#i am excited and scared for the next part 😭💚 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sugarcoated-lame · 2 years ago

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aaaaaahhhh was so excited to see this update as always!! And once again, you’ve got me feeling a plethora of emotions with this story lol, this chapter was intense I was not expecting it to turn out like it did (especially after how nice and blissful the last one was lol 🥺) but I loved it!!! So….. the kiss ???!?!!!!!!! Ugh I was internally screaming during that part, she already has a hard time trusting and believing Bruce wants to be with her 😭😭

Actual photo of me reading the kiss part lmfaoo ^

I always love the moments with her and Alfred, it’s so sweet to see how much they’ve obviously grown to care about each other as well, and of course I loved seeing Alfred say he wants to knock some sense into Bruce (don’t we all ??!) and letting her know that Bruce really does care for her even if he doesn’t always know how to show it 🥺

And omg on top of everything, her thinking Bruce’s father might’ve had her father killed, then finding out Falcone was responsible, thinking she would be relieved to find the answers she’s been looking for most of her life only to feel worse knowing ): I really feel for her, she deserves the biggest hug! As sad as I am to see her spiraling, I also loved her reaction to everything, love that she wants to get justice for what falcone did to her and Bruce! That last paragraph has me a little scared for next chapter lol, but I’m so excited to see what happens next!! Beautiful writing as always ! 💚

Waiting for the Night

Bruce Wayne x F!Reader

Chapter 14 - Till I Got Nothing Left

Masterlist; Chapter 13 Summary: Bliss of the moment shared with Bruce melts in the broad daylight as the Riddler makes life-changing claims and forces you to face the past... Warnings: Angst™️; mentions of canon-typical violence; swearing. Author's Notes: Well, this one took a little less time and is also barely 6k, because I figured that's enough punches for one update. I'm sorry, I really am. Given how the revelations here had me inspired from the moment we had those scenes in the movie, I'm curious to hear what you think... 💕 Feedback is always appreciated and thanks for sticking around! Taglist: @thecraziestcrayon, @kookiewastolen, @imimsy, @tuskens-mando, @sugarcoated-lame, @blue-aconite, @hypnoash, @rabbitdictionary, @nicklet94, @mcrmarvelloki, @shimmeringgrim, @ttae-yong, @freyadruid, @siriuslydestiny, @ms-dont-care, @raphaelaisabella

(gif credit @thebatmansource)

It had been a while since you last woke up with the pleasant ache in your limbs and the fuzziness in your head that had nothing to do with alcohol and everything with a person. You took in the surroundings, the light bathing the room in a warm glow and filling your chest with familiarity and homeliness. Both almost terrifyingly foreign.

Stretching your limbs, you quickly discovered that the space beside you was empty. The chasm in your heart throbbed with the well-known feeling of dread as you rolled onto your side and pressed your head into the cold pillow. Bruce’s scent lingered there, making you breathe in deep and let it drown out the fear, if only for another minute. Until you could get up and face the reality.

The voice at the back of your head, the same one that knew it would happen before it even began, has foreseen this too. As if, on a subconscious level, you already knew where Bruce went and why he was not there as you woke up. Why he could never be.

Only once you could no longer chase away the anxious thoughts did you get up, throwing the covers to the side and letting your gaze locate your clothes. Expecting to find them strewn across the floor, you were shocked to see the neat pile resting on the chair by the desk. The sight alone made your chest tighten and lips pursed into a frown too close to tears for your liking. With no signs of Bruce’s presence anywhere within the bedroom, you pocketed the phone and quietly crept out into the corridor, noticing the silence. As if it was just you there all alone in the Wayne Tower. A shudder ran through your spine upon the thought, helping put one foot and then the other and walk down the hallway.

The dining room was empty, as were the kitchen and the library. Slowly, you descended the staircase back into the study, noticing Bruce’s mind map still scribbled on the floor. Next to it, you could see a stack of old files, the corners yellow and folded. Ignoring the dread settling in your stomach, you picked one of them up and carded through the pages. For unknown reasons, all seemed to concern Thomas Wayne’s Renewal Fund and looked like they had been pulled out of the archive for the first time in decades. And likely had been.

It was hard to pinpoint the moment you decided what the next course of action should be. One minute you were there, frozen in place with the old documents still in hand and staring at the graffiti marring the woodwork. The next, you were making your way into the elevator and sliding the crate closed before pressing the buttons leading below the ground level. Back when you first visited the tower, those unmarked floors intrigued you, adding to the mystery of Bruce Wayne. Now you had a solid theory about what you would find there, occupying the space marked on the old building plans as the Wayne Terminus, aka the old railway station. Yes, you did check it. No, there was no particular reason other than your interest.

As the cabin lowered into the darkness of the shaft, you tightened your hands into loose fists, hoping (praying) Bruce would forgive you for trespassing. That he will not mind the snooping, which probably breached laws of common decency and, certainly, broke the promises you made to him. But weren’t those already broken when you gave him everything you had? It did not matter.

The elevator came to a shuddering stop as the crate rattled when you opened it and stepped inside the cold darkness of the cavern. The chill in the air and the faint earthly smell confirmed that you were underground. With barely any light, you could not make out the exact size of the space, for the corners were drowning in the shadows, and the ceiling was submerged in the dark. It was the old Terminus, only now it served as a workstation of sorts. The space was cluttered with equipment, tools, and computers. Apart from an empty jack, undoubtedly housing whatever the Batman’s car was you noticed two motorcycles. The desks were filled with complex technology and a couple of monitors. Careful not to destroy anything, you made a round of the place, noting every detail you could. Approaching the widest desk, your hand darted towards the notebook occupying its centre. It was titled: ‘Gotham Project: Year Two. Thoughts and Observations’ in Bruce’s neat handwriting, and as soon as you opened it, you could tell it was a diary. Kind of. Enough so that it felt wrong to go through the pages without the owner aware of it. Especially, when your gaze fell on what could only be your name, standing out on the white paper in your eyes as if it had been highlighted red. Feeling your cheeks heat up, you closed the notebook as if burned. There was no need to know what he thought of you. Or even why he wrote anything concerning you. Well, there was a need, but…

Ignoring the dangerous train of thought, you huffed, hand absentmindedly toying with the computer mouse, making the screen turn on from sleep mode. The last computer program was still running, showing you what looked like a camera view, but if the camera was in an eye lens. You could hear the faint sound coming from the speakers, following the intuition to find the right toggle and increase it to listen to the conversation as your eyes adjusted to the picture. It seemed like Bruce was wearing the lenses, recording everything he saw for analysis or evidence. And right now, he was talking to a woman with the backdrop of nothing but skyscrapers and the skies. She was beautiful, her dark skin and warm eyes glinting in the afternoon sun. Somehow you knew it was her. Selina. The one Bruce told you not to worry about.

And you didn’t worry. Only felt a stab of pain in your chest at how he left you to see her. Right after you had sex. Fuck.

Selina was standing close to Bruce, her hand stroking his cheek as she chuckled in response to something he said. Your heart thrashed between your ribs, the dread making your blood turn cold as your forced yourself to listen to their conversation:

“Listen to me. If we don’t stand up for Annika, no one will. All anyone cares about in this place are these white, privileged assholes. The mayor, the commissioner, the DA. Now Thomas and Bruce Wayne,” she took a step back, gesturing with annoyance, the mention making you grip the edge of the desk as you listened on, “I mean, as far as I’m concerned, that psycho’s right to go after these creeps. I think you’d be on his side” she threw Bruce an offensive look.

It was somewhat reassuring to know she had no idea about his identity. Even if it felt like your world was crumbling.

“What do you mean, “Thomas and Bruce Wayne”?” Bruce voiced your thoughts with a strained tone.

Suddenly you wished you could see his face. Wished you could look into his blue eyes and understand what he was thinking. Instead, you could see the disbelief in Selina’s gaze as she eyed him with an arched eyebrow:

“What, do you live in a cave?” she scoffed lightly before explaining, “The Riddler’s latest. It’s all about the Waynes” what? Torn between the desire to go looking for the video, you got arrested by her persuasive tone as Selina continued, “Listen, if I can find that dickbag Kenzie, will you help me?” with her eyes trained on Bruce and filled with despair, she took a step forward “Please. Come on, Vengeance” the sweet tone made your head spin as you stared helplessly.

Lifting her palm to cup his cheek, Selina nearly pressed her body against Bruce’s. You swallowed hard, the wooden edge digging into your open hand.

“Just don’t make any moves without me, understand? It’s a little more dangerous than you know-” Bruce’s words were lost, for she interrupted them with a kiss.

The image disappeared as Bruce closed his eyes, but you had seen enough. A flash of jealousy burned through your body soon replaced with pain you could not name. Your body curled in on itself, desperate to find unachievable comfort. Everything hurt as your eyes blurred with unshed tears you had blinked back, your hand shaking as you closed the program. It was better not to know. Or so you tried to tell yourself. That it would be easier. But it wasn’t. It couldn’t be. He was not yours, yet it felt like he was. He should’ve been.

Before you could let the pain consume you right there and then, you searched for the video she mentioned, finding the recording on all the news pages. A fanfare opened the clip, immediately transporting you twenty years back to Wayne’s mayoral campaign:

“I’m Thomas Wayne, and I approve this message” with a face blank, you watched the old footage, Bruce’s father speaking from a lectern at the orphanage, announcing the Renewal Fund and its premise “From a very young age, my family, Martha’s family, the Arkhams, instilled in both of us that giving back is not just an obligation, it’s a passion. That is our family’s legacy” with an award-winning smile by Thomas Wayne, the video cut away from the archival video to show newspapers clippings.

The Riddler picked up the narration, his voice haunting and arresting in its intensity:

“The Waynes and the Arkhams. Gotham’s founding families. But what is their real legacy?” the breath got caught in your throat as the screen flashed to a photo of your father, the same one they had used in the news; it was getting hard to breathe, “Twenty years ago, one reporter set out to uncover the dark truth. He found shocking family secrets. How, when Martha was just a child, her mother brutally murdered her father, then committed suicide…” photos fleeted through the screen, a terrifying collage of crime and secrets “And how the Arkhams used their power and money to cover it up. How Martha herself was in and out of institutions for years and they didn’t want anyone to know” as the footage went back to showing Bruce’s father again, you instinctively grit your teeth, preparing for the inevitable; the bombshell you should have seen coming.

It didn’t hurt any less.

“Thomas Wayne tried to force this crusading reporter into a hush-money agreement to save his mayoral campaign. But when the reporter refused, Wayne turned to longtime secret associate Carmine Falcone and had him murdered!” a gleeful cackle was interrupted by a gunshot, making you flinch, your legs nearly giving out underneath you, “The Waynes and the Arkhams, Gotham’s legacy of lies and murder,”

As Riddler’s face replaced the clip on the screen, you gave a quiet whimper. Your mind unable to make sense of the revelations. Could it be true? Was Thomas Wayne the one who had your father killed? There was no time to find the answers as the pulse pounded in your ears, fear and paranoia taking hold of every waking thought.

“I know the reporter’s daughter is watching this, just as she is following my every move. Don’t trust Wayne; he doesn’t care about ordinary troopers like you and me. He only cares about himself and his legacy” fuck; your heart stumbled in your chest upon the direct mention, your teeth biting into the lower lip and drawing blood, “I hope you’re listening too, Bruce Wayne. This is your legacy. Gotham needs you to answer for the sins of your father. Goodbye”

With one click, you exited the browser. Tears pooled into your eyes for the second time within minutes as the reality sunk in. Maybe it was just that easy. Maybe your father’s murder was not a cruel trick of fate but a cold-blooded plan all along. Maybe. It felt like a living nightmare as you stumbled back into the elevator and pressed the button to the ground floor.

Like your worst fears coming true. Like a betrayal. Like losing your mind and preferring the insanity to what was real. Because nothing could be worse than this. Without a second thought, you bolted out into the street. Needing to breathe. Needing to think.

How do you go on when your world is crumbling?

***

By the time you returned to your apartment, you had five unanswered calls from Bruce and a text. You were also drenched, getting caught in the rain between the station and your house, too numb to run home. Tossing the burner phone on the table, so you were not tempted to look at it, you methodically removed the wet clothes and scrubbed your body clean in a scalding hot shower. Until your skin was tender and you had no more tears to offer. Not brave enough to turn on the news and see the headlines, you sat on the sofa, staring mindlessly at the black television screen till the rectangle was burned into the backs of your eyelids.

If everything Riddler said in that video was a lie, you had to admit it was very convincing. But then, he never lied before, correctly unmasking all three victims as liars and cheaters. So why would he start now? The worst was that it was so much easier to believe the story he sold you. You could see it happening. Your father as the brave reporter digging for the truth no matter the costs. And Thomas Wayne as the villain, protecting his wife’s past, willing to do all it takes. Even have a man murdered. A man doing his job. Isn’t that what journalists were supposed to do? Supposed to be?

A heavy sigh escaped your throat as you hid your face in your hands, feeling the surge of emotions. It felt almost like a long-sealed wound prodded open. For a second, you had the mind to be grateful your mother was not really there to witness it. Then you felt guilty for it. Even if it was true. Maybe she was right all along. Maybe your father was murdered because he believed in what could never be. Maybe Wayne was responsible for it, preferring his ego to ethics and morality. That would be quite the twist, wouldn’t it? Did Bruce know, or was all this a revelation to him too? Another question you could not answer yourself and were scared to ask the only person that could tell you. Because what if he did know? What then?

But he couldn’t. Right?

And then there was you, tangled up in the story like a fly in a spider’s web. Waiting for the predator to strike, unable to do a thing about it. You did not even know how you got there. How you went from innocuous crime-solving with Bruce Wayne to being quite fatally in love with him. The son of Thomas Wayne. The man who might have had your father killed. And it was not even worth it. Not when he wasted no time to kiss another woman. Clearly, you were right all along, and to Bruce, you were just a convenient opportunity to try what sex is all about. And then use that knowledge with someone more interesting. Anyone but you. Because why would he care?

A familiar sting of tears made you screw your eyes shut, ignoring the hunger and the aching chest. Perhaps you had a little more water left in your system to continue crying. You never got that far when another buzz interrupted the silence with its insistence. Sixth missed call.

You picked up the phone just as it stopped ringing. You almost felt bad for ghosting Bruce like that. Almost. Because you did not know what you could tell him if you did call back. You needed time and space to think and breathe and come to sensible conclusions. With a sigh, you opened the text he sent you over an hour ago:

“Please call me back. I think we should talk. I had no idea about any of this,” and God, you wanted to believe him.

But it was not that easy. Not yet, anyway. You decided to tell him that, replying to the message the best way you knew.

“I’m sorry, I can’t right now. I need some more time” you could only hope Bruce would understand.

All the harsh words you could push back his way if he pressed you had been gathering on the tip of your tongue, bitter like venom. You did not want to let them out, lend the ugliness a voice. But everything was still hurting. Another flashback willing itself on your mind just to make everything more painful. The way Selina looked at him. How he closed his eyes as she pressed her lips to his-

Another text made the phone vibrate in your hand. Without hesitation, you opened the message:

“Are you alright?” your heart gave out a pang, revelling in the newly established vulnerability.

One that you could not regret if you tried. Instead of attempting to get rid of the feeling in your chest, you texted Bruce back:

“No. But I’m home, and I’ll talk to you later,” and then, almost as an afterthought, testing if you were that brave, you sent him another message “Stay safe, Bruce,”

You could only hope he would listen.

***

It was much later when you got a response. Instead of sleeping, you were lying in the dark and staring at the ceiling, unable to turn off your brain. A text-related buzz was enough to rouse you from the stupor, making you reach for the device, blinded by the harsh light:

“Alfred woke up. He says you can visit him if you want to,” an invisible weight lifted off your chest as you allowed yourself a breath of relief.

It was not much, but it was always something. You already knew your answer to the proposition offered in the message, throwing back the covers and putting on dry clothes to head into the night. Anything was better than letting the darkness consume your thoughts. And you needed answers Alfred might be able to give. You could suffer a little more rain for it.

This time, the hospital staff was much less suspicious, letting you into Alfred’s room without questions, for which you thanked them with a timid smile. The butler was not surprised to see you either, instantly pressing the button on the bedframe to prop himself up and giving you a tired, albeit beaming smile:

“Hey, Bruce told me you’re awake,” quietly shutting the door behind you, your eyes settling on the older man to ask, “How are you feeling?”

His face had gained back colour, standing out more from the pale green of the hospital gown. Alfred gestured towards the chair beside his bed and reached out to you with the hand that was free from the iv needle:

“I’m glad to see you” though his palm was cold, he still gave you a firm handshake, “Far from splendid, but it’s been worse. I might be getting old, though” the sardonic chuckle escaped his throat, making you eye him with scepticism.

You relaxed into the chair with a comment:

“You? Never” grinning wide as Alfred returned the smile; however, the worries not allowed you to stall for much longer “Have you seen the new video from Riddler?” as soon as the question left your mouth, you could tell what the answer would be.

A frown replaced the smile on his face as Alfred nodded somberly.

“Yes, I nagged one of the nurses to show it to me after Bruce left” when his eyes met yours, the sadness in Alfred’s gaze deepened, “I can only imagine how you feel after that” he searched your face for a beat as if trying to foresee the response.

You did not feel like acting anymore as your throat tightened, threatening to spill more tears. Clenching your hand into a fist, you offered a half-hearted shrug, biting your lower lip till it stung.

“Yeah, well… It’s shit” from the look in his eyes, Alfred understood all that you did not tell him, silently urging you to continue and get to the point “Did you know? About my dad and…” trailing off meaningfully as you stared at your lap, unable to voice the most outrageous of assumptions.

Luckily for your sanity, Alfred did not falter, clearing his throat once before replying:

“When you introduced yourself to me, the surname did sound familiar, but I didn’t know why” you felt the weight of his gaze, the particles of pain fading upon the admission “As far as I know, Thomas didn’t do it. Yes, he was worried about the secrets your father made public, but he would never have anyone killed” swallowing hard you felt your eyes glaze over with tears “Only Falcone is that cruel, desperate to reach his means any way possible. He had your father killed, wanting to have some sort of a hook for Thomas Wayne” hearing the name, you raised your head, the fist resting in your lap tightening even more.

The pulse pounded in your ears as you soaked in the information, unable to keep your voice steady:

“It was all Falcone? My dad, Thomas, and Martha Wayne?” it felt as though the world had stopped, leaving you suspended in the moment.

Aware that you were on the brink of the truth you had been seeking for as long as you could remember. Aware that from now on, nothing would be exactly the same.

“I think so, yes” Alfred pursed his lips in thought, his attentive gaze never leaving your face.

As if he was expecting an explosion or an outburst. You had to disappoint him, feeling the steady simmering underneath your skin, waiting to reach its limit soon, but not yet. Not here. Because if it was all Falcone, you did not know whether you could leave it alone. Whether you could forget it.

“Fuck…” sinking further into the seat, you muttered the curse quietly.

You couldn’t forget it. Not if you were to try living on and forgiving yourself for things that were never your fault. As if sensing the chaos in your mind, Alfred placed his hand on your forearm and squeezed it gently.

“When Bruce came here, he was utterly distraught at the idea that his father could’ve done something so horrible. That it could all have been the cause of your misery, of what happened to your parents” when he spoke again after a brief silence, you did not expect to hear that.

But in Alfred’s eyes, you saw nothing but honesty, confirming that he meant what he shared. That it happened. That Bruce was shocked by the revelations too. That he cared, at least a little bit.

You could only repeat the weak shrug, levelling the butler with a tired look:

“To be honest, I was ready to accept that I have Wayne senior to thank for this. Now I don’t know what to think” as good as any summary you could offer.

The essence of your mind for the past hours. Ever since the kiss, to be exact. The reminder was enough to send a bolt of pain through your heart, which likely had nothing to do with your father or his killer.

“Bruce really cares about you, you know” Alfred broke the silence again, changing the subject to what you hoped could have been avoided, “God knows he’s not good at expressing it, but you’re more important than he dares to admit” on its own accord, a scowl painted itself across your face.

As surprise flashed across Alfred’s eyes, you knew there was no way forward but the truth. So, you gave him just that, fidgeting nervously in the seat as uncertainty made its home in the pit of your stomach:

“Well… I was beginning to believe that, but then I saw him kiss another woman today, so…” the shock deepened in his grey eyes as you chuckled mirthlessly, a stray tear trailing down your cheek “I know fuck all, I guess” the bitter laugh was a hard one to stifle, begging to be released as though it could solve anything.

You did your best, clamping your mouth shut in time for Alfred to find his voice again:

“He didn’t- Oh, I’ll have to knock some sense into that idiot” his hand flexed into a fist as you saw his lips twist into a stern frown.

There was no way to stop the brief flash of gratitude in your chest. Or the tiny smile that raised the corner of your lip. But no matter the thankful feeling, you could not get rid of the overwhelming resignation, the desire to let spill it out impossible to be denied:

“I appreciate the sentiment, it’s just… I don’t know. Maybe it’s better this way” once you met Alfred’s eyes, you knew you had to keep going, using the chance to speak your mind, “You know, ending it before it even began. Ripping off the band-aid and the like” and there it is.

What you did not feel like adding were the details of the pain you would have to endure if you were to let Bruce go. Or the fact that it was likely impossible to forget him, even if you were desperate to try. Or that what happened the previous day had made you his for a better part of eternity. No, Alfred was better off without it.

“Why do you think so?” his question brought you back into the moment, endearing in its simplicity.

That one you had practised long before. Long before you had reasons to.

“Because it could never work out. It never does” seeing the disbelief in the older man’s eyes felt like a spark igniting the fire, making the irk let itself known through the insistence in your voice “I mean, me and Bruce Wayne? Who’s going to believe that?” staring defensively at Alfred should he have something more to say, you waited.

As if sensing your defiance, Alfred did not argue, changing the subject until you quickly left him with a hug and a promise not to do anything stupid. There was no saying you would keep it.

***

It was impossible to say when the spiral began or whether you could have done anything to stop it. As soon as the hospital unit doors closed behind you, your throat contracted with the pressure of the unshed tears. As if you had just awakened from the twenty years long coma, unable to do anything but absorb the reality. You did not doubt whether Alfred could have lied to you. It was clear he told the truth as he understood it. It made so much sense, too. How did you not think of it before?

Falcone was a fixed part of Gotham’s ecosystem, just as much as the Waynes and the Arkhams. His name was easily found among the history pages and chronicles, mentioned in the gossip columns and the most recent crime stories in the daily newspapers. An assassination of an inconvenient and snooping reporter was certainly not beneath him. Especially not if he could have gotten a favour from Thomas Wayne in return. For men like him, the math ended right there. It was a simple deal. Death was just collateral damage. Same as what followed after, since there would be no consequences for Carmine Falcone. There never were.

People like your father, like you, they did not matter. Had no importance in the greatest of equations. If they died… well, shame. Just that.

Tears were flowing steadily down your cheeks now blurring the cold light of the fluorescents. For years it had been the same question over and over again. First, your mom asked it, wailing as the cops brought you the news on a weekday evening. Who did this? Who could’ve done this to him? They had no clue. The case was soon closed, with too little evidence to do anything chosen as the official ruling. The question still drove your mother mad, turning her into nothing but a shadow of who she once was. You promised yourself you would not let it happen to you. That you would be the one to find justice for your family.

Knowing the answer to the question made things worse. Once you heard it, you could not unlearn the fact. You could not forget it. Falcone’s name bounced in your brain like the most insistent of thoughts, tightening the knot in your chest and making you feel sick with each heartbeat. Staggering forward through the sliding doors and outside, you forced your lungs to take a deep breath. Fighting the panic surging through the system. Bringing an abrupt stop to the snowball rolling down the hill and gaining speed. The burner phone in your pocket started ringing again. Unable to think clearly, you picked it up and pressed the mobile to your ear:

“Where are you?” Bruce’s tense tone cut through the haze in your mind like a knife.

You let out a long exhale, piecing together the answer and looking around to get your bearings, even if for a moment:

“Leaving the hospital just now. Why?” your voice came out weaker than usual.

You had a feeling there would be no pretending tonight. Not with Bruce.

“It’s been Falcone all this time” as if responding to your earlier spiral, the mention of the man made you stop in the middle of the sidewalk, gasping as Bruce added, “He’s the goddamn rat,”

Fuck. Once Bruce said it, it almost seemed too obvious. How could you have missed that?

“Oh,” another falter, listening to Bruce’s shallow breaths over the phone until you dared to speak the truth, “Alfred told me he’s had my father killed. Your parents too” sometimes, when facts were spoken out loud, they became real; the desperation rose like a wave in your heart, swallowing reason and logic until you could only choke out a few words “I- We need to do something,”

Anything.

“I’m going to the Lounge right now. Gordon and I will try to turn him in” the blind rationality in his answer made you huff in frustration, unable to calm down even as Bruce added to Falcone’s list of transgressions, “We’ve got evidence he murdered the girl Mitchell was seeing”

But it was hardly enough. The anger sizzled in your veins as you picked up the pace, hand gripping the phone tightly.

“And what?” you all but spat the question, not letting Bruce interject as you doubled down with another question “Do you seriously think Falcone can be arrested and put on trial like any ordinary Gothamite?” the ringing silence on the other end spoke for itself.

You knew it was not his fault, that Bruce had nothing to do with Falcone or what he had done. But it still hurt. So much that you could barely breathe.

“What more can we do?” the tiredness in his voice seemed palpable as you could hear him bite back harsh comments.

Perhaps the tables had turned. Maybe now you were supposed to be the mean one.

“He should pay for what he did to us. To me,” it was impossible to stifle the pain as it seeped into your tone, making your voice crack as tears welled up again, blurring the sidewalk.

This time, Bruce did not turn a blind eye to what hardly was hidden. He gasped sharply before asking:

“What do you mean?” the tentativeness permeated the spaces between his words.

As if he was afraid of being straightforward. As if he did not actually want to know what you meant because that would make it real.

You barely knew what you meant. Only that the despair still rose, crawling into the crevices of your heart and making it impossible to think about anything else but the fact that justice had to be delivered. In any shape or form. You could not go on much longer with Falcone breathing the same air unpunished. You could not forgive yourself if you did.

“I have to make him pay, Bruce” that’s what you meant, the sincere tone breaking through the pretence, dissolving the walls and the illusions, “I’ve spent over half of my life wondering who’s responsible for this nightmare. Now I know, and I can’t just let it go,”

Even if it’s the last thing you ever do. But you did not tell him that. Bruce knew without you needing to put it into words.

“No,” his voice broke on the syllable, making you gasp, the traitorous throat closing up again as Bruce added, “God, please, promise me you’ll stay out of this” his tone was overcome with emotions and rough around the edges.

As if he, too, was on the brink of tears. As if he understood what you were going to do, and he did not like it. Well, tough.

“I can’t” breathing out to stop the tears, you whispered that which you hoped he would understand, “Bruce, please don’t ask for what I can’t give you,”

It was the one rule you would never break. Don’t make promises you cannot keep. And Bruce was not an exception. Even if only in this one case.

The pause before he spoke again told you he caught on to it too. He took a deep breath as if bracing himself to do something requiring bravery:

“I-” as Bruce’s voice cracked on whatever he intended to say, you could not bite back the strangled gasp, clamping the hand over your mouth to stop yourself from speaking, “Don’t do anything stupid,”

You could only nod, feeling the complacent tone sink in and anchor the resignation deep within your bones. There was nothing more you could tell him. No promises you could make or apologies worth giving.

“Goodbye,” you whispered the word into the speaker and ended the call as it left your mouth.

You picked up the pace to get home, your mind already occupied by the small gun hidden in the bedroom drawer. It would have to do.

#bruce wayne #batman #the batman #faves

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