to put one foot in front of the other and not just explode in front of everyone. Because he lost the person you love. Fuck, if you love Bruce, you'll have to cope too, right?
You don't want to answer that question, you don't even want to answer it in your mind, so instead you pull Bruce's face to yours, quite harshly at that, and you kiss him.
You don't mean to kiss Bruce this roughly. No, you only realise it when your lips crash together, and yet you don't stop. Why would you stop? This is a shitty day, you could have lost him, but he is there. You're both there, very much alive, and that has to count for something, right?
That beating heart in your chest, those two shivering hands cupping his jaw, your lips kissing him once, then twice, and thrice. When you pull back, you're panting, Bruce has been kissing you back, and his blue eyes are locked into yours.
"I..." You're about to mumble an apology, because it is not the time, nor the place. Except that Bruce gets it, one nod from him and you know, he is feeling the same way. That he wants to do something with that anger and with that restlessness, maybe it's not productive, but... who the fuck cares? Who the fuck cares you think as Bruce is the one pulling you closer next, one hand over your neck, while his fingers press against a button somewhere in the car to pull up the partition of the Bentley.
It's not completely dark once it's up, and it doesn't tune the world out. But it's enough, it's enough to keep kissing Bruce. More than enough to kick your shoes off, and as you lick his Adam's apple and fumble with his belt and zipper, you can hear Bruce's ragged breath, you can feel his own hands in your hair, messing up the curls even more.
You agree on this. Bruce wants you right now, and you want him more than anything, you need him.
"Fuck," he breathes out when you're finally able to push one hand into his pants. You waste absolutely no time grabbing him and moving your wrist in a chaotic rhythm. Because everything about this is chaotic, and when he kisses you again, Bruce doesn't just do that, he bites your lower lip too, and you moan into it. You moan into it, hoping he draws some actual blood.
"Come here," Bruce whispers in the little space between you two, and when he forces you to let go of him, you sigh. Not for long because he grabs your hips and he has you straddling him, both of his strong arms around your back next.
"Just, please, please..." Why are you begging when you're on top of him? Why are you begging when it's your forehead pressed to Bruce's, when it's your curls encompassing his entire vision, and when it's you rolling your hips? It takes more adjusting, Bruce physically lifting you up, your underwear is pushed to one side, and finally... finally... you're one, he's buried inside of you where he should always be.
"Like this?" Bruce asks, out of breath, as his hips go up and up, meeting yours.
"Yes," you whisper as your arms circle his neck and you press your face close to his. Your mouth is kissing his temple as you speak, and each of his thrusts up is punctuated by a muffled yes. You eventually kiss his ear, and you do your best to match his rhythm, grinding your hips down, in this new embrace, in this messy dance you somehow always know by heart. Yes, because you're both alive, yes, because you get another day, and yes because even if it doesn't make sense, you still have each other.
He loves you, and you love him.
He needs you, and you need him.
"Look at me, look at me..." Bruce groans your name, and it's enough for you to comply. You press your forehead to his, doing your best to keep your eyes open as he still moves into you, as he still makes a space for himself. In this moment, the pleasure is optional, you just want to be with him, near him, close to him... It's all that you see...
His release hits him first, and you kiss him and still move your hips through it. Yours comes a few moments later, it's more of a silent cry in Bruce's mouth, your body finally giving up on all the tension you've been holding to.
All the while, Bruce is still kissing you, and this time it's gentler, this time his fingers stay on your cheeks, his touch has more intention.
"I'm here," he whispers like he can read your thoughts.
"Don't go where I can't follow... both of you," you whisper before pressing your mouth to his again.
"I may have to," Bruce says when you pull back to take a deep breath. "But I'll come back, I always do, don't I?"
Yes, yes, he does.
But that doesn't mean you're less scared.
(24 HOURS)
There are less than twenty-four hours left on Domino's deadline, it's late, closer to 3 am than a decent hour, and you're awake.
You're awake, just like Bruce and Alfred are. Even if you weren't part of this, even if you weren't in Vengeance's lair, you don't know if you could fall asleep considering the stakes.
Considering Domino's orders and the countdown that he put in place.
Because he already took a life, and he is probably ready to take some more.
Bruce and Alfred are going through files, documents, and you stretch, sitting on top of the desk, near the computer screen, as Bruce takes a photo from the printer and adds it to the board that you've been staring at for the last hours. You recognize it, it's The Island, except that the seedy and illegal place is empty in the pictures; everything is gone. Except for one single domino left behind. It's how the police found it on that fateful night, and you sigh as you run your hands through your hair, yet again.
Bruce turns to you, a soft smile on his face.
"You should head to bed," The Wayne tells you. "Maybe it's best if one of us gets some sleep."
"I'm not sleepy," you reply, and you let your dangling feet find the floor, and you come closer. You bump shoulders with Bruce, staring at the board even closer now. "And I know even if I wanted to, I wouldn't sleep, I just... I don't see it, do you?"
"Sadly not," mumbles Alfred to your right. "Let me... go make some coffee, I feel like we're going to need it."
Both Bruce and you nod. The older man is surprisingly quick about it, you weren't expecting anything else, and when he hands you a warm cup a few minutes later, you smile before you turn to Bruce with a smile.
"Is that whipped cream and marshmallow in your cup?" you ask, with a slight smile, only to watch Bruce frown, shrug, and then he takes a bite of the whipped cream before he replies.
"What can I say? Brains run on sugar, and I need to keep thinking."
"He's not very fond of coffee," adds Alfred to your right, and you laugh a bit. You take a long sip before you put down the cup and tap the literal question mark Bruce has traced under Domino's name.
"Okay, I think we're focusing on the wrong thing," you slowly start, and Bruce comes closer, a bit puzzled.
"We are? How so?"
"Like, no offence, but at this point, does it even matter who Domino is? The point is just to catch him, right?" You point out only to see Bruce's frown deepen.
"She does have a point, sir," Alfred adds, and Bruce stares at both of you before taking another bite of whipped cream. You take it as a sign to keep going.
"So what do we actually know?" you ask out loud because you think it will help move things along.
"He is well connected," Alfred starts in his grave tone of voice. "With money, he's got the right people in his pockets, judges, attorneys, bankers, a lot of people who before this didn't commit any sort of crime."
"And besides those figureheads, he's got a lot of men under his command. Which I am assuming he is paying too, so yeah, definitely with a lot of money..."
"Okay... money doesn't just move without a trace, right... Do you think it was a coincidence that Domino's people were at the First Bank of Gotham that night?" You try out a guess, and Bruce's blue eyes land on you.
"What would be the point if he's already got half the bank in this pocket?" The Bruce points out, and it's your turn to shrug.
"Fair, but he doesn't know that we know that, maybe it was for appearance's sake?"
"Hmm, very true," adds Alfred, and then he rushes back to the nearest computer. "But you've given me an idea, money doesn't indeed move without a trace, if Domino has a large amount of it, we can see if there is a pattern... we still have the names of all the people in The Island, right?"
"Yes," Bruce is by Alfred's side the next minute. "But I would assume they would cover their trace, we need to look for something very specific... like regular payments made into the same account, let's start with weekly and then monthly payments..."
"Right away sir." Alfred nods, and then the sound of him tapping away on his keyboard fills the room.
"That's one lead," you say, you're still staring at the board and the different pictures. You tap the plan of Gotham next. "He wants the city to be open again, for what? Business? Trade...?"
"Well, he clearly doesn't need to get his people out and... wait."
Bruce is close to you next, and he taps the one picture of Arkham Asylum he pinned on the board earlier. "He's got a ton of supplies and drugs from Arkham at the moment... I bet he can't do anything with it now, if he sells them in Gotham city, the cops, everyone will know it's him... it would be even more obvious."
"What, so you think he's just a drug dealer?"
"No, I think he deals in power and money, The Island was trafficking girls and weapons. Arkham brings drugs... he's literally built an entire empire within Gotham City, and he's most likely richer than me at this point." Bruce says bitterly, and you can only nod as he most likely is right about this.
"So," Bruce adds coldly. "What does a king do when he finds himself governing his kingdom with an iron fist?"
"... He expands said kingdom?" You whisper.
"Exactly." Bruce's only word is enough to make you shiver at the thought. "Gotham has gotten too small and... that chaos, getting rid of Vengeance, it was a message... a message to the police here but also..."
"His future customers," you finish. "If he gets rid of you, the police, nobody stands in his way... Bruce fuck... we can not let the mayor open the city, things will get so much worse... and Cynthia's work... her death, it would have been for nothing."
You sound bitter as you paint the near future, how could you not be, and you're glad when Bruce's hands find your shoulders, gripping them tight.
"Don't worry, I won't let it happen, we..." He emphasizes the word with a smile that borders on dangerous, the shadow of Vengeance all over his face. "We won't let him happen... We still have an ace up our sleeves."
"We do?" This time, you don't follow him, and you don't even get time to react before he presses a kiss to your forehead.
"Of course! Domino thinks he got rid of Vengeance, he thinks that Cynthia's death was enough to deter the cops. He doesn't know we are going to fight back." Bruce squeezes your shoulders hard, and it jolts you awake, that and his words… Is it delusional optimism? You don't think so, Bruce Wayne is the kind of man to fight until he's drawn his very last breath, you know it, you've seen it.
"So..." Bruce says your name, and you nod. "I'm gonna need you to deliver a message to a friend of mine at the police station... while you do... I'm gonna pay a visit to someone in Arkham Asylum." Bruce loses his smile by the end of his sentence, and you hear Alfred gasp. It sounds so out of place, you turn to the older man next, who's standing up, focused on Bruce.
"Sir, if I can advise against it, it's risky and..."
"Alfred, I know, but I need answers."
"Answers he won't give you, Bruce!" Alfred looks a bit irritated, enough to call the Wayne by his first name.
"He will, I know the dance, we've done this before..."
"Wait, wait," you interrupt them both, raising your hands. "Who are you going to see? And who do you want me to talk to?"
"You are going directly to Lieutenant Jim Gordon, I know we can trust him... and in the meantime, I..." Bruce releases you, he comes closer to his suit next. The many pieces are lying out on a table and he grabs the mask pensively. "I will go to Arkham Asylum, and I'll go see the Joker."